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

by Cheryl Holt

“You don’t even like me,” she complained.

  “Who said I don’t like you?”

  “All right then, I don’t like you. You’re the last man I’d choose for a husband.”

  “Why is that precisely? I’ve previously inquired as to what has stoked your intense aversion, but you haven’t provided your reasons.”

  “Should I be frank?”

  “Yes, absolutely.”

  “You already know my opinion. You’re cruel and bossy and overbearing.”

  “I’m not cruel,” he huffed, but he didn’t dispute bossy or overbearing.

  “It would be exhausting, having you as a husband.”

  “I’m certain that’s true.”

  “You didn’t even ask me if it’s what I wanted,” she protested.

  “If I’d asked, wouldn’t you have refused?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why would I have bothered? Honestly, Miss Merrick, you have the strangest method of analyzing things.”

  “And you don’t?”

  “No. I’ve wasted several days trying to figure out what’s to be done with all of you. You accused me of being cruel, but despite your low regard for me, I’m not about to toss three women out on the road. There are dozens of bedrooms in this accursed monstrosity of a house. We can find a way to muddle through.”

  “We won’t remain here. When Roland goes, we’ll go with him.” She voiced the statement even though it sounded absurd.

  “Have you discussed it with him? For I must confess that I can’t imagine he’ll want to be burdened by any of you.”

  “Why wouldn’t he? Especially his sister. He won’t leave her with you.”

  “Are you positive of that? It seems to me he’d shackle her to me quickly enough—if he thought he could persuade me to take her off his hands.”

  “But it’s clear you’re not interested in her, so we’ll depart with him. There’s no need for you and I to wed. I’m convinced of it.”

  “Are you?” He studied her, swigged the liquor, studied her again. “Miss Merrick…Clarissa…I’ve investigated Roland. He’s deeply in debt and has no funds but for the ones I’ve offered. Should I tell you ladies to traipse off after him? Where would you live? In a ditch? In a hovel? Is that the future you see for yourself?”

  “Roland is in debt? I don’t believe you. He may not be the best steward of Greystone’s resources, but the estate is profitable. Where is the money from the harvests?”

  “To the Crown, to pay back the people his father defrauded.”

  “Oh.”

  Clarissa felt like a dunce. She’d gotten in the habit of letting Roland keep secrets, and evidently there was much about Harold’s misfortune of which she was unaware. How far did the calamity extend? Would there be no end to it?

  “I ask you again, Miss Merrick. Should you cast your lot with Roland, what will become of you?”

  “Roland won’t abandon us. He’ll have an acceptable plan in place.”

  “That’s your reply? Roland will save you?” He threw up his hands. “I picked you to be my bride because I assumed you had some intellect.”

  “Are you saying I’m stupid?”

  “No, I’m saying Roland is an idiot, and I would have thought—considering the number of years you’ve resided with him—you’d have understood what he’s like.”

  “I understand,” she mumbled, “but he’s family.”

  “Yes, and I’m sure, even as we speak, he’s at the gamekeeper’s cottage, thinking of all the ways he can help you—rather than himself.”

  Though she couldn’t bear to admit it, he was absolutely correct. Roland was selfish, and if he was making plans, they wouldn’t include Clarissa. They were on a sinking ship, and it was every man for himself. Without a doubt, that’s how Roland would view it. So what were Clarissa’s options? What did she wish to have happen?

  She simply wanted her life to go on as it had been, but with no unpleasant surprises. She wanted to stay at Greystone, to move through the quiet days, content with her fate and relieved to be safe and sheltered.

  The Captain was insisting she wed, but while she’d always hoped she might, she’d envisioned a fiancé who was kind and supportive, who’d have her even though she hadn’t a penny to her name. In all her dreams of the future and how she’d like it to unfold, it had never consisted of a cold, loveless marriage to a despotic bully and stranger. It had never consisted of her betraying her cousins in a manner that would hurt them very much.

