by Cheryl Holt
“Your fixation has spiraled to an outrageous height, and I must inform you that you are dancing on a very perilous ledge.”
“You’ve forced me to realize that I like to live dangerously. I didn’t recognize that trait in my personality, so I must categorically state that you are having an interesting effect on my character.”
“I don’t want to have an effect.”
“What do you want to have?”
“I want sanity to be restored.”
“So long as you are present in my world, there’s no chance of that.”
Thunder rumbled again, so loudly that they instinctively ducked. Then the clouds opened, and a torrent of rain began to pelt them. In an instant, the deluge was so intense that she could barely see.
“Roland is too far away.” He had to shout to be heard over the noise. “Let’s head for Barrett.”
“I can’t join you there,” she replied, but the storm swallowed her words.
He likely would have ignored her comment anyway. He spun and rode through the gate, and he didn’t peer back to guarantee she’d tagged after him. He was so gallingly confident in his ability to command her.
She was a modern, independent woman who made her own choices in all matters. She could have braved the tempest and continued on to Roland, but she went with him like a trained puppy, being happy to go wherever he led. What could it hurt to tarry, warm and cozily, as they waited for the gale to wane?
They raced by the orchards and were quickly spit out at the door. He helped her down as a footman rushed out to tend the horses. She was whisked into the manor, the butler and others hurrying up to fuss over them. All the while, she was scolding herself for being such an idiot, for letting him coerce her.
She had no business being in his home. Not when he was about to betroth himself to Lady Penny. Servants couldn’t keep a secret, and gossip of their arrival would spread swiftly in the neighborhood. How long would it take for it to float over to Roland?
His servants were incredibly competent, and she was escorted up to a guest bedchamber. Maids scurried about, eager to assist her, as if they hadn’t seen a female in ages. Barrett Manor was a bachelor’s residence, so perhaps they hadn’t.
They lit a huge fire, and she was positioned on a chair in front of it. Hot chocolate was produced, as were a wool shawl and slippers. She was stripped of her wet gown and a dry one magically furnished. It was a bit too long and a bit too big, but it was much more comfortable than the drenched dress they had removed.
Her own garments were carried away, with promises that they would be cleaned down in the kitchen. Then, once she was in a better condition, a footman delivered the message that Lord Barrett had been dried and cleaned too, and—if she was amenable—he hoped she’d have a whiskey with him in a downstairs parlor.
The maids were furtively studying her, and she couldn’t decide if it was because they were astonished that Luke had a woman in the house or if it was because her identity had been revealed. There weren’t many places where her name wasn’t recognized.
They’d also have heard from the servants’ grapevine that she was staying at Roland. The prospect had her anxious to protect Luke from himself. He was determined to jump off the cliff where they were standing, but she truly believed she should stop him from toppling over the edge.
She thanked the maids who’d aided her, and her compliments showered over them like golden flower petals, as if they’d never been praised before. The footman guided her down to the parlor, but the maids quietly followed, watching her every step so they could describe the moment at supper later on.
Luke was pacing and impatient, irked that she’d been so slow to appear. Another huge fire was roaring, and a tray of liquor and other refreshments had been arranged on a table. He shooed everyone out, and they were definitely sluggish in their departure, their furtive glances becoming less furtive until they were openly gawking.
As the door closed behind them, he said, “Your reputation precedes you, Miss Carstairs.”
“Sometimes, I wish it wouldn’t. I wish I could have snuck in as an anonymous person.”
“No, you don’t. You would hate being anonymous.”
“I can’t have rumors drift to Roland that I was here alone with you.”
“We can’t prevent it. I’m certain the whole county will soon know you visited, but we have the storm to use as an excuse. We can insist we met on the road, and when the rain started, we fled to the nearest shelter, which was Barrett.”
She scoffed. “No one will think it was an innocent trip.”
“I don’t care.”
With that, he pulled her into his arms and conveyed a stunning kiss that went on and on. She didn’t hesitate to participate. Why would she? She reminded herself that she had no losses to incur if their mischief was uncovered.
She was a theatrical performer, so she was constantly painted with an illicit brush. If she traipsed off with him, it wouldn’t be surprising, but he could lose quite a bit, specifically his pending engagement to Penny.
Yet he wasn’t concerned about it. If he wasn’t worried, why should she be?
Eventually, they tumbled onto a sofa. He drew her onto his lap, and she snuggled there, content to loaf with him in a way that was completely improper, but she had to cease focusing on her misgivings. She had to simply be glad for the interval they’d been able to steal for themselves. It wouldn’t last.
“You’ve kidnapped me,” she said.
“I didn’t kidnap you. As I vividly remember it, I merely suggested we ride to Barrett, and you obliged me.”
“I didn’t complain because I was positive—if I’d refused and had headed in the opposite direction—you’d have chased after me.”
“You could be right about that.”
“What if this tempest continues for an entire week? Will I be your prisoner until it abates?”
