Fantasy 02 - Forbidden Fantasy

by Cheryl Holt

  "Honestly, Ian, you're behaving as if she was the love of your life. You're making too much of it."

  "Ami?"

  "Yes, you know what she was like," Rebecca said. "What was she like? I can't wait to have you tell me." "She was a flighty, pampered child. She always was." "Your point being?"

  "She was having a spot of fun before she entered into her stuffy marriage to Edward Shelton. But her fling is over, the wedding is almost here, and we'll all move on."

  She took a step toward him, then a few more, coming closer, as if her remarks had smoothed the route. When she drew near enough to see his face clearly, she was stunned to discover that he was distraught in a fashion she'd never presumed he could be.

  "You cared for her," she accused.

  After a lengthy pause, he admitted, "Yes, I did."

  He grabbed a whiskey bottle that was on the floor next to his chair, and he took an ample swig.

  "But... why?"

  "Can you really suppose my reasons are any of your business?"

  "Can you really suppose they're not? Last I checked, we had an understanding, and nothing's happened to make me believe otherwise." Except her having had sex with Jack, but she disregarded that pesky detail. "You've sneaked about and developed an affection for another woman. How could you assume I wouldn't be irked?"

  "Get out of my house."

  "Don't be ridiculous."

  "Get out! And don't come back."

  "You're trying my patience. Stop being so surly."

  She went to the sideboard and poured herself a brandy. She sipped it, desperate to appear casual, despite her racing pulse.

  He couldn't toss her over! He absolutely couldn't! Yet his vexation was growing by leaps and bounds, and she wasn't positive how to calm him.

  "I'm ordering you to leave!" he commanded. "Are you deaf?"

  "No, I'm annoyed. You've positioned yourself to suffer a broken heart, and you're blaming me for it."

  'This disaster is my fault?"

  "Yes. You're aware of how fussy Lady Caroline is about status and class. If you truly thought for one second that she would disobey her father and choose you instead of Shelton, then you've turned into a blithering fool."

  "Have I?"

  "Yes. Now then, let's forget the past and look to the future."

  "And what future would that be?" "Why, ours, you thick oaf! It's time for us to marry." "Marry? Is that why you accosted Lady Derby? Were you hoping she'd keep Caroline away from me?" "Yes."

  "At least there was a basis for your cruelty—twisted as it might be."

  "I wasn't being cruel. I was being realistic. Caroline was all wrong for you, while you know we'd be perfect together."

  "I know nothing of the sort."

  "You are so full of it! You've been contemplating a proposal, as have I, but Lady Caroline was distracting you."

  "She definitely was."

  "So... as her wedding approaches, we'll proceed with our own. We should probably leave London after it, though."

  "Really?"

  "We'll journey to Italy, or some other exotic locale, and I'll cure you of your lovesickness. Lady C. will be but a distant memory."

  He nodded, as if he was considering her suggestion; then he repeated, "Get out of my house."

  "Didn't you hear a word I said? We'll sail to Italy so you can be away as she weds. You'll avoid the gossip. Why are you being such a beast?"

  "I have no desire to travel to Italy with you—or anywhere else for that matter. Now go!"

  Like a toddler having a tantrum, she stomped her foot, but her temper was wasted on him. He uncurled from his chair, like a cobra about to strike, and he advanced until he towered over her. He pinned her against the sideboard, a palm across her throat as if he might strangle her.

  "If I killed you," he absurdly warned, "it would be no more than you deserved."

  "Kill me! For pity's sake, cease with your dramatics." She shoved his hand away, exhibiting a bravado she didn't feel. "You're being an ass."

  "You're lucky that's all I'm being. You're lucky I don't take a switch to you."

  He grabbed her and dragged her out of the room, and though she struggled for all she was worth, she couldn't halt their forward progress.

  "But Ian, I... I... love you," she spuriously claimed.

  He scoffed. "Now who's being dramatic?" "I do love you! I do!"

  "You've never loved anyone but yourself. You're the most unbearable, selfish female I've ever met. Your antics used to humor me, but after this stunt, I merely find them tedious and degrading."

