Dreams of Desire

by Cheryl Holt

  “Tell me where she is, or I swear to God, I will take a switch to you.”

  She rose to her feet, looking regal and offended.

  “If you must know, she has left.”

  “Left!”

  “Yes.”

  He felt as if she’d delivered a body blow, and he doubled over and sank into the chair Violet had vacated.

  “Where did she go?”

  “She didn’t confide her destination to me. I assume it was England.”

  Esther walked over to her writing desk, retrieved a piece of paper, and waved it under his nose. “Here is her letter of resignation.”

  “Why would she quit?”

  “The more pertinent question is: Why would she stay? What is wrong with you? Have the past few days addled your wits?”

  He scanned the words Lily had penned, trying to glean her motives, trying to ascertain some clue as to where she might be.

  The last paragraph stuck in his craw: I’m sorry for the scandal I’ve brought to Lady Violet. It was never my intent. I hope you’ll offer her my sincerest apologies, just as I hope the two of you will be desperately happy together in the years to come.

  She’d addressed him as Lord Penworth, and she’d signed it as Miss Lambert. Not Lily. The note was cool and to the point, providing no hint of the remarkable ardor that had flourished between them in the grotto.

  How could she just pick up and go? He couldn’t accept that she’d done it of her own volition. She fancied him, and he might even be so bold as to say she loved him. She wouldn’t sneak away.

  “What did you do to her?” he seethed.

  “Me! I did nothing. A housemaid was inquiring into your sexual prowess—if you were any good in the bedchamber—and Miss Lambert was aghast at realizing the damage to her reputation.”

  “You’re claiming she asked to go?” he sneered, dubious.

  “No. She came to me and begged to go. Why would I have prevented her?”

  “Why? How about because I love her? How about because I can’t live without her?” His heart pounded with elation. Why was it that he could declare himself to Esther when—in all the time he’d known Lily—he hadn’t been able to tell her?

  He’d frequently wondered if he was in love, and their underground nightmare had galvanized his emotions. He loved her. He loved her!

  “You . . . love her?” Esther laughed coldly. “Oh, that’s rich.”

  “I do! I love her!”

  “So what? How can it matter?”

  John ignored her, his anxious mind awhirl. Where was she? Was she all right? She was in a foreign country, with no funds. He had to locate her and fetch her home before she landed herself in a jam.

  “I have to find her,” he mumbled, and he started to stand.

  “What?”

  “I have to find her. I have to get her back.”

  “For what reason?” Esther placed a hand on his shoulder and shoved him down into his chair, and he was so discombobulated that he didn’t fight her.

  He tried to rise again, and she barked, “Don’t you dare leave this room.”

  Her sharp tone halted him. She went to her cupboard and poured him a brandy. She brought it over, urging him to drink it, and he did. She poured him another, and he drank it, too. The alcohol quickly eased his disordered mental state.

  “Listen to me, John, and listen well.”

  “No . . . no . . . I have to get going,” he insisted, but with less vigor.

  “John! You’re scaring me. I truly believe your ordeal has left you deranged.”

  “Because I want to find Lily? It’s the only sane thing I’ve ever done.”

  “John, listen to yourself! Hear how you’re talking. Miss Lambert was a servant to this family. Yes, she was pretty and amiable and competent, but she was a servant. You hired her to work for us. Think, John. Think of what you’re saying. Think of how you’re acting.”

  “I’m afraid that she—”

  “She wanted to quit, John. She was more rational about this than you, and she understood that she couldn’t remain. It was impossible. She knew that. And you know it, too.” She poured him a third brandy. “Cease your theatrics.”

  “Why couldn’t she remain? Why is it impossible?”

  He could list the excuses Esther would give, but he asked for them anyway, refusing to relinquish the dream he’d had that he and Lily could end up together.

