by Gayle Callen
Then he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her thighs, lifting her off her feet. Gasping, she clutched at his head even as he put his face between her thighs. She was held against him, her lower legs dangling in the water, with no purchase to hold on to but him. She found herself arching back, spreading her legs as much as she was able to, and let him do as he willed.
She could feel his mouth against her now, parting her. She groaned and writhed as she realized the hot wetness was his tongue probing her, licking her, tasting her. She shuddered, gasping, already so aroused that it was nearly painful.
She gasped his name and desperately tried to lift one leg so he could reach her more fully. Her toes found the bottom of the tub, and then he lifted her leg high. He was free to explore her everywhere, and she even felt his tongue inside her. As he swept up again and sucked her inside his mouth, her body convulsed in an explosion that made her shudder and groan.
He pulled her down to straddle his lap, kissing her as he thrust up inside. She tasted herself on him, tasted his need and his lack of restraint, and she reveled in it. He arched her away from him, so that he could reach her breasts, even as he pushed into her over and over again. With his mouth and hands on her breasts, his penis inside her, she climaxed once more, and only then did he give himself over to her, falling back to the edge of the tub, arching up into her in a climactic shudder.
Then he sank under the surface of the water, and she laughed and gave his hair a pull. He came up sputtering and put his arms around her, nuzzling her neck, sighing into her ear.
"This was a lovely surprise," he murmured.
She kissed the side of his face and held him. "I've been so frightened for you all day."
"I shall have to be in danger more often if I'm going to get this kind of reaction from you."
She laughed softly, then sighed her disappointment as he drew out of her. But then he helped her turn around so that she was sitting between his legs, lying back against his chest. Closing her eyes, she let the warm water and his safe embrace relax her.
"How was Stephen when you left him?" he asked.
She tilted her head to look back at him. "Subdued. Sad. But I get the impression he thinks he's supposed to be sad, more than he actually is. I stayed with him until he fell asleep."
Richard nodded. "He can hardly claim to know his father well. Maybe that will help him heal in the end."
After several minutes, he spoke with a hesitation she wasn't used to from him.
"Did you hear me when I was talking to the guards out in the garden?"
She shook her head. "I was too far away."
"I was so angry," he said in a low voice. "I had thought that they would be able to keep Stephen safe. When I yelled at them, it was like I heard my father coming out in my own voice— his disdain for the servants, the way he let a person know he was beneath a duke."
She glanced at him again, but he was staring away from her, his gaze unfocused, seeing other things. She squeezed his arms where they surrounded her. "Richard, you're playing the duke. And your nephew was almost killed. Anyone would react in that situation."
"I thought it would be more difficult to be like my father and brother. Sadly, it's not at all. I'm beginning to wonder if I…misjudged them all these years."
"What do you mean?"
"People treat me differently now, Meriel, just like people treated them. It…corrupts a person, changes them. I watched it happen to Cecil, and I blamed him all these years, just like I blamed my father. But this morning, for just one moment, I thought remaining the duke would answer all my problems."
She held her breath in surprise.
"And then I realized I was becoming them."
"Richard— "
"No, hear me out. Yes, we all make our own choices, but Cecil was influenced by how he was raised, as was my father. How could they help but be little gods, when that's how they were treated?" He inhaled swiftly, then continued in a low voice. "There's a part of me that likes it, Meriel. And I realized today that I have resented them all these years, when I really should have forgiven them long ago. Maybe that's why my life has seemed so empty before now. But it's so difficult to let go of past hurt."
Tears blurred her eyes, and she lifted his hand to kiss his palm. "How, Richard, how can one forgive? I've never been able to. I'm still so angry at him."
Richard couldn't waste the opportunity she'd just presented him. He needed to know everything about her. "Since you can't mean Cecil, who are you still angry at?"
But she hesitated so long, he thought she was going to ignore his question. He waited patiently, stroking her sides.
"My father killed himself," she said suddenly.
Stunned, he couldn't think of an immediate reply.
She let out a deep breath. "I can't believe I just told you that. I swore to my mother and sisters that I would never divulge that to anyone."
"So no one knows how he died?"
She shook her head. "We found him where he'd hanged himself in the stables behind our house."
"Meriel," he murmured against her neck, imagining her grief and fright— and the courage it took to do something about it.
"My mother was hysterical— she wanted him buried in the church graveyard. And she didn't want anyone to know what desperation had done to him. Me, I thought he was only motivated by cowardice." Bitterness etched her voice. "He was a banker, and he'd become rich from his investments, but somehow it had all gotten away from him. In the end, he killed himself rather than live penniless. He sentenced us to that."
