by Cheryl Holt
The pair would be at Stafford for such a short time. What havoc would they wreak before they moved on?
“How can you tolerate him?” Jo asked Mr. Price as he dismounted.
“He grows on you.”
“You got the charm in the family. What did he get?”
“The title and the money.”
Jo laughed as Emeline made her goodbyes and left. Then Jo and Mr. Price started for the village. They were side by side, strolling companionably, her skirt occasionally brushing his trousers.
She was cataloguing every moment of the encounter so she would never forget a single detail. She wanted to always remember the way he looked, the way he smelled, the way his boots crunched on the gravel.
All the while, she was calculating the distance remaining, trying to decide when they had arrived at the final safe point. Oscar had been very clear in his warning about Mr. Price, and she wouldn’t tempt fate.
If he discovered that she’d defied him, there was no predicting what he might do, and while Jo had flirted with the idea of carrying on their torrid liaison, she simply couldn’t. The risk was too great.
“Would you call me Stephen?” he asked.
“When we’re alone, and if you promise to call me Jo.”
“I will—when we’re alone.”
It was a sweet gesture, and over the next several minutes before they parted forever, she would say his name as many times as she could.
“Stephen, why is your brother being so kind to Emeline?”
“Guilty conscience. He has a conscience. He just doesn’t heed it very often.”
“Does he fancy her?”
“In a manly fashion?”
“Yes.”
He scoffed. “His taste in women runs in quite a different direction.”
“What direction is that?”
“Not one I can describe for your virtuous ears.”
“Would he take advantage of her?”
“No. Why are you worried about him?”
“She’s not very sophisticated, and she doesn’t have her father to protect her. He bought her clothes, and she’s living at the manor. I’m a tad anxious about his intentions.”
“Don’t be. He doesn’t chase after innocents. He doesn’t need to. Women throw themselves at his feet. They always have.”
“What about you? Do women throw themselves at your feet?”
“Not usually, but lately, I’ve been luckier.”
He leaned in and stole a kiss before she could ask him not to. For the briefest second, she dawdled, relishing the warmth of his lips, then she sighed with regret and eased away.
He frowned. “What wrong?”
“I have to tell you something.”
She gazed into his handsome face, memorizing the color of his eyes, the slant of his nose and cleft of his chin.
“About…?”
“I can’t continue our affair, Stephen.”
“Why not?”
“The better question is, why did I participate in the first place?”
“Because we enjoy a potent attraction, that’s why.”
“We’re not animals. We have to control our worst impulses.”
“Speak for yourself.” He grinned, but she didn’t grin back, and his smile faded.
“What’s happened?” he inquired.
“My brother saw us the other afternoon, out in front of the vicarage.”
“So?”
“He’s very strict, and he doesn’t feel it’s appropriate for us to fraternize.”
“You agree with him?”
“It’s not up to me.”
“For pity’s sake, I’m not some beggar in a ditch. I’m the earl’s brother. We were merely walking down the lane.”
“Appearances matter to him. I reside under his roof, and I have to abide by his rules.”
“Why?”
“I don’t have anywhere else to go. You know that.”
“You’re twenty-five years old, Jo. You’re a widow. It’s not as if you’re some green girl I seduced off a street corner. Show some backbone. Tell him we’re friends and he has to deal with it.”
She sighed again. It was so easy to be a man, to be independent and in charge of your own life, to have your own money so you could do whatever you wanted.
Stephen Price could never understand what it was like to be her, to be without options, without hope, and at the mercy of someone like Oscar.
She constantly straddled a tightrope, eager to evade his wrath while managing some semblance of a normal existence. She would give anything to escape, but to where? How?
“It’s not possible for me to defy him,” she solemnly said.
“I’ll talk to him for you.”
“No, you won’t. I can’t have you interfering.”
“He serves at Nicholas’s pleasure. I’ll remind him of that fact. You’ll be amazed at the change in behavior that will follow.”
“You don’t know my brother.”
“And you don’t know mine.”
“It wouldn’t help to speak with Oscar. It would just stir more trouble for me.”
“More trouble? What’s he done?”
He tensed, as if he might march to the vicarage and pound Oscar into the ground. The notion was tremendously satisfying, and she was thrilled that he could be so incensed on her behalf, but she would never encourage him to reckless conduct.
What if Stephen learned how Oscar truly treated her? What if he had Oscar dismissed from his post? Then what? She and Oscar would both be tossed out with no income and no shelter.
“Oscar has done nothing to me,” she calmly lied, “except to request that I remember my position in the community.”
His temper flared. “Bugger your position. Bugger this community.”
“Stephen, please. There’s no need to be crude.”
He reined himself in. “No, there’s not. I apologize.”
Suddenly, his demeanor altered. His fondness was carefully concealed, and he could have been a stranger. She couldn’t bear to see him upset—when she’d been the cause of his distress.
“Don’t be angry,” she pleaded. She wrapped her arms around his waist, but it was like hugging a log.
