“It does not hurt to play the field, at least until one has a ring on one’s finger.” Predictably, Mama sprang to Amelia’s defence. “Mrs. Devonshire is still averse to the match, and if she has her way it will not go ahead.”
“What did Lord Amos talk to you about while he drove you over here?” Amelia asked, standing to admire her reflection in a nearby mirror and patting a stray curl into place. “I think he is quite the most handsome gentleman I have ever seen, and I should like to know what subjects engage his interest.”
It clearly did not occur to Amelia that Crista represented any sort of competition. “I believe he enjoys blood sports,” Crista replied, biting her lip to prevent a smiling from escaping. “He abhors ballrooms, as do all his brothers, and they avoid them whenever they can. They love to play cards and are very good at cricket.”
“Oh, that doesn’t sound so very encouraging,” Amelia complained, taking everything Crista said as gospel and wrinkling her nose.
“It probably explains how they have managed to avoid marriage for so long,” Mama added. “But now we have been thrown into their company here in the country, it is an excellent opportunity for you to shine, Amelia.”
Mercifully, the questions thrown at her about the Sheridan family by her mother and sister were brought to an end by the return of Amos and Lady St. John. Crista stood up with alacrity.
“I shall see you again when this is all over, Mama.”
She did not kiss her mother or her sister, but gladly returned Lady St. John’s embrace. She was conscious of her relations watching from the drawing room window as Amos helped her into his curricle and drove away at a brisk trot.
“I am so very sorry,” he said, a flair of anger darkening his eyes. “I should have known better than to put you through that. Are you all right?”
Chapter Seventeen
“It is foolish of me to expect my mother to care about anything other than her own comfort, I know that very well,” Crista said, sighing. “But still I always hope for a transformation.”
“We, the Sheridans, will take care of you.” And do a damned sight better job of it.
“Thank you.” She brushed impatiently at unshed tears with the back of her hand. “I do appreciate your efforts, Lord Amos.”
Lord Amos?
Amos was too angry by what he had overheard of Crista’s interview with her family and the distress it had obviously caused her to say anything more. He concentrated on driving, giving her a moment to recover her composure. Her face was deathly pale, her eyes dull, brimming with tears she stubbornly refused to let fall. Amos seethed when he thought of all she had been put through, all the obstacles she still had to overcome in an effort to aid Romsey, and yet her wretched mother offered not one iota of sympathy or support to her elder child. She seemed particularly anxious to avoid shouldering the blame for her family’s situation when it was her avarice and stark determination to be accepted by society no matter what the cost that had forced them into it.
Crista had been distant with him that evening, which Amos told himself was only to be expected. Not only had there been the reunion with her family to distress her, but also the rather more dangerous matter of bamboozling the villains to occupy her thoughts. Their plan was straightforward, and every aspect of it had been worried over, but it was still Crista who had to put it into operation. One false move and it would end in disaster.
Absolutely determined to protect Crista, Amos cast frequent sideways glances at her as he put distance between them and Farrington House as quickly as he could. Her stiffness might well indicate a change of heart about becoming better acquainted with him. That was her prerogative and was probably the sensible course to take. Even so, the desire to offer her comfort and consolation had never been stronger—hence the destination he had in mind. Besides, she was in no state to return to her uncle’s apartment quite yet, or so he told himself.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked, when he turned the curricle off the main path and into the woods on the edge of the Sheridan estate.
“Somewhere we can be alone. It will give you a moment for reflection, but if you would prefer for me to take you home immediately, you have but to say the word.”
She hesitated for a long time before responding. Amos was surprised by just how ardently he hoped she would not ask to be taken back to Chesney’s establishment, even though it would be the safer course of action. Safe, sensible actions had never been his forte.
“No,” she said eventually. “I would welcome a respite before seeing my uncle. The woods are so peaceful at this time of night.”
“Indeed they are.” He halted the curricle and helped Crista down from it. “If you enjoy woods, see what you make of this,” he said, proffering his arm.
They walked along in silence, Amos acutely aware of her every nuance. She still seemed dispirited, and Amos decided against talking her around. Instead, he allowed the peace and tranquillity of the woods to work their magic, instinctively understanding she was a country girl at heart, even if she had lived most of her life in the city. Gradually, the shadow of disillusionment left her eyes, and she seemed more like herself, albeit shrouded by an air of abstraction. She sighed several times, then laughed at a squirrel’s antics, but didn’t speak. After just spending an entire day with her mother and sister having his ears talked off, it was a very welcome change to find a lady who understood the value of silence.
He guided her along the track, turned the final corner, and there it was—the Sheridan’s hidden trout lake, situated in a clearing between the trees. Shafts of lowering sun reflected a dozen different shades of turquoise on the torpid water, its surface barely stirred by the gentle breeze. She gasped as she turned towards him.
“I had no idea this was here,” she said, watching aquatic birds dive for their supper. Verdant green reeds rustled as a beautiful kingfisher, disturbed by their arrival, soared gracefully above them.
“Not many people do. As I understand it, in times gone by we were plagued by poachers, so a clever ancestor ordered the planting of the trees you now see around you.”
