WANTON

by Cheryl Holt

  “Lucky you,” Mr. Drake seethed, and he glared at Mr. Blair. “Beat it, Blair. I must speak to Miss Hubbard. Alone.”

  “It’s up to the lady whether I remain or not,” Mr. Blair retorted. He smiled at Amelia. “What say you, darling?”

  Amelia glanced between them several times, pretending to consider, then she sighed. “Would you go? Mr. Drake is upset, and I’m guessing he won’t leave until he gets his way.”

  “He’s a terrible boor, so I’m guessing he won’t either.” Mr. Blair pushed himself to his feet, clasped her hand, and lingeringly kissed it. “Until tonight,” he seductively murmured.

  He shot her a look so full of longing that she was taken aback by it. His skill at artifice had her wondering if he wasn’t experienced on the stage.

  “What’s happening tonight?” Mr. Drake asked.

  “We’re meeting at all the balls,” Mr. Blair fibbed. “We have our schedules arranged.”

  “How nice.” Mr. Drake oozed sarcasm.

  Mr. Blair bent down to Amelia and whispered in her ear. From Mr. Drake’s vantage point, the moment likely seemed intimate and scandalous, but what Mr. Blair actually said was, “I always thought he was an arrogant ass. Make him sweat!”

  He stood, grabbed his coat, winked at her, and sauntered out. In order to exit, he had to walk by Mr. Drake. As he passed, they bristled like dogs about to fight.

  Would they brawl? Over her? How thrilling! How absurd!

  Mr. Drake waited until Mr. Blair’s strides had faded down the hall, then he shut the door and came over to her. He carried a stack of letters, and he dropped them in her lap.

  “What’s this?” she inquired.

  “It’s your mail. It was delivered to Sidwell Manor, but you’d already left. Eventually, it was brought to London.”

  “I’m so excited to have it. Thank you.”

  “I’m delighted to be of assistance.” Again, he oozed sarcasm, his tone indicating he was anything but delighted to be in Barbara’s house again.

  He whipped away and went to the sideboard to pour himself a whiskey. He kept his distance, watching her, ire rolling off him in waves.

  She ignored him and flicked open the first letter.

  “It’s from Rose!” she beamed, and as she perused the words that had been penned, she chuckled.

  “What does she say?” he asked.

  “She heard that you were to be my husband. She advises me that you’re a wretch, and I should run as far and fast as I can to escape you.”

  “We’re not engaged, so there’s no reason to escape.”

  “No, there isn’t.”

  Amelia continued to ignore him, and he brooded and fumed, as she read a few more missives from Rose, as well as a few from Evangeline. Evangeline was still at the school, but it was closed, and she was packing her bags to leave for her own marriage to an unknown fiancé.

  Amelia hoped Evangeline was headed for a spouse who was a tad happier to have a bride than Mr. Drake had been. She’d hate to have Evangeline leap into a similar disaster.

  She picked up another letter from Rose, and at the news provided, she frowned.

  “If your scowl grows any deeper,” Mr. Drake jeered, “your face will stay that way. You’ll never smooth out the lines.”

  “Rose is getting married, but not to Mr. Oswald.” Mr. Oswald was an elderly landowner to whom Miss Peabody had betrothed her.

  “No.”

  “She’s marrying...James Talbot? Who on Earth is that?”

  “He’s a friend of mine.”

  “Oh, no,” Amelia groaned. “Perhaps I should write to her. Perhaps I should tell her to run away.”

  He shrugged. “James is all right. He doesn’t have any of my bad habits. Not many of them anyway, and he’s suddenly become very rich. She’ll be fine.”

  He was staring at her, his gaze heated, his attention fierce. She tossed the letters aside and returned his stare, struggling to appear just as severe and expecting her intensity would spur him to spit out whatever was bothering him.

  When he remained silent, she finally asked, “Was there something you wanted?”

  “I spoke with my father about you.”

  “And...?”

  “He’s worried about your conduct, so we’re taking you to Sidwell.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m having the time of my life. I have no desire to wallow in the country ever again.”

