by North, Evie
The thought made her heart ache, and she asked herself why she hadn’t just said ‘yes’ to his proposal. If she had to be someone’s mistress then why not Maddox? Wasn’t the thought of them here forever the sort of paradise she’d dreamed of ever since she first kissed him?
But she knew that Maddox would only grow restless with her. He was a man who needed to be doing things, and he would soon be bored with her and their little Italian interlude. Eventually his family and friends in England would call him home, and when they did, she would be abandoned.
Probably not intentionally. He was not a cruel man. He had been kind to her, and certainly generous. He had saved her from Lord Rattray. But she did not expect there to be a happy ending for them. Sooner or later, she must stand on her own two feet and live her own life.
She stilled as she heard him climb the stairs again. It sounded as though he was alone, which was a relief no matter how she tried to tell herself she didn’t care. His room was at the opposite end of the landing to hers, but it was toward her door his footsteps moved. She barely had time to pull the sheet over her nightgown when he flung it open.
Her eyes were used to the dark. She was able to see his silhouette before he spoke.
“Where are you?” He took a step, weaving slightly to one side, and even from the bed she could smell the wine fumes wafting from him.
“Maddox, you’ve been drinking. Please go to bed.”
“Aw, there she is!” he cried. “My sec-secretary. Miss Jones!”
He wasn’t just drunk, he was very drunk. Her heart beat faster. She had once seen a man in his cups outside the Laurel’s house, swearing and ranting. Was Maddox going to swear and rant at her? Perhaps he would fall over before it came to that.
“It’s very late …”
He laughed softly and bumped against a table. “You want me,” he said as if he knew. Gabriella was glad of the darkness so he couldn’t see her blush. “Whenever you touch me I nearly go up in flames. Hardest thing I’ve ever done, not touching you back.”
Warily she watched him stumble toward her. His steps went awry just as he reached her and he fell, only just landing on the bottom of the bed. He lay a moment, catching his breath and chuckling to himself, and then he turned over and began to crawl toward her. His outstretched hand touched her foot and he caught hold of it through the sheet.
“Got you.”
“Maddox,” she cried, breathless, wondering if after all she had overestimated his state of inebriation.
He tugged her downwards until she fell back onto the mattress, and suddenly he was on top of her, his whole weight pressing her down. Her breath huffed out.
The wine fumes intensified as he hovered over her. His hand fumbled and then cupped her face, and suddenly he was kissing her so thoroughly that she felt as if she was drunk as well. She pushed at him, holding him back, but he was as strong as he was heavy.
“Maddox, no! Get off!”
“No one tells a Hawley no,” he said as if it was something he’d learned, and then hic-cupped. All the same, he rolled off her onto his side and reaching out, pulled her into his chest. The sheet was wrapped around her and she was made a prisoner there. “Do you really mean ‘no’?” he asked her in a different, for less rambunctious voice.
“I don’t want to be your mistress,” she said, ignoring the warm hard body against hers, and the way he was stroking her shoulder.
He turned his head to look at her. “Why not?”
“Because I’m not the sort of woman who can be kept.”
“You were going to let that Rattray ass keep you,” he reminded her.
“I thought he was employing me, then by the time I understood what he was planning I was trapped. I’d hoped to make the best of it and persuade him to give me a little house, somewhere I could live my life, even though I would never have been free. Not the sort of free I need. That I’m sure Rattray would never have allowed me.”
He sighed.
“You saved me from that, Maddox, remember? You saved me so it would be very wrong of you to make me your mistress.”
“I know you want me,” he said again, but there was a hint of desperation in his voice now. “I know I want you. It seems a shame not to give in to that, while we have the chance.”
Gabriella felt her breath quicken and her skin heat where it pressed to his. She did want him, so much. Perhaps one time wouldn’t matter? But she knew it would, because once with a man like him would never be enough.
“Maddox …”
“Just a kiss then.” He was kissing her even as he said it, deep kisses that seemed to draw out her soul. She moaned into his mouth and felt his hand on her breast. Her nightdress was one she had bought at a second-hand market after Maddox handed her her wages, and although it was clean it was also well worn. Her hardened nipple was obvious as he ran his fingers across her, gently pinching the erect flesh.
“That wasn’t just a kiss,” she managed to say when he came up for air.
“I wish I could see you. Can I light a candle?”
“Definitely not.”
He groaned in frustration and bent to cover the tip of her breast with his mouth, sucking her through the cloth, leaving a wet circle. Then he started on the other one.
It felt so good. Gabriella didn’t want him to stop. Once more her common sense was warring with her desire for him, and while that tug of war went on, she let him touch and kiss her. She even tangled her hands in his hair, drawing his head up again, so that she could kiss him some more.
He was pushing down the sheet, and a moment later she felt his warm hand on her bare legs. The nightdress had rucked up around her thighs during their wrestle a moment before, and now he began to stroke his fingers toward her inner thighs, eager to reach the prize.
“Stop.”
Instantly he became still. He looked into her face as if awaiting further instruction and if it wasn’t so serious she would have laughed. “I want to bring you pleasure,” he said in a husky voice, his aroused voice.
