by Lori Foster
When she pulled away, he groaned against her neck. “No, please touch me,” he whispered.
She gladly gave in to her curiosity and explored his hard, muscular chest as he pressed his mouth ever nearer to her breasts. She had a single moment of clarity where she knew she should stop him.
But then he licked between her breasts, and she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out at the pleasure of it. He suddenly lifted her until she was straddling him, and although her skirts were bunched between them, he cupped her buttocks and pulled her hard toward his hips. The pressure there, between her legs, felt like nothing she’d ever imagined—hot and throbbing and so forbidden. For a wild moment, she wished there were no garments between them.
Smoothing his hands down over her shoulders, he slid his fingers beneath her neckline. She held his head to her, her breath coming in panting gasps as she watched what he did to her. With only a twist of his hands, her breasts spilled free.
Neither of them moved for an endless moment. Before she could feel embarrassed, he cupped her breasts in his hands and looked into her face.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered hoarsely.
When he rubbed his thumbs across her nipples, she gasped and clung to his shoulders. He watched her face while he caressed her, and she couldn’t look away from him. Every movement of his fingers sent a pulse of desire through her, and it all seemed to be centered between her legs.
Then he bent his head and took her breast in his mouth, and the endless possibilities of passion stretched out before her. He moved back and forth between her breasts; every tug of his mouth made the pressure and wanting build up inside her. She didn’t know what she wanted, only that he never stop making her feel this alive.
She felt his hands beneath her skirts, sliding up her legs, caressing her skin. How much longer could she bear this wanting, this needing? With a groan, she pressed her hips harder to his. His hands slid up her legs, his thumbs forming little circles on the inside of her thighs. She suddenly felt a rush of warm air and realized he’d pressed her skirts back. She was truly naked to him now, except for her gown bunched at her waist. But the thought only aroused her as she pressed her breasts against his mouth and let his hands explore her.
And then he touched her in a most private place, where she’d never imagined a man wanting to touch.
And it was paradise.
He frantically kissed her mouth, her breasts, but his fingers moved at such a slow, taunting pace she wanted to urge him faster. She was mindless with the new and overwhelming sensations. So this was why men and women were drawn together; this was why they risked their very reputations to—
And that thought brought her first sense of unease.
“Please, my lord,” she began breathlessly, then groaned as his finger slid inside her. She was actually wet down there, and she tried to tighten her thighs in embarrassment. His fingers started circling on her flesh, finding a new, secret place that made every part of her body shake.
But her unease was growing, and she knew she had to stop this before the worst happened, and she was compromised. What could she have hoped to accomplish with this insane plan?
“My lord, you must stop!” Her voice was louder now, stronger. She caught his hands and pulled them away from her while scooting back toward his knees. Her body was bereft, aching with the need for something now out of reach, something only he knew how to give her, and she quickly got to her feet. Between her thighs, she felt swollen, aching.
He leaned back on the bench, tilting his head back, and in the moonlight he looked severe with pain. Did he feel it, too, even though she hadn’t touched him as he’d done to her?
“You’re right,” he murmured hoarsely, and his voice was enough to make her want to collapse against him in surrender. “We shouldn’t have come out here. I shouldn’t have—”
He broke off as he looked at her again. Elizabeth realized her breasts were still bared, white in the moonlight, and she quickly tucked them back into her bodice, suffused by a hot feeling of shame. She desperately wished she could pull the neckline higher, but her attempts only made him wince.
“Tell me your name,” he whispered. “Let me come to visit you.”
“Oh, no, you mustn’t! There’s a man—”
“You’re married!” he said, too loudly.
“Shh!” She looked back over her shoulder, and her panic only increased at how foolish it was to be out here alone with a man. And now she knew the reason why. “No, I’m not married, but I never should have done this. There’s a man inside who wants to marry me.”
The open expression on his face suddenly vanished, and he surged to his feet to tower over her. “He is in there now? You deliberately brought me out here, hoping he was watching us?”
“No, I—I forgot about him,” she insisted, beginning to back away from this stranger who fascinated her yet frightened her. What could she have been thinking? She knew nothing about him. And though she’d originally wanted Lord Wyndham to notice her, this was not what she’d hoped he’d see.
“You used me to make him jealous, when he damn well could have come out here and found us together!”
“I … I never thought—”
“That is very obvious, my lady. You don’t think much, do you?”
She stiffened in anger. “There is no need for insults! It was your idea to be alone with me.”
“And your quick suggestion where we could go. You even took my hand and led me, by God, so don’t play the innocent with me.” He advanced on her. “Do you do this every evening, pick the most gullible man and taunt him with your beauty, then deny him that which you promised?”
“I promised nothing!” she cried, shaking with her fury—and her rising fright. “I never meant any of this to happen, and I certainly have never done such a thing before!”
“Maybe you’d be married by now, if you’d chosen to arouse that other man you’re so anxious to please.”
They glared at each other, both breathing hard.
