by Cheryl Holt
She gasped. “What?”
“Does your maid sleep with you? Or will you be by yourself?”
“I’ll be by myself, but it’s awfully brash of you to suppose you’d be welcome. What kind of girl do you think I am?”
“I think you’re the kind who will fall in love with me.”
She frowned. “This is my engagement party. You’re aware of that. I’m about to be betrothed to Lord Barrett.”
“Are you really? Can you actually picture yourself wed to him?”
“Well . . . yes. I imagine I can.”
He vehemently shook his head. “He’s all wrong for you, and you’d never be happy. He’s so old and dreary. Is that the type of husband you seek?”
He’d uttered so many wild statements that she felt dizzy.
“My father picked him for me,” she said.
“Just because your father picked him, that doesn’t mean it was a good choice. Your father might like him very much, but your father isn’t the one who has to climb into the marital bed with him. You need a husband who is young and exciting and who will make you smile constantly.”
“Someone like you, for instance?” she warily asked.
“Yes, someone exactly like me.” He leaned in and whispered, “Where is your bedroom? I’ll meet you there after the house has quieted down for the night.”
The prospect sent a shiver of exhilaration through her innards. Did men and women behave so scandalously? Was it common? Did they regularly sneak away to romp in bedrooms?
If she went to her bedchamber with him, she had no idea what would happen there. She’d heard plenty of rumors at school, but her fellow classmates had been as naïve as she was. They’d been guessing, sharing gossip. There was physical conduct involved. There was occasional nudity too. Depending on a male’s amorous skills, the event could be thrilling and wonderful or embarrassing, painful, and unpleasant.
She suspected though, with Simon Falcon, it would be on the thrilling end of the scale.
Her curiosity was inflamed, and she almost agreed, but at the last second, better sense prevailed. He was cunning and seductive, and if he visited her, she had no doubt he could spur her to commit acts she shouldn’t. It would imperil her future, so . . .
She had to ponder carefully. What were the benefits of a liaison? What were the risks? Was there a way to proceed, but without any genuine damage occurring?
Mr. Falcon would be at Roland for two weeks, and she couldn’t bear to not be alone with him again. Already, she felt closer to him than she’d ever been to anyone. He’d stirred the sort of avid passion every girl yearned to experience, but it had pushed her to the verge of reckless decisions, so she had to think wisely and clearly.
“You can’t come to my bedchamber,” she told him.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“I have to see you though—as often as we can manage it. Tell me you want that too.”
The moon shone down, bathing him in a silver halo of light so he looked magical and mysterious. If she was shrewd, if she was clever, might she be able to keep him for her very own? Or perhaps, could she have him for a while? If she had some fun before she became engaged, how could it hurt? Who would ever know?
“I want to be with you again,” she firmly declared. Of that fact, she wasn’t confused at all.
He shuddered with relief. “If you’d refused, I can’t predict what I’d have done.”
“We’ll have to be cautious.”
“Of course we will be.”
“No one can ever discover that we’re flirting.”
“It’s more than flirting,” he insisted.
“Maybe.”
“The more we dally, the more you’ll understand.”
“Tomorrow,” she said. “We’ll find an excuse to sneak off.”
“I will absolutely die a little bit until then.”
She chuckled and shook a finger in his face. “Mind your manners, Mr. Falcon, and guard your wicked tongue.”
“I never mind my manners. Haven’t you figured that out?”
He pulled her in so the front of her body was crushed to his. He kissed her hard, kissed her fiercely, then said, “You’re mine now. I can’t allow Lord Barrett to have you.”
“My father might have something to say about that.”
“Bugger your father,” he crudely muttered. “If he would select such an unsuitable candidate, why would you listen to him on any topic?”
“Why indeed?” she mused.
She was anxious to escape, and she stepped away, but he tightened his grip on her hand. He was that determined to keep her with him.
“You can’t go,” he said. “Not yet.”
“I have to. My aunt will have been searching for me.”
“Let her search. I don’t care if she worries.”
“I do.” She stared at him forever, then sighed with gladness. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“You better mean it.”
“I mean it,” she responded.
She whipped away and ran to the manor, recognizing—if she didn’t force herself to part from him—she’d have tarried all night. She continued to run until the lights from the windows illuminated the garden and she could have been observed racing toward the verandah.
She slowed and walked up the stairs and, because she couldn’t resist, she stopped and glanced back. As she’d hoped, Mr. Falcon had followed her to be certain she arrived safe and sound. He was down in the grass, watching from the shadows, his focus intense and riveting.
His expression was smug, as if telling her she’d wind up giving him whatever he sought in the end. The notion was terrifying and thrilling.
She flashed a smug expression of her own, informing him he might have met his match. Then she spun and sauntered inside, positive he would remain transfixed until she vanished in the crowd.
“Fish tells me you’re sweet on Lord Barrett.”
Libby glared at Simon. “Maybe Fish should mind her own business.”
“Are you sweet on him? More importantly, is he sweet on you?”
