by Cheryl Holt
Because the servants were such gossips, he’d had to pretend she was just an ordinary guest and he was merely a gracious host who’d bumped into her out on the road as the storm was commencing. But he’d exceeded his limit as to how much longer he’d allow himself to be ignored.
It was evening already, with the deluge having grown worse as the hours had passed. Ultimately, he’d had a footman bundle up and ride to Roland with the news that he and Libby were stranded at Barrett and would return in the morning if the rain abated.
The message had been conveyed to Fish, with Luke practically begging her to reveal the information carefully and, if they weren’t missed, to not reveal it at all. He had ulterior motives toward Libby—why claim otherwise?—and his patience for her nonsense was exhausted.
He knocked on her door, and finally—finally!—she emerged from the room, and there wasn’t a servant in sight to provide a barrier. She sauntered over, approaching until they were toe to toe. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close for a quick kiss.
“We’re having supper,” he told her. “Don’t argue about it.”
“I won’t argue. I’m starving, but why are you glowering at me? Let me guess. I haven’t showered you with nearly enough attention today, and your feelings are hurt.”
“Precisely. Now come.”
He escorted her to his bedroom suite, arriving so rapidly that it hadn’t occurred to her that she should decline to join him in it.
The servants had set a table in front of the fire, and they’d arranged a small buffet on another table so he and Libby could serve themselves. The butler, Mr. Hobbs, was hovering, and he straightened as they entered.
Hobbs could gossip as fervidly as anyone, but Luke had requested he supervise the preparations in the hopes that it would subdue some of the speculation down in the kitchen. But it was probably ludicrous to imagine it could be quelled.
“This looks cozy,” Libby said, as she waltzed in.
If Hobbs was shocked or scandalized by the private meal, he didn’t reveal it. He held the chair for her, then for Luke, as he asked, “Shall I serve you, my lord?”
“What’s your opinion?” Luke asked Libby. “Shall we keep him? Or can he slink off to his bed?”
Libby flashed a smile Hobbs would remember forever. “You don’t need to wait on us, Mr. Hobbs. It’s late, and we can fend for ourselves.”
“Are you sure, Miss Carstairs?”
“I’m sure, and the food smells delicious. Tell the chef that I was incredibly pleased.”
“I will. And if I may be so bold as to say . . . ?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you for entertaining the staff. We were all enthralled, especially the younger housemaids.”
Libby reached out and squeezed his hand, leaving him so giddy that Luke was surprised he didn’t faint.
“I’m delighted Lord Barrett furnished the opportunity,” she said. “The servants here are the most gracious audience I’ve ever had.”
Luke had tolerated all the gushing he could stand. He waved Hobbs out, and once he’d left and it was quiet, she collapsed in her seat, as if the air had rushed out of her. She grabbed the wine decanter and poured her goblet full to the rim before Luke could offer to do it for her.
“What a day,” she muttered as she took several gulps. “Did you send a note to Fish so she won’t worry?”
“Yes, I sent it.”
“You have some gall to automatically assume I’d dine with you in your bedchamber.”
“Yes, I’m renowned for my gall. It’s an aristocrat’s prerogative to be audacious.”
“Your servants will know I’m locked in with you.”
“I don’t care. You won’t quail like a trembling virgin, will you?”
“No. Just feed me. When I told you I was starving, I wasn’t joking.”
“Your wish is my command,” he facetiously retorted.
He rose and went to the buffet, lifting the lids to check on what had been delivered.
“We have a bit of everything,” he said, “and if I recall correctly, you like everything.”
“This is our second meal. Is it your intent to make a habit out of feeding me?”
“Yes.”
“Isn’t food the way to a man’s heart? Can the same ploy work on a woman?”
He grinned. “We’ll see, I guess.”
He dished up plates for both of them, then brought them over. He served hers with a flourish, then sat across from her. She picked up a fork, but didn’t eat. As was typical of her, she simply pushed the food around. He studied her, deciding she looked exhausted.
“You’re tired,” he said.
“Of course I am. I’ve been on stage all day. It’s not easy being me. People have expectations, and I like to live up to them.”
“Are you ever just yourself? Or are you always putting on an act?”
“I’m myself with you—if that’s what you’re asking.”
He snorted with amusement. “You are never yourself with me. You are the most enigmatic person I’ve ever encountered. I can never tell from one minute to the next if I’m viewing the real Libby Carstairs or if I’m staring at a false façade.”
“If I showed you the real me, you probably wouldn’t like me quite so much.”
“I doubt it. I’m certain I’d be besotted no matter what.”
“I like your servants,” she said, deftly changing the subject.
“They like you too. In fact, I can safely state that they’re all in love with you.”
“You mention their heightened regard as if it’s a bad thing.”
“You expended all your energy on them, and now, none remains for me.”
“You are so spoiled.”
