by Cheryl Holt
He hated that she was ignoring him, and he was determined to get a rise out of her.
“Aren’t you incensed that I’m here? Aren’t you going to shoo me out?”
“As you mentioned, Mr. Talbot, it would be a waste of breath.”
“When we’re alone, you must call me James.”
“No.”
“Since I was bribed to bed you as quickly as I could manage it, it seems ridiculously pointless to be so formal.”
She whipped around, shooting him a glare so lethal that, if her eyes had been bullets, he’d have been dead on the floor.
“There won’t be any bedding or anything else between us, so if that’s why you’re lurking, you can leave.”
“Stanley tells me he’s convinced you to stay for a month—so I can charm you.”
“Mr. Oswald is an idiot.”
“Too true.” His grin widened. “I’m delighted to learn that you are such an excellent judge of character. It was years before I figured out his genuine nature. Of course, I was a boy when I arrived, so I can’t be castigated for failing to notice what he was like until much later on.”
She picked up her brush and started pulling it through her hair. She rubbed her temples, shifted her neck and shoulders.
“Do you have a headache?” he asked.
“Yes, my hair is very heavy. I always take it down the minute I can.”
“You can wear it down whenever you’re with me. I won’t be shocked. In fact, I prefer it down.”
“I’m sure you would. Isn’t it the accepted style for trollops? I’m guessing you’d be intimately familiar with such a thing.”
“Yes, my favorite doxies all wear it down.”
She snorted and muttered a remark he couldn’t hear, and he leaned against the doorframe, holding onto the wood to keep himself in place. He wanted to saunter over and brush her hair for her, but she was still furious. If he approached, she might whack him with the ivory handle.
“Your brush is very fine,” he pointed out.
“Too fine for a mere schoolteacher? Is that what you’re hinting?”
“No, just…commenting.”
“Lest you accuse me of theft, it was my mother’s. It’s one of the few items I have that belonged to her.”
“Who was your mother? Who was her family? Would I know them?”
She scowled over her shoulder. “No, you wouldn’t know them.”
“You’re an orphan, so I’m assuming she’s passed on.”
“You’re assuming correctly.”
“What happened to her?”
“She and my father perished from a plague in Egypt when I was four.”
“Really? You were living in Egypt? How very exotic.”
“Yes, I’m a veritable bubbling cauldron of unusual traits.”
“Why were they in Egypt?”
She sighed as if his questions were a burden, but he couldn’t stop asking them. He was much too fascinated by her, and despite what she believed, Stanley was insisting the seduction proceed.
James hadn’t decided how he felt about it. It was only proper to back out, yet she was still on the premises and would remain for thirty more days. James was aware of how Stanley could grind people down and coerce them into doing his bidding. Before it was finished, any ending might occur.
“My father was a missionary,” she said.
“Your mother too?”
“No. My mother married down and was disowned for it. She was trailing after my father because she loved him madly and foolishly. She perished for her folly.”
“I’m sorry,” he murmured.
“It was a long time ago.”
She laid down the brush and came toward him. He was blocking the door, and at her sudden proximity, sparks ignited.
“I like it that you’re brazen enough to take your hair down in front of me.”
“Well, James, if I waited for you to depart so I could do it without you watching, I’d have a headache the rest of my life.”
“You called me James! We’re making progress.”
“You’re right for once. With how forward you’ve been, there’s no reason to pretend formality.”
She shoved him, and he obliged her, stepping back to let her by.
“I’d like to put on my nightgown and robe,” she said as she walked on, “but I suppose it’s too much to hope that you’d go away so I can get ready for bed.”
“You can change your clothes. Don’t mind me.”
“You are a rude, impertinent beast,” she growled.
“Yes. I was raised without parents. By the time I arrived at Summerfield, Edwina tried to temper my worst habits, but they were too ingrained.”
“Poor woman.”
“Yes, she was a very poor woman indeed.”
Rose continued on to the sitting room, and he followed. She was over by the table in the corner. The maids had delivered a tray with a decanter of wine and slices of bread and cheese. She poured herself a glass of wine and nibbled on the cheese.
“Drinking, Rose?”
“Yes, drinking, James.”
“I’m shocked.”
“I didn’t enjoy many pleasures at Miss Peabody’s school. She was a stickler for proprieties and her teachers had to set an example.”
“So no alcohol?”
“Actually, I think she was just miserly and didn’t wish to buy any for us. She kept wine in her room, but she never shared.” She gulped down the contents of her glass, then poured herself another. “I’ve agreed to tarry for a month, and I’ve decided to view my sojourn as an overdue holiday. I plan to indulge myself.”
“Good for you.”
“Mr. Oswald told you I’m staying.”
“Yes.”
“Is there anything you two don’t discuss?”
“There’s plenty, but where you’re concerned, it appears I’m his only confidante.”
“Wonderful. When you’re gossiping about me, you may inform him that—while I’m in residence—I intend to pamper myself. I never had a chance to imbibe at Miss Peabody’s, so now, I shall. The situation seems to call for it.”