“I have to go,” Elizabeth said as she backed away, hoping she could escape the tall, imposing stranger. “I’m sorry that I … that this—”
“You’re not sorry. I’m only surprised you didn’t wait for your own pleasure before you denied me mine.”
She shook her head, not understanding what he meant. She turned and ran back through the garden, then slipped into the open doors to the great hall and disappeared into the anonymity of the crowd.
CHAPTER 2
Elizabeth awoke late the next morning and stared blindly up at the canopy over her four-poster bed, feeling damp and overly warm from the oppressing heat. She had had a difficult time falling asleep and even then slept fitfully, with dreams of the stranger haunting her, making her feel somehow unfulfilled.
She rolled over and covered her head with the pillow. How could she have been so foolish? She knew her father believed her less than intelligent, and now she’d proven it. She thought of the words she’d once overheard between her parents, how they’d told each other to emphasize her beauty, because it was all she had besides money to entice a man.
Well, it had worked, she thought bitterly. The stranger had certainly not been enticed by her clever conversation. She felt the tears start again, but she conquered them before they could fall. She would not cry over her stupidity. Her mistake was finished, and luckily no one had seen them out … groping in the garden.
When her maid came to help her dress, the girl seemed particularly wary and wouldn’t meet Elizabeth’s eyes.
Elizabeth finally touched her arm. “Matilda, is something wrong?”
The girl shook her head, her little linen cap dipping to cover her eyes. Then suddenly she twisted her hands together, took a deep breath, and looked Elizabeth in the face.
“Milady, yer father just seems … upset. He ‘ad a visitor early this mornin’, and now the man is back. I brought them ale, and they barely stopped their arguin’ ’til I was gone.”
E
lizabeth felt a cold shiver of dread. “Is the stranger a … tall, broad man, dressed plainly?” Even now she could remember the width of his shoulders beneath her exploring hands, and she cursed her good memory—not an asset her parents could brag about.
“Nay, milady, he’s rather … short, on the puny side, even.”
Elizabeth gripped the back of a chair and tried not to sway with relief. She was so worried that the stranger would find her and tell her parents what a sinful woman she was. My God, he could even try to blackmail her into further intimacies. How much more proof was necessary before she realized she truly was a foolish woman?
With Matilda’s help, Elizabeth dressed in a sedate blue gown, with a starched ruff clear up to her chin. It was difficult to feel decently covered. She could still vividly remember the stranger’s hands on her breasts, his fingers stroking between her thighs.
Her face flushed, Elizabeth said, “Thank you, Matilda. I’ll be down to break my fast shortly.”
Just as the maid opened the door, they heard the earl’s loud voice. “Elizabeth! Come down here please.”
She blanched as she realized how her father’s voice carried up the marble staircase from the front hall. He had never before shouted at her like that. Her heavy gown clung to her damp skin and choked her neck. Her knees almost buckled, and she held the door frame for support, nodding into Matilda’s terrified face.
“You go on about your day, Matilda. ‘Tis me he wants to see.”
The girl bobbed a curtsy and fled toward the back staircase. Elizabeth gazed after her longingly, wishing she, too, could escape. Even though the stranger had not come for her, she had a horrible, sinking feeling of dread.
When she stepped into her father’s withdrawing room, she was startled to see Sir Ralph Cobham sitting in the seat of honor before the hearth. The look he shot her was malevolent, triumphant—had he convinced her father to let her marry him?
She warily looked at her father, only to find his dignified face cold and remote, as if she were a stranger.
“Father, you wanted to see me?” Her voice sounded high-pitched, not like her own.
He didn’t invite her to sit down, so she stood with her hands fisted in her skirts, as if waiting for her executioner.
“Earlier this morning, Sir Ralph told me a tale that I could not dismiss easily.”
For a moment, she felt confused. This wasn’t a marriage proposal?
“What went on at the party last night, the one your mother and I couldn’t attend?” Every word grew colder and colder, as if icicles should be dangling from his lips.
She dug her fingernails into her palms, and her stomach quivered with nausea. “I danced, I talked to people, I—”
“Did you go into the garden with a strange man?”
“I—” She shot a wild glance at Sir Ralph, who sat back and folded his arms over his narrow chest, as if waiting for an enjoyable play to commence.
“Did you go into the garden with a strange man!”
Her father barked out the words so furiously that Elizabeth stumbled back a step from his disgust.
“We just walked!” she cried, and the first embarrassing tear slipped down her cheek. The lie almost choked her, but she had no choice. Had Sir Ralph followed them—stood in the shadows and watched? She felt like retching.
“Sir Ralph,” her father said, in a calmer voice, “what did you see?”
Some of Sir Ralph’s triumph faded. “I was dancing with Mistress Penelope, my lord. I only know that your daughter was gone a long time, and when she returned—alone—her face was flushed and her clothing disheveled.”
Before her father could speak, she demanded, “How was my clothing ‘disheveled’? The wind could have—”
“There was no wind, Elizabeth,” her father said in a low voice.
“Father, do you believe the things he is implying? He holds a grudge against me because I do not return his affections. He would enjoy seeing me humiliated!”
