by Wendy Vella
“My lord!”
He didn't speak, simply lifted her chin and kissed her. The first touch did nothing to ease the ache of need that had been smoldering inside him since this woman had come into his life, so he took more. He took her mouth deeper as he inhaled the scent that he'd only ever smelled on Poppy. She didn't fight him, instead her gloved hands went to his shoulders and held on.
“Stop me, Poppy.” The words were dragged from Jacob as he lifted his mouth mere inches to look down at her. Her lashes fluttered up, and the heat and desire pushed him the last few feet into the abyss. His restraint was gone.
He wrenched off his gloves with his teeth, then lifted each of her hands and did the same. He then removed her bonnet and threw it on the seat beside him.
“My lord—”
“Jacob,” he gritted out. “And I want to feel your hand on my skin, just as I want to touch you.”
He took her mouth once more in a deep, searching kiss that had his head spinning, and Poppy making small sounds that hiked his passions further. He removed her scarf and worked the buttons of her coat free, and then slid a hand inside to touch her, feel the shape he had lusted after.
Jacob had fought his desire for this woman since he'd met her. Tried to rationalize this almost desperate need to get closer, but now, tonight, he had no more strength to do so.
He touched her neck, trailed his fingers softly over the chilled skin. So smooth. He placed his lips there.
“Oh, my lord.”
“Jacob,” he rasped. His head pounded, his body was hard with arousal, and every rational thought had fled. “Call me Jacob.”
Her chin lifted and he kissed his way down the warm column of her neck.
“Touch me, Poppy.” She shivered as his breath blew across the skin he had just kissed.
Tentatively at first, she opened the thick coat he wore and ran her hands up the front of his shirt. Jacob could never remember a woman's touch affecting him as Poppy's was. His skin was on fire.
Needing the soft weight of her breast in his hand, he tugged the bodice of her dress aside, and the worn fabric gave easily. Jacob shuddered as he cupped the full flesh, and the web of passion tightened further around him.
“Oh that feels wonderful, but I-I shouldn't—”
“Yes, you should,” he rasped before taking her mouth again as she arched into his hand. He brushed his finger over her nipple and she moaned softly.
Poppy had never experienced passion. Not like this, with a man. But the feelings Jacob were creating inside her were beyond belief. She couldn't get close enough to him. His hand on her breast made her feel wanton. Suddenly every thought fled and there was only him, and now. Her body started to ache with need, and she could feel everything centering between her thighs. Pressing them together, she fought to quench the sensation, but it only intensified.
His chest felt hard beneath her fingers, and Poppy had the urge to explore each curve and muscle she encountered, but before she could, Jacob had moved lower, and suddenly his lips were on her breast.
“Oh my.”
He cupped her, lifting her to his mouth, where he proceeded to lick her nipple and run long, hot sweeps of his tongue down her breast. It was beyond anything she had experienced before, and she never wanted it to stop.
“Jacob,” Poppy sighed.
He lowered her onto the seat beneath him. His hands then lifted her skirt, stroking her legs through her stockings as he moved upward, and she could do nothing to stop him, only urge him on. The tension inside her was rising.
“I want to touch you, Poppy.”
He lifted his head from her breast, and the fire in his eyes held her speechless. Gone was the calm, sophisticated lord, and in his place was this man. The savage need in his gaze had her nodding.
As he moved to the other breast, his fingers reached the top of her thigh and moved inwards, stroking the soft curls, and then lower, to touch her secret places. She should stop him, a small voice inside her head cried. He would stop if she asked, but Poppy could not form the words, as all that wonderful tension was building inside her.
He rubbed the small, hard nubbin between her thighs and Poppy's body went rigid as the sensations inside her spiraled out of control. His fingers then slid inside her, and she could think no more as wave upon wave of ecstasy hit her hard.
Poppy could hear sounds, and knew they were coming from her lips, but could do nothing to stop them.
