Every second dragged like a minute, and every minute like an hour, so by the time the carriage arrived back at the red-bricked structure that she called home when in Town, it felt like they’d spent an eternity in silence. In actuality, no more than twenty minutes had passed, but certainly twenty of the longest minutes of her life.
James leapt from the carriage, rather woodenlike, not at all with his usual grace and fluidity, and assisted her down from the high perch of the phaeton. She wondered idly how much of her legs he could see from such a position. She thought he’d quite liked her legs.
Once she had her feet firmly planted on the ground, he relinquished his hold…slowly. Did his hand linger or was that her overwrought imagination and wishful thinking?
“No need to see me to the door. I think we have played this melodrama to the bitter end, wouldn’t you say?” She faced him, her head tilted so she could regard him directly without the hindrance the brim of her bonnet might cause.
Not a smile or a frown did he wear on his face. For a man who had just been given a pardon from a life sentence, he looked unusually sober.
“As you wish.” He gave a shallow bow.
Missy nodded and proceeded to the front door. Just before she entered, she glanced back to find him exactly where she had left him, his pale blue eyes intent on her, haunted. She turned quickly and hurried into the house.
The end to the Season came with nary a whimper. Missy was thankful for it, truly. The last ball had been Lady Sneldon’s and, although Missy had been in attendance, she had problems days later summoning up a clear memory of who’d been present, and even which gentlemen she had partnered with for many of the dances. The one thing she did recollect with any clarity was that James had not made an appearance.
It had been a week since she had last seen or spoken to him. A week since she’d laid his guilty mind to rest regarding the possibility of a child. Yes, she was certain he was relieved. So relieved, in fact, he had once again vanished from her life.
Missy sighed, her gaze flitting around the drawing room for the umpteenth time. Of all the years she wished her mother had forgone her annual three day rout, it was now. She’d had only a week to prepare for the guests who had taken over Stoneridge Hall commencing earlier that day.
Lady Sneldon was there with her son who, of course, was of a marriageable age, and Lord and Lady Rotheringham were there, accompanied by the heir to their vast fortune. The one thing she was grateful for was that the crowd was at least a small, manageable one of no more than twenty guests.
As she skimmed over their smiling faces, Missy wished for a swift end to the event.
“Unfortunately, Alex and Thomas will not be able to attend,” her mother said, coming to stand by her elbow. The viscountess looked youthful in her supper dress, the neckline baring her slender shoulders, and the sapphire necklace adorning her neck accentuated its long, elegant lines. Missy wondered if she would fare as well when she approached her mother’s age. She sorely hoped so.
Angling her head, Missy viewed her mother’s profile. The viscountess’s gaze hovered over the group in the drawing room as if trying to anticipate each of their guest’s needs in advance.
“Thomas and Alex never miss the rout.”
“Yes, well, your brother sent word at midday that their business dealings with Lord Bradford would keep them in London for several more days.”
Missy nodded. James had missed the event the last three years but she could not bring herself to inquire about his status. The pain of heartbreak remained too fresh and raw. And even while the question clamored in her head, she already knew the answer. Between the narrow escape he’d had with her and the ongoing friction with her brother, she hadn’t expected him to put in an appearance.
The supper bell rang. With much gay conversation and peals of laughter, the entire lot scattered about the drawing room managed, with some semblance of order, to make their way to the dining room. Missy trailed behind by her mother’s side, a strained smile on her face, the only thought in her mind was that she would endure.
And endure she did. By the evening’s end, Missy had managed to escape the rather lustful attentions of four gentlemen, all of whom were wealthy, young, and fairly attractive. Lady Sneldon’s son, Viscount Charles Dalworth, was even more so with his handsome countenance and blond locks. She could tell by the determined gleam in her suitors’ eyes that the weekend would prove trying indeed, as she endeavored to thwart their pursuit.
It was well past midnight when Missy retired to bed, her lids fighting valiantly to remain open while she struggled with buttons on her gown. If it had been earlier, she would have called for Beatrice but at this time of the night the poor girl was fast asleep. It took only five minutes of twisting and stretching her arms in positions she was sure they were never intended to bend to loosen the gown enough to remove it.
Once she’d kicked off the three layers of petticoats and sent thanks to heaven above that she’d opted not to wear any stays, she stood in a thin cotton chemise and pantaloons. The maid had laid her nightdress on the bed, so she quickly stripped herself of her remaining garments and was pulling the nightdress over her head when she heard the soft click of her bedchamber door.
Her breath caught in her throat as panic assailed her. While she frantically pushed the gown down around her naked body, her eyes peered through the darkness and quickly discerned a figure propped near the door—a large male form.
A scream trembled on the tip of her tongue when the voice said calmly, “It took you long enough.”
She bit back the scream just in time to prevent the kind of rousing no one welcomed at that time of the night.
James. Her eyes adjusted well enough to make him out, clad all in black, standing as if on guard.
“What are you doing here?” she croaked, when she found her breath and her voice.
“Waiting for you.” He advanced toward her, his movements predatory and smooth.
Missy instinctively skittered back until her legs hit the edge of the bed. “What do you want?” she asked all wary and panicky.
