by Cheryl Holt
“Don’t take off my nightgown,” she said as the hem was at her hips, but she didn’t try to stop him. “I have no desire to be undressed in front of you.”
“And I have every desire to see you naked.”
With a particularly nimble flick of his wrist, he had the garment over her head. He peered down her torso, delighted with her feminine form, with her full breasts and curvaceous hips.
“I’m so glad you’re mine,” he murmured.
“Am I yours?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“For forever,” he lied.
She would be his until time or scandal or indifference separated them, and for the moment, he’d act as if they would continue on into infinity. He felt they were trapped in a bubble and the outside world could never intrude. Violet was a distant memory, and as long as he could maintain the pretense, he would.
He dipped to her breasts and feasted on them. Her nipples were so lovely, so sensitive, and he pleasured her until she was writhing beneath him.
“I want you naked, too,” she suddenly surprised him by saying.
“You do, do you?”
“Yes. If I have to remove my clothes, it seems only fair that you remove yours.”
“So it does.”
He drew onto his knees, and he let her watch, her interest keen as he stripped off his coat and shirt. She rolled them so that he was on his back, and she yanked off his boots and stockings. Ultimately, just his trousers were left.
The flap at the front was loose, and she slipped her hand inside and took hold of his cock. She was barely past her virginity, so she’d never been taught how to stroke it, but the sensation was extreme, and he nearly spilled himself like an adolescent lad of fifteen.
“Are all men the same size?”
“Some are bigger. Some are smaller.”
“How would you describe yours?”
“Definitely bigger.”
His answer had her squealing with laughter, and she toppled onto the mattress. They stared at the ceiling, giggling like a pair of naughty children, and he couldn’t remember when he’d ever been so foolish or lighthearted.
Before he’d met her, he’d have been aghast at the notion of behaving so merrily, but she made everything seem more vital. She made him feel alive and essential and necessary.
He came over her, and he began kissing her in earnest. There was a new seriousness to the endeavor. He wanted to please her, wanted to show her how it could truly be for them so she would never forget.
When their affair ended, when circumstances coalesced to force them apart, he hoped she would always fondly recollect their time together.
He dropped to her breasts again, and he suckled her, his fingers busy down below, spurring her to a quick orgasm. As she spiraled down, he spread her thighs, pushed himself in, and started to flex.
He couldn’t believe how much he needed her, how much she trusted him. They’d generated a closeness that went beyond the mere expectation of sexual gratification. There was a poignancy to it, a sweetness he hadn’t ever previously encountered with a woman, and he hadn’t known such an intimate joining was possible.
He kept on and on, and as her second orgasm commenced, he emptied himself deep in her womb, relishing every instant of the reckless conclusion.
Gradually, his thrusting slowed, and he pulled away. He spooned himself to her, his chest nestled to her back, his loins cradling her bottom.
“Don’t leave me,” he said, amazing himself. “If you did, I couldn’t bear it.”
She was quiet, then she sighed. “I won’t leave.”
“We’ll figure it out,” he claimed. “Just don’t be angry with me.”
“I’m finished with being angry.” She glanced at him over her shoulder. “I’m not very good at displays of temper, and since the end result is that I wound up in bed with you, it’s been a wasted effort.”
He chuckled and snuggled her down. They were silent again, each lost in difficult contemplation.
Eventually, she confessed, “It will hurt me when you marry her.”
“I know it will.”
“I can’t work as her companion. I can’t fetch her parasol or ride in the carriage when she goes visiting.”
“You won’t have to. Not ever again.”
“Then what will you do with me? How will you explain my continued presence? You already abolished my duties to the twins. If I have no duties to Lady Violet, either, what will you tell people as to why I’m still here?”
He couldn’t guess what lies he’d spew in order to keep her with him, and he didn’t like her mentioning Violet. Her comments rammed at the wall he’d constructed between his real life and the false one he was building with her. He couldn’t ever let the two worlds collide.
“We’ll figure it out,” he insisted more firmly.
“Yes, I suppose we will.” She hesitated, then asked, “Everything will be all right, won’t it?”
“As long as you’re with me, everything will be fine.”
Her breathing lagged, her body relaxing as she fell asleep.
Though he was exhausted himself, he fought slumber, dawdling, cherishing the moment, wanting it to last forever.
The first ray of dawn broke on the horizon, and he beat the cock’s crow. Sliding off the mattress, he tugged on his trousers and sneaked away.
Chapter 16
“CAUGHT you, you wicked minx.”
“Let me go.”
“No.” Edward wrapped his arm around Miranda and held her tight. “Let’s have a chat, shall we?”
“I’m busy.”
“I don’t see that you have any choice.”
They were in an upstairs hall, next to several unoccupied bedchambers, and he was eager to make use of one of them. He wasn’t generally prone to ravishment, but what female had ever deserved it more than she?
He’d been riding, and he was dressed in boots and spurs. He’d brought his riding crop, and he tossed it into a nearby room, then he tried to pull her in after it, but she wouldn’t budge from her vantage point by the window.
