In the Arms of the Heiress (A LADIES UNLACED NOVEL)

by Maggie Robinson

  She looked stricken. “Oh, Charles! I didn’t think. This is not a lark to you, is it?”

  “No,” he said softly, wishing he could kiss away the wobble from her lower lip, “it’s not a lark at all.”

  Chapter

  25

  Clearly, she should be locked up somewhere. Returning to Rosemont had addled her beyond the usual addlement. Addlement. Was addlement even a word? She’d add it to the awfulest list and call it good.

  Or maybe, instead of Rosemont, it was Charles Cooper. He was sending her mixed signals, like a telegraph wire gone awry. He wanted nothing to do with her now, but this afternoon he’d asked her to marry him!

  He hadn’t really meant it, of course. They barely knew each other. And they were from completely different worlds, with nothing whatsoever in common. He was a hero, and she was just a silly heiress, no matter how much she claimed otherwise. He’d made a difference in his world, and she had merely rebelled against hers.

  Coming to him in the bathroom was rebellion. A proper sort of woman would have pretended not to hear him or understand what he was doing in there. He hadn’t really been all that noisy, despite what she said. A few gasps. A grunt. Some rhythmic splashing. If her ear had not been pressed against the door, she might not have heard a thing.

  But she had been unable to ignore him, having come to the conclusion she should just seize the day. Make hay while the sun shone. Enjoy every inch of Charles Cooper while he was handy. She really liked him, even if he was a man.

  Because he was a man.

  He’d been magnificent standing in the tub, his swollen member unavoidable. It had seemed the most natural thing in the world for her to open her mouth and taste him. He seemed to like it very much, and Louisa had to confess she had, too—she’d felt rather powerful scrambling up on her knees and kissing him with such wicked wantonness. After all, he’d done much the same thing to her last night. She was only returning the favor.

  But she was greedy, empty, throbbing between her legs, her breasts still pebbled with desire. Or maybe she was just cold, as Charles had warned.

  His eye patch was tied on crookedly, his hands still resting on her shoulders. She couldn’t meet his perfect blue eye.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “For invading my privacy or tempting me beyond reason?”

  “I tempt you?”

  “Need you ask? I’ve never met anyone like you, Louisa, and I don’t quite know what to do with you.”

  You could touch me, just once more. Like you did last night. With your hand.

  Or your tongue.

  There would be no babies then, would there? Touching wasn’t intercourse. One touched one’s pets, patted and stroked them, tickled behind their ears and raked one’s fingernails down their backs so they arched—

  “Louisa? You have a most peculiar look on your face.”

  “It’s nothing. Well, it’s not nothing. Suppose you help me one last time.” One more time would hurt neither of them, would it? Then they could pull the brake and go on with their deception.

  “Help you?”

  “Like I just helped you.”

  He released her shoulders. “What are you talking about?”

  “I understand your reluctance to be my paid lover, I do. What is a man called when he assumes that position, anyway? Women are called mistresses.”

  “I have no idea. Fancy man? Stallion? Whatever the name, I’m not going to become one.”

  “No, no,” she said hurriedly, “I quite agree. It would be pure folly. I don’t wish your conscience to be taxed any further than it has been. You are completely in the right to refuse to do my bidding in the bedroom.”

  “But? I know there’s a but. Do you know when you are thinking, your tongue wiggles at the corner of your mouth like a tender little worm?”

  Louisa retracted her tongue and sealed her lips, then objected. “Tender little worm? How horrid!”

  “See for yourself.” He spun her to the mirror over the pedestal sink. “Go on. Think.”

  “I cannot think on command!” He towered behind her, a smirk on his face.

  “Oh, can’t you? You’ve been trying to convince me you’re not some empty-headed deb.”

  “I’m too old to be called a deb,” Louisa said, feeling mulish.

  “Contemplate the sorry state of the world. The suffragist cause. Why the sky is blue.”

