“When ye put it like that…” She sighed. Her first night, and she was already failing. She crossed her arms, glancing past him at the hearth. “I was looking for ye, since I haven’t seen ye all day and night, and I did not know if ye knew where I was.”
He stopped pacing and turned, taking her in, and stalked toward her. A little thrill ran down through her middle. “You have found me,” he said, stopping within arm’s reach. The firelight cast shadows across one side of his handsome face, making the lines sharper, more intense.
She stood tall without backing down from his stare. “So did Lady Stanton. Yet ye were not angry at her for being out in the halls at night.”
“She did not punch the king in the mouth,” he said, taking another step closer so that he loomed over her.
“I had no idea who he was, and he grabbed me. Luckily I was not armed with a blade else I might have stabbed him.”
“Why were you looking for me?”
“I…” She swallowed. “I wanted to tell ye about the interview with the duchess, and ye should probably know that your lady love was meeting with the duchess’s man, Iain Padley, before ye found her. She has a spy in Catherine’s quarters.”
He frowned. “What was Lady Stanton talking with him about?”
“Me and about what Catherine and I discussed. For some reason, Lady Stanton does not want me to go to the Frost Fair.”
His brow furrowed deeper, and she smothered the urge to reach up and run her finger across his forehead to smooth it. She crossed her arms before her. He was an Englishman by blood, cold and dutiful. She shouldn’t want to touch him at all.
“Why would we go to the Frost Fair?” he asked.
“Catherine said it was running right now, and that I should attend. Iain Padley told Lady Stanton, and she was angered by the idea and wants me gone. Iain ran off, and then ye conveniently found her. Did ye perhaps slip her a note to meet ye to reacquaint yourselves after the Saint Valentine’s Ball a year ago?”
For several long breaths, he stared down into her pinched face. “You think I want Esther Stanton,” he said.
She blinked and took a step around him. Only then could she fully inhale. “She is beautiful, refined, and apparently one little word away from being your betrothed. Although, perhaps wives are not desired in England as they are in Scotland. There are more mistresses about in this country than wives, it seems.”
“Why don’t you ask me why I was walking the dark halls of Whitehall,” he said, and she realized that he’d followed her toward the fire. She turned to see him fully illuminated, the golden light making his hard face less menacing. His brown, wavy hair fell over his brow, parting to show his handsome features and trimmed beard. He took a full breath, his face relaxing until he looked like the Nathaniel who had kissed her before the fire at Hollings. “Ask me,” he repeated.
“Why were ye walking the halls then?” She kept her frown even though her stomach twisted. Bravery could be measured on many levels. Cat had no problem plunging into battle to defend someone or help a woman birth a turned-around bairn, but the waiting for answers to questions that could pain her made her pulse beat frantically like a bird desperate to escape its cage.
He took another step closer until the wall stood firm against her back and the light brush of Nathaniel’s body pressed her front. “I have a…problem,” he said, his voice smooth like pure Scottish whisky. His words funneled down through her like the liquor.
“A problem?” She wet her lips, his closeness making her yearn to rest her hands on his broad shoulders, but she flattened them against the rough stone wall at her back.
“An ache has plagued me from the moment I sat in that damnably cramped carriage across from a temptress for two bloody long days.”
Cat’s breath stuttered to a halt. She swallowed, rubbing her lips together. Lord, how she wanted him, and here he was before her, locked away from the rest of the judgmental world. A vision of Esther Stanton stopped her from reaching for him. “I am sure there are others who would like to help ye with your ache,” she whispered.
Nathaniel lifted one of her curls, inhaling it as if he was starving and the curl was a delectable treat. He touched a finger to her forehead and traced a light line down her nose, touching her lips and chin before continuing down the naked skin of her low-cut neckline. Chill bumps speckled her entire body, her nipples peaking against the linen of her smock under her gown.
“Damn,” he closed his eyes as if struggling. “All day I have met with old acquaintances and dry, pompous men. Listening to philosophy and political theories and business ventures.” He opened his eyes. “The whole time, I could not stop thinking of you, Cat Campbell.”