  “What would have been her role?” Esther nagged. “Your mistress? It is the only position she could have held. She had too much respect for herself to settle for such a demeaning situation, and she had too much respect for you to let you enter into such a sordid arrangement.”

  He stared at Esther, shocked to realize how he loathed her. It was a revelation. Deep down, he burned with a subconscious, abiding animosity.

  She’d always been brittle and detached, but despite the distance she’d imposed, he’d usually followed her advice. What about now? Would he allow her to take Lily from him? Would he heed her?

  She was absolutely correct in her statements, but he hated for her to be. He didn’t want to be Earl of Penworth, engaged to Violet Howard. He wanted to be John Middleton, a single man, an ordinary man who could betroth himself to Lily Lambert.

  “Where is she?” he queried a final time, defeat washing through him.

  “I told you: I don’t know. She requested a month’s severance, and I gave her six. She’s thrifty and prudent. She’ll be fine. You needn’t worry about her. You need to worry about yourself and how you’ll proceed from here on out.”

  “I didn’t have a chance to say good-bye.”

  “A clean break is for the best.”

  “But a simple good-bye! How could that have been wrong?”

  “It would merely have prolonged the inevitable.”

  “She deserved more from me.”

  “Of course she did, but she recognized that she was in desperate trouble. She was drowning—because of you.”

  “So she had to save herself?”

  “No. She had to save you. She loved you, and she saved you from yourself.”

  “I just want to be happy,” he muttered to himself, his dream floating away. “I could have been happy with her.”

  Esther clucked her tongue. “You will be happy. With Violet. At the moment, you’re still suffering the effects of your recent tribulations. Your faculties are rattled. You’re not yourself, but you will be.”

  “I don’t wish to marry Violet.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. If anything, you should smooth over the scandal by moving up the wedding date. As soon as we’re back in London, you should apply for a Special License and hold the ceremony right away.”

  A knock sounded on the door. He glanced at the clock on the mantel and saw that they’d been conversing for exactly fifteen minutes. Apparently, Violet had decided his time was up.

  “If you rebuff her, John,” Esther said, “I’ll never forgive you.”

  “What if I don’t care?”

  She threw up her hands in disgust. “Go ahead, then. Ruin your life! Ruin your future! If you toss her over—to chase after your paramour—there’s not a father in London who will let you within a hundred yards of his daughter. You’ll die a bachelor—without issue. You’ll have failed in your sole responsibility to your father and your family. Is that your plan? If so, why not simply abdicate to Edward so he can start his nursery? Put us all out of our misery.”

  They were harsh, cruel words, but they were spot on.

  Lily had fled without a good-bye. She’d done it for altruistic reasons, but she’d left him—as his mother had left him all those decades ago. When he wasn’t looking. When he least expected it.

  He was alone and always would be. No one would ever love him. His bride would be Violet, but his spouse would be obligation to his heritage and line. Duty would be his poor bedfellow on cold winter nights.

  He staggered to his feet, feeling as if he’d aged a hundred years.

  “Edwa
rd and the twins are departing in the morning,” he informed her. “You will go with them.”

  “You’re being absurd. I’m your hostess. I’ll stay at the castle as long as you’re in residence.”

  “No, you’re going, and when I return to England, I will make other arrangements for you. I don’t trust you, and I don’t intend to share a household with you or your son ever again.”

  He whipped away and went to the door. He yanked it open, coming face-to-face with Violet.

  “Well?” she asked.

  “The engagement is on.”

  “And your little ... friend. What of her?”

  “She’s gone.”

  “Forever?”

  “Yes.”

  “Swear to me that she will never be back to darken our lives.”

  “She will never be back,” he said with a grim finality.

  “Fine,” she tersely retorted.

  “Now pack your bags.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re traveling to London tomorrow with Esther.” He pushed by her. “Go to England—and leave me the hell alone.”

  “IS the earl at home, Angus?”

  “Yes, Lady Barbara.”

  Barbara untied her cloak and handed it to him. “Will he see me?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Why?”

