by Erin Rye
His eyes darkened and suddenly his mother, their bet, nothing else mattered. “Come closer, my dear. You know where you belong.”
“Where do I belong?” she whispered.
He smiled. “In my arms.”
Her pulse quickened. Juliet stepped around the desk, but stopped beyond reach. He leaned forward, seized her arm, and tugged her into his lap. She shrieked. He laughed and hugged her close while she twisted in a halfhearted attempt at freedom. Her hip bumped his hard length and she froze.
“Good Lord, Carrick. I’m surprised you have any energy left after last night.”
He laughed and hugged her tighter. “I told you I would have many wonderful surprises for you.”
Her heart began to pound, and she realized she wanted him so badly it hurt. Juliet pushed away from him and he released her as she slid from his lap. With a quick twitch of her skirt, she knelt before him. His gaze sharpened when she reached for the buttons on his breeches and slowly unfastened them. Her fingers brushed the bulge straining against the constraints and he sucked in a startled breath. Embarrassment warmed her cheeks when her fingers trembled slightly as she freed the last button. His erection spring free and his shirt tented. She pushed aside the shirt and heat rushed through her at sight of his rigid manhood. She raised her gown to her thighs and straddled his thighs.
He closed his eyes and took a long, luxurious breath as she slowly slid down onto his hard length. With a sigh of pleasure, she dropped her gown, the silk making a soft swish as it covered them both.
He skimmed his fingers lightly over her arms and tugged her bodice until her breasts spilled over the neckline. Eager to feel his mouth on her flesh, she arched forward and pulled his face toward her. He sucked a nipple into his mouth.
She shivered. “Carrick,” she whispered.
Slowly, she lifted off him, then lowered until he filled her. She rose, and he thrust to meet her downward motion. Pain and pleasure spiked. Juliet braced her hands on his shoulders, steadying her torso so that he could continue to suck her breasts as she rode him. He grasped her hips and brought her down hard. Her breath caught. The man knew how to please a woman.
He increased their rhythm and suckled her other breast. Pleasure built inside her core. Her nipple slipped from his mouth and his grasp on her hips tightened as she slammed down on him. His jaw tensed. A wave of gratification rolled over her. She pleased him. Her climax caught her off guard. Juliet threw her head back and arched. He rammed his cock deeper. She cried out and light flashed behind her eyes. It seemed the world spun around her. Her body went weak as a kitten.
Juliet was vaguely aware of his groan as he ground himself against her sex. She’d seen the girls in her mother’s brothel backed against walls while their customers pumped into them, had heard more stories than she could remember of the mechanics of the joining of a man and woman. But she’d never heard the girls speak of this sort of…magic. Is that what it was, magic?
Juliet collapsed onto his chest and listened to the powerful thump of his heart until its rhythm slowed.
Carrick buried his face in her hair. “I can’t get enough of you.” He nuzzled her neck. “Come to my bed. Let’s spend the day there.”
Juliet snorted and reluctantly straightened. “You know very well I have gowns to sew.”
“As if my mother and sister don’t have enough of the blasted things.” He ran his hands over her breasts and tweaked her nipples.
She shivered.
“Come to my bed,” he repeated.
Juliet pulled her sleeves back over her shoulders and slid off his lap. He tucked his shirt back in his pants, then fastened his pants and released a long breath.
“I imagine your mother and sister are still in the drawing room where I left them.” A thread of panic wound through her. “Lord, the dowager will wonder why I took so long.”
He grasped her hand and his expression sobered. “I will deal with my mother.”
The panic intensified. “Carrick, she can’t know—”
A knock sounded at the door. “Carrick,” his mother called.
Juliet yanked her gaze onto the door. Dear God, if the dowager saw her before she has a chance to smooth every hair back into place.
The door knob started to turn, and Juliet dropped to her knees.
