by Cheryl Holt
His hands roamed over her body, caressing her arms, her back, and occasionally even her bottom. His touch was reverential, worshipful, as if she was immensely special to him and he cherished her above all others.
Gradually, he slowed and drew away which was good. She had to be at Madame LaFarge’s shop at three. Priscilla’s temper was always a concern, and she didn’t dare be late, but she was so overwhelmed by him that she might have sat there and kissed him forever.
“Catherine,” he said, “I’m bowled over by you.”
“As I am by you.”
“What are we to do about it?”
“I don’t know. Can you feel what’s occurring?” she asked. “It’s not just me?”
“No, it’s not just you. It’s as if there’s some sort of destiny at work. It’s magical, as if Fate has cast a spell on us.”
“That’s my opinion exactly. After we parted yesterday, I tried to convince myself that our friendship was fleeting and insignificant.”
“I tried the same.”
“But it’s not, is it?”
“No.”
“I’m not experienced in amour as you are. Please tell me I’m not mad.”
He smiled a spectacular smile. “You’re not mad. This is very unique.”
“How shall we proceed? Is it hopeless?”
“No situation is ever hopeless,” he told her.
“I don’t have any money so I could never be your wife, and I can’t imagine merely socializing at Vauxhall or the theater. I can’t imagine flirting and chatting and there being no point to it.”
“Neither can I.”
“Can this end in a good way?”
“I’m not sure,” he said. “I have to think on it.”
Tears sprung into her eyes. He was the only fantastic thing that had happened to her in years. He made her world brighter simply by his being out there in it. If she had to forsake him, it would kill her so she had to keep him for her own. She’d gotten so used to giving in, to relinquishing what she had, and for once she would behave in a different manner.
He was worth fighting for! She wouldn’t blithely walk away.
“I’m so afraid I’m mistaken about you,” she said. “I’m not, am I? You’re not toying with me—as you do with other girls?”
“Hush, Catherine. This is real and true. There’s such fondness bubbling up.”
“Yes, it’s extraordinary.”
“I agree. It’s extraordinary and astonishing.”
She wondered—if she asked him—if he would allow her to introduce him to her sisters. She wanted their advice about him. She’d been on her own for so long, and she was so lonely. What if she’d been blinded by romance and wasn’t seeing him clearly? What if her forlorn spinster’s mind was playing tricks?
But as she gazed at him, she wasn’t confused. She thought he was every bit as remarkable as he seemed to be. When she climbed out of the carriage to return to Priscilla, she was certain he would be bereft—as she would be bereft.
“I have to go to the country,” he said. “I have some issues with my brother and my tenants so I’ll be away for at least a fortnight.”
“I’m going away too, but just for a week.”
“Will you tell me where you’re living so I can call on you after I’m back?”
Her heart lurched in her chest. It would be a disaster to have him show up at Mr. Bolton’s door. “No, I couldn’t have you come there.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Are your Sunday’s free?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Then two weeks from Sunday, I’ll meet you at Vauxhall. We’ll talk about the future. We’ll figure out how we can be together.”
“Do you mean it?”
He paused and frowned. “I mean we’ll try to figure it out, Catherine. I can’t guarantee anything, but we’ll try. There are so many problems we have to address.”
“Yes, yes, I understand.”
“If there’s a method to bring it to fruition, we’ll find it.”
“Swear to me.”
“Oh, my dear, yes, I absolutely swear.”
She studied him and saw a deep, abiding affection, and she smiled a tremulous smile. “I believe you.”
“Of course you should believe me, you silly goose.”
Like young children sealing a vow, she held out her pinky finger, and he linked his to hers. They both nodded with satisfaction, then she said, “I have to go.”
“Are you my Cinderella again? Are you about to turn into a pumpkin?”
“I just might.”
He pulled her close and delivered a frenzied, desperate kiss that left her reeling with delight.
“Go then,” he said. “For if you stay another second, I won’t ever let you leave.” She slid off his lap, and he reminded her, “Vauxhall, in two weeks. Don’t forget.”
“How could I?”
“I’ll be at the spot where we had our picnic.”
“At two o’clock?”
“Yes, and if I’m late wait for me.”
“I’d wait for you forever.”
He traced a finger across her lips, and she drew away, knowing he was correct. If she didn’t get out of the carriage at once, she would never depart.
“Goodbye,” she murmured.
“Not goodbye. I’ll see you very soon.”
“Yes, very soon.”
She pushed open the door, and the footman was still patiently watching for her to exit. He helped her out, then she raced down the alley to the street. She slowed and eased herself into the passing crowd.
In no time at all, she was at Madame LaFarge’s shop. She squared her shoulders, patted her hair, and ran a hand down her shawl and dress.
When she entered the receiving room, only the blush on her cheeks and the twinkle in her eye indicated an amazing event had occurred.
CHAPTER FIVE
“Hello, Miss Markham.”
“Hello, Mr. Turner.”
