“He has yet to ask me.” Another statement. She turned those chestnut eyes on him.
“Why would Nicholas ask you, Virginia?”
“You said yourself, he only desires a mother for the child. As Cassie’s aunt, I would be the most logical choice.”
After all they had been through, all they’d shared, she was still bent on a marriage with no real commitment. Anyone but him. Harold swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth. Anyone who did not ask for love and children. Years later and her past still haunted any future they might have. Didn’t she know the passion they shared was rare? If she thought he would let her marry another man, she did not know the first thing about him.
“And you…?” Her fingers twisted.
“What about me?” His eyes narrowed. Hope dared not take root.
Her head shook, gazed focused on some distant wall.
Well, it was time he took what he wanted. Before he realized his intent, Harold set his glass down and pulled Virginia to him. She fell onto his lap. Her surprised gasp was swiftly swallowed when his mouth covered hers. There was nothing gentle about his hold. His lips were firm and demanding, coaxing a response.
“You would dare share what we have with another lover?”
Virginia sighed. Her husband, God rest his soul, had never showed any interest in the physical.
Heat started in the pit of her stomach and she trembled. Desire stirred. Her breath hitched. Her nipples pressed against the restraints of her nightgown. The world fell away, leaving them in a daze of colors and sensations.
Her body went limp. Neglected yearning fulfilled under Harold’s tutored hands. Her back arched. Heat. Delicious heat pooled along her core. This was what she wanted, but not what she needed. Hadn’t she spent months learning to be an aunt to Cassie and that Nicholas was what she wanted? Even entertaining fanciful thoughts of marrying Nicholas—oh not because she loved him, but because he’d never demand anything from her—only to fall in love with Harold, feelings she had learned not to trust. Emotions that scared her more deeply than an indifferent marriage.
Virginia looked up at him. “No Harold, we mustn’t.”
She watched his head lift, eyes slowly opening. They were brilliant with desire.
“We mustn’t,” she repeated, if only to remind herself. She watched his eyes change from hunger to anger, darkening.
“Mustn’t, Virginia?” His voice hoarse. A finger stroked her cheek, moved down the length of her neck, before fluttering over her robe. “We’ve waited long enough, don’t you think? I mean to have you.”
She started to rise. There was something in his voice, a promise perhaps. She was afraid he meant every word. Afraid she wanted him to. Her only refuge was to flee. Escape the wanton passion he so easily stirred.
Harold shifted her until she straddled his thighs. His grip loosened on her shoulders, skimming past her collar, her chest. Their eyes locked as he moved his hands in line with her breasts. Skilled fingers parted her robe.
Her head fell back with a small cry when he took one nipple between his teeth. Harold sucked and teased, drawing more of her into his mouth. Wild with desire, she cried his name. Desire he stirred. When her nails dug into his shoulders, there was no turning back. She had let loose an appetite that matched his.
“No!” she cried when his lips deserted her nipple.
Harold chuckled. “I’m nay done.”
He moved to the other nipple, giving it equal attention as his hands moved across her back and down its slender length. He gripped the material separating them and yanked it up to bunch at her waist.
Virginia drew a sharp breath as her skin instantly chilled, then heated when his hands covered her backside. He massaged the flesh, just as he had done with her breasts. When strong hands ran along the curve of her thighs, shaping her, her hips thrust backwards, filling his seeking hands.
She groaned, trembled, before crying out. She was only aware of the wanting, needing his heat to last forever. One of his hands slipped between their bodies. Seeking. Moving urgently towards her core. His thumb pressed, massaging back and forth, mimicking the movements of his tongue. He massaged the hardened bud between her folds. She shuddered, her legs squeezing under his attention, only to be opened wider by his powerful thighs.
“You are ready for me,” he mumbled from between the valley of her breasts.
She thought she would go crazy when the hand stroking her vanished, but within moments it returned, grasping her hips.
“Your eyes, lass.” Virginia’s eyes slowly opened. “I want to see them when I fill you.”
