by Cheryl Holt
But Grace was back at the Abbey, and Eleanor was alone with the man of her dreams. There was no one to monitor her behavior, and she certainly wasn’t about to let Duncan act as her conscience.
"Is your sister all right?" he asked as they reined in and set about dismounting.
"As all right as she ever is. Why?"
"I spoke with her yesterday. She seemed distraught."
"She’s been fighting with Mr. Scott."
"About what?"
"About Michael and Georgina and how it will all play out."
They started through the trees to the grassy area by the pool.
"Jackson’s mother arrived," Duncan said as he dropped the picnic basket on the ground.
"I heard. That might be why they were quarreling. I guess Mr. Scott sent Grace a note, ordering her to cower in her room so his mother wouldn’t see her roaming the halls like a beggar."
"I don’t imagine Grace took it very well."
"She didn’t. She detests snobbery and conceit. She has very modern ideas; she believes everyone should be equal."
He gave a mock shudder. "What a disturbing notion. If everyone were equal, how would we recognize our betters when we stumbled on them?"
"And," Eleanor countered, "how would we recognize those who are beneath us? We couldn’t command others to polish our floors or wash our clothes."
She spread the blanket, then plopped down. Without waiting for his assistance, she removed her shoes and rolled down her stockings. She felt scandalous and loose, and once her toes were bare, her skirt hefted to her knees, she patted the spot next to her.
"Sit, you silly man. I don’t bite."
"You could."
"Honestly, Duncan, you could be my fussy older brother. If I’d wanted a chaperone, I’d have asked a maid to accompany me."
Grudgingly, he plopped down, too, and poured them some wine.
"When Jackson sent Grace that note," Duncan pointed out, "he was probably being cautious. He’d need to prepare his mother before he gives her the shock of her life. If he hadn’t told her about Michael yet, and she bumped into him by accident, she might suffer an apoplexy."
"That’s what I said, but Grace thought he had a worse motive for keeping us hidden."
"What sort of motive?"
"Oh, that he and his mother might devise a dastardly conclusion for us. We’d be hustled out of the Abbey in the middle of the night—with no one aware that we’d vanished." She gazed over at him. "Would he do that to us?"
Duncan shrugged. "I haven’t seen him in ten years. I couldn’t begin to predict how he’ll behave."
"What about when you knew him before? When you were boys?"
"He was wild and crazy and reckless."
"Were you that way, too?"
"Yes."
"Are you still?"
He frowned. "I assumed so, but anymore, I’m not sure."
"If they make us leave, I don’t want to go with Grace."
"What do you want to do?"
She reached up and slowly pulled the combs from her hair, her pretty brown locks tumbling down her back. She shook her head so the lengthy tresses spread across her shoulders and arms, and she unbuttoned a few buttons at the front of her dress to expose some cleavage. As she’d intended, his attention was riveted on her bosom.
"Would you take me to London with you?" she baldly inquired.
"To London! Absolutely not."
"Why? I would be the best companion."
"I’m fabulously rich and single and I live in a mansion where I constantly entertain my shady friends. I have more mistresses than I can count, and I refuse to have a schoolgirl interrupting all my fun."
"You could marry me. Then it would be all right for us to be together."
He’d just swallowed a drink of wine, and on hearing her comment, he coughed and sputtered and pounded a fist on his chest.
"Marry you!"
"Yes, bachelors do it all the time."
"Not this bachelor."
"It wouldn’t kill you."
"It might." He scowled and yanked his eyes from her breasts. "Look, if that’s what you’re expecting—that I’ll ruin you and beg you to wed—you are chasing after the wrong fellow."
"Am I?"
"Yes, you are. If you insist on throwing yourself at me, I’ll certainly catch you, but I won’t marry you. Get it through your thick, ridiculous female head. I won’t!"
He appeared furious and aggrieved, and she laughed again. Oh, she liked him so very much! Liked talking to him and teasing him and pushing him to adopt positions that went totally against his nature.
Before she’d met him, her world had been glum and miserable and filled with gloom. Now, every waking minute was merry and gay. She spent every second smiling, hurrying down hallways and peeking around corners, hoping to have him grab her hand and drag her into a deserted parlor to steal a kiss.
Life was so grand! She was so happy!
He swore he’d never wed, that he didn’t care if she was forced to leave the Abbey. But who could predict how it would end?
She felt such a sense of destiny with him, as if their relationship was meant to be. It was naively foolish and terribly romantic, but she felt it all the same.
Fate had brought her to Milton Abbey—at the precise moment he was in residence. She had no idea how long she’d be allowed to stay, but she’d ceaselessly work to change his mind.
It could happen. She knew it could!
She stood and shucked off her dress. She kicked it away, then untied her petticoat and shucked it off, too, so she was wearing only her corset and drawers.
"You are bound and determined to get yourself into trouble, aren’t you?" he grumbled.
"Not all the way into trouble. I don’t suppose we should make a baby."
"No, we definitely shouldn’t do that."
"You seem to be experienced at amour. Surely you can keep a woman from—"
He stuck out his foot. "Pull off my boots."
"With pleasure, you old grouch."