“What the—” Carrick began, but she scurried under his desk as the door opened. She pulled her knees to her chest. He turned, and she was forced sideways against the wood when his knees nearly struck her shoulder. He shifted, and Juliet realized he was looking up from his desk. His arms rested on the desktop. Dear God, she hoped his expression gave away nothing of the fact that his mistress was hiding there.
“I thought I would find Juliet here,” the dowager’s voice came from the direction of the door.
Juliet jammed her eyes closed and silently prayed, Please, please, please, do not come in.
“You missed her,” he replied.
The door creaked, and Juliet’s heart thundered. Was the dowager entering the room and closing the door behind her or had she left?
“I am busy, Mother,” Carrick said, and Juliet’s heart fell. The dowager hadn’t left
“I have planned another dinner for tonight,” she said.
“I believe you told me that.” His right arm shifted slightly, and Juliet thought he might be writing as he had been when she arrived.
“Catherine and I will be spending the autumn and winter in Edinburgh.”
“That is your habit,” he replied distractedly.
“Lady Audrey is very nice, don’t you agree?” The dowager’s voice was closer. Silk rustled, and Juliet realized she was sitting in the chair opposite Carrick’s desk.
“I’m too busy to discuss women, Mother,” he said.
“Even Juliet?”
He jerked.
Juliet tensed.
“I beg your pardon?” he said.
“I’m no fool, Carrick,” his mother said. “I know —
He shoved his chair back and stood. “I will thank you to keep anything you know to yourself, madam.”
He turned, and his legs disappeared from sight as he strode around the desk. Juliet could barely hear his bootfalls through the pounding of her heart in her ears. The doorknob rattled, then he said, “I am busy, Mother.”
Three heartbeats later, the dowager said, “Lady Audrey will be attending the dinner tonight.” Her voice was farther away.
“How kind of you to invite her a second time,” Carrick replied in a cold voice.
“I have never known you to act like this,” the dowager said.
"You have never gone so far as to choose my bride for me,” he said.
A moment of silence passed. “It is time you married, Carrick. Whatever pleasures you might seek—”
“Madam, I have been patient thus far.”
The warning in his voice sent a shiver down Juliet’s back.
“Then I will see you at dinner,” the dowager said.
The door clicked shut and a moment later, Carrick’s legs came back into view. He squatted and bent his head so that he could make eye contact. “Come on out, love.”
Juliet pulled her dress to her knees and crawled from beneath the desk. He grasped her hand and pulled her to her feet.
“She’s right, you know,” Juliet said as she brushed imaginary dust off her dress. She gave thanks that her voice remained steady.
He placed a finger beneath her chin and she froze when he tilted her face toward his. “Never mind my mother.”
How could she possibly do that? The woman was determined to see her son wed. “She’s your mother,” Juliet whispered.
“And she has nothing to do with us,” he replied.
Juliet stepped away. “I’d better return to the drawing room.” She started to turn, but he grabbed her arm.
“Not that way.” He tugged her to the bookshelves near the sideboard and pressed on a shelf. It sprang away from the wall.
“What in the world?” she e
xclaimed.
He grinned. “Lennoxlove is full of surprises.” The look in his eyes said that he, too, was full of surprises.
* * *
Juliet spent the afternoon in the sewing room trying her best to ignore thoughts of Carrick. Carrick laughing. Carrick staring down at her. Carrick caressing her breasts. Carrick in another woman’s arms. Why did it bother her so? She knew the proper place of a mistress—in practice, anyway. In reality, remembering her place was so much harder.
As evening approached, the crunch of wheels on the graveled drive drew her attention to the window, yet again. Despite the conviction to ignore everything outside her room, she shifted and looked out the window. Her heart wrenched when Carrick stepped into view as a carriage rolled to a stop in front of the house. He opened the carriage door and took the elegant hand that reached toward him. The dark-haired beauty wore an olive-green velvet dress as fine as any Juliet had ever seen. She gave a silvery laugh that reached the window.
The woman slipped her hand into the crook of his arm and Juliet glimpsed his smile as he turned toward the house. Her heart squeezed. He was charming. They disappeared from view and his baritone laugh abruptly cut off when the door shut. The evening was young. Who knew how many more young ladies would arrive?
