Forever Yours (The Forever Series #1)

by Cheryl Holt

  The best way to improve his petulant condition was with a sexual romp. She rose from the stool, slowly reaching her full height of five-foot-nine. She was a statuesque, magnificent goddess, and she liked to remind him how fortunate he was to have her.

  She untied the belt on her robe and rustled her shoulders so it slid off and pooled on the floor at her feet. She posed for a moment, letting him look, letting him yearn. Once it was clear she had captured his undivided attention, she strolled by him, being sure a bare breast brushed his arm.

  Her maid had laid out her clothes, and she sauntered over to the bed and grabbed a stocking. She bent down and began rolling it up her leg. He watched her, but made no move toward her which she didn’t like.

  There was one aspect to their liaison she could rely upon. When he was grouchy, she could tempt and seduce, and instantly the harmony of their connection would be restored.

  “The party will conclude in another week,” she said, “and they’ll all be gone.”

  “Lucky me.”

  “I have a new bunch coming the week after that. I’ll review the list with you tomorrow, and I won’t give you a minute’s peace until you approve every name.”

  “I don’t have to approve the names. Just don’t invite any boors. There are plenty of interesting people in London, and you’re acquainted with many of them. Do me a favor and don’t court the dullards. That’s all I’m asking.”

  “Your wish is my command.” She batted her lashes, but she couldn’t drag a smile out of him. “Why are you so surly? Are you upset that I haven’t interviewed for a governess? I promise I’ll get around to it. I’ve been so busy.”

  She hated to fuss with the twins, and she hated having to supervise the servants who tended them. She couldn’t comprehend why indolent, disrespectful Faith couldn’t pull her weight and provide some service to the family. After all, they’d always supported her, and she’d never shown any gratitude.

  The burden of the twins had fallen on Camilla, but she’d willingly shouldered it. Since she and Alex were playing house together, she had stupidly assumed the responsibility. It had been a ploy to prove she was indispensible to him.

  But she carried out her tasks with a minimal amount of effort, and she swore to herself that—when she and Alex were wed—the girls would be packed off to a boarding school and would never return to Wallace Downs for a single holiday.

  “I don’t need you to interview for a governess,” he said.

  “I told you I would, and I will.”

  “I handled it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I hired someone myself.”

  She abandoned the stocking she’d been rolling and straightened to her full height. “You what?”

  “I hired someone. I haven’t liked the women you selected in the past, and I thought I might be better able to find a candidate who will stay.”

  “The previous ones didn’t stay,” she caustically spat, “because you and I are too disreputable. Don’t blame me for any bad choices. No decent person wants to be around us. You know that, and you might have a word with Faith. She deliberately makes us sound worse than we are.”

  She detested Faith. Faith was smart and shrewd and cunning, and when Alex had first introduced them, she’d said about Camilla, You decided to bring one thing home with you from your travels, and this is what you picked?

  She’d snorted with disgust and stomped off. Their relationship had tumbled downhill from there.

  They could barely speak in a civil manner, and Camilla never went to the cottage if she didn’t have to. She would confess to being an awful caretaker for the twins, but whenever she visited them Faith chased her off, claiming the paltry dwelling was her home and Camilla wasn’t welcome in it.

  After several hideous encounters, she rarely checked on the two girls. Was it her fault that Alex had a half-sister who was insane?

  “Faith tells the truth about me,” he said. “And about you.”

  Camilla bit down a scathing retort. As with Price Pendergast, it was pointless to denigrate Faith. Alex wouldn’t listen.

  “When is the new woman arriving?” she asked instead.

  “She’s already here. She started yesterday.”

  “You were planning to inform me…when?”

  “There was no reason for you to be informed. You never go over there anyway.”

  “I don’t go because your sister is such a witch. You shouldn’t allow her to be so rude to me, and it’s infuriating that you won’t rein in her behavior. You can’t be bothered to reprimand her, and I won’t put up with her snide comments.”

  For a lengthy interval, he studied her, and it was obvious he was biting down a few scathing retorts of his own, but he would never quarrel. When he’d been wed to Eugenia, she’d goaded him into incredible bursts of rage that had culminated in the duel he’d fought.

  He’d nearly killed a man because of his temper so he’d learned to control it. Now there was very little that could rile him. He always tamped down his anger so he appeared cool and calm.

  “Let’s not bicker,” he said. “You need to dress for supper.”

  “So do you.”

  “I’m not coming down.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course you are.”

  “Not tonight.”

  They stared at each other, and her mind was racing as she struggled to determine what her response should be. Was it better to have him slink away and stew? Was it better to cheer him up?

  She was never sure, but she figured she should try to cheer him. That was her job after all.

  She strutted over to him, and she approached until they were toe to toe. She wrapped her arms around his waist, her alluring, shapely body pressed to his all the way down.

  “You’re being such a grouch,” she murmured.

  “My mood has been foul. I admit it.”

  She raised a brow. “I can make you very happy. May I? If you’re not joining us for supper, it’s clear you have time on your hands.”

