Lust was like a roar in his ears now, drowning out everything else. His hands grasped folds of fabric, pulling her ball gown up in his fists until he could slip his hands beneath the layers of silk and muslin.
Her hands pressed into the grass on either side of him and she tried to lift herself away, but his hands slid up the backs of her thighs at once, cupping her buttocks to keep her where she was, and when she sank back against him and her hands came up to touch his face, he made a rough sound of triumph into her mouth.
He kissed her, shaping her buttocks with his hands, and her skin seemed to scorch his palms through the thin lawn of her drawers. He wanted her legs spread apart over his hips and he tried to pull the folds of her gown higher, but her skirt was too narrow for that, and he had to content himself with the sweet torture of her sex pressed against his groin. He flexed his hips, and that tiny move was so exquisite, he broke the kiss with a groan.
That was his mistake.
“We have to stop,” she gasped against his neck. “We have to stop.”
He shook his head in complete rejection of something so absurd. Stop? When it felt like this? He squeezed her buttocks again, holding her in place as he flexed his hips again, a move that wrung a sob of pleasure from her. But he had no time to relish the sound, for she began to struggle in earnest to extricate herself, her hands pressing into his shoulders to lift her away.
“Nicholas, let me go,” she panted. “We can’t do this.”
His body ached with need. “Don’t,” he pleaded through clenched teeth. “For God’s sake, Belinda, don’t stop me. Let’s make love, right here in the grass.”
“You’re mad.”
He might well be, but he couldn’t see how this sort of insanity was a bad thing. He wanted to caress her, pleasure her until she surrendered completely, but he feared that if he loosened his hold, she’d be off him like a shot, so he tried using words.
“I want you, Belinda, right here, right now. I’ve wanted you ever since that first day. Even while you were looking me up and down as if I was the most contemptible man you’d ever seen, I wanted you. What can I say? I’m a glutton for punishment.”
“You’re talking nonsense.”
“No,” he panted. “Not nonsense. It’s desire.”
“But that’s all it is,” she cried, and twisted her body, wrenching free and rolling off him. Before he could gather his wits, she was scrambling backward amid the tangle of her skirts, putting herself out of his reach before he could even sit up. “It’s nothing but lust!”
His body was on fire, leaving him unable to dispute that particular point. In truth, he felt as if disputes of any kind were beyond him. His body was in chaos at this moment. His heart was racing, his blood pounding through his veins, his cock aching, and his brains utterly gone.
He bent his legs, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, taking deep breaths and striving for some semblance of control over a body in complete rebellion. “What the hell is wrong with lust?” he muttered, that response the best he could manage under the circumstances.
He heard the swish of her skirts and looked up to see her rise to her feet. “It’s not love!” she said, panting. “That’s what’s wrong with it.”
“Love?” He shook his head, baffled, still caught in the throes of desire, trying to make sense of what seemed senseless.
“Yes, love! I realize that for you, that’s not a consideration—not in lovemaking, not in marriage, not in anything.” She paused, bending to reach for the train of her gown. “In fact,” she added as she straightened, hooking the train loop over her wrist. “I’m not sure you even know what love is.”
That unfair accusation was like a match to powder, igniting his already inflamed emotions. “You think I don’t know what love is?” He stood up, his body burning, anger flaming as desire cooled. “Believe it or not, Belinda, I was in love once. Only once, I grant you, but I know damned well what love is because I felt it, I had it in my hands, and I lost it.”
He never spoke of Kathleen, but he couldn’t stop himself from doing it now, for Belinda’s words made a mockery of what he’d felt all those years ago, and he couldn’t let it pass. “I was a lot like you, I expect. I met the love of my life, I thought it was perfect, beautiful, and right. Like you, I had no doubts, no fears, no questions. I felt a euphoric bliss that caught me up and made me feel that anything in this world was possible. And, yes,” he added, the words like acid on his tongue, “like you, I remember the deep, bitter disillusionment of knowing I was never truly loved in return. Of learning that to my beloved, money was more important than I was. Of knowing that everything has a price. My love, I’ll have you know, was worth ten thousand pounds, because that is what my father paid the woman I loved to abandon me and disappear. So don’t tell me I don’t know what love is because I know exactly what it is. I also know how it feels to lose it.”
Belinda pressed a hand to her bosom, her eyes wide with shock. “Your father bought off the girl you loved?”
Nicholas felt as if he were drowning—smothered by memories, thwarted desire, and his own anger. “Her name was Kathleen Shaughnessey. She was Irish, and Catholic, and poor, and her father was a tenant farmer on Landsdowne’s estate in County Kildare. I met her when I stayed there the summer I was nineteen. I was too young and stupid to realize that a girl like that couldn’t possibly be allowed to marry the future Duke of Landsdowne.”
“What happened?”
“First, he tried to separate me from Kathleen by summoning me home from Ireland before my holiday was up. He kept me at Landsdowne through the autumn and planted a beautiful and acceptable girl in my path.”
“Lady Elizabeth Mayfield.”