  He threw her into the hall, just as Jack chanced to walk by so she was literally flung into his arms. She was trapped between the two irate, unsympathetic brothers. They glared down their Clayton noses at her, making her feel contrite and ashamed, both conditions which she hated.

  "What's going on?" Jack inquired, as she squirmed to regain her balance.

  "I don't want her here," Ian replied. "I asked her to depart, but she refused, so I'm tossing her out bodily."

  "Why didn't I ever think of that?" Jack retorted.

  "Speak to the butler, would you?" Ian queried. "I'd appreciate it if he could figure out a way to ensure that she never slithers back in."

  "It will be my pleasure," Jack chirped. "I'll see to it immediately."

  "Thank you."

  Ian slammed the parlor door so hard that the windows rattled, and she was left alone with Jack.

  "Hello, Mrs. Blake," Jack said, his tone frosty with dislike. "What brings you to our fine abode? Let me guess: You love Ian; you were hoping you could convince him to ignore your treachery toward Lady Caroline."

  At realizing that he'd overheard her dismal declaration of amour, she blushed and peered at the floor, wishing she could snap her fingers and vanish.

  She was like a child, caught doing what she oughtn't, and she was suffering from the most irritating urge to defend and explain, which was preposterous. Long ago, she'd learned that it was impossible to make a man understand anything.

  Yet she couldn't tamp down her need to persuade him that her visit to Lady Derby had been the only logical choice. She hadn't planned to harm Lady Caroline. She'd simply wanted Caroline to desist with her futile pursuit of Ian. How could such an innocuous goal be deemed malicious?

  Her conscience—that had lain dormant for years— had been rudely awakened, and it was needling her to be sorry, to make amends. To her horror, she felt as if she might start weeping and plead for his forgiveness. Her eyes actually welled with a bit of moisture.

  "What's this? Tears?" He scrutinized her. "My God, it is! Well, you can turn off the spigot, Mrs. Blake. A display of waterworks will have no effect on me."

  "I'm not crying." She slapped him away. "I have something in my eye."

  "Oh, of course you do." He yanked her down the hall. "Let's go. Ian wants you out of here, and so do I."

  Much before she was ready, he was marching her out, and she stumbled to keep up, which pitched her right back into his arms. For an embarrassing moment, their feet were entwined, her skirt tangled around his ankles. Her breasts were crushed to his chest, his thigh between her own. He felt strong and wonderful and perfect, and she was disgusted with herself all over again.

  Like a pair of dancers frozen in the middle of an intricate move, they stared and stared; then Jack muttered, "Well, hell, Rebecca. What am I supposed to do now?"

  "About what?"

  "Quit looking at me like that." "Like what?" She sounded breathless as a schoolgirl.

  "Like you're as eager for a tumble as I am."

  "You think I want to have sex with you?"

  "You can't wait."

  "Hah! I don't even like you!"

  "Rebecca?"

  "What?" "Shut up."

  He shoved her to the wall and fell on her like a wild beast. He kissed her as if they'd been separated for an eternity, as if they'd survived a catastrophe, as if he were the last man on earth and she the last woman. He kissed her as if h
e'd been dying to do just that—and nothing else—his entire life.

  She joined in, furious that she couldn't restrain herself when she was with him.

  He was the wrong damned brother! He was poor, and he was arrogant, and she refused to be attracted to him!

  He lifted her, guiding her legs around his waist, and he carried her into the next room, kicking the door closed behind them. He dropped her on a small sofa, and he knelt on the rug, unbuttoning his trousers.

  As quickly as that, he was prodding into her, just the slightest inch. He was smug and magnificent and so very aggravating, and she humiliated herself by wiggling her hips to pull him nearer. She was desperate to have him impale himself, but he wouldn't oblige her.

  "Don't ever tell me," he said, "that you don't want this from me."

  "I don't," she lied.

  "Don't ever pretend that I don't mean anything to you."