He stopped inches away from her frozen form. His pale eyes pierced the dimness and scorched a trail from the peaks of her breasts to the tips of her toes, so thorough was his appraisal. He looked hungry.
“What do you think I want?” He bent his head, his mouth feathering her ear, his voice a rumbled purr. “I want you.”
Missy hated the way he had her body responding without thought or reason to the sound of his voice, the lust in his eyes, but respond it did. Her nipples pebbled and moisture gathered between her thighs as her whole being vibrated like a plucked harp string.
She felt the brush of his body as he stepped ever closer. Turning swiftly, she gave him her back, which helped her not one bit. He settled his erection, full and hard, against the round curve of her bottom, and began a slow grind. She closed her eyes and bit her lip to stifle a groan. A whimper escaped.
If she dared go down this path with him again, she knew the only thing awaiting her would be heartache and hurt.
“I don’t want this,” she said weakly, turning her head as he trailed a soft kiss along the curve of her cheek down to her neck. She fought the overwhelming need to give in to the desire and sink onto the bed, but she fought it.
“You’re lying,” he whispered, his hands coming up to cup the firm, full weight of her breasts over the blue muslin. The feel of his large hands elicited a soft groan from her trembling lips. The sound echoed in the still of the chamber. She was helpless to do anything as he rolled her nipples between his fingers, playing her like the most revered instrument.
With sure hands, he stripped her of the nightdress, Missy watching in partial disbelief and horror as it pooled, whisper-soft, at her feet, leaving smooth creamy flesh for him to feast on—which he did with a carnivorous greed.
“If you knew how long I’ve wanted you.” The words came out guttural, sounding almost pained. His hands reached once again for her breasts and
the feel of him now touching the heated flesh caused her to turn and lean into his arms—a weight he accepted gladly, while he bent his dark head to enclose her nipple between his greedy lips.
Reality faded to a distant buzz and Missy could only concentrate on the demands of her body and it was screaming out for satisfaction, a satisfaction only James could provide.
She felt herself being lowered to the bed, her legs parted by hard thighs encased in superfine trousers. While his mouth moved to minister the other breast with the same detail to attention as he had the first, James divested himself of his garments with sure deft movements, only pulling away briefly to pull off his trousers and undergarments.
His fingers trailed down her concave stomach to the apex of her thighs. She let out a helpless moan.
James drew in a ragged breath. “God, you feel so good,” he murmured, threading through the triangular thatch of dark hair, and into the slick cavern of her sex. Missy heaved beneath his sensuous quest, clamping down hard on his finger with her inner muscles. James groaned, his pleasure so profound he thought he’d come at that moment before he’d even penetrated her.
Missy’s head thrashed on the pillow, her hands working his muscled back and down to the curve of his buttocks. He emitted a harsh groan.
James knew if he didn’t take her now, he’d end up spilling his seed on the bed. Using the width of his hips, he held her open and guided his throbbing erection to her entrance, and buried himself to the hilt in one fluid motion. He wanted to scream in pleasure the fit was so tight and so right, working his stiff length in that wonderful milking motion that had him throwing back his head in ecstasy as he thrust wildly, heavily into her.
The feeling of being completely filled was still new, driving Missy mad with pleasure. Every thrust and withdrawal caused a building crescendo that climbed higher and higher, her hips meeting his in a frantic, delicious pounding.
As they neared the edge of the abyss of madness, of pleasure, James swooped his head down and caught her lips in a kiss that was neither gentle nor soft. His tongue stabbed at the seam of her lips demanding entry and gaining it on a breathless sigh.
With her head thrown back, her mouth being pillaged and plumbed by his marauding tongue, and the throbbing length of him firmly buried in between her silken thighs, she felt him pummel her in wild abandon. Missy glimpsed a piece of heaven before her world splintered into a kaleidoscope of shooting colors. Seconds later, James followed her in the tumble off the edge, emptying himself into her, his expression a mixture of anguish and bliss, his breath labored and spent.
For several minutes, they lay entangled, their naked limbs languid, their bodies sated. The evening air worked to cool their heated flesh. Slowly, James rolled from atop her to rest at her side, his dark chest hairs scraping along the mounds of her breasts, sending a thrill of sensation to their tips.
He pulled her into the curve of his body spoon fashion, his erection, still semi-hard, finding a place in the soft crevice of her bottom. Fingers, knowing and strong, cupped her breasts possessively while he buried his head in the notch between her neck and shoulders, the dark stubble on his jaw and chin lightly scratching her creamy flesh as he nuzzled and nipped.
Like a mindless twit, she responded instantly as if her body had not been long satisfied, reveling in the feel of him and every place he touched.
“We will be married as soon as can be arranged,” he murmured.
The alarm bells inside her head, which had been mute, rang loudly. She immediately stiffened under his soothing petting. Grabbing the edge of the sheet, she yanked it over her naked form and twisted to face him and garner some distance.
“Pardon?”
He surveyed her as he would a naughty child, except when his gaze wandered down past her neck, a glint of lust glazed his eyes. “You could be expecting now.”