  Angus leaned in and whispered, “He’s in a peculiar mood. He’s receiving no guests.”

  “That won’t do. The entire country is atwitter over his rise from the dead.”

  “Quite so, milady.”

  “He should be throwing a grand ball every night to celebrate.”

  “Perhaps—if you were to mention as much—he might heed you.”

  She sauntered down the hall. “Where is he?”

  “Eating his supper.”

  “By himself?”

  “He sent everyone else to London.”

  “What about Miss Lambert? I thought he was enamored of her.”

  “Gone with the rest of them.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “Esther, too?”

  “Yes.”

  “He needs a hostess,” Barbara murmured.

  “One who could breathe some life into this dreary place. It’s been so gloomy.”

  “Well, I’m here to liven it up.”

  She swept into the dining room, and the sight that greeted her would have been humorous if it hadn’t been so sad.

  John was at the end of a long table that could easily seat fifty, but he was the only one present. Two rigid footmen hovered like statues behind him.

  She was extremely nervous over her reception, more so than she’d been when he’d initially come to Scotland. Then, she’d taken him by surprise. He hadn’t known what to do with her, but he’d let her remain.

  How would he act? He’d driven the others away. Even Miss Lambert. His isolation was complete, so might he be kinder to Barbara?

  Although he pretended not to be, he was a compassionate person. He wouldn’t toss her out. He wouldn’t!

  “I’ll have what he’s having,” she blustered as she pulled up a chair.

  Neither footman moved, and she waved an impatient hand.

  “I’m famished!” She flashed her most flirtatious grin. “Please hurry.”

  The two men glanced at each other, then at John for instructions, but he didn’t offer any. Ultimately, one of them shrugged, and they tiptoed out to ask others what they should do.

  “If it isn’t my mother,” John snidely mused.

  “Hello, darling. You appear tremendously hale. Dudley said you were, but I decided I should check for myself.”

  “Why are you always turning up—like a bad penny?”

  She bent nearer and pushed his hair off his forehead. During his escape from the grotto, he’d taken a painful blow on the noggin, and fortunately, it was healing with no infection.

  He didn’t appreciate the maternal gesture, and he batted her away.

  “What do you want?” he grouched.

  “I hear my old bedchamber is empty, so I’m reclaiming it.”

  “Lucky me.”

  “Yes, lucky you.”

  A tense silence developed, and John continued to eat as if she wasn’t sitting three feet away. She held her breath. If he was going to kick her out, this was the moment it would occur, but he said nothing, and she exhaled slowly.

  Crisis averted!

  Angus came in with her requested plate and silver-ware. He winked at her as he set them down.

  “Where is Miss Lambert?” she queried to John as she began to eat, too.

  “I have no idea.”

  “I assumed you sent the family away so you could consort with her in private.”

  “She did not see fit to stay on in her position. She resigned and left.”

  “The rude little minx! Didn’t she realize you loved her? Didn’t you tell her? My goodness, all those days down in the grotto, what did the two of you talk about?”

  “Barbara?”

  “Yes?”

  “Shut up.” He threw down his napkin and rose so rapidly that his chair fell over. Then he marched out without another word.

  As his strides faded, she peered at Angus, and they exchanged a significant look.

  “I’m convinced he loved that girl,” Barbara said.

  “Is his heart broken? Is that the problem?”

  “I believe it is.” She frowned, then smiled. “Do you know what I think, Angus?”

  “What, milady?”

  “I think we should locate Miss Lambert and bring her back. In the interim, let’s plan a party. If he’s surrounded by a castle full of guests, he won’t have time to mope.”

  “IF your son finds me in here, he’ll torture me on the rack down in the dungeon.”

  “He won’t find you.”

  Barbara tugged on Phillip’s wrist and pulled him into her boudoir. He went willingly enough, but still, he didn’t like the situation.

