by Tamara Gill
Cecilia shone like a diamond in a sea of paste, and the temptation to dance with her grew. Hunter looked over to where the musicians sat, playing music that was congenial for conversation. Other guests gathered on the floor, and it wouldn’t be long before the dancing began.
They stopped before one of three fireplaces in the room, and Hunter held out his hand to Miss Smith. “Will you dance with me?”
She took his hand, nodding slightly. “Thank you, yes.”
The strains of a waltz started to play, and Hunter could’ve dropped to his knees in thankfulness. The perfect dance for seduction, for talking intimately.
“You’re very beautiful this evening, Lia,” he said, drinking in every nuance of her right down to the little freckle that sat above her lip.
“You’re very handsome.”
She blushed, and he laughed, pulling her a little closer than he ought.
“You also smell divine. What is that scent?”
“Jasmine.” She tipped her head to the side, eyeing him. “You’re flirting with me, Lord Aaron.”
“Can I not flirt with the prettiest woman in attendance?” The slide of her silk gown against his palm sent desire coiling through him. He wanted her, all of her, to be his, now and forever. He would not survive without her he was sure.
“And now that I’m better and being watched day and night by my valet due to the duke’s strict instructions, you’ll not be able to visit me anymore. Come up to my room and nurse me back to health,” he said wiggling his eyebrows.
Cecilia laughed. It was about time she did so, she’d been reserved and troubled, a constant frown had formed between her eyes whenever she didn’t think anyone was watching, but he was. “Is everything well, Lia. You seem unsettled about something.”
She bit her bottom lip, and he pulled her close as they manoeuvred a turn. “Tell me what it is. I want to help you if I can, just as you helped me.”
Cecilia fought to keep her attention on the guests that lined the dance floor and not at Lord Aaron, Hunter as he wished to be called. If she looked at him, she would be lost. She sighed. Who was she kidding, she was already lost. “My father found out about me helping you. He knows I was in your bedroom, unchaperoned at times. He does not know what ailed you, but he’s aware only that you had an illness that the Duke and Duchess of Athelby asked me to help with.”
“Why has he not called on me and demanded that I ask for your hand?”
“What?” Cecilia lowered her tone and met the marquess’s gaze. “Because he doesn’t want me to marry you.”
“What! What do you mean he doesn’t want me to marry you? I’m a marquess, a rich lord, I could give you everything and more. Why has he not come to me, that is the most preposterous notion I’ve ever heard.”
Cecilia couldn’t help but chuckle at Hunter's self-praise, and she patted his shoulder to ease his tension. “There are two reasons, one that is my own doing I’m afraid.”
“And what is that?”
“I’ve always been critical of those who are more fortunate than so many. As much as I have enjoyed the duke and duchess’ company, and your own, especially now as you’re more yourself, after your illness, this is not my world. I do not fit in here. I’m too rough about the edges, too willing to get down on my hands and knees and scrub floors if it’s required. Too often I take sick children home and nurse them back to health. I could do none of those things as a Society wife. My father understands this about me, and does not think I would suit the life of a lord’s wife.”
“And the second reason?”
“Father will be announcing my betrothal to Mr. White Friday next. He has threatened to remove his patronage to my orphanages and schools I worked so hard to build. He has threatened to give the firm to Mr. White and leave me nothing if I do not do as I’m told, especially now that my reputation is sullied, or would be sullied if my visiting of you was to be made public knowledge.”
“Like hell he did.” A muscle ticked on Hunter’s jaw, and looking about he pulled her from the dance and escorted her onto the terrace. Seeing an array of couples, he turned away from them all and started toward the stairs at one end that led to the gardens.
Nerves fluttered in Cecilia’s stomach, and the strong, determined line of Hunter’s jaw left her mouth dry. What was he thinking? What he was about to do was anyone’s guess, but if she could wish for one thing, it would be to kiss him again. To take one last memory of him before she lowered herself, even more, out his sphere and became a teacher at her schools. With the duchess having confirmed that she would become the charity’s principal sponsor, it was safe no matter what her father decided.
