Too Wicked to Wed

by Cheryl Holt

  She whipped around as he sealed her fate by slamming the door and turning the key in the lock.

  “Lie down,” he ordered, “and be quick about it. I’m positive this will be very unpleasant, and I want to get it over with as rapidly as possible.”

  5

  Luke watched as Miss Mansfield climbed onto the mattress and stretched out. Her eyes were tightly closed, and she was stiff as a board, her ugly dress covering every inch of intriguing skin, and she was so miserable that he wanted to laugh.

  It was painfully obvious that she’d rather be tortured on the rack than fornicate with him, and he wasn’t about to waste his time bedding a cold, hostile woman. He had to gain control of the estate so that no one questioned his ownership, but her insistence on a reprieve had rankled at his better sense, had sent him skipping off to her bedchamber like a lunatic.

  That damned kiss was the reason, he admitted. That accursed, irritating, aggravating kiss! He couldn’t get it out of his head. It had felt so right to hold her, and since she’d fled London he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her.

  He had to kiss her again so that he could figure out how he’d been bewitched. If he had to kiss her for the next hour—for the next day!—that’s what he’d do. He planned to keep on till he’d purged himself of his irksome, overwhelming desire to be with her.

  He clumped about, jerking at his belt, tossing his knives and pistols on the table. Each noise had her flinching, and he enjoyed tormenting her. Let her suffer as he’d been suffering!

  “What are you doing?” she inquired.

  “I’m removing my clothes.”

  “You’re what?” She scrunched her eyes even more firmly shut.

  “When a man makes love to a woman, he likes to do it naked.”

  “Naked! I’m not about to—”

  “Helen?”

  “What?”

  “Be silent.”

  “You can’t expect me to simply lie quietly while you . . . you . . .” Her pretty cheeks burned with embarrassment.

  “The terms of the bet are that you’re to do whatever I ask, and if I ask you to be naked, then naked is what you shall be.” He paused. “Unless you’d like to go back downstairs . . . ?”

  She gnawed on her bottom lip. “No. You may carry on.”

  He yanked off his shirt and pitched it on the floor. He wasn’t sure why he was disrobing. Perhaps he wanted to infuriate her, or rattle her, or maybe—just maybe—he wanted to feel her soft hands on his bare skin.

  He walked over and gazed down at her. She’d heard him approach, and her panic rose even higher. Her body was rigid with fear, as her virginal mind conjured ruthless scenarios.

  What kind of beast does she suppose I am?

  As the surly rumination swirled by, he realized exactly what she assumed. He worked hard to cultivate a contemptible image. In his chosen profession, he had to appear vicious and unbending, and when the circumstances called for brutality, he could definitely be cruel.

  She’d listened to the stories, so she had to be terrified, and his temper faded like leaves on the wind. She wasn’t like any woman he’d ever met before, so, where she was concerned, he had no frame of reference, but his attraction was eating away at him. He was eager to tarry with her, to bask in her glow, to rescue her from the lonely, awful life she seemed to be leading.

  The sudden burst of emotion was exasperating, but he let it wash over him as he sat on the edge of the mattress and leaned forward, his palms balanced on either side of her.

  “Helen?”

  “What?”

  “Open your eyes.”

  “No. Just do what you have to do, and get it over with.”

  He chuckled. “Look at me.”

  “No,” she repeated.

  He kissed her, using the slightest pressure, but doing nothing to enhance the passion. Restraint was torture, but he held himself in check. She was impatient, prepared for him to behave outrageously, and when she finally grasped that he wasn’t about to proceed, she pulled away and scowled.

  “You’re toying with me,” she charged, correctly deducing that he wouldn’t ravish her. “You have no intention of giving the estate back to my brother.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Then why come upstairs with me?”

  “Because you begged, and I couldn’t resist.”

  The curt comment hurt her, but she should have no elevated opinion of his character. If she ever discovered that he’d raced to her room because of how thoroughly he’d been captivated, she’d have too much power over him. It was better that she deem him a blackguard with ulterior motives, which was his condition most of the time.

  Despicable as it sounded, the servants would know he’d been with her. They would speculate about what he’d done, and if they believed he had the temerity to rape such a fine woman, it would augment his status as a callous criminal.

  “You are a lout!” she accused.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “A devious, conniving villain!”

  “I don’t deny it.”

  “I’m alone with you—my reputation shot to Hades—for no good reason, at all.”

  “And I’m not even sorry.”

  “Ooh . . . you are a lying, deceitful pig!”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  “But you’ve taken off your shirt!”

  “Yes, I have.”

  “Why?”

  “So you can touch me. From how I’ve had to put up with you I’m entitled to a little pleasure before we’re through.”

  “I’d rather have my hand chopped off.”

  She squirmed away to storm out, but he wasn’t ready to oblige her. He hadn’t had his fill of her fascinating company. Plus, he wanted more rumors to spread, wanted more people conjecturing over his amorous, malicious tendencies.

  He rolled on top of her and pinned her down. Her breasts were pressed to his chest, the delectable nipples poking into him like shards of glass. Her tummy was flattened to his own, her mons a cushy cradle for his rock-hard phallus. He wedged his torso between her lush thighs, their feet and legs tangled.