“Aren’t you worried you’ll become a lush?”
“Who cares? Not me, I assure you.”
The maids hadn’t realized she’d have a guest, so there was just the one glass. He took it from her, expecting to relish his own long swallow, but she let him have only a taste, then yanked it away.
“In many respects, I’m very much like Miss Peabody,” she said. “I hate to share. Next time, bring your own glass.”
“I’m delighted to hear there will be a next time.”
“You’re like a bad rash, James. I haven’t a clue how to be rid of you.”
“Why would you want to be rid of me? The more frequently we socialize, the more I promise you’ll grow to like me.”
“Yes, I’m certain I will,” she facetiously chided.
She poured more wine, then went to the window and stared out across the park. He came up behind her and stepped close, the front of his body touching hers all the way down. She could have moved away, could have jabbed him with her elbow and forced him back, but she didn’t.
They stood quietly, and he was curious as to what she was thinking. As for himself, he was overwhelmed by her smell. It was a fresh, flowery scent that rattled his masculine sensibilities.
Unable to resist, he reached out and stroked his hand down her hair, riffling his fingers through the soft strands. Again, she didn’t protest or push him away. She seemed to have lost the energy to fight. Or maybe he was so insignificant to her that she simply didn’t notice.
“Your hair is such an unusual shade. Did you inherit it from your mother?”
“I have no idea. I don’t remember much about her.”
“We have that in common.”
“You don’t remember your mother, either?”
“No, not at all. I don’t even know her name. Or my father’s.”
“How sad for you.”
“I can imagine it would,” she said. “I have fleeting visions of me being very tiny, sitting on her lap.”
“If you look like her, she must have been very pretty.”
“I’d like to think she was.”
She turned so she was facing him, and still, she didn’t shove him away, which was an encouraging sign. Then again, she was on her third glass of wine and that was just the ones he’d seen her drink. She’d probably had more at the supper party, and he was tantalized by the notion that she might be intoxicated.
He thought liquor worked wonders on a woman’s disposition, and he was more than happy to take advantage when inhibitions were lowered.
She gazed up at him, her green eyes probing, digging deep.
“Tell me something,” she said.
“Anything.”
“Why did you agree to Stanley’s scheme?”
He shrugged, trying to be flip. “Why not?”
“Don’t act like that,” she scolded, frowning.
“Like what?”
“Like it’s a game, like the entire affair doesn’t disturb you.”
“All right,” he nodded. “Let’s be candid.”
“Let’s be.”
He pressed himself to her, pushing her against the wall. He could feel every inch of her, her firm breasts, her flat belly, her shapely thighs. His cock sprang to attention, turning hard as stone.
“He asked me,” James admitted, “when he’s never asked me for any favor before. I said yes. I shouldn’t have, but I did.”
“Why couldn’t you refuse? What is his hold over you?”
“He has no hold. Despite his gruff exterior, he’s showered my life with blessings. I’m grateful for them.”
“Why did he do all this for you? It can’t be because his wife demanded it.”
“The rumor is that I’m his natural-born son.”
“Are you?”
“How could I be? Can you picture Edwina—or any wife—welcoming a bastard child into her home? She was kind to me. She didn’t live long after I arrived—her health was failing when I got here—but for the period when I knew her, she was very kind.”
“You don’t resemble him in even the slightest way.”
“No. That’s why I’ve never given much credence to the gossip.”
“And Mr. Oswald? What does he say? Have you asked him?”
“A thousand times.”
“What is his explanation? It can’t be that you were the one lucky street urchin, selected from all the street urchins in London.”
“He claims it was exactly that. He claims he wrote to the orphanage and requested a healthy, smart boy to entertain Edwina in her last days. I was the one who was sent.”
“You believe him?”
“Of course not. It’s how he manipulates me. He realizes that I’d love to know, so he hides the truth. If I learned it, he’d have no further means of influencing my behavior.”
Suddenly, his heart was pounding. He never discussed the situation with others. Lucas had been apprised, but mostly, people assumed he was a poor relative or that he was Stanley’s ward and reared at Summerfield out of legal duty.
James never clarified any misconceptions, and he most definitely never expounded on his place in the household. Yet with no effort at all, she’d drawn out the whole story, and he didn’t like that she had such an ability to delve and pry.
Needing a moment to compose himself, he took her glass of wine, downed the contents, then spun away to refill it. He sipped at it, watching her as she watched him in return.
He set the glass on a nearby table, then he came back and rested his palms on her waist, pulling her to him. She studied him, wary and a tad aggrieved, but she didn’t tell him to stop.
“Why would you sire a child for him?” she inquired. “I don’t understand it.”
“I told you: He asked it of me.”
“How could you blithely lie down and commit marital acts with impunity? We’re not even remotely acquainted. How could you consider it?”
“Physical lust is different for a man than it is for a woman. It’s simply that: physical conduct. A man can do it with any female. There doesn’t have to be an emotional attachment.”
She scoffed. “You make it sound sordid and unpleasant.”
