“No! No, thank you. Once I’m in bed I’ll warm up soon enough.”
Max looked at her with dark speculation. He said, “Will you, indeed?”
“Yes.”
“Then you’d best get into the bed at once. You look very cold to me.”
“I’ll do that.”
She stood, waiting for him to leave.
Max stood—exactly where he was.
Kirsty considered and rejected the idea of going to the washstand and pouring water. She glanced down and saw the outline of her limbs through her gown. She pressed her thighs tightly together and wished she could be somewhere far away.
“The bed is high,” Max said.
“Yes.”
“The step appears to be missing.”
“I’ll stand on the siderails to get in.”
“That would hurt your feet.”
“My feet are tough.”
“Not that tough.”
Oh mortification. “Then I shall use a chair. Please don’t concern yourself. You’ve already been far too kind.”
“You speak as if we were strangers.”
Kirsty didn’t respond. If she had spoken, it would have been to remind him that they had become strangers.
Without warning, he closed the space between them and swept her up into his arms. Her shock was so great that she clung to his neck.
Four strides and he was able to deposit her atop the mattress. “There,” was all he said.
“Yes,” was all Kirsty could say. She supported herself with her braced arms and took deep breaths to calm her thundering heart.
“Good night to you, then,” Max said, backing away.
Kirsty said, “Yes. Good night.”
He reached the door, said, “White becomes you,” and left.
The door to the corridor slammed, and the sound of his boots retreated rapidly down the corridor.
Chapter Six
Surely the air had left the night. He could scarce breathe, and his linen stuck to his back.
What did he think he was about?
God help him, but he’d made a pretty mess of the disaster that had already been his life.
Max stopped at the door to his rooms. He’d told her he slept lightly, that she need only call out if she needed him.
He spread his arms and braced his weight against the doorjamb. For her own sake she’d best never decide to call for him—for her own sake, and for his. If he went to comfort her, he’d not make himself leave again. The wonder was that he’d had the restraint to leave her tonight.
He slept lightly? With the image of her in her childish nightgown—that hid precious little—burned into his brain, how would he ever sleep again? An innocent. His eyes stung. Passion smote its victims in mysterious ways. He could rant his frustration at wanting Kirsty Mercer to the silent skies. And he could have had her. She could be his this moment if he’d been prepared to turn his back on the man who had given him a life worth living.
Tonight, when Kirsty had made up her mind to come with him rather than remain with her family, she’d had more courage than he’d managed to summon when his father told him to keep his distance from her. You’re a gentleman’s son, a viscount’s son. Kirsty’s a good girl, but she’s the daughter of tenant stock. The two cannot mix, Max. I’ve never asked you to do other than that which I considered for your best interests. Heed me if you please. Now, that’s an end of it, then. It will not be mentioned again.
He could go to Arran and beg advice. With Grace in Cornwall, the marquess would be in his music room far into the night, playing and composing. Arran understood. He’d held his opinions to himself rather than go against his brother, but Max had seen his uncle shake his head when father told Max he must marry “appropriately.” And Arran had supported Max’s plan to employ Kirsty as his assistant—an unprecedented idea, and one that his father was likely to attempt to scuttle on his return.
Arran could help the cause considerably if he chose. Max considered the possibility. If he were completely honest, he’d admit that although Arran hadn’t opposed the idea of Kirsty coming to the castle—and he’d said she should be made comfortable if she did come, he hadn’t exactly endorsed the idea.
Would she go away with him if he asked her?
He could support them well enough. He was a man of simple tastes and had put goodly sums away, and invested well. And his father had made handsome provision for him.
And how would she survive if he took her from this land where she’d grown like a perfect flower, and where she thrived on the love of her family—who would surely relent in time—and the certainty of her place in the order of things? She’d never complain, but she’d suffer, and in time they would both regret what they’d done.
Bringing her here had been wrong, but he would not turn back.
He went into the dark anteroom to his chambers and restrained himself from slamming the door. The rage simmered, but it was still deep, where there was a chance he could contain it. He’d shouted at Kirsty, and shaken her. “My God! What is to become of me?” he asked himself aloud. A man capable of taking out his anger on a slip of a girl.
Confess that you intend to make her your mistress. At least confess it to yourself.
He stood still and listened. There was an atmosphere here—in his rooms. He’d swear he wasn’t alone.
Cold climbed his spine, and he looked toward the dim light that spilled from his library. He walked forward cautiously until he could see into the book-lined room. Before he could contain his surprise, an exclamation burst from his lips.
“Are you angry, Max?” Lady Hermoine rose from the chair behind his desk, but made no attempt to approach him. “Please say you are not angry, that you are glad to see me. I know I have shocked you, but do be gentle with me. I am desperate and I need your assistance.” She played with a honey gold curl and swayed her skirts.
“My assistance?” He could not make himself go to her. From the moment they’d met and it became obvious that the meeting was arranged by his parents and the countess, he’d tried—without success—to respond to Lady Hermoine.