“Yes. Now that I’ve finally ensnared you, I might never let you go.”
“I was afraid that would be your opinion.”
She scooted away and hurried over to the window to peer outside. It was raining even harder, so how long would she dare to tarry? He was relaxed on the sofa like a lazy king and assessing her as a lion would a rabbit—as if he was about to gobble her up. That look always thrilled her.
“Your servants dressed me in dry clothes,” she said. “Whose gown am I wearing?”
“I have no idea.”
“It didn’t belong to one of your mistresses, did it? I’d be really annoyed if that was the case.”
“I’ve never brought a woman here, so I can’t imagine where they found it.”
She smirked with disgust. “I can’t decide if you’re telling the truth or not.”
“I won’t claim to have ever been a saint, but I’ve never had a mistress.”
“Should I believe you?”
“Why would I lie about it?”
“Why would a man lie about any fact?”
“Touché.” He patted his thigh. “You’re too far away from me. Come over and sit down.”
“I shouldn’t.”
“Why not?”
“When I’m close to you, it stirs wicked notions I hadn’t ought to contemplate.”
“I like the sound of that.”
The quiet room was too much for her. It fostered an intimacy she didn’t like. It felt as if they were the only two people on Earth and any misconduct would be allowed.
She walked to the refreshment tray and poured them both a whiskey. As she handed him one, he grabbed her wrist, but she skittered away and hovered over by the window, braced like a panicked virgin who would bolt at the least sign of trouble.
“Will you ever release me from this dungeon?” she asked him.
“Maybe not.”
“What if it rains all night?”
“
I could have a carriage harnessed, and we could travel to Roland in it, but I’d hate to impose on my servants when the weather is so inclement.”
“Yes, that would be cruel.”
“Give it an hour or so. If it doesn’t improve, we can discuss the situation again.”
“You hustled me into the house so fast that I’ve barely had a chance to snoop. May I have a tour? It would pass the time.”
“You can have a tour, but you’re incredibly nervous. Why?”
“This is too odd,” she said. “I can’t figure out how to act.”
He smiled a delicious smile. “If you sit on my lap, I’ll show you how.”
“I’ll just bet you would.”
“What do you suppose will happen between us?”
“Nothing good. I’m sure of it.”
He sipped his drink, his warm regard washing over her and easing some of the tension. After a bit, he said, “That reporter really upset you.”
“Yes, very much.”
“Why is that? You’ve spent so many years telling your story. I’d think it would seem very blasé to you by now.”
“A lot of it is invented.”
For a moment, he looked shocked. “Don’t say so.”
“My Uncle Harry pried some memories out of me when I was small and had first been brought back to England, but he significantly embellished them.”
“I’m stunned to hear it.”
“I have some real memories though, but they’re hidden deep down inside. If I focused on them, I might recollect something terrible. It scares me.”
“What might you recollect?” he asked.
“If I wanted to recall, I would,” she said more testily than she’d intended.
“After suffering a trauma, it’s common to bury the details. I saw it regularly in the navy, but a doctor once apprised me that it’s therapeutic to reminisce about an incident. Apparently, distress will wane with the remembering.”
She bristled. “He was probably a charlatan.”
“Your parents weren’t missionaries, were they? Isn’t that what you told me?”
“I swear, that question has been put to me a dozen times today.”
“By who besides me?”
“The newspaper reporter and Lord Roland. They assume I’m too flamboyant to have sprung from ordinary folks.”
“They’re correct. You are.” Appearing sly and crafty, he asked, “How did you answer them?”
“I didn’t. There’s no point in piquing their curiosity. It’s not as if I can change my history.”
“Your Uncle Harry wasn’t even your uncle. Aren’t you concerned about what else he might have concealed?”
From perusing the box of Harry’s old letters, she knew what he’d concealed, and the whole sad saga surged to the tip of her tongue.
She yearned to open her mouth and let it spill out, but she couldn’t force herself to confide in him. What if he ridiculed her? What if he laughed with derision? What if her tale ignited a chain of events that destroyed the entire world? Wasn’t it better to remain silent?
Oh, she was so conflicted!
“Your devious mind is whirring,” he said.
“My mind is not devious, and it’s not whirring.”
“Yes, it is. You’re debating whether to unburden yourself over some issue. What is it?”
She scowled. “Why would you think that?”
“I can read your thoughts clear as day. You’re not a mystery to me.”
“That news alarms me. I’ll have to try harder to be enigmatic.”
“It won’t work. I’ve figured you out.”
“What have you—in your infinite wisdom—deduced about me?”
“You’re not as tough as you pretend to be,” he said.
“Maybe not.”
“And you’re lonely. You’re constantly surrounded by people, but you’re always alone. You’re tormented by your past, and you’d like to shuck off the weight your uncle demanded you carry, but if you did, you can’t imagine who you’d be afterward.”
