by Cheryl Holt
“I hate to think of someone being cruel to you.”
“It was a long time ago, and Matthew got even for me.”
“How?”
He stared and stared, then he said, “It doesn’t matter now.”
He drew on his shirt, then led her out to the bedchamber.
“What should I do with you?” he asked. “My brother’s voice is shouting in my head, ordering me to escort you to the door.”
“Can’t you ignore him?”
He grinned. “Yes, but when I do, I usually wind up in loads of trouble.”
“Would you like to wind up in trouble with me?”
“That depends on what sort of trouble you have in mind.”
Hastily, she said, “Not the I’m-ruined-and-you-have-to-marry-me kind.”
“Good, because you should understand—right up front—that I wouldn’t marry you. If Roland Merrick blustered in this very instant and demanded a wedding, I’d laugh in his face.”
“So would I. If he exhibited a single ounce of interest in my welfare, I’d likely faint from shock.”
She gazed up at him, wishing she was skilled at amour, wishing she knew how to entice him. He was the only man she’d ever kissed, and if he didn’t kiss her again—and often—before he departed, she’d go mad.
“Aren’t you bored at Greystone?” she inquired.
“Yes.”
“It must be terribly dull after living in an army camp.”
“It is.”
“I could make your stay more enjoyable.”
“I’m sure you could,” he agreed. “I’m just not sure I ought to let you.” He studied her, his eyes wandering down her torso, then back up. Ultimately he muttered, “What the hell? It won’t be the first time I misbehaved.”
“I’m certain it won’t be the last either.”
“You have to swear you won’t tattle to anyone.”
“I won’t. I swear.”
“Not your maid. Not Miss Clarissa. No one.”
“My lips are sealed.” She flicked her fingers over her lips, as if locking them with a key.
“No strings,” he reminded her. “No leg shackle when we’re through. Just fun and games.”
“Fun and games,” she repeated, though she was lying.
If she played her cards right, if she showed him what a wonderful person she was, there was no predicting what might happen. She’d make him love her. She didn’t know how she’d do it, but she would. When he left England to return to the army, she planned to be his wife.
Without her realizing what he intended, he looped an arm around her waist, lifted her off her feet, and tossed her onto the bed. The swift motion surprised her, and she squealed with glee as he jumped onto the mattress too and stretched out on top of her.
He clamped a palm over her mouth and scolded, “Be silent, you little trollop, or you’ll have the whole house in here to see what’s amiss.”
He began kissing her, and she merrily joined in. He was large and heavy and so very masculine, and she could hardly contain her excitement. She was happy to engage in any naughty activity so long as it kept him coming back for more.
He caressed her breasts, her tummy and thighs. She followed his lead, her hands roaming as his were roaming. She stroked him everywhere, but she couldn’t seem to bring him near enough. She tugged at his shirt, indicating she wanted it off, and he was delighted to assist in its removal.
In a thrice, his upper torso was bared again, and she could feast on all that smooth skin.
He unbuttoned her dress, opening the front to reveal corset and chemise, then he loosened her laces and pushed down the fabric to expose her bosom. Being very plump, she was well-endowed, and he paused to glance down at what she viewed as her finest female asset.
What would he think? She’d heard men loved a good pair of breasts. How she hoped it was true!
“Very nice, Eddie,” he murmured.
“Do you mean it?”
“Yes, I definitely mean it.”
He dipped down and sucked on her nipple, and she bit down a shriek of alarm—though she wasn’t really alarmed. She was merely surprised—and embarrassed—but she wouldn’t let him know that. With his being so handsome and dashing, she was certain he’d dabbled with girls from every corner of the globe. She was eager for him to regard her as sophisticated and experienced, as adept at flirtation as any of his other partners.
For a very long while, he nursed at her breasts, laving and pinching them. He shifted back and forth until the tender nubs were raw and inflamed. She was on edge and in agony, her body waiting for something to transpire that never arrived.
Finally he drew away, and his voice was strained. “We have to stop.”
“Why?”
“Because if we don’t, I can’t be responsible for what might happen.”
“What might you do?”
“I’d relieve you of your virginity.”
“Is that where you’d poke about inside me with your manly parts?”
He chuckled. “I suppose that’s one way to describe it.”
Feeling reckless and very, very brave, she gulped and insisted, “You can if you want. I don’t mind.”
“You say that now, but if we forged ahead, we couldn’t ever fix it. You couldn’t marry later on.”
“I don’t care about what occurs later.”
She was lying again. She actually cared very much about what occurred in the future. She planned to wring a proposal out of him before he left Greystone, and why shouldn’t she work for it? Why shouldn’t she dream big dreams?
She was pretty and smart and educated, and she had a substantial dowry. Recently, life had thrown her a few curves, but wasn’t she due for some good luck? He didn’t realize it yet, but she was exactly the girl who should be with him forever.
He sat up and pulled her up too, and he shifted them around so he was balanced on the mattress, his feet on the floor, with her perched between his thighs.
He tied her laces and buttoned her dress, exhibiting too much expertise with feminine attire, which could only have sprung from frequent assignations. But she didn’t mention it. Her hair had fallen, and he riffled under the covers to locate the combs that had dropped out. He stuck them in various places, pushing them in tightly enough to hold up the lengthy tresses until she could get to her room.
