Nicola Cornick - [Bluestocking Brides 02]

by One Night of Scandal

  Deb drew on all her courage.

  ‘Do you mean no you will not do it?’ She asked.

  ‘No.’ Richard shook his head slightly. ‘I mean no, I do not believe this.’

  ‘Oh.’ A small smile touched Deb’s lips. He had not rejected the idea out of hand, then. There was still a chance.

  She noted that Richard’s face was grim. Perhaps there was not a chance after all. Perhaps she had made a dreadful error and also made a complete fool of herself. She hoped not. She looked at him, her brow puckered. ‘I thought that you would agree,’ she ventured.

  Now he looked absolutely furious and sounded cuttingly sarcastic. ‘Did you? You thought that I would agree to teach you about love for the duration of our betrothal only?’

  Deb’s breathing caught. She did not dare explain that if she let him closer than that, if she let him into her heart, she was afraid that she would never be able to let him go again.

  ‘I thought that if it was for that short while only then I might understand about the pleasures of physical love without any further obligation,’ she said. ‘I had no wish to constrain you in a relationship when our association is to be so fleeting…’

  Richard looked suitably disgusted. ‘So you thought to order me up for a few weeks, like a servant? Good God, you have it all worked out!’

  Deb got to her feet. She could feel the whole thing slipping away from her. This was not how she had imagined it at all. Perhaps she had been naïve, but she had thought that a rake like Richard Kestrel would not need much encouragement. But then, she did not know a great deal about rakes and she had clearly misunderstood this one.

  ‘It was not like that!’ She got to her feet and put a hand on his arm, desperate to ease the situation. ‘I do not understand…I thought that you wanted me.’

  She saw him draw a sharp breath. His gaze searched her face, hard and furious. Behind the anger she saw the desire and felt her heart flip. So he did want her, but for some reason this had all gone wrong. She put a hand to her head. She was starting to feel humiliated. ‘Oh, dear. I think I have made a mistake.’

  ‘I think you have.’

  Now he sounded as stuffy as a church elder. It made Deb quite annoyed. She forgot the embarrassment in a wash of anger.

  ‘Well, it is not surprising if I mistook you!’ she said, firing up. ‘You are experienced and you have made no secret of your attraction to me.’

  ‘That is true, but I prefer to do the asking myself.’

  Deb felt another rush of annoyance. ‘I see that I have offended your male pride! That is what this is about!’ She made a gesture of disgust. ‘If it comes to that, you did ask me. You asked me to be your mistress a year ago!’

  ‘Yes, and you turned me down.’ Richard’s tone was clipped. He came across to her and seized her arms above the elbow. ‘You have been fighting your attraction to me every step of the way, Deborah. Why change your mind now?’

  Deb stared up into his face. There was a pain lodged inside her, but there was also a shimmering need. She could see the reflection of it in his eyes. ‘I have been fighting myself every step of the way, not you,’ she whispered. ‘I wanted to know—’

  ‘What you were missing?’

  He still sounded angry, but she sensed that he was weakening. She shook her head.

  ‘No, not that. I told you that I was…married…but a short time and that it was unhappy.’ She blushed slightly. ‘I had never experienced passion. I thought that I should never want to, but with you I am forced to admit that the possibility intrigues me…’

  Richard shook his head, as though trying to clear his mind. He was still holding her, but lightly now. Even so, she could sense the tension in him, tight as a spring.

  ‘You are not thinking straight,’ he said. ‘What you need is a fiancé, not a lover. You need someone who can protect you from your father’s plans and act the role of your betrothed, not someone to acquaint you with the delights of love.’

  Deb took a step closer, until her body was touching his. Her heart was hammering. ‘Perhaps I need both,’ she said.

  She raised her hand and rubbed her fingers gently against Richard’s cheek. She saw him close his eyes as though to blot out the effect of her touch.

  ‘So what do you say?’ she whispered.

  When Deb had first spoken, Richard had thought that he had misheard her request. His mind had been full of the pretend betrothal, the strategy they should adopt, and the necessity of persuading Deb that they should spend considerable time in each other’s company. He had noted her reluctance to his suggestions and had assumed that she had had second thoughts about their engagement. It had never occurred to him that her nervousness had sprung from a completely different source. And when she had propositioned him, told him that she wanted him to be her lover, it had seemed absurd, outrageous. He was certain that he had misunderstood.

