by Stacy Reid
The man had no social graces. It was unseemly that he had her standing on his doorstep, even if the hour was distressingly inappropriate. “Will you oblige me by granting me an audience for a few minutes?”
He moved back and held the door wide. She stepped inside, quite shocked at the darkness. A door loomed in the distance, light spilling from beneath, and it was toward that beacon she walked. Where was his staff? Why was everything so silent when it was barely nine in the evening? A strange shiver darted through her as she acknowledged the foolhardiness of her impetuosity. Why hadn’t she sent a note and asked for a meeting in Hyde Park? She faltered and shuddered when his chest caresses her back ever so slightly. He was so close. “Where is everyone?”
“I live alone.”
How preposterous. “You’ve no servants?”
“I’m not of a mind to have the people who work for me to do so from dawn until midnight. I leave such grueling expectations for my betters,” he drawled mockingly.
Her heart was beating too hard. Fanny wetted her lips, fighting the urge to turn around and flee. Stay true to your course. Squaring her shoulders, she once again strolled toward that single light. They reached the door, and he reached around her and pushed it open for her. She crossed the threshold, grateful to see a merry fire burning in the grate, and several lit candles on the mantel and a large oak desk which dominated the center of the room. They were in his study then.
The door closed behind her with a decisive click and her mouth dried. He walked past her to lower himself at the edge of his desk, his muscled forearms also braced against the side. Fanny stared, feeling faint. Lord Shaw's state of undress was alarming. His thick dark hair was disheveled. He wore no cravat or waistcoat, but a white shirt where the collar was unbuttoned showing the corded muscles of his throat. Dear God. His shirt was not tucked into his trousers, and the man had on no boots.
She glanced around the room to see boots discarded by the lone sofa near the fire, and his jacket, cravat, and waistcoat draped over the back of another chair.
She lifted the veil from her face. Fanny had been cautious in disguising herself before she had left the comfort of her brother's townhouse.
“I had the greatest apprehension in coming here tonight," she said with a small smile, hoping to quell the tension that seemed to blanket the room.
His gaze rested thoughtfully on her face. “You should.”
Fanny scowled. Why did he have to sound so ominous? What if he should ravish her before she left? A blush heated her face, and his eyes sharpened. It was as if he could read every mortifying thought. The sudden slant of his mouth seemed almost…threateningly sensual.
She didn’t want to get too close to the man, but Fanny succumbed to the lure of the fire and moved even further into the cozy study.
“I believe it may be prudent to remove your coat,” he murmured. “I believe it to be damp.”
There was a provoking dare in his eyes, one to which she hardly knew how to respond.
She untied the strings of her cloak, pushing back the hood from her face, Fanny reluctantly removed the garment. Those penetrating eyes dropped to her slender figure, and it wasn’t her imagination that something indefinable darkened his gaze.
“Would you like a drink?”
“Yes,” she said, grateful for the chance to hold onto something. Her hands shook, even when she laced them together.
He stood and moved to the sideboard. There was a clink as he tilted the bottle over two glasses. His movements were so graceful yet intimidating. She realized then he was a large man, the top of her head could be tucked under his chin. A certain ruthless strength characterized his demeanor. And it made her uncomfortable. He was not at all like any other gentleman she’d met or conversed with. Despite his acquaintanceship with Colin, her brother had been careful to keep the pair of them at a distance to each other.
A glass was pressed into her hand. “Thank you, my lord,” she murmured.
He resumed sitting on his desk, and she wondered if it was her fanciful imagination that there was a disquieting anticipation in the gaze that settled on her. She took a sip of her drink, coughing slightly at the burn that warmed her insides. How had she not realized she was so cold.
“Now tell me why you would risk the little that is left of your reputation to come here, my lady.”
She strolled over to the sofa which invited response and sat. Fanny met his regard steadily. “My brother believes I should marry right away and retreat to the country until the scandal surrounding my name has died down. He has found a man willing to marry me despite the stain on my name. The Earl of Worsley, and he’s a gentleman of rank and fortune, with an estimable bloodline and reputation.”
She stared in fascination at the white-knuckled grip he had on his glass. It was a wonder it did not shatter.
“So, you are once again engaged?”
“I’ve refused,” she said softly.
A breathless silence blanketed the library. Then he cleared his throat. “Why?”
“I want the man I marry…the man I will spend the rest of my life with to be my choice.” That need had become a hollow, painful ache. “The man my brother selected is very kind and charming, and while I quite like him, he is old enough to be my father and already has six children.”
“I see. And how has this awareness led you to me at this hour?”
The predatory hunger that emanated from him made her unaccountably expectant, except for what she was undecided.
“While I am fond of Lord Worsley, I daresay he will not make me a good husband. He has one foot in the grave, and I am certain the only reason he wants to marry me is so that I can be there for his brood of children. While I desire children of my own, I…I think it may be best if I start out with one and not six. My brother cannot seem to understand this and is planning a wedding without a care for my feelings.”
