by Lara Temple
She was probably still at Welbeck and the shining prince was hard at work wearing down her defences. She had been shattered by his betrayal. He had noticed only too well she hadn’t denied outright that she still loved him. Perhaps in the end she would...
He had been outsmarted, outmanoeuvred and felled by a twenty-one-year-old Saxon witch. And she...she deserved someone honest and serious and who would cherish her...love her...
Every time his mind presented this commendable resolution his heart fought back with a less articulate but much more visceral protest. I would cherish her. With every breath in my body. I would love her. Lust for her, love her, live for her, whatever it took. The words, childish and insistent, kept beating at him from inside. I need her. For the first time in his life he needed someone. He didn’t even understand what she did to him, but something had just begun to happen to him. He wanted desperately to be selfish and take that risk. It wasn’t right that she hold his hand and offer to let him rest, then leave him to writhe alone.
He should never have played God in her life, but this punishment was just unfair.
In his mind he conjured her into the study and sank to his knees and knelt against her, which was as pathetic as anything he could imagine, but there it was. He should have known from the beginning... He had known. There had been enough signs. Even trivial gestures like lacing his fingers through hers after finding her in the paddock with Daisy. He hadn’t done anything that mawkish since he was a child being taken for a walk—no, not even then. With her it had been so natural he hadn’t even noticed the incongruity. He didn’t just want her. He wanted her with him. In whatever ditch he next found himself in life, he needed her with him.
Everything was narrowing down to one need—to be with her. None of the arguments he had carefully formulated had put the slightest dent in that conviction. It was as futile as trying to explain to a three-year-old that there weren’t really monsters in the dark. He needed her.
He stood abruptly and the way the room tilted and the level of amber liquid in the decanter made it clear he was well on his way to achieving his ambition to get drunk. He ignored his friends and tugged on the bell pull. When Biggs appeared he moved towards the door as steadily as he could.
‘Pack a bag for me. Tell Hidgins to bring round the curricle.’
‘Bring...now, my lord?’
‘Now.’
Biggs lost his stiffness, his eyes darting to Ravenscar and Stanton, but they both shrugged helplessly.
‘It’s almost nine in the evening, sir, and you’re drunk. In the morning we...’
‘Biggs. Pack a bag and send for Hidgins or I’ll do it myself.’
‘All right, I’ll find him, but he will drive. You’re in no fit state...’
‘Fine. You find him, I’ll pack.’
‘You most certainly will not...’
‘Then I’ll find him, you pack.’
Biggs planted himself firmly in front of Hunter, feet apart, chin up.
‘My lord, you will sit down and I will bring some bread and cheese because you haven’t eaten all day and then I will speak to Hidgins and I will pack, and if once you have eaten you still wish to drive your precious horses through the night in a state of inebriation, you may do so. Otherwise I shall instruct Hidgins to lock the stables and swallow the key.’
‘I can pick locks, you know.’
‘I do know. I taught you. Lord Ravenscar, Lord Stanton, do make him sit down and talk some sense into him.’
Biggs disappeared and Hunter went and sat and a wave of dizziness and despair washed over him. He sank his head into his hands. Even his hair ached.
‘I can’t stand this,’ he mumbled. ‘I need to return there. Now.’
Stanton spoke, his voice gentle.
‘We’ll take you there if you want, but Biggs is right—you can’t go like this. The only place you will end up in this state is a ditch.’
Hunter squeezed his head. They were right, he knew he was in no state to drive, but even the thought of waiting until morning was unbearable. Now that he had admitted his weakness, it was impossible to wait. He needed to see her now.
The knocker sounded and for one mad moment Hunter thought he had, by sheer force of will, conjured her up on his doorstep. He groaned.
‘Whoever it is, tell them to go to hell.’
Chapter Sixteen
Nell looked up at the door. There was a light in the same room as a week ago and she prayed that meant he was at home. Alone. She remembered he had said he didn’t entertain women here, but the thought of encountering Lady Felton was painful even in the realm of pure possibility. She took a deep breath and marched up the stairs. This time she not only succeeded in knocking, but it seemed a long wait for the door to open. Biggs’s expression when he saw her shifted from haughty dismissal to shock.
‘Miss Nell!’
‘Is his lordship in, Biggs? And alone?’
‘No, miss. I mean, yes, miss. I mean his lordship is in, but he isn’t alone. Come in.’
She took a step back, trying not to let the burning turn to tears.
‘Never mind, Biggs. Just inform Lord Hunter...’
Biggs moved down the stairs towards her.
‘Lord Ravenscar and Lord Stanton are with him, miss. They are his closest friends and utterly trustworthy. But you must come in, please. You cannot be alone in the streets at this hour. I will make you some tea. And sandwiches.’
She gave a watery laugh and followed him into a room as he hurriedly lit a couple of candles from the taper he held.
‘I am going to inform Lord Hunter you are here. Will you promise not to leave?’
The door closed behind him and she tugged her cloak more tightly about her. She heard another door open and before she could even move towards the unlit fireplace Hunter entered the room.