“Yes. Elizabeth and I already knew each other, of course. She’s a distant cousin, and our families had always hoped for a match between us. But when I wasn’t diverted from Kathleen, he orchestrated the entire episode—the house party, the chance meeting in the conservatory, Elizabeth throwing herself at me, and her mother walking in at just the right moment—all perfectly timed.” He gave a humorless laugh. “For a moment tonight, I really thought history was repeating itself, except that Landsdowne would never choose an American.”
“Nicholas, you don’t think—” She broke off and shook her head. “Rosalie would never devise such a scheme to trap you.”
“No, even before you arrived, I’d already guessed Rosalie just had a crush. But if her mother had come walking in instead of you, I might have revised my opinion.”
“So how did you learn your father was behind it?”
“Elizabeth’s not a very good liar. She broke down and finally admitted Landsdowne had arranged it. Both of them thought I would do the honorable thing, you see, but I refused to be manipulated by him or by her. So, when that plan failed, he went to Kathleen and told her to name her price. She did.”
He gave Belinda a grin of self-mockery. “So now you know the true reason for my requirements for a wife. I want just the sort of woman that my father would hate, one who’s rich enough to provide an income, yes, but one who is also so rich, so obscenely rich, that Landsdowne will be unable to bribe her to go away.”
“So you will make your choice of wife based on all the criteria that will best aggravate and frustrate him?”
“Damned right. After he cut me off, he told me he’d reinstate my income only if I wed, and the girl had to match his precise requirements in every detail. That’s typical of him. He thinks of himself as king of all he surveys, controlling everything and everyone.”
“And it never occurs to you to change that?”
“How?”
“Talk to him, hold out the olive branch—”
“Olive branch?” He laughed, a sound harsh enough that both of them winced. “You don’t understand in the least. For that, I’d have to be a person of flesh and blood to him, and I’m not. I’
m not his son. I’m just another means to get him what he wants. And I refuse to play his game.”
“My God,” she murmured, staring at him as if appalled, “that’s the driving force behind everything you do, isn’t it? Doing whatever your father does not want. The wild living, the bolstering of your bad reputation, the irresponsible spending of your income, finding a wife he won’t approve—all of it as some sort of . . . of revenge?”
“It’s not revenge. It’s avoiding the chains he has tried to wrap me in my entire life. It’s never allowing him to dictate to me or control me or have any power over me, my actions, or my life ever again.”
“But that’s just it, Nicholas. He does have power over your life. He has all the power.”
“What? That’s ridiculous.”
“No, it’s the truth.” She shook her head, giving a little laugh of disbelief as if amazed he didn’t see the situation the same way she did. “You live your entire life doing what he doesn’t want. You’re not free to make choices of your own accord, for all of them are predicated on what his choices would be and doing the opposite. You’re not the master of your life at all!”
His anger flared higher with every word she spoke. “Take care, Belinda. You go too far.”
“And what role do I play in this game between you?” she demanded, heedless of his words. “While you search for the wife most appropriate for outraging your father, and he works to force you to the woman he wants you to wed, what am I? Your plaything? Your way of passing time until the wedding day?”
“Of course not! I don’t think of you that way at all.”
“Or perhaps I’m just another outrageous way to get back at him. After all, I’m an American. I might give you a child who’s a bastard. He’d hate that, I’ll wager. And even if not, I’d still be a mistress, a distraction that prevents you from finding an appropriate duchess. If you had an affair with me, that would aggravate Landsdowne mightily, I expect.”
“That bastard has nothing to do with what I feel for you! Nothing.”
“How would I know that?”
“How would I prove it? What do you want? Declarations of love? Courtship rituals? A marriage proposal?”
The moment the words were out of his mouth, he knew they’d been the wrong ones to say. Her face hardened into implacable lines. “I will never marry again. And if I did, it certainly wouldn’t be you. Why would I want a man who has no ambition for his life beyond acting like a rebellious youth? A man who always prefers the easy path? I had a man like that, and I don’t ever want another.”
That cut him, inflicting more pain than any of the other injuries he’d suffered tonight. “That’s a lie,” he shot back. “I know damn well you want me. You want me as much as I want you. Or do you deny that scarcely five minutes ago, you were as caught up in desire as I was?”
“No, I won’t deny it. But desire is all it is, and desire without love and respect is nothing.” Her blue eyes glittered in the dim light. “You are a lily of the field, Nicholas, with no desire to change or better your circumstances by your own efforts. I cannot respect a man like that, nor ever truly love him.”
Her words felt like a knife slicing open his chest and exposing his soul, and he could only stand there, filled with fury and pain, as she turned and ran, vanishing between the hedges.
Chapter 14
His trunks were packed by half past seven the following morning. By quarter to eight, they were in the foyer, and a carriage was standing in the drive, ready to take him and his valet to the station. The only thing that prevented his departure was his hostess. He was waiting for her to come down so that he could bid her farewell.
Having learned he was leaving, the duchess had sent her maid to beg his indulgence long enough for her to dress and see him off. Nicholas, who needed all the friends he could get, and who found his hostess a delightful woman, complied with her request. He just hoped she didn’t take too long. The earliest train for London departed at quarter past eight, and he intended to be on it, for he couldn’t bear another moment of being near Belinda and being unable to have her.
