by Tamara Gill
Thank the good lord that she had.
The gown gaped at her front and meeting her gaze he slid the shift from her shoulders, leaving her as bare as the day she was born. His need for her made his body ache and pulling his own shirt from his breeches, he dragged it off and threw it away into the shadowed room.
Not willing to stand idle, she reached out and touched his chest. The feel of her fingers on his body sent heat coiling through his blood, and he took a calming breath to steady himself. He was not a green lad on his first experience with a woman, he’d done this a few times now, but tonight, before this woman, he was like a ship, plummeting at sea.
“I’ve never felt a man before. You’re harder than I imagined you to be.”
He nodded, unable to form words as her hand ran down his chest and across his stomach to stop at the front of his breeches. Hunter didn’t need to look down to know his member strained against his frontfalls.
And yet she did not halt her inspection of him. Her fingers slid across his breeches before her hand cupped him fully. There was no masking his groan, nor was there any chance that he could deny himself her a minute longer.
He scooped her up, taking her lips in a fierce kiss before throwing her onto the daybed, laughing as she bounced once, her breasts rocking with the action.
Hunter fumbled with his breeches, ripping open his frontfalls, pushing them down and off. He kneeled on the bed and crawled up her body so as not to frighten her away with the size of him. The less she saw of him down there the better. He’d not missed the uneasy flare of her eyes that told him of her unease at the decision she made, but he would not hurt her, tonight she would feel passion, ecstasy and care. Nothing else.
Her fingers slid over his shoulders and pulled him down for a kiss. Willingly he went, the taste of her on his lips an elixir he’d never tire of. The hint of jasmine came from her hair, and her skin shone in the firelight like a beacon of what he could have, of what he wanted for himself from tonight and this day forward.
He kissed her with all that he felt for her but couldn’t voice into words. Reaching down he pulled her leg to sit up on his hip and the hair on her mons pressed against his engorged cock. Unable to deny himself, he rubbed against her heated flesh and could’ve died with the pleasure of it when she pushed up against him, instinctively and wantonly seeking her own release.
“Please, Hunter. I cannot–”
He could no more deny her as he could deny himself, and taking himself in hand, guided his cock against her wet, hot core.
Damn, she was tight as he pushed slowly within her. Lia bit her lip and watched him, only the slightest flicker of pain passed her visage as he breached her maidenhead. He pulled out before guiding himself in again, relief pouring through him when he had no resistance, only sweet acceptance. Delight pierced him when she wrapped her other leg about his hips, holding him firmly against her body.
“This is so wonderful,” she mewled, arching her back as he took her.
Hunter forced himself not to release before she’d found hers. He wasn’t a selfish lover, ever and he wasn’t about to start now.
Their joining became frantic and clasping one ass cheek he ground himself hard against her, relentlessly taking her. He shouldn’t, of course, treat her in such a way, a maiden, a woman with no prior idea of what was before her, and yet she did not balk at his lovemaking. Did not ask him to stop, if anything the sounds that came from her urged him on, begged him to do more of the same.
And so he did.
“Hunter,” she gasped her fingers pressing hard against his shoulders. “Don’t stop, don’t stop.”
“Never.” He thrust once, twice and she shattered in his arms, her sex clamping his own and with a cry, he found his release. He didn’t stop until they were both spent, every last ounce of pleasure pulled from their loins.
Hunter flopped beside her, pulling her into the crook of his arm. Both their breathing laboured and he smiled, unable to wipe the grin off his face.
“Was it what you imagined?”
He felt her smile against his chest as she kissed him there before running her hand up to cup his face. “It was more than I could ever imagine.”
The following afternoon Cecilia took a sip of tea in her mother’s parlor and tried and failed to censure her tone towards Mr. White. “I’m sorry, but can you repeat what you just said?”
He sat on the chaise beside her, his eyes bright with expectation. “I said, Miss Smith, that today the first of four banns will be called, marking our betrothal as official. The documents are now all in order, and your father has confirmed that you’re to be my wife and so now you may show your gratitude.”
Cecilia clenched her teeth. “My gratitude? I will admit to believing you capable of anything, especially after mauling me in the carriage, but to hear that my father has gone through with securing my hand to your own, after all that I told him is not going to bring forth gratitude from me, sir. It’ll bring pain and misery. I will not marry you.”
His expression hardened. “It is done, my dear. If you cry off, you’ll look like a flirt, a woman of loose morals and character. The shame on your father will be too much for him to bear and may injure his constitution.”
As much as she loved her parents, had hoped they had the best only in mind when it came to her, this decision of theirs proved they did not. “I’m not a virgin, Mr. White. I have slept with another man and may be right now carrying his child.”
If she had hoped he would stand, bow and make a hasty exit she was mistaken.
“Being of the age that you are, and that we are not high Society, I had wondered if you would remain chaste until your marriage, if you ever married that is. But if you told me such things with the mind that I would break the contracts, then you are greatly mistaken. With you comes your father’s law firm. Years of clients, families and money that I have worked so hard to keep, only to lose it at the last hurdle. You, my dear, are that hurdle, and I care not that you are chaste. It will merely mean you may be free with my body prior to the wedding. We do not have to wait until the wedding night.”