"It’s exactly how I feel with you: old and used up and past my prime."
"If you remove your clothes, you might feel better."
"I doubt it."
"Let’s see."
She bent down, wrenching off one boot, then the other. She reached for his coat, eager to tug it off, but he shoved her away.
"I can undress myself," he groused. "Go swim or something."
"I believe I will." She went to the pool, stopping at the edge to glance over her shoulder. "Is it very deep?"
"No. Out in the middle, it’s probably up to your chest."
She waded in, gasping at the cool, bracing temperature.
"It’s cold," she pouted.
"It’s a pond, Eleanor. Yes, it’s cold."
"I’m likely to freeze before you get in here to keep me warm."
The bottom was sandy, and she walked out to her waist. She slumped to her knees and crawled around so she could watch him. He looked so serious, so pensive, as if he was trying to figure out why he was bothering with her. He was fussing with the front of his shirt, as if debating, as if he couldn’t decide whether to proceed or not.
For some reason, she instinctively understood how to entice him. She rose to her feet, water sluicing down her torso. The thin fabric of her chemise was plastered to her skin, and nothing was left to the imagination. Her nipples were clearly visible.
"I’m all wet," she said.
"I see that."
"What will you do about it?"
"I’m thinking, I’m thinking. Give me a minute."
"You are the most boring man I’ve ever met. Maybe next time, I should invite a footman instead. I wouldn’t have to beg any of them."
Her threat to bring someone else spurred a response.
He yanked off his shirt and pitched it on the grass. Wearing just his trousers, he started for the pool.
He came straight to her, guiding her legs around his waist, and he dropped to the botto
m. They were dunked down, water lapping at their chins.
"You will not ever," he tightly replied, "sneak here with some stupid boy. I forbid it!"
"What if I did? What’s it to you?"
"I am the only one who should ever be here with you."
"If you expect me to agree, you’ll have to prove it’s worth my while. I’m doing this to gain some amorous skill. If you don’t choose to provide it, there are many other fellows who would be happy to take your place."
"Ooh, you sassy vixen," he fumed. "When I’m through with you, you’ll be so sorry."
She wouldn’t ever be sorry for any sins she committed with him. But she retorted with, "Tough talk, Mr. Dane. Is that all you do? You talk your lovers to death? Am I to wait the rest of my days for you to get on with it?"
She’d finally goaded him past his limit of restraint.
He captured her lips in a torrid kiss that was everything she’d ever dreamed kissing could be. He plundered her mouth until she was dizzy with sensation. The briskness of the water, the buoyancy of their bodies, the blue sky and hot sun all combined to leave her reeling with ecstasy.
This was what she’d wanted. This was what she’d yearned to find with a man. All those long, dreary nights at boarding school, she’d fantasized about such an encounter but hadn’t known how to make it transpire.
He was plucking at her chemise, trying to jerk it away, but the fabric was sodden and unwieldy. With a groan of frustration, he ripped it down the front and tore it away. He did the same to her drawers, so she was gloriously naked and delighted by her condition.
Her breasts being freed from their confines, he draped her across his arm, his lips on her nipple. He laved and bit at it until she was writhing in agony and struggling to swim away, but he wouldn’t let her go.
He dragged her to the edge of the pool, so she was laying half in and half out of the water. He stretched out on top of her, and he tormented her nipples, shifting back and forth, back and forth, sucking on one, then the other.
"Stop please," she eventually moaned. "I can’t do this."
"It’s too late to stop."
"I thought I was ready, but I’m not."
"Be silent, Eleanor."
"You’re too…too…"
She couldn’t complete the sentence for she wasn’t sure what she was saying. She didn’t actually want him to desist. She wanted him to keep on and on until she couldn’t tell where her body ended and his began.
Yet it was all happening so fast, and for the briefest moment, it occurred to her that he was about to give her more than she truly desired.
"Could we discuss this?" she asked. "Or could we…we…"
"Lord, save me from virgins!" He glanced up at the sky as if it was a genuine prayer he hoped would be answered. "Be silent, Eleanor. Let me finish this."
He scooted down, nibbling a trail down her tummy, her abdomen. He continued until he arrived at her womanly hair.
She was aware of what he planned, and while it had sounded thrilling and exotic in the safety of her boarding school bedroom, as it was about to become reality, she wasn’t certain it was the sort of deed a girl should allow.
His shoulders were wedged between her thighs, and he pushed her legs apart so her privates were directly in his face. Then he leaned in and dipped his tongue inside her. The sensation was so odd, but so exciting, that she squealed with alarm and tried to squirm away.
He pinned her in place, refusing to release her as he reached up and fondled her nipples. He licked and played, driving her up and up the spiral of arousal until she cried out with pleasure and panic.
Why had she let him proceed? Was she mad?
But as she soared to the peak of ecstasy, as she tumbled down, her maidenly anxiety waned, and she was embarrassed by her timidity.
Gad, he must find her to be extremely tedious. He detested innocents, and she’d proved herself to be the very thing he loathed.
As her pulse slowed, she’d recovered enough composure to act as if men kissed her privates all the time.
"I knew you’d be good at it." She stretched a lazy arm over her head.