  She tried to push him off, but it was like shoving a boulder, so she batted at him with her clenched fists. He gripped her wrists and trapped them over her head.

  “Let me go!” she demanded.

  “Not just yet.” He grinned like the cat that was about to eat the canary.

  “I refuse to stay up here.”

  “It’s not up to you. It will never be up to you.”

  He was petting her nape, her shoulder, his naughty fingers dropping in slow circles, each swipe bringing him nearer to her perfect bosom.

  “Stop it!” she entreated.

  “No.”

  “It’s so obvious you don’t desire me. Why continue this torment?”

  He frowned. “Me? Not desire you? Why would you say a silly thing like that?”

  “I keep throwing myself at you, and you’re humored by my inept advances, but it’s clear you’re more interested in a plot of land and some buildings than me.”

  “It’s a very nice plot of land, though.”

  “Shut up.”

  He laughed and fitted himself more snugly between her legs. His cock was perched right where it liked to be, and though she was a sheltered virgin, her anatomy recognized that it needed the decadent placement very much. She shivered with the initial stirrings of ardor.

  “I think it would be very grand if we were lovers,” he told her.

  “You do?”

  “Oh yes. I can’t imagine anything I’d like more.”

  “But we aren’t going to be, are we?”

  “You don’t really wish to proceed, Helen.”

  “I do! I’m desperate to save the estate.”

  “I understand that you are, but you’re not capable of accomplishing it in the fashion your brother envisioned, and despite what you’ve heard about me, I won’t force an unwilling woman.”

  “I’m willing! I am!” />
  He couldn’t bear to argue with her, so he kissed her instead. She groaned—whether with despair or ecstasy he couldn’t decide—and joined in. The embrace was hotter and more frantic than what had transpired between them in London.

  As he ripped the combs from her hair and stroked her all over, she followed his lead, her slender, crafty fingers working across his back and arms. At first, she was tentative, but she quickly grew more bold, participating with a confidence and enthusiasm that thrilled him.

  He put her hand on his chest, her palm directly over his heart, the matting of hair tickling her skin. She sifted through the thick pile, her fingernails innocently brushing his aroused nipples, making him ache, making his cock throb with agony.

  He was so provoked, so ready to lift her skirt and take her, and the strength of his craving frightened him. He didn’t comprehend why he was being so reckless, but he couldn’t desist. He could only hold on and enjoy the wild ride.

  He caressed her breast, massaging the soft mound, dipping into the bodice of her dress to pinch her nipple. She arched up, gasping and writhing; then he eased away.

  Without a word, he sat up, letting his lust recede, his equilibrium settle; then he stood and went to the window to gaze outside. With a distracted but grim satisfaction, he noted that her brother was climbing into the carriage that would whisk him away.

  Luke should have been more elated, but his phallus was about to burst out of his trousers, and he prodded at it, trying to relieve the pain, to cram it into a manageable spot. The need to return to her, to spill himself, was bone deep, a fierce, merciless urge that hammered at his resolve.

  “Are we . . . are we . . . finished?” she asked from behind him. He listened as she sat up, the mattress creaking with her shifting weight.

  “Yes.”

  “I feel all . . . all . . . quivery inside. Am I still a virgin?”

  He smiled and peered over at her. “Most definitely.”

  “So you didn’t . . . ?”

  “No. There’s quite a bit more to it.”

  “What else happens?”

  For once, he was at a loss. He couldn’t explain what behavior was required. He fornicated with women who knew, and he had no idea how to describe the event. She likely wouldn’t believe him anyway. To her chaste ears, it would sound too bizarre.

  “I’m hardly the man to advise you. It’s your husband’s job.”

  “Hah! As if anyone would have me after this story swirls around the neighborhood!”

  He ought to apologize, but he couldn’t generate any remorse. He’d have moved heaven and earth to kiss her one more time, and he was depressed to realize that his obsession hadn’t diminished in the least. He wanted her more than ever, and given the slightest encouragement, he’d march over and start in again.

  “You’re blushing,” she claimed. “Has my question embarrassed you?”

  “I guess it has.”

  “Are you telling me that big, bad Captain William Lucas Westmoreland can be naughty—often and with great relish—but he can’t talk about it?”

  “Some deeds are better in the demonstrating.”

  “Meaning your amatory skills?”

  “I didn’t hear you complaining.”

  She shook her head and chuckled. “You are so vain.”

  “When you’re as marvelous as I am, it’s difficult to be humble.”

  She grabbed a pillow and threw it at him, and it tumbled to the floor and bounced away. They stared and stared, a thousand comments floating through the air, but neither could speak any of them aloud.

  He had to stop dawdling. He was needed downstairs to take charge of the chaos his arrival had caused, but he couldn’t depart. At the sight of her, with the afternoon sun shining in, the blankets mussed, the atmosphere heavy with their incomplete passion, his heart did a little flip-flop.

  Wondering if he wasn’t mad, he rubbed a weary hand over his eyes. He couldn’t send her away as he had her brother. Not yet, anyway. Not until he had a few more chances to purge his system of her strange influence.