Her breath caught in her chest as she watched him. She drew in a shallow inhale. “Me?”
He looked tortured. “I was searching for no other tonight, Cat.” Nathaniel dropped his hand, shaking his head. “Tell me to leave,” he said. “There are things that we have not discussed yet.” He glanced upward at the ceiling, a tightening of pain over his face. “And we must keep your reputation above reproof so that you can move in the duchess’s and the queen’s circles.”
“The king has already seen us together,” she whispered. Her voice sounded different, as if she didn’t have enough breath. She couldn’t stop her hand from reaching to rest on his strong arm. “And right now…we are just a man and a lass. Not English and Scot. Not Viscount and peasant.”
His gaze slid from her eyes to her slightly parted lips and then up again to her eyes. The strength of the wall at Cat’s back was the only thing holding her up as her knees weakened. She breathed evenly despite the racing of her heart and the heating of her blood. He had an ache, but could it be as torturous as the one she’d been trying to ignore all night? “If ye think of me and no others, and we are alone now in my room with the door locked, why must ye stay away from me?”
Cat’s hand slid up to his shoulder, her fingers curling into the weave of his tailored jacket. She pulled herself up onto her toes to press her lips against his, stopping any paltry answer he might give. Parting to look at him, she let the desire coursing through her reflect in her gaze and pressed her softness against his hardness, marveling in the contrast. “Believe me when I say that I ache, too.” She let her gaze drop to his strong jaw. “From the blasted moment ye kissed me, incoherent with fever.” She looked back up to his eyes. “Ye damn Englishman.”
Her breath caught as Nathaniel’s powerful arms lifted her against him. One of his hands spanned her back, the other holding under her backside to fit her against the hardness of his jack.
“God, Cat,” he murmured against her lips. “I cannot get you out of my blood.”
“I am quite bloodthirsty,” she murmured back as he fitted her snuggly against him. She tried to lift her legs and remembered that she wore a full gown, the stays encircling her as if in iron. “And I have way too many clothes on.” Her words were muffled as they kissed, slanting.
“Agreed,” he said, his hands coming to her cheeks, cradling her face, as the kiss intensified.
They breathed against one another, her fingers untying the knot at his neck. Her hands shook slightly as desire flooded her with an intensity that had her tugging the shirt out of his breeches and shoving the jacket from his broad shoulders. Cat kissed him with frantic intensity, the passion in her taking over any thoughts of consequence. Only Nathaniel mattered, he and she together, their heat meeting and growing.
He groaned in the back of his throat as her fingers moved to his hard member, pressing through his trousers. She rubbed as she unlaced the ties there. The weight of her short jacket lifted, and she had to release him as he drew it off her arms. His hands dropped to the pins of her stomacher, plucking them to fall on the thick rug beneath their feet. “Lush,” he murmured as her breasts swelled over the tight stays. He kissed the sensitive skin there, his strong fingers moving to the ties of her petticoats.
Their movements became more and more hurried, desperat
e. The heat inside Cat burned for want of him. Nathaniel threw off his shirt, leaving his muscled chest bare, and she ran her hands up the taught lines, marveling in the warmth emanating from him. She kissed his chest, then reached down inside her smock to pull each of her breasts out. They sat upon the boned stays, displayed like two round cakes. His mouth came down onto one and then the other, sucking until sensations shot down through her body. Her hands stroked him, and when he came up to kiss her again, she began to kiss her way down his chest and stomach. She had nearly reached his proud jack, which strained against his breeches, when he dragged her upright.
“I will explode,” he said, his voice hoarse. “After days of riding across from you, your foot sliding along my thigh…”
“Then take me now,” she whispered.
He yanked again on the ties of her petticoats. “There’s a damn knot,” he said, the anger at the little tie as fierce as if he met an enemy on a bloody battlefield. “A knife.”
“Never mind it,” she said, shoving down his trousers, releasing his thick length. He groaned as she took it in her hands, so hot and hard.