  Yet if she was the Captain’s wife, wouldn’t she be benefiting them? Wouldn’t she be putting herself in a position to assist them?

  He seemed to be wealthy. If he wasn’t, he couldn’t have offered to give Roland money to speed his departure. How could it ever be a bad idea for an indigent woman to latch onto a rich man? Most females would likely deem her insane to decline his proposal. Was she?

  She was so confused! She rarely missed her flighty, irresponsible mother, but at that moment, she definitely could have used some counsel and advice.

  “You’re so unhappy,” he said. “Do I really make you that miserable?”

  “Yes.”

  He chuckled. “How old are you, Miss Merrick.”

  “Twenty-five.”

  “You’d like to wed; you told me so once before. So why do you look as if you’ve been sucking on sour pickles?”

  “I want a husband who will care about me, who’ll be glad to have me.”

  “I’ll be glad to have you,” he claimed.

  “How can you say that? You don’t even know me.”

  “I know you well enough.”

  “I’m not even certain you’re interested in marrying. Are you?”

  “It won’t kill me.”

  She laughed a wretched laugh. “That makes me feel special.”

  “If you’re hoping for flowery words and sentiment, you should find yourself a poet.”

  “Couldn’t you at least pretend it had to be me and no other? Couldn’t you pretend to be besotted?”

  “I’m not though. Would you rather have me lie to you?”

  “No, but you said it yourself. You’re England’s most sought-after bachelor. You could have any female in the kingdom, but you’ve chosen me. It’s bizarre.”

  “Women aren’t a great mystery to me, Miss Merrick. You’ll suit my purposes.”

  “What are your purposes?”

  “You’re aware of what they are. I’m conflicted over the largesse bestowed on me, and it’s been at your family’s expense. In my own small way, I’m trying to atone. I’m actually doing you a favor. I can’t fathom why you’re not more grateful.”

  “A favor!”

  “Yes. You’re poor as a church mouse, and I’m willing to have you anyway.”

  “What if I turn out to be a horrid shrew?”

  “Have you shrewish tendencies? If so, they’re hidden. You seem quite mild-mannered to me.”

  “Yes, I’m very unassuming and docile. You’ll eat me alive.”

  “Probably,” he agreed.

  He stared at her, his blue eyes unreadable, and she struggled to picture herself as his bride, but she couldn’t bring that image into clear focus.

  If she was his wife, they’d sleep together in the same bed, and she’d be required to perform secret marital duties for him at night. Since she had no idea what those duties entailed, she couldn’t conceive of how she’d blithely consent to the situation.

  Added to that difficulty, she possessed no information about him except that he was a soldier and orphan. While he appeared to be rich, she couldn’t guess the source or the amount of his wealth. She had no father or brother to question him on such topics, and Roland couldn’t be bothered, so she was on her own.

  There were women who entered into matrimony when they weren’t overly acquainted with their husbands, but did she wish to be one of them?

  “If I wed you”—she was finally getting to the heart of the issue—“it would hurt my cousins. They’d view it as a betr
ayal.”

  “I understand loyalty, Miss Merrick, but yours is misplaced. Should your roles be reversed, I can’t see either of your cousins lifting a finger to save you. Can you? Be honest.”

  She gazed down at her lap, too humiliated to reply, for they both knew what her answer would be. Roland and Angela would never act selflessly, would never aid Clarissa. But should Clarissa act just as hideously? Why would she want to be like them?

  He rose and stood in front of her. He extended his hand, and when she didn’t reach for it, he bent down and clasped hold.

  “Come with me,” he said.

  “To where?”

  He nodded toward his bedchamber. “I need to show you something.”

  “What is it?”

  “I want to show you, not tell you.”

  She vividly remembered his visit to her room when he’d kissed her senseless. It had been much too pleasurable, and she’d participated with too much relish.

  “I won’t go in there with you,” she insisted.

  “Why not?”

  “You know why not.”

  He grinned. “Why, Miss Merrick, could it be that you enjoyed kissing me a bit more than you care to admit?”