Her jaw dropped in astonishment. “You couldn’t possibly have guessed all that. Are you about to tell me you’re a clairvoyant?”
He chuckled. “No. I was merely blowing smoke, but from your reaction, I take it I hit the mark.”
“Don’t gloat. It’s annoying.”
“Will you come and sit down? Or will I have to walk over and drag you back?”
“I should stay where I am, and you should stay where you are.”
“If you get much more prim on me, I’ll accuse you of having moral tendencies.”
“I have some,” she said. “Not a lot, but some.”
“We have so few chances to be together like this. Once the rain stops, we’ll have to return to Roland and act like strangers. Why waste these precious minutes?”
“We’re not wasting anything. We’re chatting.”
“I’m bored with chatting, and I want to dally.”
“Of course you do.” Her tone was scolding. “You’re a man. It’s all you dolts think about.”
“Not me. Before you strolled by, I was never overly consumed by passionate rumination. But since I met you, I’ve become a raging ball of lust. I feel like a randy adolescent who just discovered that girls are pretty.”
“You’re blaming me for your obsession?”
“Absolutely, and because you’re responsible for my discomfort, I insist you slake it.”
Her defenses were wilting. The room was cozy and dark, the fire casting intriguing shadows and creating an ambiance that encouraged mischief. If she relented and offered what he sought, who would ever know? What if she sauntered over, took his hand, and told him to escort her up to his bedchamber?
She had a fairly precise idea of what would happen there. Fish had been extremely blunt in describing the carnal deeds women were required to perform. Nearly every female had to engage in them sooner or later. Why not Libby?
As Simon had mentioned, it wasn’t as if she was saving her virginity for a husband. Why not bestow it on rich, dashing Lucas Watson? She could view it as a type of scientific experiment, and she had no doubt that he would be incredibly adept at showing her how enticing sexual play could be with the right partner.
But if she yielded, she understood one salient fact: Much of his infatuation was fueled by the pesky detail that she kept refusing him. If she gave in, he’d quickly weary of her, and before she could regroup, he’d decide it was over.
It was humiliating to admit, but she wasn’t ready for that moment to arrive. She enjoyed how he gazed at her so fondly, as if she was fabulously remarkable, and she was relishing every second of his delectable fascination. She wouldn’t deliberately hasten the end of it.
Better to share torrid kisses, but naught more. Better to stand across the room and fill her eyes with the sight of him. Better to be safe than sorry.
“Unfortunately for you,” she said, “I won’t be doing any slaking.”
He snorted with feigned affront. “You wound me with your disregard, Miss Carstairs.”
“It’s the method I’ve devised for dealing with a man who’s besotted.”
“I’m quite a bit beyond besotted.”
It was a stunning declaration, and they were disconcerted by it. She, because she was suffering from the same heightened affection. He, because it had been a proclamation of sorts, and he was much too manly to have confessed it.
“We’re a pathetic pair,” she teasingly said.
“We are. I can’t deny it.”
“If we make it through the next week without setting the whole world on fire, it will be a miracle.”
“You are a master of understatement.”
They smiled, a poignant sense of connection flaring between them. It was the worst point yet for her. She had
to physically work to keep herself right where she was. If she rushed over to the sofa, he’d instantly have her flat on her back, and he’d never release her. She wouldn’t try to escape either.
She downed her whiskey, put the glass on a nearby table, then headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” he asked. “I’m not finished with you.”
“I thought I’d have your butler give me a tour of the manor. What’s his name? Mr. Hobbs? Will you come with me?”
“Don’t be such a pest,” he complained. “I’m eager to misbehave, and it’s the perfect afternoon for it. We’re alone, and we’ve snuck off from all those prying eyes over at Roland.”
“Well, I’d like to snoop around in your house. You don’t seem to realize this about me, but I always get my way.”
“So do I, and my wishes should take precedence over yours.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m a man and you’re a woman. Because I’m an earl and you’re not.”
“You are such a spoiled baby.” She laughed and hurried out, calling, “Mr. Hobbs? Where are you.”
Behind her, she heard him sigh, then grumble under his breath, but he didn’t chase after her, which was probably for the best. If she spent an hour with his butler, perhaps she would gain control of her inappropriate yearning.
She could only hope.
Luke marched down the hall to Libby’s guest bedchamber.
His servants were absolutely agog to have her visiting, and she had an interesting way with them. He supposed the knack had developed from her experience on the stage. She knew how to captivate an audience, how to make people like her. And his servants definitely liked her. It meant that, so far, he hadn’t been able to get her alone.
She’d slyly surrounded herself with them, and everyone had been charmed and hanging on her every word. With each step she’d taken, a hoard of admirers had followed her through the house, with all of them eager to have a chance to assist her.
She’d ended the afternoon by giving them a show that would have them chattering for years.
Luke had hovered on the edge of the crowd, a sort of unwanted voyeur who was anxious to drag her off to a deserted parlor so they could engage in mischief.
