Breath held, she waited for Brock to fill her and satisfy her body’s urgent demands.
Instead, he thrust himself away and fastened his breeches, issuing a litany of curses he could only have learned in the gutter.
Aching, she sat up and peered at him. “Don’t do this to me. To us.”
He ran a tense hand across his face and glanced at her, stare trailing down her disheveled nudity. He cursed again and tore his gaze away.
“Damn it, Maddie!” He fastened his breeches in short angry yanks of his buttons. “Don’t you do this to us. Marry me. I won’t have you until we’ve wed.”
Every muscle and sensitive nerve in her body cried out. No! He couldn’t leave her now to agonize in his absence, so that she thought of nothing but him while she twisted restlessly in her lone bed.
She crossed the room to him and threw her arms about him. The hot, hard feel of him pressed against her only revived the aching frustration deep within her. “Make love to me. I’ve never felt this way. Ever. I want—”
“I want, too,” he growled. “Unless you agree to marry me, I can’t.” He swallowed and grabbed his shirt, throwing it on over his head. “You tempt me until I can scarcely breathe, but I will not give up—” He stopped himself, raking a tense hand through the thick waves of his hair. “I cannot.”
His rigid jaw, taut cheeks, and pained eyes grabbed at Maddie's heart and tugged. For an instant, she forgot their wager. She saw only the young idealist she had loved and hated knowing that she caused him distress.
Did he perhaps resist making her his mistress, clearly at great discomfort to himself, because he really did want her as a wife and did not wish to use her like a trollop?
Or was that wishful thinking? Brock did not love her. He never had. Accepting that had been one of the most bitter lessons of her life. Wondering about his emotions, wishing she could ease his mind—that was dangerous. Brock would not hesitate to use her inexplicable affection against her, if he knew of it.
“Go, then.” She knew she sounded petulant, but it hurt to know that he wanted her…just not enough.
Taking her face in his hands, Brock positioned his mouth a mere breath from hers. “Miss me,” he demanded softly, then fled into the night.
CHAPTER NINE
Clutching Aimee’s little hand in her own, Maddie made her way up the stairs to Brock’s office in the heart of London’s financial district. She dreaded the coming encounter more with every step.
Since last night’s Kama Sutra disaster, she had never been more aware of her own deficiencies as a woman. The realization that Brock could focus on a wager yet leave her aching made Maddie sting with a sharp, wretched embarrassment. When she had arrived home after an hour of tears, she’d run up to Aimee’s room, as she did each night, only to have the sobs wrack her as she stared at the pale innocence of her daughter’s sleeping face. She could not risk her baby girl’s happiness. True, she began to wonder if Brock was really the sort of man who would truly condemn a child to prison or mistreat her under his roof. She didn’t think so…but that was a gamble she could not take.
Maddie was painfully aware she had been wrong about Brock before.
She paced, cried, uncertain what to do. She alone stood between her daughter’s childhood contentment and the cruelties of the real world. She could not afford to make the wrong choice, could not allow the Fleet or a workhouse to swallow Aimee in its dank, dismal claws. Exhaustion and hunger often ended the lives of the tenderly young in those hells.
Yet if she married Brock, she and Aimee both would become his property legally, to treat as he saw fit. He could beat the girl. While Maddie doubted he was that cruel, he could send the girl away to some remote school where Aimee would be raised by strangers, without the comforting familiarity of home, without love.
Colin had seemed so thrilled during her pregnancy, but once Aimee had been born, he’d regarded her with contempt. And, despite Brock’s tolerance of the girl so far, Maddie had little assurance that he would behave any better, believing her to be Colin’s offspring.
Lord, what terrible irony. Even if she told him the truth of Aimee’s parentage, would he believe her? Would he care? Or would he use the girl against her for revenge?
The unanswered questions darted through her head, without answers in sight. She could not afford to take chances with her daughter’s future.
One hundred fifty pounds weighed heavily in her reticule. Since seducing Brock seemed beyond her, she must make him see reason and compromise. During last night’s tears, she had come up with a new plan, one she prayed he accepted.