“Making it impossible to reach the lake by any means other than tracks like the one we just followed.” She nodded. “Ingenious. That must make life so much easier for your keepers.”
“So it does.”
They stood in silence for a while, appreciating the beauty of the scene, and Amos sensed the tension slowly drain out of her.
“Would you like to walk a little more?” he asked.
“By all means. I want to see the lake from all aspects.”
They followed the path that skirted the water, watching dragonflies skimming its surface, admiring the water lilies in full bloom, and listening to frogs croaking in disharmony. A heron stood statue-like in the shallows, eyes piercing the surface of the lake, patiently waiting for its dinner to obligingly swim past.
“It really is remarkably beautiful,” Crista said. “Thank you for bringing me here. It is just what I needed.”
“Hmm, I’m not so sure about that.”
She shot him a curious glance. “What do you mean?”
Amos said nothing, continuing to walk towards his final destination.
“What is that hut?” she asked.
“A boat house. Come and see for yourself.”
She laughed as she observed the veranda and adjacent room furnished as a conservatory. “Your idea of a boat house is larger than a lot of residences I visited in London.”
Amos shrugged. “We enjoy our comforts.”
“So I see.”
He guided her to a settee in front of a full length window overlooking the lake. She sat down and he took the place beside her as well as possession of her hand.
“Are you really all right?” he asked, slowly running his fingers down the length of hers. “The strain of having Reece constantly looking over your shoulder must have played havoc with your nerves. I wish you had not had to tolerate the man’s presence but, of course, it is vital
to our plan that he does keep close watch over you.”
“I am relieved to have my uncle looking more like his old self.” She looked away from him but did not attempt to extract her hand from his grasp. “I had not realised quite how comprehensively the strain of dishonesty had worn him down.”
“And what of you?” Amos released her hand and transferred his attention to her hair, grasping a random curl and winding it around his finger. “It is you who will be taking all the risks.”
“Me? Oh, I feel a great sense of relief, too. Uncle and I have practised our parts until we are perfect. We know what we must do, and I do not anticipate any difficulties. I am sure Lord Romsey’s plan will work perfectly. It is very simple, and simple is usually the best.”
“Romsey expects a lot of you, which hardly seems fair. If you do not feel inclined to take the risk, you have but to say the word.” He fixed her with an ardent expression. “I can’t bear to think of you putting yourself in danger.”
“Oh no, there is no question of my not doing this.” She jutted her chin in a gesture of stubborn determination. “Lord Romsey has offered me an opportunity to regain my self-worth. It is I who should be grateful to him.”
“You are trembling.”
“Not because of what I must do for Lord Romsey, if that’s what you are thinking.” She shrugged. “I am still angry with my mother. She despises me, hates how I make my living, and yet expects me to support her once Amelia is married.”
“The devil she does!” Amos glowered at the lake. “How does she suppose you will do that?”
“I shall find employment with a jeweller somewhere. That has always been my intention. Mama does not approve of a woman doing a man’s work, but that will not prevent her from taking advantage.”
Not if I have any say in the matter. “What else did she have to say for herself?”
“Nothing I did not expect to hear. She has been badly used. Nothing is her fault. Amelia’s interests must be put in front of everything.” A mischievous smile lit up her features. “Oh, and one of you Sheridan gentleman is bound to fall desperately in love with Amelia, in which case my support will not be required.”
Amos snorted. “She is deluded.”
“That is what I wanted to tell Mama.”
They fell into momentary silence. Amos abandoned her curl and slid his arm around her shoulders instead. Knowing he should not give way to temptation, he was powerless to help himself. Instinctively, she leaned her head against his shoulder and emitted a prolonged sigh. In spite of his reservations, to sit here with her thus seemed like the most natural thing in the world. Amos suspected his timing, to say nothing of the lascivious thoughts filling his head, was inappropriate. Even so, he was gripped with the most urgent desire to…well, to distract her with his hands, his lips, and with the feelings that spilled from his heart. But only if it was what she wanted.
“Look at me, Crista,” he said softly.
She slowly lifted her head, looking up at him through eyes filled with a combination of desire, curiosity, and a modicum of insecurity. She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue and his vision hazed. Against his better judgement, he absolutely had to taste those sweet lips again. The desire to do so suddenly overcame all reason, all common sense; all thoughts for anything other than the raging need that ripped through him. The same raging need that gripped him whenever he so much as thought about her.
“I am going to kiss you,” he said. “If you would prefer me not to, say so at once. I would never force you to do anything against your will. Always remember that.”
She remained mute, but her sparkling eyes gave her away. She wanted this as much as he did. He pulled her onto his lap and into his arms. She came willingly and wrapped her own arms around his neck, playing him at his own game by tangling her fingers in his hair. Her breathing became fractured as their gazes clashed, and her cheeks flushed a becoming shade of pink. How anyone could possibly prefer her vapid, self-centred sister to this gloriously diverse, spirited, brave, and highly intelligent female Amos could not begin to imagine, but he was glad for it, nonetheless. The mere thought of another man laying so much as one inappropriate finger upon her filled him with a murderous rage.
