Pleasure Me

by Burns, Monica

  “I would like to see the upstairs now, Mr. Smythe.”

  “Of course, my lady.” The sales agent bowed slightly, his manner hesitant. “Would you mind, if Lord Stratfield joins us?”

  “Not at all,” she bit out. Did she mind? Of course she did. She didn’t want the bastard anywhere near her. That wasn’t exactly true. Determined to ignore the small taunting voice in her head, she turned away from Lord Stratfield in a dismissive manner and pinned her gaze on the sales agent. “Might we continue, Mr. Smythe?”

  “Certainly, my lady. If you’ll both follow me.” The sales agent, suddenly realizing she wasn’t happy, bowed obsequiously to her as he headed toward the main staircase. At least the man finally understood that his efforts to provoke a bidding war might be in danger. But she already knew Crawley Hall was lost. She was certain Stratfield was far better off financially than she was, which meant the man could outbid her.

  Muscles stiff with anger, she followed the balding sales agent toward the steps. It seemed pointless to see the remainder of the house, but perhaps Stratfield would decide the estate wasn’t to his liking. Fingers sliding over a burnished oak railing, she climbed the stairs that rose up from the center of the foyer to branch off to the left and right at the first landing.

  As they reached the second floor’s main hall, she counted the number of doorways. Eight rooms. She entered the first bedroom and carefully assessed its dimensions. If the rest of the bedrooms were this size, she could easily accommodate more than twenty children on this floor alone, while still leaving two rooms for her and Dolores to use. The servants’ quarters would no doubt allow for two or three more children. She moved toward the window to look out at the landscape.

  The sunshine made the late winter snow on the ground glisten. It was lovely now, but in the spring it would be even more so. She whispered a silent prayer that her rival wouldn’t want the house. The children she brought from the orphanage would flourish here. Smythe’s voice echoed in the corridor in an obvious attempt to capture Stratfield’s attention. She turned back toward the door only to see her competition leaning against the doorjamb. There was something beautiful about him in the nonchalant position he’d assumed that stole her breath away.

  Irritated that she could even think to find him attractive after last night, she gripped the stem of her umbrella so tightly she thought it might snap. Not bothering to speak, she crossed the floor and waited in silence for him to move. With a frown, he straightened and she quickly tried to pass him. As she drew abreast of him, his hand caught her upper arm to hold her in place.

  “Let me go,” she snapped.

  “I’d like to explain about last night.”

  “There is no explanation necessary, my lord.”

  “I think there is,” he said as he leaned into her. She immediately shrank back, aware of the heat spreading its way through her that was becoming all too familiar. Equally familiar was that steady gaze of his. “I danced with you because I wanted to, Ruth. Not because I pitied you.”

  Surprised by his fierce declaration, she stared at him in silence. In the deepest reaches of her mind, she acknowledged that she liked the way he’d said her name. There was a warm intimacy to the sound that threaded its way through her senses. She swallowed hard as she remembered the humiliation she’d felt last night as she walked away from him. Was it possible he was telling the truth?

  The earnest expression on his face made her think he was. There was such an intensity about him that she could almost swear he was mentally willing her to believe him. The knowledge that he’d danced with her because he wanted to sent a warm rush of pleasure pulsing through her veins. Alarmed by her reaction, she gave him a quick nod and drew in a deep breath.

  “I believe you.”

  “Thank you.” The simplicity of his response made his confession all the more sincere. Rattled by the intensity of his gaze, she looked down at the hand wrapped around her arm.

  “I’d like to see the remainder of the house, my lord.”

  “Garrick.”

  “I beg your pardon?” She knew exactly what he was doing, but the intimacy of using his first name frightened her. Everything about this man frightened her.

  “My name is Garrick.” A stubborn look crossed his handsome features, and she studied him for a minute before nodding.

  “Very well. Garrick.” She kept her tone crisp, expecting him to say something else, but he didn’t. He just stared at her. She grew selfconscious under his gaze and nodded toward his hand one more time. “May we continue, my . . . Garrick.”