"Of course, I’m good at it. I told you I have a dozen mistresses. I spend my days and nights fornicating. You’re receiving the benefit of all my experience."
"You don’t have a dozen mistresses. How could you afford so many?"
"I’m rich, remember? Besides, I don’t have to support most of them. They adore me, so they service me for free."
She studied him, trying to discern if he was lying, but she couldn’t decide.
"I don’t believe you," she ultimately scoffed. "You don’t have any mistresses."
"Believe me or don’t. I don’t care."
He shrugged, as if her opinion was irrelevant, and he eased off her and floated into the pool. He swam to the other side and perched on a rock by the waterfall. He watched her, his gaze intense and potent, but unreadable, too.
What was he thinking? What would happen now?
She was still on her back, her legs spread like a harlot’s. She folded herself into a more modest position and sat up.
"You’re grouchy again," she said. "Why?"
"I have to get myself under control, so I put some space between us."
"I don’t want you to control yourself."
"You little liar. We went a step farther than you imagined, and you trembled like a goose."
"I did not!" she huffed.
"You flaunt yourself like a slattern, but you have no idea how men view such teasing."
"I was just…surprised, that’s all. It escalated so fast."
"Passion usually does—when it’s hot and wild."
"Is that what it was? Hot and wild?"
"Quite," he muttered, looking angry with her.
She rolled her eyes. "You are so aggravating."
"And you are so annoying."
Brooding and glum, he gestured for her to stand.
"Come here," he commanded.
"Why?"
"When you get over here, I’ll show you."
"Will you remove your trousers?"
"Yes, I’ll definitely remove my trousers."
"Then what?"
"There’s a skill you should learn to execute with that mouth of yours." She didn’t budge, and he snapped, "Come here!"
She waded into the water, and he slid off his rock and met her in the center of the pond.
"Kneel down," he said.
She hesitated, then complied.
"Now what?"
"You’re eager to behave like a whore, so you should be taught some whore’s tricks."
"Will I like them?"
"Yes," he smirked, "and all your future lovers will thank me."
"I won’t have any other lovers in my life. Just you. Only you."
"That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard a woman say."
He flicked at the top button on his trousers, then the next one, and the next. She stared up at him, her virginal fright having vanished, her salacious curiosity raging again.
She raised a brow. "I was told about this in graphic detail."
"Good—so I don’t have to explain."
"No."
"It’s time you were tutored in the conduct a man really enjoys."
"I thought it was fornication."
"Well that, too, but if you can perform this with even minimal prowess, your husband will always be very, very happy."
DC
"Sit down, Susan."
"I’m too nervous to sit."
Beatrice glared at her daughter-in-law. They were in the parlor by the dining room. Susan was pacing, and the constant motion irked Beatrice beyond her limit.
Supper was over, with Jackson not joining them for the meal. In fact, since he and Beatrice had quarreled, she hadn’t seen him, and the situation was galling.
She was his mother and Percival’s grandmother, which should have garnered her some respect. The prior decade, she’d been in charge and in control
. Edward had never cared about estate management, so while Jackson had been off gallivanting in Egypt, Beatrice had been busy with the family’s affairs.
She had kept everything running smoothly, had kept their finances in the black, and now, Jackson was to take over. Where was the justice in that conclusion?
She had to beg him not only for an allowance but also for the merest bit of courtesy. She wished she could have some burly ruffians kidnap him and ship him back to Egypt, but Edward’s will was ironclad. She’d checked; there was no way to have it tossed out. And even if Jackson died, she wouldn’t regain her spot.
Duncan Dane—the most despicable scoundrel in the world—was named as backup executor. It was a slap in the face to Beatrice from which she would never recover.
"Susan!" she barked. "For pity’s sake, sit down."
Susan whipped around. "Why didn’t he come to supper?"
"Who knows? Jackson has always been volatile and capricious. I’ve never been able to guess at his behavior."
"If he won’t even eat with us, it’s bad news. Isn’t it bad news?"
Susan was wringing her hands, trembling like a ninny, and Beatrice couldn’t abide such an anxious display.
"Did you follow my advice?" Beatrice asked. "Did you try to seduce him?"
"Yes, but he said I was demeaning myself."
Beatrice sighed. The blasted girl was stunning, and Jackson was randy and unprincipled. Any sane female could have enticed him. Why was Susan clueless as to feminine wiles? Beatrice was hardly the one to counsel her.
"So what now?" Beatrice inquired. "Will you try again?"
"Why would I? The encounter was incredibly unpleasant, and I have no desire to repeat it."
"We have to change course then. Perhaps we’ll simply arrange an old-fashioned scandal and have you compromised. If I snuck you into his bed, would you have any idea of how to—"
"Sneak me into his bed? Are you mad? With the mood he was in earlier, he’d likely strangle me."
"The only other option I can see is for me to pressure him on the benefits of marrying you. But with how he’s acted so far, I doubt he’d be amenable to rational argument."
"I agree with you. In the time he’s been away, he’s lost a screw or two. I’m still the most beautiful woman in England, and he wasn’t interested."
"I can’t imagine why," Beatrice sarcastically retorted.