He walked along the side of the house, and seeing a stone chair against the wall, pulled her down to sit. “I will not allow you to marry Mr. White. He is vile for one, and you do not care for him.”
“I have no intention of marrying Mr. White. I have secured the safety of my charities for the years to come, but by doing so, by denying my father his wishes, I shall suffer the consequences.”
“How do you mean you’ll suffer the consequences,” he asked, beseeching her to tell him the truth.
“When I tell my father that I no longer require his help with my schools, and when I tell him that I will not marry his heir, I have no doubt he will banish me. Maybe even throw me out. I’m to become a teacher, and have already prepared lodgings at Spitalfields orphanage.”
He frowned, leaning away. “A teacher, a tutor, but that is beneath you, Cecilia. I’m sure you’ve not thought of all your options.”
She sighed, having searched her mind for days trying to think of other options, but she was tired of it. Cecilia would by far prefer to be a tutor than have Mr. Smith as her husband. The only thing that tinged her choice with regret was that the marquess would never look to her as his wife. She would well and truly be beneath his gaze now. “It is done, my lord. And that is that.”
Cecilia met his gaze hoping it was disappointment she read within his stormy blue orbs. “I will not deny that even with your troubles and that we did not start out as friends, I find you the most interesting, and vexing man I’ve ever met. A man that after one kiss left me questioning my own rules, my own opinions of what I wished for in life. But I’m happy with my choice, and although my forays into your Society will come to an end, I do not regret our time or our friendship. I hope I shall always have it.”
He cupped her face, and as if in a trance Cecilia watched as Hunter closed the distance between them and kissed her. In relative darkness, she slid her arms around his neck and kissed him back, wanting to take this one moment and capture the memory forever.
Cecilia gasped when his tongue slid against hers, an odd but enjoyable sensation that pooled heat at her core. Her breasts strained against her gown, and without knowing why, she pushed against him, his firm, warm body relieving a little of the need that coursed through her blood.
“You cannot kiss me like this Lia,” he said, his lips feathering kisses down her throat, “and become a tutor, leave me alone in all this pomp and ceremony. We may be opposites, but in this we are equal.”
She clasped his hair, a gasp escaped as his tongue ran against the top of her breasts where her gown began. “Just kiss me, Hunter, and let me forget everything else.”
He did as she bade, this time it was no slow seduction, but a hot, maddening conquering that left her reeling. She’d never thought kisses could be so wicked, so tempting into the world he dangled before her, one of passion and pleasure.
Cecilia wanted so much to have a marriage with such emotion as Lord Aaron brought forth in her, and tonight, if only this night she would take whatever he was willing. She would not enter her future of reduced circumstances without knowing the touch of a man. And not just any man, but Lord Aaron.
A curl of hair tickled her back, and she pulled back, reaching up to fix her coiffure. “We should return to the ball before we’re noticed missing.”
Hunter rubbed his thumb across her bott
om lip. She clasped his hand and kissed the digit.
“I’m mad for you, Lia. Be my–”
The sound of someone clearing their throat sounded a little distance away, and Cecilia wrenched back looking up to see who had caught them, only to see the Duchess of Athelby.
“I’ve come to fetch Miss Smith. Her father has arrived to collect her, and Cecilia I should warn you, he’s made a spectacle of himself.”
Dread pooled in her stomach. “He knows I was attending Sir Colten’s ball this evening, why would he arrive like this.” She stood, and cast another glance at Hunter who met her gaze, hunger raw and unsated even at the news of her father’s arrival. “I best go. I will see you again Lord Aaron. Good night.”
He stood and bowed, and taking the duchess’ arm, she headed indoors. They didn’t go back through the ballroom. Instead, the duchess brought her around to the foyer through a servants door that led out near vegetable gardens.
