Always Yours (ALWAYS trilogy Book 2)

by Cheryl Holt

  Her cheeks heated. “I stand corrected.”

  “For the record, I have no idea why I’m here, so I have no idea when I’ll be ready to depart.”

  “Maybe you’ll be trapped with me forever.”

  “Maybe.”

  He pushed himself to his feet and stepped over to her. She was still next to the dresser, and he leaned in and crushed her against it. Their torsos were forged fast, chests, thighs, feet tangled together.

  He was very tall, and she was only five-foot-five in her slippers. He towered over her, and she was mesmerized as the silliest debutante.

  She considered herself to be a modern, independent female who had no romantic interest in men, but evidently, she’d been wrong. There was a palpable charge of energy flowing from him to her, almost as if their proximity was creating sparks.

  Why was it happening? Where would it lead?

  Before she grasped what he intended, he dipped down and kissed her. She was so shocked that she simply stood there and let it transpire.

  It wasn’t her first kiss. She’d attended boarding school for years, and there had been dances and other social events. She and her classmates had snuck into dark corners with the boys who’d been invited.

  So she knew how to do it, but it had been a very long time since she had. She couldn’t persuade herself not to participate, and she grabbed the lapels of his coat to pull him nearer.

  Instantly, it became clear that kissing a boy when she was an adolescent girl, and kissing a man when she was a grown woman, were two very different experiences. Her body was alive and aroused in a fashion that was scary. Reckless thoughts were racing through her mind as she pondered activities she’d never previously pondered.

  She loved how his hard male anatomy felt against her much softer female one. She was on fire with yearning, and the speed with which it had swept over her was disturbing. He was swiftly proving that there were facets to adult amour that she didn’t understand and couldn’t control.

  She yanked her mouth from his, but he simply nibbled a trail across her cheek and down her neck, to nuzzle at her nape. Goosebumps cascaded down her arms, shooting waves of sensation out to her limbs. She was so overwhelmed that she was surprised her knees didn’t buckle, that she didn’t collapse to the floor in a stunned heap.

  He wouldn’t have allowed her to fall though. She was pinned tight, as if he might never let her go.

  “Mr. Sinclair,” she murmured, and she laid a palm on his chest and tried to ease him away.

  “Call me Sebastian,” was his reply.

  “I can’t. What are you doing? What are we doing?”

  He glared at her. “We’re kissing, Miss Robertson. Are you such an innocent that I must explain it to you?”

  “I know we’re kissing, but why are we? We don’t even like each other.”

  “No, we don’t, so I can’t imagine what’s driving me.”

  “It’s been your response to my every question.”

  “I don’t have a more specific answer for you, so cease your pestering.”

  He dipped in and kissed her again, and she sighed and joined in for a minute or two. All right, maybe three.

  It was a rare occasion when someone held her. She couldn’t remember when it had last happened. It was wonderfully sweet, but it was dangerous and foolish too.

  He had no business seeking her out, and she had no business permitting him to tarry. He’d just extended a large amount of charity to her and the children. Was this his way of informing her he expected payment for what had been bestowed?

  Oh, how she hoped that wasn’t the case!

  She pushed him away, saying, “We have to stop.”

  “Why?”

  “I can’t figure out what possessed you—or me.”

  “Must you evaluate every aspect of it? Are you the type of female who must talk every detail to death?”

  “I’m worried there are strings attached to your generosity.”

  He scowled. “What kinds of strings?”

  “You offered to let us stay in this cottage, then you immediately show up in an amorous mood. What am I to think?”

  He muttered an epithet under his breath. “You suppose I’d demand physical compensation?”

  She shrugged. “It’s possible.”

  “You’re being absurd. Haven’t I mentioned that I have no idea what lured me here?”

  “Well, you did claim I was a thorn you couldn’t pluck out.”

  “Precisely.”

  “So…you’re here for no reason at all?” she asked.

  “There’s a reason. It just remains a mystery to me.”

  He gazed down at her with an odd mix of affection and horror, as if he was perplexed over how he’d wound up in her bedchamber.

  He placed his palms on her shoulders, and he stroked them down her back, over her bottom and thighs, then settled them on her waist. He touched her in a familiar manner, as if he was comfortable with her body and had every right to proceed.

  “You make me feel better,” he said out of the blue, “and now that I’ve told you, don’t you dare gloat.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.” She leaned into him, liking how her torso fit with his, liking how sparks ignited when they were close.

  “Are you sad tonight?’ she asked him.

  “What a perfectly idiotic suggestion. No, I’m not sad, and even if I was, I’m much too manly to admit it.”

  “Why are you drinking so much?”

  “I never used to, but since I returned from Africa, it’s worsened.”

  “Was it bad there? When your father was killed, was it terrible?”

  For a moment, his mask fell. If she hadn’t been watching him so intensely, she wouldn’t have observed it. In that instant, she saw grief and heartache, a bit of shame and regret too, but it was swiftly concealed.

  “I don’t want to discuss it,” he said.

  “I understand.”

  “What should be done with you?” he inquired instead, deftly changing the subject. “I’m interested in hearing your opinion.”