“It is easy to know the truth,” her father answered. “I have sent for the man in question.”
“How did you find him? He had only just arrived in London.” Elizabeth tried to tell herself this was a good thing, that all the stranger had to do was repeat her denial, and there would be no proof.
“Sir Ralph told me that he is a distant cousin to your host of last evening. I sent my men to learn what they could of him.” He paused and eyed her almost contemptuously. “Do you even know his name?”
She felt her face flame with embarrassment. “No,” she finally said, lifting her chin.
“John Malory.” He sat down at his desk and they all remained silent, waiting.
John Malory, she thought to herself, sitting as far away from Sir Ralph as she could. John. A plain name for a plainly dressed man.
John was shown into the palatial home of the Earl of Chelmsford, and he followed the maid through an immense hall lined with marble columns, with floor tiles laid out like vines in a garden. In his mind he was suddenly in the dark, hot garden again, with the passionate stranger in his lap. He could see the woman’s sultry green eyes, just at the moment he’d bared her breasts. The frustration of their encounter wouldn’t leave him.
He shook his head to clear it. He had no idea why he’d been sent for, what an earl could possibly want of him. John had told his cousin, the Marquess of Worcester, that he didn’t need help. Recalling his cousin’s worried look, John now wondered if that had been a mistake.
The maid showed him into a withdrawing room, which had tall rows of windows along two walls. He almost had to squint at the two men who’d risen as he entered. But as his sight adjusted, he could see that they were strangers to him.
There was another movement on his right, and he forced himself not to flinch as he saw that it was the woman from the garden. By daylight she still wore her beauty with an immense dignity, even though her face looked strained and pale as she stared at him.
“John Malory?” said one of the men.
John turned to the older man, who could only be the nobleman who’d summoned him. He wore power like his daughter wore beauty.
“Yes, my lord?” he asked, feeling a knot of tension tighten in his stomach.
“I am the Earl of Chelmsford, and this is Sir Ralph Cobham. In worry for my daughter’s reputation—”
John thought he heard a strangled sound from the woman behind him.
“—Sir Ralph wished me to know that you and my daughter, Elizabeth, were seen leaving the party last night. Can you defend your actions?”
For a moment John was stunned, then full of anger at his own stupidity. Shouldn’t he have known that liberties taken with a noblewoman would return to haunt him? Then he remembered her willingness and wondered if she had deliberately set out to make a fool of him. By the looks of her father’s mansion, the woman did not need to marry for wealth, so what was going on here?
John looked at Cobham, saw the cold pleasure he was obviously taking from the woman’s humiliation, and knew the kind of man he was. He would spread tales across London, maybe all of England, to appease this obvious hatred he had for her—for Elizabeth.
John turned to look at her again, and if anything her face had grown paler. Had she led Cobham on, too, only to throw his desire back in his face?
John clenched his hands behind his back. His dreams of having a wife like his brother’s faded into the ashes of his own foolishness. He could not let the girl suffer alone for what they both had done.
“I went into the garden with your daughter, my lord, that is true.”
“And?”
My God, what did the man want from him, details? “We kissed,” he said shortly.
The earl slammed his hand down on the desk in anger, Cobham practically burst with the pleasure of his revenge, and Elizabeth gave a startled cry.
“That’s not true!” she said.
He suddenly realized she had lied to her father to protect herself. Didn’t the foolish woman know it was too late
, that even if they both denied it, the rumors would ruin her?
“He must want my dowry, Father; surely you see that!”
John flinched at the insult and turned his cold gaze on her. “I did not seek this meeting out, my lady. I did not force you into the garden, either.”
Now it was her turn to draw back as if he’d slapped her. “This isn’t fair,” she began plaintively, but her father interrupted.
“You and my daughter will be married,” the earl said shortly. “I will have a special license procured quickly.”
John felt a flush creep up his neck as he saw how disappointed the man obviously was at the thought of his daughter marrying so low.
Elizabeth stepped toward her father, who almost seemed to shrink away. For a brief moment, John felt sympathy for her.
“But Father, we know nothing about him! He could be a—a tradesman for all we know!”
John’s sympathy evaporated.
“He is a baron,” the earl said shortly, “and for that you should be thankful. Sir Ralph, you may leave us now.”
Cobham looked disappointed as he got to his feet. When the earl said nothing else, John made it a point to block the doorway and tower over the wretch.
“Elizabeth is going to be my wife,” he said in a low, cold voice. “Should I hear even one unsavory rumor, I will know who started it.” He leaned close to Cobham’s pale, twitching face. “And I will hunt you down.”
Cobham darted around him and fled the room. In the heavy silence left to them, he saw Elizabeth staring wide-eyed at him. And he suddenly wanted to hurt her.
“I didn’t do that for you,” he said shortly. “But for the honor of my family.”
She flinched, and he suddenly wished he could take back the words. Their situation was not only her fault.
In a quieter, calmer voice, he said, “Leave us now, Elizabeth. Your father and I have much to discuss—and you have to pack.”
“Pack?” she whispered in a weak voice. “Where are we going?”