“While I cannot pretend not to know what you were doing outside with Lord Aaron, as your friend I feel I must caution you, Cecilia.”
Cecilia slowed her steps, frowning. “It was only a kiss, your grace. Nothing more.” Cecilia knew it to be a lie as soon as she uttered the words. It had not been just a kiss. For her, it had been everything, meant everything. Somewhere along her crazy few weeks with his lordship, she’d fallen in love with the man.
“Lord Aaron is a rake. And as much as I adore him, love him as a friend, I worry that your attachment to him is more than his lordships. I do not wish to see you hurt.”
The duchess was too kind to care for her, even if she were the marquess’s friend also. Cecilia shook her head. “Please do not worry. I’m more than aware that I have no future with the marquess.”
The duchess nodded, continuing toward the foyer. “Your father is not pleased. He’s stated that he was not aware that Lord Aaron would be present this evening and that the duke and I are trying to sully your reputation by playing your friends. Not actually being one.”
She sighed. Hating that her father could do such a thing to her and the two people in the ton she trusted with her whole life, not excluding Lord Aaron of course. “I’m so very sorry, your grace. The man my father wishes me to marry no doubt has been watching Lord Aaron’s movements and notified my father. I hope we can still be friends after my father has acted so atrociously.”
The duchess took her hand, squeezing it a little. “We shall always be friends, and nothing your father says or does will change that. But I think considering our current location, you should go with him without a word. Words between you two can happen when you’re in the privacy of your own home.”
Cecilia nodded and walked into the foyer spotted her father pacing the space like a caged lion. “Father.” She curtsied, taking her shawl from a waiting footman who held it. “Shall we go?”
He slapped on his hat, and without uttering a word of goodbye to the duchess, followed her from the ball. It wasn’t until they were in the carriage that his temper frayed.
“How dare you daughter, go to a ball with a man I have expressed my dislike for. Did you know he’s a gambler, a man with a string of mistresses about town? The rumours that came across my desk this evening stated that the reason you’ve been nursing this man back to health is because he cannot hold his liquor?”
“Who divulged this to you. Mr. White? Not the most reliable source, father.”
Her parent squirmed on his seat the little muscle in his jaw flexing. “It is little consequence who told me. The truth of the matter is that it is true. And why were you not with the duchess upon my arrival. Where were you, child? Were you with him? Alone?”
“And so what if I was? I’m sick and tired of men like you telling women what to do. You may threaten me with your money and threaten to hurt my charities, but I no longer need to bend to your rules. I have found another sponsor for my charities, and have secured myself employment, so I shall not have you speak to me in such a way. If I were a boy, you would not be sitting here, lecturing me, you would be slapping me on the back, congratulating me on my folly.”
“You sullied yourself with Lord Aaron!” her father flopped back into the squabs, clasping his chest. “Oh, the shame.”
Cecilia swallowed, wondering how truthful she should be. She erred on the side of caution. “Of course not. I was simply at a ball where my father arrived and dragged me home like a naughty little child. Not a woman who was simply at a ball.”
“There is no need for you to even attend such events and there will be no talk of you leaving home and finding employment. You’re marrying Mr. White. The contracts have been drawn up, both the marriage contract and that of the contract regarding the inheriting of my firm. The banns will be called and in one month you shall be Mrs White.”
“Are you listening to me, father. I said I will not marry Mr. White. Ever.”
Her father leaned forward, pointing a finger at her face. “You’ve said that for years, Lord Aaron and his set is not a life that you would look for. That you loathed the ton and their foppish ways, their gossiping and inane lifestyle. Mr. White suits you, and he loves you I’m sure. Given time I’m positive you’ll make a happy marriage and give me grandchildren.”
The carriage rocked to a halt before their home, and without waiting for a footman Cecilia jumped down, hurrying into the house. She could hear her father behind her, and even when he called out to her as she made for the stairs, she ignored him. Just as he ignored her, in all that she was and everything that she did.