Bentley Turner smiled as Libby Markham swept on by. He realized he was invisible to her, but he always put himself in her path so she’d have to greet him.
They were in the driveway of Mr. Bolton’s home. She had on her cloak and bonnet and was about to climb into a cab. There was no maid in it so she was trotting off alone again.
He was disturbed by her independent ways, and he wished Gertrude Bolton would take her in hand before she got herself into trouble. But Miss Bolton didn’t believe it was her duty to supervise Miss Markham, and Mr. Bolton certainly couldn’t be bothered.
“Are you going out?” he asked her.
“Yes,” she replied, but she offered no details as to her destination or purpose.
“I’m just delivering some papers for Mr. Bolton.”
“Oh. How nice.”
He walked her to the cab and opened the door. He assisted her as she stepped in and sat down.
“How have you been?” he asked.
“Me? Fine.”
“Have you had any adventures lately?”
“Too many to count, Mr. Turner.”
“I hope you’ll permit me to hear about them someday.”
“I’m sure your ears would catch on fire.”
“Will you be traveling with the family to the country on Wednesday?”
“No.”
“I’m not traveling with them either so we’ll both be in the city.”
He’d worked for Mr. Bolton for over two decades, since he was sixteen. He was forty now, and he’d never had a different job. He was personal clerk to Mr. Bolton and was hailed as a senior man in the company. Mr. Bolton consulted him on nearly every issue, and he listened to Bentley’s advice too.
Bentley was often included at the Boltons’ rural parties. Mr. Bolton never liked to be away from work so even when he was on holiday there were tasks to be managed. But this year, Bentley had important responsibilities i
n town so the invitation hadn’t been extended.
He’d wanted to feel slighted, but Mr. Bolton had specifically requested he stay behind so it was silly to complain.
“On Saturday afternoons,” he said, “I attend the matinee at the theater.”
“Good for you,” she distractedly murmured.
“Since we’ll both be in London, I was wondering if you might like to join me.” She flashed such a piteous look that he hurriedly added, “It was just a thought—in case you were bored.”
“Trust me, I won’t be bored.”
She tugged on the door, and though he hesitated it was only appropriate that he release it. He shouldn’t pester her.
“Well…I’ll see you soon,” he mumbled.
“Yes, I suppose you will.”
“Be careful. Promise?”
“I’m always careful, Mr. Turner.”
He’d discovered that wasn’t true, but he couldn’t admit it. He’d followed her occasionally, but not with any nefarious intent. His own life was particularly dreary so he was fascinated by her.
He was so curious about her, but to his great dismay he’d spotted her getting into and out of carriages she shouldn’t have been in. Once she’d even entered a gentleman’s apartment which no single lady should ever do.
Yet he couldn’t explain how he’d accumulated such information, and she’d never be gratified by his interest. Besides, he was much too shy to discuss it.
“Goodbye,” he said.
“Goodbye.”
He motioned to the driver, and the man cracked the whip, the horse pulling away.
Bentley stood on the sidewalk, watching her disappear. With her lush brunette hair and big brown eyes, her slender figure and vivacious habits, she was just so pretty and appealing, and he’d like to muster the confidence to tell her his opinion.
But she wouldn’t be eager to receive his compliments. She barely knew he was alive, and in fact he was positive she’d scoff at them. He would commit any folly merely so she’d notice him, but he had no idea how to garner her attention.
For a brief moment, he considered tagging after her to be certain she was safe as she promenaded around town by herself, but that type of conduct was insane.
He sighed with regret and turned away.
* * * *
“I had about given up on you.”
Nicholas Swift barely glanced up from his cards as Libby strolled into the room.
“I told you I’d be here.”
“So you did.”
There was usually a card game proceeding in his private quarters, his parlor regularly packed with gamblers and their doxies. Libby was the only respectable female stupid enough to show her face in the sordid apartment. No other decent girl would dare, but she struggled very hard not to be respectable, and she didn’t have anyone to counsel better behavior.
If people at the Boltons’ had tried to rein in her antics, she’d have ignored them anyway. She didn’t like being ordered about, and she proved every bad rumor about vicar’s daughters and what they were really like.
If he’d been any sort of gentleman, he would have forbidden her from visiting, but he was humored by her blatant infatuation. He understood her all too well. After all, he was thirty, and she was eighteen.
She was desperate to be ruined, and she assumed—if he succumbed to her abundant charms—he would propose after they’d fornicated. Unfortunately for her, he had no desire to fornicate with her, and even if he grew bored and forged ahead, he would never wed her afterward.
He was a handsome, debonair scoundrel, and his path was littered with a string of jilted maidens just like her. He’d never marry unless he managed to snag a very rich heiress. Even then, he might not agree. He was that much of a bachelor.
He’d clarified his position a dozen times, but she didn’t believe him. She was bent on destruction. Was it his fault if she was determined to engage in mischief? Was it his duty to prevent her? He didn’t think so.
She was hovering over by the sideboard, studying the liquor and clearly wanting a drink, but not having the nerve to imbibe without it being offered.
