by Cheryl Holt
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue
“CHERYL HOLT DELIVERS WHAT READERS DESIRE.”*
PRAISE FOR CHERYL HOLT AND HER NOVELS
“The queen of erotic romance.” —Book Cove Reviews
“A scorching novel that titillates as she explores a woman’s deepest fantasies and brings them, red-hot, to the page. But there’s more than just great sex in Holt’s romances.”
—*Romantic Times
“Cheryl Holt is magnificent.” —Reader to Reader Reviews
“[A] master writer.” —Fallen Angel Reviews
“From cover to cover I was spellbound . . . Truly outstanding.”
—Romance Junkies
“The action [is] intense and the love scenes are explicit, which makes [this] a doubly fantastic page-turner.”
—Night Owl Romance
“A classic love story with hot, fiery passion . . . dripping from every page. There’s nothing better than curling up with a great book and this one totally qualifies.”
—Fresh Fiction
“Packed with emotion, sensuality, and surprising twists and turns. Holt has come up with the perfect combination of intrigue, sensual love scenes, and tender emotion, which I haven’t read in a historical romance in a very long time. Just too delicious to pass up. Happy reading!”
—Romance Reader at Heart
“This book pulls you in and you won’t be able to put it down.” —The Romance Studio
Berkley Sensation Titles by Cheryl Holt
PROMISE OF PLEASURE
TASTE OF TEMPTATION
DREAMS OF DESIRE
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
DREAMS OF DESIRE
A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Sensation mass-market edition / December 2010
Copyright © 2010 by Cheryl Holt.
All rights reserved.
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eISBN : 978-1-101-44564-8
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Chapter 1
PENWORTH HALL, RURAL ENGLAND, AUGUST 1814 . . .
“I might deign to hire you, Miss Lambert.”
“I hope you will, Lord Penworth.”
“But you would be expected to exhibit the utmost decorum at all times.”
“Oh, absolutely. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Lily Lambert sat in her chair, staring across the massive oak desk at the arrogant, officious aristocrat John Middleton, Earl of Penworth.
He was extremely handsome, with dark hair and piercing blue eyes, broad shoulders, and excessive height. But good looks couldn’t mask the fact that he was an overbearing boor.
She’d been eager to serve as companion to his two wards and his fiancée, but now, she wasn’t so sure.
When she’d agreed to come for the interview, Mrs. Ford—owner of the Ford Employment Agency—had warned her that Penworth could be fussy and domineering, but no amount of notice could have prepared Lily for how unpleasant he truly was.
She’d been in his presence for all of five minutes, and he’d done nothing but chastise and complain. What an onerous boss he would be! He didn’t appear to like servants very much. Or females. Perhaps it was simply female servants whom he detested.
She kept her expression blank, not by so much as the quiver of a brow providing any evidence of her own level of aversion to his rank and status.
For the prior decade, she’d been nanny, governess, and companion to the spoiled offspring of nobles just like him, and she’d endured plenty of nonsense. Because of her dismal history, her opinion of him was very low—even though she scarcely knew him.
She wondered if he was the sort to seduce his maids, but she thought he wouldn’t be. He was too conceited, too set on being marvelous. He’d never stoop to fraternization.
“I’m a hard taskmaster,” he said, intoning it like a threat.
“And I’m a dedicated worker.”
“If I issue orders, they must be instantly obeyed.”
“I would be yours to command.”
“I’ll brook no sloth or insubordination.”
“I wouldn’t dream of idleness or rebellion.”
He snorted at that. “I won’t have you down in the kitchen, criticizing me over your supper—a supper I have supplied in my own house.”
“I am loyalty personified.”
“I demand fidelity and constancy.”
“I’m constant as the day is long.”
“But are you devoted? Can you be trusted?”
“Of course I can be trusted.”
He meticulously studied her, as if she was an agitator bent on causing trouble. Then he held up the thick file Mrs. Ford had sent. It was filled with glowing letters of recommendation, but all of them were forged. Lily had written them herself.