Her voice cracked, and she waited for a few beats to gather her composure. The quarrels she had been having with her brother had been making her life miserable. He had the gall to blame her for the distance between himself and Darcy. And most dreadful of all, she could not help feeling her brother wanted to be rid of her. Fighting back another wave of sadness she continued, "I am certain he expects me to docilely fall into line because he knows my heart desires, you see. And he is cruelly playing on my fears."
Lord Shaw had not moved, but his intensity increased. “And what is your heart’s desire?”
“Once it had been for a grand love.”
“You no longer desire this?”
She drew a breath that felt, and sounded, unsteady. “My wants are now more rooted in reality and not for frivolous and unlikely sentiments. I desire to be the mistress of my own home, freedom to dabble in my passions. I paint seriously when I am in the country, and I do so enjoy riding. I should like to have children, and the sooner, the better. I am on the cusp of being three and twenty, and I cannot wait for society to forgive another slight. That may take another three years.”
His expression shuttered. “I see.”
She folded her hands in her lap. "As it were, you are the only other man who dared to call at the house since…well, you know what. But my brother does not approve of you.”
There was a decidedly dangerous gleam in his gaze. “And you do?” he asked smoothly.
I dreamed of you, kissing me. Of course, she would never admit that, but Fanny had been shocked to find herself thinking of him at every moment of the day. “I approve enough to accept your offer of marriage if you are so inclined,” she said hoarsely, wings of fright and doubt beating in her heart.
He went still— utterly and entirely still.
Oh, please say something, she cried silently when he only stared.
“I should count myself happy, Lady Fanny, to be able to call you my wife. I will stipulate I will not wait. There will be no courtship or long engagement. I want you."
And at that moment, Fanny suspected he was exerting an enormous amount of
will not to ravish her. She couldn't decide if she should be frightened or thrilled, but it was positively wonderful to be desired.
A roaring began in her head. “Our union would be one of convenience, my lord.” A legal union with no promises of love. There would be no dashed expectations on her part if they understood from the beginning what was anticipated. Pain squeezed her insides. The very idea of infidelity made her feel faint. “I would…”
“Yes?”
She swallowed. “I know it a strange thing to ask, but I would demand your fidelity. Always.”
Those eyes that saw far too much roved over her face. An odd expression lit his eyes. He would never be able to appreciate the extraordinary willpower it took to maintain his regard.
“But not my adoration?”
That soft question did frightfully strange things to her inside. Her breathing quickened, and unfamiliar heat darted low in her stomach. He prowled over to her, and she stood, peering up at him. Fanny swallowed. "I too am not interested in an engagement period." She would probably be overcome and change her mind if she tarried. "I would like to be married by the end of the week by special license. I do hope you can procure one."
A small smile tipped his lips at her evasion. She did not know how to respond. Would there ever be a time she would want his love? Chasing that idea had seen her almost married to a fortune hunter, and then to a libertine. Both men hadn't truly wanted her and would never have tried to learn her heart. How easily words of love and flattery had fallen from their deceitful lips. Fanny refused to fool herself any longer. Marriages were business transactions, a trade, where they benefited each other and perhaps in time affection would grow if the heart was inclined. Her brother hadn't married Darcy because he loved her but because he had been found kissing her. Thank heavens it was Darcy's mother who had discovered them in the conservatory, but they had been forced to wed despite Colin’s protestations. Two years later Fanny could have said with confidence he loved his wife and Darcy worshiped him with her eyes. But now it seems he too had a mistress, shattering Fanny's certainty that he loved his wife infallibly. So, she had no real example that the kind of love she sought existed.
Perhaps in time, she would come to love this man, and he would feel the same. Especially if he was true to his word and remained devoted to her. She almost snorted. Sebastian Rutledge did not seem the sort for falling into the throes of passion and reciting sonnets. Except, she had no idea what this man wanted from her.
“I had thought to give you a month to prepare. Why the haste?”
You will be married by the end of the month, Fanny. I want you from under my roof and in your own home.
Even now the harsh words spoken by her brother only a few hours past seemed lodged in her soul. “Though I do not want to believe it of him, I fear Colin may do something underhand to see me wed to Lord Worsley.”
Dark shadows moved across Mr. Rutledge and her apprehension increased.
“My fears may be unwarranted,” she hurriedly assured, somehow understanding this man would be wrathful if any harm came to her. The absurd notion warmed deep inside. “I must also warn you my brother is the trustee of my inheritance. He may never release it to me if we wed.”
“And what is this amount?”
“Fifty thousand pounds upon my marriage or on my five and twentieth birthday. An unentailed cottage in Derbyshire. A misnomer really, for it boasts fifty rooms and sits on several acres with a splendid lake. And an annuity of ten thousand pounds for ten years.”
“I will double all of that when we marry as your marriage portion.”
His generosity and the wealth it implied shocked Fanny. He stood and strolled over to her then he cupped her cheek, and she trembled. “Lord Shaw, I—”
He placed a thumb against her lower lip, exerting the slightest pressure until her lips parted. A small thrill swept through her. His purpose seemed to be ravishment. The awareness stirred a small bit of anxiety and intrigue. She leaned closer, allowing his warmth to surround her.