“God, you're beautiful.” The guttural words had her opening her eyes. Jacob was poised above her. Poppy reached for him, cupping his neck and bringing his mouth to hers for a long, searching kiss.
She felt the hardness pressed to her thigh. “Take me,” she whispered, well aware what it was. Poppy knew what transpired between a man and a woman, the brothel had taught her that. “Please, Jacob, I want it now.”
“I-I don't think—”
“Don't think,” Poppy whispered, touching the waistband of his breeches.
His movements were quick, and seconds later she felt him at her entrance, the hot throb of his desire for her.
“There will be pain.”
“I don't care.” Poppy arched as he entered her, easing deep inside. There was pain, and she stiffened. Jacob kissed her. Soft, sweet kisses that left her reeling, and only when the tension inside her eased did he start to move, sliding in and out of Poppy, creating delicious tension.
She had overheard two of the girls at Miss Saffron’s discussing the pleasure a man and woman could have together, but that it was a rare thing to experience. This, Poppy realized, was what they spoke of.
“Poppy, tell me you are not in pain.”
She touched the rigid line of his clenched jaw. “I am not in pain.”
There was discomfort, but the pleasure soon overrode that, and then she felt it again, that wonderful pressure building inside her.
His breathing was ragged like hers, and cocooned in the carriage, there was only them. Jacob and Poppy, and the wonderful sensation he was creating once more inside her.
“Let go for me now, Poppy.”
“Yes!” She cried out the word as the tension climaxed. Jacob called out her name, and then he slumped down on top of her. She felt his heartbeat thud hard in his chest against hers.
Poppy did not mind his weight; in fact, it felt wonderful. Her arms circled him, but as she touched his hair, he rose.
“Are you all right, Poppy?”
She looked at him and felt her smile fall away as he moved off her. His face was suddenly closed and cold. Gone was the man who had been consumed with passion moments before, and Poppy wondered how something that had seemed so right and magical suddenly felt so very wrong. Misgivings crowded in on her as the stark reality of what she had done hit.
“I am.” Poppy quickly sat up. She brushed down her skirts and then rearranged her bodice. “And you, my lord?” Please smile at me. Please give me some hope that what we did was not wrong and meant more to you than… what? A tumble with a willing woman?
“Forgive me, it was unpardonable to act as I did.”
She felt cold inside, as if her heart had suddenly been encased in ice. “Why did you?” Poppy asked as she began to button up her coat. Her fingers shook, but she would not let her fears show.
“Let me help you.”
She brushed his hands aside. “I can dress myself, Lord Hatherton, and have been doing so for many years.”
“I wanted you, Poppy.” He sat once again across from her. “I rarely lose control, but in this instance I could not stop myself, and for that I apologize.”
“Just like the kisses?” Poppy managed to put some strength in her words.
“No, this was not like the kisses. This was more than that, but….” His words trailed off, and with them her hopes. “I wish now to make amends for my behavior. I had no right to take your innocence.”
The sense of foreboding inside Poppy increased. She did not know what she had expected. Perhaps to be held in his arms? For him to sp
eak soft, sweet words to her? To believe there may be a future for them together? Her as Lady Hatherton? Looking at his face, she realized that yes, she had been a gullible fool. Now that reality had returned, Poppy understood just what she had done and with whom. He was a lord, and she a nobody. There could be no outcome from what had just transpired other than for him to walk away from her and not look back. She had allowed emotion to rule her head, and had given away her innocence.
You didn't think, you just acted because you love him.
Poppy felt panicky. Love? No, no, no, she was just emotional, surely? And yet she knew her thoughts for the truth. She had given this man her innocence without a second thought, and that alone told her the startling truth of her feelings for him. He had kissed her, touched her, and she had lost a lifetime of morals and beliefs, and let him do as he wished, because her heart had ruled her head.
“I like you, and would like to offer you recompense, Miss March.”
He liked her? He was addressing her formally after what they had just done, and Poppy knew this was to create distance between them.
“Recompense, Lord Hatherton?”
