by Cheryl Holt
Rebecca would be enraged, spurred to commit murder, which—considering her history—was no small concern. Jack would be disappointed by what he'd view as despicable conduct, and his attitude toward Ian as an idolized older brother would fade.
Yet, if Ian forged on, he would have thirty magnificent days with Caro. Each morning—for an entire month!—he'd jump out of bed, excited that she might be able to sneak away, that they might be together for a few minutes or hours.
Silly as it sounded, being with her made him happy, and when he'd always been so alone and unwanted, when contentment was so elusive, the chance for a temporary reprieve was enticing.
Could he agree? How could he not?
"Thirty days," he murmured.
"Yes."
"I can make you no promises." "Nor can I make any to you." "We'll have to be very careful." "That's putting it mildly."
"And I shall have to practice restraint—in my manly drives." "Don't you dare!"
"You must go to your marital bed a virgin." She sighed. "I suppose I must." "I'll ensure that you do."
"Before we're through, will you at least advise me as to what the loss of my virginity entails? I'd like to have some idea as to how it occurs so that I'll know when it happens."
"You'll definitely know."
"How?"
"It's a very physical endeavor." "What is involved?"
His cheeks flamed bright red. He had no notion of how to explain the ordeal. He had sex with women who were aware of what was required, and he couldn't imagine describing the details. She probably wouldn't believe him anyway. It would seem too odd.
"I'll show you as much as I can. We can come very close without actually progressing to the end."
"Marvelous."
"Yes, it will be. No regrets, Caro." "Nary a one, Ian."
He began kissing her again, and he was nervous as a lad with his first girl. Now that they'd decided to philander, he was so worried about pleasing her.
The rage he'd suffered at the theater had waned, and it had been replaced by a determination to make her happy. When their affair was concluded, and they went their separate ways, he wanted her to be glad for what they'd done.
He deepened the kiss, his tongue in her mouth, his hands on her breasts. He molded and shaped them, plucking at the erect nipples, but he couldn't stand that she was hidden from him. He fussed with the tiny buttons on her nightgown, but they were so difficult to open, and he quickly lost patience.
"I have to have you naked," he told her.
"Naked! Well..."
He was demanding too much, too soon, but he felt as if he'd been waiting all his life to be with her. He clasped the neckline and rent the garment down the middle.
"Ian! You can't be tearing off my clothes!" "Why not?"
"My maid will suspect what I've been doing."
"Burn it in the fire when we're finished."
At that moment, he was so aroused that he didn't care about such petty matters as clothes or a servant's opinion.
He yanked at the ruined fabric, pushing it to the side so that her front was exposed. He studied her nude torso, his hot attention drifting across her chest, her mons, her thighs. His loins lurched with potent delight, keen to be nearer, to explore in ways he oughtn't. "You're so pretty, Caro."
"Do you think so?" She flushed a charming shade of pink.
"Oh, yes. So pretty—and all mine."
He fondled her breasts, and at his touching her, bare skin to bare skin, she hissed and arched up, trying to escape, but to offer more of herself, too.
"This is how I want you," he stated. "I want you naked and aching for me."
"Oh, that feels so good."
"And it's about to feel even better."
He abandoned her mouth and blazed a trail to her bosom, his hungry lips eager to nurse at her nipple. He suckled, being hard and rough, keeping on till the tip was raw and inflamed; then he moved to the other and proceeded to do the same.
"Let me show you something," he said.
"What?"
"You'll see."
"Tell me!"
"No."
"Beast!"
"Always."
He continued down, nibbling her tummy, her abdomen. As he arrived at her womanly hair and prepared to delve inside, she raised off the pillow and glared at him.
"What are you doing?" she asked. "I'm going to kiss you here." "You are not." "I am."
"Ian!"
"Be silent. You wouldn't want anyone to catch us like this, would you?" "No."
"Then be quiet."