"So that's why you were forced to seek employment."
She nodded. "We only had ten months until the return of the cousin who'd purchased the mortgage on our house. So Victoria stayed with Mama— "
"This is the sister who just married?"
"Yes. Louisa was a companion to a bedridden old woman, and me— "
"And you're a governess. That took much bravery to place yourself in an unfamiliar household."
"Many gentlewomen are forced to do it, Richard. And they fare far worse than I have. But it's Victoria who truly saved Mama. Me, I could have made things worse."
"What do you mean?"
She tried to sit up. "Richard, the water's getting cold. Perhaps we should— "
He pulled her back against him. "You are a brilliant woman. How could you have made things worse?"
"Because I failed," she said quietly, her body stiff against him.
"It seems like your father failed, not you."
"No, I should have seen it! I've always been the smart one, the one they all counted on— and I let my love for my parents cloud my judgment. They kept their financial problems from us, but there were clues, and I didn't follow up on them."
"Meriel, why would you think to do that? You trusted your father— you shouldn't have been expected to look for plots and secrets."
"But Richard— "
She gave a sob and turned in his embrace to hold on to him. He thought she was going to say something else, but instead she just shook her head and trembled.
Finally she wiped the last tear from her face and pushed herself up to sit beside him.
She gave a small, embarrassed laugh. "Sorry for practically using you as a handkerchief."
He smiled. "I didn't mind."
Her sudden shiver made her breasts tremble. He wanted to admire the sight a bit longer, but instead rose up and reached for two towels. He wrapped one around his waist, then gathered her into the other and scooped her into his arms.
"Richard!" she said, beginning to smile. "I think I can get out of the tub myself."
"And risk a fall? Never."
He set her down in the middle of his bedroom and dried her off as if she were the finest piece of china. Then he stepped back to look at her.
She blushed. "I'm not a statue, you know."
"Better than one. You've come to life."
She held up a hand as he advanced on her. "I'd better fetch my dressing gow
n. I want to hear all about this plan to rout Charles."
He groaned. "I was hoping you'd forgotten."
She darted around him back to the washroom, and when she emerged, she was safely covered from neck to ankles. He finished drying himself off, and liked that she watched him, her chin lifted defiantly.
"Should I stay like this?" he asked.
"If you'd like."
Nude, he went to sit down in a chair.
She covered her face. "Oh all right, put on your robe. You're terribly difficult to resist."
They tried to sit in opposite chairs to talk, but Richard couldn't bear to be separated from her. He drew her to the bed, fluffed pillows for them both, and encouraged her to sit beside him. She folded her legs beneath her and waited, her playfulness fading away.
He sighed. "Back to the world, I guess. With today's close call, I've realized we can no longer sit back and wait for Charles to make the next move. Knowing that my six-year-old nephew could have been killed changes everything. I'm going to host the annual Thanet masquerade ball this Saturday night."
"A ball? How will that help against Charles?"
"We'll invite him, and of course he won't be able to resist coming. He'll wonder what we have planned. He's arrogant enough to think he can master us whatever the situation. Hopefully this will keep him from another attempt on Stephen's life during the week."
"But what about Stephen during the ball?"
"We'll have him taken to the old hunting lodge, close enough but out of the way. There will be guards with him. I don't want him anywhere near Charles. All of the surrounding gentry will attend— including the constables."
She started to smile. "So you're going to give yourself up?"
"I haven't quite figured out how that will work yet," he admitted. "The most important thing is to eliminate the threat to Stephen. Charles, as usual, will not be able to resist gloating when he's alone with me. I'll get him talking, while you keep the constable within earshot of us. I'm sure you can manage to lure him anywhere you wish."
"I met several constables in town," Meriel began suspiciously. "Aren't they married, and therefore resistant to my allure?"
He grinned. "Two of them are, but not the third. Maybe you can target him."
"And here I was, the mistress of the duke, about to offer myself to the married ones. After all, I'll certainly need another 'protector' in three weeks or so."
"So cynical." Richard shook his head. "But you won't be the mistress of a duke much longer."
She tilted her head quizzically.
"Because I won't be the duke much longer."
"I see," she said with a nod.
She continued to study him, and there was a very awkward pause, as they each considered life after this masquerade was over.
Richard wondered if she'd stay with him. Would she want to be married to the illegitimate son of a duke? Maybe if she loved him, none of that would matter. Could he make her fall in love with him? Or was she still too afraid to trust herself?