His hands rucked up her petticoats until the coolness of the air brushed her bare arse. Kissing her, he palmed the globes of her backside and slid his fingers between her legs from behind.
“Aye, bloody hell, aye,” she said as he opened her, finding her throbbing core. She moaned against his mouth as he played, rubbing inside and outside on her most sensitive spots. “Nathaniel,” she pleaded.
With a flash of movement, he pulled her to one of the four posters at the corners of her bed. “Hold on, Wildfire,” he said. Cat wrapped her hands around the carved wooden pole, feeling a tug on the ties of her corset as he loosened them under the knotted petticoat.
She groaned and took her first full breath since being tied into the hellish stays. “Oh God, ye freed me, Nathaniel, thank ye.”
A deep laugh tickled her ear, and he kissed along the side of her neck. “Anything to make you groan in pleasure.”
Cat pushed her hips backward into him, rubbing her backside into his hardness. Nathaniel lifted her petticoats, his strong fingers spreading her as she arched her back. He leaned over her, and she felt his length seeking her out.
“Oh God, Nathaniel,” she panted out as he entered her from behind, sliding deeply into her aching core. His large hands wrapped around to clasp her bare breasts as he thrust forward, retreating only to thrust forward again and again, a frantic rhythm that wove them into the perfect harmony. Bodies bonded, Cat’s breath came in gasps and moans, as she reared back into him. Working one hand down her front, and under her layers, he rubbed until she could think of nothing but her pleasure. Clutching the pole before her, she moaned as her release overtook her. Behind her, plunging into her open body, Nathaniel groaned, his jack swelling within her with his release.
He continued to hug her to him as they shuddered. His lips grazed the sensitive skin of her nape, and the roughness of his beard tickled as he kissed up her neck to the back of her ear. She inhaled the scent of them. “We didn’t even make it to the bed,” he said against her ear, sliding free to turn her in his arms.
Her skirts fell back around her, and she knew that she’d need a clean smock. But she didn’t care in the least. “Damn knots,” she said with a smile, bringing a grin to his handsome face. She touched his damp lips, feelings so intense she opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. She swallowed, feeling a flutter of panic beat within her, though she kept her smile. “Take me to bed, Englishman,” she said, but knew on a level that she didn’t want to think about that Nathaniel Worthington was turning into much more than an adventurous romp to her. And that was something she couldn’t allow to happen.
Chapter Thirteen
“Lord Stanton wants to know where you stand on your responsibility toward his daughter, Lady Esther Stanton,” Edward Brooks asked as he stood behind Nathaniel in his room. Nathaniel met the man’s small, dark eyes, which had always reminded him of a rat’s. He’d been his father’s solicitor, helping him navigate all the legal matters within the Worthington family, for the last five years. He was young, energetic, and paid quite well by Hollings Estate, but Nathaniel didn’t know anything about the man who had scurried to follow his father’s every order.
“Master Brooks,” Nathaniel said, grabbing his wool jacket as he shoved his foot into the first of his tall leather boots. “Do you have a family? A wife? Children? Elderly parents?”
He’d asked Brooks to come up to his rooms after the man’s third request to see him that morning. Normally Nathaniel would have met him in one of the many small parlors about the palace for this business meeting, for that’s what this line of questioning amounted to—business. But if one of Stanton’s supporters found him, he’d have a devil of a time getting away. And he’d promised to take Cat to the Frost Fair.
“Uhhh…milord?”
Nathaniel thrust his other foot into his second boot, the buffed leather fitting perfectly. “You are always at the beck and call of the Worthington family. It seems you never venture home for long. Is there someone who waits for you?”
“No, milord,” he said, shaking his smallish head. “I am a bachelor.” He gave an odd smile, showing yellowish teeth that looked too small to belong to an adult. “Married to my profession it seems.”
Nathaniel grabbed a woolen cape, scarf, and hat. He gave Brooks a half grin. “Perfect, then you can wed Esther Stanton.”
