Heart's Debt (Lost Lords Book 5)

by Cheryl Holt

  “Be silent, Miss Fogarty. Let me fornicate in peace.”

  “Fornicate? What does that mean?”

  “I’m not about to tell you. You’ll understand the concept once we’re through.”

  He renewed his ardent kissing, and she enthusiastically joined in, but she was extremely anxious about her decision. She hadn’t imagined she’d convince him to proceed. During their prior encounters, he’d been so reluctant.

  Her wish had been granted, but what had persuaded him? Was it the blue dress? The flowers in her hair? The shocking amount of cleavage Augusta had urged her to display? Whatever it had been, she’d pushed him past his breaking point. He was about to do unspeakable things to her. Wasn’t it too late to complain?

  Without warning, he bared her breasts, and he paused to glance down. He smirked, looking cocky and vain as if he’d always known he could get her into his bed.

  “Very nice, Miss Fogarty.”

  “Thank you,” she replied, not certain what other remark would be appropriate.

  “You’re very shapely.”

  “I’m glad you think so.”

  “I like a curvaceous woman.”

  “Well…good.”

  “And since I’m about to make you mine, I will call you Georgina from now on.”

  “All…right,” she stammered.

  She didn’t want to be on familiar terms with him, but considering he was staring at her naked bosom, it was probably silly to protest.

  “You may call me Damian, but only when we’re alone. When we’re out in public, or in front of the servants, I’ll need you to stick with Mr. Drummond.”

  “Will I receive the same courtesy? Will I be Miss Fogarty when others are present?”

  “No. From here on out, you’ll be Georgina to me. I won’t care who’s listening.”

  He bent down and sucked a nipple into his mouth. Once previous, he’d done it to her so she knew it could transpire, but still it was very wicked and she wasn’t prepared.

  For a long while, he licked and nuzzled until she felt that strange pressure building inside her where she worried she might explode. Gradually he was drawing up the hem of her gown. She might have attempted to stop him, but he’d never heed her.

  His torso was wedged between her thighs, and he was being very rough, almost as if he was furious with her. She couldn’t figure out why he would be. He hadn’t wanted a mistress, but he was an adult. He could have refused, but he hadn’t. Why be so grouchy about it?

  She thought they were about to engage in marital conduct, the kind of secret behavior only husbands and wives were supposed to perform. The act was unusual and mysterious, and while she hadn’t spent much time wondering what it would be like, she had always assumed it would be a tad romantic.

  “Mr. Drummond?” she said. “Damian?”

  Her use of his Christian name halted him. “What, Georgina?”

  “You’re angry.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “You don’t appear to be enjoying yourself.”

  “I don’t…what?”

  “I want you to like it, and you don’t seem happy.”

  He studied her forever, then chuckled. “I’m happy, Georgina. I’m delighted you’re here with me.”

  “Are you?”

  “Yes. I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

  The comment stunned her. “What a perfectly lovely thing to say.”

  “At the moment, I’m irked that you barged in, but I’ll get over it.”

  “Do you promise?” She smiled and shook her head. “I forgot. You never promise.”

  “You’re learning fast. Now cease your chatter and let me return to business.”

  “I’ve never done this before. Can’t you at least try to make it pleasant?”

  He snorted with amusement. “I didn’t realize you were finding it unpleasant. I’ll work harder to be certain you like it.”

  He began kissing her again, his hands busy with her breasts. His loins were pressed to hers, and he was flexing into her, the rhythm satisfying and electric. Her body was weeping with ecstasy. She was perched on the edge of a thrilling precipice.

  Suddenly he touched her between her legs, flicking his thumb across a sensitive spot she’d never noted prior. She exploded—as she’d been worrying she might. A wave of stupendous bliss washed over her, and she soared to the heavens, flying up and up until she reached a sort of peak. Then she tumbled down.

  When she landed at the bottom, aghast and sated and dazzled beyond measure, he was grinning, preening.

  “I take it that’s never happened to you in the past,” he said.

  “What was it?” she demanded.

  “It was passion and a very fine example of it too.”

  “Am I…I…with child now?”

  “No, and you never will be with me—no matter how frequently we lie down together.”

  “Why wouldn’t I ever be?”

  “Because I never intend to be a father.”

  “You can keep it from occurring?”

  “Yes.”

  “How?”

  “I’ll explain it someday.”

  She scowled. “Why would I react like that?”

  “You’re a very sexual creature, Georgina.”

  “Can every woman respond similarly?”

  “Yes—if her partner knows his way around a mattress, which I definitely do.”

  “So I’m not overly loose? It wouldn’t be that I have inherited…ah…tainted female blood, would it?”

  “No, you haven’t inherited any awful traits, and you’re not overly loose. I’d say you’re just the right amount of loose.”

  She must have looked horrified, because he rolled off her and onto his back, and he laughed and laughed. He didn’t very often, and she couldn’t guess what he found so humorous.

  She vividly recollected every warning her Aunt Augusta had ever delivered about how easily her mother had been lured into amorous behavior. Augusta insisted a girl took after her mother and that Georgina very likely possessed her mother’s worst impulses.

