by Cheryl Holt
Suddenly Rafe couldn’t breathe, and he gazed down at Eddie. “I realize this is your first grand ball, but would you be upset if we left?”
“For where?”
“To the house where we’re staying. No one’s there but a few servants. We’d have the whole place to ourselves, and I can’t bear this bloody dance another second.”
Eddie glanced over to where Penelope had just vanished onto the verandah. “Will he walk in the garden with her? Would he dare while you and I and most of London are watching?”
Rafe wanted to admit that, yes, his brother would race after Penelope like a dog on a tight leash, but why bother? Eddie could see what was transpiring.
“Could we go?” he said. “Would you mind?”
“No, I wouldn’t mind.”
“I’ll meet you out in the front drive in ten minutes.”
“All right.”
She slipped away, and he stood very still, waiting, waiting, until Matthew scanned the room, and eventually Rafe was staring directly at him. Rafe shook his head with disgust, and though Matthew received Rafe’s message of disdain, his brother casually stared back at Rafe, his emotions—if he was suffering any—carefully shielded.
He was so good at that, so good at keeping everything inside. Rafe usually enjoyed his brother’s confident deportment, usually liked to emulate his cocky character. But for once, he was simply disappointed and sad.
He whipped away and stomped out.
* * * *
Penelope made sure it wouldn’t be difficult for Matthew to find her. Her perfume lingered long after she strolled by a man, so he only had to wander down the garden path, following her scent, but she was growing angry over his failure to arrive.
Ultimately he rounded the corner, and she was sitting on a bench, appearing lazily relaxed. There was an avaricious gleam in her eye that she couldn’t quite tamp down. Nor could she completely conceal her proprietary interest. The very first time she’d sashayed by him, he’d been hooked and unable to extricate himself. She was too beautiful, too decadent.
While no sane person would expect him to wed her—her reputation was absolutely horrid—she’d begun to predict it might happen someday. Her father was an important government official from an important family, so as her husband, Matthew would have taken a huge step up in status. He’d have been lucky to have her.
She was reeling from the news that the selfish bastard had trotted off to Greystone and shackled himself to a country mouse. Penelope couldn’t believe it, couldn’t accept what he’d done.
Ever since she’d learned of his perfidy, she’d been pretending she wasn’t furious. Especially in the ballroom, with her gaggle of nosy friends looking on, she’d strutted about as if she wasn’t concerned at all by his marriage to a rural nobody.
She was vain and spoiled, and she viewed his union as an impetuous act that changed nothing. She was anxious for him to declare it inconsequential and that his bride didn’t matter, and Penelope took some solace from the fact that she’d demanded he not bring his wife, and he hadn’t.
He must have intended to please Penelope, to show her that he would continue on with her. How else was she to interpret it?
“I didn’t think you’d ever join me.” She spoke in her sultry, come-hither voice that drove men wild, and she kept her smile firmly in place, not eager for him to note how irked she was.
“We’ve stirred plenty of gossip for one night. We shouldn’t overdo.”
She chuckled. “I beg to differ, darling. We haven’t stirred nearly enough. These stuffy Londoners need to be reminded of how free we are as a couple.”
“Is that what we are? A couple?”
“Of course. If we choose to misbehave in the garden, we will. Who’s to say we shouldn’t?”
Well, there was his wife, but who cared about her? Not Penelope.
She patted the spot next to her on the bench, but he didn’t move. He was in an odd temper, on the one hand seeming overly jolly and enlivened by the festivities. On the other, he was simmering with burning sentiments she didn’t understand.
There was a tempest brewing inside him, and she was determined to lure it to the fore. An explosion of emotion would lead to an explosion of passion, and when she goaded him to lust, he was always easier to manipulate and control.
She pushed herself to her feet, and she went over to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. The entire front of her body was pressed to his, her fabulous breasts positioned against his chest for maximum effect.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Aren’t you happy?”
“Happy enough.”
“The award ceremony was a tad dry.”
He shrugged. “They’re all much the same. Once you’ve received one gold medal, they all blend together.”
“Too true,” she cooed. “The speeches were incredibly tedious.”
“I didn’t notice.”
There was an awkward pause where she yearned to scold him for being a grouch, but he wasn’t the sort of man who liked to be told how to act, so she had to ignore his low mood.
“Don’t let me forget to thank you.” She hoped a change of subject would put them on more solid ground.
“Thank me for what?”
“For leaving the little wife at home.”
“Her name’s Clarissa.”
“Whoever she is, I appreciate your not bringing her.”
Penelope had already stood with him at several ceremonies, and though she hadn’t been on the stage at this one, she’d gotten as close as she could, with people recognizing she was there with him.
“I didn’t leave her at home. She refused to come.”
Praise be!
“Why?”
“She found out about my affair with you. She was very upset.”
Penelope pursed her lips in a feigned pout, being certain to conceal how she was gloating. Sarcastically she crooned, “Poor thing. She must have been devastated.”
“She was.”
