by Lucy Monroe
He stood up, his smile enigmatic. "Ah, so that explains your presence in Town when I distinctly remember you saying you had no plans to attend the Season."
"Do not be silly, Pierson." Lady Noreen's soft, melodious voice was tinged with censure. "You know very well I've come to meet the woman you plan to marry."
His muttered imprecation barely registered as the small woman waved her hand toward Thea. "Come here, my dear. I have been waiting these past five years or more for my son to choose a bride. I wish to wait not one moment longer to meet you."
Thea felt inexorably drawn across the room by the woman's warmth and genuine desire to meet her.
She stopped in front of the other woman and remembered at the last second to curtsy as her mother had taught her. "It is an honor to meet you, my lady."
Lady Boyle nodded her approval. "Nicely done, Miss Selwyn."
Amusement lurked on the edges of Thea's lips as she curtsied toward the old woman. "Thank you."
"Ah, she has a sense of humor and impeccable manners. I like that."
Thea's amusement vanished and she cast a worried frown toward Drake, but he was not looking at her. His attention was fixed on his mother as if he was trying to interpret her reaction to Thea.
It was left to her to tell the elegant Lady the truth. "I'm sorry to say my manners are sporadic. Mama and Aunt Ruth tried their best, but social rules on my island were not so strict as London. I'm afraid I have some terrible habits."
"Nonsense, gel. You are a sweet young lady, and so I've told my niece." Lady Boyle's championship was as pleasant as it was unexpected.
Surely the old woman was not blind to Thea's faults.
Even more shocking were Drake's words. "She is perfect, Mama. Do not let her convince you otherwise."
Thea spun to face him, her hands on her hips. "That is not what you told my aunt. You listed my shortcomings for her like a man intent on his last confession before going to meet his Maker. Does your own mother not deserve the same honesty?"
"But I have told her the truth, sweeting. You are perfect for me."
His words warmed her clear to her toes, and she had to clasp her hands to stop them from reaching out to touch him. "Oh, Drake…"
His eyes spoke a message she feared to translate as they stood in silent communication for several seconds.
Finally, he broke his gaze from hers and smiled at his mother over Thea's shoulder. "You will love her, Mama."
Blushing, Thea turned back to face his mother to find the dark brown eyes so like her son's glistening with moisture.
"My lady?"
"I am very happy at this moment, Thea. May I call you Thea?"
"Yes, of course."
"And you must call me Noreen, at least until you are married to my son. Then you will call me Mama."
Tears burned Thea's own eyes. "I would be honored to do so."
But her heart was heavy. She did not wish to see this woman hurt by the disappointment of a broken engagement. And it was apparent no other outcome could be expected. Lady Noreen loved her son and wanted to see him happily settled.
The deception of the engagement was taking on a life of its own.
Thea escaped to Lady Boyle's library and fell into the nearest chair. Slipping her shoes off, she wiggled her toes and wished she had the courage to lift her skirts and massage her feet. She didn't. Not after spending the entire day shopping in the company of her aunt, Drake's mother, and Lady Boyle. Those worthy ladies had taken it into their heads to help her prepare for the role of Drake's wife as well as to take her place in Society.
She didn't even bother to stifle a groan at the thought. How could she have allowed Drake to convince her to go along with his phony engagement scheme?
His arguments had seemed so sound in the carriage, when she was still feeling emotionally vulnerable from their discussion about her family. Now she was sure there had to be a better way to protect her aunt's reputation. She hated lying, and the deception had only just begun. Everyone she met from this point forward would believe that she was engaged to Drake.
He'd made sure of that by putting an announcement in both of the major London newspapers. She had protested the announcement as unnecessary, but he had said the damage was already done. Besides, he argued, his mother would expect it.
His mother.
Thea genuinely liked Lady Noreen. She was everything a lady of the ton was expected to be and yet she was also kind, loving toward her family, and fiercely protective of her son. It hadn't taken Thea any time at all to work out that Lady Noreen had remained unattached through her son's childhood so there would never be a risk of him being rejected and shunted off to live with relatives in some remote location.
She wanted only the best for Drake and had sacrificed her own pursuits to ensure he got it. Lady Noreen was in alt over his decision to wed, treating Thea just like the daughter she never had, which made the false engagement even worse, to Thea's way of thinking.
When she had brought her concerns on that score to Drake, he had dismissed them with the assurance he had no plans to disappoint his mother.
Was it any wonder she spent a good part of each day wanting to throttle him? Thea asked herself.
The confusing part was that she spent the rest of her time wanting to touch him. It was his close proximity. He never let her out of his sight, except when she went shopping with his mother and the others. He'd been quick enough to make himself scarce this morning when Lady Noreen announced their intentions.
Drat the man. If he was going to plague her, he should at least have the decency to stand by her during an ordeal like shopping for clothes in London. She tipped her head back on the chair and allowed her eyes to shut. She would rest for just a minute before tackling the ledgers again.
"My poor, exhausted darling."
Thea's eyes flew open at the sound of Drake's voice, but she had been half asleep and it took careful thought to reason out what he had said. When she did, she frowned up at him.
