Price of Desire

by Lavinia Kent

She was calm and controlled. She always thought before taking any action. She was never impetuous.

  Which of course explained why she was sitting nearly naked in Wulf’s bed having just tried to behead him with a bud vase.

  “You are crazy.” Wulf’s word’s echoed her earlier thoughts about him. He stalked towards the bed, his previously smug expression wiped clean. His eyes flashed for battle.

  “I am crazy? I am not the one who just proposed. Well, actually, you didn’t propose, you ordered.”

  “Is that the problem? Did I do it wrong?” His voice rang cold. “I didn’t realize you were the bended knee type. It seems a little much for a second wedding, especially when we’ve already . . . but if it’s what you want.”

  He knelt down at the edge of the bed. She was tempted to brain him. What was the man thinking? Luckily this time she managed to gain control of emotions before bringing a candlestick down across his skull.

  “Why would you think I’d want to marry you? What possible reason could you have for thinking that we’d suit?”

  His eyes roved from her over the mussed sheets and back again.

  She drew a deep breath.

  “That’s not a good reason and you know it. I didn’t hear you propose the last time or for that matter four years ago.”

  His eyes clouded and his expression became more difficult to read. He didn’t say anything, but just kept staring up at her.

  “Why on earth would you propose now?” She let her question hang.

  “I overheard you say you were looking for a husband, a father for Anna.” He rose to his feet until he towered above her as she reclined on the bed, his demeanor allowing no resistance. “I tell you this now, my lady, you will not give my child to another man. She is mine, no matter what you say and I will not be denied.”

  “No.” She let the stark word answer. She would not show any weakness now. He was a warrior born and bred and he would charge through any vulnerability.

  “No?”

  “No.”

  “I was not aware I was giving you a choice,” he said. “The child is mine, and, evidently, the lady is mine as well. We will be married as soon as the banns can be read.”

  With the most dignity she could manage, Rose pulled her skirts down and slipped from the bed. “I think it is you who does not understand, Major Huntington. I would not marry you if you were the last man on earth. You are everything I seek to avoid in a husband.”

  “Evidently, not everything.” His gaze moved over the rumpled bed again.

  “That counts for nothing. It is singularly unimportant in marriage.”

  “You would think that. I remember well just how important it must have been in your marriage. Did you tie him in knots too, refusing his rights because they were singularly unimportant?”

  “You shouldn’t talk about what you know nothing of.”

  “I would say I knew plenty about it . . . Lady Burberry.” He made the name an insult.

  Tugging her bodice higher, Rose strolled to the window. She stared out at the stars, wishing for an inner calm. “No, you know nothing. All you know is that I seem prone to madness when in your vicinity.”

  “I know that your husband evidently couldn’t satisfy you. Wasn’t he man enough for you?”

  She turned away from the window to face him.

  “Listen, and listen well. John Burberry was as good and great a man that ever lived and I won’t hear you say differently. He was all the man I would ever want.”

  “That’s not . . .” he bit off whatever he had been going to say. She watched as his jaw tensed and released, and then some of the fight went out of him. “I cannot argue with you. Lord Admiral Burberry was a great man and I do not mean to diminish him. I have never heard a negative word about him, and my own experience fulfilled all I heard.”

  “It is me you have question with. Me, you find to blame.”

  “I did not say that.”

  “You did not speak the words, but, yes, you said it.”

  “I would never speak so to a . . . lady – no matter what the truth.”

  “You say ‘lady’ as if it were a curse.”

  He moved from behind the bed and for the first time she was reminded of his nakedness. She closed her eyes and turned back to the window. A cloud had moved across the sky and all was black. She pressed her forehead against the cool pane and tried to shut out the godlike perfection of his body.

  “I apologize if you took my meaning so. I meant no offense.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  She could feel the heat of his body as he moved to stand behind her. The musky odor of their joining still clung to him.

  “Yes, I did. I was angry at your refusal to see reason, to understand there is no other option.”

  “There is always an option. I will not marry you.”

  “She is my child.”

  If only the coolness of the windowpane could cool her heart.

  “We have been through this too many times already. Burberry claimed her. She is his.”

  “I don’t care about legality. She is mine.”

  Her heart beat faster as he moved closer. “Why did you have to come? Why could you not just let things be?”

  She felt him still at her question. His heavy breath stirred the hair at the back of her neck, but he did not come closer.

  “My reasons are my own. They do not concern you.”

  “Then just go. Leave my home.” She hoped she didn’t sound as desperate as she felt.

  “Now that I have seen her, talked to her, I cannot. Don’t you understand? She is mine, part of me. From the moment I looked into those eyes so like my own, I have been lost. I am powerless to leave her.”

  “But, you must. There is no place for you here.”

  “Do not push me. I will claim her publicly if I must. Let everybody know the truth of her birth. I may hold Burberry in the greatest respect, but I will not let that keep me from my daughter.”

  He was playing for keeps, but so was she. She turned back to him. Her eyes felt like an endless ocean.