“Sebastian,” he murmured, dipping his head and pressing his lips to hers.
The fleeting touch of his lips to hers was a shock to her senses. Sebastian. His name whispered through her heart in an intimate caress, and her senses careened as he held her in an embrace that was far too intimate. He held her to his chest, and the soft, material of her gown slid sensually against her skin. She could not pull away, and Fanny allowed him to tighten his embrace and drag her up to his body for a deeper kiss. She gasped at the soft feather-like pressure of his lips against her. His embrace was fierce, unyielding, and she shivered at the sensations rioting through her.
Something curious, hot, and sweet stirred in her veins. And all at once Fanny felt bewildered but exhilarated.
Oh, what am I doing?
The chaotic desires that peaked in the low of her stomach were surely unladylike and wanton, but she was unable to stop herself from falling helplessly into his kisses.
Chapter 5
Sebastian wanted to shout his triumph when Fanny’s lips parted after the sweetest sigh of surrender. A small noise broke from her throat, curiously soft, filled with wonderment and pleasure.
Then her taste hit him, spice and sweetness, and his entire soul stirred. For a moment, he felt thoroughly disoriented, drunk on the flavor of her mouth. He framed her delicate face with both hands and slanted his lips over hers with a far greater passion than he had planned. He coaxed her lips even wider, and then dipped his tongue into heaven. He kissed her with ravishing expertise.
She whimpered. The sound made him go still. Finally aware he must be bruising her tender mouth with his passions, he took a deep breath. And released her lips.
Her green eyes had widened and darkened with shock. Her lips were red and swollen. A deep flush worked up from the collar of her dress to the edge of her hairline.
“Miss Dashwood,” he began gruffly. Christ. He hardly knew where to start. She was a lady, and he had taken a kiss from her like she was a doxy.
Trembling fingers rose to touch her swollen lips, and when he reached for her, she jerked away. That rejection was like a fist to his gut, and he stilled. She moved away from him, facing the fire, and he could see the slight tremble in her elegant frame.
“I never meant to lose control, I—” he cursed silently.
A great hush fell upon the room.
It hardly mattered he had only wanted to kiss her, it was evident to him he had frightened her with his coarse manners. “I apologize for my untoward behavior.” What the hell was he thinking to even want to marry her? He wasn’t a gentleman, he wasn’t genteel with his desires. How would he even consummate their marriage? The way he made love, licking and tasting a woman all over, splitting her legs wide to suck along her sex until her taste exploded on his tongue, her cries of bliss echoing in his ears, and then…and only then would he ride them long and hard to completion. This seemingly delicate woman before him wouldn’t even be able to tolerate him seeing her nakedness. She would possibly think their marriage bed an indignity she must suffer, much like his mother had.
The thought lingered, troubling him.
He was a damn fool.
Then she turned “There is no need to apologize.” Her face flushed a delicate, rosy hue. I…I simply had no notion it was possible to be kissed like that.”
The most delightful color blushed on her face. “And we are affianced, so some enthusiasm is expected.”
The tension winding through his soul eased.
Lively intelligence glittered in her exotically slanted eyes. “I must ask, Lord Shaw…Sebastian, why do you wish to marry me?”
In those beautiful eyes, lingered an aching demand, one that begged for sweet words and praises, and it struck him that she did want words of love, but perhaps no longer trusted in it. As it were, he did not love her. It was impossible. Sebastian wasn’t even sure what love felt like. But he wanted her in his bed, by his dinner table. She would add more than a refinement to his life,
she would be the proof he had achieved all he had ever hungered for.
“I am eight and twenty years, and I have been thinking to marry. Since I met you…Fanny, you rouse hunger in me unmatched by any other.”
Her eyes widened, and she blushed prettily speaking of innocence that made him feel far too worldly for her. He wondered if any of the ladies he knew blushed.
“I’ve also wanted to marry a lady of quality.”
She canted her head to the side and seemed to think on that. “You are accepted in society.”
“Barely,” he said flatly. “I am tolerated. With a wife of your breeding and connections, I daresay my low origins will become more palatable when they rub elbows with me.”
Compassion and something more glittered in her eyes. “Thank you for being honest.”
Sebastian couldn’t help feeling as if he had wounded something tender inside of her. He cleared his throat. “Please do not mistake me. I’ve had a few other offers from families of quality.” They had needed his fortune, and a couple of the daughters had acted most ridiculously to sway his interest. He had never been the type of man to succumb to force or blackmail. If he had been that weak of character, the world would not now call him the Iron King, and scurry to be in his favor.
"Yes, I did hear the rumor that Lady Arabella tried to compromise you. She is the daughter of an earl and had a blemish-free reputation, marriage to her would benefit you more."
“Possibly,” he said, smiling when she scowled. Evidently, he should not have agreed, women were such contrary creatures. “But it is not her I’ve ever dreamed of kissing.”
Lady Fanny brightened visibly. “I will speak with Colin and inform him—”