They were trotting down a country lane, just the two of them having taken a pair of Lord Roland’s horses for a ride. They’d grown up around horses, but their situation was never sufficiently stable that they kept their own animals. It was always delightful to have someone open his barn and allow them to entertain themselves in a way they relished.
“It doesn’t matter if Lord Barrett and I enjoy a heightened affection,” she said. “The only role I could possibly play for him is that of mistress, and you’re aware of my feelings about that sort of relationship.”
“And you’re aware of mine,” Simon cockily retorted. “If a rich idiot wants to toss his money at you, why not let him?”
“You sound too much like Harry for my liking.”
Simon snorted. “My dear old father was a fool about many things, but he was never wrong about the advantages that could accrue from hitching your star to the right wagon.”
“Where did it get him in the end?” Libby asked. “He died poor and disgraced, having been ignominiously shot by a jealous husband.”
“No, he died happy, living an exciting life in which he reveled to excess.”
Libby rolled her eyes. “You have his peculiar view of the world. It’s clear Fish and I have had no influence in molding your character.”
“I have plenty of character, and I’m smart enough not to waste my energy on ridiculous pursuits. I shrewdly expend it on vital amusements.”
“Such as gambling and womanizing?”
“Yes, and you haven’t answered my question. Are you sweet on Lord Barrett?”
Libby shrugged. “I suppose I am, and it’s exhausting to bump into him at Roland. I wish we could have peeked at the guest list before we
agreed to attend.”
“Is he the reason you were so eager to scurry out of London?”
She’d been offered a contract for another three months at the theater where she’d been performing, but she’d had Simon decline it. They both knew that paying jobs were difficult to find, and he was irked at what he’d deemed a reckless decision.
“I need Lord Barrett’s interest to wane,” she said, “and I was certain if I disappeared while he was away from London, he’d forget about me. Now I show up in the country, and he’s here too. He and I are disgustingly besotted, and I’m afraid people will notice our attraction. I’d hate to hurt Lady Penny over it. She seems to admire me, and I won’t dampen her enthusiasm.”
“Would you like Lord Barrett to reconsider his engagement to her?”
“What do you mean?”
“I could probably throw a wrench in that arrangement—if you’d like me to.”
“I repeat: Meaning what? What are you talking about?”
“I’m becoming friendly with Lady Penny. In a few more days, I’m betting she won’t be all that sure Lord Barrett is the husband for her.”
At the comment, Libby’s pulse pounded with dread. Simon was an incredibly handsome confidence artist. He’d grown up in circuses and with traveling troupes where he’d acquired all kinds of intriguing talents. He could ride like the wind, execute magic tricks like a god, and mesmerize audiences with his looks and seductive voice.
He’d been tutored by her Uncle Harry and other devious charlatans who’d helped him hone his flair for deception. He was particularly adept at charming young ladies and convincing them to give him boons they should never relinquish.
If he’d set his sights on Penelope Pendleton, it could never be for an honorable purpose, and the gullible girl would be harmed in the end.
Usually, Libby ignored his schemes and pretended they weren’t happening, but she had a special affection for Lady Penny. She wouldn’t stand idly by and permit Simon to coerce Penny into a predicament she’d always regret.
“Leave Lady Penny alone,” Libby scolded.
“I don’t want to.” He grinned his lazy grin, the one that made every female who saw it fall in love.
“If you can’t promise to behave, we’ll pack up and depart tomorrow. At dawn.”
“You can depart with your tail between your legs. I’d like to tarry for a bit. I can join you later after I’m finished here.”
“I could speak to her father about you. He could run you off without much effort.”
Simon scoffed. “You won’t speak to him about me. Don’t act as if you’ve suddenly developed a conscience.”
He was correct that she wouldn’t tattle. It was a trait hammered into them by Uncle Harry. There had constantly been a lot on the line with Harry, and at an early age, they’d learned to never trust outsiders and to keep their mouths shut.
“I like it at Roland,” she said instead, “and I refuse to have my visit wrecked because you can’t control your worst impulses. If you continue on with her, I can guarantee it will blow up into a big ruckus.”
“Maybe I like Lady Penny,” he ludicrously stated. “Maybe I’m absolutely enchanted.”
It was Libby’s turn to scoff. “I know you too well. If you’re flirting with her, you have an ulterior motive.”
“Perhaps I’m doing it for you, so she’ll reject Lord Barrett. Is that so hard to believe?”
Libby oozed sarcasm. “For me? Really?”
“Yes. If she spurns him, her rebuff will sour him on matrimony for a while. He’ll be free and available for romance. You could step into the void created by her snubbing him.”
“Would you get it through your thick head? He only wants one thing from me, and he can’t have it.”
“What are you saving yourself for?” he asked. “Marriage? Why would you? It’s not as if you have a dozen beaux eager to wed you. Why not sell that precious chastity of yours to Lord Barrett? I could negotiate a good agreement. You could walk away financially set for life.”
“Please be silent. With every word you utter, I’m more certain we should flee Roland immediately.”
