Beverley Kendall

by Sinful Surrender (lit)

  James took a step closer, crowding her against the latticed trellis. Daisy petals feathered her cheek, its scent tickling her nostrils. But Missy refused to turn around, keeping her back to him, her skirts crushed against his trousers.

  “I don’t believe that for a minute,” he said with the assurance of a man who knew her better than she knew herself.

  Missy spun around, angling her chin high. “You may believe whatever you like, I really do not care. Now, I suggest you go back to your—to Lady Victoria. We certainly would not want to be discovered in a compromising situation.” She wanted to provoke him. If she could, she would hurt him just as he’d hurt her.

  With a swift tug, he pulled her into his arms, and then backed them up against the side of the wooden trellis. His hands clamped down firmly around her, trapping her arms between their bodies. She tried to wrench them loose but his hold was unyielding.

  “What do you think you are doing?”

  “You enjoyed being compromised more than any woman I’ve known,” he said roughly as his glittering blue gaze dipped to her décolletage. Her breasts immediately peaked at the attention, which only angered her more.

  “Yes, I’m sure you have known too many to count,” she tossed back.

  “Who are you more angry with, me or yourself?”

  “If I am angry, it is because you are holding me against my will.” She tugged hopelessly while trying to control the thundering of her heart. He was too solid and too male. Their bodies met and stirred her in ways she didn’t want. He was courting another woman. If she could not claim anything where he was concerned, she could at least claim her own pride and self-respect. He might indeed want her physically, but he didn’t love her, and he certainly didn’t want her as his wife. No, that role would be filled by the much more poised Lady Victoria Spencer.

  “I don’t want you to misconstrue what is between Lady Victoria and me,” he said harshly.

  “What is it that you want from me, my blessing?” Missy stood still for a moment as she gazed up at him. He looked frustrated. “Well if that is what it takes to make you release me, than you have it. Now go court your precious Lady Victoria and leave me alone.”

  James regarded Missy in silence. He still didn’t know what he was doing here in the garden with her. Along with his freedom, he’d obviously lost his mind. All he knew was the moment he had seen her slipping from the ballroom, the compulsion to follow had won the battle waging within him since he’d first spotted her that evening. Lord only knew why he felt he owed her an explanation about him and Lady Victoria. But holding her now, her body against his and his hands secured around her narrow waist, he wanted nothing more than to feel the sweet pressure of her lips against his and the exquisite weight of her breasts in his hands. He wanted to be inside her more than he wanted his next breath.

  Awareness coiled within him, his erection pushing rigid and hot against the placket of his trousers. And he knew the moment she became aware of his body’s response, because her eyes widened and her attempts to wedge her hands free ceased. She stood breathless and still. She swallowed and her tongue swept her lower lip cautiously, slowly. Contracting his arms around her, James pulled her closer into his embrace, his erection pressing hard and throbbing against her. His nostrils flared and his lips parted as his head began its descent.

  “Missy.”

  He was within inches of his goal—her lips—when he heard the sharp, urgent whisper. He jerked his head up and stepped hurriedly away from her still form.

  “Missy, are you there?”

  Thankful for the darkness, James turned toward the feminine voice. He instantly recognized Missy’s friend, Claire Rutland.

  Miss Rutland halted the moment she saw him. “Good evening, Lord Rutherford, I was looking for Missy. I believe I saw her come—”

  Missy stepped forward, her expression composed. But even under the dusky hue of the gaslight, he noted the pink of her cheeks and the brightness of her eyes.

  “Ah, there you are. I thought I saw you come out here.” Miss Rutland treated finding her friend with a man in a darkened area of the garden as if it were an entirely normal occurrence.

  “Your mother is looking for you. I believe she is ready to depart.” Miss Rutland gave him a small smile before pinning her friend with a rather intense look. Something unspoken passed between the two women, of that he was certain.