Amos lowered his head and claimed her sweet mouth, forcing her lips apart and exploring with his tongue. His arms closed more firmly about her as he deepened the kiss, savouring the taste of her. God’s beard, she was more tempting than she had any right to be, and already Amos felt his control slipping. She murmured something past their fused lips, igniting his desire. His escalated passion manifested itself in the natural way. Seated on his lap, she must be able to feel it. Damnation, of course she could, and the minx was moving against him, instinctively riding his hard length, probably not aware of what it actually was. He had suspected she would be proactive, unafraid to follow her body’s demands, but so far her reactions had exceeded his wildest expectations. When a series of violent tremors rocked her, he was powerless to prevent his hands from wandering to her breasts. He cupped one through the fabric of her gown, and tweaked the nipple. She cried out and rode his cock harder, pulling her mouth free from his as she did so, and looking at him through enormous eyes that glowed like molten lava.
“You wanted to know more,” he said, still playing with her breast.
“I had absolutely no idea.”
Amos chuckled. “I am very glad to hear it.”
“Don’t make fun of me.”
“M’dear, the very last thing I am doing is laughing at you. I adore your innocence, your willingness to follow your instincts, everything about you.” His hands moved from her breasts and ran the length of her back, introducing themselves to every glorious curve and crevice. Yea gods, if ever a body was designed for mortal sin, it was hers. She shuddered beneath his touch and continued to torture his swollen cock by refusing to sit still. “I revel in your responsiveness.”
“Responsiveness or brazenness? I’m sure I should not be showing quite so much enthusiasm.”
“Never apologise for your sensual nature, sweetheart.” He sent a line of scorching kisses down the length of her neck. She threw her head back, giving him easier access, and made a cute mewling noise. “I think I always knew you would be this way. It was one of the many things that attracted me to you.”
“There is nothing special about me.”
Amos suppressed a groan when she moved her bottom harder against his groin. “Oh, but there is.” He raised a hand to the back of her neck, and pulled her head down until he could again kiss her as thoroughly as she deserved to be kissed. “Women with your disposition are rare and precious jewels.”
She giggled. “Given my occupation, I suppose that is fitting.”
“Shush. Forget all about that and concentrate upon how I make you feel.”
Amos was not at liberty to return the favour. He was burning with need, but knew he could not take matters to their natural conclusion. He should not even have taken them this far, but having done so, it hardly seemed fair to leave Crista in a state of such heightened awareness. She needed to be calm and in control in order to face the dangers ahead of her. That was his only reason for continuing with this dangerous game.
Of course it was.
He would ignore his own agony and concentrate upon giving her pleasure by sating her endless need. He found the ties to her gown and loosened her bodice. She was wearing a thin chemise that left little to the imagination, and it was the work of a minute to slip that from her shoulders also. Bare to the waist, her magnificent breasts with their pert nipples, rosy pink and hard to the touch, were displayed for his inspection. He examined her face for signs of distress but could discern only increased passion and incandescent desire in her expression.
Thus encouraged, Amos lowered his head and feasted upon a fat nipple, grasping the fullness of her breast between his fingers and pushing it more firmly into his mouth. When she cried out, he increased the pressure and nipped gently at her swollen flesh.
“You find that pleasurable?” he asked, lifting his head and examining her flushed countenance.
***
Crista was rendered speechless by the selfish longing that gripped her, breathless with yearning for that which she did not fully comprehend. Well, she understood the theory well enough, but what she had so far experienced of the reality was beyond her wildest imaginings. She threw her head back yet again, bold and abandoned, revelling in the feel of Amos’s skilled lips teasing her breasts. Her breasts! She was sitting in a boat house, half-naked, on a gentleman’s lap while he did these remarkable things to her. And he was still fully clothed.
She ought to be shocked and ashamed by her behaviour. Instead, she felt the tight knots inside of her loosening and her mind flying free, liberated from all restraints and unhindered by thoughts of how she ought to behave. All of her life she had been sensible, choosing to learn her father’s trade and help him retain his reputation, until it was irredeemably lost. Never had she taken a moment to think about her own pleasures, perhaps because on a visceral level she had known life had been building up to this blissful moment. Now it had arrived, she would enjoy it and hang the consequences.
Guilt would come later when she was alone in her chamber and had time to reflect upon what she had done.
“Yes,” she replied, her voice sounding bruised, earthy, like it did not belong to her. “I find it very pleasurable.”
His shirt rubbed against her sensitised skin but she did not dare ask him to remove it. If he released her, he might have a change of heart and call a halt to their liaison. Crista wasn’t prepared to take that chance. Boldly she looked into his face, swept the hair away from it with both hands and placed a soft, open-mouthed kiss on his lips. He groaned and immediately took control by drawing on her lower lip until her body shuddered. His tongue, velvety and sensuous, worked its way into her mouth again, tangling with her own tongue until it felt as though her body would explode with need.
“Amos!” She stared wide-eyed into his face when he broke the kiss. She was panting, totally abandoned, in desperate need of something that hovered annoyingly just out of her reach.
Ducal Encounters 01 - At the Duke's Discretion Page 19