  "Finish it!" she commanded. "Finish what?" He was all innocence, all mocking, exasperating male. "I want you! Please!"

  "I love it when you're reduced to begging." With one smooth thrust, he was inside her, and he flexed several rough times, then came. There was no

  finesse, no wooing, and no attention paid to her own body's needs. He simply took her on the couch in the cold, empty salon as if he'd forced himself on an anonymous parlor maid.

  The event over, he drew away, arranged his trousers, and stood. In a thrice, he was completely composed, not a hair out of place, not a wrinkle in his garments. The bastard wasn't even breathing hard, while she was in a pathetic state.

  Her combs had fallen out, so her hair was drooping. Her dress was bunched up, the stitching torn at the waist, but her anatomy was in the worst condition. She was perched on the edge of some very sharp desire, but he couldn't be bothered to accommodate her.

  His passion spent, he glared down at her, any tenderness having vanished.

  Feeling chastened and sullied, she sat up and straightened her clothes.

  "You know, Rebecca," he scolded, "if you could at least feign remorse for what you did to Lady Caroline, if you could show a smidgen of regret, there might be some chance of you turning into a human being."

  "I'm sorry," she mumbled.

  He chuckled, but miserably. "You don't know the definition of the word. You can barely pronounce it."

  "I am sorry," she mulishly insisted. "I didn't intend to get her into trouble with her parents."

  "Then why did you proceed?"

  "I just... just..." She shrugged, unable to explain why—initially—it had seemed like such an excellent plan, but why it seemed so terrible all these hours later. She sighed. "It doesn't matter now."

  "No, it doesn't."

  She rose, too, and gazed up into his blue, blue eyes. "I wish you were someone else," she said. "I wish you were a man I could love." "I'm glad I'm not."

  There was the oddest twinge in the center of her heart, and she was intolerably sad, as if she'd relinquished a precious gift.

  "Is your carriage here?" he asked.

  "Yes."

  "Let's get you going."

  He started out, looking so poised and in control, and the sight made her angry.

  "Is that all you have to say?" she snapped.

  "Yes, it is. Why? Were you hoping for something more?"

  "No. I've never hoped for more from you." "A wise assessment"

  She pushed past him and hurried to the foyer, hating how he tagged after her. Their slothful butler had anticipated her departure, and he had her coat and hat ready. She jerked her belongings from him, and he scurried off. Jack tried to help her with her coat but she shook him away. She was overwrought her emotions careening so riotously that she considered throwing herself against his broad chest and blubbering like a babe.

  He urged her over the threshold, which, of course, had her determined to resist. She dragged her feet so he physically heaved her onto the stoop. With him inside the warm house, and her outside in the chilly night, she felt like a homeless waif.

  "Don't come back," he said. "You're not welcome."

  "Really?" She crudely focused on his crotch. "I'm pretty sure I was welcome a few minutes ago."

  "It was another bout of temporary insanity. I'm over it. Good-bye."

  As he moved to close the door in her face, she was overcome by the certainty that it wasn't merely goodbye, but farewell forever. The notion was distressing and even a tad frightening, and she shamefully implored, "Could we talk for a bit?"

  "No, I'm busy packing."

  "What?"

  "Ian and I are leaving London." "Leaving?" The news hurt her in ways she didn't understand. "Where are you going?" "Ian is heading to Scotland." "When will he return?" "Maybe soon. Maybe never." "How about you? Will you travel with him?" "I haven't decided."

  "But if you don't go to Scotland, where will you be?"

  "I know it's difficult for you to believe, but before I arrived in London, I had a full and interesting life. I'll take it up again."

  "You're serious."

  "Yes. Ian has no stomach to stay and observe the disaster you've wrought, and I'm not too keen on continuing my acquaintance with any of the people I've met since I've been here." His harsh expression told her that he was referring to her and no one else.

  "You don't have to leave London because of me."

  "Don't flatter yourself. I'm not."

  "Will I... will I..." She had to swallow three times before she could finish the sentence. "Will I ever see you again?"

  "If I'm very, very lucky—which I haven't been so far—no."