She flopped down, as he wedged himself between her thighs, planted so firmly that she couldn't shove him away. He parted her nether lips, his tongue lapping at her most secret spot, and her protests ceased.
He held her down, inflicting bliss, until she was moaning and forgetting where they were and what they were about.
"Hush!" he scolded. "Someone will hear."
"I can't help myself."
"You have to."
"Just finish it! I can't bear this torment."
"All in good time, my little beauty. All in good time."
"If you don't hurry, I shall have to kill you."
He laughed and took pity on her, dabbing at her sexual nub, once, again, and she came in a rush, a scream of pleasure billowing out. He grabbed the pillow and pressed it over her face to stifle the noise, but still, it was noticeable.
As she spiraled up, he froze, his ear toward the door. If anyone had been walking by, they'd have noted the commotion, but no one was there, and he breathed a sigh of relief.
He hated that this was how it would go. They would flirt and seduce, would trifle and tease, but they would be courting danger at every turn. When the passion they generated was so remarkable, the perils didn't seem fair.
She climbed to the peak and was floating down as he nuzzled up her body. He kissed her, and as she grinned and kissed him back, he decided that she was worth every risk.
She pulled him close and whispered, "You are so wicked."
"I try my best."
"I want to do it again."
"I'll bet you do."
"I want to do it all night."
"You can, milady."
"I love it when a man lets me have my way."
He gazed down at her, and the strangest sensation swept over him. He felt as if his heart didn't fit under his ribs, as if he was smiling—but on the inside. It had to be joy. There was no other sentiment that matched the queer, quivery feeling racing from his center to his extremities.
He rolled onto his back, with her draped across him. "Let me show you something else," he said. "I can hardly wait."
He reached for his shirt and started in on the buttons.
Chapter Nine
Isn't that Father?" "No, it isn't." Britannia ignored Caroline and stared straight ahead, refusing to glance down the street, for she was aware of what she'd see.
"I'm sure it's him," Caroline persisted. "There. In front of that tea shop." "You're wrong."
As far as Britannia knew, neither of her two children had a clue that the Earl was a lying, cheating scoundrel. It was a shame she'd sought to hide at all costs. She turned in the opposite direction, forsaking her trip to the milliner's. Caroline had no choice but to spin and follow.
'The weather is so dreary," Caroline complained. "I could use a hot refreshment. Shall we join him? I bet he'd be surprised."
I bet he would be, too, Britannia sourly mused. "We aren't chasing strange men into culinary establishments.
Honestly, Caroline, what's come over you? Would you hurry along?"
Caroline was keeping up, but barely. "I thought you wanted to buy a new hat."
"I have a headache, so we're going home."
"Who's he with?" Caroline was gaping over her shoulder, trying to unravel a mystery that wasn't a mystery, at all. "Why ... it's a girl. I don't know her, though. Isn't she a pretty little thing?"
"Well, that certainly proves it's not your
father. He wouldn't be off gallivanting in the middle of the afternoon. He has meetings with his land agent all day."
They arrived at her carriage, the footmen loafing and unprepared for her sudden reappearance. They jumped to attention and lifted her in. She pressed her bulky form against the squab, soothed by the dark confines, the soft feel and smell of leather.
Caroline was outside and still staring behind her, and Britannia snapped, "Caroline! Don't stand there gawking like a scullery maid. You're making a spectacle of yourself. Get in."
"In a minute, Mother."
"If you are not in this carriage in five seconds, we shall drive off without you."
"I'm coming; I'm coming."
Caroline's irritation was clear, so the footmen would have noted her pique, which would have them gossiping over Britannia's having raised a disrespectful daughter. Britannia was so angry that she yearned to lumber out and beat Caroline to a bloody pulp. Only the prospect that others might see kept her planted in her seat.
Something was bothering Caroline, and Britannia was sick of her moods and sass. One moment, she'd be smiling and happy, another miserable and morose. Had she heard the rumors about Edward? Was she reconsidering?
Caroline climbed in and settled herself, but she continued to peek out the curtain. "Mother?" "Yes?"
