“That’s horrid thing to say!”
“He took and discarded women with little care. They stood in line to beg for his attentions, swayed by his charm and his boyish face.”
Each word he spoke was like an arrow to her heart. She held herself stiffly, determined not to react. “So I understand, yes. He was quite in demand with the ladies.”
“I am told—by one who would certainly know how to judge—that he had much skill in bed. And yet all that skill left you cold?”
She suddenly shivered and hugged herself. “Yes. Guilty as charged. So now you know. That should tell you something about me—and my true nature.”
“The reason you didn’t respond to him lies in your nature, but the failure of your marriage is not your fault.”
“You’re speaking in riddles now.”
“Cranfield didn’t give you what you need. He couldn’t.”
“And you’re an expert on what I need?”
“You need dominance. I am offering it.” His warm breath made her ear, her neck, tingle.
She forced another laugh with less success. “I’d never agree to such a thing.”
“You’ll kneel at my feet and count yourself the luckiest woman alive for the privilege of doing so.”
Was there a teasing note in his voice or had she imagined it?
“Well, it sounds utterly absurd.” Indeed, she couldn’t believe she still remained here in his bed, calmly discussing this. No—not calmly, never calmly. She was about ready to faint from excitement.
But had he really said he wanted to spank her bare arse? So absurd!
He kissed her neck, his tongue lingering for a moment to trace a warm, silken trail on her flesh. Fire sparked in its wake. She trembled and moaned.
It was as if her body was new, changed. She was someone else with him.
“Obey me and you won’t have to worry. But I want you to understand just what it is you are getting into when you agree to be mine.” He licked her earlobe and sent hot chills racing down her spine. “Nan, I am going to take care of you—such very good care of you. You want that. You know you want that. It is why you came to me.”
Had she known all of this before now, on some deeper level? He drew her—what use was there in denying it? Certainly he seemed to understand something about life and bravery. She had longed to get closer to him. Now he was offering the chance, but…
“But in return you ask for so much.”
“Ah.” She heard the smile in his voice. “For the first time, you haven’t denied that you want to be mine. That’s progress.”
There was no use denying it any longer. “But I thought we would…tonight. Maybe another night or two and then you would return to London. I can’t really be yours.”
“Not forever, that’s true. But we can have each other for a while—certainly longer than a night or two. Anne, I am going to be married. We shall be announcing our engagement during the season.”
His declaration should have meant nothing to her. So why, then, did it feel as if her heart were suddenly collapsing on itself? Well, it didn’t matter. “Congratulations to you and best wishes to your intended bride.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I never wish to be married again.”
“You are very young to make such a decision. Of course you must remarry. You will need a titled husband and sons to secure your interests.”
The calm assurance in his voice pricked her. “I am a wealthy woman. I need no one. I would be in Ireland now, living on my own estate, if not for my continued fears and weakness.”
“Anne, this thing about horses—I can try to help you with it.” He caressed her back with slow, soothing strokes, as if she were already his to touch, casually, as he pleased. “I knew a man in my troop who was injured in battle. He developed something very similar to your aversion. And there’s no shirking duty in the Army. But we helped him. And later some others like him.”
“What did you do?”
“We gradually reconditioned him to being around horses and gunfire.”
A log popped in the hearth. She jumped. “You would take the time to do that with me? But how could we do something like that?”
“I shall take you into isolation, for a month.”
His words stunned her. “Oh, will you? And have you forgotten that I cannot travel?” She couldn’t help the impatience in her voice. No one ever listened to her. No one cared. Was it any wonder that she didn’t trust people? She had trusted him, out of all others, and he couldn’t even be bothered to remember. He was the same as all the rest. She’d made a horrid mistake in opening up to him.
She pulled away from him and held herself rigid, as if she could protect herself against the compelling force of his appeal.
He followed her and grasped her shoulders lightly. “Easy now, Nan. You must learn to trust me.”
His voice was gentle. She kept her shoulder muscles stiff beneath his touch. “I told you, I cannot bear the thought of riding in a carriage.”
He ran his fingertips caressingly over her upper arms. “I have considered all of that.”
Despite herself, her body relaxed.
He continued, “Mr Kean has agreed to oblige me. He purchased the property that lies between Whitecross and Eastwood this past winter. There is an old, abandoned farmhouse with a stable. It is within a reasonable walking distance for you.”
Her heart began beating very fast and heat washed over her.
“Wait.” She whirled to face him. “You mean to tell me Mr Kean knows?”
“He knows that I fancy you and want time alone with you. It’s hardly a lie. He is my closest friend—he will not betray my trust. We shall burrow up there as cosy as two badgers in the winter.”
She gave him an arch look. “What about servants?”
“We shall not need servants. We shall do for ourselves.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Do for ourselves? You mean play at being cottagers?”
“Yes, exactly.”
“It sounds frightfully rustic.” And like nothing she would ever be interested in. It was as absurd as all his other ideas. Spending time alone without servants—oh, yes, Ruel would be there but she didn’t trust people of her own class. She’d spent her life surrounded by servants. They could be counted on only for their service, which they were dearly paid for.
