She hesitated. He could tell she was deciding what to reveal. Would it be the truth or an invented story just to garner his sympathy and agreement? Did he care? It wasn’t as if he was ready to bare his soul, so who was he to judge? When she remained silent, he persisted, “Well? Have you need of me or not?”
“I do!” she sputtered, talking fast. “Aunt Prudence has been pushing suitors toward me for a while now, but this latest batch seems unaccountably determined, very unsavory, one in particular. He accosted me at the Farmingtons’ rout last week. If not for my quick actions, I shudder to think what might have become of me.”
Hmmm. Turning rather melodramatic, wasn’t she? Just how much was she embellishing this need of hers, for the protection of a false betrothal? “And what actions were those?”
“After he ripped my dress—”
She paused when a growl emerged from his suddenly tight throat. “Go on,” he gritted out past the restriction. If the blackguard had ripped her dress, by God, then nay, she wasn’t embellishing a lick.
“Well, after that…” A small smile curved her lips. “I allowed a rather heavy piece of statuary to connect with his head.”
“Allowed?”
“Heaved it with all my might, if truth be told.” She lifted one shoulder in a light shrug, that belied the seriousness of the situation she’d found herself in. “Both he and the statue toppled to the ground, but only the expensive plaster shattered, not the cheap buffoon, I’m afraid.”
“Good for you.” He no longer even cared what they were discussing. She was captivating his mind as much as she’d seduced his body.
“Lord and Lady Farmington were adamant that I no longer attend anything hosted in their home, no matter that they were great friends of my father’s.”
He laughed. “’Tis their loss.”
“And it will be mine, if you do not agree.”
Like a dog with a bone, she returned to the motivation behind this impromptu meeting. “When would it end? Our performance?”
Lord Farmington… Great friends. Montfort.
Recognition snapped like a bolt of lightning slamming into his heart. “You are the Duke of Swanhart’s only offspring?”
“Aye, the very one.”
Every person who wasn’t a complete chowder-head living in southern England knew of the Heartsick Duke, as he’d been dubbed, his first two wives dying in childbirth, his third suffering three miscarriages before birthing a healthy baby.
But not an heir, to the collective gasp of the ton, only a “mere” girl.
“I knew your father,” he managed to impart without a fleck of emotion. “He called on me once.” Upon news of his own father’s demise, the duke had arrived in person to honor his long-time friend, to pay his respects. Swanhart had offered to lend his support any way he could, left written recommendations on Runners, if the new marquis—Erasmus—wanted the suspicious circumstances of his father’s demise investigated, suggestions for solicitors, stewards, even a good vicar should his soul need nourished. He’d even come laden with foodstuffs and pantry supplies, offering a stunned, grieving man of nineteen all manner of support.
And this was his Infamous Miracle Child? A babe magical enough to be born healthy to an older duke yet defiant enough to be born female?
Gads. Even more reason to help her.
“Your mother?” he asked and his somber tone wasn’t feigned in the least. He’d mourned privately upon news of the duke’s death, listened with interest to the gossip over lack of obvious heir…just rumors of some distant relative off in the Americas. “What became of her?”
“They perished together, my lord. Carriage accident. A rainstorm…a ravine.” He saw her lips tremble before she firmed them, heard the shaky inhalation she couldn’t stem. “And to this day, speaking of it is difficult for I miss them both terribly.”
“Then, pray, do not talk of it further.”
She accepted the counsel with a gracious nod. “Once I turn five and twenty, my inheritance will be released into my control and I will no longer be under Aunt Prudence’s thumb,” she resumed her narrative, even as his mind swirled at the prickles of added responsibility. “The position is not a comfortable one, I assure you.”
“I do not doubt it.” His lips curved in a reluctant smile as his admiration grew. Your father would be pleased with how elegant and articulate you have become, he thought but knew better than to say.
“I realize my situation may not sound severe, but I have been besieged by suitors in recent months and here I thought my advanced age would have put them off by now. A distasteful lot—men quite unfamiliar to me or those with unsavory reputations. Aye!” She hurried on before he could interrupt—wanting to scoff at the idea of anyone considering this young miss plagued by “advanced” age. “Before you argue, men with reputations as grieviously lamentable as your own, but ones without your trustworthy character.”
And while that unexpected praise threatened to make him lose his head, she kept on, still speaking swiftly and yet with an edge her quiet words had lacked before. “Men I have no desire to become conversant with, much less legally bound to. Men overeager for my hand that I could not trust to enact the farce. Nor to end it. Several of them have become insistent of late, pressing their address regardless of my wishes and completely ignoring my staunch refusals.”
“You ignored my refusal earlier tonight,” he reminded her.
“Only because you had not yet heard me out.”
“You have my full attention at present. Why me, specifically?”
“Your reputation, for one. It will quite unhinge my aunt.” Her dimpled smile charmed him. “And yet, you are still welcomed throughout society. Add that to your title, and you should see why you alone are perfect for my needs.”
He sensed there was more, something—or mayhap several somethings—she wasn’t telling him, yet, truth be told, every minute spent in her presence mitigated his desire to protest, to turn her away and have nothing more to do with her. He was almost relieved when she continued her logical-sounding litany.