His hips flexed, his shaft impaling her. They both trembled, enjoying the warmth and fullness of each other. Then his hands were on her backside and they were moving. Each flex of his hips taking him deeper into liquid heat, every squeeze and roll of her hips drawing them closer to a long-awaited climax. She met him thrust for thrust. His strokes becoming urgent and powerful until they were gasping for release.
“Virginia.” His grunted demand was all it took.
They carried each other over the edge, riding the waves of pleasure until they were no more than panting, sweaty limbs.
Moments later, Virginia stirred to soft kisses on her neck. “It’s late… I should go.” Her words died when she tried to move and found her hips pinned under his large hands. Virginia’s eyes widened as he stood, easily supporting her.
“Again.”
“Again?”
“Aye,” he groaned, bringing them to the large sofa.
Eight
The brass knocker thumped against the door. Without glancing at her timepiece, Isabella knew her eleven o’clock student was early. Her stomach knotted. Her ten o’clock had cancelled by messenger, and this early arrival could only mean more bad news. She pressed two fingers to the bridge between her eyes in an attempt to dispel the headache throbbing there. She never received so many callers in one morning, each delivering their share of bad news.
Again, her life had twisted, tangled in a web of chaos. One impulsive act and her livelihood threatened to slip away. No, she wouldn’t sit and watch her modest income vanish.
“Shall I send them away, miss?” Pashkin asked, standing at the large drawing room door.
“We both know I can’t afford such luxury.” Isabella sighed when Pashkin hesitated. “You may speak frankly.”
“You’re paid less than any teacher in London, miss.”
He was correct. She earned less than a decent governess, if she counted shillings. “What would you have me do, not work?”
“No, m’lady.”
“What of the vendors at the market, the rent? Who will compensate your wife for her cooking?” There lay her dilemma: entertain spoiled mothers or accept Nicholas’s offer.
Isabella groaned. No matter how angry she grew, the arrogant captain was never far from her thoughts. Over and over, her mind returned to him and the expert way he had manipulated her. He wasn’t gentle. No, his mouth was demanding against hers, coaxing, urging her to give more than she was willing. In spite of herself, she found her mind drifting back to the way his lips had felt against hers. The way heat had rushed through her as his tongue slipped into her mouth. She felt warmth pool in her belly—
“Lady Thompson.” Pashkin snapped Isabella out of her thoughts seconds before a thin-faced woman in a plum-colored dress burst into the room.
“Leave us.” Lady Thompson’s hand cut the air.
Isabella’s brows drew together at the woman’s tone. Her gaze moved to a stone-faced Pashkin who was still rooted in place. “Thank you, Pashkin. I’ll be fine. Could you ask Edyeth to prepare tea?”
He hesitated for an instant before turning on his heel. Even then, he left the drawing room door open a crack.
Isabella took a deep, calming breath. Her neck was tight with tension and her head throbbed. When she turned, deadpan eyes assessed her. Lady Thompson was never casually dismissed, Isabella mused, especially by one of lower rank.
“
Edyeth?” Lady Thompson repeated. “Really, Isabella, simply call her cook.”
Isabella bit her lip. Edyeth and Pashkin were more than help, they were friends.
“Your indiscretions are being gossiped about throughout town.”
Isabella straightened at Lady Thompson’s chastising tone.
“I’ll not have my daughter’s music teacher associated with wanton behavior.”
Isabella’s eyes narrowed as the older woman slipped her gloves off, clearly intending to prolong her visit. “I’m sorry to hear that, Baroness. We were making such progress,” Isabella said. It was difficult containing herself, but the thought of mounting bills kept her from saying more.
Lady Thompson’s lips pinched at the mention of her lower rank.
In truth, little Elizabeth would never possess musical talents. At ten, the child’s hands rivalled a lumberjack’s, and she didn’t have patience for the art. She was adept at figures, however, if only her mother thought numbers a valuable quality in a lady.
“In any regard, I will not have our name sullied.”