  He gave a shrug that might have indicated anything, and she took it for permission to proceed. She would have kissed him, but he wasn’t a romantic fellow, and she wasn’t exactly a romantic type herself. They both liked to get down to business.

  Plus, she had guests down in the parlor. She didn’t have an hour to waste sweetening his disposition.

  She dropped to her knees and unbuttoned his trousers. He was silent, glaring down at her. For a female, she had a very perverted nature, and her tainted character had constantly led her astray. She knew every whore’s trick and employed them as necessary to obtain whatever she wanted.

  She grabbed hold of his cock, pleased to find him hard as stone. He might be grumpy and out of sorts, but she was gorgeous and dissolute, and he’d never been able to resist her.

  She flicked her tongue across the tip, then sucked him into her mouth. As his stomach muscles clenched, as he sucked in a sharp breath of approval, she preened with satisfaction.

  He was hers. He belonged to her, and she would never let him go.

  * * * *

  Faith was sitting on the patio behind the cottage, smoking a cheroot and drinking a glass of whiskey. It was the middle of the afternoon, and she should have practiced more restraint, but there wasn’t much reason to. She had no schedule to maintain, no tasks to occupy her.

  With Miss Barrington having arrived, things were even easier on Faith’s end. Miss Barrington would assume all duties toward the twins, and Faith was delighted to relinquish her limited role. It definitely had her wondering if she wasn’t lacking an important facet to her female personality.

  She was so different from other women. She suffered from no maternal tendency to mother the twins, have any children of her own, or mother anyone in general. It made her an odd specimen who didn’t fit in anywhere. Being the bastard daughter of a notorious lecher was bad enough, but she had no desire to remedy her pathetic status through a
suitable marriage.

  Men were idiots. She’d only ever met one who tickled her fancy, and he wasn’t inclined to wed either.

  Alex permitted her to live at the cottage and didn’t bother her over her odd life choices. She was a gifted and frustrated artist who painted landscapes in a shed she’d converted into a studio. She kept it locked and never displayed her work.

  Early on, she’d learned not to mention it. People considered it a woman’s hobby and therefore silly, not interesting, and not a topic worth pursuing so others weren’t aware of how good she was.

  The prior night, she’d had a flurry of creative energy and had painted until dawn so she’d missed Miss Barrington’s morning lesson with the twins. Not that she would have paid much attention, but she supposed Alex would eventually ask her how the instruction was proceeding, and she probably ought to have an answer.

  Miss Barrington seemed stable and reliable which meant she was much more than Alex deserved to have found. She didn’t need Faith hovering.

  The school books were shut for the day though, and the twins had finally managed to drag Miss Barrington down to the beach so they could show her their favorite places. Faith was alone, the sole other occupant the cook’s helper from the main house who came by to prepare their meals. He was in the kitchen.

  She took a swig of the whiskey, liking how the liquid warmed her. She took another and liked that one too. She glanced toward the beach, curious as to how long Miss Barrington and the girls would be gone and hating that she would fret over it.

  Miss Barrington was another stranger who would be ensconced in what Faith viewed as her home. What with her mother and Alex’s mother residing under the same roof when she was a child, the situation had been hideously unbearable. Alex had allowed her to move to the cottage the minute she was deemed mature enough, and she’d immediately carted over her belongings.

  It was always stressful when Alex or Camilla hired a new employee and demanded Faith be cordial. She rarely had anything in common with the people who were selected. For once, she thought Miss Barrington might become a friend—Faith had no friends—but she was nervous about it.

  She was slow to bond, slow to trust. She and Miss Barrington might grow close, but the more likely scenario was that they wouldn’t.

  Miss Barrington was very sensible. She’d reflect on Alex and Camilla and the scandals that slithered after them like a braided rope. Before too much time had passed, she’d leave so Faith didn’t want to attach herself. She was worried about the twins too. They already liked Miss Barrington too much.

  They’d had so many losses in their short lives that they were stoic and resigned when a person vanished. They tried not to let others matter too much, but their affection for Miss Barrington was bubbling up so disaster was approaching.

  “Is there any whiskey left for me?” a man asked from behind her. “Or have you drunk it all, you crazy lush?”

  She froze, steadying her breathing, then she spun and grinned up at Price Pendergast. She hadn’t realized he was at the manor, but he always arrived without notice. He surprised her when she least expected it.

  She motioned to the chair across from her and said, “No, I haven’t drunk it all. If you promise not to be too annoying, you can join me.”

  “I swear I can control myself.”

  He strutted over and eased down. She only had the one glass so she filled it and pushed it over to him. He gulped the entire contents in a long swallow, then he shuddered like a wet dog.

  “When did you get here?” she asked.

  “Yesterday.”

  “Let me guess what brought you to the country. You’re hiding from your father again.”

  “Yes, I’m hiding from my father.”

  She rolled her eyes with disgust. “How old are you? Thirty? You’re such a baby. How can you stand yourself?”

  “If I told him to sod off, he’d beggar me. You wouldn’t like me if I was poor.”

  “I don’t like you now,” she retorted, “so if you were poor I can’t imagine it would make any difference.”

  “Tell me you’re glad to see me.”

  “I’m not.”