  Once he was over the initial shock, however, Richard’s second feeling was one of disbelief. He considered himself a good judge of character, but evidently he had been sorely misguided over Mrs Deborah Stratton. She was as brazen as all the rest. She had been playing a game with him and for once his finely-honed instincts had let him down. He had thought her innocent. He had been deceived.

  Such reflections did not stand up to one moment of observation. He had looked at Deb and seen that her nervousness had not dissipated. Her bottom lip was caught between her teeth, a mannerism he had noticed she affected only when extremely disturbed. There was a stricken look in those pansy-blue eyes. Only a fool could imagine that she was an experienced woman. He had felt a savage, purely male satisfaction as he realised the stunning truth. Deborah Stratton had never done this before. She was petrified.

  Her utter vulnerability filled him with tenderness as well as desire. Although her invitation was terribly tempting, he knew that he could not take her up on it, at least not yet. When she had said that she had never experienced passion, he had felt a huge gentleness as well as a strengthening of desire. He wanted to take her and show her all the things that she asked, teach her the truth about love with a sweetness and a fervour that was as intense as it was unexpected. But there was a problem and it was an ironic one for a rake to confront. He wanted to marry her before he took her to his bed. And she was about as receptive to the idea of marriage as oil was to mixing with water.

  She was so close to him now that he could smell the scent of her skin. Her gentle touch against the roughness of his cheek was disturbing. It distracted him at the moment that he most wanted to keep a clear head.

  ‘I still say that what you need is a fiancé, not a lover,’ he said.

  ‘And I still say that I want both,’ she said.

  His arms came about her and this time he did not even try to resist his feelings. He raised one hand to skim her jaw, running his fingers into her hair as he tilted her head to kiss her fiercely. Hunger and desire slammed through him with devastating power as soon as their lips touched. The heat raged through his veins. He wanted to take her there and then on the velvet sofa. For long, shattering moments they stood locked in each other’s arms, Richard plundering her mouth with his kisses, Deb responding with all the fervour of long denial.

  He felt her shudder slightly and eased back, tracing his thumb over the fullness of her lower lip, swollen from the violence of his kisses. Her eyes were dark inky blue and full of longing as he bent to kiss her again, gently this time.

  ‘Deborah…’ he said.

  Her eyes widened as they held his. ‘Does that mean…can that possibly mean…yes?’ she asked.

  Richard scanned her face. She looked innocent and hopeful and utterly desirable. His stomach clenched. He smiled at her. ‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘Yes.’

  He felt the shock go through her. She blinked. ‘I thought that you would refuse,’ she said.

  Richard sat down on the sofa and drew her down on to his knee. ‘Deborah…’ he said again.

  ‘Mmm?’ She sounded dazed. He wanted to keep her that
way because he was not at all sure that he could refuse her if she turned demanding. He sprinkled tiny kisses across the soft skin of her face. Immediately she turned more fully to him, tilting her face up like a flower to the sun. Her eyes were closed, the lashes fanned across her cheeks. Richard was stunned by the latent passion in her. It made it incredibly difficult for him to concentrate. Tracing a path of kisses down her throat, he spoke softly. ‘Deborah, you still require a fiancé.’

  ‘Uhuh…’ She sounded intoxicated. Richard smiled against her throat.

  ‘So,’ he said, ‘I accept both your commissions. I will act the role of your fiancé and I shall also be your lover.’ And your husband, he added silently, in the fullness of time.

  Deb opened her eyes and looked at him. ‘Thank you, Richard,’ she said sweetly.

  She sounded as though he had just picked up her glove for him rather than agreed to be her lover, but he knew that that was because she was so adrift with sensual longing that she scarcely knew what she did. He also knew that this was not the time and the place for such an encounter. If—when—he became Deborah Stratton’s lover, he wanted all the time in the world to introduce her to those passionate delights that she so longed for. He wanted to bind her to him heart and soul, so that she would never want him to let her go. He moved slightly.

