by Cheryl Holt
He walked over to her, and he bent down, his hands on her chair, trapping her in her seat. “I need you with me.”
“I’m afraid of them,” she admitted, when she’d never previously been afraid of anything.
“I’ll protect you. They’ll never hurt you again. I swear it.”
He studied the knot on her head, and he reached out to trace a finger over it. She flinched away, aware that it would be painful if he touched it.
“Head cuts are notoriously vexing,” he stated. “They bleed and bleed. You might have to have it sewn.”
“I won’t.”
“Nevertheless, I’ll send for the apothecary in the morning. I’ll have him look at it.”
She might have argued that she hated doctors, that she wouldn’t permit an apothecary to stitch a needle through her skin as if she was a worn sock being mended, but she knew him well enough: He had decided on an apothecary, and there would be no dissuading him.
She stifled a yawn, the whiskey she’d drunk kicking in, the weight of her ordeal bearing down. Fatigue swept over her.
“You’re exhausted,” he said.
“I am.”
“Come.”
“To where?”
“I’ll tuck you into bed.”
He tugged her to her feet, led her over, and pulled back the covers. After he helped her climb in, she assumed he’d leave, but he didn’t. He rested a hip on the mattress, and he scrutinized her, his gaze troubled. He appeared to have much he wished to say, but he was nervous about saying it.
“I was searching for you all day,” he claimed.
“You were not.”
“I’m getting used to having you around. When I realized you were missing, I was so worried.”
“I didn’t think anybody would notice I was gone.”
“Oh, Lily, you silly girl. I noticed immediately.”
He brushed the sweetest kiss across her lips, then he went about the room and blew out the candles. Flames from the fire left a pleasant glow as he ambled over and sat on the mattress again.
“Can you forgive me?” he asked.
“There’s nothing to forgive.”
“Sleep now.”
“I will.”
To her horror, tears filled her eyes. So far, she’d kept her emotions in check, but with her tribulations concluded, she was sad and weary.
The trials of her life—the reduced opportunities, the need to work and work and work just to get by—were pressing down, making her melancholy in a way she never was.
“Don’t cry.” He swiped at her tears with his thumb. “It kills me to know that you’re unhappy.”
“I thought I would die down there. I thought I’d never see you again.”
“Not see me again? Are you mad? I’m like a plague of locusts. You’ll never be shed of me—no matter how hard you try.”
“Lucky me,” she said with a watery smile.
He stood and raised the blankets, and he motioned to her. “Scoot over.”
“Why?”
“I’ll watch over you—until you doze off.”
She’d been anxious about being alone, about having the fire dwindle and the room grow dark. She’d never been scared of the dark, and after a few days, her fear would pass, but just then, she couldn’t abide the notion of the silence and shadows.
“I’d like it if you stayed,” she told him.
“I figured you might.”
He stretched out, his arms wrapped around her. In two seconds flat, she was asleep.
JOHN peered out at the brightening sky. Lily was snuggled to his chest, as she had been for hours, and she’d barely stirred. He loved how her small hand lay on his stomach, how puffs of air from her exhalation tickled his nape.
Dawn was approaching, and he had to sneak out, but he couldn’t drag himself away. He’d never been so reckless, had never seduced a servant or crawled into a woman’s bed in his own home. Of course, he’d never previously met a woman who affected him as Lily did. He constantly strove to be a model of decorum, but—due to his fixation with her—he’d rejected all appropriate conduct.
If he kept breaking the rules and behaving badly, he wasn’t sure where he’d wind up. There might come a time when he wouldn’t recognize himself as the man he’d been before she’d crossed his path.
He didn’t understand his obsession. Occasionally, he felt as if a magic spell had been cast over him, and he couldn’t counter it.
Perhaps his mother was rubbing off on him, or perhaps her imprudent tendencies were catching. Whatever the cause, he was foolishly, dangerously besotted, and he had to dampen his attraction, but at the moment, he wouldn’t fret over it.
He lifted the hair off her forehead, and as he studied her injury, his fury surged anew. They were extremely fortunate that the twins hadn’t done her serious harm. She could never be in their presence where they might have further chances to hurt her. Yet if he rescinded her chores, there was no reason for her to remain in Scotland.
So what were his options?
Again, he’d fret about it later.
Out in one of the barns, the cock crowed. His window of opportunity for a clean escape was closing, but he wasn’t ready for the intimate episode to end.
He kissed her nose and her mouth, and her eyelids fluttered open.
“Hello,” she murmured.
“Hello, yourself.”
“I was having the most wonderful dream.”
“About what?”
“I was walking in a field of flowers, and my mother was in the pasture on the other side of the fence. She was waving at me.”
“Is your mother living?”
“No, you oaf.” She pinched the skin over his ribs. “I’m an orphan. Why do you think I have to support myself by working for men like you?”
“How are you feeling?”
“My head is pounding as if it was whacked with a sledgehammer.” She extended her legs and winced. “And I ache in every bone in my body. How are you?”
