Forbidden

by Rachel Van Dyken

  The wind had been bitter and Mariah had walked briskly, hoping to warm up from the exercise.

  She hadn't done. And as a result she had taken herself off to the other end of the room where the fire still blazed having been seen to by a maid not long before she left the room.

  It was as she was sitting there, making a proper list out of the illegible scrawls she'd made on her way round the room that morning, that the door opened and Mr. Haverton entered, looking immediately toward the desk she'd been sitting at that morning.

  Mariah had long since thought herself a mature, respectable and imminently sensible young woman, due in no small part to the fact that anyone would seem mature, respectable and imminently sensible compared to the other females in her family.

  However, at that moment she learned that as it turned out, she was only mature, respectable and imminently sensible when not faced with speaking with the man whose head she had patted that morning.

  She had a choice; alert him to her presence at this end of the room, or hide like a small child.

  She hid like a small child.

  Ducking behind the tall back of the chair before he turned her way, she curled herself into a ball and prayed to the Almighty that he would assume she had gone off somewhere and not coming looking for her.

  If he came down here and found her in a ball she would have to feign some malady or other. She couldn't let him know that she was hiding from him, after all.

  Mercifully after a moment she heard his retreating footsteps but she did not move until she heard the door closing softly behind him.

  Letting out a sigh of relief, she resolved then and there to work even harder and quicker so that she could be out of here sooner than originally planned.

  And so that was how she found herself moving stealthily down the corridor, tiptoeing like a thief in the night and heading to the stables before anyone saw her.

  "Pardon me, madam."

  Mariah shrieked and whipped around at the sound of the voice and as she did, she heard an answering roar of fright from poor, innocent Fernshaw who had only been trying to get her attention.

  "Oh, Mr. Fernshaw I am sorry but you gave me such a fright."

  "My sincere apologies, madam. I did not mean to startle you."

  "That's quite alright," Mariah assured him before taking in his pallor and the fact that he seemed to be pressing a hand to his heart.

  She had no doubt scared the wits out of him screaming like she was being attacked.

  "Er, are you alright?" she asked now. The last thing she needed today was to kill the butler.

  "Yes, madam. Quite well," he said immediately though to Mariah's eyes he still looked rather grey.

  The sudden sound of running feet had them both turning toward the source and Mariah's stomach dropped to her shoes when Mr. Haverton skidded to a halt in front of them.

  "What's wrong? What happened?"

  "Happened?" she asked, furrowing her brow.

  "Yes" he bit out impatiently, "I heard a woman's scream. Yours presumably? And then a man's."

  "Yes, that was me. And Mr. Fernshaw as it happens. We gave each other quite a fright, I'm afraid."

  "Fernshaw?" Mr. Haverton gaped and then, if she was not very much mistaken, his lips quirked in an almost smile. "Why, Fernshaw, I do not think I've ever heard to you speak above a whisper."

  "I've never had a need to, sir. Until now," answered the butler dryly.

  Mariah felt her face flame again.

  "Was there something you wanted Mr. Fernshaw?" she asked, ignoring Mr. Haverton. "Only I really should be going now."

  "Yes, there was." It was Mr. Haverton who answered, not the butler. "I had sent Fernshaw to relay a message for you to meet me in my study. If I had known you were going to squawk at him loud enough to wake the dead, I should never have set the unfortunate soul the task."

  Mariah had never wanted to slap somebody so much in her life, not even Lillianne.

  Choosing to take the moral high ground, she ignored his snide little comment.

  "Was there something you wanted, sir?" she asked, all stiff politeness.

  As though he could read her mind, Mr Haverton grinned, a genuine full blown smile and the result was staggering.

  Mariah's pulse quickened and her heart leapt.

  When Mr. Haverton smiled, he went from broodingly handsome to incredibly beautiful. There really was no other word for it.

  Mariah would never have described a man as beautiful before but that was what he was. Beautiful and powerful, exuding an aura of authority that she found extremely attractive.

  She felt, quite honestly, a little dazed.

  "I wonder if I might have a word," he said now.

  Mariah said nothing.

  "If that is not too inconvenient?"

  Again, nothing. She could not speak.

  "Miss Bolton?"

  Speak, Mariah she chastised herself.

  "Yes." She finally remembered to breathe. "A word. Fine. Yes. Fine."

  Stop speaking, Mariah she chastised again and abruptly closed her mouth.

  He was looking at her as though she belonged in Bedlam. He wasn't far wrong.

  "Shall we?" he said finally, gesturing towards his study.

  Without another word she stalked past him, nose in the air.

  She may be acting like a complete dolt around him but she would not let him see the affect he had on her.

  Once they reached the study, Mariah stood wringing her hands while Mr. Haverton circled his desk and sat behind it.

  "Please, sit," he said formally.

  Mariah preferred to stand but she did not want to seem peevish.

  "Can I offer you some refreshment?" he asked politely.

  "No, thank you, sir. I really must be heading back home soon." Mariah said glancing nervously about her. Being in close proximity to him was playing havoc with her poor nerves.