  Missy gave a thin smile in response. “Yes, I just came out for some fresh air and it seems James was of a similar mind.” Her gaze flickered over him without quite reaching his eyes. “It was a pleasure seeing you again.” Although she spoke the words, her tone and her stiff posture loudly proclaimed it a lie.

  James nodded numbly and the two women made their way to the terrace and through the double-paned doors back into the ballroom. He stood where he was for another minute, fighting an unaccustomed helplessness and a private, wrenching despair and yearning. And then, he too made his way back inside; back to Lady Victoria and the future that tightened like a hangman’s noose about his neck.

  James had expected the call, he just had not expected it to come so soon, or quite so late in the evening. He himself had only recently returned home from the ball and had not had time to change out of his evening clothes.

  In the time it took Smith to summon him from his bedchamber, his friends had made themselves comfortable in the library, so comfortable, in fact, that Cartwright was already ensconced in a leather armchair and Armstrong was in the midst of pouring drinks when James arrived. Apparently, the weak lemonade at the ball hadn’t sufficiently quenched their thirst.

  His friends must have come directly from the ball, for they, too, still wore their evening garbs, though both had already removed their neckties. Armstrong’s hair had the appearance of frequently being run through with his fingers, and his expression was sober—deathly so.

  “Somehow, I expected you would give me until morning,” he said, strolling over to the sideboard to pour himself a drink.

  Armstrong picked up the two glasses, sauntered over to distribute Cartwright his, before installing himself in the other armchair. He took a swallow, his gaze fixed on James all the while. “Somehow I thought I would not be hearing of your impending nuptials from the likes of Lady Cornwall.”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, although I believe I understood the situation correctly. Are you in fact paying court to the ice maiden with the intention of marrying her? Your escort made it rather difficult for me to get a word with you alone.” Cartwright’s shock of hours before had obviously past, for he was his usual dry self.

  James gritted his teeth. He carried his snifter of brandy, and took a seat on the sofa, opposite his friends. “Officially, we are not yet betrothed. That will come in another week,” he added wryly.

  Armstrong lounged back in the chair, his long legs splayed wide. “What the hell did I miss? I hope this has nothing to do with Missy. Because if this is you trying to discourage her, while I’m grateful you’re applying yourself so diligently to the task, I think you’re taking it too far.”

  If his friend only knew how very much entwined Missy was with this nightmare that was now his life. James tipped back his head and felt the welcoming burn of the alcohol hitting the back of his throat. Placing the half-empty snifter on the brushed black wood side table, he propped both hands on his splayed thighs. “Lady Victoria is expecting.”

  Cartwright took another swallow of his drink, his expression unaltered. Armstrong, however, bolted upright in his seat, his eyebrows near his hairline. “And you’re the father?” His voice was raised in disbelief.

  James inclined his head in dreary affirmation.

  Armstrong slowly sank back into his seat. “Good God, when did you take an interest in Lady Victoria like that? I mean, don’t get me wrong, she’s beautiful and all that, but the woman could be used to keep meat. And you yourself said you could never be attracted to her.”

  “I was drunk.”

  “Ah,” Cartwright sai
d as if those three words explained everything. What a man did while deep in his cups could absolve him of almost anything short of murder, so bedding a beautiful, willing female would be the least of his crimes.

  “Are you certain she is pregnant?” Armstrong asked.

  “Of course I’m certain. Do you think I would allow this debacle to continue if I wasn’t? I spoke to the physician myself.” And he had, just before he’d met with Missy. The man had pumped his hand, exclaiming his congratulations.

  Feeling restless, James rose to his feet and crossed over to the fireplace, propping his elbow on the teak mantel. A log broke and sent sparks of burning embers into the air. For a moment, the fire blazed higher. Too hot. James moved out of the direct line of heat.

  “Are you certain it’s yours?” Cartwright’s left brow edged up.

  He jerked his head around to observe his friend. Cartwright lifted his shoulder in a negligent shrug, his look speculative. If it had been anyone else, James would have wondered, but not Lady Victoria. In all the years he’d known her, never had she been linked with a gentleman, or had she shown an interest in any man. If not him, he thought Immaculate Conception a possibility.