  “I have a proposition for you,” he murmured.

  She gave a mock shudder. “Having previously been the recipient of another of your proposals, I’m quaking with terror over what it might be.”

  “Very funny.”

  “I’m a veritable bundle of stimulating remarks.”

  “Such a tiny woman. Such a sarcastic mouth.”

  “Would you rather I was meek and fawning?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact. I like females who are timid and biddable.”

  “Then you’re going to hate me.”

  He never could. “A woman should know her place.”

  “And that is?”

  “Beneath me. In my bed.”

  “You are incorrigible.”

  She was vastly amused, trembling with mirth, her voice husky and mellow, and it trickled over him like a soothing waterfall. He liked how merriment dimpled her cheeks, was intrigued by how fetching and wholesome she was, and his level of infatuation had him disconcerted anew.

  He retrieved a chair and brought it over, but once he’d seated himself, he couldn’t begin. He’d figured out the perfect scheme by which to keep her, at least for a while, but if she scoffed at his request, he’d be mortified, which—for a man of his vanity and conceit—was saying a lot.

  “So what is it, Captain?” she prompted. “What is this grand offer? I’m on pins and needles.”

  “I need your help.”

  “With what?”

  “First, you have to promise not to laugh.”

  “Laugh? At you? Never. Unless, of course, you do something totally idiotic, and now that I’ve learned how deranged you are, I have to admit that it will always be a possibility.”

  “Would you quit joking? I’m serious.”

  She assessed him, then sobered. “Yes, I see that you are.”

  “If you choose not to assist me, you have to promise that you’ll never tell anyone I asked.”

  “My goodness. What is it?”

  “Swear to me!”

  “Yes, I swear. I won’t ever tell a soul.”

  He scrutinized her, his astute perception sinking in, and he sensed that he could trust her.

  “Have you heard any of the stories about my past?”

  “Some. You’re an escaped felon—”

  “A pardoned escaped felon.” The distinction seemed significant to make.

  She nodded. “You fled the penal colonies when you shouldn’t have, and you’re a pirate who robs and pillages and steals.”

  “Yes, yes.” He waved away the truth. “But have you heard anything important?”

  “Such as?”

  “I rescued those sailors.”

  “You were very brave.”

  “They were very stupid, but because of it, my father wants to be introduced to me.”

  “Your father.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ve never met him?”

  “No.”

  “Who is he?”

  “I thought everybody knew.”

  “I don’t.”

  “I’m the natural son of the Duke of Roswell.”

  “Your father is Harold Westmoreland?”

  “Yes, that’s him. Honestly, Helen, the entire country is agog over the tidings. Have you been living in a cave?”

  “Your father is Harold Westmoreland, the Duke of Roswell.”

  She was stunned, and she kept repeating herself, so he interrupted: “Have you ever met him?”

  “Twice.”

  “What’s he like?”

  “Let’s just say that I now comprehend why you’re so unbearably arrogant. It must be something in your blood.”

  “I’m nothing like him.”

  “Your wishing won’t make it so.”

  “I’m not!” he insisted.

  “All right, you’re not.” She bit down a grin.

  “I might be presented to the Prince Regent, too.”

&
nbsp; “The Prince! Well, you’re certainly wallowing in lofty company.”

  “Supposedly, the Prince is impressed with my valor, and he’s grateful for my service to the Crown. He’s considering some blasted ceremony where I’d become a knight.”

  “A knight!” She started to giggle; then, remembering her vow not to, she swallowed it down.

  “See? You’re laughing.”

  He rose and went to the window again. It had been a silly notion, hoping she might help. He never sought assistance. When others aided him, it was because he ordered them to and they were bound to obey by oaths of loyalty. He’d always been on his own, had carved his own destiny. He didn’t need anybody else. He didn’t want anybody else.

  Suddenly she was beside him, and she laid her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, Luke. You surprised me. I shouldn’t have teased you.”

  “Don’t worry about it. It doesn’t matter.”

  “Yes, it does. This is important to you. Tell me what you need from me. I’m happy to give it.”

  Peering outside, he took in the fertile fields, the sturdy buildings, the horses grazing in the paddock. It was all his. He’d come so far and would go so much farther. He’d fought and scrapped and won, had murdered and maimed, and had lived to brag about it. He’d sailed the Seven Seas, had survived doldrums and hurricanes, but he trembled at the prospect of speaking with a paltry duke.

  He was determined to make a place for himself in the Duke’s world, to seize a seat at the exalted man’s table. The Duke and his kind had killed Luke’s mother with their apathy and condescension, and Luke would have his revenge. He would become one of them, would fraternize and mingle and cajole, while he fleeced them blind.

  Money was what they understood, and he intended for them to lose a lot of it. They owed him, and he would make them all pay, but he’d never have the chance if he couldn’t pass himself off in their snooty society.

  “I’m a proud man, Helen.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “If I agree to an appointment—I’m not positive I will, mind you, but if I do—I have to learn how to act. I have to know how to dress and what to say, and I’m not sure how to figure it out on my own.”