  The study was dim and gloomy and not at all pleasant, she decided. Though the heavy oak furniture and burgundy colours were usual for a gentleman's room, there was an air of gloom about the place. She didn't like it at all.

  "You do not approve of the décor?" Haverton asked and Mariah realised with a start that he'd been watching her.

  "I do not approve or disapprove, sir," she lied.

  "Come Miss Bolton, you can be honest. I will not take offence. After all, the design is not mine."

  "Well, in that case, it's really ugly," she blurted out.

  To her surprise, he threw back his head and laughed aloud. To her further surprise, she suddenly had an uncontrollable urge to scramble over the desk and kiss him right on the column of throat that was exposed from his laughing.

  What a wanton she was! If her mama ever learned of her secret thoughts, Mariah would never recover.

  "I agree," he said now, the remnants of his laugh still on his face.

  He looked a lot younger when he laughed. More carefree.

  Mariah smiled tentatively back.

  "Miss Bolton, I called you in here to discuss a matter of great importance," he said now all seriousness.

  A lifetime of not living up to her mother's expectations immediately put Mariah on edge.

  "What did I do?" she asked.

  "What?"

  "What did I do?"

  "Nothing. Why?"

  "Because in the general way of things, when people want to talk to me about something of great importance it's either a minor ailment that they think will kill them. Or it's my mother. Whom I frequently think will kill me."

  Haverton stared at her once again before shaking his head and chuckling softly.

  "Miss Bolton, I can safely say that you are unlike anyone I have ever met in my life."

  Mariah wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not so she did not comment.

  "You did not 'do' anything," he continued. "At least not to my knowledge. Unless of course you count almost killing the butler."

  "I did no—"

  "The reason," he went on, hol
ding up a silencing hand, "I asked you in was to explain my earlier behaviour."

  Mariah blinked in surprise and waited. This should be interesting.

  Mr. Haverton gazed at her for a moment before standing and running a hand through his hair.

  "Miss Bolton, as you know I did not expect – rather, I had not thought that the person recommended to me would be a woman."

  "Yes, I gathered," she said dryly because she really never had been able to stay quiet in such situations.

  "Yes, well, I realise that my behaviour was—"

  "Rude?"

  "Odd."

  "Ah."

  "Are you going to keep interrupting?"

  "No, of course not."

  "Very well. I am sure I seemed a little, well—"

  "Brutish? Bad tempered? Arrogant?" she supplied.

  "Alright, forget it."

  "No, no. I'm sorry. I shan't interrupt again."

  He eyed her suspiciously for a minute before huffing out a sigh and coming to lean against the desk in front of her.

  "Miss Bolton, I am sincerely sorry for my, what was it? Brutish and bad-tempered behaviour."

  "And arrogant," she whispered softly.

  His lips quirked.

  "And arrogant. I must say though, that I can already see how much work you've done in the library and it is very impressive. You are a diligent librarian."

  "Thank you," Mariah said sincerely, trying not to sound too smug.

  And then, because she really did have a problem, she added, "Surprising for woman, is it?"

  "Miss Bolton, I assure you my earlier, er—"

  "Rudeness."

  "Yes, thank you" he said through gritted teeth. "Anyway, as I was saying, my earlier behaviour was in no way a reflection of my opinion on the capabilities of your sex to do a job well."

  "Ah, I see."

  He smiled in relief.

  "So it's just me, and not women in general that you have a problem with?" she asked pleasantly.

  His smile faded.

  "Bloody hell," he muttered standing up from the desk and muttering even more oaths, some of them rather inventive as he stalked toward the side table at the window.

  Mariah watched in amazement as he poured himself a very generous measure of brandy, offering her one by way of gesturing with the bottle. She shook her head in refusal. Somehow she did not think that her mother would approve of her arriving home in her cups.

  After throwing back the contents of his tumbler, Mr. Haverton turned to look at her again. His face was an emotionless mask but Mariah spotted the pulse in his temple; no doubt he was working very hard to keep some emotion or other in check.

  "Miss Bolton," he finally said wearily, "I had hoped that the house would be filled with silent servants and an unobtrusive, bookish young man. I have neither the time nor the inclination to host anybody else under my roof. You are neither male nor unobtrusive."

  "No, I am not. Though I feel it is only right to point out that you sought me out to speak today, sir. Not the other way around. Furthermore, I was led to believe that you and your wife would not arrive until Christmas or thereabouts and that my job was to be finished before then, if at all possible. Tis hardly my fault if you changed your plans and arrived early."

  Well, that had probably done it. No doubt he would now inform her that her services were no longer required but really, that may not be a bad thing.

  The truth of it was, if she wasn't angry and or insulted by him, she was panting like a dog at his sheer, overwhelming attractiveness. Neither state was a good one, especially in light of the fact that he had a family.

  "My wife?" he asked in confusion.

  "Well, yes. I mean, I assumed when Mrs. Yates mentioned your family that—"

  "I am not married, Miss Bolton. If I were, your presence would not be a problem."

  Mariah started at his words. What did he mean by that?

  "I don't know—"she began before he held up a hand stopping her.