It was hard to define what he felt, but he knew now it was more than desire because he’d desired many women before, and if any of them had told him what Belinda had, he’d have shrugged it off without a qualm. He’d never much cared what people thought of him.
Belinda, however, was different from any other woman, and that fact was the main reason he’d been up most of the night. Even now, her blunt words still rang in his ears, the disdain in them as unmistakable as it had been ten hours ago. And the devil of it was that he couldn’t refute a single word she’d said.
Oh, he’d tried. He had stayed in the maze last night after she had returned to the party—all night, in fact. At first, he’d been in such high dudgeon that all he’d been able to do was pace round and round the folly, telling himself all the reasons she was utterly wrong, punctuating these enumerations with some of the foulest curses he knew.
When he’d rather worn out that method of dealing with the situation, he’d been forced to admit that perhaps Belinda had a bit of a point. He’d lain down in the grass, staring up at the stars and thinking back over all the moments in his life when he’d chosen a course of action deliberately to oppose what Landsdowne wanted, and this review of his past had proved quite nauseating. Belinda had more than a point. Belinda, he’d been forced to concede, had been exactly right. The question he’d then had to face was what to do about it. How did a man break free of a habit he’d engaged in for most of his life?
There was also the matter of his financial difficulties to be resolved. Marrying money had seemed the only solution to his problems, and an easy solution at that, but Nicholas thought of his bruised face, his scratched shoulder, and his desperate longing for a woman who didn’t want him, and decided there was nothing easy about it.
Besides, finding an heiress to marry was clearly off the table now. A night spent lying in the grass, breathing in the cool spring air, had eased the desire for Belinda raging through his body, but that respite, he knew, was temporary. All he had to do was see her, or give in to his imagination, and those feelings would flare up again quick as lighting a match. He couldn’t imagine bedding any woman but her. And marrying her wasn’t a solution, either, for even if she had the blunt to solve his financial difficulties, which she didn’t, she certainly wouldn’t give it to him. Not in a thousand years.
And, truth be told, he wouldn’t take it.
You are a lily of the field, Nicholas, with no desire to change or better your circumstances by your own efforts. Why would I want a man who has no ambition for his life beyond acting like a rebellious youth? A man who always prefers the easy path?
In a few razor-sharp sentences, she had described him and his life, and though he didn’t like the description, it was a brutally accurate one.
It had been many years since he’d dared to dream of a purpose for his life. He’d even managed to convince himself that he didn’t want one. But last night had changed everything. Belinda had made him see the truth about himself, and though he didn’t like it, there was no going back. There was no easy path. And now, as he thought of being something more than a lily of the field, he felt hope stirring inside him, something he hadn’t had since he was a boy. He wanted to find a purpose for his life.
How he’d set about that still wasn’t quite clear. He’d fallen asleep in the grass with no solution in sight, but he’d woken at dawn to the realization that if there was a solution, he wouldn’t find it here. He wouldn’t find it by marrying a woman he didn’t love or by trying to charm his way into Belinda’s good graces. Neither of those would gain him her respect, and though he desired her body, he desired her respect even more. Without that, the rest meant nothing. She’d been right about that, too.
Her declaration that she had no respect for him had felt like a knife going in, but somehow during the night
, that wound had transformed into determination. There was fear, too, of course. Fear that hovered at the back of his mind like a shadow—fear that there was no solution, fear that he’d never gain her good opinion no matter how he tried, fear that he’d never be truly free of Landsdowne no matter what he did, but Nicholas forced down those unpalatable possibilities. He’d think of an answer because he simply refused to believe otherwise. Besides, as things stood, his situation couldn’t get worse than it already was, and he certainly couldn’t sink any lower in Belinda’s eyes than he’d already sunk, so there was nowhere to go but up.
“Trubridge?”
He turned as the duchess came down the last flight of stairs, looking charming in her morning wrapper of corn-colored cashmere. “I am so distressed that you are leaving already,” she said as she halted in front of him.
“It is my regret as well, Duchess,” he said with a bow.
“Is this sudden departure due to your injuries of last night?” she asked, as he straightened. “I heard,” she added, smiling a little, “that you had a spot of bother with some of my rosebushes.”
“The injuries are minor, I assure you. Still, I don’t believe it is ever wise to wrestle with a rosebush.”
“No, it’s rather a losing battle, I imagine.” She studied him for a moment, and her smile widened a bit. “And how is your face?”
“A bit sore, but tolerable, though I fear I shall have my second black eye of the season.”
“And over fisticuffs with Sir William?” She sighed, shaking her head. “I thought you were trying to rehabilitate your reputation.”
“I am.” He smiled at her. “I don’t seem to be getting on very well.”
She laughed and gestured to the door. “Walk with me a bit before you go. It’s a lovely morning. Now, don’t argue,” she added as he opened his mouth to reply. “I know the early train doesn’t go for half an hour yet. You’ve plenty of time.”
American Heiress [1]When The Marquess Met His Match Page 18