  “You should allow us to dawdle indefinitely. Forget we’ve intruded.”

  “That’s not an option.”

  “What is an option then?”

  “I can’t decide.”

  “Do you have a temper?” she asked.

  “It’s been known to flare occasionally. Why?”

  “I would hate for you to grow angry and kick us out over nothing.”

  “I wouldn’t.”

  She studied him, then nodded. “I’ll tell myself to believe you, and I’ll get busy, finding somewhere for us to go. I swear I will, but would you ever be willing to support us yourself? If you could chip in on our expenses, I’d have more alternatives, and we could depart quicker.”

  “You only just arrived. Don’t push your luck.”

  She grinned. “I always push it.”

  He set a finger on the bridge of her nose and traced it down across her lips, her chin, her throat, her chest. He stopped at the bodice of her nightgown, perched as if to slip under the fabric and caress a breast. At the notion, her nipples hardened into painful buds, and her pulse galloped at a crazed speed.

  She was agog with anticipation, wondering what he might attempt and what she might allow. He’d been in her room for a few short minutes. In that paltry amount of time, had she become a wanton? Could it be?

  He came to his senses and pulled away, and she couldn’t determine if she was relieved or disappointed. What if he’d begun disrobing her? Would she have let him?

  She’d been told how men and women misbehaved when they were alone. Her widowed cook, who’d birthed a dozen children, had clarified the process. Sarah had been desperate to learn how babies were created, how unwed mothers landed themselves in such trouble.

  Although she didn’t exactly comprehend the physical mechanics of fornication, she grasped them well enough. She’d had passion explained, had had male lust and male drives explained.

&nb
sp; If he’d removed her nightgown, he’d have done shocking, thrilling things to her that she likely would have enjoyed very much, and she’d always been curious as to what it would be like to be seduced. If he’d offered her the chance, might she have grabbed for it?

  She could picture herself viewing it as a sort of scientific experiment. She liked to assume she’d never be that reckless, but what if she was wrong? Where would she be when it was over?

  “I’ll visit you tomorrow,” he said.

  “I suppose it’s futile to tell you that you shouldn’t.”

  “Yes, it’s futile. It will be very late before I can sneak over here.”

  “You don’t have to sneak. You could merely knock on the front door like a normal person.”

  “For what I have in mind, I’ll definitely be sneaking.”

  “Should I be afraid for my virtue?”

  He huffed with feigned offense. “You don’t have to ever be afraid of me.”

  “If you plan to creep into my bedchamber after dark, how else should I feel about it?”

  “You should simply consider yourself fortunate that I’m bothering with you.”

  She laughed. “You are so vain. How can I dissuade you?”

  “You can’t, so I’ll see you tomorrow night. In the meantime, don’t leave the cottage please. I have important guests coming, and I can’t have any of them stumble on Noah or Pet.”

  “We’ll keep out of sight, and I promise we’ll behave.”

  He scoffed. “I doubt, Miss Robertson, that you have ever behaved a day in your life.”

  “Maybe not.”

  He stole another kiss, then headed for the door. At the last second, he tossed over his shoulder, “I still can’t fathom why I came over here. I was hoping some conversation would get you out of my system.”

  “Did it work?”

  “No. I’m more fascinated than ever.”

  The admission was strange and stunning. “I fascinate you?”

  “Yes, bizarre as it sounds.”

  “You shouldn’t be thinking about me at all.”

  “Isn’t that the truth?”

  The comment hung there between them, then he sauntered out.

  She was frozen in place, listening as he exited the residence. It was quiet outside, and she strained to hear if he trotted away on a horse, but he didn’t, so he must have walked from the manor.

  It wasn’t that far—just a fleet stroll across the park and around the lake—but it was much farther if he used the road, then turned up the lane.

  Clearly, he was happy to take the shorter route, to show up without providing the warning of a horse’s hooves on the gravel out front. He could furtively tiptoe in whenever he liked.

  Would she let him traipse in without arguing?

  The property was his, and she was staying at it because he’d permitted her to stay. If he chose to dally with her, and if he demanded she participate, what could she do about it?

  He claimed he’d never expect compensation for them tarrying in the cottage, but it certainly seemed—on her end anyway—as if some sort of payment was owed.

  How high might the price ultimately be? Would she be willing to pay it?

  She thought—if she could kiss him again in the moonlight—that she might risk anything to make it happen. How had she arrived at such a perilous spot? And so rapidly too!

  She blew out the candle and sank down on the bed, but she didn’t lie down. His potent caresses had imbued her body with an energy she’d never be able to quell. Perhaps she’d never calm down enough to rest ever again. Perhaps she’d spend the rest of her life, staring out the window and anxiously watching for him.

  My, my, but wasn’t she in trouble?

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Sebastian stood on the verandah at the rear of the manor and gazed across the park. Supper was over, and his guests were inside, chatting and playing cards. He was enjoying a quiet interval, staring out at the colored lanterns marking the paths in the grass.

  He was drinking a whiskey, but not drinking it too quickly. His mother had noticed his excess imbibing, and Miss Robertson had commented too. She was nearly a stranger to him, and if she would perceive it, his habit had gotten out of hand.