“Fill a glass for yourself,” he told her.
“You don’t mind?”
“No. I hate females who are sober.”
The other men at the table snickered. They’d seen Libby before, but none of them could figure out his relationship with her. So far, they’d shared numerous carriage rides and many passionate kisses at Vauxhall, but that was it.
He was delighted to dally with her—he would oblige any fetching trollop—but it would never conclude as she was expecting.
The last wagers were made, and he lost the money he’d bet so he threw down his cards.
“I’m out,” he said to the other players, “but feel free to continue. I have a task that suddenly needs tending.”
They snickered more vigorously, and he went over to where Libby was still loitering by the liquor. She hadn’t poured any for herself so he did it for her. She liked the taste of whiskey, and he was thrilled to supply all she could handle.
He leaned down and nibbled her nape, and she giggled and shifted away. He whispered, “Let’s go upstairs.”
“Why?”
“I’ll tell you once we’re there.”
He clasped her wrist and led her away, several pairs of eyes watching them depart. The doxies especially were intrigued. He was a dashing and dangerous man, and they’d all like to have the chance to tumble him, but for now Libby would be the one to entertain him.
She was naïve and inexperienced, confusing lust with amour so she was easy to manipulate. He didn’t have to expend any effort.
They hurried up to his bedchamber, and he closed the door. He was gradually training her, and he drew her into his arms and delivered a hot, stirring kiss. She had a wicked nature, and he was amazed she hadn’t been ruined years earlier. Why wasn’t she married with a fat, lazy husband and three or four brats pulling at her skirt?
“I brought you something,” she said as he finally broke away.
“What is it?”
She dug in her reticule and produced a woman’s gold ring with a large green stone that he predicted would turn out to be an emerald. He’d be able to sell it for a pretty penny.
He always needed money and was constantly pursuing various schemes to accumulate it. At the outset, he’d explained his financial problems to her so she’d feel sorry for him. Women suffered from such a desire to rescue a drowning man. She had instantly realized how she could help him and, in the process, win his undying devotion.
“Is this from Miss Priscilla’s jewelry box again?” he asked.
“From one of her boxes.”
“You have to stop stealing from her. I’m so afraid you’ll be caught.”
“She has so many rings. She’ll never miss one of them. I doubt she’s ever even worn it.”
“I hope not. I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble because of me.”
“Even if they suspected me of pilfering, I’d never reveal the identity of the person I gave it to.” She shot him a fervid, worshipful look. “I’d never betray you.”
He snorted with disgust. “If you tried, I’d simply lie and say you were deranged. I’ve been very clear in stating my opinion that—should I ever be questioned about you—I will deny any acquaintance. You shouldn’t assume I’d act any differently.”
Her reply was ridiculous. “You like to pretend you’re horrid, but you’re not.”
Ah…so young, so smitten, so incredibly foolish…
“I’m not joking,” he insisted. “I would never permit you to implicate me.”
“I know, and I never would. Don’t fret about this. I’m invisible in the Bolton house. They would never wonder about me.”
“I shall pray it stays like that.”
She’d left her cloak and bonnet at the door, and her hair was pinned up. He gripped her waist and spun her so her
back was to him. He tugged out the combs, and the brunette locks fell in a curly wave.
He drew her nearer, her bottom pressed to his phallus, and he thought about undressing her to discover what she was hiding under all those layers. As of yet, he hadn’t indulged in much beyond kissing, but a man could only practice so much restraint.
“I have another surprise,” she told him.
“Is it bigger than an emerald ring?”
“Well, I believe it’s bigger.”
“What is it?”
“The Boltons are going to the country on Wednesday. The whole family.”
“Interesting,” he murmured. “How about you? Are you going too?”
“No.” She glanced at him over her shoulder. “I’ll be home by myself all week. What do you think of that?”
“I think,” he said, “it sounds marvelous. I imagine you’ll amuse me in all sorts of ways.”
She grinned. “I’m planning on it.”
* * * *
“Let’s not quarrel, Gertrude.”
Gertrude bit down on dozens of caustic comments. She took a deep, calming breath. “I’m not quarreling, Herbert. I’m simply trying to get some answers.”
“I don’t have any for you.”
“I feel I deserve some.”
They were in the front parlor, and it was very late. Their supper guests had departed, and Priscilla and Miss Barrington were in bed. She’d finally managed to trap Herbert for a private chat which he hated.
When she was a girl, she’d loved him, but she was forty-five now, and he was fifty. She would no longer describe herself to be in love with him, but she’d certainly proved her loyalty and dedication.
He wasn’t handsome anymore. His hair was gray, his eyes gray. He’d been bald for decades, and he’d never been a tall man. Rich living had left him very rotund so he proudly displayed his belly to indicate he could afford an expensive diet.
She, on the other hand, was still as slender as she’d been at twenty. Her hair was gray too and thinning, and her face sported so many worry lines that she looked much older than she actually was.