by Cheryl Holt
“You’re mad. He was being friendly.”
“I saw you looking back.” He grabbed her by the scruff of her neck, and he squeezed tight, shaking her as if she were a bad dog.
“Get down on your knees! Get down and beg the Lord for forgiveness.”
Mute and aggrieved, she gaped at him but didn’t move, so he forced her down. Recalcitrant whore that she was, she resisted with all her might, so he pushed and pushed until he had her on the floor. He held her there, as she cried and prayed, and he kept on and on until his back and arms ached, and he grew too weary to persist.
He tossed her away, and she stumbled to the side.
“Go to your room,” he spat, “and reflect on your sins. And if I catch you talking to Mr. Price again, I will beat you within an inch of your life.”
She scurried out and scrambled to the vestibule on her hands and knees. As she reached the stairs, she used the banister to pull herself up. Then she climbed to her bedchamber and shut herself in to repent in private where he wouldn’t have to watch.
Chapter Ten
“You’re to do what?”
“Measure you.”
“Why?”
Emeline scowled at Widow Brookhurst. Though most wives did their own sewing, she was the premier seamstress in the area. People sought her out for special garments like wedding dresses or baptismal gowns. They were in her shop in the village where Emeline had stopped to pick up supplies for the housekeeper at Stafford Manor.
“My instructions,” the widow explained, “were from the earl’s brother. The earl is buying you clothes.”
“The earl is buying me…clothes?”
“Yes. Your sisters, too. Bring them by tomorrow so I can check how tall they are.”
“When were you informed of this?”
“Earlier this morning. Mr. Price came by personally.” The woman raised a brow. “You’re to have whatever you need. I’m to spare no expense.”
Emeline shook her head. “There must be some mistake.”
“I received an order,” the widow huffed, “and I intend to fill it. It’s worth a fortune to me—both now and in the future.”
“But why would the earl buy me clothes? I don’t understand.”
“I’m supposing it’s because he let Mr. Mason burn your house down—with your all your possessions inside.”
“Mr. Mason has burned many houses. The earl hasn’t replaced anyone else’s belongings.”
“No, he hasn’t.”
Mrs. Brookhurst studied Emeline, and a warning bell began to chime. The widow was obviously speculating that Nicholas Price wouldn’t purchase expensive gifts for Emeline unless she’d done something to deserve them. What was he thinking by encouraging such gossip? Didn’t he realize the stories that would spread?
“I’d better return to the estate,” Emeline said. “I have to ask what this is about.”
“Oh, I know what it’s about,” Mrs. Brookhurst baldly retorted.
“I have no idea what you mean.”
“You’re very pretty, Emeline, and he’s a rich, handsome bachelor. You watch yourself.”
“Mrs. Brookhurst! Honestly! I hardly require a lecture on morals.”
“Well, someone should speak up. Your mother isn’t around to counsel you. A girl could easily get herself into trouble with a fellow like him.”
Dazed, Emeline had spun to go when Mrs. Brookhurst called, “Wait! I have a package for you.”
“What’s in it?”
“I had a few items that I’d prepared for other customers, but they’ll fit you. The earl insists you have them. I’ll send on the other pieces once they arrive.”
“What pieces?”
“He had me write to a shop in London where they have a selection of ready-made garments. He wants you fancied up faster than I can accomplish it.”
“That is ridiculous.”
“It’s interesting, how fond he’s grown. And so quickly, too.”
“He’s not…fond,” Emeline seethed. “He’s insane.”
“What about these?” Mrs. Brookhurst held up a neatly wrapped parcel. “If you’d rather not fuss with them, I can carry them to the manor for you.”
“Please don’t.”
“They’re paid for.” The widow shrugged. “You might as well have them.”
Her temper spiking, Emeline whipped away and stomped out.
If the entire neighborhood didn’t yet know about the gift, they’d soon learn of it.
What a disaster! Nicholas—yes, Nicholas was how she now thought of him; he was no longer the earl—had left her in a dangerous position.
The previous night, she’d lain in his bed and had gleefully allowed him to do delicious, amazing things to her. Pathetically, she was keen to misbehave again, the moment a clandestine tryst could be arranged.
She’d told Mrs. Brookhurst that he was insane, but Emeline was the one who was mad.
When they’d been snuggled together, he’d mentioned buying her a dress, but she hadn’t imagined he was serious. She’d naively deemed their encounter to be a spontaneous episode of mutual passion, but he seemed to have had a different opinion.
Apparently, he presumed her favors could be purchased, and she was to be paid for her participation. If the price was high enough, what else might he expect her to try?
Offended and furious, she marched on, when another notion occurred to her.
He was a male, and an especially obtuse one at that. Perhaps he’d intended no insult. Perhaps he simply hadn’t been informed that a man of his station couldn’t give a gift to a woman in hers, that the gesture would be misconstrued.
While she was aware that she constantly imbued him with traits he didn’t possess, she was eager to have the second possibility—that he was a clueless idiot—be the actual fact.
The mansion came into view, and she entered the house and proceeded to the kitchen to deliver the provisions she’d retrieved in the village. She lingered, eavesdropping on the servants. She was anxious to ask where Nicholas was, but she couldn’t pose a question without generating unwanted attention.