Lily had been fired—through no fault of her own—more times than she could count, and she refused to starve merely because an oblivious noblewoman couldn’t make her spouse behave.
Being all alone in the world, Lily had no family to lean on for support, so she had to do what was necessary to get by. If financial security meant drafting a few fake letters, so be it, and the positive reports weren’t really false.
She was a dedicated worker. She was reliable and steady. She was kind and courteous, so she suffered no qualms about furthering her claims of proficiency, and she’d never been caught out.
In her experience, the person hiring was always in a hurry, needing someone to start immediately, so references were never checked. Lily acted competent, thrifty, and educated, so people were easily convinced that she was precisely who—and what—she said she was.
“You have an impressive resumé,” Penworth remarked.
“I try.”
“Yet I must admit that I’m wary.”
“Of what?” she snapped before she could stop herself.
He’d flustered her, and her composure slipped. She hastened to shield any reaction.
“How old are you, Miss Lambert?”
“Twenty-five, milord.”
“You’ve had numerous positions. Why so many? Are you prone to quitting? Will you pack your bags after a few weeks? Will you leave me in the lurch? I would hate to find myself trapped in Scotland with my wards unattended.”
He was guardian to eighteen-year-old twins, Miss Miranda and Miss Melanie Newton. They were daughters of a friend who’d perished from fast living.
They were accompanying Penworth on his annual hunting excursion to his castle in Scotland, as was his fiancée, Lady Violet Howard. She was the same age as the twins.
Of all the dreadful situations for which Lily was remotely qualified, having to spend the autumn traipsing after a trio of rich, indolent adolescents had to be the worst available option. She viewed the coming ordeal with a nauseating resignation, but while she didn’t particularly want the job, she couldn’t afford to decline it.
After the disaster at her last post—what she referred to as the incident with her employer’s husband—she was anxious to flee London for a bit. In case any gossip leaked out, she had to be far from Town so stories could fade before she returned.
Her ability to obtain work was dependent on a stellar reputation, and she was determined to hide until the storm had passed.
“Your questions are understandable, Lord Penworth, but if you look closely, you’ll see that I have perfectly logical reasons for my frequent moves.”
“Those being?”
“I was companion to several elderly ladies who died, so the jobs ended.”
“I suppose,” he allowed, as if she should have been so accursedly loyal as to have stayed on after her employer was deceased.
The man was an idiot.
“I was also governess,” she said, “to various girls who went on to marry. Once they were wed, my services were no longer required.”
At this news, he harrumphed as if her charges had done something shocking by marrying, and she could barely contain her exasperation.
What sort of woman was he seeking, a saint?
He opened the file and began to read, poring over every detail as she fidgeted and fumed in her seat.
Ultimately, he exhaled a heavy sigh. “Fine. You’re hired.”
The remark was the exact opposite of what she’d expected, and she gaped at him. “What did you say?”
“You’re hired.”
“Oh.” She’d been so sure of rejection that acceptance was almost a letdown.
“You don’t seem very excited,” he mentioned.
She flashed a tight smile. “I’m positively ecstatic.”
He barked out a laugh, the sound rusty, as if it didn’t happen often.
“Is this you in ecstasy, Miss Lambert?”
She couldn’t abide his condescending tone and answered more sarcastically than she should have. “Would you like me to leap up and twirl in circles?”
“I doubt my poor heart could stand the sight. A simple thank-you will suffice.”
“Thank you.”
His chin balanced on his hand, he leaned back and assessed her. She scrutinized him in return.
He was thirty, so there was only five years difference in their ages. But he was so urbane, so patronizing and sophisticated, that he seemed decades older. Wealth, station, and life experience separated them as clearly as if a line had been drawn.
His long legs were stretched out, one foot crossed over the other. Even though he slouched in his chair, he appeared to be uncomfortable, and she wondered if he ever relaxed.
“You’re very interesting, Miss Lambert.”
“Why do you say so?”
“I’ve given you a place in my household, but you’re not gushing. Most females—when I take the time to personally interview them—are a tad more obsequious.”
