Only Mine

by Cheryl Holt

  “Blond, blue-eyed, slender, rich.”

  “Is she pretty?”

  “Not as pretty as you.”

  “Flattery will get you everywhere, Brother. I lap it up like sweet cream.”

  “Seriously, Annabel, it’s easy to understand why he likes you more than her.”

  “More than her? Don’t be ridiculous. She’s about to be his bride.”

  “I see how he gazes at you, and you shouldn’t discount it. You could be his tasty dish on the side. It’s silly of you to spurn him. Imagine the boons you could receive if you kept him happy.”

  “You’ve known me your whole life, Michael. In all that time, have I ever made you believe I would lower myself in such an indecent manner?”

  He shrugged. “People change. Circumstances change. He likes you, and you like him, and you’re not getting any younger.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You won’t always be twenty-four and beautiful. You should use your glamour and looks while you can.”

  She snorted with disgust. “Go...dance or something, would you? Don’t stand here and annoy me.”

  Wesley Grey hustled up, and clearly Michael wanted to needle her as he asked his friend, “Where is your brother tonight? He’s the bachelor in this group, but we’re all constantly reveling without him.”

  “He’s celebrating in his own way,” Mr. Grey said.

  “How is he celebrating?” Michael inquired.

  “He was quite taken with one of the opera dancers we brought back. He spent the afternoon with her.”

  “Really?” Michael peered over at Annabel, his expression indecipherable.

  “He likes to debauch in private,” Mr. Grey said, “but I’m certain he’ll join us after he’s bored with her.”

  Annabel was deluged by such a surge of jealousy she was amazed she didn’t burst into flames. But she also suffered a peculiar sense of loss and betrayal which was absurd. Captain Grey didn’t belong to her, and she’d deflected his every advance.

  It was preposterous to feel betrayed.

  “Would you excuse me?” she said to her brother. “I’m tired. I’m heading up to bed.”

  “So early?”

  “I’ll see you in the morning before I leave.”

  “You’re leaving us, Miss Fenwick?” Mr. Grey asked.

  “Just for the day to visit family.”

  “Give Harry my regards,” Michael said.

  “I will.”

  She walked off, and she heard Michael say, “Wesley, let’s ride to London again tomorrow.”

  “What for?”

  “I was invited to another ball. Did I tell you I met Veronica?”

  Annabel stopped in her tracks and shot him a hard glare that he studiously ignored.

  “You did?” Mr. Grey asked.

  “Yes, I bumped into her quite by accident.”

  “Isn’t she the most beautiful girl in the world?” Mr. Grey gushed.

  Annabel whipped away and continued on. What could Michael intend? What could he hope to gain? He never simply trifled with a female. If he showed any interest, he always had an ulterior motive.

  Well, she wouldn’t worry about it. He could get himself into plenty of trouble without her fretting.

  She kept on to the bedchamber she shared with him. Once she arrived, it was much too quiet, and she regretted having left the party. Not enough to go back down though. Besides, she had to be up in the morning and travel to Boswell House to see Harry.

  She decided to take a bath, and she gathered the items she’d need to wash then went down to the rear of the mansion. It had a modern kitchen, and there was a tank that heated water behind the stove so there was a bathing room behind that. The servants didn’t have to lug water up and down the stairs, and she deemed it a fine invention.

  With their being so many females in attendance, Wesley had assigned a maid to the room in the evenings to aid all the ladies. The other guests were out in the garden so she looked thrilled when Annabel entered, glad to finally have something to do.

  She’d already learned Annabel’s preferences. She lit a candle and set a glass of whiskey on a stool then she brushed Annabel’s hair and helped her disrobe, but Annabel only stripped to her chemise and drawers, being too modest to remove all her clothes in front of the other woman.

  After she departed, Annabel yanked off her undergarments and climbed into the tub. She rested against the back and sipped her whiskey, pondering her life and what the future might hold. She had eleven more days to wallow in Captain Grey’s hospitality then she and Michael would return to London. Then what?

  She couldn’t guess, especially if Michael was scheming on the Captain’s fiancée. Any scam would lead to disaster, and if it all crashed down she had to be a good distance away so she wasn’t pelted by the rubble.

  It was a sorry statement on her condition that she could only plan for a mere fortnight at a time. Would her situation ever improve? Would she ever attain a steady income? Would she ever have a home of her own, one where she’d be safe, where Michael and Harry could live with her and be safe too?

  She couldn’t figure out how to make it happen, and she wished she was a magician who could wave a magic wand and create a world that was perfect.

  The door opened behind her and, assuming it was the maid, she said, “Would you pour in another bucket of hot water for me? The temperature has cooled a bit.”

  “I’d be delighted,” a man replied.

  She lurched with alarm and peeked over her shoulder to see that Captain Grey had barged in. She was so flustered that she dropped her glass on the floor, wasting an enormous amount of liquor.

  “What are you doing?” Her tone was scolding as she tried to act nonchalant.

  “I decided to help you with your bath.”

  “There’s a housemaid to help me.”

  “I sent her away.”

  “This is the lady’s bathing room. You can’t just stroll in.”