“You did. Here in my room. And before.”
“‘Before’?” He sounded puzzled, and Gabriella knew then he really didn’t remember the time in his cabin.
“When you had the fever on board the yacht. You were raving and you pulled me down and you used your fingers on me, and then your mouth. You stroked me and sucked me until I-I came.”
His eyes lit up. “Ah. I wondered what happened. You seemed to change and I…I was worried I had hurt you.”
“You didn’t hurt me.”
“You weren’t afraid?”
“Not for a moment.”
Suddenly he buried his face against her throat and groaned. “I can’t even remember it! I want to remember.”
Gabriella felt laughter bubbling up inside her and bit her lip.
“I didn’t hurt you?” he insisted in a more rational tone. “I never want to hurt you.”
Her heart ached. He was a good man, or at least he was trying to be. And she loved him for it. She loved him.
The realisation stunned her. She wasn’t sure what to do or what to say. She could never tell him, it would be unbearable. And now that she knew her heart was involved it made giving in to her desires even more dangerous. She would be completely at his mercy. A willing sacrifice.
“Can I do it again?” he murmured against her skin. “It’s only fair, if I can’t remember, I should be allowed a second chance.”
She should say no. She had just reminded herself of all the reasons she should refuse him, and yet she found her voice was strangely silent. Perhaps because her body was humming with the need he had engendered in her, her breasts still aching from his mouth, her thighs trembling with the promise of his fingers. Night after night she had lain here, thinking of him, remembering him, and now she just wanted the reality.
“Yes,” she said at last, and now it was too late to draw back.
He cleared his throat as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “Yes?”
&nb
sp; “I trust you,” she added, because she did.
Again he hesitated and then gave her a brief kiss on the lips. “I’ll make you feel good,” he promised her.
Then he was gone. Gabriella half sat up, startled, wondering where he was. Before she could speak she felt his warm breath against the skin of her thigh, and then he was lifting her nightgown, his hands caressing the soft curve of her belly before he placed a kiss on the curls that covered her mound.
He parted her legs and lapped at her with his tongue, delicately at first, and then with sweeping licks against the swollen flesh. He found the hard nub that was at the centre of her pleasure and when he suddenly sucked it into his mouth, just as he had the last time, she cried out, her hips lifting clean off the mattress. When her heart stopped threatening to escape her chest, she felt him smiling against her.
“You like that?” he asked.
“Yes, I-I do.” A moment later her words became incoherent as he began to suck and lick her again, using his fingers to add to the experience. She was filled with desire, and achy with need, and she wasn’t sure she could bear much more.
“Please. Maddox.” Her voice was a breathy whisper, punctuated by a soft groan. “Please.”
“You’re so beautiful,” he muttered. “I wish I could fuck you properly.”
It wasn’t a question but it cleared her head. Common sense pushed through the haze of desire. “You said no fucking,” she reminded him, the word no longer taboo to her.
“I did, didn’t I?” A moment later he was redoubling his efforts, and she began to climb toward the wonderful peak she had been longing to find again. Then it was as if her body had launched itself into the starry sky outside her window. When she returned to her bed, languid, sated, he was still petting her with his tongue and fingers.
Maddox crawled back up the bed and lay down at her side. She felt his gaze on her and although she thought she should be embarrassed, she wasn’t. What she had felt was beautiful and he had been skilled and generous, and she was grateful. So grateful. He had given her another memory she would treasure for always.
“I’m going to my own bed now,” he said, his breath warm against her ear. Despite just being satisfied, her treacherous body stirred again. She wanted him. She wasn’t sure she would ever stop.
“You don’t have to,” she said, very daring.
“I do have to, because if I stay here I’ll end up inside you. And I think, if I stay here, you’re going to say yes, even when you want to say no.”
He was right but she still wished he wouldn’t go. He didn’t seem very drunk at all now, and his voice was deep and soft in the darkness.
If she did ask him to stay and he made her his, even more completely than he had already, what would happen then? Bad enough that she was already enthralled by him, but at least she still had some pride. If he took that away from her she would begin to beg. She imagined it, the picture in her head—Maddox telling her he was done with her and her clinging to his boots.
It was not a pleasant thought.
So she did not ask him to stay, and after a moment Maddox climbed up and left her alone in her bed.
17
MADDOX
He stumbled back to his room and fell on the mattress. He could still smell her on himself, the scent of her warm womanly desire, and that made his longing even more keen. The urge to drive himself deep inside her and claim her in the most primal of ways was nigh intolerable.
But he hadn’t. He couldn’t.
His drunken euphoria had worn off soon after he arrived in Gabriella’s bed. Their conversation echoed in his mind. She had told him she didn’t want to be his mistress. She would not be kept by him. He knew it was probably pride on her part, but also self-preservation. He had seen too many women like her be used and discarded and he understood all too well why she refused to be one of them.
Maddox didn’t know what to do. How could he change their situation without changing back into the sort of man he used to be?