She lowered her thick lashes and trailed her fingertips over the desktop. Her low-cut lavender-colored gown displayed her fine figure provocatively. “Not assistance exactly. Oh, this is embarrassing. I know that ours is not a match of the heart. Not your heart. But I long for it to be so and pray that in time you will come to love me.”
“How did you get in here?”
She shrugged and kept her bare shoulders raised. “It was simple.” Her gown clung precariously to her breasts and covered far too little for comfort. “I will not be other than honest with you. I bribed the coachman at The Hallows to bring me back. Then I hid in the gardens. I waited until I saw the butler leave, and let myself in. He doesn’t lock the doors when he takes his outings. I knew your rooms were somewhere in this tower, so I searched. As soon as I entered here, I knew I had found you—or found the place you have made your own. I felt you here.”
Max smothered the urge to be harsh with her. “Shanks left? You say he takes evening outings?”
“Every evening. Sometimes with the housekeeper. They take a book and stroll out into the gardens.”
“Extraordinary,” Max said. “I shall escort you home at once.”
“No!” She hurried around the desk and threw herself at him. She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her face to his chest. “Do not send me away. I am despondent.”
The woman was a stranger to him and would remain so.
“You should not have come here.” He didn’t hold her.
“I am to be your wife. Very soon if our families have their way. Yet I feel I do not know you at all, and I am afraid.” She trembled and ran her hands up and down his back. “Make me feel unafraid, Max. Make me your wife tonight and show me that you care for me.”
Surely he misunderstood her. “You are overwrought. This is always a difficult time for a young woman, or so I’m told.”
“Y
ou mean the time when they are betrothed and anticipating the changes which must occur—the happy changes— when they are married?”
Did he mean that? Was he actually accepting that he would take this woman as his wife? “I must repeat that you should not have come here. Had you been seen, your reputation would be ruined.”
“I was not seen,” she said, keeping her eyes downcast. “Please do not send me away. Let me stay with you. If you’d prefer, I will sit by your bed. But only let me be with you. You make me brave.”
“You hardly know me.” And will never know me better.
“I am a woman of intuition. I have often been told so. Your goodness and understanding are things I feel in here.” She spread her right hand over her all-but-bared left breast and looked beseechingly up into his face.
He could not help but note that her nipples were visible. Large, pink nipples and sumptuous breasts no man could fail to find arousing.
“You want me,” she whispered. “I feel it.”
“I want you to leave,” he told her, in a voice that cracked enough to put the doubt to his words.
Hermoine rose to her toes, put her arms around his neck, and kissed him.
Surprise unbalanced Max. His hands went to her waist to steady them both. Surprise became shock as she thrust her tongue into his mouth and rubbed her body against his. She took one of his hands from her waist and thrust it inside her bodice and over a breast that overflowed his fingers.
She whimpered, and his rod swelled hard.
The force of her ardor drove him back a pace, but she only pushed her tongue farther into his mouth. Her fingers, delving past his groin, brought a groan to his lips. Her arousal broke into a fever. She probed him, and squeezed, and struggled to raise her skirts until she could spread her legs around his.
Sweat ran from his brow into his eyes. No woman had ever assaulted him, yet that was what Lady Hermoine did— she assaulted him in a blatant quest for sexual satisfaction.
A high-class whore.
Not possible.
“Stop.” He captured her wrists and held them behind her back while she struggled. “You cannot know what you are about.”
Her bright, impassioned eyes and flushed cheeks spoke to the height of her excitement. “I have never felt so,” she told him, panting. “It is most inappropriate, I’m sure, but you make me feel what I have never felt before. I want you to make me yours. Oh, please, Max. Please.”
He would be forgiven for accepting her offer. “Calm yourself,” he said. “Think what you’re about, I beg you. I’m sure you will regret one more moment of this, and it is my duty to make sure that nothing more occurs.”
“No.” She struggled, and her breasts were completely bared. “I see how you look at me. You want me, too. We should not deny ourselves such ecstasy. And we can hasten the marriage, Max. But I cannot leave you tonight without learning all there is about a man and a woman, together, alone.”
He could lose himself in her. Her body could make him forget what he truly wanted, who he truly wanted.
Hermoine turned around. “Unfasten my gown, please.”
All so easy for the taking.
She looked back at him, revealing how her flesh balanced, creamy and overflowing, atop the boned gown. “Please, Max. Do help me.”
He took a step backward, and another, and finally walked behind his desk to slump into the chair. “Why must I be tempted so?”
“Tempted? Tempted. Soon we shall be man and wife and together like this whenever we please. I shall not have to search you out to assuage my need. And, Max, I do need you. You have awakened me as a woman, and I am glad.”
He shook his head and grasped the arms of his chair, and noted that a drawer in his desk was open. No drawer was ever left open. In fact, they were locked.
“Hermoine,” he said quietly. “How long have you been here?”
“Oh,” she gasped. “How can you be so calm when I am beside myself? I told you I came into the castle when Shanks left. That was at least an hour or more ago.”
