Heart's Desire (Lost Lords of Radcliffe Book 2)

by Cheryl Holt

  The prior night, he’d commanded her to ride with him at ten o’clock. Earlier, when he’d been ready to leave, she couldn’t be located, and he hadn’t had the energy to fuss with searching for her. So he’d gone by himself. Now though, with his sour mood, her disobedience had him aggravated in the extreme.

  How long had she been there? How much had she witnessed? He’d been moping like a mongrel dog, his spirits at their lowest ebb. Had she noted his woe?

  The notion didn’t bear contemplating. He never showed weakness to anyone. He didn’t dare.

  He took a step toward her, and his expression must have been dangerous, because she squealed with fright and raced to the house. He stormed after her, not sure what he was doing.

  She dashed in a rear door, then scooted up the servant’s stairs, and he dashed in after her, vaguely wondering why she was running and why he was chasing her, but he couldn’t stop.

  She was proceeding to her suite, probably hoping she could lock herself in before he arrived. Yet with his foul temper, he’d likely bash his way in. He was that out of sorts.

  “Miss Merrick!” He barked her name as if she was a new recruit, but she paid him no heed.

  She slammed the door and was fumbling with the key, when he snapped, “If you lock the bloody thing, I will kick it in. I swear it.”

  On the other side of the wood, she wailed with alarm and leapt away as he entered like a berserker.

  From across the sitting room, she ordered, “Go away!”

  “No.”

  “Are you insane?”

  “Yes.”

  “You can’t be in here.”

  “Miss Merrick, I already am. Why must you constantly voice the most idiotic observations?”

  “You can’t stay!” she insisted.

  “I can, and I will.”

  He shut the door, spun the key, then stomped over to her. She hurried into the bedchamber, and he wasn’t certain how she thought to escape him. He’d simply follow her until he caught her. He was determined to prove a point, while having no clue what that point might be.

  She rounded the bed, and he was on her in a thrice, an arm circling her waist and holding her close as he tumbled them onto the mattress. She tried to slither away, but he rolled onto her, his much larger torso easily pinning her down.

  It was a deranged move, and he couldn’t figure out why he’d made it. He felt as if he’d flown out of his body, as if he was watching from up above as some other hapless male manhandled her.

  As he stretched out, she shrieked with outrage and pounded at his shoulders, but he ignored her protests. He seized her wrists and gripped them over her head, waiting until she was out of the steam necessary to fuel her fury.

  Once her wrestling ceased, he asked, “Are you done?”

  She kicked at his shin. “Let me up.”

  “No.”

  “You are mad as a hatter.”

  “Yes, I always have been.”

  “Chasing me across the garden and through the house! How dare you!”

  “Yes, how dare I?”

  “And what for?”

  “I have no idea. Why were you running?”

  “Because you scare me to death.”

  He scoffed. “I do not.”

  “You’re bigger than me. You’re tougher and stronger.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I admit it. You can come and go with no consequence. You can bluster in whenever you like. You can treat me however you wish, and I can’t prevent you.”

  “No, you can’t.”

  “You’ve bested me in every possible way, so you needn’t continue your torment.”

  “Am I tormenting you?”

  “Yes.”

  “How?”

  “What if someone saw you barge in? What would become of me?”

  “No one saw me. You’ve been banished to a deserted wing of the Abbey.”

  “I chose this suite!”

  “Sure you did, and if I was observed entering it, who would care? A few servants who don’t count? Your cousin, Angela, who doesn’t give two figs about you? Who?”

  “I would care,” she said. “I don’t have much of anything in my life—except a pleasant demeanor and a moral reputation.”

  “I would heartily dispute your having a pleasant demeanor.”

  “I’m very agreeable—when I’m around agreeable people.”

  “And I hate moralistic females.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “Didn’t you hear me say I have no idea?”

  “Well, I think you’re a bully, and I despise you.”