He was never very fastidious about his dress, but he looked almost as unkempt as he had after his brawl with Hidgins. He wore no coat or cravat and his shirt hung loose, and his hair looked as if she had definitely interrupted a tryst, so she wondered if Biggs had lied to her.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt your evening.’
‘It’s no bother. We were just leaving,’ said a voice from the doorway and she turned to see two exceedingly handsome men, one dark and one fair, inspecting her.
‘Go away,’ Hunter said without turning to them. The fair one smiled at her and bowed out of the doorway, but the dark one lingered for a moment with an assessing smile on his face before the fair one tugged him away.
‘Are you all right? Has something happened?’ Hunter asked as the door closed and Nell shook her head.
She had meant to launch into her prepared speech, but the words that came out were an expression of all the wonder and confusion she felt.
‘I was here just a week ago.’
Surely it was impossible to be so transformed in a matter of days? What would have happened if he had not come to Tilney four years ago? If eventually her infatuation and dowry had enticed Charles into offering for her? She might never have realised that she wasn’t even very fond of him and that Charles hardly knew her and didn’t really want to, not as she was, flawed and thirsting for life. How could she have known she needed a man who could make her laugh, and burn, and make her worry about him and want to hold him?
It had taken all her resolution to navigate these past couple of days—her father’s anger and Charles’s repeated attempts to make her stay at Welbeck had been difficult, but nothing like the disappointment when she had gone in search of Hunter only to find he had left immediately after their confrontation. Her tentative knock on his door had been answered by Biggs and she had stared past him at the open trunk and the pile of clothes on the bed. She didn’t know what she had expected, but to hear that Hunter had already le
ft had held her frozen. It was only the obvious compassion on Biggs’s face that had set her moving again and she had retreated to lick her wounds in the privacy of her room.
It wasn’t possible to force Hunter to care for her, not the way she needed, but it made no sense that she wouldn’t see him again. It just wasn’t possible. This was Hunter—of course she had to see him again. That single-minded thought clung to her, warping everything else around her.
In the end it was Betsy who helped tip the scales—her sniffling and red eyes as she had dressed Nell for dinner had distracted Nell from her own misery enough to realise that she was not the only sufferer from Hunter and Hidgins’s disappearance. But if Betsy had no power to control her fate, Nell did—she was a wealthy woman and had to answer to no one. If she could not marry the man she loved, she could at least love him in the only way open to her. It might be outrageous and scandalous, but she would deal with the repercussions later. She didn’t doubt that he wanted to bed her, and if all he could manage at this point was a mistress, she was determined to be that mistress. Later she would do her best to find her way through his defences to the generous heart she knew was there. She might fail, but she had to try.
Betsy had been only too happy to help her arrange for the hire of a post-chaise and to give her notice at Welbeck to become Nell’s maid. Together they had collected Mrs Calvert from her sister’s at Stoke Newington and continued to London. She had no idea what Mrs Calvert and Betsy thought of her actions when they reached London but they were quite content to trust her, probably more than she trusted herself.
She had fully expected to find that Hunter was out, or busy, and she still expected him to try to send her packing—but that at least she was determined to resist.
‘You shouldn’t have come here,’ he said into the silence, confirming her thoughts. ‘It isn’t fair.’
She must have shivered because he took her hand and she followed him into the other room where the fire was still high. She sat down in her chair gratefully and he picked up a half-full glass and stood watching her. There was more light here and she saw he hadn’t shaved and there was that bruising beneath his eyes that reminded her of how he had looked four years ago. He had moved deep inside himself and was watching from the battlements.
There was a knock on the door and they both started.
‘Tea, sir, and something to eat for Miss Nell.’
Biggs set down the tray.
‘Shall I send word to Miss Amelia?’ he asked the silence.
‘There is no need, thank you, Biggs,’ Nell answered as she took the cup of tea he offered. ‘Betsy and Mrs Calvert are waiting for me at the Red Lion. Or rather for Mrs Jones, widow.’
For a moment Hunter’s eyes warmed with laughter before closing down again and that and the tea started thawing her out.
‘It’s nice to see you follow at least some of my advice, however dubious. But you still shouldn’t be here.’
Nell sipped her tea.
‘Am I keeping you from something?’ she asked politely once Biggs had withdrawn.
He just shook his head, his eyes fixed on her so intently he seemed to be looking through her. She put down her tea.
‘Good. I was worried Lady Felton might be here. Even though you said she doesn’t come here, I still wondered if you might be with her. But I dare say you saw her yesterday, didn’t you?’
He shook his head.
‘Today?’
‘No, and I won’t be seeing her tomorrow either. Whatever relationship we once had was effectively over before I left London. I am apparently more honourable than I had once thought.’
He put down his glass. Some of the amber liquid sloshed onto the table and he stared at it and rubbed his forehead. ‘You shouldn’t be here.’
‘You said that before. Twice.’
‘It’s still true. Why are you here?’ His voice was less assured now.
‘I have a proposition to make.’
‘A proposition?’