"Does Father have a... a... mistress?"
"Don't be ridiculous."
"But what am I to think?"
"It wasn't the Earl!"
"Who was that girl with him?"
"Be silent!"
"But—"
"I don't have to sit here and listen to your rude insinuations." She started to tremble, her wrath bubbling up like soup in a pot. "If you mention the topic again, I shall slap your mouth."
The threat was sufficient. Caroline's curiosity was retracted and refocused inside the coach.
After a painful interval, she insolently inquired, "Do you ever regret marrying Father?"
"What a ludicrous question. Of course I don't."
"Are you satisfied with your life?"
"I'm perfectly content." Her face was so brittle, she was amazed it didn't crack.
Out of the blue, Caroline said, "I don't want to marry Mr. Shelton."
"So? No woman ever wants the man who is selected for her. You'll grow to tolerate him."
"I can't go through with it. Would you speak to Father?"
"No."
"Please?" "No."
"I can't do it."
"Your wishes have no bearing on the situation."
"Why can't I have an opinion? I'm the one who will have to live with him. Not you. I've heard terrible stories."
"They're not true."
"How can you say that when I haven't told you what they are?"
"It doesn't matter what they are."
Caroline studied her as if seeing her for the very first time, and in the worst display of sentiment, tears welled into her eyes.
"You don't care about me, do you?" Caroline accused.
"Don't be absurd. I'm your mother."
"You don't like me; you never have."
Britannia glared, her patience exhausted. If Caroline was determined to drag them into a mire, then Britannia would oblige her. As calmly as if they were discussing the weather, she replied, "No, I don't. Not really."
"Why not? Am I so unlovable?"
"You were a difficult child, Caroline."
"How? How was I difficult^. I did everything you ever asked. For years, at your insistence, I pursued my fruitless betrothal to Wakefield, and now, I've accepted this odious arrangement with Mr. Shelton, and I never once objected."
"Do you assume that makes you a saint?"
"Yes, that's precisely how I feel: Saint Caroline. I'm about to be sacrificed at the altar of your peculiar whim. You seem so bent on my marrying Mr. Shelton. Why are you?"
"Your father has decided on it." "You and Father were arguing one day. He said he's weary of supporting me. Was he serious?" "What do you suppose?" "Was he?" Caroline pressed. "Yes."
"If I backed out of my betrothal, would you let me continue residing with you?"
"No. I'd cast you out. You'd be disgraced, shunned by the entire world."
"I don't want to end up like you," she rudely pronounced. "I'll speak with Father, myself, about canceling the engagement."
"Yes, by all means," Britannia sneered. "Talk to him. Boast of how recalcitrant and ungrateful you've become. I'm sure he'll be delighted to have you tell him all about it."
"He's fond of me."
"Is he?"
"He'll listen."
"No, he won't. He's a selfish man—the most selfish I've ever known. You're naught but a bother to him, and if you presume differently, then you're a fool."
Declining to quarrel further, Britannia shut her eyes, pretending to doze, though her reflections were in turmoil.
Caroline had to marry Edward. There was no other choice.
All those years ago, when Edward had seduced Britannia, she'd believed his lies and had yielded to him, but he'd acted with malicious intent. At the liaison's conclusion, he'd waltzed away without a second thought, and Britannia had been left to suffer the consequences of his feigned regard—for twenty-five years!—while he'd suffered no consequences for his wicked deed, at all.
Well, revenge was a hearty meal, and Britannia had waited forever to dine on her feast of vengeance. With her scheme so close to fruition, she wouldn't be denied the chance to use Caroline to extract punishment. She had to see the expression on Edward's face when she informed him of what he'd actually done by marrying the girl who'd always been there—right under his nose.
Caroline would be his bride—whether she wished it or not—and if she was getting cold feet, it was time to move things forward. The wedding date wasn't set in stone, and perhaps it would be wise to hold it even sooner.