Horror ran down her spine, and she shuddered. “I will never sleep with you, Mr. White. How dare you say such a thing to me?”
His lips twisted in a mockery of a smile. “You’re no lady, your actions have shown that this is so, and so what does it matter if you’re fast with me too. You’ll soon be my wife.”
“I’ll never be your wife.” Cecilia stood and walked away, the thump of her heart loud in her ears.
He followed, clasped her arms in such a tight grip that tears bristled. “Let me go.”
“While our conversation today has been most enlightening, I came here to tell you, on your father’s behalf that you’re to attend the Opera with me tonight. There is a new client your father wants to gain favour with, and so you’ll attend as my betrothed. Which of course, you are.”
Cecilia wrenched herself free and walked over to the fire, rubbing her arms. “Father has not mentioned this to me before.”
“The family have only just arrived in town from their country estate, and he’s managed to gain a box beside theirs. And so,” he said, leaning down on the chair and picking up his black gloves. “You will do the pretty, smile and be most congenial. You shall pretend to be happy and happy with me, or I shall notify your father of your disobedience. I very much doubt he’d appreciate hearing his daughter has whored herself out.”
“You black-hearted blaggard. Get out.” Cecilia raised her chin a chill slicing through her veins.
He stormed over to her, clasping her chin in a punishing grip. “Do as you’re told Miss Smith, or you’ll find when we’re husband and wife, the money for your charities will also stop. Be an obliging, faithful and dutiful wife and all will stay well.”
Cecilia clasped the mantle for support when the door closed behind him. She would attend tonight, for her father’s sake, but then this would be the last time she would be obliging. The funding for her charit
ies was secured as was her own employment. She did not need Mr. White, her father or even Lord Aaron to rescue her. After tonight, Cecilia would commence the future that she’d chosen and revel in her decision. No man would threaten her into a life of misery. Not now or ever.
Chapter 12
The Opera at Theatre Royal, Covent Garden, was full to the brim with Society out to enjoy the famous Sarah Siddons who was in town to play Lady Macbeth. Their box did, in fact, sit alongside the esteemed and wealthy family new to town and recently returned from abroad due to the elder Mr. Grant passing away and the massive inheritance now bestowed on his namesake.
Mr. White’s entire conversation was directed to the Grants. In fact, he’d spoken of little else. And the more Cecilia learned about the man her father had betrothed her to, the more she realised the man was a scheming, heartless rogue looking for nothing but how to fill his pockets with coin.
“I think my discussion with Mr. Grant went well, what do you think Cecilia?” Mr. White asked, casting another glance in the direction of Mr. Grant’s box and receiving a nod in return from the gentleman.
“Yes, it went very well. Father will be happy.” Cecilia kept her smile pasted on her mouth, and yet it took every effort to keep it from falling. She wanted nothing more than to leave.
Mr. White droned on, and she kept her eye on the stage as the main attraction for this evening’s opera stepped onto the stage to a round of applause. It wasn’t until Mr. White’s hand slid atop her own in her lap that she was pulled from her own musings.
With her smile firmly in place, she said, “Remove your hand, Sir. I neither seek nor like you touching me in this way.”
Anger lit in his eyes briefly, then his expression smoothed to icy civility. “We are engaged, there is nothing wrong with me holding my betrothed’s hand.”
She pulled free, chuckling as if he’d said something funny when Mr. Grant in the box beside them caught her action. Thinking of her father’s firm, she hooked their arms instead, leaning into him as if to whisper a secret. “If you keep being familiar with me, Mr. White I shall walk from the box, whether the gentleman you wish to do business with sees my escape or not. Is that understood?”
Mr. White glared, but sat up, returning his attention to the opera singer. “You have no power in this, Cecilia. Do not threaten me or I shall marry another, and you’ll never inherit your father’s precious business.”
Cecilia listened to the beautiful Sarah play out her role and ignored Mr. White for the remainder of the first half. She glanced about the theatre, but couldn’t see anyone she knew. Footmen came about the stalls and started to light the sconces and notified everyone supper and drinks were served in the foyer.
They made their way downstairs, Mr. White taking the opportunity to continue to hold her hand firmly atop his arm. “You do not have to walk so close to me, sir.”
“I wish for all to see that we are happy and betrothed. What is wrong with that?”
“Nothing would be wrong with such a thing, had the woman involved not been forced into the situation. A situation that is not of her choosing or liking.”
“Miss Smith, good evening.”
Cecilia jerked and turned to see the Duke and Duchess of Athelby smiling before her, although their gazes were a little guarded. She curtsied. “May I present Mr. White? He is an attorney at my father’s practice. Mr. White may I present the duke and duchess of Athelby.”
He bowed. “Your graces, a pleasure to meet you.” Mr. White caught the location of Mr. Grant. “If you’ll excuse me, there is someone that I need to speak to.”
Cecilia bit her lip, not at all liking the duchess’ frown. Was she upset with her? Had something happened to Hunter that she wasn’t aware?
“Cecilia, what is going on?” the duchess whispered, leaning toward her to ensure privacy.