“As a duke’s daughter, I dare not attempt the pretense with anyone holding a title lower than yours. My aunt would not possess the audacity to proclaim you an unfit suitor in public. I shall only have to endure her vocal protestations in private. I am counting on our courtship to shield me from her overzealous efforts and the unwanted beaus who hound me like the plague. I do not know where she dredges up these relentless rakes, but I am not interested in marrying. She pointedly refuses to accept that.”
“Does it not occur to you that she covets your money?”
“It has, but Papa left her a considerable sum in his will, to compensate her for my care, as well as a portion just for her. He also provided generous dowries for both my cousins, to the chagrin of my uncle, if truth be told.”
“Your aunt obviously thinks she is entitled to more.”
“But I offered!” Lady Francine paced a few steps away, then returned, her growing agitation palatable. “Thinking that was why she seemed so determined to marry me off but only to men she approved of, I asked her if she needed additional funds but she declined, affronted by my even approaching her. With both my cousins recently becoming engaged, I thought her attention would turn to planning their weddings, but no, her efforts only seemed to have redoubled in my direction. I can only assume, then, that ’tis my presence she finds objectionable. She chastises her daughters if they emulate any part of my person or behavior. Heaven forfend they order a bonnet like mine or express an interest in learning anything beyond watercolors, embroidery or how to set a fine and boring table. Nay, it is me she objects to. I intend to move out and live on my own the moment I am in possession of my funds.”
“And you believe masquerading with me would enable that to occur?”
“I do, while giving me a modicum of peace in the meantime. I confess, hearing my reasons out loud, even I begin to fear they sound paltry. I have lived under these circumstances for years, why can
I not continue a few weeks longer?” Her chin firmed, tilted once more until she regained his gaze. “Because they do not feel the same, I tell you. She harbors such growing animosity toward me and I am clueless as to its source. Her determination has escalated to the point I confess to having lost far too much sleep over puzzling a solution. Will you help me, please?” She stared at him with an open, endearing expression, one that made him long to grant the peace she so craved. But that wasn’t all he wanted to give her…
Her spirit, her intellect—even her determination—they drew him as much as the outward package.
How he wanted to bend her over, forge his way through her tight crevice and plow into her sweet depths, scrape his nails along the skin of her back and taste the delicate flavor of her nape. By the saints, he wanted, no needed, to corrupt this not quite pure innocent. What did that say about him? The irresponsible actions of his grandfather had done more than damn their family. It seemed, with his current inexplicable affection and predilection toward corrupting Lady Francine, they had damned his soul as well.
“Please.” She interrupted his ruminating.
So he barked, “What?”
“Consider.” A plea. Heartfelt.
“Considering.”
“Hmm…”
He grunted, his mind racing. Running over reasons why not. Clinging to the reasons why.
“Still?” She actually let more than thirty seconds pass that time.
Had he ever before bantered wits with any female? Had he ever enjoyed an initial conversation with one as much? Nay, never. “Aye.”
“Still?”
“Unrelentingly.”
“Harrumph.”
At that, he couldn’t quite stifle the foreign snicker that emerged, that turned into a full-out laugh. “Vexing baggage or not, you are quite unexpected.”
“Exceptional.”
All right. He’d play again. “Entertaining.”
“Vastly.”
“Moderately.” Best not let her charms—nor how they affected him—go to her head.
“Enticing?”
“Enough.”
“Engaging?” With just the right amount of emphasis to bring them back to why she’d approached him in the first place. An engagement. The protection he could offer. Or so she thought.
“Enough!” he all but roared, trying to maintain his outward expression of hauteur. It didn’t alarm her one bit.
“Enjoying?” This asked quietly, that beautiful, soothing tone wrapping around him in such a way he wanted nothing more than to curl around her and purr.
“Exquisitely.” Why had he not met her sooner? Sought her out before? Claimed a dance? A carriage ride? Her body?
Responsibilities.
An absent brother. A missing cousin.
And lest you forget, you could turn into a damn lion at any time and eat her for breakfast.
Eat her? For…breakfast?
Which would imply they’d spent the night together…
Which would become a reality, if he agreed to her terms.
And suddenly, he—the man who put responsibility toward others before himself since the moment his father died and he assumed the title—wanted nothing more than to selfishly consent.
Ensnared by an innocent. What was his world coming to?
“Very well. I agree.” He was a weak, weak man.
“Only…” Of a sudden, she hesitated. What now? “I do not want any unintentional consequences. Can you prevent conception?”
Of course he could. And that she’d asked it so plainly? At that, his respect notched higher. “I have never sired a babe and have no intention of starting now,” he told her in all honesty. “Aye, I can prevent it. Ensure there is pleasure between us but naught else.”
“Very well, then. We are of one accord? You will pose as my betrothed?”
“I will, and I shall also awaken your body to the pleasures to be explored between us. With one stipulation,” he added when she started to look more joyful than he had a right to even behold. “I will squire you about town and effectively put my claim on you in order to protect you from any further offers or unwelcome suitors. However, regarding the physical aspects of our association…”
“Yes?”