  ‘I do not wish us to hurry matters, however,’ he said. ‘We must wait a little.’

  ‘I do not understand,’ she said.

  ‘You will find,’ Richard said, deliberately blunt, ‘that anticipation heightens one’s pleasure enormously.’

  He smiled inwardly as he saw the colour fizz beneath her skin. ‘I see,’ she said slowly.

  Richard smiled gently. ‘I have to leave you now,’ he said regretfully. ‘I am sorry, but I really do have another appointment.’

  Deb made a soft little noise in her throat that conveyed regret and disappointment. She pressed her yielding body closer against his. Richard’s senses tightened. Unable to resist, he bent his head and took her parted lips with his once more. She pressed closer still, her breasts soft against the hard wall of his chest. Richard was within an inch of forgetting all his good intentions and carrying her upstairs to bed. With a huge effort, he pulled back from the brink.

  ‘Deborah, we must not. Not here, not now.’ He tilted up her chin so that he could look at her properly. ‘When I make love to you for the first time, I want it to be perfect.’

  Her lips turned down again in a disappointed moue and her lashes fluttered. She pressed a soft kiss on his lips and he felt it all the way through the rest of his body. She was naturally passionate and Richard thought ruefully that she was learning rather too quickly for his comfort. His breeches were so tight he was afraid he might burst. He got to his feet with a wince of pain.

  ‘Sweetheart…’ He kept an arm about her waist and drew her towards the door. ‘You will go to visit Olivia later?’

  ‘Mmm,’ Deb agreed. She sounded sleepy.

  ‘And I shall see you this evening at Lady Benedict’s ball, when we shall announce our engagement.’

  Richard held her at arm’s length, scanning her face. She was waking up now, the dazed light fading from her eyes, but she still looked charmingly ruffled and frighteningly seductive. Richard summoned every ounce of self-control he possessed and put her firmly away from him.

  ‘I must go,’ he said again.

  ‘You said that already,’ Deb pointed out. A very feminine and satisfied smile touched her lips. ‘Can you not tear yourself away?’

  It was too true. Richard sighed sharply and pressed a kiss on her hand before going quickly outside and running down the steps to retrieve Merlin from the mounting block. He swung himself up into the saddle. He found that that was painful too. And even when he was halfway down the drive he could not help but look back at the house. Deb was still standing in the doorway, watching him. He could have sworn that she was smiling.

  Richard kicked Merlin to a gallop. Deb had tasted her power now, and he had a sudden suspicion that, for all her inexperience, this would not be so easy a business to manage as he had hoped. He had set out to control the situation and had almost ended in losing his head. She was too tempting, too seductive, and he wanted her too much. But the one thing that their encounter had confirmed was that he had to marry her. Nothing less would do. He was not yet her lover, but he would be before he was finished. And not merely for the duration of the betrothal. He would prove to her that a few weeks were nowhere near enough and a lifetime would barely suffice.

  He would be her husband. Of that he was determined.

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘Engaged to Lord Richard Kestrel,’ Lady Benedict said, her narrowed gaze scanning Deb from her satin slippers to the diamond slide in her curls. Her venom was barely concealed by her cold smile. ‘How you are going up in the world, Deborah! Sister-in-law to a duke! And what a sly puss you are, trapping our most eligible bachelor. Still, I suppose that he has run through half the ladies in the neighbourhood and had to settle down at some point.’

  Deb smiled politely. ‘Was it only half the ladies?’ she enquired. ‘Why, Richard told me that it was at least three-quarters.’ She put her head on one side. ‘I do not believe that your name was on the list, however, Lady Benedict.’

  Lily Benedict closed her fan with a sharp snap. Her lips thinned. ‘Let us hope for your sake that he has truly reformed,’ she said. ‘Ladies love a reformed rake, but are not so sanguine when he relapses. Excuse me, I must attend to my other guests.’ And with an angry slash of her satin skirts she turned on her heel.

  ‘That woman is a spiteful cat,’ Olivia said in Deb’s ear. She put her hand on her sister’s arm. ‘Are you quite well, Deb?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ Deb dragged her gaze away from Lily Benedict’s retreating back. She was a little surprised to find that now the encounter was over, she felt rather shaky. She had seldom encountered such malice and had not expected it from Lady Benedict, who had been a neighbour for the full three years that Deb had been in Midwinter.