  "My life is — complicated at the moment, Miss Bolton. Further complications therefore, are unwelcome. I have no doubt that you have the skills required to take on this task, but you are very much a complication."

  "But how?" she demanded, jumping from her seat, incensed. "And why? What have I done except mistake you for a groom and, well, yes I did almost kill your butler but he frightened me first."

  "You misunderstand," he said softly. "Although you are one of the strangest females I've ever met, unusually outspoken and, well, loud," he said with a wince, which earned him a scowl, "it wouldn't matter if you were quiet as a church mouse. You are a complication."

  "Why?" she asked again, sending him an exasperated glare.

  Mr. Haverton placed his empty glass on the table, with more force than was necessary in her opinion, and then turned toward her.

  He stared at her and she stared right back. She would not back down on this. She would not return home and tell her mama that she'd failed and had displeased the new man in town. She would likely never hear the end of it.

  Finally he sighed and ran a hand once more through his hair. Mariah's hands fairly itched to follow suit but she balled them ruthlessly into fists. She would not, could not let herself feel relief at the fact that he wasn't married as she'd assumed.

  "Because," he said after an age, stalking toward her.

  Mariah's heart began to gallop.

  "You are the most distractingly beautiful woman I've ever seen, and I cannot concentrate on what I need to do when my efforts are being spent on not ravishing you on the spot."

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Mariah had never in her life been accused of being speechless, but she could not think of a single word to say to that.

  Her breathing became laborious and a sharp jolt of desire pierced her with such force that she almost staggered.

  Her mother's words of virtue and propriety screamed in her head, warning her of rakish, untrustworthy men and the importance of living a pure, blemish-free existence.

  Yet at that moment, she had an almost physical desire to throw herself into his arms and be entirely improper.

  Not that she knew what that entailed but she rather guessed that she would enjoy finding out.

  But of course, she couldn't do such a thing. Much as she'd like to.

  "Do not look at me like that."

  Mr. Haverton's strained voice cut through her haze of longing.

  "Like what?" she whispered, still breathless, still very much wanting to be the opposite of good.

  "Like the idea of being ravished doesn't horrify you," he said bluntly.

  Mariah, a voice still annoyingly like her mother's scolded her, do not open your mouth in that brutal forthright manner of yours. Do not say what you are thinking.

  "It doesn't," she blurted out.

  Her conscience, Mariah thought, did a horrible job of actually stopping her from doing stupid things.

  She watched his eyes widen at her words, watched their chocolate-brown depths grow darker until they seemed black as sin.

  "You shouldn't say such things," he muttered hoarsely.

  "I know," she whispered.

  "You do not even know me," he went on.

  "I know," she repeated. Evidently she had lost the ability to sound like an intelligent human being.

  "You would be well served to stay away from me, Miss Bolton," he said though in opposition to his words, he stepped closer still.

  Never had Mariah appreciated what a difficult task inhaling and then exhaling was.

  "No doubt," she answered now, sounding more confident than she felt.

  She was terrified. Not of him but of the feelings raging through her as they spoke.

  "Yet, here you stand," he finished.

  Mariah swallowed, feeling that she was on the precipice of something much larger than she could really handle.

  This was madness. Sheer, unadulterated madness. Why, she did not even know the man yet her body clamoured for him in a way she had read about
but never experienced.

  She should walk away. Turn on her heel and return home. She should tell him that she could no longer continue working under his roof. Possibly smacking his face for good measure.

  What she absolutely, categorically should not do was encourage him at all.

  "Yes," she encouraged anyway, "I do."

  Time seemed suspended. Mariah could not have moved away if the Prince Regent himself had demanded it.

  She waited in breathless anticipation.

  She was not disappointed.

  With a muttered oath, Mr. Haverton pulled her roughly toward him, grasping her waist with one strong hand, the other burying itself in her hair.

  Mariah gasped at the feel of his strong, solid body pressed so closely to her own.

  Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew this should not be happening.

  But then his lips crushed her own and all rational thought was silenced.

  Mariah had never felt pleasure like what she was feeling right now.

  His lips were hard and demanding and fuelled her need even more.

  She gasped in shock at the sensations that burned through her and he took the chance to deepen the kiss.

  Mariah's knees almost buckled at the feel of his tongue against her own and she was quite sure that it was only his strong arm holding her up that stopped her from melting to the ground.

  A curious mix of satisfaction and a visceral need for more was surging through her, the fire that had ignited in her belly spreading through her so that even her toes tingled with the heady sensation.

  As inexperienced as she was, she did not know if this was the usual way of things but she knew on some level that it could not be.

  If this was how every kiss felt, nobody would ever stop. She felt right now that she would never stop.

  Feeling emboldened by her desire, by the evidence of his own, Mariah tentatively mirrored his actions and the result was as immediate as it was intense.

  Haverton growled and pulled her tighter still. Mariah could barely breathe but she didn't care. How could she, when he was making her feel more alive than she'd ever felt in her life?

  He dragged his lips from hers but before she had the chance to feel the loss, he moved to trail them along her sensitive neck, raising yet more sensations.