He nodded, shot her a look, then away. If the small twinges and aches were not making themselves known in her body then she could almost believe it was a dream, as his face was cold, his eyes emotionless.
“I wish to buy you a house, and give you money to live, Poppy. I wish to visit—”
With the accuracy of a knife, realization sliced through her. “You want to set me up as your mistress?” She had spoken the words softly, and she saw that he was relieved by that. Saw that he believed she would accept his words and accept him as her master. The mighty lord had spoken, and she would obey.
“Yes, that is what I wish for, and I know this will be beneficial—”
Suddenly she felt the wonderful heat of anger replace the numbing cold that had gripped her. Moving to the edge of the seat, she was pleased that she had yet to put on her gloves, as this allowed her palm to connect with his check with alarming accuracy. The noise bounced off the walls of the carriage.
“How dare you!”
Shock etched his handsome face.
“I would never...,” Poppy spluttered. “You, sir, are no gentleman, and... and you can go to hell!”
Before he could react, she had wrenched open the carriage door and jumped. She fell, of course, and rolled, her skirts tangling around her legs. But other than a few bruises and jarring her already sore fingers, Poppy felt no substantial injuries. Regaining her feet, she looked at the carriage that was slowing. Lord Hatherton now stood in the doorway.
“Poppy!”
Her name was roared, but she did not wait to hear what followed; instead she ran as if the devil himself were chasing her.
Jacob ran after her, but she seemed to have disappeared. She knew the streets better than him, and eventually he gave up.
“Drive to Miss March's house, please, Hamley.”
He sat in the seat opposite the one he had, only a short while ago, made love to Poppy on.
“Christ, what was I thinking?” Jacob put his head in his hands. He'd been unable to control himself. He'd wanted Poppy, and so he'd taken her. Never had he loathed himself more. And her response to his offer had told him she'd been insulted, and very possibly hurt.
But had she expected more from him? Surely not. She could not possibly believe he had more to give?
When the carriage stopped, he climbed out in time to see her enter the house. He did not follow but looked up to where Poppy's room was. Minutes later he saw the small flicker of light and felt a flood of relief that at least she was unhurt, and home safely.
“Home now, Hamley.”
He brooded as the carriage took him through London. Honesty forced him to admit he'd never felt like he did about Poppy with any other woman. She made him feel alive. He'd lost himself in her body, and knew with a certainty he would do so again and again if she were his mistress. In fact, he wondered if he would ever have tired of her. She had wanted him too; he knew in that at least he was correct. He had not forced her, and she had responded to his every touch and kiss.
Lord, she’d set him on fire.
The breath he expelled was long and loud.
“God, what a mess.”
The stark reality was he’d taken her innocence, and then insulted her, in her eyes, by offering to keep her as his mistress, and had done so in a cold, calculating manner. God, he’d even forced her to jump from his carriage. He hoped she had not suffered another injury. The thought made his stomach churn.
Perhaps if he asked her again in a few days to be his mistress? Maybe then she would be more receptive. It wasn't until he was lying in his bed, staring into the dark, that he had the answer to that question. Poppy March had pride, and would never yield to him. She had done so tonight because she had wanted to, but she would never give her body to a man for money.
Closing his eyes, Jacob wondered what the hell he was to do now.
Chapter Ten
Nick, Leo, and Jacob arrived at Lord Revel's house the next morning. Behind them in a carriage was Lady Carver, a longtime friend of Lady Revel, and Dr. Breem, her physician.
Jacob’s eyes felt heavy, as he had spent most of the night thinking about Poppy, then when he’d slumbered she’d been there too, arousing him. He stood beside the carriage and waited for the others to step down, wondering if she would come.
“Good morning.”
He spun on a heel and stumbled. Poppy stood before him. Her expression was polite and empty. Her jaw was marred with a long nasty graze, which he knew she had received last night when she jumped from his carriage.
