This time, she removed her slipper. Then, she moved her foot over, and when she came in contact with Heathcliff, she met his gaze. Brazenly, she traced her foot up his calf, her stockings doing little to hinder the intense feeling of his body against hers. She inched higher, watching as his eyes darkened, his breathing seeming to stop, and he watched her with the hungriest expression.
Her courage almost failed her as she inched higher, but she continued till her leg was fully outstretched, brushing against the outside of his thigh, feeling the heat radiating from him.
“I truly wish the pheasant would cool faster. It’s blazing hot,” Lucas said. It was a rather awkward statement, and Samantha tore her gaze away from Heathcliff, only to see that her brother-in-law wasn’t looking at his food but at her, and with a quite pointed expression.
Properly chastised, she gave an apologetic smile, and turned to Heathcliff, who seemed utterly unrepentant.
Liliah, to her credit, kept her gaze downward, but a knowing smile was tipping her lips.
Samantha’s gaze darted back to Heathcliff, and he met her regard with an amused expression of his own.
Dinner passed with less scandal than it had started, and soon the gentlemen stood, with Samantha and Liliah following suit.
“It’s been quite an evening, and I think my wife and I will take our leave.” Lucas approached his wife and gently placed his hand on the small of her back.
“Just an eventful evening?” Heathcliff asked, his tone wry.
“A gross understatement; my apologies.” Lucas gave a nod.
Liliah moved from around the table to approach Samantha “I’ll see you in the morning, bright and early. Get your rest, love.” Then, in a softer tone, she added, “I’m certain you’ll be needing it.”
Samantha ’s face heated at the implication, and bid her sister good night.
Lucas’s carriage was ordered, and soon they were on their way.
Samantha watched the carriage roll away through the foyer window, then turned to the stairs. Though she had scarcely had a good night’s sleep the night before, she was restless and not tired in the least. Heathcliff was waiting in the hall, and she turned to him, her lips bending into a grin as she noted the way he glanced to his study, then to the stairs, then to her. She couldn’t resist teasing him. “Confused, my lord?”
He grinned. “With you, constantly.”
“Unfair,” she baited.
“Very fair, I believe.” He approached her then, his eyes warm and his smile enticing. As he drew near, he whispered softly, “If you’re not pretending to be a governess, you’re seducing your employer under the dinner table. I nearly choked to death.” He shook his head, scolding, though his eyes danced.
“I shall remember never to flirt with you again if it’s such a danger to your health, my lord,” she replied, but her voice didn’t hold the teasing tone she’d had earlier. In such close proximity, she found herself breathless.
“I don’t remember asking you to stop your flirtations. Nor was I complaining. I enjoyed them very much, and if they were a true danger to my health, I’d count it a worthy way to die.”
“Quite the melodramatic statement,” Samantha remarked, gazing into his eyes, losing herself in their depths.
“Quite a powerful flirtation.”
“I thought you said it was a seduction,” Samantha whispered, wishing his lips were closer, wishing they weren’t in the foyer, but in a more secluded place.
“Flirtation and seduction are often found in each other’s company,” he answered, leaned forward as if to kiss her; then, just when she leaned in to meet him, he withdrew. “I think we’ve endured enough temptation for one day.”
Samantha tried to think of an adequate reply, but her wits eluded her. All she could think of by way of a response was that temptation clearly had no real limit . . . at least in her perspective. She would have gladly continued to tease, taste, and tempt. Gladly.
“I’ll see you in the morning.” He gave her a curt nod, as if he were discussing an Act of Parliament, then bowed.
Samantha wasn’t sure why his demeanor had so quickly changed, and she waited for an explanation. But rather than offer one, he turned on his heel and walked up the stairs in a very resolute manner.
That was not how she had hoped the evening would end. She waited a moment, to see if perhaps he would change his mind, but when she heard a firm shutting of a door, she gave up hope and walked up the stairs herself.