The man’s dark eyes widened, his lips closing into a thin, tight line. “Lord Worthington, Lord Stanton needs an answer. Your father discussed the arrangement before he died. I was there to witness it. The late Viscount thought the match would be excellent, and that you would easily ascend to a seat in parliament when it is reinstated since Lord Stanton is the unofficial head of such office. Lady Stanton is a refined, young, beautiful lady. A perfect match.”
Perfect match? Nathaniel rubbed his mouth, remembering the feel of a perfect set of lips sliding against his in passion last night. The ache that he’d sated several times seemed to hover on the point of return whenever he thought of Cat, her wild auburn curls and pale skin freckled with dots, which he had traced from the tip of her forehead to the tip of her toes in the firelight before the hearth. But it was more than her physical beauty that drew him to her. It was her fierce need for freedom, her innate honesty and bravery, and her resilience that had her capturing his thoughts.
Nathaniel inhaled. “Although some view marriage as a business agreement, I find that I require more in a wife than beauty, youth, and refinement.”
“But your father—”
“Is dead.”
“But his fortune, Hollings Estate, the money for your sisters, with which he has entrusted to you, all of them hinge upon you marrying well, milord.”
Damnation. Nathaniel knew only too well what was in the detailed will that Benjamin Worthington had signed. “You do know that the last testament my father made was forged by the deceased scoundrel Philip Sotheby, the villain who poisoned my father and ordered me shot in front of my sisters. We delivered his severed head to Whitehall nearly two months ago.”
Brooks blanched and gave a rapid, bird-like nod. “Yes, milord. Unfortunately, I went back several renditions of the will, dated before Sotheby’s crimes, and have verified that all the subsequent versions state you are to wed a lady from a powerful family in good standing with the English monarchy. A woman of good breeding and refinement to best represent the Worthington name. Otherwise, his moneys, including those to your sisters, will be forfeit and dispersed to quite a list of people who your father felt he had insulted through his years.” He looked down at the parchment in his hands and back up to Nathaniel. “It is quite an extensive list. I would have to track all these people down and divide up nearly eighty thousand pounds.”
His hand dropped to his side with the parchment. “You would only be left with Hollings Estate, the house and land it sits upon, without servants since there would be no fund
s to pay them. And of course, your title, which he could not strip from you.”
The more the man talked, the stiffer Nathaniel’s neck became. A year ago, the thought of losing the Worthington fortune would have sent him straight to Esther Stanton’s door with his mother’s large sapphire ring. But things had changed. For one thing, the thought of wearing ridiculous wigs and plumes all day while dealing with pompous arses like Stanton in parliament didn’t seem so enticing, not compared to the wide-open land of the Scottish Highlands. But it was the thought that he would make his sisters virtually destitute that soured his stomach.
“Lord Worthington,” Brooks said, a bit of whine in his voice. “Eighty thousand pounds.”
Nathaniel let a wry smile curve his lips into something very far from an actual grin. “I would wager one of those eighty-thousand pounds that the list contains your name.”
A flush of red slid up the man’s face, and he looked at Nathaniel in earnest. “I am trying to help you, milord, to keep your fortune. But I must give Lord Stanton an answer. There are other refined, marriageable ladies about if Lady Stanton will not do. But it will harm your chances of a parliamentary seat, at least while Lord Stanton sits there.”
Nathaniel jerked on his leather gloves. “Why don’t you write up that list for me. I would like to see who you include as a refined, marriageable lady.” Would Cat be on it? “Right now, I have a Frost Fair to attend. I release you from your services for the day, so you can come out to the Thames. It has not frozen solid for several years, and it would be a shame for you to miss it.”
Nathaniel opened the door and ushered the small man out into the corridor. “But Lord Stanton… What do I tell him?” Brooks asked.
“That I will speak to him directly about any decisions regarding his family.”
Brooks looked both relieved and worried at the same time. How did the man do it? Nathaniel almost laughed, though surely the man would think him mad. Perhaps he was. For despite the threat of poverty looming over his head, he could think of nothing he’d rather do than escort a wild Highland lass to the Frost Fair.
The Wicked Viscount Page 17