  When Esther had evicted Barbara, it had been a blessing in disguise. With Barbara living in his house, he’d been able to simply walk to the next room and climb into her bed. It had been the easiest affair he’d ever pursued, but he didn’t like gamboling in the earl’s territory. If they were caught, an uproar would surely ensue.

  The previous week, Edward Middleton had threatened to have Phillip hanged. If John Middleton found out that Phillip was swiving his mother, Edward’s threat would pale in comparison.

  “What if he comes to check on you?” Phillip pressed.

  “It’s after midnight. He retired hours ago.”

  “That doesn’t mean he isn’t suffering insomnia and wandering the halls.”

  “He can’t stand me, and he doesn’t want me here. Why would he visit?”

  “Stranger things have happened.”

  “Not to me.”

  She dragged him to her, his body crushed to hers so he could feel her all the way down. She’d already shed her clothes and was attired in a negligee and robe. The fabric was nearly transparent, giving him tantalizing glimpses of several naughty spots.

  “Do you want to have sex with me?” she asked. “Or would you rather scurry home like a frightened rabbit?”

  She was saucy and decadent and wild, and he chuckled.

  “I’d rather stay and have sex.”

  He clasped her hand and ran into the bedchamber. Like a randy adolescent, he tumbled onto the bed and drew her down with him. They were merry, giggling like children who’d stolen cookies from the pantry.

  She rolled on top of him and pinned him down.

  “Tell me how much you lust after me,” she demanded.

  “Constantly.”

  “Tell me I’m not too old, and I’m still beautiful.”

  “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”

  “And the old part? Tell me I could be a girl fresh out of the schoolroom.”

  “Sixteen, if you’re a day.”

  She raised a wick
ed brow. “For that divine compliment, you get a special prize.”

  She stripped off her robe and negligee, and she hovered over his lap, her back arched, her glorious breasts on full display.

  Yes, she was older than he. Yes, she was debauched and shameless and too indecent for her own good. Yes, she’d never bring a fellow anything but trouble.

  But she was magnificent all the same.

  He liked to imagine her, twenty years younger, waltzing in the courts of Europe, flirting and vamping, all the men falling at her feet. She must have been a sight.

  “You, Mr. Dudley, are wearing too many clothes.”

  “Perhaps you should divest me of them.”

  “Let’s start with your trousers.”

  She was unbuttoning them, when suddenly, a man cleared his throat. The sound was so unexpected that—initially—Phillip couldn’t make sense of it.

  Barbara halted and scowled. Together, they glanced over at the door.

  John Middleton, Earl of Penworth, her only son, was glaring at them.

  His coat and cravat were off, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to reveal his forearms. His hair was mussed, as if he’d been running his fingers through it. He appeared vulnerable and weary. The imperious aristocrat had been replaced by the exhausted, overwhelmed, very mortal man.

  A mortal man who’d just stumbled on his mother—whom he didn’t like very much—having sex with the neighbor.

  “Mr. Dudley, I presume?” Penworth’s voice was tight with rage.

  “John!” Barbara squealed. “Oh no!” She leapt off Phillip as if he was on fire and snuggled herself to his back, trying to conceal her nakedness. But she was quite a bit too late.

  Phillip thought he should comment, but he couldn’t fathom the topic. No explanation was necessary, and excuses were pointless. What remark could render the incident any less hideous?

  He sat up and stood, grabbing the edge of the quilt and tossing it over Barbara. She clutched at it like a lifeline, holding it to her bosom, but she couldn’t obscure the fact that she resembled a French courtesan. She was simply a very carnal creature, and there was no hiding it.

  Penworth approached Phillip until they were toe-to-toe.

  “You’re fucking my mother?” Penworth crudely seethed.

  “Yes,” Phillip admitted, and he braced.

  The blow—when it came—was powerful and hard, and it knocked him to his knees. He didn’t attempt to block or deflect the punch. He figured Penworth was entitled to his fury.