She smiled one of her glorious smiles, and he reached across the table and linked their fingers. She stirred the oddest impulses, and he wanted to protect and cherish her forever. He couldn’t deduce why he’d be plagued by such a feeling, and he definitely didn’t like it, but he had no idea how to suppress it. He’d given up trying.
“Will you quit fussing with your food and eat some of it?” he asked.
“I’m too fatigued to enjoy it.”
“Ha! My grievance is valid. You spent hours strutting for my servants, and I must survive on the dregs of your attention.”
“I have a bit left for you.”
“If you don’t eat, my chef will be crushed. He’ll likely never recover.”
She smirked and nibbled at the edges, but mostly, she sipped her wine and gazed at him over the rim of the glass. Her focus was so penetrating he had to ask, “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I’m struggling to figure out why I let you coerce me. No one is ever able to boss me. Why you?”
“I’m more determined than anyone else. When there’s something I crave, I don’t relent until I receive it.”
“I suppose that explains it. You dragged me to Barrett when I was opposed to coming. You forced me to dawdle until it was too late to head for Roland.”
“I didn’t force you. Don’t exaggerate.”
“You arranged a private supper for us—in your bedroom, no less!—and I’m still here. For the life of me, I can’t ascertain why.”
“Perhaps I’ve merely lured your sweeter, more feminine side to the surface, and you’re being amenable for once.”
“Or perhaps—where you’re concerned—I’m completely spineless.”
“If you are, I will admit to being delighted. It will be simpler than ever to seduce you.”
It was too aggravating to watch her not eat, so he took her plate away and refilled their wine. She could barely stifle a yawn, and he scoffed at his stupidity.
He’d presumed he could feed her, ply her with wine, then march her into his bed, but she’d exhausted herself,
enticing everyone in the manor, while he’d loafed in the background like a grouchy chaperone.
She stifled a second yawn, and he asked, “Are you about to fall asleep on me?”
“I’ll try not to be that rude.”
“May I complain about how much your cleverness annoys me?”
“What do you mean?”
“The entire afternoon, you engaged in tactics that would guarantee we were never alone.”
She batted her lashes in a teasing way. “I can’t believe you noticed.”
“Now, when I finally have you all to myself, you’re so weary you can’t keep your eyes open.”
“I’m sorry.” She didn’t look sorry.
She leaned forward, her elbows on the table, her chin in her hand. They stared for a long while, a hundred unvoiced remarks swirling. He couldn’t imagine what she was thinking, but when she spoke up, he had to laugh.
“When you marry Lady Penny,” she said, “I’ll hate you for all eternity.”
“We’ve previously agreed that we’re not talking about Penny Pendleton.”
“We’re not talking about her. I simply thought I should clarify my position—so you’ll always remember what it is.”
He could have launched into a diatribe about how he hadn’t settled on Penny, but it would probably be a lie. He’d been a guest at Roland for several days, and nothing about the visit had dissuaded him from his goal of marrying her.
If he didn’t pick her, he’d have to stagger to town and find another aristocratic girl, and the prospect of beginning a new search was too grueling to consider. It was the sort of chore his mother or some elderly aunties should have dealt with for him, but he was on his own and having to forge ahead with very little guidance as to how he could achieve the best ending.
Wasn’t Penny the best ending?
If he had to select a facet of the process that appealed the most, it was that the whole mess could be accomplished with scant effort on his part. He was willing. She and her father were willing. She had the attributes required of a countess, and she’d been raised to embrace that exact kind of life. Why not marry her?
But he wasn’t about to discuss the situation with Libby.
“Would you be terribly disappointed if I went to bed?” she asked.
“You could never disappoint me.” He offered the comment with much more affection than he should have displayed.
“I’m glad.”
“A maid has been assigned to tend you. Actually, three have been assigned. They were arguing so vehemently over who would have the privilege that the housekeeper told them they could all pitch in—just so they’d stop bickering.”
“I’m shaking up your staid existence.”
“I didn’t need it shaken.”
“Yes, you did.”
He stood and lifted her to her feet.
“I’ll let the maids put you to bed,” he said, “then I’ll sneak in and kiss you goodnight more properly.”
“You can’t come in. I refuse to allow it.”
“Don’t pretend to be virtuous. It’s so irritating.”
“I should at least act as if I have some moral inclinations. If you continue to run roughshod over me, I’ll be crushed by the weight of your inflated ego.”
“Am I gaining that much ground on you?”
“I’m serious,” she said. “You can’t come to my room.”
“I won’t. I promise, but will you join me for breakfast?”
“Yes, if we can meet down in the dining room like civilized people.”
“I suppose we can manage it. How about nine o’clock.”
“That sounds fine.”
He walked her out to the hall and around the corner to her room. It was just two doors down from his own. The trio of housemaids was waiting for her to arrive. They avidly observed every detail of his parting from her, so he couldn’t even squeeze her hand. He simply bid her good evening—as if they were casual acquaintances—then he returned to his own bedchamber.