She nodded with satisfaction. Caroline would be wed before she knew it, and in the interim, Britannia would watch her like a hawk. The child was spewing strange ideas, and Britannia had to discover why.
Nothing and no one could be allowed to interfere with Britannia's plan.
Good-bye, darling." "Good-bye." "You'll talk to her, won't you?" "The moment I arrive home." Bernard smiled at Georgette, his latest in a long line of infatuations. He'd been in love so often, with so many pretty girls, but for some reason, she'd captured his fancy in a way none of the others had.
He didn't understand why he was so obsessed with her. He'd bribed her with gifts and courted her like an attentive swain, but she wouldn't succumb to his advances, and the more she resisted, the more he desired her. She was like a grand prize, being dangled just out of reach.
She was petite and slender, a waiflike creature, with beautiful brown hair and big brown eyes. She made him feel manly and strong, capable and indispensable to her happiness. When she gazed up at him, as she was now, looking innocent and adorable, so in need of his help and protection, it was difficult to refuse her anything.
"If you don't get the divorce arranged," she mentioned, "I'm not certain my mother will let you keep visiting."
"Why not?" The old bat was constantly hovering, so there could be no impropriety.
"She claims gossip is spreading."
The notion infuriated him. Why couldn't people mind their own business? His peccadilloes were his own private affair.
"What is being said?"
"Well, that you aren't sincere in your affection."
"Of course I'm sincere. How can you doubt me?"
"I don't! But Mother is afraid that you'll tire of me, and after you go, my reputation will be ruined. I won't be able to show myself in Polite Society ever again."
"I'll take steps to begin the legal proceedings at once."
Her grin lit up the room. "Do you promise?" "Yes, I promise."
She threw her arms around his neck and gave him the sweetest peck on the lips. At having her slim, tiny body crushed to his, he pulled her nearer and deepened the kiss, hi
s hands roving over her, his lust instantly out of control.
She submitted until he grazed her breast; then, breathless and overcome, she yanked away.
"Please, Lord Derby," she protested, "you know I can't."
"I know. Forgive me."
"It's torture, having to wait and wait for you to be free. I can't bear it."
"I can't, either. I'll speak to the Countess again."
"Will you?"
"Yes."
"You're too kind to me."
"And I'll be even kinder in the future." He gave her a parting, fatherly kiss on the forehead. "Now I must be off."
"Will you be by tomorrow?"
"Most definitely."
She escorted him to the door, waving merrily from the stoop till he was out of sight. The second he could no longer see her, he started missing her.
He couldn't go on as he was. Georgie was so vivacious and fun, and she made him feel twenty years old, like a young buck on the prowl. His world was all boring duty, all tedium and monotony, but when he was with her, he forgot his responsibilities.
He couldn't abide the thought of returning home, of sitting through another stuffy supper with Britannia. She'd be nagging. Caroline would be glaring at him, bitter over her pending nuptials. Adam—who'd discovered Bernard's passion for Georgie—would be piously reproachful of Bernard's late arrival.
He wanted to be separate and on his own. He would give the management of the estates over to his attorneys. Then he'd send Adam abroad so he didn't have to observe his surly face. He'd hurry Caroline's wedding to Edward, and he'd divorce Britannia.
There would be no one to interfere, no one to chastise or condemn. He and Georgie would be together at last!
Is he gone?" "Yes, thank the Lord." Shaking with relief, Miss Georgette Lane walked to the sideboard and downed three quick brandies, indulging her tendency to over-imbibe; then she went to the foot of the stairs as her mother, Maude, plodded down.
"I didn't think he'd ever leave," Maude muttered.
"Neither did I."
"Did he bestow any trinkets?"
"Not today."
"But you were with him all afternoon!" "I know." "Cheap bastard." "No, he's not."
Georgie defended him by holding up her hand to display two of the rings she'd received prior, but her mother wasn't impressed. Whatever Lord Derby opted to give, greedy Maude whined that it should have been more.