He loomed over her, looking altogether too tempting in his simple, elegant clothes. He made other men, particularly the London dandies she had seen, look foolishly ornamented.
"So, you have come out of hiding now that the torture is over."
He widened his eyes innocently. "Torture? I thought you went shopping."
She straightened in the chair and groaned loudly at the stiffness in her body. "Same thing. Have you ever been shopping with your aunt?"
He put out his hand and she took it. Pulling her to her feet, he said, "Once. For some new gloves."
The mere mention of the word gloves made her shudder. Lady Boyle had insisted on buying gloves to match every one of the new outfits they had ordered, and she had made Thea try them all on, as if one pair of gloves were going to fit differently than another. "Then you have some small idea of what I have been through. I thought my aunt a frail old woman, but she and Lady Boyle left me gasping for air after the third modiste."
She hobbled after him on swollen feet as he pulled her across the room to a small sofa under the window. The light played over the crimson cushions invitingly. She liked Lady Boyle's library. Its quiet simplicity soothed her. The same books she had grown up reading graced the shelves and gave her a feeling of belonging amid this all too foreign environment. She loved the smell of rich leather and paper that permeated the room as well. It was so much better than the city smells that assaulted her the moment she left Lady Boyle's town house.
"I thought all ladies liked the excitement of buying a new wardrobe." She could tell from the devilment sparkling in his eyes that he was trying to bait her.
"Our aunts and your mother certainly do. Even if it is for someone else. In fact, I'm sure that aspect enhanced their enjoyment. They didn't have to suffer through the fittings."
He pressed her down onto the sofa. "But you did not enjoy it."
She glared up at him. "Do I look like I've had a pleasant afternoon? I spent hours being poked and prodded by women who must
have read the works of the Marquis de Sade."
He made a choking sound. "Do not tell me that you have read his work."
She was back to wanting to throttle him. "Of course not."
Drake nodded and joined her on the sofa. "So how do you know about him?"
"I was raised in the West Indies, not a convent. Sailors talk. Especially the French." How had they gotten onto such an obscure and uninteresting subject?
She wanted to tell him her complaints, not discuss sailors' gossip, but all thought of gossip and complaining went right out of her head when Drake lifted her feet into his lap.
Shifting the hem of her gown above her ankles, he exposed her feet. "You are wearing stockings."
Sometimes he said the strangest things. "Naturally. Have you not noticed how cold England is?"
His light touch made her insides put lie to her words. England, cold? Not at all.
"I was remembering the first time I saw you. You had your skirt up and were fanning your incredibly alluring ankles. Ankles covered with nothing but the hot Caribbean air."
His voice sent shivers up her spine. Alluring ankles? "I didn't know you were there." Her voice, which only moments ago had been waspish, now came out breathless. He had that effect on her.
* * *
Chapter 14
« ^ »
Ashby and Ruth are concerned that I spend too much time at the warehouse, that the company of sailors is not good for me or my small daughter. I have found the sailors to be an honest lot, for the most part, and though their conversation is colorful, I never feel threatened around them. I have had to be more circumspect with Thea, however. This morning she asked for a bloody biscuit. Ruth nearly fainted, but I fought a desperate urge to laugh.
October 12, 1803
Journal of Anna Selwyn, Countess of Langley
He laughed softly and began to massage the underside of one of her feet. "That is one of my favorite memories. You looked so uninhibited and blissful."
Blissful was having your feet massaged by an incredibly handsome man like Drake. She relaxed against the cushions of the couch.
"That feels so good." If she were a cat, she would have purred with the pleasure of it. However, she felt compelled to add, "I'm sure your aunt would have palpitations if she walked in and found you doing this."
His grin was wicked. "I locked the door."
Her gaze flew to the library door, shut firmly against intruders. "Lady Boyle will pitch a fit if she finds out."
He gave her a measuring look. "What did my aunt say that you are so concerned about her reaction?"
"She and my aunt spent the day lecturing me on the proper behavior of a woman affianced to the grandson of a duke."
"And Mama?"
"She showed considerable restraint and merely pointed out that as you move among the ton, I would be expected to do so as well. Do you have any idea how I dread disappointing your mother? I had to be on my best behavior every moment, and I hate lying to her."
"You really had a grueling day, didn't you?" The sympathy in his voice and magic of his massaging touch did a good deal to sooth her sensibilities.
"You cannot imagine how awful it was," she agreed. "I stood for hours being fitted for more gowns than I'll wear in a lifetime, much less this one short Season."
"And getting new clothes holds no appeal for you?"
She let her eyes flutter close, concentrating on the wonderful heat of his large hands on the pinched muscles of her feet. "It's just so different from my island. There, if Aunt Ruth wanted me to have a new dress, she and Melly made it. I never had to go shopping for fabrics." The prettiest textiles from all over the world came through their small port. "You would not believe how low the modiste wanted to cut the neckline on my gowns. England is much too cold to expose so much of my person to the elements."
He made a noncommittal sound and his fingers continued their ministrations.