“You’re afraid of going without your abigail?” he asked.
She lifted her chin. “I prefer not to be without servants.”
“I thought you needed no one.”
His smooth, slightly amused tone ruffled her. “I don’t need anyone!”
“Prove it.”
“Prove it? Why should I need to prove anything? And to whom?”
“Prove it to yourself. Because you are too dependent on others. You don’t know how to trust yourself. Unless you truly are afraid to—”
“I am not afraid.”
“It will be fine. Trust me.” His voice held a chiding note. “I shall help you overcome your fears, away from prying eyes. You would be humiliated if anyone else were to know the depth of your fear.”
His words gave her pause. She had not considered that aspect. Perhaps no servants would be best. Yet something else disturbed her far more than the lack of servants. “But the risk of being caught…”
“You could use a little risk in your life. You’re barely alive now.”
She scoffed. “You say the most insulting things in such casual tones. I don’t need to play the reckless wanton to be alive.”
He laughed softly. “You don’t mean to tell me that you are afraid?”
“Of course I am not afraid.” She stiffened her spine. “I just don’t know about taking such wild risks.”
Well, it had been one thing to consider having an affaire with him, here at Whitecross, in the dark of night. It was quite another to contemplate planning and scheming to sneak away together.
“Anne, your problem is not so rare. You’ve decided somewhere along the way that you can’
t control the dangers and risks in life. It’s true. No one can. But you see this inability to control fate as a personal failing.”
“But life is so random.”
“You can, at times, decide to trust in the process of life to carry you through. You can choose to take measured risks to gain more confidence in your personal fate. Cranfield died because it was his time to die.”
“Personal fate? I’ll never believe that—and what rubbish, that I can gain confidence in the process of life, whatever that means, by becoming your…how did you put it? Your little wench.”
“All I am saying is, take some risks again. Give yourself the chance to see that it needn’t always mean sheer disaster to live a little. And then you’ll find yourself more able to cope with these fears you have. You’ll be better able to let go of this need you’ve always had to isolate yourself.”
“I just don’t know if I can justify the risk.”
Wait—was she actually beginning to consider this? His logic was persuasive. She could learn to be braver, feel more alive if she took some measured risks.
“Trust me to know what I am doing. No one will discover you. I shall never humiliate or shame you publicly.” He gripped the back of her neck with one hand. “But I do demand your obedience.”
It was strange how natural it felt for him to touch her in that way. It was even stranger how it seemed to quell all her fears and doubts. She began to feel once more as if she were someone else. And if she couldn’t trust herself, then she was truly lost. At an uneasy quivering about her navel, she placed her hand over her stomach.
“I am not so sure about that part.” She took a hitching breath. “I am not so sure about any of this.”
“I know. It’s near dawn. I am going to take you back to your bed now. But before I do, I want to give you some instruction.” His voice was firm, commanding. Something inside her took notice, seemed to awaken and become very attuned to him.
He released her neck, reached over her shoulder and lifted William’s locket. “If you agree to being mine and going away for the month, then you will let me know by coming to the ball tomorrow night, sans this necklace. You will take it off and put it away. I don’t want to see it on your neck again—not as long as you are mine.”
He let go of the necklace and she grasped it protectively. “I can’t.” She choked on the words.
“I insist. If you can’t obey me in even this little thing—”
“It is no little thing. This is the last gift he gave me.”
He lifted her hair. Cool air made gooseflesh rise on her nape, her nipples instantly stood to attention and her breath began to come in short, rapid inhalations. He wrapped the mass of her tresses around his hand and gave it a steady tug. The dull discomfort seemed to paralyse her. Her heart raced and fire flared in her sex.
“Nan, never interrupt me when I am giving you direction.”
Her cunt contracted several times, hard, as if he spoke directly to that private and primitive part of herself. Her body seemed to turn boneless. Her breasts swelled and ached. She wanted his hands on them, touching her with this harshness. The notion made her catch her breath.
“Do you understand me?” His velvet-smooth voice seemed more dangerous than his coolness had been.
“Yes,” she breathed, dropping the necklace.
“I don’t think you do, Nan.” He curled his hand around her neck. “For the next four weeks, there will be no part of you held back from me. No part of you will belong to anyone else—not even your late husband.”
“William has no part of me.”
“That’s not true Anne. You must learn to be more honest with yourself—and especially with me. I won’t tolerate you hiding yourself.” He released her neck and took her arms in his hands. There was something primal, fierce in his gaze. It made her throat dry. He slid down to encircle her wrists. A shiver raced through her, equal parts apprehension and excitement. His grip locked tight and she swallowed hard. “He still owns those parts of you that dared hope for fulfilment. He lingers in the bitterness of your disappointment and the self-punishment of your guilt.”
Her heart began to pound, rapidly, in a sheer panic of self-protection. He saw too much. He was dangerous to her. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to get away from him. Now. Before it was too late. She struggled against his hold.