  “Mr. Blair is not an appropriate acquaintance for you.”

  “My brother approves of him.”

  “Your brother,” he tightly spat, “has granted Mr. Blair permission to seduce you.”

  “What makes you believe that?”

  “Blair bragged about it to me.”

  “I’m not a child. He can only succeed if I’m amenable.”

  “I’ve warned you before, Miss Hubbard. You’re a lamb among the wolves. If Blair decides to misbehave, you haven’t the sophistication to stop him.”

  Her exasperation flared. “I don’t understand you, Mr. Drake.”

  “What’s to understand?”

  “We’re not related, you and I. We had a fleeting connection when your father betrothed us. I was willing to proceed—until I met you—and you were resistant from the start. We both consider the engagement ended, so I can’t figure out why you’re pestering me. Can you?”

  “You haven’t the sense God gave an ant,” he hotly said.

  “You’re such a flatterer, Mr. Drake.”

  “Someone has to take you in hand.”

  “And that would be you?”

  “Yes.”

  “No. I have a brother who’s looking out for my interests, and Barbara is a terrific friend. Between those two, I have plenty of people to protect me. I hardly need you butting in.”

  “You’re on such a dangerous path—and you don’t even realize that you are.”

  “It’s my path. You shouldn’t fret over it.”

  “You’re acting recklessly, like an immature child.”

  “If you’re trying to sway me to your way of thinking, insults won’t work.”

  “You fool,” he muttered. “You bloody, dense fool.”

  He swallowed his drink and set down the empty glass with a determined thud. Then he marched toward her, enraged and so thoroughly focused on her that she didn’t know what to make of it.

  Butterflies swarmed in her belly. There was a thrilling anticipation in the air, as if any wild, perilous thing might transpire.

  He approached until he was directly in front of her. Sparks ignited, a wave of energy flowing from him to her, charging the area around them. She was agog, being pelted with a type of emotional uproar she didn’t comprehend and couldn’t begin to manage.

  “Why are you doing this to me?” he fumed, the question sounding like an accusation.

  “Doing what?”

  “You flirt and charm and play the coquette. Am I supposed to be smitten? Am I supposed to become ensnared? Get it through your thick head: It will never happen. Never!”

  As he voiced the word never, he reached for her, partially lifting her off the fainting couch, as his lips captured hers in a torrid kiss.

  He’d kissed her in the music room at his father’s house, but this embrace bore no resemblance to that earlier one. This was desperate and feral and delicious in a manner she’d never imagined kissing could be. She might have been careening down a river in the wilderness, bouncing over rapids and boulders, and she had to hold on and pray she didn’t drown in the end.

  He was proving a point, or perhaps there was no point. Perhaps there was just sensation and ecstasy. Perhaps it was no more complicated than that.

  He eased her down and came down on top of her. His body was pressed to hers all the way down, and he should have felt heavy, but he didn’t. He felt wonderful, and she felt vibrant and alive as she never had prior.

  He was massaging her all over, her arms and shoulders, then—shocking her very much—her breasts. It was an outrageous liberty, and
she should have stopped him, but the caresses were so riveting she couldn’t order him to desist.

  There wasn’t much space to maneuver on the narrow sofa but, somehow, he’d shifted her so he could loosen her bodice and slip his crafty fingers under the fabric. He grabbed a nipple and pinched it quite hard, and the gesture was so enthralling that she gasped and moaned and tried to wrench away, but he wouldn’t release her.

  “Has Blair ever touched you like this?” he demanded.

  “No, never. No one ever has.”

  “No one had better in the future either,” he said like a threat. “Only me—from now on.”

  He nibbled down her neck, her chest, and before she knew what he intended, her breasts were bared, and he dipped down and sucked a nipple into his mouth.

  It was sinful and dissolute, and she recognized that it was, but again, she couldn’t make him halt. Each flick of his tongue brought new heights of elation, and if she’d had any presence of mind at all, she’d have been alarmed by how quickly the episode was escalating. But she was far beyond rational thought.

  Her hand was on his neck, urging him to feast. They appeared to be racing toward a mutual goal, her body eagerly hurtling down the trail he was blazing.

