Forbidden Fantasy

by Cheryl Holt

  After a lengthy silence, where Ian mulled and stewed, Jack urged, “Say something.”

  “I’m curious as to what I should do, and I’d love to hear your opinion.”

  “I guess you’d be entitled to kill me.”

  “That seems a little dramatic.”

  “Or … or … you could throw me out. I packed a bag—just in case.”

  “Is the situation likely to reoccur?”

  “I’m not certain. The first time was more of a collision, if you will, but if the same kind of opportunity crept up on me…” He blushed and cleared his throat.

  “Have you discussed this with Rebecca?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “What was her suggestion?”

  “She said that if I confessed, she’d murder me.”

  He sighed again. “She oughtn’t go about making such spurious threats. People misconstrue her intent.”

  “I told her the exact same thing.” Jack frowned, then inquired, “Do you imagine she was serious? Should I watch my back?”

  Ian scoffed. “She didn’t murder her husbands. At least, I don’t believe she did. I’ve often wondered about the second one, but the other two were very elderly. They dropped dead of their own accord.”

  “So I’m safe?”

  “She won’t kill you, but she’ll definitely get even.”

  “I was afraid you’d say that.” He rose and shuffled his feet. “So … should I fetch my bag?”

  Ian didn’t have to ponder the question, for he’d known the answer before Jack asked it. He couldn’t carry on without Jack. Their lives had rapidly grown inseparable, intertwined like two strands of a rope. Ian didn’t want him to ever leave.

  “No, I don’t want you to go.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You can’t have sex with Rebecca again, though.”

  “I know.”

  “Maybe you two should avoid each other?”

  “I’ll see to it.”

  “I’d appreciate it if you would. And if you find yourself contemplating another accident with her, I’d be obliged if you could tell me right away.”

  “I will,” Jack promised, and he scurried off.

  Chapter TEN

  “Father, may I speak with you?”

  “No.”

  Caroline stared at her father, imploring him as he proceeded toward the door.

  “It’s important.”

  “I’m on my way out, Caroline.”

  “Please?”

  “Oh, all right.” As if she were the greatest burden in the world, he blew out a heavy breath and stomped into the nearest parlor. “I can spare you five minutes, so whatever it is, be quick about it.”

  She longed to shake him. How could the entire course of her life hang in the balance of five measly minutes?

  “It’s about my engagement,” she started.

  “What about it?”

  “I don’t wish to marry Mr. Shelton.”

  “So?”

  “I need you to call it off.”

  “Call it off?” He was aghast. “On what grounds?”

  “You may use any basis you like. I just want it over.”

  “Are you insane?”

  “No. I simply can’t be his wife. You never asked my opinion; you just forged ahead. I’m twenty-five years old, and I ought to have been consulted.”

  “Where did you come by such a ludicrous notion?”

  “It’s not ludicrous,” she insisted. “Many fathers confer with their daughters on such a weighty issue.”

  “Not this father. This isn’t some fantasy in a storybook where females are allowed to act however they please. This is England. I am the Earl of Derby, a peer of the realm, a friend of the King. You’ll do as you’re bid, and you’ll do it gladly.”

  Desperate to be away, he peeked at the clock, and she tamped down her frustration. Why couldn’t she be clear? Why couldn’t she make him understand?

  “You can blame it all on me, and I won’t say a word.”

  “How very big of you!”

  “Mr. Shelton can explain the split any way he likes.”

  “Oh, he can, can he?”

  “Yes.”

  He rolled his eyes and spun away. “I don’t have time for your nonsense.”

  “When will you have time?”

  “I never will,” he said. “You’re marrying Edward and that’s final. I suggest you prepare yourself.”

  Then he was gone, and she dropped onto the couch, listening as he stormed out. An image flashed in her mind—of the pretty brown-haired girl she’d seen with him outside the tea shop.

  Had he raced off to be with a mistress who was young enough to be his granddaughter? The prospect—of his being too busy to help her merely because he’d rather be off philandering—was so galling that she was enraged.

  Her request to end the arranged marriage was the first occasion she’d ever stood up for herself, and he couldn’t be bothered to heed her complaint, let alone aid her in facilitating a resolution. Perhaps with all the meekness she’d displayed over the years, it was beyond him to take her seriously.

  She glanced around the ornately furnished room, and suddenly she felt as if she was suffocating on the accouterments of her boring, privileged life. Her family had money, status, and power, but when they were all so miserable, what good was any of it?

  She had to escape, if only for a few hours, and she knew precisely where she’d go. She had to be with Ian. When she was with him, her problems faded away, vanishing in the haze of the passion and desire he generated.

  She hastened to grab a cloak and sneak away, but as she hurried to the foyer, the door so close to being reached, she bumped into her mother.

  “Have you seen the Earl?” Britannia inquired.

  “He left already.”

  “Left! But he just arrived. I didn’t have a chance to speak to him. Where was he going?”

  “I assume he was off to visit his paramour.”

  “I have no idea who you mean,” Britannia huffed. “Did he mention when he’d return?”

  “I wouldn’t expect him back anytime soon.”