Sullied. Isabella flinched. If she could toss the older woman from her house without kindling further scandal, she would. “May I remind you, Lady Thompson, Captain Nicholas and I are betrothed.” Her hands twisted in her lap. “I don’t see how a show of affection between two who are to wed—”
“You can’t possibly be considering marriage! He’s a scoundrel and blackguard. Surely even you see that?”
Isabella sat speechless. What could she possibly say in defense? She didn’t know Nicholas, and if it weren’t for Emsley’s cowardly betrayal, they would not have met again. She’d heard stories of the women that trailed after him the moment he docked, the brothels, the parties. Stories of women foolish enough to lose their hearts. She couldn’t blame them. With Nicholas’s dark hair and stormy eyes, even she found herself drawn to him.
“…may continue her lessons.”
Yanked from her thoughts, Isabella eyed the woman warily.
“Once you’ve cut all association with the captain,” Lady Thompson finished, then rose in a swirl of frills and lace. She paused at the doorway. “Without your father’s protection against such vile men, society will forgive your current lapse in judgment, but no one forgives a trollop.” Lady Thompson walked out the door.
Isabella reached for the small centerpiece, ready to hurl the bauble against the door Lady Thompson exited when Pashkin appeared at the doorway. “You have another caller, miss.” He eyed her raised arm with trepidation. “I’ll fetch the broom.”
Isabella squeezed her eyes shut. She wouldn’t create more work for her employees, no matter how angry hearing Lady Thompson’s words made her. “Is it my last student cancelling her lesson?”
“No, miss.”
Isabella sighed in relief.
“A messenger delivered a note cancelling earlier.”
Her eyes snapped open, seeing a card between Pashkin’s firm fingers. “Send the caller away, Pashkin.” She eyed the centerpiece one last time before placing it on the table. She couldn’t afford to break a single object, not if it meant she could sell the item. Oh how she wished it was Emsley’s head in the palm of her hands.
Lord Daniel stepped into the room. “Tsk, tsk, is that any way to treat your friends?”
She eyed Lord Daniel with a mixture of relief and wryness, hoping he wasn’t another trial here to remind her of her circumstances. “Our friendship is still to be determined.”
His smile was devilish, making her lips twitch to return the gesture. “You wound me, my lady.”
“After the party, I didn’t expect to see you again.” His family was generous in showing their acceptance of her. Daniel had not judged. In fact, he’d drawn attention when he stopped Emsley’s pursuit, giving her the chance to escape to the balcony. “Wait!” Isabella said to Pashkin when the man moved to leave.
Daniel gave her a friendly smile. “You needn’t be afraid of me.”
“I’m neither married nor widowed, and at the moment, unchaperoned.” Isabella could not afford another scrap of scandal.
“Yes, but are you afraid?”
“Not of you.”
Daniel smiled. From the inner pocket of his coat, he took out a newspaper then unfolded the curled bundle. “Have you read today’s edition of the Scarlet? It brims with your approaching nuptials.” Daniel dropped the folded newspaper onto the coffee table before Isabella. “Almost every page has thoughts on the matter. It’s as if the editor purposely sprinkled bits here and there to ensure each page flipped.”
“Nuptials?” The door shut, sealing them in together as Pashkin slipped out of the room.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were engaged?” Daniel sat in the chair opposite her.
“I wasn’t… I’m not!” Her eyes fixed on the inked sheet of paper. There it was, in the center of the page for all to read: Captain Nicholas Ferguson and Lady Isabella Pennington to be married on the ninth.
“Really?” Daniel asked, staring at the same words that had stopped her blood.
“What I’m trying to say is, I wasn’t engaged until last evening, and that was not my doing.”
Daniel watched her, his eyes weary. “Perhaps the Gazette next time; it is certainly more tasteful.”
Isabella barely heard him. “The ninth!” She looked up from the paper. “But today’s the…”
“Seventh,” he finished.
Once more, her eyes darted to the page, her hands trembling as she focused on the print too large for the space.