  He was tugging at the hem of her gown, drawing it up until her thighs were exposed. He continued to suckle her nipple, while down below, he stroked her between her legs, a finger gliding into her womanly sheath. She hadn’t imagined a man would touch a woman in the spot, hadn’t realized that it would be so natural, so splendid.

  She instinctively grasped what would transpire next. A surge of exhilarating heat coursed through her, the likes of which she’d never previously experienced. She seemed to shatter, and she cried out as she spiraled to an elusive apex.

  After an eternity had passed, she reached it and floated down. Gradually, she remembered that she was lying in his arms, mostly undressed, while he glared down at her, looking very smug.

  “What was that?” she asked when she could speak.

  “Sexual desire.”

  “Can it occur more than once?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Am I still a...a...”

  She’d never uttered the word virgin in her life, and she wasn’t about to utter it now.

  “Yes, Miss Hubbard, you’re chaste as the day is long.”

  “How did you make that happen?”

  “It was easy.” He smirked. “You are easy. I figured you probably would be.”

  “What a horrid thing to say.”

  “I just call it like I see it.”

  “You’re the one who blustered in here and removed most of my clothes.”

  “I couldn’t have managed it if you weren’t a slattern at heart.”

  “A slattern!”

  She wasn’t sure why they were quarreling. Apparently, he was as angry as he’d been when he’d first entered, their burst of passion calming her but having had no effect on him at all.

  He was bristling with the need to insult her, to hurt her. As for herself, she was simply confused, disheveled, and overwhelmed, and she wished he’d go away so she could relax and catch her breath.

  She didn’t think the encounter was supposed to grow bitter. She thought it should be different than it was. Happier maybe, with some cozy snuggling. Not brooding. Not critical and snappish.

  He slid away from her and stood. She wanted to stand too, but couldn’t bestir herself. Her limbs were rubbery, her legs weak, and she was positive if she rose to her feet, they’d fall out from under her. She stayed where she was, lazily sprawled like the slattern he’d accused her of being.

  “Stop following me around the city,” he seethed. “Stop showing up at the parties I attend. Stop trying to entice me, for whatever your game, you won’t succeed.”

  “You’re so vain,” she huffed. “As if I’d chase you around London. I have better things to do with my time.”

  “You’re returning to Sidwell Manor tomorrow. I’ll be by at ten in the morning to fetch you.”

  She scoffed. “Don’t boss me, Mr. Drake.”

  “But you require bossing, Miss Hubbard. I’ve just proven that you have no ability to restrain yourself, so I will remove you from the temptations of town.”

  “You’re not my nanny.”

  “I am. I’ve appointed myself.” He whipped away and went to the door. “Ten o’clock, Miss Hubbard. Be ready.”

  “If you actually have the gall to come by here, you will find an empty house. I’ll go nowhere with you.”

  “You can’t thwart me,” he firmly, stoically said. “Not in this.”

  He stormed out, and she collapsed onto the couch, practically drunk with sensation. She was all raw on the inside, her feminine parts—down to the smallest pore—tingling and impatient for more of what he’d just revealed to her.

  She shook her head with dismay. No doubt this was a sampling of the marital behavior expected of a bride in the bedchamber. If so, marital duty couldn’t be all that bad. At that moment, if he walked back in, she’d agree to begin again without even being asked.

  She had no idea how long she tarried but, eventually, footsteps rushed in her direction. Hastily, she tugged at her skirt and bodice so she’d be more presentable.

  Barbara swept in, took in Amelia’s disordered state, and whooped with delight.

  “My goodness! What happened to you, Amelia?”

  “I believe Mr. Drake likes me a tad more than he’s let on. Either that, or I’m his worst enemy.”

  “Mr. Drake doesn’t know what he wants, and he certainly hasn’t a clue what he needs.”

  “I suspect that’s true.”

  “Things are going swimmingly, Amelia. Wouldn’t you say?”

  “Yes, I think we might be on the right track.”