  ‘There was a time when I liked Lady Benedict,’ she said, her brow wrinkling. ‘I thought she was rather nice.’ She heard Olivia’s smothered laugh and gave her sister a look. ‘What? What have I said?’

  ‘Lily Benedict,’ Olivia said, taking Deb’s arm and steering her away from the other guests, ‘is the most spiteful tabby in Midwinter, Deb! I am amazed that you had never noticed.’

  Deb frowned, raking her memory. ‘I suppose there have been times when she has made sharp remarks.’

  ‘And do not forget what she said when she heard Rachel was to marry Cory Newlyn.’

  ‘What, that she had thought he was the adventurer, but it seemed that Rachel matched him in more ways than one? I thought that she meant they would enjoy travelling together!’

  Olivia laughed. ‘Well, now you know better. She never liked Rachel because Cory Newlyn paid her no attention and she cannot bear to play second fiddle. And now you have prevented her from indulging in her favourite pastime.’

  ‘Flirting with Richard?’ Deb looked across the room to where Richard was chatting with Ross and John Norton. He looked elegant, distinguished and handsome. She found that just looking at him made her want to smile and yet she felt a strange ache in the region of her heart. ‘Richard and Lady Benedict…’ she said. ‘Do you think that they—?’

  ‘No,’ Olivia said decisively. ‘That is why she is so cross with you, Deb. She thought that she had a chance and now she sees that there is none.’

  Deb felt the heartache melt away and a little smile curve her lips. ‘Oh, I see.’ A shadow touched her. ‘But she said that Richard had run through half the ladies of the neighbourhood.’

  Olivia laughed. ‘She would say that, wouldn’t she? Wake up, Deb! Not everyone is as straightforward as you are.’

  ‘I suppose not,’ Deb said. She felt a little naïve. ‘Poor Lady Benedict. I suppose it cannot be pleasant for her to have a bedridden husband.’

 
‘And to be denied the pleasure of flirting with the most attractive man in the neighbourhood,’ Olivia said. ‘Do you really feel sorry for her?’

  Deb examined her feelings. ‘No, not at all. How horrid I am! Still…’ she lowered her voice ‘…I must remember that this is merely a pretend betrothal, Liv, not the real thing.’

  Olivia drew her down to sit on a rout chair in a quiet alcove. ‘I know you explained this to me this afternoon,’ she said softly, ‘but are you sure that is all there is to it, Deb?’

  ‘Of course.’ Deborah fidgeted with her gloves, evading her sister’s gaze. ‘Richard and I have made an arrangement. I thought you understood.’

  ‘I understood what you told me,’ Olivia said drily, ‘but, if I am to believe the evidence of my own eyes, I find it difficult to credit that this is only a business arrangement.’

  She put one hand over Deb’s clasped ones. ‘Deb, are you sure that your feelings are not involved?’

  Deb blushed. She looked across at Richard again. As though aware of her regard, he glanced up and smiled at her, his wicked, heart-stirring smile. Deb’s blush deepened.

  There was nothing remotely businesslike about the feelings that Richard had awakened in her that morning, nor was the arrangement that they had made a practical one. She felt wicked and wanton and lighter than air.

  ‘Deb,’ Olivia said, ‘your thoughts are wandering.’ She looked thoughtful. ‘Perhaps that is the answer to my question.’

  Deb blinked and dragged her scattered thoughts into some kind of order. ‘I beg your pardon, Liv. My feelings—’ She stopped and looked at her sister. ‘I am not sure.’

  ‘Ross and I were saying,’ Olivia said, with studied casualness, ‘that Richard seems to like you a great deal. Enough to wish to make the betrothal a reality.’

  Nervousness clutched at Deb. Marriage was a different matter entirely. The thought of it terrified her. It had taken all her courage to ask Richard to be her lover and even now she could not quite believe the risk she was prepared to take.

  ‘I do not wish to marry again,’ she said quickly. ‘You know that, Liv! Besides, I do not believe Lord Richard seeks marriage.’