  “Why is that exactly? Most women love me.”

  “Not this woman. You’re pompous and annoying.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “With your ego being as huge as a house, you can’t bear that I detest you, so you must relentlessly inflict yourself on me.”

  He considered the comment, then grinned. “You could be right.”

  “I could be? I’m spot on, and you are a menace. Now let me up.”

  “Do you ever stop talking?”

  “I’m scolding you, and you definitely need it. If you’d ever heed me, I wouldn’t have to keep on.”

  “Haven’t I told you that I never listen to women?”

  “Yes, and haven’t I told you that you should start? Turn over a new leaf, Private Harlow. Try new things.”

  He didn’t like her calling him Private Harlow, didn’t like to be reminded of the idiotic scheme he’d set in motion. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her the truth, but it would just enrage her more. She could learn about it later with everyone else.

  “I don’t ever try new things,” he said. “I’m happy with how things are. I don’t like them to change.”

  “Neither do I, which is why I don’t care to have you in here with me. What good can come of it?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I’m having quite a grand time dawdling and chatting with you.”

  “I’m not. Clearly you want something from me. Apprise me of what it is so I can give it to you. Maybe then, I can convince you to leave.”

  He gazed down at her, realizing she was so darned pretty. He hadn’t ever thought he was partial to blond females. He’d always assumed he liked brazen, red-headed hussies like Penelope, but apparently he’d been wrong. Blond suited him just fine.

  Did he want something from her? He supposed he must, or why was he fussing with her? He wasn’t bent on ravishment, so what was he thinking?

  He never bothered with females except to enjoy them in a physical way, yet for some reason, she appealed to him in a different manner. He couldn’t describe what was driving him, what was causing it, but when he was around her, he felt better, more content and less angry. A beast burned inside him, and she seemed to tame it.

  No, that wasn’t right. She actually goaded that beast to absurd levels of temper and irritation. But she ignited a strange longing too. It niggled at old aches that had plagued him since he was a sad, lost boy being raised by the Harlows.

  He yearned to loaf in her presence, yearned to watch her blue eyes flash with merriment or fury, yearned to hear her scold and lecture and laugh. And wasn’t that odd? Typically, he couldn’t bear to be lectured, especially by a woman, but with her, he didn’t mind.

  He found her to be silly and ridiculous and very entertaining. His ready acceptance of her quirks had to be important, but why would it be?

  “Close your eyes,” he told her.

  “Why?”

  “You know why.”

  “No, I don’t. What are you planning?”

  “I’m going to kiss you.”

  “You’re going to…to…what? No, I forbid it. I—”

  Before she could say more, he pressed his lips to hers. Finally—finally!—he’d managed to silence her. Was that all it took? A mere kiss?

  He drew away, and she was staring up at him with such a stern glower that he chuckled.

  “What’s so funny?” she
huffed.

  “You. You charm me beyond measure, Miss Merrick.”

  “I can’t imagine why.”

  “I can’t fathom it either.”

  “You had your kiss. Would you leave now?”

  “No. Let’s do it again.”

  “You’re pushing your luck with me.”

  “I’ve always pushed my luck, and it’s always brought me great benefit.”

  “I don’t want this from you.”

  “Want what? A bit of kissing?”

  “If I’ve behaved in a manner that made you believe I would welcome your attentions, I most sincerely apologize.”

  “You’ve done nothing except look fetching.”

  “I look fetching?”

  Her cheeks flushed such a winsome shade of pink that he wondered if she’d ever been complimented before.

  “Yes,” he said, “you’re very beautiful, and I can’t resist you.”

  “You’re being absurd.”

  “No, I’m not. You’re a woman who should be kissed often and soundly. Why haven’t you been?”

  He didn’t wait for her answer. He dipped in and stole another kiss, lingering a tad longer, and the moment was so sweet and so dear that he could barely keep from sighing with delight.

