He offered his hand, which Victoria accepted and she slid into the seat opposite, hesitant and uncertain. “I never imagined this sort of cloak-and-dagger melodrama was your thing,” she said lightly, hoping to make him smile.
“It would not have been necessary if I knew I’d be received in your home,” he said stiffly, no answering smile lifted the corners of his mouth. He regarded her intently. “I received a visit from Rutherford.”
Victoria forced herself not to drop her gaze while her heart skipped a beat. She swallowed. “Yes, he told me.”
“Am I to conclude the nature of your relationship has changed?” The tightening of his jaw and the rigid set of his shoulders belied his nonchalance.
“As you can imagine, he has broken it off. When you arrived, I was on my way to inform my mother.”
His nod was an indication he knew how daunting a task that must be, and his lips lost the stern line, softening his expression somewhat.
“And whose child are you carrying?”
No prevarication, no insinuations—he broached the subject with such forthrightness, it was staggering to anyone well used to the spurious nature of the ton. Victoria immediately dropped her head and felt the heat of guilt suffusing her face. It was inevitable that he would discover her condition at some point and that he would probably wonder at the child’s parentage, but by then she was supposed to have been securely married to Lord Rutherford.
“Am I the father?” he asked not quite as coolly as before.
Victoria gazed at him. “It is yours,” she whispered. “I never—never had sexual relations with Lord Rutherford. Not ever.” She said the latter emphatically; it was the least she owed the only man she’d ever loved—would ever love.
George abandoned all pretense of indifference, swiftly moving to sit beside her and grasping both of her gloved hands in his. “Then why would he offer for you when it was clear he had no desire to wed you?”
Haltingly, the story spilled from her lips and by the end, his confusion had given way to anger, which had then finally given way to steely resolve.
“This is utterly ridiculous and we both know it. There isn’t a law in the country that bars us from marrying. I earn more than enough to keep a wife and a family, although not in the luxury to which you are accustomed.”
She swallowed and as tears pricked the corners of her eyes, her heart fluttered.
“I don’t care about a dowry or contracts. All I want is you and my child. I will only ask you this final time, Victoria, will you marry me?” Sincerity, love and uncertainty shone from his soulful brown eyes.
He did not have to wait long for her response. Victoria turned and pitched herself into his open arms, her hands capturing the back of his head to pull him down. “Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes,” she said, peppering his face with a string of kisses, before sealing his lips in a long, passionate proclamation of love.
Chapter Nineteen
James arrived at the Armstrong residence for his answer as early as he had the morning before. He had spent the remainder of the prior day, and a good portion of what should have been his sleeping hours, consumed with thoughts of Missy—and her refusal.
She had refused him.
The fact ate away at his insides. For years he’d been the recipient of her childish affections, and weeks ago she’d given him the gift of her virginity. Why did her admission that what she had felt was infatuation unsettle him so? How often had he not said the exact thing? The truth was that his feelings for Missy were as complicated as they were simple. He knew he desired her more than he had any other woman he’d ever met, but that certainly didn’t equate to love.
Regardless, the one thing he did know was he could not let her go. He had ruined her and she could be carrying his child. For those reasons alone he intended to wed her. And then of course there was Armstrong. The thought of losing his friendship frightened him nearly as much as losing Missy. But how he could make things right between them remained a mystery.
Creighton, the butler, greeted him with a bow, and then led him to the drawing room before he left to summon Missy. James chose to stand. Although he was resolute, his nerves were threadbare. His would-be bride was headstrong. Short of abducting her and forcing her to wed him at gunpoint, there was little he could do if she continued to refuse. Yesterday hadn’t gone at all the way he planned. He had dictated instead of cajoled. He could only pray his call for reason, that she think about what was in the best interest of the child—if there proved to be one—had gotten through to her.
His breath caught as she swept into the room, her chestnut curls secured up at her nape, wearing a dress of green silk and lace. His throat closed up.
Closer inspection revealed faint shadows under her big, slate blue eyes, a clear indication that she had received as little sleep as he had. And the way she was fidgeting with the folds of her skirt showed her agitation.
“You look beautiful.” The utterance slipped out without thought.
Something flared in her eyes, but it was gone just as quickly as it came. “Good morning, James. Calling so early again?” She slid onto the gold balloon-backed chair, daintily spreading her skirt so it flared perfectly about her.
James took the seat opposite. “Why, have I broken some cardinal rule? You know I care little for what Society deems acceptable.”
“Yes, that much I have learned,” she said, clasping her hands together in her lap, where they twisted briefly.
“I advised you I’d be back today for my answer.”
She nodded, her gaze never wavering from his. “Yes, you did, however nothing has changed since we spoke yesterday. I told you I wouldn’t marry you then, and I am telling you again now. Hopefully, this time you will heed my wishes.”
James’s gaze narrowed. Missy was frankly surprised he had come. Deep inside she was certain he felt relief. Surely, he had appeased his sense of honor and now could go forward without a twinge of conscience impeding his precisely mapped future?