“But enough about her,” Penelope breezily said. “This ball is so boring. Let’s sneak off, hmm?”
He didn’t reply to her suggestion, but murmured, “My brother is disappointed in me too. I hate that.”
“Why would he be disappointed? You’re the man of the hour. You’re the man of the year. The idiotic boy has no reason to complain.”
She loathed Rafe Harlow and had from the moment they’d met. He loathed her too, and she wouldn’t waste a single second discussing him.
“He likes my wife,” Matthew said. “He thinks I behaved badly toward her—because of you.”
Her temper flared. She couldn’t help it. “Could we please talk about someone besides your bride? I’m a bit aggravated over your marriage.”
“I realize you are.”
“I can’t believe you ran off and wed without asking my opinion.”
“Why would I have?”
“We’re involved, Matthew, and you’ve wounded me with your disregard.”
“I’ve wounded you?”
He appeared dubious, so she added, “I’ve been absolutely bereft since you visited me earlier today.”
“You don’t look bereft to me.”
“I’m hiding it well.”
In the moonlight, his luscious blue eyes glimmered like diamonds. He was so dashing, so virile, and she rose on tiptoe and tried to kiss him, but oaf that he was, he leaned away so she couldn’t.
“I’m married, Penelope.” His tone was scathing. “I can’t lurk in the garden with you anymore.”
“Your wife’s not here, Matthew. How would she ever know what we do?”
“I would know.” He nodded to the bench. “There are a few things I have to say. Sit down, would you?”
She stared up at him, and the sentiment she’d sensed had turned cold and hard and was being focused on her in an icy way. Her pulse began to pound with dread.
“If you don’t mind, I’d rather stand.”
“Fine. This won’t take long.�
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He reached behind his back and pulled her arms away so her torso wasn’t touching his.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I wasn’t clear enough with you this afternoon.”
“I disagree. You were extremely clear.”
“No, I wasn’t, so let me explain myself a bit better.”
She was desperate to avoid the inevitable. “There’s no need, Matthew, really. I can see you’re distraught, so we needn’t address it now. I’m sure it can wait.”
“No, it can’t wait. I have to tell you now, then you and I won’t speak to each other ever again.”
She sucked in a shocked breath. Of all the comments she’d expected to hear when she’d come outside, a split between them wasn’t even in the realm of possibilities.
“What do you mean?” she demanded, her alarm soaring.
“I had thought I should be kind to you.”
“Kind?” she sneered.
“Yes. I thought I could permit you to stay in the house for six months, and I figured I should continue your allowance until you found another option for yourself. But I guess I don’t want to be kind.”
“What are you wishing to be instead? Horrid? For that’s definitely what it sounds like to me.”
“I hurt my wife very much, and I can’t bear it, so I’m severing our connection. I’m having the house shuttered at the end of the month. Your allowance will stop then too.”
“But…but…that’s in two weeks.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Where will I go?”
“I suppose you’ll have to slink back to your father.”
“My father!”
He was a pious, pompous ass who constantly belittled Penelope and who’d never comprehended her need to revel and flirt. She wasn’t the dull, tepid daughter he insisted she be, and she refused to even attempt to be that person.
“I won’t live with my father. I’d rather jump off a cliff.”
“Then I don’t know what you’ll do.”
“You said I could return to Europe with you, that we’d keep on.”
“I never said that.”
“You did! You said I could come with you!”
“No, when we discussed it this afternoon, I didn’t give you an answer, so I’m giving you one now. We’re through. Forever.”
Another woman might have been weeping, begging, pleading with him to reconsider, but she wasn’t anguished. She was totally enraged.
“You can’t be serious, Matthew.”
“I am,” he stoically stated, “so don’t make this more difficult than it already is. Don’t pester me. Don’t follow me around. Don’t contact me. If you try, I will whisper to your friends that I’ve set you aside, but you’re so jealously smitten you can’t get over me. I’m certain you’d hate to have that story spreading.”
“As if I’d mope and pine away over you.”
“You shouldn’t. I’m not worth it.”
“You’re correct about that,” she snorted, “and I feel compelled to ask: Aren’t you worried as to what stories I might spread about you?”
“No. I don’t care what you say. Goodbye.”
With no more of a farewell than that, he spun and started for the house, and she was almost too stunned to call out to him.
“Matthew!”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Don’t make a scene. I’m not in the mood.”
“Don’t make a scene? Are you joking? You’ve tossed me away as if we have no history, as if we’re not fond of each other.”
“We’re not.”
“But I love you,” she lied. She’d never loved anyone but herself, but it was the only truly potent remark she could devise that might affect him.
He simply rolled his eyes. “Don’t be melodramatic.”
“I’m not being. If you put me aside, I’ll just die!”
He chuckled rudely. “Don’t perish on my account.”
He started off again, and in a panic she said, “What will I tell everyone?”
“Tell them I’m a boring married man, and I’ve decided to act like it.”
“You’ll be a laughingstock.”
“Why? Because I’m a faithful husband?”
“Yes.”