  “What will that get you? You claim to care for her, but your love will brand her a bastard. Is that how you show your caring? Once you speak the words they can never be taken back. Even if you should persuade me to marry, and you never will, she will still bare the stigma forever. Even our marriage would not remove the stain. She will be treated as a bastard. Is that what you mean?”

  He turned from her and stalked back to the bed. He leaned against the post. She could see the tension play against his shoulders and the rippling muscles of his back. His head bowed forward.

  “No.” She could barely hear the word. “That is not what I want. I would never do anything to harm her. You know that is not what I meant.”

  “I do hear you and I even believe you, but that does not change the reality. Emotion may twist in my gut, but I cannot marry you.”

  “Why?”

  “I have dreams, dreams I cannot explain to you and would not even if I could. You have not earned that right.”

  “I may not have the right, but what of Anna? Would you deny her a father’s love?”

  “That is not my intention.”

  The silence between them was tangible, where before there had always been a silken flash of desire and tension, now there was only pain.

  “I won’t leave her. You will not give her to another man.”

  “You’ve barely met. You can marry somebody else, have another child.”

  Then he turned to her, his eyes glowing in the darkness.

  “Could you just leave her, pretend she never existed? Why don’t I just take her and you can marry your ‘suitable’ husband and have another child?”

  The words sliced across her skin, her head bowed. It was the same argument, always the same argument.

  “I carried her. I gave birth to her. I fed her from my breast. I spend every moment I can with her. She is flesh of my flesh. It is different.”

  “And is she not
flesh of my flesh, also?”

  “Damn you. You have only just met her.”

  “Can’t you just say it once? She is my daughter.”

  “No.”

  “Yes. Just once, just this once, admit it. You’ve already showed me I can never acknowledge her publicly, but now in private I need to hear you say the words. Can’t you give me that much?”

  A shiver wracked through her. She was glad he still turned away and could not see the pain and desperation that was written across her face. She owed him. She owed him Anna, but she could not say the words, could not take the risk. She clenched her eyes tight.

  She could not be weak.

  “Please.”

  She had never thought to hear him beg. He was so proud, so fierce, but now he opened himself for the sake of a child he’d not actually met, only seen.

  A lone tear sneaked beneath her lashes, but she brushed it back. She could only imagine the pain he felt, but there was nothing she could do.

  She must be strong.

  She would not give up her daughter for anything.

  She felt the irony of her words. That was exactly what she demanded of him. She slipped to the stair and headed up. The only sound was the decisive snap of the door as it shut.

  ###

  He felt her leave. Even though her bare feet made not a sound he knew every step she took. He willed her to stop, to give him the answer he needed, but she continued. The click of the lock echoed through the room.

  He felt no fury, only despair.

  He had never expected this need. He must be strong. He survived the loss of one child, he would not falter now? But, this child he’d met, this one had cast a net around his heart. He hadn’t known it was possible to love instantly and completely, but all it had taken was small hand slipping into his, one delicate warm body cuddled towards him in complete trust and he was lost. Anna. His Anna. He would not lose her now.

  He’d been over confident. He could see that now. He should have realized Rose would not do the expected. She was, after all, a lady. She would only accept him if she saw it to her own advantage.

  She might desire his body, but clearly that was not enough. What true interest could she have in the wounded man he had become? He was not the young soldier of that long ago day. He had seen more death, indeed, killed more men than she could imagine. She had reason to refuse him.

  He slammed his fist into the bedpost.

  Damn lady.

  But, he hadn’t told her of his wealth, his inheritance.

  That was why she’d refused him.

  It wasn’t him at all, but what she perceived as his position in society. He hated the thought of buying himself a bride, but he’d do what was necessary. The thought of leaving his daughter behind had become unthinkable. He needed to claim her, even if it meant claiming her mother as well.

  Chapter Nine

  Rose tapped her finger against the empty claret glass. Everything was going according to plan. She’d avoided Wulf for two days, only smiling politely from her end of the table to his position near its foot – ahh, the advantages of being the hostess.

  Admittedly that had also meant avoiding the other gentlemen as whenever she approached one he tended to appear. She’d arrange a private walk for two through the orchard and he’d march down the road towards them, her hounds at his heels. She convinced Mr. Giddens to try his hand at rowing and Wulf’s booming voice followed them from the shore as he fished and sang Irish tavern ditties. Even her garden was not safe. She’d lured Sir Barton out, risking his pinch, and was suddenly surrounded by three gardeners, a hallboy, and two footmen – all searching for Wulf’s lost pen knife. The blasted, bloody man had stood in the doorway and smiled as all thought of romance faded. Sir Barton had even joined the search.

  She contained the urge to stomp.

  Tonight would be different. Lady Smythe-Burke had arranged the promised time alone with Lord Sommerton – a simple game of chess – the chance to find out his true beliefs.

  Rose had set the scene carefully: a warm fire glowing against the night chill, candle set close enough to see the board but far enough to soften the mood, a decanter of brandy and two glasses, the door left partway open to avoid scandal, but partway closed to promote intimacy.

  Her prey arrived and she gestured him to his seat.

  “Ahh, Lady Burberry, I am so glad Lady Smythe-Burke suggested this. I am sure your delicate mind needs the exercise. I’ll try to be gentle.”