Maye was waiting for her in her chambers, with a bath drawn. Samantha thanked the maid for her kindness, but her reply was that Mrs. Keyes had ordered it as soon as dinner was finished.
Mrs. Keyes: Samantha would have to thank her. Not only had she thought of this kindness, but she’d wisely taken Iris to have a private supper earlier. That way, if there needed to be further discussion on any sensitive topics, they could speak freely at dinner. The woman thought of every detail, and Samantha was intensely grateful.
Soon she was slipping out of her day dress and stepping into the warm, lavish water of the bath. Lavender floated in it, scenting the air. The water was just cooler than hot, and her body seemed to melt into it as she immersed herself in the luxurious warmth. Maye proceeded to unpin her hair, and the mass came down, dipping into the water. Samantha adjusted her position in the bath and leaned forward, allowing Maye to pour a pitcher of water over her head. The warmth seeped into her bones, and she began to feel the weariness of too short a sleep the night before. In short work, her hair was scrubbed with lavender soap and then rinsed. It was peacefully quiet in her room, and she rested in the bath for a few moments. The sound of boots striding down the hall had her opening her eyes and instinctively glancing to the door, but nothing came of the noise, even though she swore she could hear the footsteps pause just outside her door. She shifted in the water, splashing a small amount onto the wood floor.
Maye quickly cleaned up the wayward water, and when Samantha glanced back toward the door, the sound was no longer near.
About a quarter hour later, she was ready for bed, sinking into the lavish comfort of the feather bed. Her eyelids were heavy and her heartbeat had slowed, but the last thought that entered her mind was the memory of her sister’s words.
And she was quite certain she was correct in her assessment.
Tonight, she’d find her rest. For tomorrow, she was absolutely certain, there would be little sleep. And with that delightfully wicked thought, she smiled and drifted to sleep.
Chapter Thirty
Heathcliff bit his tongue to keep from swearing as he walked past Samantha’s room on his way to the breakfast room. The memory of last night’s ill-executed idea washed over him with new temptation. He’d be stalwart in his resolve to keep himself from her, from tempting himself to anticipate their marriage vows. It would be so easy; he knew it would only take two, maybe three kisses and a well-placed caress to encourage her to allow him more-than-generous liberties. He’d remained strong in his resolve till he’d walked into his room, and the memories flooded back from that morning. As far as proposals went, his wasn’t the least bit romantic, but it was probably the most determined. But the outcome was exactly as he wished, and in a few short hours, she would be his. And those hours seemed quite the permeable and permissible barrier to pleasure, and one leniency led to another, till he found himself quite convinced it was a capital idea to, at the very least, kiss his soon-to-be wife good night.
So, with his less-than-honorable intentions, he’d strode down the hall, only to hear the softest splash coming from her room. She was bathing, and that knowledge allowed his imagination to spin in a myriad of delightful fantasies. He paused just outside her door, listening to the gentle stir of the water, knowing that her flesh would be slightly pink from the warm water, her cheeks rosy, her hair down and pooling at her shoulders . . . it was almost too beautiful to even picture. He heard a small gasp and wondered if maybe she suspected him, if perhaps she would call out to him. It was a farfetched f
antasy, but he waited, and before he could make a poor judgment, backed away and ran from the temptation. He shook his head, bringing his thoughts back to the present. The insistent rumble of his belly reminded him of his earlier intention of breaking his fast, and he continued on his way, casting a backward glance at Samantha ’s door.
The irony of things wasn’t lost on him. He took the stairs down, giving his head a slight shake. Samantha, had successfully escaped her father’s control, and in so doing, had created a situation where Heathcliff was constantly trying to escape from the temptation she presented. It was oddly poetic and apt in representing his life.
For pity’s sake, he was a partner in the Temptations club! Yet, as soon as Samantha had become part of his world, he’d been trying to resist the temptation she offered, when he’d made his livelihood telling men to give in to that very temptation.
Who said God didn’t have a sense of humor?