It is a tale for the romantic at heart. Captain Nicholas, rider of the sea, sailed home to capture the reluctant Lady Isabella, who promised she would not flee her obligations as she did once before…
“Flee?” Isabella gaped at the words, her hands fumbling, crinkling the smooth sheets.
With the lovers finally united, and all ties to Lord James Emsley severed, they may be wed. That is, if Lady Isabella has not yet set her eyes on another.
Isabella’s eyes widened as she read the last line. “They think… They think me a tart!”
“The Scarlet has excellent writers. Don’t you agree?” he said in a dry tone. “The copies are selling as fast as they are pressed.”
This was all Emsley’s fault. He was the one who wouldn’t commit. He had jilted her. He had married someone else. She had waited through his excuses not to marry. And when she could wait no more, he had ended their betrothal. Her fate sealed by a few carefully placed words.
No matter what she had said, pleaded, nothing changed. Her father blamed her for not enriching their coffers and linking the two names together. For weeks he’d searched for another suitor, as if she were some prized pig. But the rumors had only grown more scandals, reaching ballrooms and clubs alike. Finding none willing to marry, and having her sister’s future to consider, her loving father had tossed her out.
Isabella gave an unladylike snort at the memory. She’d been such a fool putting her trust in a man. She was a fool yet for still believing in love. She read the last line of the Scarlet again. To think, the dangerous captain, setting sail to save her from herself, from her adventurous ways. It seemed the captain was not the only one keeping tally of her rescues. Had he intended on seeking her out at the party, seducing her? The rascal.
She did not know which bothered her more, the ton thinking she was not faithful in her engagement, or thinking of her as the adventurous sort. Did Nicholas think her so bold? Certainly not.
But he did. She remembered his caresses, the strokes of his tongue against hers, her automatic response to his touch. Isabella squeezed her eyes closed.
She didn’t need saving, Isabella reminded herself, and if she did, Captain Nicholas would not be her rescuer. With her resolve set, Isabella straightened her back. She flipped the page to the next entry.
Daniel plucked the papers from her hands. “I think you’ve understood the gist of the tale.”
“I prefer not to be mentioned in the dailies at al
l.” Her forehead creased. “You don’t believe the newspapers?”
“Not one word. Although…” He winked. “The bits on adventure might prove interesting.”
Isabella flushed, her eyes darting between her knotted fingers and the folded paper. No wonder the agency refused to find her new students. She’d visited them earlier in the day, hoping to replace the students she’d lost only to be told it was impossible. All her letters of reference meant little in light of her recent scandal. Here she had thought the woman behind the plain wooden desk, with glasses perched on the tip of her nose, had meant the scandal a few months ago, when in truth she had undoubtedly been referring to the one being flaunted this very moment in the newspapers.
The additional strain on her finances changed everything.
There was Nicholas. She could accept his offer. If she married him, she’d have security. He himself had promised that much. He’d never love her. She was certain of that. Hadn’t he said their marriage would be a convenient arrangement? There was the possibility of children…a family.
“We could elope, prove them right.” Daniel took one of her hands into both of his.
Isabella laughed. “To the country.”
He looked incredibly young, so much more than the night before. His grin was still the same, she was pleased to note.
“And what would we do?” Isabella laughed again, and Daniel’s long lashes fanned his deep blue eyes.
“Anything that pleases you, my lady. We could marry.”
“Why?” Oh but he was tempting! She was glad this man was her friend as she found both his company and banter comforting.
“I find your situation most unfortunate. Were you a gent, no one would bat an eye. A bit of dallying would be permitted. And disprize being told what I must do.”
“I see.” She tried and failed to stop her lips from curving into a smile at his outrage.
Prove them right, what an agreeable notion. If only she was so brave. “The young ladies of London would never forgive me that slight, at least until they’ve had the opportunity to properly come out.” Isabella placed a finger on his lips to halt his protest. “Perish the thought. You don’t have to marry, Daniel, not now. Not until you’ve broken at least a dozen hearts.”
The Captain's Lady Page 5