“I’m not angry.” His own arms were locked at his sides as he restrained himself from hugging her back.
“What else can I do, Stephen? This is a small town, and I live with my brother. I’m not some doxy from the city who has no ties.”
“Are you sure we should end it?”
“Yes. The chance of discovery is simply too great and the ramifications too dire.”
“What about me? What about what I want?”
“What about you?” she gently replied. “You’ll be here for a few weeks, then you’re leaving. When you go, I can’t have my world in tatters.”
“I would never hurt you.”
“I realize that, but if we were found out—which we eventually would be—catastrophe would rain down on me whether you intended it or not.”
They stood together, silent, miserable, and she held her breath in anticipation. If he really desired her, they were at the spot where he could fix their predicament. The remedy for carnal activity was matrimony. It was the usual solution. It was the perfect and quick answer to their sizzling attraction.
He wasn’t a fool. He was aware of how to rectify their situation, and while she’d resolved to never wed again, she wouldn’t mind wedding him. Oscar would never consent to a match, but if Stephen was willing to support her, Oscar’s opinion was irrelevant.
She was an adult. Stephen could propose, and she could accept. They could obtain a Special License, and in a few days, they could be legitimately snuggled in his bed as husband and wife. They could stay there forever if he wished.
But apparently, he didn’t wish it. Or perhaps, he wasn’t in the mood to be shackled. Why would he be? As he kept pointing out, he was an earl’s brother. He could pick any rich girl in the kingdom for his bride. He dabbled with women of
Jo’s class for a different sort of role entirely.
Plus, she always conveniently forgot that she was barren, and a man of Stephen’s status would want a dozen children. Even if he’d consider choosing a common wife, he would never choose her.
“Well then”—he stepped away from her—“I guess this is good-bye.”
“I guess it is.”
“I’m glad I met you,” he said.
“I’m glad, too.”
“If you ever need anything, let me know. I’ll assist you if I can.”
“You’re a decent man, Stephen Price.”
“I try to be. I have to work doubly hard to make up for my brother’s failings.”
Without another word, he yanked away. He jumped on his horse and trotted off.
Jo tarried, her heart breaking, until he was swallowed up by the trees.
She nearly screamed for him to come back, but she didn’t. It was wrong to lust after him. She’d been chasing a dream. A pretty dream, but a dangerous one all the same.
She headed for home, her legs were weak, her bones rubbery, and there was a ringing in her ears, as if she’d been struck deaf. In a fog, she moved through the village, mumbling greetings to people she passed, but not recognizing any of them.
Finally, she staggered to the vicarage. There was a horse tethered out front, so they had a guest, but she couldn’t bear the notion of serving tea and playing hostess. She almost spun and ran, but if Oscar was watching out the window, she didn’t dare. Where could she hide anyway?
She went inside and hung her cloak on the hook. Very quietly, she tiptoed by the parlor, praying she was invisible and could scurry past without being summoned. But her luck was all bad.
“Josephine,” her brother said, “there you are. Please join us.”
She forced herself to enter the room. “Hello, Oscar.”
“Mr. Mason has paid us a visit.”
Jo turned to the man she loathed so deeply, the man who had caused so much misery for so many.
He and Oscar were fast friends, always huddling behind closed doors, but Jo was furious whenever Oscar let him in the house. It was a slap in the face to all those whom Mason had harmed.
“Hello, Mr. Mason.” She seated herself in the chair across. “How kind of you to stop by.”
“Mrs. Merrick, I insist you call me Benedict.”
Unnerved, she glanced at her brother.
“I have great news,” Oscar gushed.
“What is it?”
“Mr. Mason and I have discussed the possibility of his courting you, and I’ve given my permission.”
“Court me?”
“Yes.”
She felt as if she’d fallen into an abandoned mine pit, that she was tumbling down and down, and when she landed at the bottom, she would be crushed to death.
Courted by Benedict Mason? Was Oscar mad? Why hadn’t he asked her opinion before springing the decision on her? How was she to respond? No, thank you?
Both men were grinning, and Mason was puffed up like a rooster, so she had to maneuver very, very carefully.
“I’m honored,” she murmured.
“I knew you would be,” Oscar said. “That’s why I spoke to him about you.”
“I appreciate your thinking of me.”
“He’ll come by on Sunday and escort you to church. The two of you can sit together. Afterward, he’s accepted my invitation to Sunday dinner.”
“How…lovely.”
“Now then”—Oscar pointed to the tea tray—“would you pour for us?”
Jo managed to stand, but she was off balance and dizzy, and she clasped her chair to steady herself.
“Actually, Oscar,” she said, “I’m not feeling very well. Would you mind terribly if I retired?”
Oscar scowled. “It’s nothing dire, I hope.”
“No. I just have the worst headache. I need to lie down.”
Oscar might have refused, but Mason intervened. “Certainly, we excuse you.”
Jo nodded. “I’m grateful.”
She started out as he added, “I’ll see you Sunday morning.”
“I can’t wait.”
