by Cheryl Holt
“Go,” she murmured. “Lady Rebecca is waiting for you.”
His mind reeled. Could he leave her? Could he walk away? Was he mad? When she was his entire world, and Rebecca was nothing at all, why would he do as the two women were demanding? What was wrong with him?
Though it was absurd and illogical, he’d been raised with the guiding tenet that class and station were all important. To expect him to believe otherwise, to behave in a different way, was like expecting him to believe the sky was red or the ocean yellow.
Duty and obligation defined his existence. He had to have Rebecca’s money, had to save as many of his family’s holdings as he could. It was his responsibility, the only road he could see, the only path he could follow, and he couldn’t change into someone he wasn’t. He couldn’t toss off his betrothal and selfishly grab for what he craved.
He spun and left while he still had the fortitude to go.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“May I speak with Mr. Sinclair?”
“And you are...?”
Phillip’s butler stared at Anne with such disdain that she nearly turned and fled. She was a single woman, unaccompanied, knocking on the door of a bachelor. It was late afternoon, the sun setting, evening about to arrive. To say that her visit was unusual would be putting it mildly. Shocking was a better word.
After slipping out of her father’s house, she’d walked and walked, then hired a hackney, and she’d told herself that she’d been wandering aimlessly, but apparently, she’d had a destination in mind all along.
“I am Lady Anne Wainwright.” She matched him in haughtiness and tone. When his brows raised in astonishment, she added softly, “Tell him that Anne is here. Tell him I’d like to talk to him—if he has a moment.”
“Please come in, Lady Anne.”
He was gracious and competent, showing her to a parlor and pouring her a glass of wine, then he left to locate Phillip.
She’d never been in his home before, and she used the opportunity to assess her surroundings, to decide what they revealed about her host. The residence was quiet and comfortable, with plush, but masculine furnishings, dark paneling, and maroon drapes.
She finished her wine and poured herself some more, then snooped through the papers on his writing desk.
Thank you for last night, she read on a piece of flowery stationary. When can we do it again? Soon, I hope?
She wondered which of his paramours had sent it, what he’d done to warrant such effusive praise. No doubt he had satisfied lovers all over the city, with women everywhere tittering about his prowess.
The realization made her angry, and for once, she didn’t pretend she wasn’t jealous. She was furious as the dickens, and she was curious over how they goaded him to such heights of carnal misbehavior. Would she be lucky enough to do the same? Surely, she must possess some instinctive glimmer of feminine wiles that would guide her.
After a lengthy wait, the butler appeared with the news that Phillip would see her, but she was disconcerted to find herself being escorted upstairs to the master suite. He held the door for her, and though she hesitated, she stepped inside.
Phillip was lounged in a chair by the fire, sipping a brandy and watching her enter. He was barely dressed, clad in a pair of loose-fitting trousers and naught else, and she imagined it was the type of pants a sultan might wear while entertaining his harem. As a bow to modesty, he’d pulled on a silk robe, but he hadn’t tied the belt. The lapels were open, exposing all of his chest, which was covered with a thick matting of hair.
At the sight of so much male flesh, butterflies tickled her belly.
“Lady Anne,” he started, “this is a surprise.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“What?”
“Don’t call me Lady Anne.”
“May I hope it’s because you don’t intend to act like one?”
“I don’t know what I intend.”
“I must inform you that I’m not in the habit of inviting women up to my bedchamber unless I believe something interesting will occur after they arrive.” His rude gaze meandered down her torso. “I hate to fuss with virgins, so if you plan to stay, I suggest you accept the possibility that you won’t be one when you leave.”
He was being deliberately surly, and she wanted to snap at him, but if she did, they’d descend to their regular pattern: He’d tease her, she’d over-react, he’d become churlish, and she’d stomp out in a huff.
“Stop baiting me,” she said. “For years, you’ve urged me to do something scandalous, and I have. I’m here, when I haven’t the faintest idea why I am. My knees are knocking so hard that I’m afraid I’m about to fall down.”
A corner of his beautiful mouth lifted in a smile. He extended his hand. “Come to me.” She couldn’t move, and he coaxed, “It’s all right, Anne. Come here.”
The tender note in his voice pierced through what remained of her wall of reserve. She stumbled over, and he linked their fingers and drew her onto his lap. Her bottom was balanced on his thigh, and he tugged her forward so that her bosom was flattened to his chest, her nose buried at his nape. He was warm and large, and he smelled so good.
He kissed her cheek, her temple.
“What is it?” he inquired. “What’s wrong?”
“Everything. Nothing.”
“That sounds bad.”
“It is.”
He chuckled and offered her his brandy.
“Drink this. You’ll feel better.”
She enjoyed an occasional brandy—it was a secret vice—and she was glad that he wasn’t going to coddle her. In a single gulp, she tossed down the contents, then held out the glass.
“May I have another?”
“Of course.”
The decanter was on a table next to him. He grabbed it and filled to the rim. She gulped it down, too, then snuggled herself to him again.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like a third?” he queried. “I’d be happy to get you drunk and take advantage of you.”