It was a gloriously intimate moment. She leaned in and kissed him, and he joined in, but just for a second, then he eased her away and stood her on her feet. He stood too and walked her out.
“You’ll be the death of me,” he teased.
“You can’t die,” she replied. “I need you hale and healthy.”
“So we can do it again?”
“Yes. Tomorrow evening. I’ll sneak into your bedchamber, and even if you tell me I can’t, I’ll come anyway.”
He studied her and shrugged. “Sure. Why not? It’s better than visiting a tavern wench, I guess.”
“Better than a wench!”
She whacked him on the shoulder, as he laughed and claimed, “I was joking. You’re much more fun than a wench.”
He shoved her into the hall, and she dawdled, anxious to utter a pithy and humorous remark so he’d think of her after she left. Or she wanted him to say something, that she was beautiful, or he’d enjoyed her company, or…anything.
But he simply winked and shut the door in her face.
* * * *
“You have a letter.”
“Why are you presenting it to me as if it were a venomous snake?”
Magdalena—Maggie—Wells Scott Blair grinned at her husband, Michael, and waved the letter under his nose.
They were at their estate of Cliffside, in the morning parlor having breakfast. He owned a notorious gambling club in London along with numerous other disreputable businesses, and he was to have returned to the city a week earlier, but he couldn’t drag himself away. And she was in no hurry to have him go.
He had plenty of capable managers and henchman to watch over hi
s affairs while he was loafing in the country.
“From the flowery handwriting,” she said, “it’s obviously from a female.”
“A female, hmm…” He wiggled his brows, looking lecherous and vain.
“If it’s one of your prior paramours, I’ll skin you alive.”
“None of them know where I am.”
“Oh, you bounder! You’re supposed to deny that an old flame would contact you. You’re supposed to insist all the doxies in your past were forgotten once you met me.”
“They absolutely were. Now don’t keep me in suspense.”
He yanked the letter from her and flicked the seal, but though she leaned over his shoulder, desperate for a peek, he wouldn’t let her see it.
“It’s definitely from a woman,” he said, as she glowered and plopped down in the chair across from him.
“Who? If it’s a trollop, you’d best get your story straight.”
“I wouldn’t exactly call her a trollop, although she’s an expert at preening and flaunting herself.” She was about to scold him unmercifully, when he said, “It’s from my sister. It’s from Evangeline.”
“You rat. You were trying to make me jealous.”
He snorted with amusement. “It worked too.”
He was a handsome, arrogant beast who’d been an orphan on the streets of London. He was tough and driven, the sort of brigand who thrived on violence and revenge and intimidation. When he walked through a room, people stepped out of his way and murmured about him after he passed.
Those traits had once terrified her, but not anymore. She was training him quickly and well, and for her he was gentle as a pussycat.
“She wants us to come to Fox Run,” he explained.
Evangeline and Maggie had attended school together as girls, long before Maggie had crossed paths with Michael, long before she’d ever fallen in love and wed him. As adults, she and Evangeline had lost track of each other, and when Maggie had stumbled on her again, she’d been stunned to find that Evangeline had married a viscount. She was now Lady Run, and Fox Run was her husband’s country estate.
“Are we invited to her garden party?” Maggie asked.
“Yes, but also she wants me to meet her neighbor.”
“It better be a male.”
“It is.”
He had the oddest expression on his face, and she scowled. “What is it? Is it bad news?”
“No, she says…ah…he looks just like me.”
“Just like you? What does that mean?”
“She says we could be twins.”
Maggie had scooped up a forkful of eggs, and she dropped the utensil. It clattered onto her plate with a loud clang.
When Michael was a tiny boy, his father had been killed in a hunting accident, then his mother had been convicted of a crime and transported to the penal colonies in Australia. He’d had three siblings, one of them a twin brother named Matthew.
Their mother had arranged for a family friend, a Mr. Etherton, to watch over them for her. He’d been a bachelor and not much of a father-figure, so his assistance hadn’t been all that competent. Two of the siblings, Evangeline and Bryce, had been sent to boarding schools and raised with scant difficulty. But the twins, Michael and Matthew, had vanished, and though Etherton had searched and searched, they’d never been located.
They had spent the night with servants at a coaching inn, but there had been a fire, and the servants had perished. In the resulting chaos, Michael had ended up in an orphanage and living under the name Michael Scott. Of Matthew, there had never been a single trace.
Michael had grown up not remembering he had a twin, but he’d always had strange visions where he could see the world through his brother’s eyes. Sometimes they had the same dreams.
For most of Michael’s life, he’d assumed he was a bit insane, until Evangeline told him of his twin brother’s existence. They were both hunting for him.
“She must be wondering if he’s Matthew,” Maggie murmured. “Why is she considering the possibility?”
“He rode by her on a horse, and she thought it was me. She called out to him, thinking I’d travelled to Fox Run for some reason.”
“She spoke to him?”
“Yes. He’s a guest at a nearby estate.”
“Did she learn his name? Is it Matthew?”
“No, it’s Rafe.”