She climbed the stairs to her room as a wave of nausea swept over her. She grabbed the chamber pot under the bed and vomited up the contents of her stomach.
Chapter Twelve
Nicholas stood by the window, staring out at the park. The moon was up, so he had a good view of his property that stretched to the horizon, but the sight brought him no satisfaction. He could have been gazing at any piece of land.
It was very late, the house silent, and he might have been the last man on Earth.
He’d spent his life, caring for Stephen, but now, Stephen was pulling away. He would forge a new path that didn’t include Nicholas. Stephen had always been the driving force that kept Nicholas focused on his goals. If he didn’t have to worry about his younger brother, where did that leave him?
Would he stay in the army? For how long? To what end? Would he fight senseless wars until he was crippled or killed?
In a few months, he’d be married to Veronica, and he tried to picture how matrimony would alter him, but he couldn’t see what differences it would render. He didn’t plan to live with Veronica, and they’d never discussed domestic issues—they’d hardly ever spoken—so he wasn’t sure what she was expecting.
She was a spoiled, rich girl, who thrived on clothes and parties, so he doubted matrimony wouldn’t change her, either.
He wanted to fill his nursery with a dozen boys, but only so he’d have plenty of heirs to prevent his relatives from ever inheriting. For that reason alone, he should have been anticipating his wedding night, but he couldn’t generate any enthusiasm for the event. Veronica was very beautiful, but in an icy manner that didn’t ignite his masculine passions.
Why are you marrying her? a voice shouted in his head. Why go through with it?
The question occasionally plagued him, usually on quiet evenings when he was being maudlin, but he ignored it.
“You know why you’re doing it,” he muttered to himself.
He was doing it to show the ton that he could. He was doing it to enrage the people who’d shunned his parents. There were several lofty pricks who would never get over the infamy, and the notion always made him smile.
A noise sounded out in the hall, and he braced, hoping it was Emeline, but he swiftly realized it wasn’t her. It was just the old mansion creaking, and disappointment washed over him.
What was wrong with him? He never moped, but since his arrival at the estate, he was brooding incessantly.
A decanter of brandy was set on the mantle over the hearth, and he grabbed it and poured himself a drink. He sipped it slowly, but it wasn’t the cure for what ailed him.
Not counting their brief quarrel out on the lane, he hadn’t talked to Emeline in three days. He’d assumed their flirtation was proceeding in a fine fashion, so he’d been surprised at her abruptly informing him that it was over.
After she’d enlightened him, he’d presumed he didn’t mind, but his world was incredibly empty without her in it. She’d inserted herself in a flagrant way, and he’d grown used to having her around.
Apparently, he’d developed a fondness for her, one he didn’t like and wasn’t interested in pursuing, yet he seemed intent on pursuing it anyway.
She didn’t want to continue their dalliance? Well, to hell with her! Why should her wishes be paramount? It was his damn house, and she resided in it at his pleasure.
At the moment, his pleasure was that she entertain him.
He poured another drink, downed it in a quick gulp, then exited his room and went to the stairs.
Lust and liquor were driving him. It was a deadly combination that often goaded him into trouble, but he couldn’t tamp down his need to be with her. He felt as if a magnet were dragging him to her, and he couldn’t avoid its strong pull.
He marched to her door and raised a hand to knock, then thought better of it. He wasn
’t about to give her a chance to refuse him entrance, so he spun the knob and strolled in.
The sitting room was dark, the last embers of a fire glowing in the fireplace. In the bedchamber beyond, a candle burned. He could see her bed, but she wasn’t in it.
“Emeline,” he snapped, “where are you?”
Bare feet padded across the floor, and she appeared in the doorway. As she espied him, she gasped and lurched back into the bedroom. She raced around the bed, but it was an ineffective shield against him.
He advanced toward her, delighted to note that she was attired only in a robe, with nothing on underneath. Her hair was down and brushed out, the curly locks falling to her waist, and he could smell warm water and soap as if she’d been bathing.
She looked fresh-scrubbed, innocent and decadent all at once, and a flood of lust shot through him.
He desired her as he’d never desired another woman, and he couldn’t figure out why. Perhaps there was no answer. Perhaps it was simply a mystery of the universe that wasn’t meant to be solved.
“Hold it right there, you bounder.”
“No.”
“You can’t just…just…come in here in the middle of the night.”
“Why not? It’s my house, and I’m the earl. How many times must I tell you I can do whatever I like?”
He reached for her, and she tried to run, but there was nowhere to go. He grabbed her, and together, they tumbled onto the mattress. He hugged her to his side, a leg draped over her thighs.
“Oh, you are the worst bully,” she fumed.
“I know.”
“And you’re not sorry.”
“No, I’m not.”
He grinned, but she scowled, and he was determined to wipe it away.
It was the oddest thing, but when he was with her, he felt so much better. The demons plaguing him had vanished, and he couldn’t remember why he’d been unhappy.
“Why are you up so late?” she asked.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“So you decided to harass me, instead?”