His smile was very sly. “I already told you: If you slink off, I won’t be accompanying you. I’m having a grand time, and I’m positive Lady Penny, our beautiful hostess, would be devastated if I vanished.”
Libby grumbled with frustration and spurred her horse into a gallop, abruptly deciding she should have ridden out with a groom rather than him. He could be so annoying, and like Harry, he was always sure the cards would fall in his favor so there would be no downside to his mischief.
Since he rarely suffered any consequences, it was difficult to persuade him that she was right and he was wrong. She’d had enough of his arrogant posturing, and she didn’t have the mental energy to spar with him. She was exasperated over her tryst with Luke the prior evening, disgusted that he’d brazenly blustered into her room, disgusted she’d been too weak to kick him out.
She’d let him needle and cajole about their affair until she’d promised she wouldn’t sneak away, and wasn’t that the most dangerous conclusion she could have engineered?
She approached a gate, and normally, she would have raced on by, but it was obviously a portal to a large estate. There was a fancy sign marking the entrance, the name, BARRETT, carved into the stone. She reined in, and Simon reined in too.
“I didn’t realize Barrett was so close to Roland,” he said.
“Lord Barrett mentioned it was. Their boundaries adjoin.”
“Ooh, Lord Barrett chatted about all that, did he? You two definitely sound like chums.” He nodded down the lane. “Let’s meander down and catch a glimpse of the manor.”
“Let’s not. What if Lord Barrett saw us? Or what if a servant observed us and told him we’d stopped by? I have no desire to explain why I was spying.”
“Come on! I’m determined that you understand how rich he is.”
“I understand. I don’t need his wealth thrown in my face.”
“Yes, you do. You don’t seem to grasp the benefits you could amass from an association with him.”
“I grasp them. I’m just not interested in glomming onto any of them.”
“Coward!” he taunted, recognizing it was the best way to coerce her.
She wasn’t afraid of anything and never had been.
He yanked on his reins and trotted through the gate, and she followed him, being forced to admit that she was inordinately curious about Barrett. She couldn’t deny it.
They traveled for some distance in orchards that didn’t look all that healthy to her. She wasn’t a country girl and didn’t know any details about farming, but the trees hadn’t been trimmed, and many of them appeared to be ill, with no leaves or fruit, as if they were on their last legs.
She recalled Luke’s comments about his elder brother who’d died, how he’d neglected the property so it was in bad shape, and here were visible indications of it. It made her feel sorry for him, made her comprehend why he’d be anxious to marry Penny Pendleton for her dowry. The money would repair what his brother had ruined.
Once the house was up ahead, they stopped and stared. It was a splendid mansion, three stories high and constructed from a peach colored stone. There were hundreds of windows gleaming in the bright sun. A majestic staircase rose to ornate double doors so the building was very imposing, very regal.
One end sported turrets, as if the section was older and had originally been a castle. It provided evidence of the Watson family’s permanence, their staking a claim that had endured for generations. For a female who had always yearned to belong somewhere, the prospect left her extremely jealous.
“It’s awfully fancy,” Simon murmured. “Could you picture yourself living there as Lord Barrett’s countess?”
She laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not
cut out to be anybody’s countess. Especially Luke Watson’s.”
“I think you’re quite as posh as they come,” he loyally declared. “Why couldn’t you be exactly who he needs? Don’t sell yourself short. I never will.”
His remarks sent a surge of vanity sweeping through her. Why couldn’t she be Luke’s bride?
She’d never previously considered marriage to a man like him, but why couldn’t she have a home like this? She’d constantly felt as if she should have owned just this sort of place, and she suffered a wave of resentment and a heavy sense of loss over all that Fate had taken from her.
It had her reflecting on the dreadful year she’d experienced after being rescued by the navy on her deserted island. She’d been returned to England where strangers had bickered over what should be done with her. She’d been terrified every second, with no ease arriving until Harry had waltzed in and whisked her away.
With few questions asked, he’d been allowed to traipse off with her, which had stirred a whole new pot of problems. Why let Simon blather on until she dredged it all up? Why ponder any of it?
“I’m not discussing Lord Barrett with you ever again,” she said, “and it’s recently occurred to me that you are spending too much time with your nose poked into the middle of my private affairs.”
“I’m simply trying to help, Cousin. I’m trying to guarantee you wind up precisely where you’re supposed to be.”
“And where is that?”
“Why, at Lord Barrett’s side of course. Glued there by matrimony—if at all possible.”
“You grow more absurd by the day.”
She pulled her horse around and kicked it into a canter. She didn’t glance back to see if he followed, for she couldn’t bear to see his pompous grin.
Luke dawdled at the back of the music salon at Roland. Supper was over, and there was an evening musicale in progress before the dancing began. Several guests had volunteered to sing or play the pianoforte, but Libby was to provide the finale.
There was a small stage so the audience would have a good view of the show. It was standing room only, and he was supposed to be sitting in the front row with Penny and Charles, but he hadn’t dared join them while Libby performed her scene. He’d have been drooling over her, his obsession so blatant that he wouldn’t have been able to conceal it.