  “We’re speaking about Lady Victoria.” James replied, as if no more needed to be said.

  “Yes, the same Lady Victoria who apparently saw it fit to bed you,” Armstrong said dryly. “It would appear it’s not that she lacks the desire or is incapable.”

  James laughed, a dark hollow sound. “Yes, but I know her well enough. She’d never lie to me about something of this gravity.” He returned to his seat, picked up the snifter and drained what remained. His friends said nothing, their expressions similar masks of inscrutability.

  “How is Missy?” He wanted to bite back the words the minute they escaped his mouth. He cursed himself silently while watching something flicker in the cool gray depths of Cartwright’s eyes.

  “Devastated, I imagine. But that is to be expected,” Armstrong replied.

  James shifted uncomfortably. “I meant—”

  “I certainly hadn’t expected that you would have managed it in quite this manner. But this is final. Don’t worry, she’ll recover and soon will be good as new.” Armstrong motioned casually with his hand.

  His friend’s blithe dismissal of the impact of the news on her galled him in a way that set his teeth on edge. James cleared his expression before a scowl settled in.

  “I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t say anything about the pregnancy,” he said.

  Armstrong appeared surprised by the request. “You need ask? She has quite enough to deal with now. Although, it will only be a matter of time. A few weeks if you’re lucky.”

  A frown thinned James’s lips. He’d take the few weeks. Of course Missy would inevitably discover all, he was just not prepared that it be now.

  Armstrong stood. “Your secret is safe with me.” Cartwright followed, rising with a pantherlike languidness.

  In silence, James accompanied his friends into the foyer and to the front door. Cartwright turned to him, his hand on the knob of the door. “When should we be expecting the official betrothal announcement?” Amusement laced his dry tones.

  This time James didn’t hold back a dark scowl. He was in no mood for sarcasm. “Go to the devil,” he growled.

  Cartwright threw his head back, gave a brief laugh, and breezed through the doorway with Armstrong close behind. James pushed the door shut with his booted foot, feeling little satisfaction when it closed with a resounding thud.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Two days following the ball at Devonshire House, Missy found herself in the unenviable position of sitting next to Miss Jessica Lindley at Lady Brigham’s musicale. Miss Lindley was quite happily one of the biggest gossips in Town. She had knowledge of every Society indiscretion well before it was picked up by the gossip sheets—and spread each just as quickly. Claire, who sat to the other side of her, had escaped her fate. She sat near the end of the row next to a busy aisle, contentedly watching the guests filter in and to their respective seats.

  Having already exchanged the normal pleasantries with Miss Lindley, Missy hoped that would be the extent of their interaction.

  While they waited for the five musicians to take their positions, Missy’s gaze toured the bright yellow room, admiring the high shine of the white grand piano sitting center stage in the front, and the dizzying number of framed charcoals hanging on the walls, each featuring instruments in all modes of use.

  The gathering was well attended, with more than the usual number of gentlemen occupying the plump cushioned chairs. Lady Brigham had four daughters and, with her twins in their second Season, she could not afford to have them still in need of husbands when the younger two debuted next Season. Not only was husband hunting serious business, it was très expensive, too.

  Lord Crawley occupied a seat right in the front, artfully bedecked in a violet jacket, a mulberry sprigged waistcoat and wool trousers in the red family. He was currently burying an enraptured Lady Jane Coverly under a mountain of praises. And it appeared the rumors were true concerning the dismal state of his finances. Lady Jane, who was as wide as she was tall, had a dowry that could support a thriving metropolis.

  “I don’t recall seeing you at Lady Cresswell’s dinner party,” Miss Lindley said, fluttering her silk fan furiously. Her pretty face held a smile but it was of the disingenuous variety.

  Missy had hoped she would not speak but, alas, she could not very well ignore the woman. She offered a benign smile. “No, unfortunately an illness prevented me from attending.” She would certainly not tell her the truth. That the news of James’s courtship had so distressed her she’d taken to her bed and cried herself to sleep.