  They grinned a conspirator’s grin, and Barbara poured them both a brandy so they could toast their success. At least, Amelia was telling herself it was a success. Where Mr. Drake was concerned, it was impossible to guess.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “How did you know you should marry Rose?”

  “I didn’t. She grew on me, and I gradually figured it out.”

  Lucas snorted at James’s reply.

  James Talbot was Lucas’s only real friend. They’d met in boarding school as young boys, and their close relationship had never waned. As adolescents, having barely finished their educations, they’d joined the army and had spent a decade fighting for the Crown.

  It was to have been a maturation process for them. They’d both been scalawags, especially Lucas, and despite Lord Sidwell’s high position in the world, Lucas had had to join the army or be jailed for his duel.

  The army had mellowed James, had tempered his rough edges as everyone had hoped, but it hadn’t had much of an effect on Lucas. He was as incorrigible as ever and probably always would be.

  He couldn’t figure out what he was doing. He’d been so aggravated in London that he’d desperately needed to see James, so he’d traveled to James’s home of Summerfield. Whenever Lucas was having difficulty, it was James’s company he sought. He’d made a fool of himself yet again with Amelia Hubbard, so he’d decided it would be best if he left the city. After their sexual dalliance—he still couldn’t understand how it had happened—he had gone to Mrs. Middleton’s the next morning, as he’d promised he would, to forcibly remove Miss Hubbard to Sidwell Manor.

  Of course, as Miss Hubbard had warned, she and Mrs. Middleton had fled to parts unknown, with the servants claiming they’d departed and hadn’t provided any information as to when they’d be back.

  Lucas had dawdled on Mrs. Middleton’s stoop, feeling stupid and furious, and it had dawned on him that he was an idiot. For some reason, Miss Hubbard drove him to ridiculous behavior. Why did he let her?

  If there was a facet to his existence about which he was very clear, it was that he acted for his own benefit. He was never swayed by the needs or wishes of others. He looked at his own interests, his own needs, then fo
rged ahead.

  There was no explanation for his obsession with Miss Hubbard. Then and there, he’d realized he had to leave London, riding off so rapidly that he’d scarcely stopped long enough to pack a bag.

  In many ways, Summerfield was a second home for Lucas, and if he liked, he could stay forever. He didn’t have to ever return to London and see Miss Hubbard staring at him with those shrewd green eyes of hers. He shuddered just from thinking about them.

  The lengthy trip had led him through lush countryside, the fields overflowing with crops, the warm summer days a peaceful idyll where he’d had plenty of time to ponder.

  He had to make some plans for himself. He’d been out of the army for three months and was half mad with boredom. Before journeying to England, he’d assumed he would simply resume his previous routine of loafing and lounging, but his regular diversions didn’t entertain him anymore. Apparently, the army had altered him a bit more than he knew because some of his prior pursuits seemed silly—as did people such as Nanette who annoyed him with their childishness and whims.

  He no longer found it amusing to gamble away money he didn’t have, then hide from creditors who hounded him wherever he went. He was sick of everything—his life, his habits, himself—but he had no idea what kind of person he’d like to be instead. If he wasn’t a sloth and an ingrate, what sort of fellow would he be?

  “When you proposed to Rose,” Lucas asked, “what was her answer?”

  “She said she wouldn’t marry me if I was the last man on Earth.”

  “Her sharp tongue is like a dagger.”

  “She riles easily too,” James admitted.

  “How did you change her mind?”

  “I wore her down with my magnificent charm.”

  Lucas scoffed. “I’ve known you for two decades, and I can truthfully say that you have no charm.”

  “I’m more handsome than you.”

  “In your dreams, maybe.”

  They were on the rear verandah, watching the sunset and drinking the whiskey they enjoyed too much. Rose was visiting the neighbors, so she was unaware that Lucas had arrived.

  The Scottish border was just ten miles away, and because of a certain bun growing in Rose’s oven, she and James had sneaked over for a quick wedding. But Rose had insisted on a formal ceremony too, with all the trappings expected for the new master and mistress of Summerfield. So James’s official nuptials were still pending, with the happy couple having to wait for the banns to be called at the local church for four weeks in a row.