by Cheryl Holt
“Yes.”
He leaned down and kissed her, and he was annoyed to find himself sighing with contentment.
“I thought we weren’t doing this anymore,” she complained as he drew away.
“I thought we weren’t either, but you’re being ridiculous.”
“I am being ridiculous? You’re a cad, who is bent on ruining me and destroying my reputation. I’m trying to save myself.”
“We enjoy a potent attraction. Why ignore it?”
“Have you a single honorable intention toward me?”
“No.”
She huffed out a disgusted breath, and he was irked by her reaction.
Women adored him. From lowest doxy to highest aristocratic lady, they all assumed they could win, then tame him. They fought to be the one he fancied. Only Emeline Wilson was immune to his charms.
He’d shown how he could change her world. She was living in his mansion, sleeping in his bed, and eating his food. She didn’t have to worry about anything.
If ever there was a female who could benefit from an alliance with a rich, powerful male, it was she. But she didn’t understand the advantages, and it aggravated him that he had to point them out.
“Have you ever stopped to think,” he said, “how you could profit by a liaison with me?”
“I’m not a harlot, and I won’t accept compensation.”
“That’s not what I mean. If you would agree to please me while I’m at Stafford, I would—”
“How long will that be? A few more hours? A day or two?”
“I might be here a whole ’nother week.”
“I rest my case. Why should I surrender my virginity merely to satisfy your base urges?”
“Miss Wilson, you love my base urges. Admit it.”
“Don’t twist my words. You’re much too sophisticated at these sorts of games, and I refuse to play them with you.”
He wasn’t playing a game. He was suffering from a terrible attraction, and he wanted to act on it. Her life was all misery and gloom. Wouldn’t a torrid affair be just the ticket to improve her mood?
“Will you tell me something?” she asked. “Be serious for once.”
“I’ll be serious as a rabid dog.”
“Lord Stafford…”
“Call me Nicholas.”
“No.”
“Then I won’t listen to your question.”
She hemmed and hawed, then said, “Nicholas—”
He laughed and laughed. “You are so easy to manipulate.” He swooped in and stole a kiss. “What is it?”
“What is to happen to me and my sisters? It was very kind of you to move us into the manor, but what are we to do next?”
He hadn’t considered it. He liked knowing that she was on the premises, that he might round a corner and see her down the hall. He’d even come to like the sound of her sisters careening down the grand staircase.
Though he had to return to London, he felt trapped in a magical spot where he could split into two pieces. One part of him would continue to dawdle at Stafford with Emeline while the other part—his real self—would go back to the city, to his marriage and his career in the army.
What should happen to her? He had no idea.
“You’ll stay here,” he said.
“For how long?”
“For as long as you want.”
“People would be shocked.”
“So?”
“I care what they think of me.”
“You shouldn’t. I saw how you were treated that day I arrived. They don’t deserve your esteem, and you shouldn’t fret over their opinion. It seems to already be awfully low. I can’t imagine how you could push it any lower.”
“I’m respected in the community,” she insisted.
“If you say so.”
“I am!”
“Fine. You’re respected.” He shrugged, giving ground. “I noticed you’ve been wearing the dresses I bought you.”
“Yes, I have been.”
“Weren’t you adamantly opposed to accepting any gifts?”
“I changed my mind.”
“What about your lofty principles?”
“Evidently, I have none whatsoever.”
“You haven’t said thank you.”
“I won’t, either. You’re too vain by half. Any expression of gratitude would make your head swell even further.”
He laughed again. He didn’t know why he put up with her or why she humored him so completely. He wouldn’t have tolerated churlishness in another, but with her, he was fascinated by how she viewed him.
When every other woman loved him, why didn’t she? The more she proclaimed her dislike, the more intent he was on reversing her attitude.
“You’re been looking very fetching,” he told her.
“Don’t you dare compliment me.”
What female didn’t like flattery? What was her problem? As opposed to some of the praise he’d spewed in his life, with her he actually meant it.
“Why shouldn’t I compliment you?”
“Because—when you’re charming—you confuse me. I forget that I hate you.”
“We’ve been through this. You don’t hate me. You simply need to recollect how good we are together.”
He was tired of talking to her. If he wasn’t careful, she’d gab all night, and he’d never have the chance to do what he’d come to do.
He bent down and nuzzled her nape, gratified when goose bumps cascaded down her arms.
“Of all the clothes I purchased for you,” he said, “guess which item is my favorite.”
“Which one?”
“This robe you have on. It’s practically indecent how it hugs your curves.”
His fingers were busy, loosening the belt so he could nibble a trail to her cleavage. He dipped under the fabric and sucked a nipple into his mouth.
She hissed and arched up, and he was thrilled by her reaction. She was full of passion, but it was all misdirected. Her energy was never expended on tasks that mattered, on tasks that would bring her pleasure. If she became more selfish and less altruistic, she’d be happier for it; she’d be better off.
“Nicholas,” she murmured, and on hearing his name, his idiotic pulse galloped with delight.
“What?”
“Don’t hurt me. Swear that you won’t.”