He held her still, pulling her arms behind her. Like her dream-lover, restraining her. She found herself melting again and thrills pulsed through her. His large, long fingered hands constraining her were the most arousing thing she had ever known in waking hours.
“Do you see, Nan? I’ve got you.”
A sense of comfort, security like she’d never known spread through her, like butter on warm toast.
He maintained his grasp with one hand and touched her cheek. She didn’t—couldn’t—stop him as he tilted her face up and back. She was forced to look at him. His eyes were like flames. He would burn her. Consume her—but God help her, she wanted to be burnt, consumed.
“I will fulfil you, Nan and then his ghost—and all the doubt and guilt associated with it—will be put to rest for you.”
She wanted that. How desperately she wanted that! It seemed too much to hope for.
He brought his mouth down on hers, open, hot and hungry. Devouring her. She moaned and thought no more of William. Or of fear, or anything else.
Only Ruel.
* * * *
Anne rolled onto her stomach, too exhausted to untangle her legs from the sweat-dampened sheets—exhausted but not sated. She’d spent the past half an hour giving herself three climaxes.
“There will be no part of you held back from me.”
Just recalling the soft, absolutely commanding way he’d said that was enough to send the blood returning to her still throbbing flesh. Her lust-befuddled mind began to see the reason in Ruel’s logic.
Maybe he was correct. She needed to take some risks in life to give her a sense of control again. Measured risks—ones of her own choosing. But only under the most limited and controlled situations.
One month was not so long. She would be back in time to receive Mama’s letter and, hopefully, she would be recovered enough from her fears to make the carriage ride to meet Dorothea’s ship.
“I will fulfil you, Nan and then his ghost—and all the doubt and guilt associated with it—will be put to rest for you.”
She could still feel the heat of that last kiss, before he had released her wrists and brought her back here to her bed. She moaned with the memory of it and slid her hand back down between her thighs.
* * * *
“Well, it sounds mad, my lady, if you’ll forgive me for saying so.” Nellie gave the brush a fierce tug. Anne’s scalp burned and she winced. “Taking a lover—and such a scandalous one! Do you know what a libertine Ruel is? The kitchen maids have been agog with gossip—why, they will speak of nothing else! And going off alone with him! Have you taken leave of your senses?”
Anne’s stomach sank and, for a moment, she felt like a disobedient ten year old. However, she was twenty-two years old, a widow. Capable of making her own decisions.
“Do you want to be like Her Grace?”
Nellie’s carefully aimed words struck Anne in the heart. Mama and all her lovers. Mama who had tapped her foot impatiently, forcing Anne into a first Season when she was only sixteen and far too shy. Mama who had run away with a lover right after Anne’s wedding and stopped sending letters for three long years. Mama who was sending Anne asurprise package all the way from India.
But she wasn’t Mama. She would hurt no one with her affaire with Ruel—with the possible exception of herself. And Nellie had no place lecturing her like this. She forced herself to stare icily into the mirror and meet her abigail’s eyes.
“I think you forget yourself, Nellie. I don’t need your permission.”
Nellie stared back with a hurt expression. “I understand you less and less with each passing day, Lady Cranfield.”
The last two words were said with stiff formality. For the first time, her servant’s impertinence made her blood seethe.
“It’s not your place to understand me, just to serve me,” Anne said. “You will obey me in this and help me with my plans and tell no one.”
Nellie’s eyes went wide and she paled a bit. “Certainly, my lady. Always. You know I am loyal—unquestionably so.”
“Yes, I know,” Anne replied more softly, feeling heartsore over the exchange. Nellie had been the only person she trusted, the only person she relied on. Now that had changed and she had no one to confide in. Life suddenly seemed to too fast for her to cope with. She glanced at the silver locket lying on the blue velvet in her jewel box. She closed the lid and turned the little key.
* * * *
Anne waited as Ruel approached from the other side of the ballroom. The music from the quartet, the talking and laugher, all around faded away. Only he remained.
Save for his brilliant white cravat and waistcoat, he was clad all in black, even his trousers. Light from the many chandeliers shimmered on the sun-bleached streaks in his hair, making it appear as pale as moonlight. Her heart leapt into a rapid beat and her lower belly melted into liquid desire.
His bright blue gaze moved slowly over her in the sapphire silk gown. “Lady Cranfield, you have left off your necklace.”
“Yes, my lord.” She swept her gloved hand up to touch the stark emptiness at her collarbone. Why she hadn’t replaced it with another necklace, she couldn’t say.
A slight smile touched his lips. “I approve.”
Under his steady yet enigmatic gaze, she grew shy, tongue-tied.
He offered his arm. “Shall we dance?”
The absolute last thing she wanted was to end her mourning here, tonight, under Francesca and her friends’ nosy eyes. Running back upstairs and huddling under her coverlet seemed the most promising option.
But then she fancied his look turned slightly stern. She caught her breath and remembered his parting words to her last night in her chamber.
“You will not use your mourning as an excuse to hide yourself away any longer.”
A Measured Risk Page 8