  “I didn’t mind kissing you, and I won’t deny it.”

  “Let’s do it again.”

  “I don’t believe I ought.”

  “Why is that? We’re affianced and will be wed in a few days. It can hardly matter if we misbehave.”

  “You are so deluded. Or perhaps you’re simply deaf.”

  “I’m not deluded, and I’m not deaf, and you keep forgetting a very important fact that you should recollect in your dealings with me.”

  “What is that?”

  “I always get my way.”

  * * * *

  Matthew scooped her into his arms and marched into the bedchamber. Though she wrestled and called him an arrogant fiend, she was light as a feather and couldn’t halt his forward progress.

  He tossed her onto the mattress and followed her down, stretching out atop her before she could slither away. She was about to scold him, but he was tired of listening to her complain, of listening to her catalog his faults. He’d told her she should be grateful, and he absolutely thought she should be.

  He could have married any woman in the world and he’d chosen her, and he wasn’t being vain when he said he was an excellent catch. He was wealthy in his own right, Rafe having given him some property after Rafe’s father had died, and Matthew was now the owner of Greystone. In addition, due to his dubious valor at the sinking of the Royal Tempest, he’d been showered with money and gifts too numerous to mention. He was suddenly rich as Croesus.

  She should be glad! She should be celebrating! Instead she was whining, worried that her good fortune would upset her cousins. Well, to hell with her cousins! She was worth a hundred of them.

  He dipped down and captured her lips in a torrid kiss. From how she’d been grumbling, he’d presumed she’d object or try to escape, but she joined in without protest, and he smirked.

  She might gripe and reproach and pretend no interest, but she liked him more than she realized. She was an aged twenty-five, a spinster too long on the shelf, and he suspected she’d like being a bride. With all that temper and sass, she’d revel in her wifely duties, and he couldn’t wait to teach them to her.

  Gradually he slowed and drew away. She was glaring at him, looking fierce and ferocious, like an Amazon warrior goddess marching into battle. He’d never be bored with her, that was a fact.

  “Isn’t this better?” he asked.

  “Better than what?”

  “Better than sitting in those uncomfortable chairs in the other room while you harangue about how miserable you are.”

  “I’m not miserable.”

  “You’re not? Wonderful.”

  “I just hate how you boss me.”

  “You’ll get used to it.”

  “I doubt it.” She kicked at his shins, but had no leverage to do any damage. “I can’t stay in here. Let me up.”

  “In a minute.”

  “Now!”

  “No.”

  “The door is open. Someone might walk by and see us.”

  “So? We’ll be wed shortly. No one will think twice about it.”

  She was about to launch into another tirade about how he was deaf and she wouldn’t marry him and he never listened and…and…and…

  It was pointless to admonish him, so why continue to try?

  He kissed her again, more deeply this time, his tongue in her mouth, his hands in her hair. She’d already taken it down, so with a quick flick of his wrist, he removed the ribbon that had tied it into a ponytail. He riffled his fingers through the soft, lengthy tresses.

  He touched her everywhere, caressing and massaging, nibbling and nuzzling. He abandoned her mouth and blazed a trail under her chin, down her neck, to her chest. To his great delight, she wasn’t wearing a corset, so her pert breasts were unbound, covered only by the thin fabric of her dress.

  Her nipples were visible, the taut nubs pressing into the material. He sucked on one of them, but before he had much of a chance to enjoy himself, she yanked away.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded.

  “I’m kissing you.”

  “But on my…my…”

  She was such an innocent that she hadn’t the salacious vocabulary to discuss their antics, and of course a lady would never utter the word breast in a man’s presence.

  He had to remember that he usually dabbled with whores, with camp followers and slatterns like Rebecca Bernard. Rebecca had been ridden around the pasture many times before he’d ever mounted her, so there had been no need to seduce or woo. They’d simply forged ahead.

  “Have you any idea,” he asked, “what men and women do when they’re alone?”

  “No.”

  “There are many activities we’ll be able to engage in as husband and wife. I’m betting you’ll like all of them.”