  Caroline was stunned by the contemptible remarks flowing from her lips. It was as if she’d opened her mouth and another woman’s comments were being voiced.

  She’d never been so angry, and it was fabulous to be furious and lashing out. She’d always let others treat her as if she were stupid, as if she hadn’t a brain in her head. She’d done everything—everything!—they’d asked, yet they repaid her with scorn and indifference.

  She skirted by her mother and walked to the door.

  “Where are you going?” Britannia demanded.

  “Out.”

  “I don’t give you permission to leave.”

  “I don’t care.”

  She scurried away, the mansion like a prison gate that could swing shut and trap her if she didn’t dash to freedom. It was very cold, an icy rain falling, the frigid air bracing.

  Like a madwoman, she gaped about, then sprinted to the street, and she ran and ran until her neighborhood of stately mansions disappeared and she began to see shops and pedestrians on their daily errands.

  On the corner, there was a row of rental cabs, and she went to the nearest one, tossed coins to the driver, and clambered in without assistance.

  Shortly, she was at Ian’s house, and she leapt out and marched to his stoop.

  She was frantic to be with him. Their ardent interludes were the only thing that made sense, the only thing that seemed genuine. She felt as if she were weightless, floating away, and that he was a tether to all that was normal and real. If he didn’t seize hold of her, she might fly off to some distant, unknown place and never return.

  She knocked and knocked, but no one answered, so she barged in. Luckily, at the same moment, he was coming down the hall. He halted and frowned.

  “Caro?”

  “Yes.”
<
br />   “My goodness, did anyone see you? It’s broad daylight. What are you thinking? What’s wrong?”

  “My mother hates me,” she said in a rush, sounding desperate and crazed, “and my father is having an affair, and I can’t marry Mr. Shelton, but no one will help me. I don’t know what to do. I just had to be with you.”

  If he sent her away, she couldn’t predict how she’d react. When she’d fled from her mother, she’d needed a refuge, and he’d been the only choice.

  Like a blind woman, she stumbled over, and she collapsed toward him, relieved that he caught her. If he hadn’t reached out, she’d have plummeted to the rug.

  “You’re soaked through,” he chided, though kindly.

  “I had to get away from them.”

  She pressed herself to him, her nose buried against his chest. He was so warm, so sturdy and reliable, and she could have tarried there forever, safe and secure in the circle of his arms.

  He took her hand and led her up the stairs to his bedchamber, and she followed along, perfectly content to do whatever he wanted. There was a toasty fire burning in the grate, and he guided her to it. She stared into the flames, mesmerized, as he removed her cloak; then he sat in a chair and drew her onto his lap.

  “Calm yourself,” he murmured, “and tell me what’s happening.”

  “I can’t marry Mr. Shelton.”

  “I’m thrilled to hear it.”

  “I want to be happy. That’s all I want.”

  “It’s so difficult to achieve, isn’t it? Happiness, I mean.”

  “Yes, so I talked to my mother. I told her that I refuse to end up like her. She’s so forlorn and angry.”

  “She definitely is.”

  “I want something better for myself, but she said I have to wed Mr. Shelton.”

  “So you spoke to your father?”

  “But he wouldn’t listen, either. He was eager to be with his mistress, so he was too busy to discuss it.”

  “He has a terrible reputation for that sort of thing.”

  “So this girl isn’t the first?”

  “No, not the first.”

  “I didn’t know! My world is disintegrating before my very eyes! Everything I believed about my family is false.”

  “Have you ever stopped to consider that it might be you who’s changing? Perhaps they’re exactly as they’ve always been and you’re simply seeing them more clearly.”

  “Perhaps,” she allowed.

  “I’m proud of you.”

  She was amazed. “You are?”

  “I recognize how hard it is for you to stand up to them.” He kissed her temple. “I’m glad you came to me.”

  “So am I.”

  “How long can you stay?”

  “For as long as you’d like. No one will notice if I’m late getting back.”

  “I doubt that’s true.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” She sighed. “I should probably be home by dark.”

  He smiled. “Then I suspect we shall have a lovely afternoon.”

  She smiled, too. “I suspect we shall.”

  * * *

  “Come with me.”

  Ian eased her to her feet.

  “To where?”

  “Let me show you.”

  He’d just staggered out of bed, and a bath had been delivered, so the water would still be hot. She was freezing, her garments damp, her hair wet, and his initial order of business was to warm her and dry her clothes.

  He couldn’t get over the fact that she’d visited him, in the middle of the day—without hesitation or concealment—which indicated that the scene with her parents must have been appalling. He’d imagined that life with the Earl of Derby was unpleasant, so he wasn’t surprised by her story, but it pained him that she was hurting.

  He peeked in his dressing room, ensuring there were no servants lurking; then he drew her inside.

  “What’s this?” she said.

  “Honestly, Caro, you must have seen one. It’s a hip bath.”

  “I know that,” she retorted. “I assume one of us is about to bathe. Is it to be me? Or you?”

  “You.”

  “Are you going to watch?”

  “Yes. I intend to wash you, too.” He grinned wickedly. “If you’re really nice to me, I might even join you.”