He walked down the hall, his boots making a slight click against the tiled floor, and he veered left into the breakfast room. Cook had set out a smallish meal, and he was intensely grateful. Soon Lucas and Lady Liliah would arrive for the wedding breakfast, but that would be a little later in the morning, and he was quite certain he would be utterly distracted by the vision of his wife-to-be, and the anticipation of making her his, finally. He doubted he’d be inclined to partake of the feast Cook was surely preparing.
Unless Cook prepared treacle tart. He belatedly wished he had mentioned that to Mrs. Keyes. After all, it was his wedding breakfast; shouldn’t his favorite treat be served? He lifted a plate and filled it with several pieces of toast and some jam before sitting down and reaching for the tea.
Shortly after breaking his fast, he noted the time and took the opportunity to write to Ramsey. The sooner the better, and if he posted the letter today, the news of his marriage would start to circulate in London. Samantha would be safer once the word had been established. He’d submit an announcement to The Times as well. Crossing every T and dotting every I, Ramsey would approve of his plan. His friend was the most thorough of the three, and quite detail orientated.
As Heathcliff quit the breakfast room to his study, he made a mental note to request that Ramsey take any liberties he felt helpful in spreading the news. An announcement in The Times was standard for any marriage, but perhaps there was some detail Heathcliff was missing, and Ramsey would surely remember it. It was quite helpful to have such a friend.
He withdrew a piece of paper from his desk and dipped his pen in the black ink. After dispatching a letter to Ramsey, Heathcliff’s lips quirked into a grin, wishing he could have the added amusement of seeing his friend’s face upon reading the news. Then, Heathcliff withdrew another sheet of paper, this one addressed to the editor of The Times. He didn’t know the man personally, but the editor no doubt knew Heathcliff. It was always a boon when your reputation preceded you, and Heathcliff was certain the editor would be pleased to publish a bit of news before the ton was aware of it.
After calling for Sothers, and informing him to dispatch the missives, Heathcliff pulled out his watch and groaned.
He could begin to get himself ready, but it would be awfully early, and he found himself at odds as to how to proceed. He walked over to the window, his land stretching out before him in the morning sun. As they often did when he was in his study, his thoughts traveled to his father. A sad smile tipped Heathcliff’s lips. His father would have liked Samantha. Hell, he would have loved her. It was tragic that he’d only known Margot, that traitorous wench. It was astounding, really, how one person could poison another so deeply. He was shocked that he’d even considered marriage after the wound dealt by his first go at matrimony. But that was a testament to Samantha, not necessarily his character. She made him . . . hope. Really, it was as simple as that: hope. It was something he’d pushed away, ignored and feared for so long, and to experience it was soothing, astounding, and powerful.
He sighed as his brows pinched. But just because he had hope didn’t mean he didn’t fear. Fear of failure, of not being enough, or not being able to love Samantha as she deserved. He thought of Lucas and Lady Liliah. It was clear they held a deep affection for each other. If he couldn’t offer that depth of emotion to Samantha because of his brokenness, would she resent him? Could he endure that?
“Knock, knock.” Lucas’s familiar voice called out.
Heathcliff spun, half-startled by the interruption into his musings, and offered his friend a welcoming smile. “Too lazy to actually knock?”
“Yes. I’m still exhausted from yesterday.” As if to prove his point, Lucas yawned.
“I can see.” Heathcliff chuckled. “You’re early.”
“I thought I should be here for you, be supportive and whatnot.” He dusted his nails on his jacket and then regarded his friend.
Heathcliff narrowed his eyes. “Your wife told you to say that.”
Lucas nodded. “Yes, she did.”
Heathcliff shook his head. “Taking orders from a skirt?”
Lucas gave him an expression that brokered no argument. “You will soon too, and there’s no shame in it. I’ve learned my wife is often right. However, if you tell her, it will be pistols at dawn.”
“You can’t shoot to save your soul,” Heathcliff replied.
“Rapiers it is.”
Heathcliff winced. “I’ll take pistols. That way I can do away with your irritating self far quicker.”
“Afraid of a little blood?” Lucas teased.