He chuckled, then sobered. “I have to get going.”
“I don’t want you to leave.”
“Which is music to my ears, but I must slip away while I still can.”
“Yes, I suppose you must.”
She sighed and draped a lazy arm across his waist. There was no sign of awkwardness or embarrassment. She acted casually, as if she’d awakened next to him a hundred times prior.
“Thank you for coming to find me last night.”
“It was my pleasure.”
“Thank you for carrying me up here, for the hot bath and the food.” Those pesky tears were back, and he couldn’t bear to see them. “I can’t remember when anyone has ever been so kind to me.”
The comment was poignant, and it wrenched at a part of him that was deeply buried beneath layers of societal mores and ingrained habit.
He was one of the richest, most powerful men in the kingdom. He was one of the largest landowners. Tens of thousands of people were employed by him and depended on his prosperity, but he never pondered their personal situations. There was a wall between him and all of them, a wall of wealth and status and class, and he’d been trained not to care.
What must it be like to be Lily? To be young and alone and forced to rely on others to eat or have a bed to sleep in?
He’d never considered such weighty questions, and the realization that she struggled with them every day only heightened his interest in her. His feelings were moving into a perilous realm that had to be thoroughly scrutinized.
It was pointless to grow attached. No relationship was possible, and he wouldn’t fantasize that one could become possible.
Men of his station didn’t fall in love with women like her. They didn’t make them their wives or the mothers of their children.
For another type of aristocrat, she would have been a perfect choice as mistress, but not for him. He’d spent too many years hearing lurid stories about his mother, about how she’d been mistress to various noblemen, and
he’d sworn he’d never corrupt a female in such a despicable fashion.
If he needed physical companionship, he visited a doxy like Lauretta Bainbridge. She understood sexual dalliance to be a business transaction, and she expected naught but a quick tumble and the coins she’d be paid for participating.
So . . . where did Lily fit in to his life? What should he do with her? If he couldn’t marry her and wouldn’t keep her as a mistress, what was his plan?
He knew he should behave honorably, that he should tell her good-bye and walk out, but he couldn’t go. Morning passion had swelled his loins, and while he usually strove to ignore it, a niggling voice was urging him to satisfy it for a change. The message was drowning out coherent thought.
Why not enjoy himself? Why not take what he wanted and damn the consequences? He was always so bloody restrained. Would it kill him to act out of character? Would the world cease to spin if he selfishly proceeded?
The front of her robe was gaping open, providing tantalizing glimpses of her bosom. His decision swiftly made, he slipped a hand under the fabric to fondle her breast.
She didn’t order him to desist, so the chance to select a different course was lost. The rationalizations flew: When he desired her so vehemently, why deny himself? He was eager to have carnal knowledge of her. Shouldn’t he get it over with and stop fretting?
He came over her, pushing her into the mattress, and he could feel her all the way down his torso. His rigid phallus was pressed to her belly, and he was practically giddy with elation.
What was his intent? Was he about to fornicate with her? Was that his scheme? Apparently so. For once, he would carry on without ruminating over every little detail.
He started kissing her and kissing her, and she joined in with vigor and abandon that thrilled and titillated in equal measure.
His fingers went to her breasts, then his lips, as he suckled her nipples. He kept on and on, shifting back and forth until she was writhing beneath him.
She craved the intimate contact as much as he, and he wasn’t surprised. He’d heard that human beings—after experiencing a potentially fatal event—celebrated in the most elemental way.
He caressed her between her legs, and she was such a sexual creature that, with no effort at all, he sent her soaring to the heavens. As she reached her peak and floated down, she was giggling with merriment.
“You are so wicked,” she said.
“I never picture myself as being depraved, but I guess I am.”
“I can’t believe I let you do that to me again. I’ve become a wanton.”
“Good.” He wiggled his brows. “I’ve hardly begun to pleasure you.”
“Ooh, what have you in store for me?”
Their banter ceased, and as he gazed down at her, the most eerie impression swept over him. The space around them narrowed so that he seemed to be viewing her through the lens of a telescope.
His senses were heightened. Lights were brighter, colors more vivid, sounds louder.
He could see her so clearly. The future they were meant to have was obviously marked so that he couldn’t miss a single step in their road together. They were happily married, with four children—two girls and two boys. Then Lily was older, their children grown with children of their own. He was still with her, still content that he’d chosen her as his bride.
It seemed so real, as if it had been his destiny without his knowing. He could bring it to fruition; he simply had to be brave enough to grab for it.
It was on the tip of his tongue to speak up, to inform her that he’d been waiting for her forever, that he was so glad she’d finally arrived, but before he could, his name echoed, as if from a far distance.
“John . . . ?”
The odd vision waned, then disappeared, his memory of it fading fast, until he could barely recollect what he’d witnessed.
“John, are you all right?”
He grinned. “You called me John. We’re making progress.”
“You had the strangest look on your face.”
“I did?”
“You were a thousand miles away.”
“I was just thinking about you—and what I plan to do to you.”
“What is that?”