“Mama, I can’t run anymore.” Aimee panted beside her.
Maddie stopped and did her best to smile at her sunny daughter as desolation made her grip the little hand tighter. “We’ll slow down, sweeting. Mama is sorry.”
At a more sedate pace, Maddie continued with Aimee to the end of a plush, red-carpeted hall, squinting against the late afternoon sun that penetrated the thick windows. Determination fueled her exhausted mind to succeed at protecting Aimee and escaping matrimony.
Clenching a fist to steady her trembling fingers, Maddie lifted the latch to Brock’s office. Inside, his bespectacled secretary sat, cravat askew, papers strewn everywhere.
He glanced up with a distracted frown. “Lady Sedgewick, hello.” The thin man rose from his desk. “Mr. Taylor wasn’t expecting you.”
A truer statement had never been uttered. “I need a moment of his time, if you please.”
“I will see if he is available now,” the secretary said before he disappeared behind the door that led to Brock’s office.
“Mama, can Mr. Taylor joust with me today?”
Resisting the urge to refuse her inquisitive child, Maddie knelt. “Probably not, sweeting, but you may ask him when I finish speaking to him.”
Aimee nodded solemnly. “I shall. Then can I wear my new dress?”
She smothered the pang of regret she felt at having sold the luminous pearls Brock had given her to afford her daughter’s new dress—and this new plan.
Smoothing the child’s golden hair with a tender sweep, she said, “You may, my little minx. A pretty blue for a pretty girl.”
As Aimee giggled, Brock opened the door, expression cautious but unreadable, and motioned her inside.
Did he remember the burn of last night’s pleasure with anger or regret? Did he remember it at all?
Maddie turned to Brock’s secretary. “I’m sorry, I do not know your name.”
He puffed up with the pleasure of being asked. “I am Mr. Chiltam, my lady.”
“Very good. Will you be here for the next few moments?”
He nodded his dark head. “I should, my lady, yes.”
Facing Aimee, she instructed, “Sit right there, close to Mr. Chiltam.” She pointed to a Louis XIV chair with lush green upholstery. The sale of that chair alone would feed them all for a month. “Mama will be back in a moment.”
Glumly, Aimee nodded, then plopped into the chair.
“Thank you.” Maddie squeezed Aimee’s warm hand one last time before she disappeared through Brock’s door, ever conscious of his watchful eyes upon her.
He shut the door, enclosing them alone in silence.
That piercing green gaze of his traveled over her, seeming to miss nothing. She resisted a shiver, not of fear. Dear God, were it only that easy. No, her body remembered the feel of his skin against hers, the taste of his flesh where his neck met those powerful shoulders. She could hardly forget his mouth on her everywhere. Maddie closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and forced the memory aside.
“I’ve come here today to end this farce.”
“So you’ll marry me?”
She clenched her fists. “No. This wager is ludicrous. In this modern time, must we marry for money? Is my debt so important that you will find yourself in the Fleet without repayment?”
Brock lingered above her, looming. “I told you, Maddie, I don’t need your money. I need yo
ur connections. We may live in modern times, but your blue-blooded brethren still believe in breeding over brains.”
“You’ve always wanted to change things. Start now. Don’t play into their societal trap,” she challenged.
He shot her a disparaging glare. “That will get me nowhere, as you well know. Some rules I can break and still succeed. That is not one of them, Maddie.”
She held in a long sigh, clutching the reticule that would soon be empty. “Then I’ve come to give you a monthly installment against my debt. Did you not say one hundred twenty-eight pounds?”
While Maddie fished the funds from the small pouch, she felt Brock’s glare upon her.
“Where did you get that much money?” he barked with a razor edge to his tone.
“My farmland in Warwickshire recently made me a modest profit,” she lied. “And if you will compromise with me, I shall give you half of those profits for the next three years, along with the title to the cottage in St. John’s Wood. I will agree to escort you to society functions as you see fit until you gain the entrée you need. Do we have an arrangement?”