  It was just that, since surviving the ordeal in Africa, his mental state was quite chaotic. Often, for no reason he could discern, he’d be extremely anxious. He was relentlessly vigilant, as if an attack was imminent, and of course, insomnia was his constant companion.

  Sleep was impossible. The minute he began dreaming, he’d once again be watching his father and Nathan being hacked to pieces.

  The scenario always developed in the exact same fashion. He’d observe the calamity as it was bubbling up, and he’d try to shout a warning, but he’d find himself paralyzed and unable to call out. Then he’d try to run over and defend them, but his limbs would be turned to stone.

  The assault would commence, the bloody blows landing in gory slow motion. Red droplets would pelt his face and hair and…?

  He’d lurch to consciousness. Who could slumber through a nightmare like that?

  Liquor was the only thing that calmed him. He supposed laudanum might help too, but he wasn’t about to walk down that road.

  He glanced over to see Veronica approaching. She and Ophelia had arrived that afternoon, with Ophelia assuming the role of hostess, but Veronica was expending all the effort. They were eager for him to note that Veronica had the skills necessary to manage his home.

  He knew she did, and he understood that she and Ophelia were fast friends, but he simply wished they’d leave him alone. His mother and hers were intent on their marrying, and he figured he’d eventually oblige them, but for the moment, everything annoyed him, and she was definitely on that list. So was his sister.

  “Why are you hiding out here?” she asked.

  “I can’t abide all the stories about Sir Sidney. I’ve heard them a thousand times.”

  “If you were so certain this crowd of guests would bore you, why invite them?”

  “The inquest is upon us, and it seemed important to acknowledge their connection to him.”

  “Will you need any of them to testify?”

  “No, but they were his staunchest supporters when he was just starting out.”

  “We’ve come a long way since then, haven’t we?”

  His family had come a long way, but even though Veronica was a cousin, he didn’t include her in that group. He and Sir Sidney were famous and revered, and they’d grown that fame into significant wealth with their diamond mines, but also with their travelogues and other items they’d used to spread their notoriety.

  If and when he wed her, she would benefit from his riches, but for now, she couldn’t lay claim to a single asset. He didn’t mention it though. His mood was so low that he had to work hard to tamp down rude remarks he didn’t mean to utter.

  He studied her, struggling to imagine her as his wife. She was twenty, and he felt a thousand years older than her. With her blond hair and blue eyes, she was very pretty, but in a very typical British manner. There was naught that set her apart from any other debutante. She was petite and plump, which made her appear curvaceous, but a less generous person might have described her as fat.

  He liked shapely women though, so he wouldn’t be persnickety. No, his main issues with her were her youth and immaturity, her lack of life experience, and her not possessing the sophistication that journeying to foreign lands could supply.

  How could they ever have anything in common?

  He’d snuck out to the empty patio for the solitude it provided. Didn’t she realize that fact? How long would she tarry?

  “How was supper?” she asked. “You didn’t compliment Ophelia, and she’s worried you weren’t happy with how it was arranged.”

  Ophelia and Veronica had rolled in after his chef had selected the menu and was preparing the food, so they’d had very little to do with it. And she wasn’t actually inquiring about Ophelia’s competenc
e. She was inquiring as to how he viewed her own.

  It was so exhausting, and he yearned to shake her.

  “Supper was fine,” he said. “The meal was delicious.”

  “I thought so too.” She gestured to the house. “Will you come in? Some of the older gentlemen left a chair for you at one of the card tables. They’re hoping you’ll join them.”

  “Will they tell me more stories about Sir Sidney? Perhaps when he was a rapscallion at university?”

  “Yes, I believe that might be their plan.”

  He grinned, attempting to look amused, rather than irked. “I’ll be in shortly.”

  Could he be much more obvious?

  Apparently, she’d gotten the hint, and she breezily stated, “Don’t dawdle. It’s supposed to rain this evening. I’d hate for you to catch a chill.”

  “I’ll try to bear up.”

  Her comment was so wifely, and it irritated him beyond his limit. He forced a smile, then focused his gaze on the park again, bluntly apprising her that she’d been dismissed. To his great relief, she departed without another word.

  He gulped his whiskey, placed the glass on the balustrade, then walked down into the garden. He strolled the various paths, leaving the mansion and the party far behind. He’d presumed he was wandering aimlessly, but when Miss Robertson’s cottage became visible in the trees, he had to admit he’d had a destination in mind all along.

  The prior night, he’d made a fool of himself with her. Why pursue the same course? Was he determined to show her, over and over, that he was an idiot?

  Evidently yes.

  He still couldn’t figure out why he’d kissed her so vigorously. As she’d pointed out, they didn’t even like each other, so how was he to explain his conduct? Maybe there was no explaining it. He was a man, and she was a woman, and they shared a hot, tantalizing attraction. Why ignore it?

  She was much too old to still be a maiden, and it was an unnatural condition for a female. They needed to be wedded and bedded at a young age. She’d avoided matrimony, so she was brimming with energies that should have been slaked years earlier.

  He was happy to be the lucky fellow who finally ignited her sexual passions. Was that his ploy? Would he seduce her? To what end?