by Cheryl Holt
She tiptoed to the door and peeked out, but Henley wasn’t there, and he wasn’t in the outer chamber either. The blanket was still spread on the floor by the hearth—the pillows too—and she went over and wrapped the blanket over her shoulders, then sat on a pillow. The tray of wine was beside her, and she grabbed a glass and sipped on the red liquid. Nervously, she wondered when he’d return.
She watched the fire, watched the door, and drank more wine. She’d only previously imbibed on the rarest occasions, so the alcohol’s effect was quick and potent, and she grew very sleepy. She snuggled down on a pillow.
The next thing she knew, she was having the most vivid dream. Lord Henley was with her, and he was kissing her thoroughly, as he had when they’d initially been acquainted in the country. In her drowsy state, she might have been standing on that dark, rural road.
Slowly, she regained consciousness, and it took her many moments to fathom that she wasn’t dreaming and that Henley had joined her again.
He was stretched out atop her and pressing her down in a manner that her body recognized and relished. Of their own accord, her legs had widened, so that his torso could drop between them as if he belonged just there and nowhere else. Her loins were crushed to his, the flimsy material of her nightgown a pathetic and inadequate barrier.
She glimpsed down and was panicked to note that he’d shed his clothes, but for some drawers that only covered him from waist to mid-thigh. His shoulders were bare, his chest was bare, his stomach and legs were bare! There was an incredible amount of flesh touching where it had no business touching, and the realization sent warnings of catastrophe shooting through her.
“Hello, Sleeping Beauty,” he said. “I didn’t think you were ever going to wake.” His gaze was warm, and there was a dimple in his cheek. He looked seductive and dangerous.
“How long was I asleep?”
“Three hours.”
She frowned and glanced to the window, seeing that night had fallen, but as she became more cognizant of her surroundings, she was stunned to find that she wasn’t on the floor by the fire. At some point during her nap, he’d picked her up and carried her to his bed.
“Oh my. Would you let me up?”
“No, I’ve finally got you right where I want you.”
“But we shouldn’t do this!”
“Yes, we should,” he replied. “We agreed, remember?”
“Lord Henley—“
“You used to call me Michael.”
“But—“
“Hush,” he soothed. “It will be all right. I promise.”
He kissed her, his lips hot and demanding against her own. She moaned with despair, but there was a bit of delight thrown in that she couldn’t completely conceal.
What was wrong with her? How could she hate him so desperately but still be enthralled? Was she deranged?
Before she’d become aware of his callous character, she’d been very attracted to him, and he’d claimed that such a strong affinity didn’t wane. Was he correct? Was she too smitten to fend off his appeal?
Fleetingly, she thought of her mother whom she’d never known, of her father who’d been a great lord. Her natural parents had both succumbed to their base drives, and their blood flowed in her veins. Did it make her more prone to decadent behavior? Would she be unable to prevent herself from yielding to dissolute conduct?
His tongue was in her mouth, his hands in her hair, and he was caressing her in ways that stole her breath, that made her dizzy. His crafty fingers glided under the bodice of her nightgown to fondle her breast, then he nibbled down her bosom and rooted under the fabric so he could suck on her nipple.
The sensation was too wicked to describe, her body weeping with desire, and the feelings he generated were as frightening as they were thrilling.
She knew she should continue to protest, that she should be begging him to desist, but she didn’t want to. She wanted him to keep on, wanted him to lead her down every delicious, debauched step on the road to iniquity, and she was alarmed by what she might try at his behest.
He’d slid to the side, his hand slithering up her thigh until it came to rest at the vee between her legs. He stroked and petted her privates, and she didn’t do a thing to stop him. Her heart was pounding with an exhilarating apprehension, as if she was standing at the edge of a cliff and about to jump off.
Suddenly, he touched a spot that was extremely sensitive, and instantly, it ignited an explosion of pleasure that began in her womb and spiraled out to her limbs. She felt as if she’d been blinded by the excitement of it, as if she was soaring through the heavens. Every part of her, down to the smallest pore, cried out with joy and amazement.
The tumult went on and on, and as it ended and she recovered her equilibrium, she was very embarrassed. She wasn’t sure what had happened, and she had no frame of reference as to whether it was a common female reaction.
Should she apologize? Should she be offering excuses?
He was lying atop her, looking very smug, as if he’d proven a point, when she didn’t have a clue as to what it might be.
“You’re not a novice at this, are you?” he said. “I was wondering.”
“Wondering about what?”
“There isn’t a maiden in the world who would respond as you just did if it was her first time.”
“What?”
“You have a very sexual nature, and you’re not afraid to show it.” He chuckled with a humor she didn’t comprehend. “Your sister told me about your past, but I didn’t believe her.”
“My sister? What about my sister?”
“The day I came to fetch Thomas, she confided in me about all those boys in the village.”
“What about them?”
“I know you’re not a virgin.” He appeared kind and understanding.
“Camilla said that?”
“Yes, and I don’t mind. Really. I was feeling a tad guilty about bringing you here, but this makes everything so much simpler.”