“Hurt you?” he muttered. “Gad, I’d rather cut off my arm.”
“I’m so afraid of where this is leading.”
“There’s no need to be afraid.”
“You demand so many things from me, but I don’t know how to give them to you.”
“I’ll show you how.”
“Don’t break my heart. Promise me.”
“Of course, I won’t. I promise.”
It was a dishonest reply, but he offered it anyway. On the battlefield, where death was always a possibility, his word was his bond. In all other endeavors, he was a deceitful scoundrel. In his sexual quests, he was no different than any other man. He would take what he wanted and damn the consequences.
He would persist in his relationship with her, but he still planned to leave Stafford at the earliest opportunity. If rumors spread after he was gone, he wouldn’t be around to defend her, and he wouldn’t come back to fix any damage he’d caused.
Marriage was the sole remedy that would make her whole, but it wasn’t one he could provide. He was engaged to another, and even if he wasn’t, she would never be the bride he would choose.
She wasn’t a wealthy daughter of the ton, so as a wife, she held no appeal. But she held a vast amount of appeal in other, more corporeal ways that he was eager to exploit.
Except that, when she gazed at him as she was, he caught himself hesitating. Perish the thought! He—who never hesitated—suddenly felt guilty.
He’d visited her room to press his advantage, to take whatever she could be coerced into surrendering, but now, he was second-guessing. He had to behave more honorably than he’d envisioned he would. Not tha
t he had to be a saint, but he couldn’t act like the most despicable sinner.
“It will be all right, Em,” he vowed. “Trust me.”
“I absolutely don’t.”
He chuckled, wishing he could be the man she needed.
“We’ll be cautious,” he insisted.
“Even if we’re cautious, you can’t predict what might occur.”
“Yes, I can. I’m the master of my universe. If I decree that nothing bad will transpire, then nothing bad will.”
She sighed. “Vain beast. How can I resist you?”
It was precisely the sort of capitulation he’d been anxious to attain.
He began kissing her, going slow, reveling in the moment, and he was astonished at how much he enjoyed it. Usually, he didn’t waste any effort on kissing. Since he fornicated mostly with whores, he never delayed. Carnal release was the goal, so there was no point in dawdling.
Yet with Emeline, he was content to tarry, and he was learning that the real pleasure was in the journey, not in the abrupt ending.
He dropped to her nipples, laving them as her hips flexed with his own. Her robe was open, her loins crushed to his. The fabric of his trousers was all that kept him from racing to ecstasy, and it took every ounce of fortitude he possessed to ignore his raging anatomy.
He touched her between her legs, his fingers sliding into her sheath. She was wet and ready, and instantly, he pushed her into a potent orgasm.
This time, she knew what was coming and what her body was doing. She soared to the heavens, oohing and aahing in a fashion that thrilled and sobered him.
She was so naïve, so unschooled in the wicked ways of the world. It was rare when he crossed paths with a person who was so…normal. He always forgot that she was unsullied and free from the depravity upon which he thrived.
Her excitement waned while his ardor remained unassuaged. He shifted off her and spooned himself to her back. They were quiet, pensive, as he stroked a hand up and down her arm and hip.
“You’re smiling,” she eventually said. “Why?”
“I seduced you so quickly that I didn’t bother to remove any of my clothes. My shirt is still buttoned, and my boots are still on.”
“Should I worry about your lusty appetites? Are you in the habit of disrobing around women?”
He swatted her rump. “None of your business, my little scamp.”
She purred and stretched, her curvaceous bottom snuggled to his inflamed cockstand. He moaned in agony and pulled her nearer so he could relish a long thrust that was completely unsatisfying.
“You’ve made me a wanton,” she admitted.
“Good.”
“Next time, I want you to undress. I want to see you.”
“I’ll think about it.”
He was having enough trouble restraining himself with his trousers on. If he was naked, there was no telling what he might do.
“You never told me why you couldn’t sleep,” she drowsily mumbled.
“I have a lot on my mind.”
“Such as…?” When he didn’t respond, she rose up on an elbow and peered back at him. “Share a secret with me.”
He stared into her big green eyes and was amazed to hear himself confess, “It’s so strange to be here at Stafford.”
“Why?”
“It’s supposed to be my home now, but I never had a home. I can’t fathom how to embrace it.”
“You’ll figure out how.”
“Yes, I imagine I will.”
He settled her down so she wasn’t looking at him.
He never talked about his feelings with anyone, and he didn’t like that he’d discussed his conflicted sentiments regarding Stafford. With how attracted he was to her, she had an enormous physical hold over him. He couldn’t have her garnering an emotional one, too.
“What will become of me and my sisters?” She yawned through her query. “You never answered that question, either.”
“What would you like to occur?”
“I’d like to suddenly discover that I’m heir to a great fortune. I’d like to be incredibly rich, where I never again have to fret over how to support myself. Sort of like what happened to you, for instance.”
“Very funny.”
“Your life isn’t so bad, you know.”
“I know.”
“You merely like to complain.”
