by Christine Merrill, Michelle Willingham, Louise Allen, Terri Brisbin
“And much good they did me.” She drew even farther from him, fumbling for the sheet as though it would be possible to hide from him, after what they had done.
“What brings you here?” Had Paget left her nothing but that damned picture, that she had been driven to this on her return to London? “The abbess said you were new to this place. But that is a common lie.”
“In this case, it is true. Just this night. For money,” she said simply, as though it explained all. And it did. After all his fine talk of his stalwart wife, he’d thought the captain would know enough to set a portion aside for his widow. But some men expected to live forever and sort out the finances after the war.
He reached out and clasped her hand. “I could not save Charles. But I will save you from this, if you let me.”
“How would you do that?” She looked at him with a slanted cat’s gaze, as though weighing his intentions.
“Come away with me. Now. Tonight. You need have no fear of the mistress of this house. She will not dare to cross me. Once you are settled in my rooms, you can send for anything you wish. Or I will purchase what you need.”
God knew how. He could little afford a ladybird, should her tastes prove extravagant.
She thought for a moment, and then nodded. “I have nothing but the clothes I came with. I will dress, and then we may go.” Her lack of expression surprised him. He had expected some display of emotion, either enthusiasm or argument, or perhaps an embarrassed speech about how this was not normally her way. But she did not seem overly bothered by what had happened between them. Nor was she relieved or upset by his offer, just as she’d not been bothered by the knowledge that a stranger had watched as she’d touched herself. Perhaps she had been seeking a protector, all along.
Fool that he was, he had imagined the captain’s widow wrapping herself in grief and propriety. But the true Victoria Paget was mercenary, to an almost military degree. Her cold blood was almost as disturbing as the truth of her identity had been.
She was dressing as he waited. Strangely, the sight of her becoming clothed was more arousing than the sight of her naked had been. He wanted to peel the clothes away again, and touch her skin to assure himself that the event of the evening had truly happened. He turned his head, trying not to look at her. “You are sure you have no possessions?”
“There is nothing for me here.” Her cloak hung on a peg in the corner of the room, and he reached out for it, dropping it over her shoulders, then he escorted her from the room. As they left, she did not look back.
They rode in silence toward his flat, and he wondered if her feelings toward him would warm, given time. Would her opinion change in regard to kissing him? It did not seem so. When the carriage door was closed he had touched her chin as a prelude to turning her mouth to his. And she had looked away again.
What did it matter that she felt no tenderness for him? She had agreed to come with him, knowing what it would mean. He could have her again, soon. Tonight perhaps. And as often as he liked hereafter.
Bought and paid for.
The words echoed in Tom’s mind as the carriage stopped and he helped her from it and up the few steps to his apartment. His manservant looked up as he entered, with some small surprise that he was not alone. Tom gave the smallest shake of his head to indicate that he would explain in time, and the man went about his business as though there was nothing strange.
Then he said with some embarrassment, “I am sorry that my quarters are so small. Just the sitting room and the bedroom. My servant, Toby, sleeps by the kitchen fire. I do not have even a cot to offer you. In time, you shall have your own room. Or an apartment, if you wish it.”
How silly. Of course she would wish. What sort of idiot offered a carte blanche to a woman he could not afford to keep?
“You shall have a maid. Dresses. Anything you wish. But it is rather late. In the morning…” They were rash promises, and he had no idea how he would manage, but he would give her anything she desired, if it meant he could touch her again.
“Of course,” she said. “I understand.” And then she fell silent.
It worried him that he did not know what to say next, other than to repeat the pathetic offers he had just made. There was so much more to be said, so much that he wanted her to understand. And in turn, there was much he wanted her to answer for. But he doubted that either of them wanted to hear the truth. For now, he would let his body speak for him. He stepped forward and reached for her.
She took the slightest move away, as though his touch was unwelcome, now that she had what she wanted. And then she said, “When did you recognize me?”
The suddenness of it stunned him. Perhaps she wished to defend what was left of her honor, now that she had seen the humbleness of his quarters. It was a harsh thought, and he did not wish to believe it of her. But better not to act like a besotted fool, lest she announce that she had no wish to lie with a cripple if they would be forced to share the bed after.
He retreated to neutral hospitality, taking her cloak and leading her to a chair by the fire, then signaling his man to bring them a brandy. Once the servant had retired to the kitchen he said, “I did not know you at first. Not until you said your name. If I had known, I would not have allowed you to do what you did.”
Liar. He’d known in his heart exactly who she was from the moment he had laid eyes on her. But he had not been able to resist having her.
“Once I realized the truth, I could not stand by and leave you in that place, to God knows what fate. I owe it to a brother officer, to see to it that his family does not suffer. And that is why I brought you here.”
“After the fact,” she said, bluntly. And for a moment, there was a light in her eye that made him wonder if she sensed the truth of what had happened the day her husband died, and had come to him to exact punishment for it.