  All these years, she’d denied Augusta, had refused to listen to her slurs about her mother’s character. But gad! Had Augusta been correct? Was Georgina exactly like her mother in her illicit interests?

  The notion didn’t bear contemplating.

  Augusta had always counseled that a woman hadn’t ought to like intimate conduct, but Georgina couldn’t wait to try it again. If a true lady never succumbed to ardor, what was Georgina to think of her reaction?

  With him lying on his back—and still laughing at her!—he wasn’t paying any attention. She slid to the floor, tucking her breasts into her bodice where they belonged. Then she hurried for the door.

  He noticed her departure, and he turned onto his side. “Where are you going?”

  “I…need to leave.”

  “Why? We’ve only just begun. We have the whole afternoon and evening ahead of us.”

  “I can’t continue.”

  “Why not?” His forceful gaze wandered down her torso, and he frowned. “Something’s wrong. What?”

  “I…I…liked it.”

  “Well, I hope so.”

  “Should I have liked it?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t understand this.”

  To her great shame and dismay, she burst into tears. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried, and he stoically watched her as if he hadn’t been affected in the slightest by their raucous dalliance. She couldn’t abide that she’d exhibited such raw emotion in front of him, but that he’d exhibited none at all.

  “I have to go,” she said. “We can discuss it later.” Except she thought she’d expire from mortification before she’d ever talk about the incident.

  “Georgina! You’re being absurd.”

  “No, I have to go.”

  She whipped away and ran, and though he called to her,
she kept running all the way to Drummond Cottage. She didn’t slow until she was in her decrepit room with the door closed and the key spun in the lock.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Sophia was confused over whether she should knock or not.

  Mr. Roxbury’s bedroom suite had been hers ever since she’d moved out of the nursery. Clearly she’d never cherished it as much as she should have, but then it had never occurred to her that a stranger could swoop in and seize it.

  It was Mr. Roxbury’s now, and after Mr. Drummond left she wondered if Roxbury would remain in it or if he’d claim the master suite. If he did, could she persuade him to give it back to her?

  She didn’t think so. Earlier they’d received an official document from Mr. Drummond ordering them to leave on Saturday morning. As it was currently Thursday night, she had one more day to tarry at Kirkwood.

  Then…?

  She couldn’t guess what would happen.

  Her mother was languishing at Drummond Cottage, bewailing their plight but making no preparations to depart. She was acting as if Fate would intervene, as if a knight on a white charger would ride in and rescue them.

  Miles—as was typical—had vanished, abandoning her and her mother to wallow in the indignity of expulsion without him.

  Georgina was the only one who’d taken an affirmative step. She’d beautified herself, then had gone to plead with Mr. Drummond, but apparently it had had no effect. Whatever had transpired—Georgina wouldn’t discuss it—the eviction notice had arrived shortly afterward.

  Sophia had finally accepted that she was on a sinking ship and she had to save herself.

  Mr. Roxbury had offered his help, and throughout the torturous hours while she’d listened to her mother’s unending complaints about Mr. Drummond, Sophia had thought about Mr. Roxbury constantly.

  What if she went to him? What might he demand? What might she be willing to do?

  Ultimately it had dawned on her that she should probably find out.

  She decided it was better to knock than bluster in, and he answered right away. He was cocky, grinning, obviously certain she’d visit him.

  “Hello, Sophia.”

  “Hello.”

  He gestured inside, inviting her to enter as he said, “Let me take your cloak.”

  She clutched at it as if he might yank it off and have his wicked way with her, and suddenly the garment felt like a protective suit of armor.

  “Might I keep it on?”

  “Well, you can, but I had supper delivered. It might be difficult to cut your meat.”

  “Oh.”

  She glanced over to the fireplace where a cheery fire burned in the grate. A table had been set in front of it, covered with what had once been the family’s fine china and napkins. There were dishes on the sideboard, and two glasses of wine had been poured.

  So…he didn’t intend to ravish her. At least not immediately. They would dine first.

  Since she’d been forced out of the manor, meals had been sparse and revolting. She was starving, and she smiled up at him. “Yes, please take my cloak.”

  She unhooked the clasp and handed it to him. He tossed it on the sofa, then escorted her to the table. He held her chair as she sat down.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “You’re welcome.”

  For a brief second, he hovered, and their gazes locked. With his large physique, black hair, and blue eyes, he really was so handsome. It was very odd, but a sense of recognition passed between them as if they’d been acquainted for years or perhaps as if there was an attraction bubbling.

  Could there be? If so, could she use it to garner what she craved? That being his permission to stay at Kirkwood without having to pay a price?

  He seated himself in the chair across. “I can’t believe you actually came. I figured you wouldn’t dare.”

  “I wasn’t going to.”

  “What changed your mind?”

  “I’m famished,” she admitted, and he laughed.

  “I was hoping you might be.”

  “Of all the sins Mr. Drummond committed against me, the worst was his stealing our cook so we had to flounder around without her.”

  “You aren’t terribly skilled at cooking?”