“You don’t have to get me drunk.”
“Really? You’re prepared to sacrifice yourself sober?”
“Yes.”
He laughed and shifted away, a finger under her chin so she had to look at him.
“Oh, my darling, Anne, what is it? What’s happened? If you would seek me out like this, it must be quite a tragedy.”
She dithered and debated, then blurted out, “Would you make love to me?”
He stared blankly, as if he hadn’t heard her correctly.
“Say something,” she begged, embarrassed. “It’s what I want, but I’m clueless as to how I convince you to agree. What must I do so we can start? Just tell me, and I’ll do it.”
“Make love?” He seemed to be testing the words on his tongue. “You want to make love with me? You want to give me your virginity?”
“Yes.”
“Right here? Right now?”
“Yes.”
“I suppose we could do that, but first, you must explain yourself. Why me? Why now?”
“I don’t know,” she truthfully replied.
“Well, your response certainly makes me feel special.” He chuckled again, greatly humored by her. “Are you fighting with the Duke? Is that what’s brought this on?”
“I’m always fighting with the Duke.”
“Then...why?”
The restless yearnings that plagued her were difficult to describe. She wanted ecstasy and excitement, companionship and contentment. She wanted to feel as if she mattered.
“Sometimes,” she haltingly said, “you look at me, and it seems as if you see the person I could be—instead of the person I am.” For some idiotic reason, tears flooded her eyes. “I have to find out if I can become that person you see.”
“And if I consent to copulating with you, what will I receive in return?”
“What do you want in return?”
“There’s a question for the ages: What do I want? My price might be more than y
ou’re willing to pay.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure. You’d be surprised at what this is worth to me.”
“Have you any notion of what transpires between a man and a woman? Do you know what you’re really proposing?”
“I have a general idea.”
“It’s very physical.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“We’d lie down on my bed. We’d remove all our clothes, and I’d touch you all over.”
At the prospect, her stomach somersaulted with anticipation, her breasts seeming to swell and harden. Her body understood what was required, even if her mind did not.
“Would you show me how it can be? Would you teach me what to do?”
“I could, but I’m not positive I should. I doubt if you’d like it.”
She could have protested that he dabbled with every woman in town, except for herself, but she couldn’t raise the complaint without sounding possessive and shrewish. Since females were constantly throwing themselves at him, the sexual act had to be pleasurable. Why else would they solicit him so frequently?
Her friends often tittered about amour, and it appeared to be the male of the duo who made all the difference. Those wives who enjoyed fornication were usually the ones who’d married experienced rakes, and she was certain that Phillip would fit into the category of lovers who knew exactly how to proceed.
He poured another brandy, and he sipped at it, pondering her request, weighing the pros and cons.
“If I say yes,” he finally murmured, “you have to promise that you’ll never be sorry. No matter if you hate it, no matter what happens later on, you won’t regret asking, and you won’t blame me for agreeing.” He paused and kissed her cheek again. “If you were miserable afterward, I couldn’t bear it.”
She kissed him on the mouth. “I’ll never be sorry.”
Studying her, he searched for vacillation or trepidation, and she calmly met his stare, wanting him to witness her resolve, and she succeeded.
He eased her to her feet, then stood, too.
“Come.”
He took her hand and led her to the adjoining room where his bed was located. A single candle glowed on the nightstand, and his evening clothes were folded across the end of the mattress.
“Were you going out?” she queried.
“Yes, but it seems my plans have been altered.”
He didn’t say what those plans might have been, or who he might have seen, and she didn’t inquire, for she didn’t wish to know which London doxy would be disappointed when he failed to arrive.
He scooped up the clothes and dropped them on a chair, then he drew back the blankets. Suddenly, she was alarmed, her maidenly fears surging, and he noted her anxiety.
“Are you still sure? We don’t have to do it. We can stop this instant, and I’ll drive you home, with no harm done.”
“I don’t want that.”
“But you need to realize,” he gently said, “that once we lie down together, I won’t let you change your mind.”
She gazed up at him, thinking he was so magnificent, so perfect for her. Why had it taken her forever to notice?
She smiled. “I won’t change my mind.”
“Good, because I’ve been wanting this for a very long time.”
“You have?”
“Yes, you silly fool.” At the admission, his discomfort was obvious. “Why do you suppose I’m always so angry with you?”
“I’ve never had any idea.” And she truly hadn’t. She’d simply thought they were a horrid mismatch, like two combustibles stored in a shed so frequent explosions had occurred.
Had it been love all along?
“You frustrate me,” he said, “when you refuse to succumb to my numerous charms.” He grinned and stepped to her. “Turn around.”
She obeyed, but glanced over her shoulder. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to unbutton your dress and unlace your corset.”
“Will you remove...everything?”
“I’ll let you keep your chemise. For now.”
He was so handsome, with his thick golden hair and magnetic green eyes, and he was rippling with a passion that she’d generated. He shrugged off his robe, his upper torso bare and tempting, and she was thrilled—in a totally feminine way—with what she’d wrought.
