“She would simply realize the truth—that you had the barefaced effrontery to tell her a whopping lie to her face, and the ill manners to introduce her to your whore.” The thought of Mrs. Fitchett’s horror was almost enough to bring a smile to Sarah’s face. “No doubt she would turn you out of doors for it.”
“I like my apartments. Mrs. Fitchett doesn’t cheat me as much as most landladies would. I do not want to leave.”
“Tom, please be serious.” The room, which had seemed so comfortable and welcoming before, now felt like a prison whose walls were closing in around her. “This is not a joke to me. This is my life you are playing with.”
“I am deadly serious.” He ran his hands through his hair. “I like you, Sarah Chesham. I like you more than any other woman I have ever met. I like you enough to want to set up house with you and to spend my life with you.”
His plea touched her heart. “I have offered to be your mistress.”
“I could not live with the knowledge that you could up and leave me without a thought if you met a wealthier keeper. I want a permanent arrangement, not a temporary one.” His hands were on her shoulders and the warmth of his body was a comfort to her. “I want your life entwined with mine, so strongly that our ties to each other cannot be broken. That is why I want to marry you, Sarah. I want to be a part of you as you are a part of me.”
Desperately as she wanted to, she knew she ought not accept the gift he was offering her. It was too much for her to accept. “You want a great many things.”
“I cannot give you the sort of life you led at Mrs. Erskine’s establishment. I cannot give you a wardrobe full of fine silk dresses and a new pair of kid gloves every week.”
She shrugged. He did not know her very well if he thought that she hankered after such fripperies.
“I would not blame you if you liked that life too well to want to leave it for me. You are a beautiful woman, Sarah. Such a woman as you will have no shortage of wealthy protectors—wealthier by far than I am. I can offer you so much less.”
“I am only a milliner—and a whore. Nothing more. You offer me far more than I can ever deserve.”
“And I am a journalist who makes his money by exposing the dirty little secrets of the rich and titled.” He shrugged, his body warm against hers. “Marriage to me would not mean an entrée into society. I am tolerated by those on the fringes, and only because they fear the power of my pen. They would not like you any the more for marrying me.”
His self-criticism roused her to his defense. “You are more than your profession. They cannot know the real you if they do not love you as well as you deserve.”
He gave a self-deprecating smile. “I have a few genuine friends who would welcome you with open arms simply because I chose you. But do not be deceived—they are not society. I doubt your father would have approved of them.”
She turned her face to his shoulder. “My father would not have approved of what I have become, either.” The thought still pained her, even now.
Taking her face in his hands, he gazed searchingly into her eyes. “All my life, such as it is, I would like to share with you.”
Miraculous as it seemed, it appeared he really did want to marry her. She still could hardly believe it, but the truth of it was in his eyes. “You really do want me?”
“You have such strength and resilience that I cannot help but want you.”
Her resolve was weakening under his insistence. “Prove it to me. Kiss me and show me just how much you want me.”
“Will you promise to marry me in the morning?”
She had no more energy left to fight both him and her own desires. “Yes.” The word was barely a whisper in the darkness. Giving in to him felt like she was drowning in Paradise.
His embrace was almost painful in its intensity. “I have had your promise. You will not break your word.”
For better or worse she had made her decision and she would stick with it. “I will not break my word.”
He had wanted her so badly and for so long that it was sheer torture to have to maintain his self-control. For Sarah’s sake, he had to. Keeping a tight rein on his lust, he undressed her slowly, taking as much care of her torn clothes as he would of the finest silk. With his gentleness he would atone for the harm that Sir Richard had inflicted on her. “You are shivering.”
“I want you so badly,” she confessed to him in a small voice, her arms reaching for him. “I never knew before I met you how much I could want a man.”
The knowledge that she needed him as badly as he needed her was a powerful aphrodisiac.
Gently he ran his hands over her naked mound, stroking her pussy as tenderly as he could. “Are you sure you want me to make love to you?” He forced himself to ask the question, though he would die if she refused him now. “Sir Richard did not hurt you too badly?”
She moved her legs wider apart, nudging his hand in between them, encouraging him to explore her body. “He beat me and bruised my wrists, but you saved me before he could hurt me any further. Any hurt he caused me will be gone as soon as you make love to me.”
“In that case,” he said, picking her up and carrying her into his bedroom, “I had better hurry.”
The wax candles beside the bed gave off a muted glow and the eiderdown was soft on his back as he came to lie beside her.
The whiteness of her naked body gleamed in the soft candlelight.
With tender fingers he stroked her breasts, her stomach, her thighs, glorying in the sight of her. Her beauty and her generosity overawed him and made him want to give back to her all that she had given him and more.
This night she would lose her virginity in earnest—not to Sir Richard, but to his own tender loving. He would show her what true lovemaking was all about.
Sarah’s fingers were at his shirt buttons. “I want to feel your naked skin against mine,” she whispered, as she unbuttoned his shirtfront and slipped his jacket and shirt off his shoulders.
He could not help a smile of satisfaction. He’d waited weeks for her to say those words to him.
Her fingers moved tantalizingly over his torso, touching and caressing him until they stopped at the waistband of his trousers.