“I’ll show you.”
He gripped her thighs and spread them, and he dropped between them so he was wedged tight. She was wet and relaxed from her orgasm, and any residual reservations vanished in an instant.
He would blithely ruin her, but he didn’t care. It was horrid and wrong, and as her employer, he would be abusing her terribly, but it was the sole conclusion he could accept.
Starting in again, he drove her up and up the spiral of lust. She participated with an eagerness he relished, providing all the evidence he required to continue.
He wanted to be inside her more than he’d ever wanted anything. If he failed in his quest, he might . . . might perish! His determination was that strong. He—who was always in control, who never committed a reckless act—had to join with her or die trying.
He fussed with the buttons on his trousers. While she was mostly naked, only her arms covered by the fabric of her robe, he was still fully dressed, and he was so aroused that he couldn’t pause to remove any clothing.
He pulled his cock free and lodged the tip in her sheath. She frowned, her confusion clear.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I’m going to make love to you—as a husband does his wife.”
“I don’t know what that entails.”
He touched her at the spot where his phallus was primed for action.
“I’ll push myself into you. Here.” He flexed his hips, his need extreme. “Don’t you see, Lily? This is where we’ve been heading since we first met.”
“But it’s not the ending I intended.”
It was a peculiar comment, and if he’d been in a more rational state, he might have pondered it, might have asked what she was implying, but he was too agitated for lucid discussion.
“Let me do this,” he implored. “I’m aching with desire for you.”
“I can’t bear to say no, but I don’t know what’s best.”
“Trust me. It will be all right.”
She studied him with eyes that seemed old and wise. “I want to make you happy,” she murmured.
“You do make me happy.” He grinned a roguish grin. “And you’ll make me even happier if you let me proceed.”
She chuckled, then dithered over her decision. The longer she calculated, the more her resolve weakened. He held his breath, the suspense killing him.
Ultimately, she nodded, granting permission, and he began again. He continued titillating her until she was mindless with pleasure, until another orgasm commenced.
As she tensed with ecstasy, he thrust once, twice, and just that easily, he entered her.
The feel of her maiden’s blood, so slick and hot, immediately goaded him to the edge. Without warning, he emptied himself against her womb—the deed was done and couldn’t be undone—but even though his seed was spilled, he shoved himself in and in.
He hated that he had to stop, hated for it to be over, but as his hips ground to a halt and he drew away, he was swamped with guilt. He should have gone slower! He should have prepared her for what was to come!
She’d been a virgin, for pity’s sake, yet he’d behaved like a rutting beast with no concern for her chaste condition.
He’d opened his mouth to apologize, to counsel her on how it would get better with repetition, but a knock sounded on the door, and the words died in his throat. Out the window, he noted that morning had arrived. The servants were up and seeing to their chores.
“Miss Lambert?” a maid softly called, and he suffered a moment of alarm.
The previous night, he hadn’t spun the key in the lock. What if she strolled in and caught them?
Reality returned with a vengeance.
What was he doing? What was he thinking?
He’d spent his entire
life castigating his mother for her immoral lapses. If he was capable of the same sort of illicit conduct, what did it indicate about his true character?
“Tell her,” he whispered in Lily’s ear, “that you’re not up yet, and you’d like her to come back later.”
Lily appeared stunned, her expression a mix of distress and regret, and he wished he could calm or placate her, but there was no time.
She remained silent, and he urged, “Tell her! Quick! Before she turns the knob and peeks in.”
“It’s . . . it’s . . . Miss Lambert,” she stammered. “Could you come back in a half hour?”
“Yes, Miss. Are you needing anything for now?”
“No, I’m . . . fine.”
The girl walked on, and as her strides faded, he slid from the bed. In a panic, he rushed about, straightening his trousers and tucking in his shirt. Lily watched, not speaking, her gaze anxious and perplexed.
He yearned to climb under the covers, to soothe and console her over the abrupt coupling and even more abrupt conclusion. But they’d already courted sufficient disaster. He didn’t dare dawdle further.
Leaning over her, he braced his hands on the mattress.
“Sleep in,” he said, “all day if you’d like.”
“What about . . . about ...”
He wasn’t sure what she was trying to ask, but he suspected any query would involve his contemptible, abbreviated seduction. He was a disgraceful ass, but with the carnal heat of the encounter waning, he was too embarrassed to hash out his failings.
“I’ll see you this afternoon,” he insisted. “We’ll talk then.”
He went to the door and peered out. Espying no one, he tiptoed away and—like the cad he apparently was—he hurried to his room without glancing back.
Chapter 11
“LOCK the door,” Barbara whispered. “Hurry.”
Phillip sneaked in behind her and did as she asked, quickly sealing them in her boudoir.
She’d thought their initial tryst would be in his room, at his home, but she was more than happy to seduce him in her own suite. It was particularly thrilling to know how vehemently Esther would disapprove. She was still whining about how Barbara had stolen her bed, and if she had any idea of what Barbara was about to do on its mattress, she’d suffer an apoplexy.