“I’m just stating the facts.” On explaining it aloud, he seemed so cold and callous. What had he been thinking? He hadn’t been thinking; that was the problem.
When Stanley had first broached the subject, James hadn’t viewed her as a real person, and he’d figured he wouldn’t like her very much. After all, if she was the type who’d agree to Stanley’s proposal, she had to be a ninny. It had been easy to scheme against her.
“But if I’d been amenable,” she said, pressing the issue, “if I’d let you try, I would have birthed your son, and Stanley would have been hailed as his father. Wouldn’t that have bothered you? Wouldn’t it have galled you to keep silent and pretend the boy wasn’t yours?”
“I hadn’t thought it through that far. It was extremely difficult for Stanley to confide in me, and I felt I could repay my many debts to him by giving him the one thing he’d always craved most in the world.” He laughed miserably. “I thought we’d finally be even.”
“And you’d be free of him,” she mused, absolutely getting it.
“Yes, and my son would have been heir to Summerfield. It was enough for me, and I’m very vain. I liked the notion of having a secret to hold over Stanley for a change. It intrigued me.”
She raised a brow. “You’ve furnished some very pretty excuses, James. Perhaps I don’t hate you quite as much now.”
“See? We are making progress.”
“It appears we are,” she concurred.
He was tired of chatting, tired of stirring a pot of old memories. What was the point? It simply left him morose.
They couldn’t alter the past, couldn’t forget that James had plotted with Stanley to her disadvantage. They could only move forward in some sort of rational way.
He’d probably forsaken his vow to Stanley, had probably abandoned his intention to deflower her. But nevertheless, a relationship was blossoming between them. Should he ignore it? Should he pursue it?
If he jumped into a liaison, what was his goal? Would he be doing it for Stanley? For himself? What was the benefit to himself? What was the benefit to her?
He was positive there was no benefit for her. There was just detriment, but he was randy and unprincipled. If she was offering herself, he would take much more than she’d meant to give him, and he wouldn’t hang around through any wretched ending. Yet she didn’t know that, and he wasn’t about to apprise her.
She likely presumed him possessed of the honor that Stanley lacked. If so, she’d assumed wrongly.
He was desperately attracted to her. What man wouldn’t be? She was smart and pithy and beautiful. He’d have to be blind and stupid not to desire her, and suddenly, she seemed much more amenable to an affair, when he had no idea why she’d have changed her mind.
He was certain it was the wine talking. She’d had too much of it, when she wasn’t a regular drinker. It was late and they were alone. She’d brushed her hair while he’d watched. The act was intimate in a manner he couldn’t describe, more intimate than if she’d removed her clothes.
In their world, it was a tantalizing gift, and if he lingered long enough, what others might she bestow?
He dipped down and nibbled at her nape, taking small bites that made her squirm and chuckle.
“I want you to kiss me again,” she stunned him by saying.
“I plan on it.” He licked her skin with his tongue. “What brought this on?”
“When I decided to pamper myself this month, it dawned on me that there are many things I’ve never tried.”
“Kissing is one of them?”
“Yes.”
“So…I’m in the perfect position to show you
how it’s supposed to be done.”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
“You’ve had an enormous amount of wine. You know that alcohol lowers inhibitions, don’t you?”
“Yes, I know that.”
“It’s entirely possible that you’ll allow liberties tonight that you’ll regret in the morning.”
“Yes, it is.” She grinned. “But I’m on holiday, remember?”
“Yes, I definitely remember.”
“I’m in the mood for a little excitement.”
“And I am just the man to provide it.”
CHAPTER NINE
“Would you call me Rose?”
“Absolutely.”
“And just for a bit, would you pretend I’m the most wonderful woman you’ve ever met?”
James chuckled. “I’d be happy to.”
Rose sighed with pleasure.
She was pressed to the wall, his long, muscular body crushed to her own, and she’d never endured anything quite so marvelous. He was nibbling at her nape, goose bumps cascading down her arms. Her skin was tingling, her pulse racing.
She was trying to figure out what she was doing, where they were headed, but she had no idea.
She didn’t know him, didn’t particularly like him, and he’d thrust himself into her path with the worst of intentions, but their encounter on the road the previous night had altered her. She felt attached to him in ways she shouldn’t be, felt that he understood and cared about her, which was nonsense. Where he was concerned, her emotions were now a jumble of confused yearning and regret.
He was a cad and a bounder, the exact sort of man she should have avoided like the plague, and normally would have. But she’d attended a supper with Stanley, and as they’d returned home, her cheeks had ached from all her fake smiling.
During the lengthy evening of socializing, she’d had an enormous amount of time to ponder her situation.
She’d agreed to remain at Summerfield for one month, and gradually, it had dawned on her that she could use the interval to rest and regroup. She’d told James that she considered herself to be on holiday, and she’d meant it.
She’d never gone on holiday before. As a girl, she’d been a year-round boarder at school, and as an adult, she’d never earned enough money to frivolously travel. After drinking more and more wine, an ember of excitement had begun to burn.