  “No, girls of my station never lift a finger. I know how to tell the cook what to prepare, but that’s about it. Georgina can’t even cook, and she’s usually good at everything.”

  “If you’re hungry, I’ve found the perfect way to entice you.”

  “We’ll see if you have,” she saucily retorted, shocked by the flirtatious tone in her voice.

  It seemed disloyal and treacherous to flirt with him. Wouldn’t she be betraying Miles? Considering the trouble he’d caused, did she care if she betrayed him? No, she didn’t.

  Mr. Roxbury sipped his wine, and he was definitely cataloguing her features. It had been an eternity since any man had assessed her in an alluring manner, and she was happy to let him look his fill.

  “How are matters over at Drummond Cottage?” he asked.

  “About as bad as you can imagine.”

  “Miss Fogarty made quite a spectacle of herself today.”

  “How was it a spectacle? She begged Mr. Drummond, but was it awful? Did she appear foolish?”

  “No. She was wonderful.”

  “It didn’t help though. We received an eviction notice after she spoke to him.”

  “So I heard.”

  She studied him, deciding he’d probably been the one to draft it. Wasn’t he acting as Drummond’s agent? He likely knew the details before Drummond knew them himself.

  “If Georgina was so moving,” she asked, “why wasn’t Mr. Drummond moved?”

  “He has no intention of being kind to you.”

  “It was all for show?”

  “Pretty much.”

  She sighed. “I have to leave Saturday morning.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  “Could you stop it from happening?”

  “Maybe.”

  He stared at her with such a hot, searing gleam in his eye that she felt it down to her toes.

  “What would I have to do so I could remain here?” she inquired.

  “You know what.”

  “I realize you want to have a fling, but I’m clueless as to what it would entail so you’re demanding I bargain without possessing all the facts.”

  “It’s horrid of me, I confess it, but I love pressuring you. When you’re in dire straits, you’ll be more apt to give me what I desire.”

  “In your dreams perhaps.”

  “Let’s eat. You’ll be friendlier on a full stomach.”

  He walked to the sideboard, dished up two plates, and brought them over.

  “I asked the housekeeper about your favorite foods,” he said. “I hope she guessed correctly.”

  He’d ordered beef and potatoes and the fresh bread the cook was renowned for baking.

  “You picked my favorites exactly,” she told him.

  “There’s apple pie for dessert.”

  “My goodness. You certainly went out of your way to please me.”

  “I have to wear you down somehow. I’m not a ravening beast. I have to convince you by fair means, because I’m too decent to convince you by foul ones.”

  “You couldn’t prove it by me. In my view, you’ve been dreadful.”

  “Why is that? I’m simply offering you an escape from your difficult situation, but I expect to be remunerated for my efforts. It’s not as if I’m forcing you.”

  “The compensation you require is illicit though.”

  “Is it? You’re an adult. If you freely agree, how can it be wrong? How can you deem it to be force?”

  “Did you grow up in London?” she asked.

  He hemmed and hawed as if he wasn’t sure he should apprise her of where he’d lived, but why would it be a secret?

  “I was in London for a few years,” he eventually admitted.

  “Is it common there for men t
o make lewd proposals to young ladies of quality?”

  “Yes, it’s very common.”

  She scrutinized him, then scoffed. “You’re lying. Even in London, morals couldn’t be so different from how they are in the country.”

  “Men proposition women all the time. Every once in a while, a fellow gets lucky.”

  He leaned forward on his elbows so he was much closer, and she shifted away, unnerved by his nearness, by the masculine virility he emitted without even trying.

  “What’s your opinion, Sophia?” he asked. “Will I be one of those fellows who gets very, very lucky?”

  She’d just raised her fork to her mouth, and it hovered there until she dropped it to her plate.

  “I think you should tell me what I’d have to do.”

  “What you’d have to…do?” he repeated back to her. “We’d carry on an affair.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “You’d join me in my bed whenever I request it of you.”

  “I don’t know what happens there.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll teach you.”

  She trembled with dismay, but with excitement too. She felt very brazen, as if they were talking about someone else.

  “Is it the conduct wives perform?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would I be any good at it?”

  “I’m positive you would be or I wouldn’t have asked you.”

  “Would I like it?”

  He grinned a cocky grin. “With me as your partner? Of course you’d like it.”

  “You’re confident. I’ll say that for you.”

  “I’m confident because I’m clear on what I want, and I want you.”

  “If we proceed, can you guarantee I’d be able to stay at Kirkwood?”

  He hesitated, then said, “You could stay. You might have to live in Drummond Cottage, but after Damian leaves, I could fix it up so you’d be uncomfortable.”

  Was he telling the truth? Oh, how she wished she’d had more experience with men or that she had an older, wiser female from whom she could seek advice. How was she to deduce if he was being candid? How was she to determine if he’d follow through on a promise?

  She’d be assuming all the risks, and he’d assume nothing at all. Men could misbehave in a hundred salacious ways, and if they were caught people clucked their tongues and grumbled about loose morals. But let a woman step off the righteous path just once, and her entire life was ruined.