  This was ridiculous. Louisa could think of nothing but kissing the smug quirk from Captain Cooper’s lips and getting him to put his hand up her towel. If she wiggled a little, she might just be able to unfasten the tuck and have the damn thing drop on the floor. Then he could put his hand around her hips and discover she was weeping with need.

  He was still naked himself. For a man who wanted to protect himself from her lust, he was doing a damn poor job of it. Glistening drops of water snaked down his muscled arms as he pushed her toward the mirror. Charles was a little too thin, but well made. What a pleasure it would be to share something rich and delicious with him—cake and fruit and mulled wine in the privacy of their own bedroom, curled up in the covers—

  “There it is. See?”

  Louisa blinked into the mirror. By God, the man was right. Now she’d spend the rest of her life trying not to look like she was chewing on a worm.

  She met his gaze in the mirror. “Charles, I would appreciate it very much if you could put me out of my misery.”

  “Shall I hit you on the head like our unknown assailant, or do you have something more creative in mind?”

  “Do you remember last night, when you climaxed without me? Well, you’ve done it again. You made up for it later, and very nicely, too—I’ll grant you that. But today you’ve rediscovered your principles. Now we are supposed to pretend nothing ever happened. You’ve explained your reasoning, and I respect your decision, truly I do. But I wonder if you could just postpone your born-again virtue for about ten minutes. I really don’t think it will even take that long. All I have to do is concentrate, and if you touch me in the right places—which you’ve already demonstrated you can do with a considerable degree of deftness and dexterity—I’ll be able to resign myself to a lifetime of celibacy. Or at least a month of celibacy. I suppose once our charade is over there will be nothing stopping me from finding a willing partner in the future.” Though doing the various things she’d done with Charles with someone else somehow did not hold that much allure.

  She watched his face in the mirror as she babbled on. At first, he’d simply looked indulgent as he pointed out the habit she was unaware of. Then his face went through several subtle convulsions—one would have to look hard to see them, and Lord knows she was looking hard because the man was so damned handsome. Charles looked a bit thunderous at the end. Could he be jealous? That might be a good sign, mightn’t it?

  He spun her again so they were face-to-face. “What are you asking?”

  “Well, you’re all relaxed now. Or you were. I feel quite tense. Being alone with a gorgeous naked man tends to have an effect upon me. You could—finish me off, I believe you called it last night. It will be difficult to get through another family dinner as nervous as I am.”

  “Nervous.”

  “Yes. You know. Throbbing a little down there. My breasts feel funny, too, like little surges of electricity are running through them. Hm. I wonder if I should get Rosemont electrified if I stay. That might make it less gloomy.”

  Charles’s expression was comically confused. Louisa did not know why she was discussing home improvements with him at the moment—she really had other priorities.

  “I won’t ask for any attention from you again. We’ll go back to having a strictly professional relationship. Friendly in public when you pretend to be Maximillian, but conforming to strict guidelines in private when you’re just Charles.”

  “Oh, shut up, Louisa.” He grabb
ed her face and kissed her with a kind of fury. She was ever so happy when the towel slid from her body and she was pressed against his clean, violet-scented skin. Somehow he didn’t smell feminine at all. Charles Cooper was all man—why, his enormous penis was poking into her belly even after he’d just climaxed so recently. Maybe they could finish each other off, though Charles would still be in the lead for orgasming. Was that a word? Goodness, her vocabulary was expanding. Being with Charles Cooper was like going to some sort of erotic finishing school.

  Heavens. Finishing. She giggled.

  Damn. Charles stopped kissing her. “What’s so funny? Crowing because you’re going to get your way again? I’m just some poor chump who can’t seem to stand up to you.”

  “Oh, no. I’m not laughing at you, just something foolish I thought of. You know how foolish I can be—you tell me often enough. Don’t you think we should go to your room? Not mine, because Kathleen might come up. The sink is digging into my back.”

  Charles sighed. “I think I must be a patient for your Dr. Freud. I will be totally mad before the month is over.”