Brock stared at her for a silent thirty seconds. Beyond the closed door, Aimee hummed to herself. The shuffle of papers came from the anteroom as well. Maddie could read little on Brock’s stern face.
In the next heartbeat, Aimee thrust the door open, skipping into the room with swishing skirts and bouncing curls.
“Mama, I want to joust with Mr. Taylor now.”
Maddie bit her lip to smother a curse. “Not now, Aimee. Mama and Mr. Taylor are having an adult chat. When we are done, you may speak with him.”
Aimee stomped her feet. “But I’m bored.”
“Wait in the next room, Aimee,” Maddie demanded, her tone a warning.
“That chair hurts my bum,” she said, rubbing her offended posterior.
Beside her, Brock chuckled. Maddie elbowed him in the ribs and shot him a warning glare.
“A lady does not mention such... parts of her body in the presence of gentlemen. You may stand, but you will wait until am through with Mr. Taylor.”
“Let’s play ‘Ring Around the Rosy,’” Aimee suggested as if Maddie had not spoken.
The girl grabbed her hand and Brock’s before Maddie could protest. Neither Brock nor Maddie made a move to join hands.
“We are not playing now, Aimee.”
“Just once,” the girl wheedled.
Maddie debated the wisdom of such capitulation, then gave in. Aimee had been deprived of decent clothing, plentiful food, and a loving father. If a simple game would make her happy, that was the least Maddie could provide.
“Once,” she agreed softly.
“Thank you, Mama.” She bounced in happiness. “‘Ring Around the Rosy. Pocket—’” Aimee stopped her singing. “Mama, you and Mr. Taylor have to hold hands.”
Brock held out his hand to her with a raised brow. Maddie stared at his outstretched palm, the strong, brown fingers, before winding her gaze up his powerful biceps and shoulder. A dare lurked in his gaze.
Taking his palm would mean touching him. Refusing it meant admitting she feared him. Gritting her teeth, Maddie slapped her palm into his.
Brock clasped her hand tightly, until she felt every inch of skin, every callous, and the oven of warmth he radiated. Somehow, she felt frighteningly in his possession.
As if the touch attuned all her senses to Brock, his manly scent drifted to her. A forest perhaps, but after a rain, filled with rich earth. Yet something of the East, tinged with a hint of a smell she refused to consider pleasing. Sandalwood? Still, the strongest element was simply his essence, something vibrant and real, impossible to ignore. Something so Brock.
A telltale warmth crept through her belly, down to her legs. Her heart beat conspicuously fast as Aimee sang the child’s song. Maddie moved in a circle, her gaze riveted to her old lover and new rival.
What was he thinking? Had he, too, wondered what the previous night could have been like had he not walked away?
Soon the song ended, and Aimee clasped her hands in glee. Brock maintained a firm hold on her. Discreetly, she tried to pull herself free. Keeping the grip, Brock slid the smooth pad of his thumb over the back of her hand, leaving a trail of tingles in his wake, before he finally released her.
“That was fun!” Aimee shouted into the silence.
The little voice jolted Maddie back to the present, back to the fact that she and Brock were bartering over Aimee’s future, her very life.
“Now,” she instructed the girl, “you must do as you promised and wait in the next room while Mr. Taylor and I finish talking.”
Aimee’s little smile fell, and Maddie hated being the cause. But this conversation was too important to put off any longer.
As Aimee cracked the door to the outer office open and disappeared in a trail of faded pink skirts, Maddie repressed her guilt over her harsh tone. She must give Brock her full attention. Everything counted on Brock agreeing to her latest plan.
“Well,” she prompted, shutting the door behind Aimee so the child would not hear how dismal their finances really were. “What do you say to my plan?”
Brock walked around her in a nearly silent circle, pausing at her right shoulder. His warm breath in her ear made her shiver. Blast it all, why could she not forget him as a man and regard him strictly as an adversary?
“I say I’ve no desire for modest profits from uncertain farmlands for so little a period as three years. I want compromise even less. I have no use for your St. John’s Wood cottage now that I’ve purchased a better one of my own in Paddington. I did not ask you to be my eternal escort. I asked you to be my wife. And I expect you to say yes or suffer the consequences.”