“Would you hurry?” she said.
“That’s my girl.” He leaned in and stole a kiss.
“I feel as if I’ve been waiting for this my whole life.”
“So do I.”
He made swift work of her attire, providing ample evidence of his familiarity with female garments, but she declined to focus on the fact. She wouldn’t think about his other women or his bachelor’s existence, wouldn’t think about her life with the Duke and what would be left of it after they were through. She would live for the moment, would grab every speck of happiness she could possibly find.
He stripped her to her chemise, and he snuggled himself to her, his front pressed to her back all the way down. He nibbled at her nape, and she shivered, but not from the cold.
“You’re very beautiful, Anne,” he whispered in her ear, “as beautiful as I always dreamed you would be.”
She moaned with delight, but also with despair over all the lonely years she’d withered away in her father’s house. Desperate to forget them, she spun so he could pull her into his arms. He kissed her and kissed her until she was weak at the knees, and if he hadn’t been holding her upright, she would have collapsed to the floor in a puddle of desire.
In the past, she’d often wondered if there wasn’t conduct like this, conduct so torrid and decadent and wild, but she’d had no frame of reference to indicate whether the fantasy was close to the reality. She was tickled to note that the reality was better and more amazing than anything her virginal imagination could have conjured.
He went to the bed, and he stretched out and brought her down with him. There was nothing awkward or fussy about it, and his casual manner made it all so easy. When eventually, he drew off her chemise, it seemed the most normal thing in the world to be completely naked.
He kissed her breasts; he kissed her stomach. He rolled her and stroked her and licked every inch of her, until she was a writhing, pitiful ball of yearning and greed.
When he finally touched her between her legs, just the slightest graze of his thumb along her privates, she was so aroused that she cried out his name with a strange abandon that had him preening.
He nudged her thighs apart, and he settled himself, his hard, manly rod positioned directly where it needed to be.
“This will hurt you,” he murmured, “but only the first time.”
“Does that mean we get to do it more than once?”
“Yes, my dearest Anne, we definitely get to do it more than once.” He wedged himself into her sheath. “If I could be here like this with you, and I died immediately after, I would feel my entire life had been worth it.”
“Oh, Phillip...”
At the sweet sentiment, tears flooded her eyes again, and he hugged her, kissing one eyelid, then the other.
“Don’t be sad.”
“I’m not. I’m just so glad you were home. I’m just so glad you allowed me to stay.”
“How could I have sent you away?”
He wedged in a tad farther, and she tensed.
“Take a deep breath,” he advised, and she did. “Let it out.” She did. “Now smile for me. Smile just for me.”
In the end, it was so simple to give herself to him. Gradually, he pushed in and filled her, but he kept himself very still while her anatomy acclimated to its new condition. More tears threatened.
“You can’t be sad. Remember?”
“I’m not sad. I’m very, very happy.”
“I am, too.”
He began to flex his hips, and he was very gentle, taking her in a smooth, effortless rhythm, and she was surprised at how quickly and eagerly she joined in. She knew just what to do, as if she’d
been born to the debauched behavior.
She met him thrust for thrust, stretching and straining to titillate and please him, and she succeeded. He couldn’t hold back, and much before she was ready, his passion rose and peaked. She cradled him to her bosom, thinking that life could never become more precious than it was at that very moment.
With a soft sigh of satisfaction, he relaxed onto her, but he didn’t feel heavy. His large torso covered her in a possessive way that was exhilarating.
She caressed his hair, his shoulders, and she could sense him grinning. He slid from her and shifted onto his side, and he turned her so that they were facing each other.
“Well, my Lady Anne”—he used her title, but not in a mocking fashion—“you’re no longer a virgin. What do you have to say for yourself?”
“I didn’t need that silly old maidenhead anyway. It’s not as if I was keeping it for a special occasion.”
He snorted. “Did I hurt you?”
“Just for a second. When you...ah...”
“It will get better.”
“I know.”
“It will be wonderful between us. Every time,” he insisted, “it will be wonderful.”
He rolled her so they were spooned together, his belly and thighs cocooned around her.
“What now?” she asked.
“Now we rest a bit, then we’ll do it again.” He nuzzled her hair and neck, a lazy arm draped across her waist. “Unless you’re too sore?”
“Never too sore for you.”
“I’m delighted to hear it.” He chuckled and snuggled her nearer. “Do you have to be home soon?”
“I don’t have to go home ever again—if I decide not to.”
He pondered the statement, but didn’t question her as to why. Instead, he swatted her on the bottom. “Close your eyes. You have a busy night ahead of you.”
Yawning, she did as he suggested, cuddling in the quiet and reflecting on how it was the most marvelous part so far. In all the yammering by her acquaintances, they’d never explained this calm, peaceful interlude after.
She thought she could lie there forever, that she might never leave his bed, and when a vision of the Duke tried to intrude, she shoved the image away.