If she wanted him to stop now, he would stop, even if it killed him.
“I want to see all of you.”
He groaned with relief. She wasn’t going to stop him.
With a few deft moves, his trousers and underlinen lay discarded on the floor.
Her eyes grew wide in the candlelight as he approached her. “You are big,” she murmured. “Much bigger than…” Her voice trailed away into nothingness.
“I will not hurt you.”
“I hope not,” she said doubtfully, reaching out and stroking him with one fingertip. He arched his back and nearly came in her hand there and then.
“You will soon learn to appreciate my endowments,” he murmured, hanging on to his self-control by a thread. Desperate to possess her, he pushed her onto her back and knelt above her, his erect cock nudging between her thighs. “Open your legs for me.”
Hesitantly, she did just that, allowing him his first clear sight of her pink cunt lips.
He reached down and touched her there, sliding one finger inside her. Her pussy was hot and warm, and as wet as he could have hoped for. Her hips moved against his hand, urging him on to push deeper into her.
He could not wait any longer to take her. Spreading her legs apart, he nudged the tip of his ravenous cock into her pussy.
Her muscles tensed around him and she gasped, but she did not pull away.
He held himself still, the tip of his cock just inside her, until he felt her relax around him.
“That is n-not so bad,” she stuttered.
“Only not bad?” he queried, as he pushed into her a little way farther. “I cannot be doing it right.”
Again she tensed up, and again he held still until she melted around him.
“It’s better than not bad,” she adm
itted, a little breathlessly. “Indeed, it’s r-rather nice.”
If it got any nicer than this, he was going to disgrace himself and go off half-cocked. Slowly he withdrew a little way, steeling himself to regain control.
She made a moan of protest and grabbed tightly to his buttocks.
“I’m not going to leave you. Just positioning myself,” and he pushed into her more deeply, “for that.”
This time she did not tense up against him, but arched into him as he thrust so that he went deeper than he intended until he was buried in her up to the hilt.
Though he was aching to fuck her hard and fast and pound her into oblivion, he held tight to his self-control.
Gently he rocked her back and forth, impaled on his ironhard cock, wringing every drop of sensation from her. He wanted to show her that there was more to fucking than violence and aggression. He needed to give her pleasure and introduce her to the joy that was to be found in the embrace of her lover.
Droplets of sweat were dripping off his brow when finally she gave a choked cry and he felt her convulse around him. The clenching of her pussy muscles around his cock was too much for his overtaxed restraint. With a cry almost of anguish, he thrust into her hard and fast until the waves of his own pleasure overtook him and he spent his seed inside her until his body was wrung dry.
Exhausted, he collapsed beside her, pulling the bedcovers over them both to protect them from the chill of the night air.
As he drifted off to sleep, he felt Sarah’s hand creep into his, and her soft voice in his ear whispered, “Thank you.”
Before noon of the following day, Tom stalked in through the open door of Mrs. Erskine’s sitting room without waiting to be announced.
Mrs. Erskine was sitting at her desk, scratching away with her pen in a large ledger. She looked up when Tom entered and waved at him to sit down. “Mr. Wilde. What brings you here so early in the day?”
In no mood for pleasantries, he remained on his feet, responding to her greeting with a curt nod. “You will return the money to Sir Richard.” His voice was pure steel.
“I will?” she asked, her voice instantly frosty. Her pen lay idle on the blotter, her fingers now steepled in front of her chin. “On whose say-so?”
“On mine.”
“Do not be foolish. I gave you a chance to purchase the girl but you refused.”
“And I would suggest banning Sir Richard from your coffee house in the future.”
Mrs. Erskine looked down her nose at him. “Now why would I do that?”
“He attacked one of your girls and very nearly raped her. He would have succeeded if I hadn’t arrived just in time to save her.”
“Sarah?”
He nodded.
“Ah, I wondered where she had run off to.” She gestured to the note on her blotter in front of her. “I was just about to alert the constabulary to the fact she was missing—along with some very expensive clothing she had borrowed from me.”
“I took her away with me last night. Thanks to Sir Richard, her expensive clothing is now ruined.”
“I will add it to his bill.”
“You will allow him to return?”
Her eyes glinted with avarice. “What is it worth to you to have him banned?”
“I will write a short pamphlet that will mention, among other details, how he has been banned from a certain house for ungentlemanly behavior. By the time I have finished with him, his reputation will be in tatters and no respectable person, man or woman, will want to be seen with him.” He smiled grimly. Very soon Sir Richard would rue the day he laid hands on Sarah. “For the right incentive, I will make it subtly clear whose house it was, where it can be found, and what ser vices can be obtained there.”
She was too canny to smile, but the look of delight that flashed in her eyes betrayed her excitement at the prospect. “The publicity would be worth something,” she admitted grudgingly.
“You know perfectly well that it would more than make up for the loss of Sir Richard’s contribution. Not to mention, your girls would feel safer if he was banned. It would serve as a warning for other gentlemen not to take what is not freely offered—and paid for.”
She gave a decisive nod. “I will inform Sir Richard that his company is no longer agreeable to me. And Sarah? Where is she?”