“You have a strange view of the world, Miss Bernard.”
His referring to her as Miss Bernard riled her temper. Like a deranged shrew, she ran after him and grabbed his arm.
“Why are you doing this? What’s the real reason?”
“The real reason?”
“Yes, you’re being absurd. You can’t want to separate from me.”
“Yes, I can, for you see, Penelope, after I left you today I spent hours riding and thinking. Guess what I realized?”
“What?”
“I do love someone, and as opposed to you, I’m not lying about it.”
“Who? Who do you love?”
“I love my wife.”
“You can’t mean it,” she wailed.
“Yes, I can. I mean it more than I’ve ever meant anything.” He yanked out of her grasp. “Apologize to your father for me. I’m deeply sorry for how my conduct with you has embarrassed him. Inform him he won’t have to fret about you shaming yourself with me in the future.”
He marched off, and she spat, “Bastard.”
“I’m not a bastard, Miss Bernard. I have it on the highest authority that my parents were married.”
She’d thought the epithet might wound him, but he ignored it, and when she bellowed to him again, he didn’t stop. He reached the verandah, dashed up the steps, and entered the ballroom where he was swallowed up by the crowd.
She hovered in the dark garden, watching the windows, hoping she’d catch a final glimpse of him, and wondering how she’d ever convince her father to let her slither home.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Edwina sneaked down the hall, but probably didn’t need to be furtive. Matthew was still at his party, Clarissa was gone, and the servants were asleep. There was no one to scold or tell her how to behave, and she’d stopped listening to her conscience.
She was bent on seduction, wearing just her robe and nothing else. Her brunette hair was down and brushed out, the lengthy tresses curling to her bottom. She hoped Rafe wouldn’t be able to resist.
She reached his door, and without knocking she opened it and slipped inside. On the way home from the ball he’d been in a strange mood, so if she learned that he hadn’t planned for her to visit, she’d simply return to her own room.
Despite what occurred, she wouldn’t act like an insulted dunce.
He was in the bedchamber, stretched out on the bed. He was mostly undressed, attired only in his trousers, the buttons undone as if he was waiting for her to arrive and tug the garment off for him.
He glanced over and waved for her to approach, and she was so excited that she didn’t remember to spin the key in the lock. But how could it matter? Who was there to enter after her?
“I didn’t think you’d ever get here,” he said.
“I wasn’t sure you wanted me to come.”
“Why do you imagine I suggested we leave the ball?”
“Well, I figured this was the reason, but I wasn’t certain.”
Her stride was hesitant, but he waved again, indicating she should hurry, and she raced over and clambered up on the mattress. He rolled them so she was beneath him, and he began kissing her and kissing her. She was in ecstasy, feeling as if he’d rescued her from drowning.
After their last encounter, where she’d pestered him about marriage, she hadn’t expected they’d ever be together like this again. She was elated and counting her lucky stars, wondering what had changed his mind, but she wasn’t about to inquire.
He untied her robe and yanked the sleeves off her shoulders so, in a thrice, she was naked. He was being very rough, very manly, touching, biting, and nibbling on numerous naughty locations.
He dipped to her breasts, and he sucked on her nipples, laving and pinching t
he aroused nubs until she was writhing with agony. His fingers drifted down her belly, to her womanly hair, then slid into her sheath. He stroked in and out, in and out, his thumb flicking at the sensitive spot where all her sensation was centered.
Suddenly she was swept away by pleasure, and she laughed and cried out. She reveled in the moment, worried that it might never end, and for awhile it didn’t seem as if it would.
But gradually she floated down to find him gazing at her. His expression was determined, but fraught with what she thought might be distress.
“We’re going to fornicate, Eddie,” he said.
“I was hoping we would.”
“I won’t ask if you’re sure.”
“You don’t have to. I’ve been sure from the start.”
“You better not complain later on.”
“I won’t.”
“I don’t want to hear that you wished it hadn’t happened.”
“I would never think that.”
She was convinced that fornication would goad them to the conclusion she craved. She was absolutely positive, but if it didn’t? She’d let him do it over and over again, and she had no doubt repetition would bring her what she sought.
“It will hurt the first time,” he warned her.
“How much?”
“Not very much, I don’t suppose. I’ve never lain with a virgin before.”
“But you’ve lain with other women?” She hated the jealous tone in her voice.
“Yes, and you should be glad I have. I won’t bumble about like a green boy.”
“Heaven forbid.”
She smiled, but he didn’t. He seemed angry, and she’d like to ask if he was angry with her, but she didn’t dare. She was afraid she might utter the wrong comment and he’d make her leave, but she wouldn’t until she got what she’d come for.
“No regrets, all right?” he said.
“No, no regrets with you. Not ever.”
“Don’t forget you agreed, for I certainly won’t.”
He gripped her thighs and widened them, pushing them farther and farther apart. Her private area was fully splayed, and like the ninny she was, she yearned to squeeze her legs together, but there was no escaping what was about to transpire. She’d begged for it and was about to receive precisely what she’d demanded.