  She routed Sommerton promptly. He smiled.

  “My lady, you have hidden talents. I will have to pay attention to the game and not your loveliness.”

  She bested him twice and he smiled – more firmly.

  “I was not prepared for such a simple trick. I fear my opponents are most often more sophisticated.”

  She prepared for the third kill. And hesitated. She could see the strain in his shoulders, the clench of his fist around the fragile pieces. Should she let him win? No. The test would be in the losing. She would not pretend to be other than what she was.

  She lifted the pawn, moved a square. She eyed her bishop. The trap was set. She lifted her glance to him. How would he respond?

  His brow furrowed once. And then he smiled. It would be fine. He truly was a gentleman. He leaned to lift the piece. He shifted forward and his boot caught the table’s leg, sending the board careening, the pieces scattering.

  She stared, aghast.

  “So sorry, and just when I was preparing my best gambit. A pity it’s so late. I know you must be exhausted. I’ll join the gentlemen.” Sommerton stood as he spoke and was out the room before the last word faded.

  “I wondered how he’d manage.” Wulf slunk from the shadows in which he’d lounged. “I don’t think he was quite prepared to be – mated.”

  Rose knelt to pick up the wandering pieces. “It was just an accident.”

  “Strange how the victor never causes the mishap.”

  Rose looked up at him from her position on the floor. He echoed her own thoughts, but she did not welcome his opinion. She pursed her lips and went back to gathering pieces.

  He bent beside her. She could feel the warmth of his body, the whisper of his breath, but she did not look around. She reached for a piece that had rolled far under the divan. His long arm reached by her, his fingers brushing hers. He pulled the piece, a queen, from its resting place.

  “A game? Would you like to play?” His thumb caressed the queen, his tone suggestive.

  “What?” She glanced over, startled. His face was inches from hers. Her eyes focused on his firm lips. She breathed his breath.

  An easy smile spread across his mouth. “Chess. Are you ready for another game, or are you weary as Sommerton suggested?”

  She scurried back. “Yes, I’d love another game, but that’s all.” She’d show him what she was made of.

  He smirked. “I hope you’re prepared to be mated. I’ve already told you I am.”

  She refused to answer.

  They set the board silently. She stared intently and moved her pawn. He followed, move for move, piece for piece. Knight traded for bishop. Pawn for rook. Rook for queen. She was down three pieces.

  She smiled. “Mate.”

  He nodded and displayed no displeasure. If anything he seemed stimulated by her victory. “Again?”

  She nodded. They set the board.

  She pushed her queen’s pawn forward two spaces. He placed his king’s knight in front of his queen’s bishop’s pawn. Rose defended the piece with her king’s pawn. She lost all track of time until, resisting the urge to bellow, she again said the magic word, “Checkmate.”

  “You are very talented, my lady. Can I persuade you to grant me one more chance to prove my worth, another chance to 'mate?”

  She met his gaze, and swallowed. There was no mistaking the heat in his glance. She looked pointedly towards the door. Sommerton had left it fully open.

  “As long as we are only talking chess – I will allow yo
u one more.”

  The play was more vigorous than ever. Piece for piece they traded. They shared a single glass of brandy. Sommerton’s glass rolled forgotten at the hearth. Rose held her breath with each move. She’d never played with such skill and vigor. Wulf’s strategy was supreme. Her eyes watched his long fingers stroke the queen. She swallowed a smile.

  He smiled back and moved a pawn.

  She barely contained the urge to grin. She had him on the run. She settled in her confidence and found herself . . . fleeing. Her king moved from square to square, blocked by a bishop, held by a knight.

  Then there was nowhere to escape.

  A deliciously slow smile spread across Wulf’s face as he lifted his queen and toppled her king.

  “Check and mate. I would have thought you of all people would never underestimate the power of a woman, her ability to find her mate.”

  She settled back in chair. She would not play his game of words. “I always respect another woman – and a valiant competitor. That was quite the best game I’ve played in years – if not ever.”

  “I must say the same, Rose.” Her name slipped from his lips, so naturally. She did not even think he realized he’d said it. “I thought you had me there for a moment. If you’d moved your knight instead of your rook to take my bishop, it would have been a very different ending.”

  “Really? Show me.” She bent towards him over the board as he carefully placed the pieces to demonstrate. His hand closed over hers. Their eyes lifted, met. Their face moved closer.

  “My dear Lady Burberry, I thought you were playing with Sommerton. Was that not the plan?” Lady Smythe-Burke swept into to the room.

  “He grew tired of the game,” Rose answered calmly as she sat back and resettled her skirts. She hoped her cheeks were not too flushed.

  “That’s one way to phrase it.” Wulf could not contain his smile.

  “Humpf.” Lady Smythe-Burke glared. “Major Huntington, the gentlemen have settled down to billiards. I am sure they would welcome you to their private wagers – if you have not already placed your bet.” She stared at him pointedly until he stood.

  “I never bet on a sure thing. It wouldn’t be sporting. I will, however, say good evening, ladies. And a most enjoyable evening it was, Lady Burberry.” He left without another word.