Maddie closed her eyes as she felt hope leak from her soul. She’d known deep down that her chances of persuading Brock to accept this proposal had been slim. Until now, she had not wished to admit just how slim. Still, she couldn’t give up, give in to his demands. Too much was at stake.
“Please, leave me and my daughter be. She is a child and does not deserve to be punished for Colin’s sins and my inability to pay for them. She needs her mother, and she needs a chance in life. How often in the past did you say you needed that very thing yourself?”
Brock’s expression remained unchanged. He stood close enough to have touched her if he chose to. He didn’t.
“I cannot leave you be. It is impossible.”
“But—”
“Marriage is hardly a punishment for the girl. As I told you, I’ll see her cared for. She’ll be fed and clothed and looked after. I shall even provide her a dowry, if you wish her to have a chance to wed well. The only way she will be punished for Sedgewick’s foolishness is if you choose the Fleet as her fate.”
Maddie sucked in a painful breath. “You have no notion what you demand of me. Why me? Buy yourself another impoverished, well-born wife. Certainly anyone will do, if all you need are connections.”
“No. Damn it, Maddie. I want you. You will wed me. It is the way things should have been five years ago, and the way I insist them to be now.”
The arrogant blackguard! Fury erupted. Her heart raced, streaking fire through her blood, blotting out reason or consequence. He had left her, once upon a time, afraid and alone and pregnant. Whirling on him, Maddie struck out with her palm. It connected with Brock’s cheek with a loud clap. “We were never meant to be wed, you cad. Never, do you hear me?”
Brock stopped her flailing hands by clenching angry fingers about her wrists. “You’ve made it perfectly clear in every way possible you never intended our future to include marriage, my lady,” he sneered. “I am even more determined it shall.”
“Go to hell, Mr. Taylor.” She jerked free and turned away.
Maddie reached for the latch, hand trembling. She must collect Aimee and leave, find another plan, steal money if she had to. Anything to avoid Brock, to prevent herself from becoming a shivering, pleading mass at his feet, begging for money... and
pleasure. Anything to prevent succumbing to him, to avoid putting Aimee in his path.
Maddie swung the door to the anteroom open, only to find it empty. Irritation plagued her. Aimee’s antics were ruining her escape. She needed to leave now, before Brock found some other way to parry his point home.
“Aimee, we are ready to leave. Where are you?”
Silence greeted her.
With a troubled frown, Maddie looked about the room, conscious of Brock’s gaze boring into her back. Why must Aimee choose now to play hide and seek?
“Aimee,” she called. “Come out to mama. Now!”
In the silence that followed, Maddie gazed around the still room, all too aware of Brock standing in the portal, watching her. She was determined to ignore him as she bent to search behind a large leafy plant, under the now-vacant secretary’s desk, in a corner behind the drapes.
Still, no giggling. No trace of her daughter.
Maddie frowned. Certainly Aimee must be here somewhere. Where else would she have gone?
Glancing over her shoulder at Brock, she forced herself to be civil enough to ask, “Can you think of anywhere she might be hiding? Another room? A closet? A cabinet?”
“No.”
His words drained Maddie of annoyance and filled her instead with worry. If he could think of no other place Aimee might hide, then…might she be outside this office? Her mind—and heart—began to race.
“Aimee!”
Silence. Alarm crept into the pit of her belly, and Maddie began searching the room again, tearing aside draperies, knocking over Mr. Chiltam’s chair. “Aimee!”
Nothing. The horrible silence of Brock’s reception room terrified her.
“Aimee!” she cried, skin clammy. Her hands shook.
Argument forgotten, she looked to Brock in a panic. “She’s gone!”
Brock came quickly to her side with a gentle whisper. “Stay calm. She may be in the hall or outside with Mr. Chiltam. We will find her.”
“Yes,” she murmured, praying Brock was right.
Brock put his arm about her shoulder. “Let’s search about. Where would she most likely go?”
Shayla Black Page 14