Fanny supposed she should set him straight, but she was too shocked to defend herself.
Had any sister in all of history ever uttered a more contemptible tale? Had any sister in all of history ever hated a sibling as much as Camilla seemed to hate Fanny?
Why? Fanny mused. What did I ever do to her that was so awful? What could possibly warrant this humiliating betrayal?
“How many lovers have you had?” he inquired.
“How many?”
“Camilla didn’t mention the number, but I can’t deny that I’m curious.”
Fanny lay very still, trying to imagine the conversation he and Camilla must have had, and she was enraged at both of them. How dare they titter over her chastity! How dare they discuss her as if she were a mare in heat!
If she’d been holding a pistol, she’d have shot him right through the center of his black heart.
“I can’t begin to count how many lovers I’ve had,” she blithely retorted, astounded by how easily the lie slipped out. “It’s probably been dozens.”
“Dozens?” he chided, raising a brow in what looked horrifyingly like delight.
Stupid man! “Yes.” He smirked. “Then one more will scarcely matter will it?”
She didn’t fathom how the falsehood would rattle him, how it would inflame his male passions. He gripped her nightgown and ripped it down the middle, and she gasped with dismay as he moved so he was on top of her again.
He fiddled with his drawers, untied the drawstring and tugged them down. Then he was pressing into her, pushing harder and harder, until she worried that he might split her in two.
She’d been reared in the country, so in a vague fashion, she recognized that they were about to mate, but he was too absorbed to notice that she wasn’t participating. He just forged on, as he always did, as the world had decreed was his right and privilege.
He thrust, then thrust again, and he burst inside her, something tearing, something bleeding.
She arched up and cried out,
and he froze. He gaped at her, stunned, appalled, perplexed.
“Dammit!” he muttered.
There was no need to reply. Camilla’s duplicity was acknowledged, Fanny’s misery unveiled.
She shifted about, frantic to dislodge him, but wrestling was exactly the wrong thing to do. His nostrils flared, and he trembled and clutched at her hips.
“I have to finish it,” he said. “I can’t wait.”
He flexed over and over, and she watched him, silent and incensed and eager for it to end. Eventually, he grew very tense and held her close. Then he shivered and relaxed and, blessedly, it was over. He collapsed onto her, his pulse racing, his sweat cooling, and she wanted to die. She prayed for the heavens to open up and suck her into the sky.
Without a word, he slid away, their bodies separating. She winced and rolled onto her side, curling into a ball.
He rubbed a palm down her back, but she stiffened and jerked away, letting him know that his caress wasn’t welcome.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “You were so...so...”
“Go away,” she seethed, mortified by the catch in her voice. “Go away, and leave me be.”
For a long while, he remained with her, and she tried to picture the expression on his face, tried to figure out what thoughts were rushing through his head.
Finally, he climbed off the bed and left without a goodbye. She stayed on her side, studying a crack in the wall until the candle sputtered out.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Michael sat in a chair in the corner, watching Fanny sleep and almost hoping she would never awaken. He hated apologizing, had little practice with it, was extreme bad at it, but he supposed it had to be done.
Their rough carnal encounter had to have been the most vile deflowering any maiden had ever suffered, and he’d bungled what should have been the beginning of a torrid and satisfying affair. What was he to do with her now?
During the long hours of the night, he’d fussed over how to proceed. Her initial acquiescence to a liaison had been tepid, contingent on her visiting with Thomas, so she’d be averse to continuing, yet the fact remained that she had nowhere to go. He wouldn’t kick her out on the road to fend for herself, so it was still the best plan to keep her as his mistress.
He’d just have to settle for a gradual and more thorough seduction, which he was impatient to commence.
She stirred, looking confused as she struggled to remember where she was. He could see the moment that memory flooded in. She stretched out her legs, wincing at the ache in her feminine areas, and his cheeks reddened with chagrin.
She exhaled slowly, then peered over at him. Her beautiful face was completely devoid of emotion, her thoughts carefully concealed. As she eased to a sitting position, her shoulders were bared, the blankets clasped to her bosom, her luxurious hair flowing down her back.
They were silent, glaring, then he finally, stupidly said, “Did you sleep well?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry for what transpired last evening. I used you vigorously, when I should have been more gentle. I didn’t understand that I needed to be.”
“My sister was always good at telling stories.”
“I didn’t believe her, but then you—“
“I’d rather not discuss it.”
He studied her, curious as to her cool demeanor. Her words were angry ones, but her tone wasn’t angry. If she was furious with him, why didn’t she just say so?
“Despite what occurred last night,” he said, “I’ve decided we should pursue our arrangement, so you’ll stay here as we agreed.”
“In what capacity?”
Could she really not know? “As my paramour. What would you think?”
“I see.” Her gaze narrowed, as if she was trying to bring him into clearer focus. “I’m a bit inexperienced at this, and I didn’t ask for the details before. What—precisely—would I be expected to do to earn my keep?”