  They continued for quite awhile and—in the entire history of kisses—it wasn’t much about which to brag. He didn’t try to unbutton any buttons, didn’t stroke her breasts, or remove the combs from her hair. He simply reveled, absorbing every detail of how she smelled, how she tasted, how perfectly her slender torso fit against his own. Toward the end, she seemed to be enjoying herself and even deigned to join in.

  Eventually, after an eternity had passed, he pulled away. She frowned, as if he’d surprised her, or as if she’d surprised herself by participating.

  “What do you think?” he asked.

  “It wasn’t as horrid as I’d expected it would be.”

  He laughed and laughed. “It’s a good thing I have an enormous ego. If I didn’t, you’d be the death of me.”

  “I doubt a few words could hurt you at all. I’m certain any criticism—despite how thoroughly deserved—would bounce off you like dull arrows.”

  He grinned. “I’m sure you’re correct.”

  He slid off the bed, and she slid off the opposite side. They faced each other across the mattress.

  “Come down to supper,” he said.

  “I don’t wish to.”

  “It’s not a request. I’m afraid I have to insist.”

  “I suppose if I refuse, you’ll bluster in and drag me down.”

  “Why, Miss Merrick, you know me so well.”

  “I’ll force myself to oblige you—just this once—you ghastly bully.”

  “I have an announcement to make to the family after the meal. I need everybody there.”

  “What sort of announcement?” Suddenly she appeared very frightened. “Has your brother decided what’s to become of us?”

  “Yes.”

  Her concern was palpable. “Is it bad news? Can you tell me?”

  “It’s not bad news.”

  “What then? Give me a hint of his plans.”

  “You’ll find out tonight, but don’t worry. I’d never let anything happen to you.”

  “Do you promise?”

  “Of course.” He pointed to her wardrobe. “I’ve seen you in your lavender dress. Have you another that’s pretty?”

  “Not really.”

  “Wear that one for me.”

  “Honestly, Private Harlow. We’re hardly acquainted, so it’s inappropriate for you to advise me about my clothing choices.”

  “Wear it,” he said again. “I like women to be attired in pretty things. I hate to have you stumbling around like a dowdy governess.”

  She batted her lashes. “If you keep flattering me like that, I’ll get a big head.”

  “Heaven forbid,” he murmured. “The lavender dress, if you please. I like how it matches the blue in your eyes and highlights the blond in your hair.”

  She sighed with exasperation. “All right.”

  “The meal will be served at seven. Don’t be late.”

  He started out, and he was nearly to the door, when she said, “Private Harlow?”

  He turned. “Yes?”

  They stared, and ultimately she mumbled, “Nothing. I’ll see you tonight.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  He was abruptly overcome by the most maudlin sentiments. He ached to confide in her about his lonely life, about Rafe’s father, how Matthew had saved Rafe, and how they weren’t sorry for what Matthew had done. He was positive she’d understand, that she wouldn’t question or condemn.

  On the reverse side, he wanted to know every fact about her, no matter how insignificant. What was her favorite color? Her favorite food? Who were her parents? How had she been orphaned? Why was she living at Greystone? How had she managed to thrive under Roland Merrick’s cruel thumb?

  But if he uttered a single word, he couldn’t imagine what nonsense might spew out. He spun and left before he could speak up and make a total fool of himself.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Try to be civil, Roland. Please?”

  “I’ve been manhandled by the arrogant oaf, so there’s no reason to pretend courtesy.”

  Clarissa yearned to retort, I’ve been manhandled by him too!

  But she thought it wise to keep that bit of information to herself.

  She was completely confused by what had happened. Clearly she’d captured Private Harlow’s interest, but she’d never been a coquette, had never been one to seduce or tempt. There had always been a dearth of bachelors at Greystone, so she’d never had a chance to practice any feminine wiles, but even if she had, she wasn’t a flirtatious person.