  “In the tub?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you telling me that men and women actually carry on this way? Together and in the open, where any servant could stroll in?”

  “It’s quite common, and a favorite pastime of mine.” At realizing how much he’d revealed about his disreputable character, she glowered, and he hastily added, “Not that I’ve ever done such a thing with a female.”

  “Oh, of course not.”

  “I’m a veritable saint.”

  “Absolutely,” she wryly agreed. “How could I be twenty-five years old and not have learned these secrets?”

  “Don’t ever regret being sheltered.”

  “I used to presume it beneficial”—her sizzling gaze took a deliberate, inquisitive meander down his torso—“but since becoming involved with you, I’ve changed my mind.”

  “I have that effect on people. The more you get to know me, the worse you’ll behave. I guarantee it.”

  She chuckled and spun around. “Unbutton my gown.”

  He proceeded methodically, stripping her as if he were a lady’s maid. He could have lingered and enjoyed the endeavor, but he wanted her naked. He removed her dress, petticoats, shoes, and stockings, and he paused to take them into the bedchamber, to drape them over the chairs in front of the fire.

  At seeing her belongings scattered about, he was much more pleased than he should have been, and when he returned to her, he was frowning.

  “Why are you scowling?” she asked.

  “Because I like having you here.”

  “My presence makes you grumpy?”

  “Very.”

  “I don’t understand men.”

  He nestled himself to her backside and peered over her shoulder, tantalized by how her breasts pushed against her corset. She was so beautiful, and she was all his.

  He untied her laces, dragging the blasted contraption away; then he yanked off her drawers, and in a thrice, she was nude. He wrapped his arms around her and ran his palms down her stomach and thighs, and she shivered, but he was fairly sure it wasn’t from desire.

  “Let’s get you in the tub,” he urged, and he held her hand as she climbed in.

  She slid down, hissing as she immersed herself. There was an extra bucket of hot water on the floor, and he dumped it over her, earning a squeal of irritated delight; then he pulled up a stool and sat next to her.

  She was relaxed and content, and at the sight, he was overcome by the oddest impression that she’d finally arrived right where she was meant to be. His heart did a funny flip-flop, jerking in his chest, until he actually rubbed the center, massaging away the ache.

  “You’re scowling again,” she said, laughing.

  “I’m trying to figure out how rapidly I can have you in my bed.”

  “Is that your plan?”

  “Oh, yes, that’s my plan.”

  “You have a very fiendish mind.”

  “I can’t deny it.”

  “I’m not complaining.”

  He snatched up a cloth and swished it; then he swabbed it over her body, stroking it across her shoulders and bosom, down her tummy and between her legs.

  Though she was a spinster and a virgin, she’d abandoned her prior reticence. Events had made her more reckless, more eager to experience the mischief he initiated, so she did nothing to slow him, which was incredibly titillating. His cock was so hard that he wondered how he’d stand.

  “Are you feeling better?” he inquired.

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Have I vanquished your chill?”

  “Like a knight in shining armor.”

  “Marvelous. Out you go.”

  He helped her ri
se and step out; then he grabbed a towel and dried her.

  “You didn’t get in with me,” she protested.

  “That’s because I’m so impatient to lure you to my bed, instead.”

  “Will you join me next time?”

  “Most definitely.”

  At the notion that she was already contemplating a next time, his heart made that silly fluttering motion again.

  He was so happy when she was near, so miserable when she wasn’t, but he wouldn’t focus on the peculiar sentiment. He wouldn’t like her more than was wise, wouldn’t moon over her when they were apart. If he did, he’d start to dream about a future that could never be, which was the height of folly.

  They’d been acquainted forever, and he knew her well. Though she was currently distressed over her betrothal, in the end she would relent. If he began to hope she’d do anything else, he’d drive himself crazy.

  He folded the towel around her, tucking the corner between her breasts, and he led her into his bedchamber. They tumbled onto the mattress, and Caro was as comfortable as if they’d been lovers for years rather than days.

  He rolled on top of her, and as he kissed her he was stung by the realization that he never wanted to let her go, so his journey to insanity was complete.

  He wasn’t looking for a mistress—he had one of those—and he wasn’t looking for a wife. He especially wasn’t looking for a wife who was the daughter of one of the most powerful families in England. He would never pursue such a negligent path, but at that moment, when she was warm and fragrant and snuggled beneath him, any wild conclusion seemed possible.

  Needing to feel her flesh pressed to his own, he yanked at his shirt, tugging it off and tossing it on the floor. Then he pulled her towel away, exposing her to his avid scrutiny, and he lay atop her again, both of them moaning with pleasure as bare skin connected.

  He nibbled down her neck, across her chest, and he suckled at his leisure. His sexual stimulation was painful, his poor, neglected phallus begging for mercy.

  He groaned with dismay.

  “What is it?” she asked. “Are you injured?”

  “No, but I’m so aroused that it hurts.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  She grinned. “You’re suffering because of me?”

  “Yes, you wench.”

  “Fabulous. How can I soothe your ache?”