by Cheryl Holt
He might have impregnated Winnie—as his potential bride was down in his parlor, sipping tea. There were a hundred reasons his behavior was callous and negligent, but he wasn't concerned. On the morrow, there would be plenty of opportunity to lament, but for now, he would rejoice, and wallow in the luxury of having had her in the only way that counted.
Immersed in her, Winnie's lavish torso enfolding him from head to toe, he couldn't remember ever feeling so happy. He was reeling, stunned, dazed by his burgeoning affection.
What if she were pregnant? Did he have a secret wish
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for it to be so? If she were increasing, she couldn't trot off to the hinterlands, hoping to elude him. A babe would provide genuine justification for contact, for a persisting affiliation.
The possibility was electrifying, and it raised his pulse to such an elevated rate that he frightened himself.
Was he planning on fatherhood? On siring another illegitimate child? With an inappropriate, unknown woman, to whom his sole connection was strident sex? Had he learned nothing from his past mistakes?
Apparently not, for he coveted a family with her so badly that he could taste it. When he shut his eyes, he could envision perfect girls, with her brunette hair, dancing across the floor. Rowdy boys, who looked like Phillip, wrestling on the rug.
His need to make them a reality was primal, incomprehensible, and he declined to acknowledge them, forcing them to vanish.
"You shouldn't have done that," she whispered in his ear.
"I'm sure you're correct."
She sighed, the weight of the world on her shoulders. "What are we to do?"
"We'll make love till dusk," he said. "After that, I wouldn't hazard a guess."
She chuckled humorlessly. "I suppose there are worse ways to spend the day."
"I can't think of any better." He retrieved a blanket and dried the tears on her cheeks. "Don't fret, Winnie. It will work out for the best."
Agonized, she assessed him. "Don't hurt me in the end. My heart couldn't bear it."
"I never will," he vowed, even as he wondered if he could keep his pledge. How could any of this have a beneficial conclusion?
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"If we're to dally"—she slid off him and commenced unbuttoning his shirt—"we might as well disrobe."
"A marvelous idea."
He grinned and rolled onto his back, letting her take the lead.
******************
Penelope hovered inside Olivia's room, ready to sneak out. Olivia's portfolio was tucked under her arm.
After their encounter the previous night, she'd determined it would be advantageous to steal the satchel of pictures. It wouldn't do to have them disappear just when she needed to show them to Margaret.
She'd been positive that Olivia would have concealed the drawings in a new spot, so she'd been delighted to stumble across them still tucked under Olivia's pillows.
Olivia's main character flaw was that she was too trusting, too honest, and she naturally assumed that others were, too. For an adult, she was incredibly naïve. And stupid. In this instance, her idiocy would be her downfall.
While Penny had merely insinuated that she'd tattle to Margaret, she had no intention of waiting. If Olivia breathed a word, Penny would be sent to London, and she wasn't anywhere near finished with Freddy Blaine. He presented too many exhilarating prospects, and she meant to explore every one of them.
Others couldn't be allowed to spoil it for her. Least of all stuffy, proper Olivia.
Rubbing her thighs together, she relished the ache that remained from her wicked rendezvous with Freddy. While she wasn't certain how she'd ended up surrendering her virginity, she was thrilled to have it gone. The deed had been a tad less inspiring than she'd been led to believe, and definitely less romantic, but it was tolerable.
She would make her own choices, would do as she
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pleased—with Freddy or anyone else who tickled her fancy—and she wasn't about to be dissuaded by a bit of pain or discomfort.
Smirking, she reflected on how furious her mother would be at this turn of events. Margaret had so many grandiose schemes, which included dukes and princes, but Penny had found a fellow who was much more to her liking, who knew what she wanted and needed, who went out of his way to obtain it for her.
And he was rich, too! Despite Margaret's grumbling about his finances, Penny had eavesdropped when the maids were gossiping, about his fine house and elegant carriage, his dapper clothes and toplofty friends. He'd be able to support her in the style to which she was accustomed.
There'd be no arranged marriage to some boring, tedious oaf like Edward Paxton. She craved excitement, action, the exact sort of existence she imagined Freddy would furnish on a daily basis.
She ran a hand down her stomach, to her privates, touching herself. Freddy had commanded that she shave, and just to annoy him, she was going to refuse, but the more she considered it, the more titillated she was by the depraved dictate. It would be decadent to walk around in polite company, knowing she'd removed the hair between her legs!
She'd snooped in an empty guest room and had located a razor, had taken it to her bedchamber and placed it in a drawer as if it belonged there. Now, she had to muster the courage to use it.
Peeking out, she checked to see if it was clear, when down the hall, another door opened, and Penny's eyes widened. She'd presumed she was the only one on the floor. If she'd deemed otherwise, she wouldn't have tarried.
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To her amazement, Winnie poked her head out and scanned the corridor. Though it was late afternoon, her hair was down, and she was attired in a flimsy robe that was loosely tied at the waist, most of her naked torso exposed.
Espying no one, she stepped back, and the earl emerged! He bent down and bestowed a lingering kiss, then he strolled out and strutted to the stairs. At the landing, he stopped and gazed at her. They didn't speak, but the look he gave her was passionate, intense, riveting. He shrugged, flashed a rueful smile, and descended.