“I offered to rejoice, but you said you’d rather I didn’t.”
“So I did.”
“Have you changed your mind? Would you like me to flatter and compliment? I certainly can, if it will make you happy.”
“Don’t you dare go all sycophantic on me. We’re merely completing a business transaction.” He tapped a pensive finger against his lips and scowled. “There’s just one problem.”
“What is it?”
“You’re very pretty. It worries me.”
On hearing the comment, she felt as if they’d stepped into a murky bog. She didn’t consider it vanity when she admitted to being pretty. There was nothing wrong with her vision, and she could see her reflection in a mirror. She was blond and blue-eyed, with a heart-shaped face and pouting lips. Her high cheekbones and dimples had driven several aristocratic sons to write absurd, unwanted poetry about her.
In addition to her comely features, she was pleasingly plump, rounded in the right spots, with a bosom that was fuller than it should be, a small waist, and curvaceous hips. Her shapely figure attracted male attention that she didn’t solicit or condone, and she occasionally received risqué proposals that involved her posing in the nude.
“My looks are . . . worrying to you?” she tentatively ventured.
“Yes, so I’m afraid I have to set some ground rules.”
“Ground rules?”
“Yes.”
“Such as?”
“There will be no flirting with the footmen.”
“Definitely not.”
“Nor can I permit drinking or cavorting. No frolicking with boys in the village. No late-night dips in the pond in your undergarments.”
She was so insulted she couldn’t think straight. “Anything else?”
“No gambling. I absolutely draw the line at wagering.”
“I’ll do my best to avoid it.”
He raised an imperious brow. “Are you mocking me, Miss Lambert?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Recently, we’ve had a rash of untoward behavior, and it’s my opinion that much unpleasantness could have been averted if I’d been clearer from the start as to the conduct required.”
“Your housemaids have been disruptive? They’ve been swimming in the pond and dallying with the footmen?”
“Not my maids. The companions I’ve hired for my wards.”
“How many have you hired?”
“In the past year? Seven.”
His cheeks flushed as she gawked at him, trying to make sense of the information. Why would so many have come and gone over such a short period? Was he just particularly bad at choosing capable people? Or was he an impossible brute?
Lily was acquainted with many of the women from Mrs. Ford
’s agency, and there was no more boring, humdrum group in existence. She couldn’t imagine any of them instigating the type of trouble he’d described.
Suddenly, she was swamped with misgivings, and an alarm bell began to chime. “You’ve had seven companions?”
“Yes, and none of them has had the fortitude to stick it out.”
“May I inquire as to why?”
“No, you may not. Suffice it to say that it was a lack of character on their parts.”
“On all their parts?”
“Yes,” he haughtily insisted. “I asked of them what I ask of myself. I maintain the highest standards of decency and decorum. I would never cause a scandal, initiate gossip, or involve myself in an immoral situation. I demand the same of my servants.”
What a dreadfully dull household it must be, she mused. Then again, it had to be better than being groped in a dark hallway or having your employer’s husband sneak into your bed in the middle of the night.
“I don’t suppose any of this was due to mischief by your wards?”
“My wards? Why would you even suggest such a thing? Their reputations are beyond reproach.”
“So . . . it was simply a scourge of amorous, flighty lady’s companions?”
That imperious brow was raised again. “You doubt me?”
It would be completely impolitic to answer yes, so instead, she stood.
“I had said thank you,” she told him, “but I must change my reply to no thank you.”
“What do you mean?”
“This job sounds to be quite above my level of competency. I’m sorry, but I wouldn’t be right for it.”
Cursing herself for a fool, she started out. They were at his country manor, Penworth Hall, a two-day journey from the city. Mrs. Ford had loaned her coach fare to attend the interview, with the understanding that Lily would pay her back from her first month’s wages.
If she walked out, how would she square the debt? And if she snubbed the earl, why would Mrs. Ford place her at another post? Lily had lost many of the positions Mrs. Ford had found for her. Why would she keep Lily on?