  “I’m not marrying you,” she fumed, but he ignored her.

  He kissed her yet again, as he twirled her nipples between finger and thumb. He kept on and on until, down below, her hips began to instinctively respond, their loins rocking together in a gentle rhythm.

  He yearned to push the encounter to the next level, to raise her hem or unbutton her bodice so he could feast on her nude charms. Yet he still hadn’t convinced her that she’d be happy as a bride, and if he shoved her in a direction she wasn’t mentally prepared to travel, she’d grow even more reluctant.

  He simply kissed her, then kissed her some more, not releasing her nipples for a second, not letting up on the relentless pressure he was applying.

  Finally, when his own ardor spiked to an unruly height, he pulled away. He stared down at her, a hairsbreadth away from ravishment, which was odd.

  He was always in control, especially in his sexual forays. He never desired a woman more than was necessary, never hungered to an insane degree. He seized what he craved and moved on, so it was riveting to feel himself goaded to such a dangerous ledge.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Why did we stop?”

  “If we go any further, there won’t be any reason for us to have a wedding night.”

  “You arrogant beast. Will you listen to me? We’re not—”

  “I know, Miss Merrick. I’ve heard you every single time. We’re not marrying.”

  “Precisely.”

  “You can’t have forgotten that I always get my way.”

  “I haven’t forgotten, but you might have met your match with me.”

  “Not possible.”

  “I might be tougher than I look.”

  She wasn’t, but he’d let her indulge her little fantasy.

  “I suppose you could thwart me,” he said, “but you’d be the first person ever.”

  “We’ll see who’s correct in the end,” she blustered.

  “Yes, we will.”

  He slid to the floor, and he
clasped hold of her arm and dragged her up. She sat on the edge of the mattress, appearing young and bewildered and so very, very pretty.

  “I feel strange,” she said, “as if my veins have been scraped raw.”

  “It’s desire. I’ve stirred it in you.”

  “Desire?” she scoffed. “I don’t think so.”

  Oh, Lord, but she was so naïve! How would they manage as husband and wife? At the moment, with his phallus hard as stone, he couldn’t imagine.

  He nodded to the door. “Let’s get you back to your room.”

  “But…we haven’t settled anything.”

  “We’ll discuss it tomorrow. I’m weary tonight.” She was about to start in on him again, and he said, “Please, Clarissa. Save it.”

  “All right, but don’t call me Clarissa. It’s Miss Merrick to you.”

  “As you wish.”

  She slipped away from him and strolled out. He followed her to the hall.

  “It’s very late,” he told her. “Would you like me to walk you?”

  “I can find my way, Captain.”

  “Of course you can, but you don’t have to.” He should have allowed her to leave, but at the last second, he found he couldn’t bear to. He drew her to him for a quick parting kiss. She didn’t protest or struggle away, but when he released her, she said, “You shouldn’t have done that.”

  “You liked it. Don’t be such a grouch.”

  “Just because I liked it, doesn’t mean you should have done it.”

  “Go—before I change my mind and refuse to let you.”

  He put a hand on her bottom and shoved her out.

  She loitered briefly, seeming as if there was something else she was determined to say. But praise be, she didn’t voice it. She stomped off, and he watched her depart, her shapely behind swaying under the fabric of robe and gown, until she rounded a corner and disappeared.

  He closed his door and collapsed against it, rubbing his cock, wondering if it would ever soften. Probably not until his wedding night was over.

  “What am I doing?” he asked the empty room.

  He was so confused, for once not sure he’d picked the best path.

  What did he owe the Merricks? Did he owe them anything? He felt badly about their troubles, but could he fix any issue by marrying Miss Merrick? Should he fix it?

  He hadn’t thought he wanted to wed, hadn’t thought he was ready. Should Clarissa Merrick be his bride? He hadn’t thought he’d have ever selected someone like her, but maybe she’d turn out to be just what he needed. Maybe he’d like her more than he supposed.