Winnie watched him go, then she slumped against the doorframe, her knees weak; she whimpered, and it sounded very much like despair. For a lengthy interval, she rested there, letting the wood brace her up, until she regrouped and closed the door. The key clicked in the lock.
"My, my," Penny murmured. Wasn't this intriguing?
The earl and Winnie were so greedy for each other that they'd risk philandering in broad daylight. Did the eafl love Winnie? Might he be pondering marriage to her rather than Olivia?
Penny mulled the questions over and over.
This won't do at all, she resolved.
Olivia would wed Edward. Penny had already decided on it. Olivia loved the stablemaster, and she was likely contemplating how she could end up with him instead of the earl.
Wasn't she in for a rude awakening?
Nobody threatened Penny. Nobody told her what to do or how to act. By sticking her nose into Penny's business with Freddy, Olivia had made a grave error, and she would have many, many years to regret it throughout her protracted and monotonous marriage to Edward.
Winnie couldn't interfere in the impending outcome.
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She had to leave the property, and Penny needed to determine how to effect her rapid departure. There were many details to be contrived, many feasible scenarios that could be set in motion. Which one was best?
She tiptoed into the hall and crept away, unheard and unseen, her thoughts awhirl with possibilities.
Chapter Fourteen
Olivia crept across the grounds, the waning moon lighting her way, but she needed no illumination to guide her. Her feet had a second sense that led her to her destination.
Up ahead, Phillip's cottage was outlined in the shadows, a candle burning in the window as he waited for her to arrive. She pulled up short, listening to the silence, staring at the cozy building, her heart pounding in her chest.
This was the last occasion she'd visit him. She w
ould never again observe his house from this angle, would never have this wondrous feeling of anticipation, or suffer this exhilarating rush of joy.
The entire day, she'd been on pins and needles, braced for the shoe to drop, to be ordered to Margaret's room for the lambaste that would ensue, but it hadn't transpired. She'd been a nervous wreck, speculating and fretting over what the backlash would be.
By the time it had dawned on her that she should hide her portfolio, the pictures had vanished. She'd searched every nook and cranny of her bedchamber, praying that she'd somehow mislaid the satchel, that perhaps the maids had discovered it and moved it while tidying up.
She'd even dared to ask a servant if she'd seen the pouch, but the girl had denied any knowledge of its existence, and Olivia had believed her.
Where were the sketches? Did Penny have them?
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Of course she does!
The glaring response rang through her mind. What else could have happened to them?
Oh, why had she drawn them? What was she hoping to achieve?
Yes, she was fascinated by nudity, by erotica and the novel impressions one experienced while perusing it, just as she was captivated by Phillip, by his shape, his masculinity. Her busy fingers had recorded every detail she could recall from their furtive assignations. There was no portion of him unexplored, no antic undepicted.
What would Margaret say? What would she do? Margaret was neither her mother, nor her guardian. Not even her friend, really. But Olivia showed her great respect out of deference to her deceased father. Margaret had never been the most agreeable person, but she and Olivia had shared the same home for years, and Olivia would never intentionally offend the older woman, for any slight would tarnish her father's memory.
She'd been such a selfish fool! Margaret had worked so hard to find a route out of their financial conundrum, but Olivia hadn't done her part. Through her impetuous actions, she'd ruined any chance she might have had to wed Edward. She'd let down her family, had forsaken her responsibilities to them. For what?
For her love of a man whom she could never marry.
From the first moment they'd met, she'd been bewitched, but she'd recognized, without a doubt, that they had no future. Yet she'd pursued him, had lured and cajoled and pleaded with him to dally. He had, but to what end?
Margaret would insist on proceeding to London, locating another suitor, aspiring to arrange another immediate marriage to stave off catastrophe. In the interim, what
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would become of Phillip? If Edward learned of the debacle, would Phillip lose his job, as well as his residence?
How had their immense affection brought them to this horrid juncture?
She shouldn't be going to him, but she couldn't stay away. She had to talk with him and confess her fears, had to be with him once more before the consequences began to rain down.
Suddenly desperate, she picked up her skirt and flitted across the remaining patch of lawn. As though fleeing from the devil, himself, she rounded a hedge and raced toward him. He was watching from the stoop, impatient and eager, and he whisked her inside, locking the door behind.
"I'd about given up on you." He plucked at her cloak, yanking it away and tossing it on the floor.
"Oh, Phillip ..." Relieved, finally able to catch her breath, she felt her trepidation and apprehension lessen merely by being in his presence.
He hugged her, running his hands up and down her back. "What is it?" he queried. "What's wrong?"
"Everything," she murmured, "and nothing at all."
"You're trembling."
"From the cold," she lied. She was afraid and worried. After encountering Penny in what could be characterized as a deranged condition, Olivia couldn't predict what doom was pending. She only knew for certain that it was approaching, and it would be dreadful.
"Would you like me to start a fire?"
"No. Just hold me. Then I'll be fine."
"An easy request to honor, Lady O." Swooping her up, he carried her to his bed, laying her down and joining her. Warming her, he adjusted a blanket over them, men cuddled her to him.