“When Thomas was here last evening, I told him of my decision, and he said it was mine to make.” In truth her brother thought her crazy. The man she’d adored almost half her life had offered her marriage and she had refused. She’d had to listen to her brother lecture her for fifteen minutes while he had railed on the vagaries of the female mind.
“Well I don’t give a d—fig what your brother thinks at this point.” He still looked like he’d been on the losing end of a pugilist match, his handsome face still colorfully swollen, contorted in frustration and anger. It was clear that this rift with her brother caused him significant distress but she knew he had too much pride to admit it—at least to her.
“Which is obvious,” she said, tongue firmly in cheek, but he seemed too preoccupied with other thoughts to note her sarcasm.
“We will be married as soon as I can procure a license,” he said.
Had he lost his hearing? She had just refused him and yet he blithely went on as if she’d consented. “I am not marrying you. Lord, the way you used to guard your freedom, I would think you’d be relieved.” She moved toward the entrance of the room, willing him to follow with hopes he’d find the front door. She could not properly think with him there.
Missy stole a glance over her shoulder to find James had not budged, his face, an implacable mask.
“What if you are expecting? What will you do then?”
“I will cross that particular bridge if need be. But, as that has not been determined yet, I have no desire to create an intolerable situation for us that would be difficult for us to extricate ourselves from if we married in haste and then discovered there was no reason for such a sacrifice. I for one, still hope to marry for love.”
His blue eyes turned stormy, the pupils the black of oblivion, and his frame fairly bristled at her words. He came to his feet and advanced toward her, his movements stalking and dangerous.
“How faulty your memory must be. You are getting a love match or have you forgotten so quickly how much you l
ove me?” His voice was silky smooth, knowing and taunting. He now stood close, the scent of him tormenting her. Bewitching her.
“I would hardly call a schoolgirl crush the kind required for anything as long-lasting as a marriage. It didn’t even endure an evening of sex,” she scoffed, determined to hold her ground and not give an inch. If he thought she would ever be that girl again—the one who had perched him high on a pedestal—her brother had more than bloodied him, he’d also knocked the sense right out of him.
He watched her like a predator watches his prey. A smile spread slowly across his handsome face, and a chuckle emerged soft and low. “Well then, I will make it my first duty as your husband to make sure it endures much longer than that.”
A crimson blush washed her face as an image of them lying entwined and naked on his bed, James kneeling between her legs. She gave her head a hard shake to banish the image.
“Don’t shake your head no, Missy. When, not if, we are married, there will be very few nights when I’ll leave you be. Before too long I will know your body even better than I know my own.” His voice had lowered to a purr, setting off twinges of sensation that lanced down from her peaked nipples to the moisture collecting at her center.
It was really disgraceful how easily he managed to reduce her mind to absolute mush and her body to a quivering mass of flesh. She took a deliberate step backward, in an effort to create some distance between them—physical and emotional.
“That’s where you’re wrong. I’m not going to marry you and that’s the end of it.” She tried to match her tone to her words, she was helpless to prevent her eyes from dropping to trace the curve of his bruised mouth. Saliva collected in her mouth.
He watched her until the heat within her became a burn. He took thorough inventory of her body, lingering over the thrust of her breasts and the nip of her waist. As his gaze traveled farther south, she was almost convinced he could see right through the layers of petticoats and muslin to her bare flesh pulsing hotly below. Missy fought the urge to squirm beneath his gaze.
His lips curved farther upward, revealing even white teeth. “As you wish, my dear.” It was not a tone meant to pacify.
Missy wanted to stamp her feet in a childish tantrum and wipe that smug, wolfish smile from his face. He made no effort to hide the fact that he was patronizing her and he knew damn well there was little she could say about it. But say nothing was exactly what she would do. He’d find out rather shortly she meant every word she said.
“Just as long as we understand each other,” she replied, her stare unwavering. “Because I hope you will abide by my decision.”
Suddenly, a glint appeared in his blue eyes as his smile faltered. Then it was back in place but the glint lingered. “I will abide by any decision you make,” he said in dulcet tones.
“Good.” She gave a brisk nod with an assuredness she wished she had. His capitulation had come too easy, his demeanor suggesting he was far from accepting of her decision.
“Well, then, I will take my leave.”
The abruptness of the conclusion to their discussion had her blinking rapidly as she stared across at him. Hurriedly, she moved to the drawing room entrance.
“Yes, indeed.”
Without warning, she was hauled unceremoniously into his arms, her hands instinctively clutching at his shoulders for balance.
“You can fool yourself all you want, but I know this is what you want.” He had her plastered against him from head to toe. His hip prodded hers to emphasize the this he spoke of. He was rigid and hard against her belly. “This,” another nudge of his erection, “is what you’ve wanted for a long time.”
He lowered his head. She felt a moist, warm breath of air on the rim of her ear and thought she would asphyxiate from desire. Her breathing now came in fits and starts.