Or she might simply be expressing the obvious. His own guilt pricked sharp, like needles inside him. It had been so much easier to be angry and to blame her loose morals for what had happened tonight. But he had wanted her long before he had any right to, and he had taken her the first chance he’d got. Then he’d convinced himself that her desperation was a sign of unworthiness, and that his lust was somehow her fault. No wonder she was cold to him. He sighed. “What I did was unconscionable. But once things were begun, I did not know how to stop them, or how to explain myself.” He bit his tongue, and began again. “That is not true. Once we had begun, I did not wish to stop. I was selfish, and thoughtless of all but my own needs. Because of my injury, pleasure has been infrequent, and to find myself in the company of such a beautiful woman?”
He shrugged as though it were possible to minimize his attraction to her. “But that is no excuse. Although it is too late to take back what I have done, I will not trouble you further with my attentions. I only wish to know that you are safe, and that you are not forced to debase yourself further because of misfortune.”
“Oh.” There was a crease in her forehead, as though she were puzzled. Or perhaps she was disappointed, although that hardly seemed likely. “Thank you for your kindness.” She sipped from the drink she had been offered.
He thought for a moment that she meant to explain how she had come to the state she was in. But she said nothing and he had no right to inquire. Perhaps there was something even more horrible than what she currently experienced.
Then she looked up at him from over the rim of her glass. “But I cannot accept the terms you offer. If you wish to give me your protection, then I must give you something in return. It makes no sense to pretend modesty, and refuse you companionship.” She touched the neckline of her gown.
He was mesmerized by her hands. How graceful they were. Long fingered. Supple. His body remembered how it had felt to be touched by them, and grew hard in response. And he knew that his attempt at nobility was for naught. She had offered. And he would take from her again.
It hurt him to know that what was about to happen would mean nothing to h
er, other than a bartering of services. She was not the woman he imagined her to be, and her husband’s shining description was little more than the fondness of long association.
He set his drink aside and reached out to take her by the wrist, drawing her to her feet and toward the door to the bedroom. And as he did so, the glass shook in her hand, and spilled a few drops of brandy onto the silken flesh above her breasts. He took the glass from her and threw it onto the hearth, listening to the crystal shatter as he pulled her into his arms, burying his face against her throat, chasing the drop of liquor down to catch it on his tongue. When the bodice of her dress blocked him, he reached behind her and undid the fastenings, pushing it and her chemise out of the way until he could reach her breasts, taking the nipples by turn into his mouth to suckle them until the skin puckered and the tips grew hard.
He felt her fingers in his hair, a gentle, almost fearful touch holding his mouth against her body. And then she pulled her hands away, and he could feel her arms go rigid at her sides.
He lifted his head and put his arms on her shoulders, pushing gently until her back was to the wall. Then he dropped his hands to cover her, rubbing his thumbs against the sensitive tips and watching her eyes widen in response. Perhaps she was not such a dispassionate schemer after all. Was it fear he saw on her face? Or could it be desire? He gave the flesh beneath his fingers a gentle pinch, and she gasped and bit her lower lip as though she could bite back the response.
He smiled and stared at her mouth. “If you truly do not wish me to kiss you, you must stop that immediately. You are tempting me beyond endurance.”
“I did not mean to,” she whispered.
He laughed and leaned forward to catch the lobe of her ear between his teeth, nipping it as she had her own lip. “Of course you did. From the first moment. Lying on that bed, offering yourself to me. You are temptation itself.”
“No. Not that. I did not…” She gasped again as he bit harder, and wrenched the truth from her. “I did not mean to enjoy this.”
He could feel his body straining to pleasure her, just as hers strained to resist him. “Is that so?” He released her breasts and fumbled with the buttons on his trousers.
She glanced down, and then over her shoulder at the door behind them. Her mouth was a perfect O of shock. “The bedroom?”
He shook his head. “Here. Now. You do not wish to enjoy this. And I do not wish to wait.” He could see by the eager way that she lifted her skirt that his pretense at brutish behavior was as exciting to her as anything else they had tried. He touched her between her legs, spreading her with his fingers, stroking for a moment before pushing one inside of her. She was wet and ready, bracing her back against the wall, bearing down on his hand and shuddering with delight. He pulled his hand away and fitted his body to hers, pausing for just a moment before pushing slowly into that wonderful tightness.
The fear disappeared from her face. Now it shone with the light of pure bliss. And then she shut her eyes, as though she thought she could hide it from him.
He withdrew and thrust again, even slower than before, trying to ignore the dizzying rightness of being inside her. He pressed his body tight to hers, one of his hands trapped between them so that he could clutch her breast. With the other hand, he touched her face, running a thumb along her jawline to tip her face toward his. “Open your eyes.”
She blinked up at him, looking as dazed by what was happening as he felt. Her lips were parted, swollen and red, and he longed to kiss them as he thrust again. “Tell me what you are feeling,” he said, and rubbed his knuckles against them.
She touched his hand with her tongue, and he sucked in a breath, not wanting to lose control too quickly. She hesitated, and he thrust again.
She let out a little squeak of surprise that made him smile. So he kissed her cheek, tantalizingly close to those lovely lips, and said again, “Tell me.”