They stared, and finally Maggie said, “It doesn’t necessarily indicate anything. Your name was changed. His might have been too.”
He shook his head. “It can’t be this easy. The mystery won’t be solved by his riding past on a horse.”
“Why not? Since you met Evangeline and realized your kinship, I’ve felt your mother was hovering. Maybe she brought them together.”
He sensed his mother’s ghostly presence too, so strongly that he’d occasionally glance over his shoulder and she’d be standing there. If Matthew was found with so little effort, Maggie wouldn’t be surprised in the least.
“So…are we going to Fox Run?” she asked.
“Immediately. How quickly can you pack?”
“I can be ready in half an hour.”
Yet as she offered the remark, she’d grabbed her fork and swallowed down a large amount of the scrambled eggs. Instantly she was swamped by a wave of nausea. She was in the family way, and the morning sickness came on fast and virulently.
“Uh-oh,” she muttered.
“You’re looking green around the gills, my dear wife.”
“Would you excuse me?”
She leapt up and ran out, not having to go far to find a chamber pot. The housekeeper had hidden them at convenient spots around the house.
She emptied her stomach, and when she straightened, Michael was there with a cool cloth for her forehead, a sip of water for her mouth, and a soothing hand caressing her back.
“Let’s get you up to bed,” he said.
“I don’t want to go to bed,” she complained. “I want to go to Fox Run with you.”
“You can’t traipse off to Fox Run. Not with the shape you’re in.”
“But I want to.”
When the nausea started, it continued for hours. She’d been ill for weeks, and the situation showed no signs of abating. She wasn’t just sick in the morning either. It arrived day or night without warning.
“What’s the old saying, Maggie? The mind is willing but the flesh is weak?”
“I hate old sayings,” she petulantly replied.
“I’ll write you from Fox Run. I’ll tell you everything.”
“It’s not fair that I have to stay home.”
“Who said life is fair?”
“If you discover that it’s Matthew, will you bring him to Cliffside?”
“Are you joking? If it’s Matthew, I’ll never let him out of my sight again. Not until I draw my last breath.”
* * * *
“This is an honor, Lady Run.”
“Hello, Miss Merrick.”
Clarissa stared at Evangeline Drake. They were in the front parlor at Greystone, Lady Run having paid an unexpected visit, and Clarissa hoped the other woman wouldn’t notice how Clarissa was gaping.
Lady Run was gloriously beautiful, with golden-blond hair and big blue eyes, a curvaceous figure and merry temperament. A gifted singer, she was the sort who could have an audience jumping to its feet and wildly applauding in the middle of a song.
Clarissa had been lucky enough to hear her perform once. She’d attended a soiree at Fox Run before Lady Run had ever been engaged to Lord Run. She was quite dazzling, and Clarissa felt she was sitting with a celebrity.
“I met you at Fox Run,” Clarissa said, “several months ago. You sang for everyone.”
“I apologize, but I don’t recall. I had a whirlwind courtship with my husband, and I’ve been introduced to so many people since then.”
“It’s all right. I wouldn’t suppose you’d remember me. I stood in the back, and when you finished, I was too awed to approach you.”
“My cousins aren’t at home. They’ll be sorry they missed you.”
“Your cousins are Angela and Roland?”
“Yes.”
Lady Run handed Clarissa an envelope. As Clarissa studied it, Lady Run explained, “It’s an invitation. We’re hosting our annual garden party.”
Clarissa flicked the seal and read the penned words, feigning calm as she wondered if Lady Run knew the Merricks were being shunned. Clarissa worried that Lady Run might have made a horrid social gaffe, but she had no idea how to broach the subject.
She peeked up, and Lady Run flashed a warm smile.
“I’m aware of your family’s troubles,” Lady Run said. “I can’t abide that you and your cousins are being ostracized. It seems to me it was their father’s bad behavior that caused your problems.”
“It was.”
“I don’t see why you should be blamed for any of it.”
“Are you sure, Lady Run? Your other guests might…talk.”
“Let them. If they have an issue with my guest list, they can discuss it with my husband. He can be intimidating.”
She grinned, looking mischievous and much tougher than Clarissa would have guessed. Clarissa chuckled, then sobered. “This is so kind of you, Lady Run. It will mean so much to Roland and Angela.”
“It’s a small gesture, but I hope it will help to heal the hard feelings that have arisen in the neighborhood.”
“I’m certain it will.”
With Lady Run having put herself forward on the Merricks’ behalf, people wouldn’t be able to insult or denigrate them. At least not to their faces. They’d have to wait until they were home to gossip.
“Is this Lord Run’s annual event?” Clarissa asked.
“Yes, it’s a tradition at Fox Run, and with my being newly married, it’s my first one as hostess.” Lady Run pointed to Clarissa. “The invitation includes you and Miss Edwards.”
“Oh, how marvelous. Edwina is only eighteen, so she’s been particularly upset at our not socializing.”
“Also, I met a gentleman the other day out on the road. He told me he was a guest at Greystone. I wanted to include him as well. Mr. Harlow? Is he still staying with you?”
“Yes, he and his brother are both here.”
“Please inform them that they should come too.”