“And you could have it whenever you wanted.” He nipped her lobe with his teeth, then feathered the line of her jaw with kisses. Contrary to the swiftness in which he had pulled her into his arms, he took achingly long to reach her trembling lips.
The first brush of his mouth on hers was soft, almost gentle, as he rubbed and lifted repeatedly, teasing her lips. Soon, however, the teasing brushes were not enough for either of them. Missy’s lips parted in a silent demand for more, much more, and he was only too happy to oblige, angling to taste her deeper and more thoroughly.
His tongue darted forward to plunge deep as he sought the recess of her mouth. She moaned softly and reciprocated in kind, her tongue making sumptuous forays of his inner cheeks, the roof of his mouth, the ridge of his teeth, before once again playing with his tongue. James was nearly brought to his knees. He could think of nothing else than pinning her against a wall—any wall—with her legs around his waist and pumping into her.
The taste of her, the feel of her, consumed him with mindless pleasure. As his hands began working on the long row of mother of pearl buttons marching down the long length of her spine, a faint sound near the doorway wrenched him back to his senses.
He dropped his hands and placed her swiftly at arm’s length. Her eyes were closed, her mouth reddened and full. Quickly, he turned away from the arousing sight of her, as he tried to cool his ardor and control his breathing.
What on earth had he been thinking? To even touch Missy in her home was asking for more trouble than he could afford. Someone could have easily come upon them. Even worse, it could have been Armstrong. He shook his head as if that would clear him of the lust that seemed to rob him of all logical thought when he was around her.
Missy watched James’s shoulders heaving up and down, while she struggled to regain what little composure she had left after his kiss. Her body still tingled and her heart thundered loudly in her chest, leaving her breathing erratic and labored.
Again her body had betrayed her. No sooner had she refused his proposal when, seconds later, she was writhing in his arms. The man was like the most powerful narcotic. Worse than opium, which was said to cause hallucinations and incredible euphoria.
He turned back to face her and only the slight ruffle of his thick locks indicated that only moments before he had been the participant of a rather torrid embrace. “Hmm. That was nice. Now, I gather I will see you soon.” It wasn’t a question but rather a statement.
Nice? It had been many things—lurid, decadent, delicious—but nice was not one.
He continued as if he hadn’t expected her to respond. “You will be attending Lady Langley’s ball, won’t you?” One dark brow lifted in query, his look all innocence and politeness.
“Yes, but with your—uh—face, I didn’t imagine that you would.” She prayed he would not or could not. Either would suffice.
“The ball is in three days. I should be good as new by then. If anyone should comment on any bruising that may remain, I’ll tell them your brother beat me to a pulp. I don’t think anyone would be surprised, do you?”
Except for the fact that everyone knew the men were the best of friends, unfortunately her brother pummeling someone wouldn’t come as a great surprise to the members of Society. He had been known to allow his temper to get the better of him every now and again.
“Then I expect I shall see you at the ball.” She had no intention of attending now. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have a rather full day ahead.”
Amusement lit his eyes and he gave a low chuckle. “Are you asking me to leave?”
“I do believe our conversation is over.” Her dark winged brow arched.
He regarded her, a smile still curving his mouth. Then he executed a formal bow. “If I could trust myself—and you, as well—I would bestow a chaste kiss upon the inside of your wrist. But then you know where that would lead.”
He seemed to take an enormous amount of pleasure in needling her. Missy bit back a retort. She feared if she began a war of words with him now, he’d resort to an arsenal of weapons against which she had no defense. Better to keep silent and shore up her defenses for later, for she was certain she would
need them.
Missy watched him quit the drawing room. Only after she heard the loud click of the front door, did she depart. The man was too sure of himself by far, and the fact that she was partially responsible for his arrogance, melting like ice under the hot glare of the sun every time he touched her, did little to soothe her pique.
“So when should we expect the wedding?”
Missy started at the sound of the quiet query and nearly lost her footing on the stairs as she jerked around.
Thomas stood by the library door in light green shirtsleeves and dark green trousers, his hands folded neatly across his chest. He advanced closer, his regard steady on her.
“Thomas, I didn’t even know you were here,” she said with a nervous laugh. She wondered how long he had been there. The library was almost directly across from the drawing room and if he had only stepped out minutes before…She did not want to imagine what he’d seen.
But he did not look at all perturbed, his mouth crooked in such a manner as to suggest that he was privy to a private joke—a very private joke as they were the only two present, and she was certainly not amused.
“And what is it you find so amusing?”
“So you agreed to marry the blackguard?”
If he had been at the door, obviously he had not heard correctly. “No I did not.”
His brows furrowed, his languid stance grew stiff. “Come, we can hardly carry on a private conversation on the stairs.” His tone was curt, his displeasure pronounced.
Scowling, Missy followed him into the library. Glancing around, she noted the morning newspaper lay open on the side table, which confirmed he had been here for some time. He must have arrived at the crack of dawn.
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