  Instead of offering her sympathies, Miss Lindley halted her incessant fluttering, and held the fan spread below her pert little nose. Leaning toward Missy, she whispered in a conspiratorial fashion, “I’ve heard Lord Rutherford and Lady Victoria’s betrothal announcement should come in a matter of days. Their courtship, ’tis all very sudden if you ask me.”

  Missy ignored the sting of her words. “I don’t believe anyone has,” she said in a tight voice. Claire snickered softly at her side. Turning to her friend, Missy managed with some effort not to roll her eyes.

  Miss Lindley, so intent on her mission, which was to fan the embers—in this case, flame the gossip fire—didn’t blink at Missy’s words. “But then they have a great need to rush with a child on the way.” Her gaze darted between Missy and Claire when she uttered the final words, as she awaited their reaction in breathless delight.

  Everything inside Missy went cold. Claire clasped her arm with a gloved hand in a gesture of support. Missy sat motionless in her seat, too numb to move, to speak, to breathe. It took several long seconds to properly school her features into a mask—an impassive mask that conveyed none of the anguish crushing her.

  “I heard they will be married within the month. There is only one reason for that kind of haste. My mother said the marchioness is literally over the moon at the prospect of having Lord Rutherford as a son-in-law, and she would not deny that there was a child on the way, although I’m not certain anyone has asked her directly.” She flashed a smug and knowing smile. “Mark my words, Lady Victoria will be increasing well before year end.” Then her attention shifted to the entrance and she all but chortled in delight. “It seems the happy couple has decided to make an appearance.”

  Missy instinctively followed the direction of her gaze. Clad in navy blue trousers, waistcoat, and necktie, and a light blue silk shirt, his dark mane swept away from the handsome planes of his face, James instantly commanded the room. Lady Victoria graced his side, wearing a simple but elegant white beaded gown. He was dark and she was light, and they were the perfect foil for one another.

  A sharp stabbing pain coursed through her with an intensity that was near incapacitating. Her head felt light and her stomach roiled and for a brief moment she was sure she would empty her
stomach right there, in front of the haute ton. Seeing them together tonight was simply too much, especially on the heels of the recent news. Turning blindly away, she faced a clearly sympathetic and distressed Claire. Her friend’s hand tightened reassuringly on her arm.

  “I thought spreading such rumors was beneath you,” Claire chided as she peered over at Miss Lindley.

  The young miss sniffed and resumed fluttering her fan. “’Tis only a rumor if it isn’t true. It will not be a secret much longer.”

  Missy allowed her gaze to drift back to the couple and watched in dread as they made their way up the aisle to her row. Lady Victoria, turning neither to the left nor right, greeted no one as she passed. James’s gaze flitted over everyone. Missy could tell by the change in his demeanor the moment he spotted her. His pale eyes widened and there was a minute pause in his stride. Missy hastily turned away.

  Thomas, who had disappeared with Lord Brigham upon their arrival and was her and Claire’s escort for the evening, materialized some minutes later. Immediately spying James, he sought him out and the two men retreated to the back of the room to converse.

  Missy could offer little in the way of conversation to Claire’s obvious but doomed efforts at distraction. However, she could not resist a glance at James as he walked back to his seat. Once again, their eyes met and she immediately looked away.

  Miss Lindley’s face lit bright as a light when Thomas slid into the vacant chair beside Claire. She quickly closed her fan and smiled prettily at him, fluttering her eyelashes like a simpleton.

  Another time Missy might have been impudent enough to bid her to stop wasting her charms on her brother for he was not the least bit interested, but not that evening.

  Halfway through the evening, the guests were allowed an intermission. While the band, which in fact was composed of professional musicians hired for the grand occasion, took a much needed break, Missy excused herself to visit the ladies’ dressing room. As if sensing Missy needed some time alone, Claire wisely remained behind with Thomas.