Juliet reached into her sewing basket to pull out a spool of thread, but her fingers caught on the silky folds of Carrick’s cravat. Slowly, she withdrew the narrow length of fabric and pressed it against her cheek. Incredibly, it still carried his scent. Spicy sandalwood.
The young woman’s silvery laugh came again in the distance.
Juliet stiffened and suddenly felt rather foolish to be sniffing the cravat like a loyal hound. She stuffed it back into the basket. She wasn’t about to sit there, listening to the sounds of their merrymaking, not when she could sit in the quieter solitude of the servant quarters one floor up. Quickly, she gathered her sewing and went upstairs.
The evening dragged. Her thoughts returned too often to the memory of Carrick’s lips on her skin—and his smile for the beautiful dark-haired lady. Just how did he entertain the debutantes in the drawing room below? When the clock struck ten, her mind still churned with uncomfortable questions. She set her sewing aside and stretched her stiff neck. Her fingers ached. The day was done, but the guests remained. Were they staying for a house party? She nibbled her lip. While she yearned to slip into Carrick’s bed, she refused to consider such an action while he entertained other women.
“It’s a book for you tonight, Juliet,” she muttered. Perhaps for many nights to come—if she were wise. A book was a poor substitute for Carrick’s lips, but it was the best—and safest—her evening could offer.
After a quick detour to the kitchen for a simple meal of fresh bread and cheese, she hurried down the hall toward the library. The candles and oil lamps burned low in their sconces and wall holders. In the drawing room, just three doors away, someone played the pianoforte.
At the hum of voices, Juliet quickened her steps to the library then stopped outside its door when feminine laughter drifted toward her. She recognized too well the titter of a woman trying to impress a man. Which one of them was laughing? She crept toward the drawing room. If she was careful, no one would notice if she stole a peek.
Catherine suddenly darted into the hall.
Juliet stopped short and pivoted on her heel.
“Juliet,” Catherine called, but Juliet hurried away. An instant later, Catherine reached her side and caught her hand. “Oh, do play with us, Juliet.” The young girl giggled. “Please, Juliet!”
“I really shouldn’t.” Juliet tried to shake free.
“Don’t be a ninny.” Catherine tugged her several paces toward the drawing room. “Come join the fun.”
Juliet knew she should break free—for a mistress didn’t socialize with ladies invited to respectable parties. Her mother had pounded that into her head long before she truly understood what the words meant.
They reached the drawing room. Juliet took two paces into the room, caught sight of Carrick and stopped. The Duke of Hamilton stood before the fire, dressed in black breeches with a gray brocade waistcoat, white shirt, and a fine red silk, elaborately tied cravat. He smiled as he examined a large sapphire ring against the firelight. Half a dozen guests gathered around him, three of whom were ladies vying for the closest position.
“It’s such a beautiful ring, Carrick,” a petite redhead in an expensive blue satin evening gown said. “A truly stunning ring any woman would be pleased to wear.”
“Not just any woman.” The dowager shifted in the nearby settee. Her voice held a distinct note of pride. “Hamilton brides have worn that ring for the past eighty years.”
Brides. Juliet turned to leave.
Catherine shut the door, her back to the wood, and grinned. “Juliet’s come to play with us.”
All eyes turned onto her.
“Ah, Juliet,” the dowager said.
Juliet faced the older woman, careful to keep her gaze from straying to Carrick.
The older woman waved her forward. “Come, join us.”
Juliet hesitated. If the woman disapproved of her presence, it was difficult to tell. Juliet needn’t glance at the prospective brides to know they didn’t approve. She felt their assessing gazes inventory her face, figure and, no doubt, her clothes. A sliver of satisfaction bolstered her. In that regard, they would not find her lacking.
Catherine bounced over to her brother. “We have more than enough players now.”
Juliet couldn’t halt her gaze from following the girl.