Had she heard him arrive with Kirsty? And if so, why had she not come to investigate—and seen them? And if she saw them, then why no questions?
He opened the drawer and found the contents shifted. A less organized man might not notice. The rest of his life might be in ruins, but his attention to business detail never wavered, and that attention extended to the manner in which he maintained his papers.
The next drawer also slid open, and the next, and all had been tampered with.
“What is it?” Hermoine asked, facing him.
Max found it all but impossible to avoid staring at her.
“Max, I asked you what’s the matter. You look so strange. Do you not want me?”
“How did you unlock my desk?”
Her mouth fell open.
“When I arrived you were sitting here. And, very obviously, my desk drawers have been searched.”
“Oh, how could you accuse me of such a thing? Why would I want to search your desk? What would I want to find there?”
He stared at her and said, very quietly, “Why don’t you tell me? Perhaps your interest was only idle. That I might accept. But then there would be the question of where you obtained a key. The desk is always locked.”
“I did not touch it,” she said, her eyes wild. “Why, that you should think me capable of such an invasion undoes me. You must have something to hide, or you would not suspect such a monstrous thing. Oh, I am beside myself. Why would I do such a thing to the man I love?”
His need for privacy was not something he would discuss with Lady Hermoine. “There is only one key, and I have it. Where did you get what you needed to accomplish this invasion of my privacy?”
“Oh.” Her breasts rose and fell with magnificent insult. “I hold you in the highest esteem and had hoped you at least respected me. If I invaded your desk, what was I looking for, if you please? And did I find it? And where is the key or whatever, that would be required for me to commit such a crime?”
Max wasn’t moved by her dramatic performance.
“Search me,” she said spreading her arms. “Come, search me. If I have appropriated something of yours, find it, for I would have no place to hide it but about my person.”
If he told her there was nothing in the desk that could not be replaced, he would appear foolish for his zealous care. “We will speak no more of it. But I should like you to remember that I am a very private man who prefers to protect that privacy. I always will.”
Unmoved by his speech, Hermoine tore at her gown and contrived to push it down and step out of it.
“Stop!” Max got to his feet, but knew better than to approach the lady.
She set about untying her petticoats and persevered until she stood in drawers, stays, and the tattered remnants of a chemise. The stays were superfluous except to hold her breasts high, and thrust them out as much as possible.
Once again she spread her arms. “Come. Search me at once. Find what I have stolen from you.” She began to cry, and, when she could speak, sobbed, “Oh, Max, I am undone.”
The day and night had been entirely too long, too gruelling. “Undone?” he sputtered. Much, much too long. He began to laugh, and despite his best efforts could not contain his laughter. “I—I—I should say you’re undone. Almost entirely undone.”
She stopped crying. Her trembling mouth grew hard. “You dare to laugh at me? Why, I’ve a good mind to summon help. I’ve a good mind to summon Shanks and ask him to go for help because you have molested me.”
“Mo—molested you?” His laughter burst forth anew. “You tear off your clothes, you handle me in a most intimate and, I might add, unexpected manner, and it is I who molested you?”
“Cruel, cruel. How can you treat me so? I came to give myself to you, and you have embarrassed me beyond all.”
“I suggest you dress and go home. I’ll have a carriage brought around.”
“Just like that? Dress and go home? Oh, Max, I
am to be your wife.”
So everyone assumed. “I think we should forget this event ever occurred.” She was not a stupid woman. He should assume that if she had made the opportunity to examine his affairs, she would be unlikely to leave evidence that she had done so. At that moment he rather doubted that she had been the culprit. Which left him with the question of just who had gone through his desk.
Hermoine had picked up her petticoats, and these she wrapped about her. And she blushed, actually blushed.
“Why did you come to me like this?” Max asked.
“Why, to invade your privacy, of course. To go through your papers.”
He played with the silver top of his inkwell. “If we decide that you didn’t come for that purpose, then what? Explain why you felt you must come at all. We both know your visit—and your behavior—are unsuitable.”
“You all but turned me away earlier. When I came with the dear countess and my cousin. Horace is confused by your behavior. I would not be fair to anyone if I didn’t tell you as much. He . . . he said you did not appear to be a man who was joyful at the prospect of his approaching nuptials.”
Astute of the fop. “And that was a reason to all but force entry into my uncle’s home?”
Tears streamed suddenly down her cheeks. She wailed, her wails scaling higher and higher until they were a continuous thin shriek.
“Lady Hermoine,” Max said, getting up, afraid she would be heard by Kirsty. “Please collect yourself. There is no need for such an outburst.”
“Bu-but I am shamed before all. The dear countess has informed anyone who is anyone of my coming marriage to the son of Viscount Hunsingore, to the nephew of the Marquess of Stonehaven.”
“But not,” Max remarked cynically, “to Max Rossmara, very much a man in his own right.”
“Oh,” she flapped a hand. “You know how these things are. The foolishness of the generation before ours. I have no time for it, but neither can I change it.”
He almost liked her for her directness. “Indeed. You are correct.”
The Wish Club Page 8