  “But it will be worth it; I promise you.” At least she hoped it would be. If they only had this one time, Louisa would throw herself into the process with as much enthusiasm as she could summon.

  This time Charles locked all the doors against invasion. His bed was rumpled, a book facedown on the coverlet. Louisa picked it up, and Charles snatched it away from her.

  “Look here. We don’t have much time. We shouldn’t even be doing this. But if we are going to do this, you’re not going to start off by reading some damned book.”

  “Yes, Charles,” Louisa said meekly. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Nothing! This is supposed to be for you—to relieve your tension. Do not touch me.”

  “Not at all?”

  “Not one finger. In fact—” An odd look crossed his face, and he stalked to the draperies framing the mullioned windows. Faint stars twinkled in the gray sky. “Yes. These should do the trick.” He untied all the gold cords from the faded brown curtains. “Lie down.”

  “Wh-what are you going to do with those?”

  “I am going to tie you up, and cover your mouth with one of Maximillian Norwich’s silk neckcloths so you will be quiet for once. And then, Miss Stratton, I am going to make you much less nervous. You’ll be lucky if you’ll be able to walk downstairs to dinner.”

  “Yes, Charles. That sounds lovely.”

  Louisa didn’t understand why he growled so at her words, but then she understood very little of the male psyche. She lay down on the bed and spread her arms and legs helpfully toward the bedposts, where he lashed her with complicated knots about her wrists and ankles. As if she’d try to escape. This was all rather intriguing, as long as he remembered to untie her afterward so she could get ready for dinner. She was getting hungry.

  Louisa was less certain about the cravat he wrapped about her mouth, but it did have a practical aspect—if Charles’s ministrations caused her to make unseemly noise, the household would not know of it. She hoped Kathleen was still busy with Robertson and would wait for Louisa’s ring before she came upstairs.

  She could still see, and Charles looked very fierce indeed. His lips were set in a grim line, as if he was angry with her for asking him to relieve her this one last time. It was a shame he was so upright, but that was also his appeal. She really liked him very much.

  What would it be like to spend more than a month with him? Goodness, if they were married they could play games like this all over Rosemont and not worry about the consequences. There were lots of windows and lots of drapery cords. But his wasn’t a serious proposal. It was all part of Charles’s honorable nature to want to protect her from her family’s villainy.

  Louisa did not want to get married. She still might have control of her fortune, but she would lose herself and probably her heart. It was one thing to be muted and tied up for amusement, but marriage really robbed women of their own voices and bodies.

  She decided it was easier to shut her eyes than to see the shadows flicker across Charles’s stern face as he examined his handiwork. So when he joined her on the bed, it came as a surprise. The mattress dipped, and she could feel the heat of him even if no part of him was touching her. What was he thinking? She was in such a vulnerable position. Did he realize how much she trusted him?

  Where would he start? She was as tight as a bowstring, waiting.

  The answer came soon enough. Charles parted her already-spread thighs and slicked his tongue over her center, then sucked her clitoris firmly into his mouth. He toyed with it using his tongue, slipping a finger inside her at the same time. She was soaked and he experienced no difficulty when a second finger joined the first. His blunt nose was buried in her nether curls and it sounded like he was humming, each note sending a current from her little shame tongue somewhere deep within—she’d read those words somewhere in a naughty book she and Kathleen had taken turns reading aloud on hot summer nights. It had prompted her to get a mirror to see the accuracy of the description, without Kathleen’s knowledge, of course. My, but women were made in secretive fashion. Every important inch was buried treasure, unlike men who were designed for all the world to see.

  Tongues, shameful or otherwise—she’d have to remember to retract hers when she was thinking, but there was no chance of doing much proper thinking now—oh! She would have been thrashing about with sensation if she could, yet somehow her immobility was even more of a stimulant. Louisa could do nothing but lie still and feel every touch, hear every breath.