Chapter 11
Hunter lay on the daybed in his library and smoked a cheroot. He watched the flames lick the wood in the grate while his mind fought with the notion of Cecilia being ostracised by her family, becoming a tutor and removing herself even more from his social sphere. It would never do and to imagine her living in such reduced circumstances, well, it wasn’t to be borne.
The library door opened and he sighed, closing his eyes. “I’ll not be needing you any further tonight, Thomas. You may retire.” The patter of footsteps didn’t halt, and he sat up, throwing his cheroot into the fire. “Miss Smith,” he said, not believing she was standing beside him, here, in his library and alone. Quite alone. “What are you doing here?”
“May I join you?”
A blush bloomed on her cheeks, and he climbed off the daybed, going to her before she could run away. “What are you saying?” Before he touched one inch of her, he wanted to hear exactly what she meant. Not just assume. As a man who had slept with too many women when under the cloudy haze of drink, tonight he wanted to remember every little ounce of detail. Know when the day dawned tomorrow that the memory of her, the smell of jasmine that would touch his bedding, would bring forth all the delicious details of him making Lia his.
Cecilia boldly met his gaze. “I’m saying, I want to be with you in every way a man and woman can be together.”
A fierce blast of need burned through his veins. He wanted to haul her into his arms so badly. He clenched his hands to his side to stop their shaking. Though he wanted her as his mistress, if he could have this one moment, this beautiful memory of being with her he would take it, and treasure it for this lifetime and the next. With her fierce independence and bluestocking ideals there was no certainty that she would agree to his terms.
Hunter took in her attire, a heavy dark cloak covered her gown, and a bonnet tied tightly beneath her chin helped conceal her identity should anyone have seen her enter his home. He walked to the windows and pulled the drapes closed, then told the footman near the front door to bolt it and go to bed.
Coming back into the library, he shut and locked the door. Cecilia had removed her bonnet and gloves, but the cloak remained. Hunter was fine with that, it would enable him to strip it from her body, like opening a present.
He strode over to her and clasping her face, kissed her soundly. She didn’t shy away from the onslaught of his desire for her, if anything she met him, stepped into his hold and kissed him back. Her i
nnocence pulled at him, and he consciously slowed his desire, reigned back his need to take it slow. She was a virgin after all, not used of a man’s touch.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said, pulling the ribbon that held her cloak closed at the neck. Slowly, the tie pulled free, and he slipped the cloak over her shoulders, it hit the floor with a heavy thump.
His breath hitched when he saw what she wore beneath, or better yet, what she hardly wore. A fine, silk chemise did little to hide Lia’s figure, thanks in part to the fire that burned behind her, making the material almost translucent. Reaching out, he followed the delicate embroidered pattern across her chest to where he could see her pinkened nipple puckered beneath.
He watched her, as slowly, he traced the circular flesh, loving how it beaded harder beneath his touch.
“You said at Earl Leighton’s ball that you were mad for me,” she gasped, half moaned.
How he loved that sound and wanted to hear more of the same. “I did,” he breathed, leaning down to kiss where he was teasing her flesh, needed to feel that little bud in his mouth, wanting all of her and at once if he could.
“I’m mad for you too,” she whispered into his hair. “Please keep doing what you’re doing.”
Oh, he would and more so before the night was out.
Her breast was heavy, and soon the silk chemise merely became a barrier he was no longer so patient to work with. Standing before her, he slowly untied the ribbons that ran between her breasts, her breathing laboured, her skin flushed with desire.
He’d dreamed of such a vision. Had wanted this for both of them for so long, maybe even from the day she’d saved his life on the street, had pulled him out of the way of the carriage.
There were not many people, least of all a delicate woman who’d put themselves into peril as Miss Smith had. But her generosity of character, her unfailing support and determination to help others was a character he’d come to admire in her and of course saving a drunken fop, as he was, was merely another thing thrown before her that she had to deal with.