He left his door open though so he could hear when they departed. Then he headed over again. He’d promised her he wouldn’t slither in, but she was mad to imagine he’d been telling the truth. She was a female and a very stubborn one at that. She harbored completely skewed ideas about what should happen, so why would he listen to her on any topic?
He knocked, spun the knob, and went inside.
Libby was about to crawl under the blankets when Luke snuck into the sitting room. She sighed with exasperation. Why would she have assumed he’d heed her request to stay away? Deep down, had she been hoping he’d ignore it?
Her day had been spent avoiding him, with her being unclear how to impose distance between them except to use others as a barrier. It hadn’t been so much that she needed to keep him at bay. No, she’d erected obstacles that would force her to behave.
She wanted to be closer to him—in ways that were wrong, in ways that were dangerous, in ways that were sins. Her yearning had escalated to such a fevered pitch that she suspected she’d try whatever he suggested for the sole reason that it would make him happy.
She feared she might have lost the ability to say no, and she might have reached a spot where she would stop fighting the inevitable. But if she succumbed to his advance, where would she be in the end?
The answer to that question was very frightening indeed.
He appeared in the doorway, and for a charged moment, they stared at each other. There were words on the tip of her tongue—words to scold him, words to order him out—but she couldn’t speak them aloud.
The maids hadn’t been able to find a nightgown for her, but they’d provided a thick, warm robe instead. She’d blithely donned it, having them strip her so she was wearing it and nothing else. Her hair was down and brushed out, and she felt like a young bride about to greet her husband for the first time.
Or maybe she was like a wanton paramour whose favorite rake had just strolled in after an evening of revelry. She wasn’t nervous in the slightest, and the notion was terrifying and thrilling.
“I told you not to visit me,” she said.
“How could you think I’d listen to a comment that silly?”
With that, he came over to her. He pulled her into his arms and tumbled them onto the mattress so, in a fleet move, they were stretched out, and she was neatly tucked beneath him.
Evidently, her antics throughout the day had quashed his restraint. Further conversation wasn’t necessary. They’d said what needed to be said, and they had to cease dithering and race to the location where Fate was determined they go.
She might have been out of her body and watching some other deranged woman carry on precisely as she shouldn’t. Most other females had trod the path she was about to walk. Shouldn’t she learn what all of them had discovered?
Forever after, she would comprehend adult secrets. When other women talked about men and amorous conduct, she would smile and nod. She’d no longer be a curious virgin. From this point on, she would know the details of a passionate dalliance.
He was kissing her, touching her all over, and she was touching him. For once, he was giving her all the physical stimulation she could stand.
He was dressed casually in shirt and trousers, his boots still on, while she was attired only in her borrowed robe. Gradually, he was loosening the belt, tugging on the lapels to open the front so the middle of her torso was exposed. He broke off their torrid kiss and nibbled a trail down her neck, across her bosom, to her breasts.
He began to toy with her nipples, laving them, biting them, until she was squirming with excitement. His naughty hand sneaked down her tummy to her womanly hair, then he slid a finger into her sheath. From Fish’s descriptions, she recognized that this was common, but despite Fish’s technical explanations, Libby was unprepared for how deliciously wicked it would feel.
She cried out with delight, and she flew up and up, finally reaching a peak of bliss that was perfect and stunning. Then she careened down and down, landing safely in his arms. He was the vainest male who’d ever lived, so he was preening over the havoc he’d wrought.
He smirked. “I suspected you were a lusty creature. You’ve proved me right.”
“I can’t believe I let you do that to me.”
“There was no other way for it to conclude. We’re destined to be together like this. Can’t you sense it?”
“Yes, I guess I can.”
“You have to be mine. If you don’t agree, we might explode with unquenched desire.”
“I doubt we’d explode.”
He grinned. “I’m not willing to risk it. Are you?”
“No, we probably shouldn’t.”
He sat on his haunches and yanked off his shirt, throwing it over his shoulder so it fluttered to the floor. Then he lay back down and stretched out on top of her. Her robe was still open, so she was bared for his prurient perusal, and as he snuggled down and their chests connected, she was glad she was prone. If she’d been standing, she might have fainted from the titillation pelting her.
He gazed down at her, and she didn’t quail or try to hide herself. She used her body to tell stories, and she’d never been shy. Besides, he’d just touched her intimately. Weren’t they past the point of modesty?
“You’re so beautiful,” he said, “more beautiful than I envisioned in my wildest dreams.”
“Flatterer.”
“You’ve ruined me for every other woman. You realize that, don’t you? After I’ve been with you like this, what woman could compare?”
She was accustomed to receiving compliments from handsome scoundrels. In light of her profession, it came with the territory, but she hadn’t heard them from a man she cherished, from a man to whom she was miserably attached. His words stoked a fire of yearning that was startling in its intensity.