  Just as she’d promised, a scarce few minutes passed before she was completely mindless, vaulting off the bed and nearly knocking poor Charles off the field. If this was the last time they would do anything like this, Louisa wished he’d been less efficient, but she really could not complain of the decadent, luxurious tremors shooting down to her tethered toes.

  She opened her eyes to see him untying the braided cords. “There,” he said, removing the gag and brushing a thumb across her lips. “That should hold you a little while until you can get your next lover. Do be more discriminating in the future—neither Sir Richard Delacourt nor I are appropriate consorts for you. You deserve more.”

  “I do?”

  He grabbed a pillow to cover his rigid erection. “Enough. You got what you came for. I’m not handing out any more compliments. Now get out and go get dressed. I’m sure Kathleen is skulking about with her ear at the door. As of this minute and forever more, I am simply the man you hired to pretend to be your husband. No more kissing. Anywhere. Let’s behave like a normal society couple—I understand there’s a good reason for separate bedrooms. Pretend to loathe me. That way when you kill me in January you won’t have to simulate grief.”

  He sounded so final. Louisa supposed he was right—somehow they had switched roles. Hadn’t she been averse to having a “real” pretend marriage with him? She’d been adamant about displays of unnecessary affection. And now she just wanted to pull him down onto the bed and kiss him.

  Anywhere.

  Louisa rubbed her wrists. “I’ll meet you downstairs. Shall I have a footman sent up to help you dress?”

  Charles snorted.

  “I’ll take that as a no.” She cleared her throat. “Thank you for your—your kind assistance with my difficulty. I feel much better now.”

  “Bully for you. Now scamper off, would you?”

  Louisa scampered. She paused in the bathroom long enough to pull the plug out of the tub and pick up the towel that had dropped. Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she thought she looked too well tumbled to escape Kathleen’s notice.

  And then she heard a muffled, agonized shout. Her name, if she was not mistaken. Poor Charles. She could have helped him with that if only he’d asked.

  Chapter

  26

  A malevolent u
ndercurrent ran all through the evening from the obligatory predinner drinks in the drawing room to pudding at the table. Charles could find no fault with the food or the German wines, only with the company, which consisted of just the odd assortment of family and Dr. Fentress, who seemed to be a fixture. Even Louisa was subdued—the exuberance she displayed with him was buttoned up fast beneath a high-necked sky-blue satin gown that showed no pulchritude whatsoever. Whether she was avoiding stimulating Hugh or himself he wasn’t sure.

  He was beyond stimulated. The taste of Louisa was still on his tongue, and he hadn’t a clue how he was to stick to his resolution for the rest of the month.

  No sexual congress. It was imperative he keep his distance, for he couldn’t allow himself to be used in such a way again, no matter how delicious Louisa Stratton was. He had feelings for her that would not be assuaged by the occasional slap and a tickle by her fiat. If she couldn’t see her way to marry him—and really, why should she? He had nothing much to offer an heiress—then he was not going to break his own heart by falling ever deeper under her spell.

  Charles was placed next to Isobel again, but thankfully Grace had Hugh and Dr. Fentress for dinner companions tonight. She had given him one brittle smile over her glass of champagne and then ignored him with a steadfastness he could only admire. He avoided Isobel’s wandering hands as best he could and tried to make conversation with an ancient woman who had at one time been Louisa’s father’s and Grace’s governess. Evidently she was past governessing by the time Louisa and Hugh came around but still supported by the family. Perhaps Grace was human after all, though he wouldn’t want to bet the bank at Monte Carlo on it.

  Charles gazed around the table. Several leaves had been removed since last night, though the table was set as formally. There was Miss Popham, the retired governess; crusty old Great-Uncle Phillip, who sat at the head of the table tonight; Louisa; Miss Spruce, Grace’s secretary; Dr. Fentress; Grace; Hugh; and the grabby Isobel. One of these people might have hit him on the head last night—except for Hugh, who had not been home—though none of them looked at all capable or dangerous under the chandelier. Of course, Hugh could have instructed one of the servants to get Maximillian Norwich out of the way.