In Maddox’s old world if he wanted a thing he took it, or plotted and bided his time until he was given it. That was the way it had always been for him. He had spent his days on an endless round of diversion, much of it decadent. His new world view didn’t allow for that. The rules had changed. He had changed them.
Here in his bed in this foreign village, he felt strange and altered, not like himself at all. Right now he wasn’t sure if he liked it. No more wagers, no more women seduced for his own selfish pleasure, not unless they were practised seducers like himself, but that was another thing. The women he had once pursued no longer interested him. He had seen beauty after beauty on the streets, most of them pointed out to him by Lawrence, and it was a struggle to smile and a bow.
Perhaps I need a wife?
The idea shocked him. He sat up, and his stomach lurched before settling again. He ran his hands over his face. A wife? His brothers were married now. One of them had wed a woman from their own privileged social class, but the other had not.
He knew where his thoughts were heading. Tentatively, he asked himself the question. Could he marry Gabriella Jones? He’d already decided he loved her. She consumed his thoughts and he wanted her more than he could remember wanting any woman. Was that enough for him to throw caution—and no doubt his father’s hopes for him—to the winds, and marry an orphan and a disgraced governess?
And would she have him?
Such a question would have made him laugh once, because who could not want him! The son of an earl, rich and handsome, a man who was capable of giving a wife anything she desired. Gabriella was turning out to have decided views, however. Would she find marriage to him objectionable? She had everything to gain, and he would be more than happy to keep her occupied, in bed and out. But would it be enough for her?
He remembered the expression on her face when he had asked her about her dreams and what she wanted from life. It was as if such an idea had never occurred to her before, that her every moment had been taken up with toil and worry and simply getting by. If he married her, if she would have him, he could give her that gift. Grant her heart’s desires.
In fact he looked forward to it.
18
GABRIELLA
At some point after Maddox left, Gabriella must have fallen asleep. She was worn out from thinking and worrying, but just before sleep claimed her she had decided that although she would not be Maddox’s mistress, she would continue to enjoy his company. At the same time, she must resist falling even more deeply under his spell. If such a thing were possible.
Someone pounding on the front door woke her.
Gabriella sat up, pushing her dark hair out of her face, and blinked blearily at the light from the window. Yes, it was morning. She had grown to recognise the shadows that lay across the buildings next door as the day progressed. Almost noon, she realised with a twinge of guilt. She had slept much later than she did at home in London, but it wasn’t surprising. Her life was no longer what it used to be, and apart from Maddox’s appearance in her room, last night had hardly been far from ordinary.
The pounding came again. Hastily, she rose and dressed, wishing she could bathe but there was no time. As she hurried downstairs she met the hard glare of the woman who cooked and cleaned for them. She was standing in the doorway to the kitchen and said something that sounded like ‘English Barbarians,’ but Gabriella could have been wrong, before stomping back to her domain.
Gabriella drew back the bolt on the front door.
A tall man stood there. His fair hair gleamed like gold in the Italian sunshine, his eyes as blue as the sky. He looked like a god. She was certain she had never met him before and yet he seemed oddly familiar. Behind him stood Lawrence, who pulled an apologetic face before he spoke.
“Miss Jones, will you tell Maddox he has a visitor?”
Gabriella nodded, still staring up at the stranger. “Miss Jones?” the man echoed, and she knew by the gleam in his eyes and the twist of his mouth that for some
reason he found her situation amusing.
She straightened even though she would have liked to creep away into a corner. “I am Mr Hawley’s secretary,” she said. It was the truth, but even to her own ears it sounded like fiction.
His eyes slid down over her crumpled skirt and back up to her wild, uncombed hair. Now his grin was unrestrained and suddenly, despite the difference in colouring, he looked so much like Maddox that she knew this must be one of his brothers.
“Maddox needs a secretary?” he asked the question as if he wanted to burst out laughing. “Of course he does.” Then, the amusement fading as his expression grew more serious. “Where is my brother, Miss Jones?”
She glanced behind her, up the stairs. “I believe he’s still asleep.”
“Indeed.” Just that one word insinuated so much.
“In his own room,” Gabriella added, knowing her face was aflame.
“Drunk, was he?” Lawrence put in, with a smirk. “I saw him last night in the square and he was ranting. I thought he was going to call me out. You’d have thought he’d have had enough duelling.”
The other man frowned. “I’d better speak to him,” he said, waiting for Gabriella to step aside. “As Lawrence hasn’t bothered to introduce me, I will do so myself. I am Sebastian Hawley, Lord Youlden, Maddox’s elder brother.” He gave her a polite bow.
She curtseyed unsteadily and directed him to his brother’s room. Sebastian proceeded to climb the stairs as if he was in charge of the world. Lawrence lingered with her in the doorway.
“What did you do to him?” he murmured, watching Sebastian reach the top of the stairs and vanish in the direction of Maddox’s room.
Gabrielle turned on him, both anxious and angry at the same time. “Do to whom?”
“Maddox.”
“I didn’t do anything to him!”
Lawrence clearly didn’t believe her. “He’s been acting very strangely. Like last night when he wanted to knock my head off. It can’t be about our wager, surely?”