“I will provide you with your room and board, and I will pay for your clothing and other incidentals. You’ll have a fair allowance, too, so you won’t want for anything.”
“And in exchange?”
“You will provide me with sexual favors whenever I request them.”
“After what happened between us, you haven’t given me much of an inducement to continue.”
“I appreciate that, but I didn’t realize you were a virgin, so I was insensitive to your condition. It won’t be awful in the future. From now on, I promise to be very tender with you, and with your maidenhood ended, it won’t hurt again either.”
“Why is that?”
“It is only painful the first time.”
They stared and stared, and it was deathly quiet.
“How long will you keep me?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he truthfully replied.
“And when you tire of me?”
“I will pay you a stipend, so that you’ll be in a financial situation to move on.”
“A reward for services rendered?”
“Well...yes.”
“You’re too kind.” There was a hint of mockery in her voice, but still, her expression gave nothing away. “Will you reside here with me?”
“No.”
“Where, then?”
“At Henley Hall. It’s just down the road.”
“So you’d pop over when you were in the mood for carnal relations?”
“Basically...yes. We might occasionally dine together. Or go riding.” He knew so little about her that he had no idea if she was comfortable around horses. “Ah...do you ride?”
“No. Have you done this before—taken a mistress and reveled with her in this house?”
He had, but he couldn’t bring himself to admit it.
“No,” he fibbed.
“I’m the first?”
“Yes.”
“I’m flattered.”
She smiled, and by all outward appearances, it seemed genuine, but he was left with the distinct impression that she didn’t mean what she was saying and his every remark was being misconstrued.
“Let me get this straight,” she mused. “I’ll be hidden away from your family and friends. I will live as your paid concubine, and if I keep you happy, I’ll walk away with a fat purse?”
When she explained it like that, his behavior sounded cold and calculated, but his every decision had been made with her welfare in mind.
“I guess you could look at it that way.”
“And how would you look at it?” she asked.
“Fanny, you are—“
“Would you call me Miss Carrington?”
He wasn’t about to revert to a more proper mode of address. Not after they’d fornicated. There was no need for formality.
“Fanny,” he started again, “this is a good plan for you.”
“Is it?”
“Of course or I wouldn’t have proposed it.” He gazed into her pretty green eyes. They were poignant, fathomless. “Let me take care of you for awhile. What alternative do you have?”
“What alternative, indeed?” she murmured.
“You’re fretting over nothing. Men of my station do this all the time.”
“Do they?”
“It’s very common.”
“And how about the women of my station. Do they do it often?”
“It depends on their circumstances. But it happens more frequently than you might imagine.”
She was quiet, ruminating, then she said, “May I see Thomas?”
“Not today.”
“When, then?”
“Soon,” he lied.
It was a bad idea for her to speak with Thomas, and Michael wasn’t about to arrange a reunion. He’d consulted with the premier physicians and nannies in London, and they all insisted that there should be no contact. Thomas would forget more quickly, would acclimate with less discord and friction.
“How long is soon?” she inquired. “Is any meeting with him a prize I must earn? If so, how many sex
ual acts will I have to perform in order to be blessed with a visit?”
She scrutinized him, digging deep, her astute regard unnerving and irritating, and ultimately, she sighed.
“He’s not here, is he?”
“No.”
“He’s still in London,” she hotly charged. “He was in London all along.”
Michael shrugged, refusing to confirm or deny her accusation.
“You have no intention of letting me see him, do you?”
She spit the words at him, her disgust at her gullibility rolling off her in waves.
“I’ll let you—eventually,” he claimed, hating to continue deceiving her, but knowing he had to do what was best for Thomas. “After he’s more settled in his new surroundings.”
“It’s been over three months since you took him away!” Her eyes blazed with fury. “How much time would you say he needs?”
“More than he has had,” he curtly replied.
“Does he miss me?”
“Yes, he misses you. How could he not? But things have changed, and he recognizes that they have.”
“He’s eight years old!” she snapped, trembling. “How could he know the true consequences of our separation? How could he know that you meant forever?”
He had no defense, so he didn’t respond, and neither did she. She tamped down her spurt of temper, gazing at her lap, her fingers working at the blankets as she steadied her breathing.
“Yes,” she finally said, “I accept your terms. I’ll continue on as your mistress—although I don’t believe I can service you this morning, if that’s what you’re hoping. I’m rather sore.” She shifted away from him, moving to the far side of the mattress. “Could I have a few days before we recommence?”
“Certainly. I haven’t been to Henley Hall in ages, and I have many matters to attend there. I’ll return on Wednesday to have supper.”
“I’ll be expecting you.”
“I have some clothes coming for you. From London. They’ll be delivered over the next week or so.”
“I’m sure they’ll be lovely. Thank you.”
Was that sarcasm he heard? Was it derision?
Her expression was guileless, innocent as hell. What was she thinking? Bloody woman! The only gown she owned was the green one in which she’d arrived, and he was prepared to be extremely generous. Didn’t she want new dresses?