Even though the fire had warmed her, she was shaky and cold inside. Now she would have to find the strength to tell him what she had come for and the strength not to tell him what she was really here for because that would undoubtedly drive him away, back past those battlements that kept him safe and separate. She needed some of that cider to give her courage again. She needed him to touch her instead of just watching her like that. Even if he didn’t love her, even if it was just the kind of lust he obviously took so lightly as to dismiss his latest mistress without a backward glance, he could still hold her until this aching became bearable.
She fumbled at the strings of her cloak. She had come as a prospective mistress and so it was best to begin somewhere.
‘What the devil?’
Nell flushed as she removed her cloak to reveal the low-cut Parisian evening gown Anna had convinced her to commission, but which she had been convinced she would never have the nerve to wear. She had made Betsy cinch her stays to the point where her breasts balanced precariously against the silvery lace and embroidery of the bodice, making it a miracle they hadn’t yet decided to escape. She had come ready to compete with the Lady Feltons of the world, well aware she was in a losing position and needing whatever added inducement available to her. But his shocked response shook her confidence.
‘Don’t you like it?’
‘Are you trying to kill me?’ His knuckles stood out sharply as his hand closed on the back of the armchair opposite.
That was better.
‘So you do like it?’ she asked, lowering her voice.
‘Nell...you can’t do this to me. Come here. Like this. I warned you.’
His eyes rose to hers and she read hunger in there and leashed desperation. Her heart surged ahead and her lungs strained at her tight stays. Perhaps she shouldn’t have had Betsy cinch her quite so well. It was time for the next stage in her battle and she needed to breathe to do that.
‘I know you did. You still haven’t answered my question. Do you like it?’
‘Like is not the word that comes to mind. In fact, very little is coming to mind at the moment. It’s all going elsewhere, which is why you need to put your cloak back on. Now.’
‘I’ll take the dress off if you don’t like it,’ she offered, shrugging the delicate lace sleeve just an inch off her shoulder.
Hunter groaned and shoved the armchair aside, pulling her to her feet and sinking his face into her hair.
‘Nell, I’m in agony, I’m half-drunk and I have no willpower left. If you don’t leave now, I’m going to strip off that impossible dress before it disintegrates and take everything on offer and not Beelzebub himself will be able to stop me from ravishing you. So—leave. Now!’
His stubble scraped against her cheek as she turned his face to hers, her mouth seeking his. The most beautiful mouth in the world, she thought, her whole body flooding with desire as she tasted him. She started with his lower lip first, because it was tense and needed extra attention. Slowly, lovingly, tracing it and drawing it in between hers very gently. His body vibrated against hers and his hands were fisted in her dress. It would probably be ruined, but it would be well worth it if only she could be ruined alongside it. Ruined and rebuilt. This amazing man was all about ruin and rebuilding and whether he knew it yet or not he was hers. Not just his body, but all of him. No matter how long it took or how many mistresses she had to circumvent to win him.
She gave his lower lip one last lingering caress with her tongue and leaned back against his arms. His eyes had turned pagan again. Apparently Beelzebub wasn’t going to interfere with his minion after all.
‘More?’ she asked. ‘Or shall I stop?’
The hard ridge of his arousal was pressing under her stomach, a hot, thudding presence that was in dialogue with its twin soul between her thighs, and she wanted nothing better th
an to shift so that they could carry on a much more intimate conversation. As the silence stretched she turned, reaching for the hooks at her waist.
‘Could you help undo my laces? Betsy tied them dreadfully tight and I’m afraid I might swoon if we carry on like this. I won’t be needing them again tonight, will I? I told Betsy I probably wouldn’t return tonight and I am very glad you were here and there wasn’t anyone with you. Anyone female, I mean. Well, are you going to help? Oh, never mind. I’ll do it.’
He shoved her hands away, his own fumbling with the laces.
‘You’re killing me, Nell. I’m done playing fair. Do you hear me?’
The relief as the stays were released made her sigh with pleasure and she leaned against him, kissing and licking at the hot skin of his throat, tasting him with avid joy as he peeled away all the unnecessary layers, giving herself utterly into his care.
It was still a shock when his hand very gently cupped her breast, hot and hard against her though he didn’t move, just held her, his hand warm and peculiarly gentle against her sensitised skin. She rested her mouth on the galloping pulse on the side of his neck, feeling its mirror under her own skin where he held her, feeling the gathering of her flesh, tightening, hardening until the bud of her nipple pressed against his palm. The moment of contact coursed through her body and his, a shared shudder that set him in motion, and her dress, her flimsy petticoat and drawers were sheared away, disintegrating as he had threatened.
He touched her everywhere, her back, her buttocks, dipping between her thighs, receding, finding her breast again, more insistent, his palm and thumb caressing the sensitive nipple, sending spears of fire through her, weaving a web of fire around and through her body, everything gathering towards the new centre of her universe.
It was everything she had wanted, but still not enough. Her stockings, his shirt and pantaloons were all in the way. She wanted him.
She dragged up his shirt, sighing as her hands skimmed over his back. Later she would explore this beautiful surface, inch by inch...and his waist. No blows below the waist, that was very clever. She didn’t want anything to harm Hunter anywhere and especially not where that heat was pressed against her and she wanted so desperately to touch.