She was peering off across the garden, and as he yanked her away, she started to struggle in earnest.
“No.” She kicked at his shins with her heel. “I have to keep watching.”
“Watching what?”
“Miss Lambert. She’s taking her afternoon walk, and we’re tracking her route.”
“Planning future attacks, are you?”
“We don’t understand why she’s still here. She was forbidden to help us anymore, so what’s she doing?”
“She helps Violet, instead.”
“No. John told the housekeeper that she wasn’t available to Violet.” She glared over her shoulder. “Why do you suppose that is?”
“I don’t care why.”
Determined to remain in her spot, she scrapped and fought, but he was bigger and stronger. He wrestled her into the bedchamber and closed the door.
“Now then,” he said, “let’s have that chat.”
Before she could reply, Melanie knocked.
“Miranda, let me in.”
“No,” Miranda surprised him by retorting. “I’m with Edward. He’s picked me, and we want to be alone.”
“I have to talk to you,” Melanie insisted.
Edward hadn’t been prepared for an interruption, and he most especially didn’t like how Miranda had announced that he’d picked her.
To what was she referring? Did she mean his lie that he’d wed her or her sister? As he fretted over the prospect, Melanie hustled in without being invited.
Fine, he thought. He’d hoped to trap them together, and they’d made it easy.
They stood side by side, staring at him.
“Is it true?” Melanie asked. “Have you chosen Miranda over me?”
“I haven’t decided,” he claimed.
“We should both have a chance to convince you,” Melanie nagged. “Miranda always gets her way.”
/> “And you don’t?”
“No. I have to do what she wants, and she always goes first.”
Miranda smirked. “It’s the bane of being born second.”
“You’d like me more than her,” Melanie asserted to Edward.
“Would I?” Edward inquired. “How could I be sure?”
Suddenly, the most wicked notion occurred to him.
If he pretended to be interested in matrimony, he could play them off one another. He’d be able to stretch out the competition for weeks or months, and in the process, he’d be showered with decadent acts.
“I believe,” he said, “that we shall have to have a contest.”
“What type of contest?” Miranda queried.
“You’ll have to show me how thoroughly you can satisfy me.”
“In a sexual manner?”
“Yes. I won’t have a bride who’s a cold fish. She must be proficient at her wifely duties. My standards are very exacting. I wonder how you’d fare?”
They gazed at each other, sharing one of their odd visual exchanges. When they grinned, his balls clenched, but not in a good way. It seemed they had a secret, as if they’d set the rules without consulting him. If they had mischief in mind, he might not realize it until it was too late.
They stepped nearer, so he was boxed in between them.
“How long will the contest last?” Miranda asked.
“The length will depend on how skillfully you perform.”
“Two weeks,” Miranda interjected, giving him no leeway. “Then you’ll have to choose. You’ll have to speak with John, too, so he doesn’t send us back to England before we’re finished.”
“Once you make your selection,” Melanie added, “the wedding can be held here in Scotland—where it’s so easily accomplished.”
They leaned in, a bosom crushed to each of his arms, a mons to each thigh.
“Yes,” he agreed, “two weeks should be plenty of time.”
“You wouldn’t lie to us, would you, Edward?”
“No.”
“Because we don’t like it when people deceive us. Just remember our father. In the end, he was very, very sorry.”
Edward frowned, speculating over what the hell they were intimating. Their father had suffered a pathetic demise, an accident with a gun in his library, which was a euphemism for suicide. But they were hinting at a darker conclusion.
What had the little demons done? Had they harmed their father? Would they have stooped to . . . to . . . murder?
The moment the lurid possibility blossomed, he shook it away.
He knew the twins. They’d lived with the family for a year and a half. Their father had been quietly dead and buried all that time. There had never been a whiff of gossip regarding his early demise.
Still, the fiery gleam in their blue eyes was unnerving, and he was having second thoughts as to whether he should foster further involvement, but he was so captivated by their rough carnal treatment. He craved more of it, just as he yearned to dish out a bit of it himself.
He wanted to see them fettered to the bed, wanted them pulling on the ropes as they begged for mercy.
Dare he proceed? Should he?
As he debated, Miranda crouched down and grabbed his riding crop, cutting off any divergent path. In an instant, the position of power was altered, and she was in control.
He should have marched out, but he didn’t. He was frozen in place, riveted by the promise of debauchery, and wild horses couldn’t have dragged him away.
Miranda smacked the crop across Melanie’s bottom.
“Bare your breasts to him,” Miranda ordered.
“Please don’t make me,” Melanie cried, and his cock grew hard as a stone.
“Do it!” Miranda commanded, slapping with the crop again.
Melanie turned, and Edward started undoing the buttons on her dress, any chance of restraint lost in a fog of twisted desire.
“VIOLET and I have something to say.”
“What is it?”
Esther studied John, her fury meticulously concealed. She forced a smile, even though she wasn’t feeling cheery or cordial.
They were in his library, and he was seated at his desk. He waved them to the chairs across, and they sat.