“Poppy—”
She raised a hand. “I have no wish to discuss what happened further. It was a grave mistake on both our parts. I now wish only to see to Lady Revel’s needs.”
He stepped closer, but she backed away.
“Stay away from me, please.”
Jacob snapped his teeth together as Nick moved to his side.
“Good morning, Poppy, what happened to your jaw?”
“Good morning, my lord.” She ducked into a curtsey, then did the same as Leo arrived. “I fear I had an encounter with a rat last night walking home.”
Jacob realized he was the rat, and did not like it one bit.
“Miss March, I am so glad you are here.”
“Thank you, Lady Carver. I am most concerned for Lady Revel.”
Jacob watched Lady Carver take Poppy's hand and squeeze it. She then placed it in the crook of her elbow.
“We shall deal with what needs to be dealt with together, my dear.”
“Th-thank you.”
“Lady Carver seems to like your charity case, Jacob,” Leo drawled.
Jacob snarled something, and Nick shot him a look.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Your face and bloodshot eyes would suggest it is definitely something, Valorous, but as we are here for a purpose, I will hear more on this nothing later. Right now we must do what we have come for.”
Throwing Nick a dark look, Jacob followed the ladies to Lord Revel’s front door. He lifted the brass knocker and rapped it three times... loudly.
“Good morning,” Jacob said as the butler opened it. “I have no wish to hurt you, or any of your staff, so please step to one side while we go to Lady Revel's rooms, as it is our belief she is being sorely mistreated.”
“Please listen to him, Mr. Bidwell, he means only to help her.” The butler nodded at Poppy’s words, then stood to one side.
“It is the staff’s wish that someone help her, Miss March, and we will all be grateful if you have achieved that.”
Poppy rushed to squeeze the solemn-faced butler’s hand as she led the rest of them inside. People trusted her, Jacob realized, and the shame he already wore grew heavier. He had treated her badly, but would make amends, he vowed. As yet he was unsure how.
“Well, that went smoother than expected
.”
“That is only the first obstacle, Lady Carver. The gatekeeper will be another matter entirely,” Nick said.
They climbed the stairs, and neither of the two maids they saw said a word, although they looked terrified. A woman was seated beside Lady Revel's door when they approached.
“Who are you?” She got to her feet. Large, with blunt features, she did not look intimidated to see such a party approaching at such an early hour.
“We have come to visit with Lady Revel,” Jacob said calmly. “We believe she is being mistreated, and you can stand aside and let us enter or we shall make you.”
“Make her,” Lady Carver said with relish. Poppy was still pressed to her side, as if the elderly woman was protecting her and not the other way around. Jacob had the urge to snatch her to his side. “If she's had a hand in Bertha's mistreatment, she deserves a serving of the same, Lord Hatherton.”
Elegant to her toes in deep rust, Lady Carver was at least sixty-five, and beneath her sweet façade lay a woman with an iron backbone.
“I-I'll tell Lord Revel.” The woman's eyes shot from Nick to Leo, and back to Jacob.
“You do that,” Leo said, stepping closer. “And while you are there, perhaps you can inform him that the magistrate should be arriving shortly.”
She backed away as they approached, and then turned and ran.
“She probably took the key with her,” Nick said, pulling out a small tool. He then got to work on the lock, grunting when he heard a satisfying click.
Jacob opened the door and entered.
Poppy looked down at the dear, sweet woman she had been companion to. She lay in a large bed in Lady Carver's house, in a deep sleep. She had not woken when the doctor had examined her, nor when Lord Revel had rushed into the room shouting.
She found a small smile at the memory of Lord Hatherton punching him hard, and the man running away squealing like a piglet after he had staggered to his feet. Lord Hatherton had then picked up Lady Revel and carried her from the house, with the others on his heels. They had taken her directly to Lady Carver's. Once there she had been settled in a room and the doctor had examined her thoroughly before leaving to collect what he needed to treat the elderly woman. Poppy had heard him say he was not sure she would recover, but he would do his best to ensure that happened.