  He was so vain, so smug, and she refused to fawn over him. He’d been cosseted all his life and believed he should be worshiped. Especially by females.

  He was a viscount and an earl’s son, still a bachelor and probably the premier prospect on the Marriage Market in London—if you ignored his negligent, destructive habits—so women threw themselves at his feet. But not her.

  She wasn’t impressed by him. Or if she was impressed, she wouldn’t permit him to suspect she was. He was so conceited she’d never hear the end of it.

  She’d known him forever, starting when she was a little girl and he’d simply been Alex’s obnoxious, boring friend from school. During her adolescence, he’d frequently visited, but after Alex shackled himself to Eugenia, he’d disappeared and had stayed away until Alex had returned to England after his banishment was over.

  It was then that catastrophe had struck for her.

  The first time he’d trotted up the road to the manor, she’d been an adult who hadn’t talked to him in most of a decade. There was nothing about him that resembled the uncouth, aggravating boy who’d tagged home with Alex on holidays. For nearly three years, she’d been madly in love with him, but it was a sentiment she couldn’t share with a single soul.

  He was aware that he’d ensnared her, and usually she was certain he was suffering from the same heightened emotion. They were so intimately attached they actually corresponded when he was in town. Price Pendergast wrote her letters—when he never wrote to anyone else. He was too lazy and dissolute, a nauseating roué, a rutting dog, but he’d charmed her beyond measure.

  Part of the problem was that he was so deliciously handsome. He was as tall as Alex, but with golden blond hair and big green eyes. His shoulders were broad, his waist narrow. He constantly smiled and laughed, being delighted with his status as a degenerate wastrel.

  She liked to think she was too levelheaded to be bowled over by a pretty face, but it was simply a fact that she was extraordinarily fond of him, and if there was a man in the world who could persuade her to wed and settle down, it was Price Pendergast.

  Wasn’t that the most hilarious, disturbing notion ever?

  “If you won’t tell me you’re glad to see me”—he was pouting—“at least have the decency to admit you missed me.”

  “I might have missed you,” she said.

  “I knew it!” he cockily stated. “You can’t resist me. You pretend you can, but I’ve caught you on my hook, and you can’t squirm away.”

  “You haven’t caught me,” she protested. “I let myself become enticed. As I’m sure I’ve mentioned, I have no idea why.”

  He filled the glass again and drank it down, then he stood and rounded the table. He leaned down and kissed her, and they both sighed with pleasure. His presence soothed her. He was comforting and familiar, like an old pair of shoes she couldn’t bear to discard.

  He sat again and tugged her onto his lap. Her bottom was braced on his thigh, her breasts crushed to his chest.

  “Where are the twins?” he asked.

  “Down at the beach with their new governess.”

  “So we’re alone.”

  “Except for the cook’s helper.”

  “Take me up to your bedchamber,” he whispered.

  It was a request he often voiced, but for which he always received the same answer.

  “No.”

  “Oh, Faith, you’re such a tease. How can you deny me?”

  “It’s easy. You’re a debauched rogue, and you remind me too much of my father.”

  “Don’t you ever get weary of all this restraint?”

  “No. Besides, if I ever agreed and went with you for once, you’d be so disappointed. You enjoy the chase. If you wore me down, your interest would vanish like smoke.”

 
“You have such a low opinion of me.”

  “It’s all deserved.”

  “Witch.”

  “Libertine.”

  He relaxed, and they were quiet, with him rubbing a hand up and down her back. She loved moments like this, but she hated them too. She liked him entirely too much, and when he was sweet and endearing it made her crave things she could never have.

  Eventually, he broke the companionable silence. “I stopped by to invite you to supper at the manor.”

  “I suppose I could come.”

  “There’s to be dancing afterward.”

  “Then I’ll definitely be there.”

  She liked to dance and revel, but she had so few chances. Alex seemed determined to never be by himself in the big mansion so there was a party nearly every night. She was always welcome to join in, but she couldn’t stand Camilla so she avoided the festivities.

  “Wear your blue dress,” he said.

  “I might.”

  “Wear the blue!” he repeated, his tone scolding.

  It was a gown he’d selected for her because he’d thought it would highlight her Wallace dark hair and blue eyes. And of course, he’d been correct. He liked to send her gifts from town, and for such an obtuse man he had great fashion sense. The items fit perfectly and looked magnificent.

  Initially, she’d been scandalized, but she’d quickly quashed her reluctance. People didn’t pay attention to her so no one ever asked about her clothes. They assumed she bought them herself.

  She had a bit of her own money, bequeathed to her by her father, but she spent it on art supplies. Since she rarely socialized, there was no need for her to own any fine apparel. But when Price visited, she was vain as the fussiest debutante and pathetically eager to make him happy.

  “I’ll wear it.” She kissed his frown away. “Just for you.”

  “That’s more like it. Before you can blink, I’ll have you fully trained. You’ll obey me like a whipped servant.”

  “You are such a dreamer, Price. I ignore you simply because I know how much it irritates you when I don’t listen.”

  “Every other woman in the kingdom would cut off her right arm to please me. Why not you?”