  “Let’s review, Annabel. My house, my rules.”

  “I don’t care that it’s your house. It’s indecent for you to be in here with me.”

  “In your opinion, not in mine.”

  He filled the bucket and waltzed over as if it were entirely appropriate for him to be present.

  She’d endured many embarrassing moments in her life. She’d observed naked men and women to whom she wasn’t related. She’d watched unwed couples in bed together, had watched as married men misbehaved in every despicable way. But she’d always been a horrified spectator, never a participant.

  Over the years, she’d developed a thick skin and she wasn’t a swooning miss, but she hadn’t understood how shocking it would be—and how defenseless she would feel—to be nude with a man in such close proximity.

  He approached until he was next to the tub and staring down at her. Before he’d arrived, the water had seemed plenty deep, but with him standing over her, it wasn’t nearly deep enough.

  “Ah! You bully!”

  Frantically, she grabbed for a towel and draped it over herself, and she snuggled down, covering as much as she could, but the towel wasn’t big enough either.

  He bent down to kiss her on the mouth, but she remembered his brother saying he’d been with an opera dancer, and she jerked away so his lips fell to her cheek instead.

  He frowned then pulled up a chair. He retrieved her glass and filled it with more whiskey. He offered it to her, but she wasn’t about to reach for it. When she declined, he downed the contents himself.

  She was at a complete loss as to how she should proceed. There was no point in ordering him out. She’d already tried that and he hadn’t listened. She wasn’t afraid of him, and she hadn’t ever believed he might hurt her. What was his plan?

  “How is your sister?” he asked. “Did you have a nice visit?”

  “She’s fine.” Annabel paused then smirked. “I take that back. She’s never fine. She’s always been very unhappy.”

  “She
’s related to you, but not happy? The two of you must be very different.”

  “We had different mothers.”

  “But the same father?”

  “Yes. I loved him and thought he was a grand fellow, but she detested him and thought he was terrible. It’s warped her so she’s bitter.”

  She was stunned that she’d expounded on Lydia, Cecil, and her family. She never talked about herself with anyone. It was a lesson drilled into her at a young age. Her father would immerse himself in swindles where there were dozens of secrets trailing along behind him that had to be kept. She never talked about herself.

  “I missed you today,” he absurdly claimed. “It was positively boring around here without you.”

  “That’s not what your brother told me,” she complained.

  “Meaning what?”

  “He said you were particularly smitten by an opera dancer, and she spent the afternoon in your bedchamber.”

  “Are you jealous?”

  “No.”

  He studied her eyes then laughed and laughed. “Don’t be jealous, Annabel. I’m not worth any heightened emotion.”

  “I know that.”

  He leaned in and kissed her again, and she was absolutely mortified, as well as tense with alarm over what he intended. His hand slithered under the towel to caress her breast, waves of sensation pounding through her limbs.

  The feeling he generated was so riveting that she yearned to jump into his arms in order to learn what he might attempt next. Had she no pride? No shame? Apparently not.

  She shifted away, not anxious for his lips to touch hers if they’d recently been pressed to another woman’s. He scowled and sat back.

  “What’s wrong?” He appeared extremely irked. “You’re being especially skittish, and I can’t abide skittishness in a woman.”

  “I don’t appreciate you kissing me after you were kissing someone else.”

  He grinned. “I see.”

  “And I’m not the doxy you constantly insist I am. I have no idea how to deal with this situation. Would you please go so I can put on my clothes?”

  To her disgust, tears surged into her eyes. She never cried, not since she’d been a little girl and Cecil had explained that tears were pointless and didn’t change anything.

  “I’ve upset you,” he said, sounding surprised.

  “Of course you have.”

  “Why?”

  “You overwhelm me, and I just want to put on my clothes!”

  He sighed. “Poor, poor, Annabel. So lovely and so bewildered. Let’s get you out of the tub.”

  “Can’t you call the maid?”

  “I told you I sent her away.”

  He grabbed her robe and gestured for her to stand and climb out. When she didn’t move, he reached down and raised her to her feet. She wrestled with the towel she’d draped over the tub, keeping it glued to her front as they awkwardly grappled to push her arms into the sleeves of the robe.

  She stepped to the floor and whipped away as she cinched the belt around her waist.

  “Better now?” he asked.

  “No.”

  She turned to face him, and he was smiling at her, looking so handsome and decadent that the sight left her dizzy. He was casually attired—tan trousers, black boots, a flowing white shirt—so tall and broad in the shoulders, so physically arresting and so dashing in his habits and character. He simply took up too much space in any room he entered, and when she was with him—and scarcely dressed—she felt small and defenseless and out of her element.

  “For your information,” he said, “I didn’t loaf and linger with an opera dancer, and I can’t guess why Wesley would tell you that.”

  “What did you do then?”

  “I visited my tenants. I haven’t been to England much the last decade so my land agent usually handles my business for me. I thought I should show myself among them for once.”

  “That was kind of you.”

  “I wouldn’t describe it as kind. None of them seemed overly delighted to see me.”

  “It’s good that you went though.”

  “Yes, it was good—for them and for me.”