"We only have five days, Richard," she said, getting out of bed and walking to his writing desk. She found paper and a pencil and came back. "Are you certain everyone will come with such short notice?"
He arched a brow at her. "I'm the duke."
She smiled. "There's so much to do!"
"Put invitations at the top of your list," he said, watching as she started writing. "Those have to be delivered tomorrow."
"I feel sorry for your secretary."
He let her complete the list with food and decorations and everything else a woman managed for a party. She discussed consulting Mrs. Theobald, and even planning her own costume.
But his mind was already turning back to the problem of Charles, and what Richard could say to antagonize the man so much that he would freely talk about his plot to kill a child.
Chapter 24
Meriel was so busy for the next several days that she could have gladly given Stephen the week as a holiday. But she was too worried to give him time to think on his father's death, or the fact that people were shooting at him. So each morning they had lessons, and each afternoon he completed assignments with Nurse Weston while Meriel worked on the masquerade ball with Mrs. Theobald.
The ballroom at the far end of the conservatory was thrown open for the first time in a year, the chandeliers were lowered and restocked with candles, the walls were washed and decorated. They settled on an Oriental theme and had Chinese lanterns and painted screens sent by train from London. Potted ferns and palms from the conservatory were moved in, as well as chairs and chaises to give rest to weary dancers.
And each night, Meriel welcomed Richard to her bed, or came to his. She no longer questioned this impropriety, only accepted it as something she could never deny herself again. The future— along with its dangers— did not exist. She had only these precious hours with him, for during the day he was far too busy. She sensed him finishing his business as the duke, in preparation for relinquishing the role to Stephen. She wondered how the staff would feel when they knew the truth— or if it would even be necessary to tell them.
But of course when the duke's body was returned, it would be obvious that Richard was not Cecil.
The day of the masquerade finally arrived, and the household was like a hive of well-organized bees. Mrs. Theobald oversaw everything and sent Meriel off to bathe and don her costume. Meriel had had little time to prepare, and had settled on dressing as a bouquet of roses. A green gown was sewn with hundreds of artificial red roses across her bodice and shoulders. Her headpiece and mask were festooned with live roses, put together by Beatrice, who was proving surprisingly helpful since she now assumed that the duke was halfway through with his current mistress.
Meriel had earlier said good-bye to Stephen as Richard and several armed men led him out into the darkness to travel by stealth into the woods. Tonight she was no longer the governess. She was playing her part as mistress to the hilt, the better to lure the constable into doing her bidding. Because if the man refused to follow her, then the entire plan was for naught.
Boldly she met Richard in the corridor outside the ballroom. Servants lined the walls, ready to do any guests' bidding. Meriel knew that she and Richard were the center of attention, and she struck a pose as he stalked around her.
"Hold still so I can smell the roses," he said, his voice taut with the seriousness of the evening, yet still having to appear amused.
He was the duke after all, and the duke enjoyed the challenge of a chase, especially during the masquerade ball.
She tilted her head toward him, then slyly backed away, glancing at him sideways through her mask. In his usual evening wear, Richard was dressed all in black, but for his waistcoat, cravat, and gloves. He wore a plain black mask that hid the upper half of his face, and left his sensuous lips bare and emphasized.
"I thought you would come as yourself," she whispered. "What a disguise that would be."
He grinned without amusement, obviously focused on the night ahead. Putting his arm around her, he pulled her close as if against her will and whispered in her ear, "Are you ready?"
"I'm ready. I won't let you down."
He kissed her hard then, his tongue in her mouth. She gasped and spurned him, as if such a public display was yet too much for the governess.
He laughed and led her into the ballroom to begin greeting his guests.
As the evening progressed, never once did he introduce her as "the governess." Many people seemed to think that Miss Shelby was a friend come down from London, and Meriel let them believe what they wanted. She needed to remain mysterious to lure the constable.
When Richard finally introduced her to the policemen, she was glad to see that the three constables had arrived together, two with their wives, and the third, Constable Leighton, clearly available. She smiled at him mysteriously and swept into a deep curtsy that highlighted her cleavage, left bare amid the roses.
Constable Leighton choked a little bit, staring
down at her, wide-eyed. His red hair was slicked back against his scalp, and he wore the mask and flowing cape of a highwayman.
"Pretending to be on the opposite side of the law for the evening, Constable?" she asked.
He reddened and glanced apologetically at his fellow officers.
Meriel leaned near him, saying far too softly for the others to hear, "Would you care to smell the roses? They're very real."
"And r-ripe for the picking?" Constable Leighton stuttered, then went as red as his hair as if shocked by his own boldness.