  He shut the door with a resounding click, and she stood, forlorn and forgotten on the front steps. The tears that had threatened earlier finally flowed down her cheeks, and she sniffled and swiped at them.

  Ultimately, her carriage pulled up, and she climbed in and went away. As she peeked out the window, watching the gray buildings pass, she wondered how she could ever fix any of the mess she'd made.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Postponed!" "It has to be, I'm afraid." "I demand to speak with the Earl." "That won't be possible."

  Edward glared at Britannia. He'd been invited for supper, and he'd accepted, having assumed it would be one of Britannia's typically tedious soirees. With the wedding two days hence, he'd felt it important to pretend familial harmony, but with her announcing the delay, she'd blindsided him. His temper flared.

  "Britannia, I don't know what's going on in that devious head of yours, but I insist on discussing this with Bernard."

  "He's not receiving anyone at the moment."

  "The man can't simply disappear. His daughter is about to be married."

  "No, she's not! I've explained a dozen times. We have to reschedule."

  "Have you any notion of the stories that will circulate? The gossip will crucify me."

  "Circumstances can't be helped. Bernard has refused to participate, and I can't dissuade him. Lord knows I've tried, but he won't listen."

  "I have a marital contract," Edward griped, "and I won't tolerate any mischief. If you two suppose you can renege on our agreement, I suggest you think again."

  "We have no intention of reneging—as you so commonly put it I'll see to it that Caroline marries you if it's the last thing I do!"

  She vowed it with such fervor, her eyes aglow with the uncanny shimmer they'd recently adopted whenever she saw him, and he took a step away, embarrassed to find himself rattled by her zeal. She looked like a lunatic escaped from an asylum.

  "I have no idea why Bernard has relegated such an imperative issue to a mere woman, and I must talk to him directly."

  "He won't involve himself in the situation. You know how he is."

  "No, I don't know how he is, and it seems to me that if he's changed his mind, he's quite involved."

  "We have to reset the date," she claimed. "What else can you expect me to do? I can't very well hold the ceremony without a father to walk her down the aisle!"

  "Where is your husband? Produce
him at once!"

  He pushed past her and marched toward the stairs, even as he speculated over his purpose. Was he prepared to search the mansion, room by room, until Bernard was located? Since he'd never behave in such an uncouth fashion, what was his goal?

  Britannia saved him by pulling him to a halt. She leaned in and murmured, "He's having a personal crisis."

  "A crisis? Oh for pity's sake! What sort of calamity could make him postpone his daughter's wedding? Is he ill? Is he injured?"

  "His dearest acquaintance has died."

  "Who?"

  "His latest trollop," she casually said. "Haven't you heard? She drank herself to death." "She what?"

  "She perished in a fit of inebriation. Apparently, he was fond of her, and he's distraught."

  There had been rumors about the girl's demise, but he hadn't given the matter a second thought. Why would the passing of a nameless light skirt have any bearing on Bernard or his family?

  "So he'd defer because of a... a deceased mistress?"

  "Isn't it hilarious? He says we're welcome to have the wedding without him, but if we want him to attend, we have to wait until he's feeling better. He recommends that we utilize the original date."

  "But... but... that's three weeks away."

  "Yes."

  "It would be my right to proceed as planned," he blustered. "I could insist on it."

  "Yes, you could, but he won't do it. I don't see how we can make him."

  "Let's continue without him."

  "You're the one who was worried about gossip. Can you envision how the tongues will wag if he isn't there?"

  He stared her down, trying to unravel her ploy. She'd always been anxious for him to marry Caroline, even when Caroline had been engaged to Wakefield. Now she was perfectly content to dawdle.

  What was she really attempting? By delaying, what would she gain? What would he lose?

  "I wish to speak with Lady Caroline," he finally said. "I assume she'll be down for supper?" "No, she won't" "Why?"

  "She's indisposed."

  He chewed on the response, working it over and over, struggling to delve to the inner meaning it contained.

  "As I'm about to be her husband, I demand that she join me. Have a servant fetch her."