  “What? Yes. Of course.”

  He seemed almost dazed for a moment as she darted a glance in his direction. He quickly released her, and stepped back to give her access to the hallway. As she moved past him, a whiff of cologne teased her nostrils. It was a heady aroma of spice and cedar. The scent lingered on her senses as she put distance between them. Smythe appeared out of one of the other rooms down the hall.

  “There you are. If you’ll come this way, my lord, my lady, I’ll show you the master suite.”

  Eager to finish viewing the property so she could escape, she hurried toward the sales agent, all too aware of Stratfield following close behind. As she entered the master bedroom, her first impression was that she’d entered a male domain. The furniture was heavy and masculine, while the drapes were a deep maroon brocade. She darted a look in Stratfield’s direction as he strode to the window and flung the curtains back. The room was a perfect complement to his sinfully dark looks. He turned around and as he met her gaze, his mouth curled upward in a small smile as if he had a secret. She immediately looked away.

  “Is the furniture included in the sale price, Mr. Smythe?” she asked quietly as she looked around the room. There was little here she could use.

  The stocky sales agent nodded his head. “Everything is included, but if the buyer prefers, the furniture can be sold at auction prior to moving into the house. Of course, this room in particular was clearly made for the master of the house.”

  The reminder that she wasn’t the only one considering the purchase of Crawley Hall renewed her sense of frustration. The Hall should have been hers. Now she was forced to bid on the house and hope that Garrick didn’t offer more money.

  “I’d like to see the dining room and kitchen if you please,” she said with a brisk note in her voice. She quickly turned toward Garrick. She winced. How quickly she’d fallen into thinking of him by his first name. “That is, if you’ve seen enough on this floor, my lord.”

  He arched his eyebrow at her abrupt tone, but his only response was a brief nod and a slight bow. It was as if he was humoring her, and she didn’t like it. Struggling to keep her irritation hidden, she turned around and headed toward the door.

  “Smythe, do you know anything about the current owners of the estate?”

  Garrick’s question brought her to a halt as she turned and waited for the short, stocky sales agent to answer. To her surprise, Smythe suddenly appeared distinctly uncomfortable. He threw her a quick glance then averted his gaze.

  “The owner died recently and her heirs wish to sell the Hall.”

  “And the lady who owned the house. Do you know anything about her?”

  “Only that she was one of the Prince’s . . . lady friends from his youth.” Smythe’s pained expression almost made her laugh, and her gaze met Garrick’s, whose mouth was twitching with amusement.

  “Ah, then that explains the mirror.”

  Puzzled, she watched Smythe swallow uncomfortably as the sales agent’s gaze shifted toward her then back to Stratfield. “Mirror, my lord?”

  “I’m disappointed, Smythe. Don’t tell me you’ve not noticed it.”

  With a nod toward the bed, Garrick arched his eyebrows at the sales agent. Frowning, she crossed the floor and looked up at the underside of the canopy. Attached to the ceiling, the canopy hid a large mirror centered over the bed. Etched boldly into the glass was the inscription For Queen and Country.
r />   “Good lord,” she gasped, trying not to laugh.

  The woman Ruth remembered from their only meeting had exhibited a wicked sense of humor, and she wondered if the Prince of Wales had actually slept in the bed. Somehow she was more inclined to believe Bertie’s old mistress had commissioned the mirror long after her affair with the Prince had ended. It didn’t really matter. She was certain Bertie wouldn’t want anyone else to see the mirror, and she was certain Mr. Smythe knew it, too. No wonder the man looked so uncomfortable. “Forgive me, my lady. My lord.” Smythe cleared his throat and one glance showed sweat milling on his forehead. “I apologize. I left word the mirror was to be removed this morning. Obviously my instructions were not followed.”

  “I trust you’ll see to its removal soon,” Garrick said with a hint of steel in his voice.