“We’re far too evenly matched, and our wives would have to nurse us back to health. Together, no doubt. It would be a fate worse than death.”
“Hear, hear,” Lucas agreed, then changed the subject as he took a seat opposite Heathcliff’s desk. “Having any second thoughts?”
The question took Heathcliff by surprise, and he paused for a moment in confusion before saying, “About?”
“Samantha, you idiot.”
“Oh, of course not.” Heathcliff gave his friend an irritated glare. “Though she may be having second thoughts about me.”
“You’re far too hard on yourself. The girl clearly adores you, but why, I haven’t a clue,” he teased. “But to be honest, you’re well matched, and she does have a deep regard for you, which is more than encouraging.”
Heathcliff gave a thoughtful nod.
“And you care deeply for her, so what is there to be concerned about?”
“Not being enough.” Heathcliff spoke the truth before he thought better of it. That was the rub when with a longtime friend; the walls that were usually fortified were nowhere to be seen.
“I thought we’d discussed this,” Lucas said.
“That would imply I listened to you,” Heathcliff responded, then took a seat on the edge of his desk.
“Blast it all. Very well, just try. And when you do fail—because you will, we all do—be a man about it and say you’re sorry. And when she fails you—because she will—you forgive her. You don’t hold it over her head like some medieval sword. You let it bloody go.”
“A medieval sword?” Heathcliff asked. “That was the best metaphor you could think of?”
Lucas shot him a frustrated glare. “Is that the only part you heard?”
“No.”
“Good answer. And it was a metaphor that was quite apt. You have that ancient suit of armor in the hall; I see it every time I come in. It was quite poetic for me to use it in a turn of phrase.” Lucas shrugged, the gesture implying he was impressed with himself.
Heathcliff wasn’t in the mind to disagree, actually. Bastard had a point.
“By your silence, I can tell you agree.”
“Regardless, I see your point. And it is a valid one.”
“Very good. Now, Liliah is upstairs helping your bride get ready. Have you spoken to Mrs. Keyes yet? What of Iris?”
Heathcliff strode over to the bellpull and rang for a maid. “I haven’t asked Mrs. Keyes anything yet. I assumed she was quite busy with all
the undertakings of the day. But I’ll ask her to spare a moment to give us more details.”
“Good,” Lucas replied.
When a maid entered, Heathcliff bid her fetch the housekeeper, and soon she herself appeared.
“Good morning, my lords. How may I assist?” she asked, her face slightly flushed, as if still bustling about with preparations.
“I’m awaiting your instructions.” Heathcliff gave a charming grin aimed in her direction.
She arched a brow. “I’ve taught you well, I have,” she teased. “Your bride is up with her sister, as I’m sure you assumed. The breakfast will be ready in perfect time, and Iris is with me, assisting with the arrangements on the table. You’ll also be pleased to know I instructed Cook to prepare treacle tart.”
Heathcliff could have hugged her, but instead, he offered her a very grateful smile, and said, “Thank you. You’re the most wonderful housekeeper in the world.”
“How well I know it,” she answered with a cheeky grin.
“Well, it sounds as if the only thing left to do is prepare the groom.” Lucas turned to Heathcliff. “After you.” He gestured to the door.
“Am I being pushed out of my own study?” Heathcliff asked.
“Yes. Now hurry up. We don’t have all day.” Lucas sounded just like a demanding mother, and Heathcliff shot him a peevish glare.
“This is far too much fun.” Lucas grinned unrepentantly.
“I’ll return the favor someday.”
“I do believe I’m simply returning the favor. Remember, I’ve walked this road before you, my friend. And you were almost merciless.”
“I do believe that’s my cue to leave.” Heathcliff gave a mock salute to his friend and then gave a kind smile to Mrs. Keyes before heading down the hall and toward the stairway.
He passed the suit of armor and grinned. Bastard. From now on, whenever he passed the bloody thing, he’d think of Lucas and his horrible metaphor.
Escaping His Grace Page 21