How in the hell could he phrase this delicately, yet still convey the potential danger?
He couldn’t and gave up trying. Better to scare her off now and forgo any momentary oblivion he might find in her arms than to suffer—or force her to suffer—anything like what his cousin once caused. Poor Phineas. Losing his wife like that.
Nay! I’ll not have spirited Francine’s demise on my conscience. Never that.
Blakely stepped forward and grabbed her hand. Roughly, he placed it on his cock, curving her fingers around the width of his mounting erection and holding them there when she instinctively attempted to pull away. “My sexual proclivities are renowned for a reason. I have extensive appetites. Ones I am not sure you can satisfy or will even want to.”
Her fingers flexed, tightened on his shaft. Now that her initial reluctance had waned, curiosity seemingly took its place. “Oh but I do. I want to experience what all the fuss is about and, as I have no intention of marrying in truth, this is a prime opportunity.”
“Your flattering words make me feel so very wanted,” he said sarcastically, hating how he even cared that he was being used simply because she was curious. And hating how his body responded so furiously to her hesitant explorations. All thought and will centered in his groin— and both were disintegrating by the moment.
“I did tell you that I approached you before asking any others. That you were my first choice.” Her fingers prodded and probed, causing him to swell under their regard—even after he lifted his away and off, clenching his fists at his side. “In truth, you are my only choice. The list, the others… Those were clankers. Forgive me?”
If she continued to explore him just so, he’d forgive her anything.
Since when are you so far gone for a female? One who’s made it a habit to lie?
Biting the edges of his tongue to distract his mind from the journey her fingers took along his length, he gritted out, “No more bounders. Not a one. Lie to me again and our association is over.”
He had to be able to trust her—if he had any hope of keeping her safe.
“Never again. I promise.”
“In turn, I will tell you that I shall endeavor not to be seen with another woman during our farce, which would likely cause speculation. In exchange, I require that you make yourself available to me anytime I desire it and absent yourself when I require that as well.” There. If he felt his control slipping, he’d simply order her from his presence. That should assuage his conscience.
“Done.”
Her easy assent, after hounding him so very thoroughly until he capitulated and fell in with her plans, raised a red flag. “Do not think to gainsay me on this at a later date, Lady Francine. You will vacate yourself from my vicinity at once, if I so order it.”
“Of course. No more clankers, remember? My word is good, my lord. You may depend upon me to honor my side of our bargain.”
She had no idea what she’d just agreed to and he was too damn selfish to tell her.
4
The Nick-Ninnies Natter On (formerly, The Interruption)
Six years now I have struggled with the Beastly Change. With the threat of turning into a monster without forethought or intent. In an effort to learn more, to see whether there was any discernible pattern I might use to predict The Change, I began charting the urges the third year.
Through that, I discovered they intensify as the sun travels across the sky in its ecliptic, heading toward the summer constellation Leo. Even before it enters the area dominated by the confounded constellation, the battle begins in earnest.
Lion? Or man? It is a toss-up, minute by minute, hour by hour…
Yet once it’s firmly there? Our daytime sun seated directly where the invisible-to-my-eye constellat
ion resides? It happens: without diligent, exhaustive effort, I lose all control.
Elated with his acquiescence, with the present location of her hand, Francine rushed to assure him, “I promise you, Lord Blakely, you will not have cause to regret our agreement.”
Did she convey her complete and utter sincerity?
Hard to concentrate when such different sensations assaulted her questing fingers. “Upon my word, you shall not regret our bargain.”
“I already do.” His actions belied the grumbled words as he ground himself into her palm, returning his hand to cover hers and hold her securely against his erection. His other hand curved over her cheek and ear, and he tilted her face up for his kiss.
She lifted onto her toes, melting with anticipation. Their lips a hairsbreadth from connecting, he stilled. Drat it. “Why did you stop?”
“Someone’s coming.”
“Are you certain?” She couldn’t hear anything beyond the gentle rustle of leaves and her exhilarated breaths.
“Hush now.” His urgency conveyed itself and she froze.
“Quickly. Over here.” Keeping hold of her hand, he strode toward the shadows and trees where she suspected he’d hidden earlier. He pushed her back into the tall hedge and shielded her body with his own, standing so close her breasts were mashed against his chest. Utterly delightful.
“Lord Bl—”
“Shhh. Wait. Your shawl? Do you not have it? Stay here.”
In seconds, he was back, shoving it between them, leaning into her just as close as before. “I still do not hear—”
“Quiet, please.” He bent down and gathered the fabric of her evening gown and petticoats beneath, scrunching the layers toward the center and then trapping them between his legs. Legs that were pressed intimately against her own. “Your dress,” he whispered on a dark husk that brushed her ear, “the color’s light enough, they’ll see it.”
The sensation of being so close to him, his scent…his hardness, convinced her that she’d done the right thing, approaching him with a proposition that included her body, even if she hadn’t been completely truthful about her reasons. She may have sworn not to lie further, but he hadn’t inquired whether any other falsehoods remained between them.
Ensnared by Innocence: Steamy Regency Shapeshifter Page 5