“My wife,” he emphasized, “is in the front parlor drinking a cup of tea.”
“Your wife?” The look on her face was of amusement rather than surprise.
“My wife.”
“Please bring her in.”
Tom hesitated.
“I would like to see with my own eyes that she has suffered no lasting harm from Sir Richard. I am sorry for the girl—I do not countenance such behavior in my house.”
Tom felt Sarah’s arm tremble in his as he led her through the dark passageway to Mrs. Erskine’s sitting room.
Mrs. Erskine regarded her with a mild air. “So, Sarah, you are to be married to this scoundrel?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You could have done a good deal better for yourself. I was expecting you to snare a handsome young baron at the very least, or an elderly coal merchant with more than enough money to spend on fripperies for a young mistress.”
Tom frowned at her.
“But I daresay Mr. Wilde will treat you handsomely enough.” She coughed. “As for Sir Richard, he will be dealt with.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Now that the two of you are to be married,” she continued, “I have something I must give you.” With one hand she pushed her pince-nez glasses up her nose while with the other she opened one of her desk drawers and rummaged about in it for a minute. “Ah, here it is,” she said, bringing out a square of pasteboard and holding it out to Tom.
There was an address written on it in an elegant script—he recognized neither the address nor the handwriting. He turned it over, hoping for a clue to its purpose, but the other side was blank.
“That is my sister’s address.”
“Your sister?” Sarah ventured, looking over Tom’s shoulder at the card.
“She runs an establishment the pair of you might like to explore together,” Mrs. Erskine said, a rare smile creeping over her face. “An establishment for the entertainment of adventurous married couples.”
Tom shot a sidelong glance at Sarah. Her lips were pursed, but there was a definite gleam of interest in her eye. His cock sprang to attention at the thought that she would adventure there with him. When an opportune moment arrived, he would have to explore that subject a little further.
But not right now. He took Sarah’s arm and ushered her to the door. Mrs. Erskine was part of their past, not of their future. “Good-bye.”
Mrs. Erskine sat waiting as the couple walked out of her office. Had she misread the pair of them? She did not think so, but she had been wrong once before. Very, very wrong.
There were sounds of scuffling, and the whisper of a muted giggle reached her from the corridor.
Tom stuck his head back around the door. “We will give your sister your regards,” he promised, a merry glint in his eye, and disappeared into the corridor once more.
Mrs. Erskine picked up her pen again, a satisfied smile firmly planted on her face.
She had not been wrong. Her sister would be pleased.
LEDA SWANN is the pseudonym for a writing team, the first half of which was born in Tennessee and brought up (mostly) in New Zealand. She has also lived in half a dozen U.S. states, as well as En gland and Wales. She finally moved back to New Zealand with her life and writing partner. The other half of Leda Swann has also lived most of his life in New Zealand, when he wasn’t working or traveling in Asia. These two halves have settled by the beach in a small coastal community in NZ, where they plan to live happily ever after.
Border Lord
Julia Templeton
To my sister Jana,
who shares my love
of romance novels and Scotland.
Love you much!
1
The Priory of Grace, Scottish Borderlands
Present-day
The priory with its amazing Gothic architecture and stained-glass windows caught Terri’s eye, and on a whim she stopped.
She needed the time to rest anyway and think about her future…now that she knew the truth about her fiancé.
No wonder Elliott had seemed so distant of late. After a restless weekend he had woken at the crack of dawn, saying he needed to get to their London office early.
Certain his worries had to do with the new Egyptian artifact exhibit coming that day, Terri took a shower and arrived to work two hours early to help.
Instead of finding Elliott knee-deep in paperwork, she found him fucking her twenty-year-old assistant, right there on his prized Edwardian desk. The very desk Terri had given him for his fortieth birthday. Stunned, she watched in silent horror as the girl she’d hired some three weeks before reached a staggering climax.
Terri walked out of the museum as fast as her feet would carry her. Feeling as though her heart had been ripped from her chest, she stepped into her Mini Cooper and started driving.
That was two days ago. Now she was in Scotland, confused, angry, and in of all places, an old priory, much like the one in which she had planned to marry Elliott next summer.
There would be no wedding now.
Adjusting the rearview mirror, Terri winced at her reflection. Her red-rimmed eyes were puffy and swollen from crying, and her cheeks deathly pale.
Pulling her blond hair up into a ponytail and adding a spot of blush to her pale cheeks, she joined a tour in progress.
“Please, everyone, no crowding.”
Terri glanced at the flushed, middle-aged tour guide, a jovial Scottish woman, who tried with little success to keep the small group in line.
“What’s that door there?” an old man with thick glasses asked, pointing toward a solid mahogany door with a heavy board across it.
The tour guide smiled widely. “Ah, good question. That is the door Laird Brochan Douglas broke down to steal away Annabelle MacLellan, Laird MacLellan’s only daughter. Legend says that Annabelle’s father, knowing Douglas would seek revenge over the murder of his brother, spirited his daughter away from Castle Blackcurn, here to the Priory of Grace. The old laird felt that the only safe haven for his daughter would be here with the nuns.”
Parlor Games Page 17