She’d spied on him all afternoon, but he’d simply pretended to work, doodling or blindly gazing out the window. His stack of bills and correspondence hadn’t been touched.
She’d raised him and knew him well. He wasn’t given to lethargy or sloth, and he’d heeded her biblical teachings: Idleness invited trouble.
What was happening to him? Why was he so distracted?
She didn’t like him to have secrets, and she had to discover what was bothering him. After he went to bed, she’d sneak down and search his desk. He kept it locked, but years earlier, she’d made a copy of the key.
It paid to be vigilant, and she couldn’t be caught off guard, especially if any information pertained to Edward. She had to stay one step ahead of John, had to ensure Edward was safe.
“It appears,” she began, “that Violet and I have angered you with our talk about your mother. It wasn’t our intent.” She paused, waiting for the stupid girl to pipe up. When she didn’t, Esther pressed, “Was it, Violet?”
“No. We apologize for any hard feelings we may have caused.”
“Thank you,” he coolly stated, but from his steely glare, it didn’t seem as if they were forgiven.
Ever since they’d foolishly badgered him about Barbara, he’d rarely spoken to either of them. Nor had he spent any time with Violet. She’d become invisible, which was disturbing on many fronts.
She was terrified that he would call off the betrothal and send her home, and she had solicited Esther’s advice on how to fix things with him. Esther had been skating on her own thin ice, about to be sent home, too, so she’d agreed to help Violet in pleading her case, thereby hoping to improve her own.
“We realize,” Esther continued, “that your mother’s arrival has left you in a difficult position.”
He merely stared, providing no clue as to his opinion on the matter, and Violet filled the void.
“I’m sorry if I gave you the impression that I don’t like her. I find her to be a very interesting . . . person.” She tried to smile, but couldn’t manage it. “However you elect to deal with her, it is fine by me. I know better than to have chastised you on any topic.”
It was the perfect opening for him to graciously reply, to display the manners that Esther had taught him, but he remained so mute that his mouth might have been glued shut.
An awkward silence ensued, she and Violet on tenterhooks, braced to hear their sentence.
“Will that be all?” he finally inquired.
“I was wondering,” Esther requested, “if I might stay on in Scotland. You had mentioned that I could travel to England with the twins, but I hate to leave you without a hostess.”
He could have embarrassed her by countering with, My mother has assumed your role; you’re not needed here, but he didn’t, and she was exceedingly relieved.
“You may stay on,” he said, “if that is your wish.”
“It is; I will.”
“And I was wondering,” Violet ventured, “if you would . . . would . . . walk with me in the garden after supper. It should be a lovely evening, and you’ve been so busy that we’ve scarcely had a second to chat.”
If he said no, that he had no desire to walk with her after supper, the engagement would be over. His coach would be readied, and Violet would be immediately dispatched to London.
Esther held her breath, while beside her, Violet was trembling.
Ultimately, he nodded. “Yes, I’m certain I will have time for you.”
Esther stood and dragged Violet from the room before John could change his mind.
LILY hurried through the woods.
It was a beautiful autumn afternoon. The sky was so blue, and there was a crispness to the air, a hint of the colder weather
that was just around the corner. The trees were a canopy of red and gold, and she could smell smoke as bonfires burned and the fields were cleared.
Up ahead, the forest thinned, and she glimpsed the house that belonged to Captain Odell, where Phillip Dudley and his sister, Clarinda, were living. Though Lily had never previously been inside the residence, it called to her like a beacon.
She had passed the morning in her bedchamber, hiding and plotting. As promised, John—no, she couldn’t think of him as John. The familiarity confused her, made her forget her station in life. Lord Penworth had arranged that she have no chores to perform, and as every servant knew, there was only one way a female could earn such a dispensation.
Calamity was approaching. She could feel it as plainly as she could feel the breeze on her face. At the slightest whisper of gossip, the affair would be exposed. Penworth’s fiancée and stepmother would learn of it. Once they were apprised, what would they do? What would happen to Lily?
The answers to those questions were all disconcerting, and she wouldn’t tarry while disaster unfolded.
After much reflection, there seemed to be only one option, but she would require assistance to carry it off. Mr. Dudley was the obvious choice as conspirator. She had no idea who else to ask.
She banged the knocker, anxious to hear that he was home and would see her. A footman opened the door, and she was welcomed in and escorted to a cozy parlor. She entered, but Clarinda Dudley was present, rather than her brother.
Lily didn’t know Miss Dudley that well, having mingled with her on rare occasions at Penworth’s parties. Lily was sufficiently dismayed at having to seek Mr. Dudley’s aid, and it would be a giant leap to presume she could discuss the mess with his sister.
“Hello, Miss Lambert.” Miss Dudley came over to take Lily’s hands. “How kind of you to visit. I’m so glad you stopped by.”
She guided Lily to a small sofa, and they sat in front of a window and looked out across the park that led back to Penworth’s castle. Lily was very uncomfortable and wanted to leave, but it would be the height of rudeness to get up and go.
“By any chance,” Lily asked, “is your brother here?”
“No, I’m sorry, he’s not. May I help you?”