  “Most assuredly, my lord. If word ever reached . . . well I’d be ruined.” The sales agent eyed both of them with terror in his eyes.

  “I have no desire to see your livelihood jeopardized, Mr. Smythe,” she said with a sigh. Despite his annoying manner, the man wasn’t to blame for the previous owner’s decorating choices. “But I agree with Lord Stratfield that the mirror should be removed without delay.”

  “Yes, my lady. Thank you.” The sales agent bowed his gratitude then hurried toward the bedroom doorway. “Now if you’ll follow me, I’ll show you the remainder of the house.”

  Ruth resisted the impulse to look in Garrick’s direction as she turned to follow the sales agent out of the room. In the space of less than an hour, the man had forced her to completely redefine her opinion of him. It had been easy to keep her distance from him when she found him despicable. But now . . . now she was struggling hard not to like him.

  Unable to help himself, Garrick was entranced by the gentle sway of Ruth’s hips as she turned and walked toward the bedroom door. There was no artifice in her movements, and the sensual elegance with which she moved stirred his blood in a manner he’d not experienced since he was seventeen. But not even Bertha had created this strong of a reaction in him. He ran his finger just beneath his stiff collar in an effort to ease his breathing. Christ Jesus, the woman was a heady experience.

  Just moments ago, she’d sent him reeling when he’d inhaled that sweetly tart scent of hers. It beckoned a man to see if she tasted as good as she smelled. It was a distinctly different fragrance from last night. Today she smelled crisp and fresh, while last night she’d been an exotic mystery for his senses. He suppressed a groan.

  The minute he got Smythe alone, he was going to pummel the man for putting him in such a devilishly tight spot. He wanted Crawley Hall, but it was clear she did, too. And that was a problem he’d not had to consider on his way here. Although she didn’t show it openly, he could tell by the way she touched the doors, the banisters, everything, she wanted the property badly.

  She didn’t just touch things. She caressed them. As gently as she might stroke a lover. He swallowed hard as his collar tightened around his neck again. He followed her out of the bedroom at a deliberate pace. He was walking a dangerous path with the woman. First last night, and now the proposition he’d seriously contemplated the entire ride to Crawley Hall.

  It would have been best to just let sleeping dogs lie. Easier to let her think pity had been his motivation last night when he’d asked her to dance as opposed to his spontaneous desire to hold her. No, the only thing piteous about dancing with her last night had been his reaction to her. As he followed her down the corridor, his gaze dropped to the small of her back, where his hand had rested as he’d guided her around the dance floor. She’d been a soft heat in his arms, and he had no doubt she’d be a fiery creature in a man’s bed.

  He shook his head slightly as he obliterated the images beginning to take hold in his head. That was never going to happen. It couldn’t. But if the woman could cloud his senses so easily in the company of others, what would it be like when he was finally alone with her? He clenched his jaw as they made their way downstairs.

  Perhaps Smythe had done him a favor. In the light of day, he was seeing just how difficult things could be if he were to approach Ruth about being his lover in name only. It wouldn’t be as cut-and-dried as it had seemed in the carriage this morning. In fact, he had the distinct feeling it would be one of the most difficult challenges he’d ever undertaken.

  Despite the dimly lit hallway leading to the back of the house, the kitchen was bright and open. It was an enormous room with a large brick oven and a cookstove that was so shiny clean it could have easily been brand-new. Delight lit up Ruth’s features as she carefully rolled her veil up onto the brim of her hat.

  He couldn’t remember ever having seen a more beautiful woman. Her cheeks had a slight blush to them, and a pair of widely set eyes offset her slender nose. He could think of no one he’d ever met who had eyes the color of hers. They were dark violet and filled with secrets. But it was the dark pink of her full, plump lips that made his mouth go dry.

  Clasping his hands tightly behind his back, he jerked his gaze away from her animated features. His reaction to her was aggravating. He knew better than to let physical desire take command of his senses. If he had any intention of presenting his proposition to Ruth, he needed to make damn sure he could maintain control of himself when near her. It was the only way the arrangement would work between them. He needed to keep the relationship strictly platonic.