Catherine tugged his sleeve. “Juliet’s here for a game of Blind Man’s Bluff.”
Carrick grinned down at his sister. “Then what are we waiting for?” His attention shifted to Juliet.
Other guests laughed and rose from their seats as Carrick started toward her. She should leave. She knew it. Yet, her feet wouldn’t move.
He reached her side. “Good evening, Miss Thatcher.” He bowed and peered down at her with a twinkle in his gray eyes.
An answering smile curled her lips and she curtseyed low. “Good evening to you, as well,” she murmured, deliberately refusing to utter the expected words ‘my lord’ or ‘your grace’. Indeed, she wouldn’t join the gaggle of fawning creatures in the room.
A sharp clapping of hands startled them both and Juliet blinked to find the dowager watching them closely.
“Let the game begin.” She clapped her hands a few more times and raised her brow in an obvious reprimand.
Juliet averted her gaze, and wished mightily that she had left. Carrick chuckled, looped his arm through hers and drew her toward the circle of players.
“Allow me to go first,” a slim gentleman with thinning brown hair offered.
Catherine obligingly tied the band of cloth over his eyes and spun him around as the countdown began. The players fanned out across the room and began calling his name.
Juliet edged toward the door.
“Edward, this way,” the calls began as the man began to bump about the drawing room, arms outstretched.
Juliet retreated another pace and Carrick edged closer. He leaned down, clearly intending to whisper in her ear, when the redheaded woman bumped his arm.
“Forgive me, Your Grace.” She giggled and lay her hand on his arm.
Carrick’s expression hardened, and Juliet’s heart sang.
The blindfolded man stumbled past two women who sidestepped him, and he collided with Carrick. The man seized Carrick’s cravat and announced, “It’s Hamilton.”
Carrick snorted a laugh. “Damn cravat,” he said in a low voice, and glanced sideways at Juliet. He faced the thin man. “I’ll take this, my dear fellow.” Carrick whipped the blindfold off him and began tying it over his eyes.
Catherine appeared at his side and began to spin her brother in circles. The redheaded woman giggled and made no move to fan out and join the others.
Catherine rolled her eyes in disgust. “Let’s cha
nge up the rules, shall we? The last one Carrick catches will earn a kiss.”
Above the blindfold, Carrick’s brows knit into a frown.
A chorus of ‘ohhs’ went up amongst the woman and the redhead said, “How delightful,” then darted away.
“I say, I don’t care for this new rule,” the thin gentleman objected.
Carrick cocked his head to the side and teased. “Then, Edwards, here I come.”
As he took a step forward, one of the women pushed Juliet into his path. He caught her arm and tensed, then relaxed and slid his fingers down to her wrists to give her a little yank. She stumbled and fell against his chest.
Catherine clapped. “I changed my mind. I say Carrick must kiss the first woman he catches.”
Juliet stiffened. The other women protested loudly.
“That isn’t fair.”
“That will teach you not to push other players, Lady Audrey,” Catherine said.
Carrick planted a chaste kiss on Juliet’s forehead. “’Tis Miss Thatcher,” he said with conviction.
“Bravo!” Edwards laughed.
“Enough of this game.” Carrick tore off the blindfold.
“Let us sing, shall we?” Catherine suggested as she skipped to the pianoforte.
“It’s getting late, Catherine dear,” the dowager objected.
Her daughter ignored her and plopped down at the pianoforte, then began to play. As the room filled with voices—and the women swooped over to commandeer Carrick’s attention—Juliet made good her escape. She ducked into the library and turned to close the door when Carrick stepped inside. Juliet cried out when he caught her in his arms.
“Where are you running as if the devil himself were after you?”
“To my room,” she said, and silently added, where I belong. “You should return to your guests.”
He peered down at her, looking more handsome than a man had a right to, with his lips curled into a lazy smile. “Let them wonder. I’ve had enough of duty tonight.”
The words made her heart thud, but then her attention caught on the word ‘duty.’ Duty would always stand between them. The thought soured her mood.