Eventually, she found out he was in the small dining salon, awaiting his breakfast. It was twelve-thirty in the afternoon, and the cook and her helpers were scurrying around, cracking eggs and slicing bread.
She slipped out, wondering if she dared barge in on his meal without invitation, but she swiftly persuaded herself that she could. For goodness sake, she’d completely disgraced herself with him, and he’d touched her in her most private places. If that didn’t confer some sort of status, she didn’t know what did.
She approached the doorway and peeked in. He was alone, his head in his hands, and he cut such a solitary figure that her heart ached. He looked so forlorn and dejected, his typical proud bearing tucked away.
What must it be like to be him? She’d heard the most tragic stories about his childhood, yet he’d built a life for himself in the army where he was reputed to be a man of great courage and fidelity.
He’d overcome so many obstacles. Who could blame him for being arrogant? After starting at the lowest point, he’d been elevated to one of the highest spots in the land. Wasn’t he entitled to his conceit?
He appeared to have just staggered out of bed. He hadn’t washed or shaved. His hair was down and uncombed, the tangled strands brushing his shoulders. He’d put on a coat and trousers, but he hadn’t donned a shirt so his chest was bare.
With what had transpired between them, how would they interact? Would he be flirtatious and fawning? Or would he be his usual abrupt self?
If she’d been hoping for a tender welcome, he quashed any foolishness.
“Emeline,” he snapped without glancing up, “stop lurking and get your ass in here.”
“How did you know it was me?”
“I told you last night, I’d recognize that snotty stride anywhere.”
“I can’t begin to guess what that means.”
“It means you walk like a scolding shr
ew. When I hear you coming, I brace myself for a reprimand.”
She pulled out a chair, and as she seated herself, he frowned and winced.
“Would you close the curtains?”
“No. It’s almost one o’clock. It’s about time you roused yourself.”
“My head is pounding like there’s an anvil inside it. The sunlight only makes it worse.”
“You’ll survive.”
“You’re too cruel, Miss Wilson. Why do I tolerate you?”
“I force you to behave. You secretly enjoy it.”
Suddenly, her sisters raced by out in the hall. They were shrieking like wild monkeys swinging through the trees.
“Ah!” he groaned, rubbing his temples. “What’s that noise?”
She laughed. “It’s the sound of children playing.”
“Children? In this house?”
“My sisters are here, remember?”
“Oh…”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize they were raising such a ruckus. I’ll tell them to pipe down.”
She started to rise, but he reached over and furtively squeezed her hand.
“No, don’t. They can be as loud as they like. I don’t mind.”
The butler traipsed in, two footmen trailing after him, carrying trays laden with food.
It had been over a year since they’d served their master, so they’d made a huge fuss. Platter after platter was arranged before him, eggs and toast and fruit and ham. The choices went on and on until it became embarrassing. It was enough for an army, but he scarcely noticed.
The butler hovered, waiting for a word, a command, but Nicholas remained slumped in his chair.
“Shall I prepare a plate for you, my Lord Stafford?” the butler said.
“I can do it myself.”
“How about Miss Wilson? We weren’t aware she was joining you.”
Nicholas glared at her, mutely asking if she was hungry, and she smiled at the butler. “I don’t need anything, Mr. Jenkins. I rose at a normal hour and ate at a normal hour. Unlike some people I could name.”
“Has she always been this sassy?” Nicholas inquired of Mr. Jenkins.
“Ah…ah…” The elderly gentleman was too polite to answer honestly.
“Should I have her whipped for insubordination? Or should I simply dunk her in the horse trough until she cools off?”
The butler’s eyes were round as saucers, and the footmen gaped with alarm.
“Quit being obnoxious,” she admonished. “They assume you’re serious.”
“I am serious.”
“He is not,” she scoffed to the three men.
“If you keep jabbering so I can’t eat, you’ll discover how serious I am.” He waved the servants away, and as they hurried out, he called to Mr. Jenkins, “If she continues to pester me, I’ll have you bring me a whip.”
The poor fellow stiffened with affront but trudged on.
“You are horrid,” she said as their strides faded. “They’ll spread tales that you’re a brute.
“I am a brute, now be silent and let me dine in peace.”
He filled his plate to overflowing and wolfed it down. He filled it again and wolfed that, too. She poured his tea, watching as he ate and ate and ate.
Finally, he shoved the food away, and he slouched, scowling.
“All right.” He sighed. “I’m ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“What have I done this time? You only seek me out to chastise me.”
“I do not.”
“You do, too. I feel as if I’ve hired a nanny. What crisis has arisen? Let’s see if I can fix it.”
He gazed at her, his hot attention sending shivers down her spine. He was dangerous and delectable, and she yearned to reach out and touch him. It was so difficult to pretend they were barely acquainted.
“You bought me clothes.”
“That’s your problem?”
“Yes. I didn’t ask for them.”
“No, you didn’t, but you need a new dress more than any woman I’ve ever met.”
“You’re missing the point.”