At last, she murmured, “It has never been like this.” And as he moved in her, her breathing became irregular, muddling her words. “I have never…more than once…and the way you look at me…and your body…it makes me…every time.”
He could feel her losing control again, her body tightening on his. He squeezed her breast and felt her back arch, her hips rock forward into his, her arms wrap around to hold him as she began to tremble. So he enjoyed her perfect body and imagined her perfect lips, and spent himself in her again.
How many times had that been tonight? He smiled to himself, hugging her to him, trying not to lean too obviously upon her. Damn, but he was weak as a kitten. Standing had been a mistake. His leg was aching, and he must get the weight off it, or he would be too stiff to rise in the morning.
From his shoulder came a soft sob.
He lifted his head to find her face wet with tears. He reached to stroke her hair, wondering how he had ever thought her cold. “What is it, love? Tell me.”
“I am a terrible wife,” she whispered back.
He almost laughed. “Right now, you are no wife at all.” Although perhaps she ought to be. At the rate they were going, there would be a babe soon. Surely a wife was easier to keep than a mistress.
And then the weight of her words hit him, and with it, the old guilt. He held her close, not wanting to let a ghost come between them. “He is gone. You are free.”
“But I should not behave in this way. And with a man I barely know. With you, of all people.”
So that was it. She’d given herself to a lesser man. He focused on the ache in his leg, for it was easier to deal with the physical hurt than the pain her words had caused. He straightened, taking back his own weight, pulling her gown up to shield her body, and offering her his arm.
“How you behaved this evening was little fault of your own. It is I who should be ashamed. I owe you reparation for my base behavior. You honor me by accepting my protection.” He swallowed his nerves, for he knew what he truly owed to a lady, even if his words were met with scorn. “And you would honor me still further, if you would agree to wed me.”
Chapter 4
Victoria gave a small, surprised laugh to cover her confusion, putting a hand to her throat to keep her gown from slipping again. “Marriage?”
“I dishonored you by my actions. As a gentleman, I wish to make it right again,” he said, as though it were the most reasonable thing in the world to marry a woman that he had met in a brothel.
“But between us?” She had convinced herself that she should come home with him to gain time to search his possessions and question his servants. But he had so little. Suppose there was nothing to find?
What if Tom Godfrey was innocent? A part of her dearly wanted that to be true. If he was not, how was she to reconcile her feelings when he touched her with the suspicions she had held for so long? She stalled. “How shall I explain the suddenness of it to my friends?” And how would she explain to Lord Stanton? He thought her mad already. What would he think of this turn of events?
Tom smiled. “It will hardly be seen as a nine day’s wonder if you marry a soldier. I am a cripple and of inferior rank to your late husband. But we share a common past, we have mutual friends, and I am sympathetic to your plight. Tell anyone who cares that we met in London. Our previous acquaintance led me to offer for you out of concern for your safety and a desire to know that you are well provided for.”
“But marriage?” It did make sense, as he described it. But suppose she had been right, and her second husband was hanged for the murder of her first?
“For my part, my friends will congratulate me on my extreme good fortune in catching you. You are a very attractive woman, Victoria. And…” He seemed about to say something, and then muttered, “We do share a certain physical compatibility.”
He grinned at her. And the grin widened as he saw her blush. Then he grew serious again. “I understand that you do not love me, and that what I suggest will seem as sudden to some as it does to you. But I would do everything in my power to bring you pleasure by night, and to
make you happy by day. Please allow me to help you.”
Her intended victim was all but begging that she come close enough to betray him. But if she had been wrong, how could she ever explain to him? Or was there some way that she could avoid the truth? At last she said, “It is all too much for my poor mind to grasp. May I decide tomorrow? I am quite tired.” Perhaps in the morning, she could come up with an answer. She let her voice trail off as if to confirm her words, and glanced toward the bedroom door.
“Of course. It is late. Until then, will you accept my hospitality?”
She gave a slight nod, and he led her into the other room. He turned back the covers on his bed, offering his place to her. Then he went to sit on a small couch in the corner of the room. “Until you decide, I think it best that I sleep here.” He smiled and added, “To avoid temptation.” He took off his coat and boots, lay down and rolled his face to the wall.
As she prepared for bed, she stared across the room at him. Despite her doubts, she could feel her body longing for his. She could not fool herself into thinking that her enthusiastic response to him had been caused by loneliness, or because she had forgotten how wonderful it felt to be with a man.
It had not been like this with Charles. Not ever. Her father had assured her that it was a good match, and that she had nothing to complain about. And he had been right. Charles Paget had been a good husband to her. And she had loved and respected him, and wished always to make him happy.
But he had never looked at her with the hungry intensity that Tom Godfrey did. She had certainly never been loved to completion multiple times in a night. And Charles, God rest his soul, would have told her to leave off with her nonsense and obey him immediately, had she ever dared to refuse him a kiss. From the moment she had said her vows, she had known that while it was important to love one’s husband, to honor him was more so. And total obedience trumped them both.