He snorted. “You could be right about that.”
She reached over her shoulder and laid her palm on his cheek. It was a simple gesture, but it rocked him to his core. He shut his eyes and reveled in an onslaught of affection.
“Seriously, Em,” he said when he could speak again, “if you could have anything you wanted, what would it be?”
“I can’t think of a single thing. It’s been so long since I’ve had a wish come true that I’ve forgotten how to dream.”
Her reply was too sad, and he was on the verge of offering her gifts he was certain she’d never cherish.
It was the first time he’d genuinely appreciated his money and position. He’d like to spoil her—if she’d allow him to. The problem was that he couldn’t so much as buy her a damn dress without her spitting in outrage.
Wasn’t that just his luck? He’d finally found a female upon whom he’d like to lavish some of his largesse, but she refused his generosity.
“Let me reopen the school,” she begged.
“You and your blasted school,” he scoffed, though kindly.
“I want to be useful to you.”
“You are useful to me.” He caressed a naughty hand down her flank.
“Why do you hate Stafford so much?”
“Ancient history, Em. It’s not important.”
“It is to me.”
“Give it a rest.”
“I will—for now. But I’ll ask you again tomorrow.”
“I might tell you. If I’m feeling charitable.”
She grew quiet, and he thought she’d dozed off when she said, “I’d like to show you around the estate. If you could meet some of your tenants and learn of their tribulations, I know you’d be happier.”
“We’ll see.” He toyed with her hair, riffling through the lush strands. “Go to sleep.”
“I will, but don’t you fall asleep, too.”
“I’ll try not to.”
“I mean it. You can’t be caught in here.”
“I won’t be.”
He nestled with her, listening as her breathing slowed, as her body relaxed. It was a magical moment, the likes of which he’d never previously experienced with a woman, and he didn’t want to leave.
His erection hadn’t waned in the slightest, and he wondered how he would bear up with being so constantly aroused.
Had he decided not to deflower her? It wasn’t healthy to be so titillated, and if he wouldn’t push her into copulation, he had to get himself to London and find someone to tend his needs.
To his amazement, he wasn’t in any hurry to return to city. Would he stay on at Stafford? Was that his plan?
There were only five weeks left of his furlough from the army. Five weeks to remain at Stafford and dally with Emeline. Or five weeks to spend in London where every conceivable vice and vixen was available.
The very idea—that he would choose Emeline and Stafford over the thrills to be had in town—was terrifying. What was happening to him?
He slipped out of her bed, grabbed a quilt, and tucked it around her. For an eternity, he gazed at her, reflecting on how small she looked, how content.
She’d suffered no qualms over slumbering in his presence, and she was a fool to trust him. She supposed—wrongly—that he had her best interests at heart, but he was stupidly, pathetically glad that she did.
He went to the door, peeked out, and tiptoed away.
Chapter Thirteen
Oscar Blair marched down the aisle of the church, his robes billowing out, a Bible clutched to his chest. Organ music rattled the rafters, reminding everyone of God’s power over them
.
The Sunday service was concluded, and he exited onto the front steps. The congregation followed him out. It was the part of ministering he hated most, the socializing demanded of him as their leader.
He was much happier when he was alone, filling his hours by reading Scripture and writing sermons.
“May the Lord be with you,” he murmured, shaking hands over and over.
Not inclined to linger, he hurried people along. He kept glancing inside where Josephine was chatting with Emeline Wilson rather than Benedict Mason, who was bringing up the rear of the crowd.
Finally, Emeline strolled out.
“Where are your sisters, Miss Wilson?” he asked. “You know I don’t allow children to miss services. It sets them on a bad path.”
“They’ve come down with colds, Vicar Blair. I had them stay away so you weren’t interrupted by their sniffling.”
A likely story, he fumed. Her father had been a recalcitrant churchgoer. Oscar had battled with him constantly over his sporadic attendance.
“I’ll expect to see them next Sunday.”
“I’m sure they’ll be better by then.”
“They certainly should be, considering your sudden stroke of good fortune.”
Her smile faltered. “What do you mean?”
“You always manage to land on your feet, Emeline. It stokes your vanity.”
She frowned. “What is stoking my vanity?”
“You’re living at the manor and prevailing on the earl’s generosity. As usual, you’ve inserted yourself where you don’t belong and raised yourself above your class. There will be consequences. I suggest you be ready for them.”
“I’m not prevailing on the earl,” she dared to argue. “He’s simply provided some Christian charity to me.”
“You didn’t deserve any.”
“And as to my residing in the manor, he’s hired me to work for him. I’m earning my keep.”
“You are unwed,” he hissed, “but brazenly ensconced in the home of a known fornicator. A bachelor, no less. Your morals have flown out the window.”
“Honestly, Vicar Blair, you shouldn’t—”
“Don’t defend yourself to me. The Lord sees all, Emeline Wilson. You’ve been judged and found lacking.”
“Yes, I suppose you’re correct,” she blithely agreed. She gestured to the lane where a carriage was approaching. “If you’ll excuse me? I must be going.”