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As they snuggled, her breasts and tummy were pressed to his. legs tangled, and his superb scent soothed her. She could imagine no more spectacular spot to linger, and she wished she could nestle there in perpetuity. No problem could ever be too weighty to handle when she was in his arms.
'Tell me," he urged, after her shivering had abated.
She was glad she was burrowed tight, that she didn't have to look at him. "We can't rendezvous again."
He exhaled. "We knew we couldn't keep on forever. Are you returning to London?"
"Soon. You see, my sister, Penelope—"
"The red-haired hellion?"
"The very one." His description was extremely apt! "She found some of my pictures."
"Of what?"
"Of... of..." She'd never confided in him about her sketching. How mortifying to admit what she'd done!
"Spit it out," he coaxed when she couldn't finish. "It can't be that bad."
"I've been making portraits of you. And me." Her recounting was too coy, so she added, "We're... together, if you can understand."
He froze, shifted away so that he could gaze at her. "You've been drawing ... erotica? Of us?"
He didn't need to kindle a fire. Her cheeks flushed such a hot pink that she was heating the room as efficiently as any brazier. She gulped. "Do you think I'll go to hell for it?"
"Livvie, you sexy minx!" He rolled onto his stomach, laughing merrily.
"This isn't funny."
"No, it's not," he agreed, but he continued to chortle, mirth sweeping him away, and his jollity irritated her.
"You're not being very helpful."
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"I know, but this is too rich." He rotated onto his side, petting a comforting hand along her shoulder. "Am I displayed in the buff? Balls and all hanging out?"
"Yes, but more often, we're ... we're ..."
"So there's no question that it's me and you?"
"None. I'm not the most talented artist—"
"You're terrific."
"—but I can draft a distinguishable face."
"And a distinguishable body part?"
She punched him in the ribs. "Stop it."
"All right, all right." He ceased his teasing, shook his head, sighed. "What a tangle."
"Yes."
"How can you be positive she saw them?"
"She had several of them in her possession," Olivia explained. "I kept them in a portfolio under my pillow, and somehow, she discovered them. Now, the entire satchel is missing, and I'm sure she took it."
"Why?"
"Last night, when I was sneaking back to the manor, I caught her out in the yard. She'd been in the gazebo with your father's neighbor, Mr. Blaine."
"Freddy Blaine? What was he up to?"
"Mischief. Her hair was down, and her dress was askew. She was intoxicated."
"How old is she?"
"Sixteen."
"I'm surprised," he mused. "She's much more mature than he generally likes his partners to be."
"What do you mean?"
"Some men are titillated by ... by ..." It was his turn to blush and stammer.
"By what?"
"Let's drop it."
"No!"
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"By ... by ... children."
"They're sexually aroused?"
"Yes."
"But that's perverted."
"It definitely is."
"Mr. Blaine is one of these people?"
He nodded.
"How do you know?"
"Livvie," he admonished, exasperated by her curiosity, but she couldn't desist.
What sort of insane reprobate would be stimulated by children? She shuddered at the notion, and he nestled her closer.
"Is this dangerous for her?"
"Probably."
"Oh, I can't decide what I should do."
>
"About what?"
"She threatened me."
He was startled, alarmed by the news. "She what?"
"She claimed that if I told anyone about her and Mr. Blaine, she'd give the sketches to Margaret."
"The girl's crazy."
"I concur. But her behavior is reckless and stupid. How can I be silent?"
"Would she follow through with her blackmail?"
"If you'd asked me that yesterday, I'd have said 'absolutely not.' But after seeing how out of control she was, I couldn't begin to guess what she might do."
"Would you like me to speak with her? I've had a few go-arounds with her when she's been lurking behind the stables. I seem to intimidate her. Perhaps I could scare her off."
"Lord, no." That was all she needed, for Phillip and Penny to have a quarrel. "She's very sly, Phillip."
"Yes, she is."
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"If you talked to her, it would be obvious I'd rushed to you straightaway. She'd be certain of how attached we are. I'd rather have her wondering."
He mulled this over, his eyes searching hers. "If she shows them to your stepmother, will the countess insist that I marry you?" Tentatively, he smiled. "I would. In a heartbeat."
"Oh, Phillip ..." His offer was so sweet, the idea of being his wife so thrilling, but it could never be, and she had to focus on that reality. She couldn't allow flights of fancy to take wing. "We've been through this before. A marriage to me has to include all of us."
"People have survived on less," he muttered, a tad bitterly, which made her angry.
Could he envision the five of them, living with him in the small cottage? Had he truly considered how ridiculous the concept was?
How would he afford their food? Their clothing? Penny had to make her debut, and they had dozens of retainers who required severance or pensions. That was for starters. There were so many expenses involved in selling the properties, in paying off the debts.
If she married him, the arrearages wouldn't evaporate. From where would the funds come to square the deficit?
It was unfair of him to chastise her, to act as though she were frivolously spurning him. He couldn't comprehend the pressure under which she labored, the strain she felt with regard to the females in her life. So much was riding on her shoulders, and he couldn't assume her load, or fix the dilemma for her.