  “Do you know if the flue is capable of supporting a second cookstove, Smythe?”

  Startled by her question, he looked in her direction. What the devil did she need a second cookstove for? The sales agent seemed equally puzzled as he shook his head.

  “I’m not certain, my lady. I would have to have the local blacksmith inspect it.”

  “Before I even consider making an offer, I would need that question and several others answered.”

  “Of course, my lady,” Smythe said with a look of defeat.

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to see some of the garden.”

  “But there’s snow on the ground, my lady!”

  “Thank you for that observation, Smythe, but all the same, I’d like to take a walk outside. I’m sure Lord Stratfield has questions, so there’s no need to accompany me.”

  Before either of them could stop her, Ruth headed toward the door that led to a small mudroom and then outdoors. Smythe’s dumbfounded look almost made Garrick laugh out loud. The agent had no idea how to react to her, but then he wasn’t sure he would have had a response either. As she disappeared out the back door, Smythe turned to him with amazement.

  “My lord, do you have—”

  “I think I’ll join the Lady Ruth for a stroll outside as well, Smythe. I suggest you wait for us in the main hall.”

  He grinned as he walked past the man on his way outside. For a second time the stocky sales agent was at a complete loss for words. The door to the kitchen closed behind him as he paused for a moment in the mudroom. Had Ruth actually gone out into the snow without overshoes? He rapidly donned a pair of the rubber coverings and followed her out into the snow.

  From the size of her footprints, she’d foregone the galoshes, which meant she could easily fall if she wasn’t careful. Concerned for her welfare, he moved quickly along the path she’d made in the snow. The garden was lifeless at the moment, small bits of dead plants pushing through the few inches of snow on the ground. Fruit trees, their bare branches like spider legs crooked in every direction, lined the rear of the garden, while a barren white arbor crossed the path he followed.

  Ruth’s footsteps led toward an orangery a short distance away, and he could see her shadowy figure through the steamed windows of the hothouse. He reached the building quickly and stepped into its humid warmth. The size of the indoor garden was larger than he expected. Someone had obviously been caring for it as he could see tomato plants bearing small fruit.

  Ahead of him, he saw the top of Ruth’s hat. He really needed his head examined for seeking the woman ou
t. But something beyond his comprehension drove him forward. Worse, he knew whatever was compelling him onward would most likely bring him nothing but trouble. He rounded a corner to find Ruth examining an ornamental pear tree. Whether she’d been so preoccupied inspecting the hothouse or his tread had been lighter than he expected, she cried out in surprise the moment she turned and saw him standing behind her.

  “Good lord,” she gasped as her eyes flashed with anger. “You scared me half out of my wits.”

  “Forgive me. I thought you heard me come into the building.”

  “No. I didn’t.”

  She turned away from him to continue along the pebble-lined path in silence. With a frown, he followed her. After several steps, she whirled around to face him.

  “Is there something I can help you with, my lord?”

  “I thought we’d settled on you calling me Garrick.”

  “Oh for heaven’s sake. Is there something you want, Garrick?”

  He ignored the lustful images that immediately flooded his head at her words. Folding his arms across his chest, he eyed her cautiously. “Why do you want Crawley Hall?”

  “What?” Shocked, she took a step back from him and shook her head as she stared at him in mute surprise.

  “I asked you why you want Crawley Hall.”

  “I . . . it’s an investment,” she snapped.

  “No. It’s more than that.” He frowned at the way she blanched. “You want this estate. Badly.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes you do. You show it with every thing you touch in the house, even with these plants. A man could easily die of pleasure in your arms if you were to stroke him the same way.” He stiffened as he saw her eyes widen, and he realized he’d said too much.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” She sniffed, her cheeks flushed with color. “It’s a house, nothing more.”

  “If that’s true, then why don’t you answer my question, Ruth?”