“A question that we’re all in want of being answered.”
She gasped, turned to see Lord Aaron towering over her. The pain she read in his gaze tore at her soul, and Cecilia wanted nothing more than to reach out and assure him all was well. That her being here tonight meant nothing to her, only her parent.
“I read the oddest thing in the paper this morning. It was about an upcoming marriage of a Miss Cecilia Smith to a Mr. White. I read it twice in fact, maybe even more than that for I thought it must be wrong. Was I wrong?” he asked, flicking a glance at Mr. White.
The duke and duchess moved away without a word, and Cecilia pulled Lord Aaron to the side of the room, a little distance from the other guests. It afforded them some privacy, but not a lot.
“You did read that right, but–”
“That is all I needed to know.” His lordship went to move off, and she clasped his arm, pulling forth some interested stares from those about them.
“Let me explain. Please.”
“You’re betrothed, and to be married in four weeks. What is there left to know that isn’t written in black and white.”
“I do not love him, Hunter.”
“So you would throw yourself at him without affection.” He stood back, his face stoic and hard, but his eyes, they were pools of hurt and she’d put that pain there. At least, her father and Mr. White had, and she’d been too cowardly to do anything about it. Until now.
“My father wanted me to attend here tonight with Mr. White because of a potential client.”
“That does not explain the fact that you’re to be married.” He rubbed a hand over his jaw. “I thought that we may have a future. It seems I read you wrong entirely.”
“You did?” she asked, a slither of hope arrowing through her. “You never stated such a thing before.”
He glanced about the room, breaking eye contact with her. “I had hoped to set you up as my mistress. To be with me always, where we could be together whenever we wished. I wanted you to be able to have the independence you craved without being beholden to me by law.”
Heat bloomed across her face, and Cecilia took a calming breath as the room spun. Mistress. The hope she had for them crumbled at her feet and no matter how she tried, she could not stem the tears that fell unheeded down her cheeks.
Hunter reached out, before checking himself and clasping his hands behind his back. “Please, do not cry. I cannot comfort you here.”
“No, I suppose you cannot. You only wish to comfort me in the home you’d no doubt set up for me. A little place where you could use me as your whore, whenever the urge struck.”
His eyes flared before his mouth tightened into a thin line. “It would not be like that.”
“Really? Being your mistress wouldn’t be like being your mistress. I’m sorry Lord Aaron, but I’ll never be your personal whore.”
“What do you want? Marriage?” he asked, frowning.
Cecilia shook her head, not comprehending where this conversation had gone. “Of course marriage. I thought you were different from the peers around us. I thought you cared for me to see past my breeding. It seems I’ve been a fool.”
He checked the whereabouts of other guests, but everyone seemed occupied with their supper and conversations. “I’m the Marquess of Aaron. I’m expected to marry a woman of rank and property. But that does not mean we cannot be together. I do not wish to lose you, Lia.”
“Don’t ever call me that again,” she said, glaring at him. “Your actions tonight are not that of a gentleman, nor are you worthy of me or my love. I reject your offer, my lord. Find someone else to lie on their back for you.”
His eyes searched hers a moment before he bowed and walked from the room. Cecilia watched as the duke and duchess followed his lordship. Disappointment swamped her, and she took a fortifying breath. She would not crumble here, show the ton that the man she loved had killed all that she’d hoped and dreamed for when she had been wrapped in his arms. Deep inside she’d know their position in Society would make a marriage unlikely, but how she had hoped, especially after the sweet, yet fiercely passionate way he’d made love with her. Swallowing back
the tear of pain and piercing disappointment, she hurried away, not wanting anyone here to see her hurt.
Stumbling outside, Cecilia hailed a hackney cab, wanting to return home as soon as she could. Giving the driver the direction, she jumped up into the equipage, hugging herself to stem off the flood of tears that burned her eyes. What a fool she’d been. A silly, naïve nincompoop.
She should’ve known his lordship would never look to her as his wife and she’d been silly to ever entertained the idea. Tears slid over her cheeks and she gasped, trying to calm herself. All to no avail, as the hurt won out and she sobbed, quite uncontrollably all the way home, and most of the remainder of the night.
Chapter 13
The following week Hunter sat in his library at Yardley Hall, his country estate and battled with his will. Will to do as he should, and will to do what he wanted, craved, longed for.
His mouth salivated at the amber liquid that sat in a crystal tumbler before him. The decanter full to the brim and the scent, strong and cutting called, beckoned him to taste. Just once, a little sip. It wouldn’t hurt. He would only have one.
Hunter licked his lips, reaching for the cup before throwing himself back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face. The last week he’d run a kaleidoscope of emotions. Those of anger, hurt, resentment. Right now he’d do anything to apologise to her, tell her he was sorry for insulting her in such a way. Never did he ever wish to hurt her.
He stood, paced before the decanter of whisky, willing it to be in his mouth. How he wanted to feel the burn as it slid down his throat, to throw him into oblivion where he’d not have to think about Lia and what his proposition meant. That she now hated him. Knew him to be the cad the ton knew him as. A man who practically stated she was not worthy of him, not good enough. He sat and picked up the glass, breathing in deep the woody scent.