"Doesn't it strike you as odd that I'm supposed to wear those horrible stays, several layers of petticoats and other undergarments, but expose my bosom to all and sundry?"
He chuckled.
"It is not a bit amusing…" Her voice trailed into nothingness as he began to rub the other foot also and her entire body liquefied. "Oh, that is just right."
"I am sure you told the modiste what you felt regarding current fashions." He still sounded amused.
"I did, but my aunt was most insistent regarding stays. She wasn't at all impressed with the findings of the American physicians."
"Lady Upworth convinced you to wear a corset?" He didn't sound pleased by the prospect.
"No. Thankfully, Lady Boyle stood up for me on that count and said one could not expect a lady raised in the wilds to adopt every English custom. I wasn't exactly raised in the wilds, but I didn't belabor the point. Arguing with your aunt is exhausting."
He moved his strong, warm fingers up to her ankles. Did he have any idea of the effect he was having on her?
Her legs tingled in the most amazing way, and a totally inappropriate desire for his hands to move higher beset her.
"And will the gowns show a great deal of your bosom?"
"What?" How could he expect her to think when her body was on fire?
He repeated his question, the amusement conspicuously absent from his voice.
"No. I was quite firm and would not allow her to cut them any lower than my current fashion. I have no intention of contracting the ague because the English style dictates too little fabric in one's gowns."
"Good."
She didn't respond. She was too busy trying to deal with the feelings elicited by the move of his hands from her ankles to the lower portion of her legs. He alternated between caressing her with soft light strokes and kneading her muscles. It felt delicious and relaxing, but also wonderfully intimate.
How had she gone so long without his touch? She wanted, no needed, to feel his hands on her bare skin again. All of her.
She opened her eyes and found him looking at her. The flames in his eyes matched the firestorm blazing inside her.
"Are you by any chance trying to seduce me?" she asked with mortifying breathlessness.
His fingertips inched above her knees, sending frissons of pleasure arcing up her inner thighs to the core of her. "Do you want me to?"
"Yes." Then the reality of what she was saying intruded. "I mean no."
She tried to pull her legs from his grasp, but he wouldn't let go. One hand held her legs while the other continued the incendiary caresses.
"We can't do this."
His fingertips slipped onto skin that no other man had ever touched. "Why not?"
For a minute she couldn't remember any good reasons to stop. She searched her mind frantically while his touch sent thought after thought flying to oblivion.
Oh, yes. "A baby. We might make a baby."
His hand did not still its movements. "That would be bad?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Feverish with excitement, she tried to remember why her getting pregnant would be a bad thing. The image of her body big with Drake's child was more alluring than any ankles ever could be, and it was only with great effort that she was able to remember her objection to the idea. "Then you would insist on marriage."
He leaned toward her until his lips almost touched her own. "Thea, you are a very intelligent woman."
"Thank you," she breathed.
"But sometimes your stubbornness overcomes your insight."
She frowned. What was he trying to say?
"I will insist on marriage anyway." Then his lips were on hers, hot and demanding.
Giving up any attempt at rational thought, she fell into the kiss with all the enthusiasm at her disposal.
Drake exulted in Thea's wholehearted response as his mouth devoured hers.
She writhed against him with the same sweet abandon that she had exhibited on the ship. Did she have any idea of the effect her passion had on him? Without breaking the kiss, he s
lipped his hands farther under her skirts and grasped her hips to pull her astride his lap until her unprotected feminine center was pressed close to the bulge in his pants.
She rocked against him and he came within a breath of exploding right then and there.
He cupped her bottom and forced her to still her movements. She groaned against his lips, shuddering. Using the same kneading movements he had on her feet, he caressed her backside, letting his fingertips stray to the apex of her thighs sporadically, until she was straining against his hands.
She tried to move herself against him.
"Wait, sweetheart. You aren't ready yet."
Eyes, unfocused in their passion, looked back at him disbelievingly. "I was ready days ago."
So she had been craving his touch.
He smiled. "I want you begging."
"I did the begging bit the first time. Couldn't we just skip that part and make love?"
He laughed at her serious expression. Suddenly it struck him how difficult it must have been for an independent and proud woman like Thea to ask him to make love to her, to beg as she put it. "Shall I beg this time?"
From the smile that transformed her passion to joyous delight, he assumed she liked the idea. He kissed the pink shell of her ear and nibbled on her earlobe.
She panted, pressing her breasts against him with her small, shallow breaths. "That feels good."
"Will you please allow me to make love with you?" He whispered straight into her ear, allowing his breath to caress sensitive nerve endings.
She shivered and started unbuttoning his shirt with impatient fingers. "If we do, you will think I have compromised you again."
She had that backward, but since she didn't sound as concerned as her words implied, he let it go and licked his way down her neck to her collarbone. "Please?"
She finished unbuttoning his shirt and slipped her hands inside, showing that no matter what she said, she did indeed want him. The feel of her small fingers playing across the heated skin of his chest made him swell more painfully against her.
"We aren't married, Mr. Drake. What would your aunt say?"