“What is it? Would you please get to it? I’ve slept late, and I have a thousand chores to finish.”
“People will talk.”
“I don’t care.”
“They’ll think that I…earned them in an indecent way.”
“You did earn them in an indecent way.” She sucked in a shocked breath, and he squeezed her hand again. “I’m joking, Em.”
“My neighbors won’t know that. I have to live here after you go back to London. I can’t have my reputation ruined.”
“I had Mr. Mason burn all your possessions. I owe you.”
“I still have a gown or two. I stuffed a pillowcase with the last of my things. I’m fine.”
“I can’t stand to have you walking around like a frump. You’re too pretty.”
“Thank you for the lovely compliment”—she blushed to high heaven—“but I can’t accept any gifts.”
“Not even for your sisters? You’d rather have them attired in rags?”
He studied her, his focus warm and inviting, then he jumped up and went to the door. He opened it and hollered as he yanked and yanked on the bell pull.
“Mr. Jenkins, I need you!”
The beleaguered man thundered up the stairs, obviously worried there was a calamity brewing.
“Yes, yes, milord, what is it?”
“I had Miss Wilson’s cottage destroyed.”
“I am aware of that fact, sir.”
“She and her sisters have nothing left—because of me.”
Jenkins made a feeble gesture, and he peered over at Emeline for assistance. She shrugged.
“In order to redeem myself,” Nicholas said, “I have bought them some clothes. I realize it’s odd for me to lavish her with such an extravagance, but I’m very sorry for my behavior. It’s my penance.”
Jenkins gawked at Emeline, then Nicholas, then Emeline, and he nodded. “Very good, sir.”
“While I’m in residence, she’ll be busy attending me.”
“I see.”
“There should be no concern over it.”
“I’m certain there won’t be, milord.”
“I’ve hired her as my…my…secretary.”
“Your…secretary?”
Emeline gasped. Women didn’t serve as secretaries. It was unheard of. Only men were deemed intelligent enough to handle such complicated tasks.
“Mr. Mason has informed me,” Nicholas kept on, “that she was overly educated by her father.”
“Too true, sir.”
“I decided to put all that schooling to work for me.”
“A wise idea, I’m sure.”
“This is another reason she needs clothes. She can’t be employed by me in such an important capacity while looking like a pauper.”
“Definitely not.”
“Tell everyone what I’ve told you,” he said. “I’ll have no disrespectful gossip about her. She’s living in the manor because of her job. She has to have a wardrobe commensurate with her position. Anyone who spreads rumors will answer to me.”
“Yes, my lord Stafford.”
Nicholas eased him out. “That will be all. You’re excused.”
He shut the door in Jenkins’s stunned face, and he paused, listening until the man’s steps faded, then he turned to her. He was grinning like an idiot.
“You are crazy,” she fumed.
“Crazy like a fox.” He tapped a finger on his temple. “Now I can spend as much time with you as I like, and it won’t be considered unusual. And if I want to buy you a new dress, I damn well will, and I won’t have to hear you complain.”
“Would you open the door?”
“No. You’re my secretary. I can be in a closed room with you. No one will think twice about it.”
“I will think twice.”
“You don’t get to have an opinion.”
He came back to his chair and
seated himself. He clasped hold of her hand and traced circles on her wrist. When he stared at her as he was, her thoughts became jumbled. He seemed to want something from her that she couldn’t give. Or perhaps he didn’t know what he sought, and he hoped she’d enlighten him.
Around him, she felt special, as if he valued her above all women, which was ridiculous in the extreme. But she couldn’t stop the race of the pleasure she suffered when she wondered if she might be beginning to matter to him.
How could he peer at her so ardently without there being a deeper meaning attached?
“You sneaked out of my bed,” he said. “I awoke and you weren’t there.”
“You assumed I’d stay the night?”
“Yes.”
“You’re insane. I can’t figure out why I visited you in the first place.”
“I missed you,” he absurdly declared.
“You did not.”
“I did. Isn’t that bizarre?”
Without warning, he grabbed her and dragged her to him. Her bottom was balanced on his thigh, her breasts crushed to his chest.
He kissed her slowly and mercilessly, his tongue in her mouth, his fingers roaming over her torso. Her muscles relaxed, her bones relaxed, her pores relaxed until she worried she might melt into a puddle on the rug.
She hadn’t the fortitude to deflect his delicious onslaught. She wished she could confess her predicament to an older, more experienced woman who could counsel her on how to resist him. Because what female would want to resist him?
It seemed as if she were perched on the edge of a cliff, that she’d jumped off and was falling and falling and falling. Where would she be when she landed?
“Good morning,” he said as he drew away.
“Good morning. How is your hangover?”
“I’m feeling better by the moment.”
“Do you drink excessive amounts so that you have an excuse for your bad behavior?”
“No, I drink because I like it. And I misbehave because I’m a rogue and a scapegrace.”
“I don’t believe that about you.”
“What don’t you believe?”
“You enjoy acting the scoundrel, and you like pretending that you’re a lout, but you’re not. Not deep down.”
“You’re wrong. I’m as awful as everyone claims. You shouldn’t forget it.”