  Yet, Private Harlow appeared smitten. Was that the right word? Was he smitten? No, she decided. He wasn’t the type to grow besotted. So what, precisely, had lured him to her room?

  She’d been in the garden as he’d returned from his ride around the neighborhood. He’d caught her notice because he’d seemed uncharacteristically bewildered. Without him aware that she was watching, he’d stumbled to the horse trough, had removed his shirt and doused himself with several buckets of cool water.

  As she’d spied on him, it had occurred to her that she’d never seen a man’s bare chest before. In her world, people were buttoned up from chin to toes, so it had been an enormous shock to view him partially unclad.

  The sight of all that male flesh had riveted her, the broad shoulders, the slim waist. There had been a matting of hair across his chest that had narrowed into a line and vanished into his trousers, and her curious eyes had tracked that line, wondering what was hidden beneath the fabric.

  She’d heard that men and women were built differently in their private areas, but she’d always been too modest to inquire as to how they were different. And who would she have asked? Angela—who was a maiden herself?

  But the entire episode had had her transfixed, had had her pondering Harlow in a totally new way. For the first time ever, she’d assessed a man as a man and herself as a woman, and she’d felt a stirring of unusual excitement that was physically arousing.

  When he’d started toward her, he’d looked so angry that she’d been alarmed. He’d commanded her to give him a tour of the estate, and she’d deliberately avoided it, so she’d assumed he’d meant to punish her for disobeying. She’d run from him, and when he’d chased after her she hadn’t known what ending to expect—something violent and horrid probably—but instead he’d provided teasing conversation and tender kisses.

  He hadn’t mentioned her missing their ride at all, and she had no idea what to think. The whole incident had left her reeling, had her worried that perhaps she liked him more than she’d realized.

  “The swine demanded I attend his supper,” Roland complained, yanking her out of her reverie, “but then he didn’t have the manners to arrive himself.”

 
; “It wasn’t so terrible, was it?” Clarissa asked. “Having to eat with all of us for a change?”

  “No, I don’t mind that part of it. I mind being ordered about as if I’m still a lad in short pants. The sadistic creature actually grabbed me and lifted me off the ground. I feared for my life, I tell you.”

  Clarissa tamped down a smile, hating to be humored by the picture Roland had painted, but the image was a comical one.

  Private Harlow was big and strong and Roland slight and slender. Though Roland was only thirty, his white-blond hair had altered to a more silvery-grey color. It was thinning on the top, and even though he combed it over in various directions, he couldn’t conceal his gradual balding.

  On occasion he resembled an aging elf, and it was amusing to envision him confronting Harlow. In such a match, there was no question who would win a quarrel.

  They’d just finished the meal Private Harlow had arranged, but to her dismay neither Harlow had appeared, and she wasn’t sure why. Roland, Angela, Eddie, and Clarissa had dined without the Harlows, then they’d retired to the family parlor to learn what would happen next.

  Their tempers were flaring, their concern extreme. All afternoon, she’d been on pins and needles, anxious to discover their fate. Plans were in place, and though Private Harlow had insisted that she needn’t fret, she couldn’t help it.

  She’d lived peacefully and uneventfully at Greystone for so many years. It was a beautiful country estate where little ever transpired or changed. As a child, Clarissa had endured plenty of upheaval, and it was frightening to ponder any modification to her routine.

  Her mother had been a foolish girl who’d run away from home with a traveling troupe of performers to pursue a career as an actress. Could any female ever have picked a more reckless, more unstable path?

  Early on she’d gotten pregnant and had married an actor, a scoundrel who’d promptly vanished, abandoning Clarissa and her mother to their own devices. They’d stayed with the acting troupe, but there had never been money to pay the bills.

  Her depressing memories were of having clothes that didn’t fit because she’d outgrown them and there were no funds to buy new. She recalled being constantly hungry, being forever shaken awake in the middle of the night and having to flee an angry landlord who hadn’t received the rent.