  There was a sturdy baker’s table behind her, and he lifted her onto it, her bottom balanced on the edge. He wedged himself between her thighs, the lapels of her robe opening slightly to reveal the center of her chest and belly.

  “So...I didn’t have a single second to dally with anyone,” he claimed.

  “I won’t flatter you by saying I’m glad to hear it,” she churlishly retorted. “I won’t admit I like you more than I should.”

  “Since I wasn’t kissing another, may I kiss you?”

  “No.”

  He chuckled. “Oh, Annabel, haven’t you figured it out by now? I never listen to women.”

  “Why don’t you start with me?”

  “I’d rather not.”

  He kissed her then, and even though she shouldn’t have she immediately joined in. The problem for both of them was that they shared a potent attraction. Sparks flew when they were together, the universe determined to indicate that an important event was transpiring.

  Her brother demanded she act on it, and she’d assumed she was too morally inclined to trifle with a man who was about to marry. But she couldn’t help wondering, would it be wrong to enjoy a brief fling? Would it be wrong to go farther than she’d ever intended?

  It wasn’t as if she would ever wed so she wasn’t saving herself for a husband. Who would have her? With her disreputable history and lack of a dowry, no suitable swain would ever be interested. What if—just one time—she leapt into the passionate fray and learned what so many other females relished with such wild abandon?

  His tongue was in her mouth, his hands in her hair. Gradually, he was easing her onto her back so she was stretched out on the table. Her robe was completely open, and her thighs widened even further so his loins were pressed to her own, the fabric of his trousers the only thing separating them from catastrophe.

  Her torso was weeping with desire for him. She was twenty-four and understood that it was abnormal for a woman to have avoided sexual behavior for so long. Her pulse was racing, her skin quivering with the need to feel his palms caressing it.

  She sighed with happiness, with resignation. She was aware that this was how girls got themselves into trouble. How had she already arrived at such a dangerous spot with him?

  He broke off the kiss to nibble a trail down her neck, to her breasts. He laved and sucked on her nipples, pinching them, toying with them, as his hips began to flex against her, her anatomy welcoming the salacious rhythm. She was perched on a ledge of recklessness, on the edge of ruin.

  She shoved him away, panicked over what would occur if he refused to stop. He was hovering over her, desperately eager to proceed.

  “What say you, Annabel?” he murmured. “Shall we finish it?”

  Every inch of her body, down to the tiniest pore, was urging her to shout yes, yes, to insist he continue, but she couldn’t.

  “I can’t do it, Captain.”

  “Are you sure?” The tears threatened again, and he sagged a bit. “Don’t be sad.”

  “I’m not. I simply wish I could be the woman you need.”

  “It’s all right that you can’t be. It’s frustrates me, but I’ll live.”

  “Don’t be angry with me.”

  “I’m not angry.”

  “I’d give myself to you if I could. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Hush.”

  He laid a finger on her lips then he stood and stepped away, his action vividly reminding her how lucky she was that he was a gentleman.

  He drew her up so she was sitting, staring at him. They studied one another, and she suffered the most tremendous wave of affection for him. He tantalized her so she yearned to keep him for her very own, but he could never truly be hers and it created such a dilemma. She would never share him.

  “I don’t suppose you’d agree to spend the day with me
tomorrow,” he said.

  “I have other plans.”

  “You wench!” He laughed then sobered. “How can you deny yourself the pleasure of my company?”

  “I’m visiting my sister again.”

  “Is there any chance while I am in residence that you might deign to socialize with me instead of her?”

  “It wouldn’t be a good idea.”

  “We belong together, Annabel.”

  “For how long? The next two weeks?”

  “Sometimes that’s all a person is allowed in this world. Sometimes a person has to grab contentment wherever he can.”

  “I want more than two weeks.”

  “I realize that, and it upsets me that I can’t give it to you.”

  He moved away, the air calming between them.

  “Will you come back to the party?” he asked. “Will you dance with me?”

  “I think I’d better go to bed.”

  “Then I’d better find myself an opera dancer. You’ve aroused me to such a high degree, I can’t stand it.”

  She was in enormous carnal distress herself, but she’d never apprise him. Her expression was carefully blank, with her not keen for him to see how bothered she was by the fact that there were so many vivacious trollops in the house. Any one of them would be delighted to climb onto his lap.

  Why couldn’t she be the doxy he required?

  “Will you really dabble with an opera dancer?” she asked.

  “What if I admit I’m considering it?”

  “What if I admit to being horridly jealous?”

  “I like you being jealous.” He flashed a cocky grin. “So I won’t confess what I intend. I’ll let you stew about it all night.”

  He strolled out, and she pushed herself off the table and onto the floor. Her knees were weak, her legs rubbery from the excitement of what they’d done.

  When he was so irresistible, when he seemed so smitten by her, how was she to keep a level head? It had never previously been a problem for her with any man, but he tempted her beyond measure.

  How was she to muddle through the remainder of the party and emerge at the end with her dignity and chastity intact? She couldn’t imagine.

  She tugged on her clothes, the simple chore taking an inordinate amount of time then she staggered to her room and fell into bed. She refused to ponder him, refused to mope and reflect on every detail of what had happened.