The man didn’t have a stitch of clothing on and didn’t look the least bit disturbed by the fact. If it didn’t mean she’d have to give up her own cover, she’d have gladly draped the swath of cotton over his lean naked flesh, especially the hard, thick length between his legs. She wrenched her gaze back to his face.
“We are not getting married.” She eyed him with suspicion. “Is that why you’re here, to get me with child so I will have little choice but to marry you?”
He sent her a look of disgruntlement before he pushed himself to the edge of the bed and began to pull on the garments he had discarded on the floor. His trousers went on first. She breathed a deep sigh of relief. He worked the buttons on his shirt and watched her, his expression determined but decidedly grim.
“We are getting married.” He looked in no mood to be reasoned with.
“For the last time, I am not marrying you. Now go, you should not be here. What if my mother were to come?”
He looked at her askance, his mouth partially cocked.
Her forehead puckered and she set her mouth in a mulish line. “Anyone could come in at any moment.” She did not care she was being quite absurd as it was the wee hours of the morning and the house stood still and quiet with not a whisper from even the smallest of visitors.
“You didn’t seem too troubled about being caught when you came to my chamber that night.” The corners of his mouth lifted as if in remembrance, and her face heated at the memory. It was unconscionable for him to remind her of her shameless behavior. She tugged the sheet up higher so it covered her shoulders.
“You have to leave before someone finds you here.” She looked pointedly at the chamber door. She made a mental note to make sure she locked her door when she retired to her room for the duration of his stay. She could not afford a repeat of the mistake she made this evening, no matter how tempting. James was playing a game with her heart and it was not one she could afford to lose.
He jerked on his Wellingtons. “I will see you later this morning to solidify the wedding plans. This time it will be done quickly. We will not wait to see if you are with child, for I guarantee you,” his eyes seemed to be able to see through her covering, “I will spend every second making certain that if you are not at present, you will surely be by the time I slip that ring on your finger.”
His words started a hot throbbing between her legs. Missy had never seen him so determined or felt so weak.
“Mrs. Delacroix has given me the blue room. If you require anything from me, please do not hesitate to come.” His tone was suggestive and his eyes, even more so. Before she could blink again, he was gone.
Chapter Twenty-Two
James arrived at Rutherford Manor still in a state of shock the following evening. The shock had occurred early that morning at Stoneridge Hall. That was when the missive had arrived informing him of his father’s death. He had been thrown from a horse and broken his neck. That was what it had taken to end the fifth Earl of Windmere’s life.
From the moment the note fluttered to the floor from his nerveless fingers until now, everything had been a blur. He was numb, not in shock. Or perhaps he was numb with shock. He barely remembered dressing and apprising the viscountess of his departure, though he remembered quite distinctly Missy had still been asleep when he left and he hadn’t been able to even bid her good-bye. He’d had many hours on his coach rides and train ride to think about his father’s death…and his life.
Reeves, their butler since James was a child, offered his condolences the moment he opened the front door to him, his thin face red, his eyes hollow. His father had evoked loyalty in everyone he knew and who knew him. The servants were especially fond of him. James nodded vaguely and was instructed kindly that his mother was in the music room.
The countess was tall and elegant, her hair a color between blond and brown. She sat on a small love seat next to the piano quietly sipping tea—or so he assumed from the shiny silver tea service sitting next to her. Her blue eyes fixed on him the moment he entered the room and she smiled. It was a sad smile, the corners of her lips barely turned up.
“I am much too young to b
e widowed, wouldn’t you agree?”
How very typical of his mother. As with everything else, she gauged every event on how it would affect her. His father’s death would be but a slight ripple in the sea that was her life, unless he’d left her bereft financially.
“Good evening, Mother. I daresay I thought Father too young to die,” he replied dryly, bending to brush a kiss on her cheek before taking the seat closest to her. He noted that she wore a purple gown trimmed in yellow beads. Somehow he hadn’t thought his mother would follow the mourning wear for the allotted year which was de rigueur. After her own mother had died some ten years back, she’d complained how black made her look sallow and could only abide wearing it on the day of the funeral.
“Your father was a reckless young man and he never changed,” she said with a sniff.
“I would hardly call riding a horse reckless.” The man was not a day cold and she could still find fault with him. He dropped his head and sighed. Would she allow her sons to grieve their father without her poisonous barbs?
She ignored his response, continuing as if he hadn’t spoken. “I’m surprised he was here at all. Your father didn’t spend much time here. He preferred to while away most of his days in Town even when Parliament wasn’t in session. But then I don’t expect he would have stayed long, as he never did.”
“The funeral, Mother, when is it being held?” Here sat the reason he didn’t like to come home often. If not for Christopher, he didn’t think he’d ever come home at all.
“In two days. I would just like to have this whole thing over and done with.”
“And Christopher?
“He is due home tomorrow.”
James nodded slowly. His eyes burned and his head had begun a dull unrelenting throb. He hadn’t shed a tear and perhaps that was because his shocked senses hadn’t the ability to produce them. But right now an emptiness existed inside him and he wasn’t sure what was missing.
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