by Holt, Cheryl
Why would Mildred hide them? Had she refused Miss Teasdale permission to dine with the company? Or had Miss Teasdale declined to socialize? For some inexplicable reason, he was desperate to learn the answer to that question.
Women loved him and always had, starting with his mother and moving on from there. His handsome looks, illicit parentage, and scandalous familial history were titillating. But it was his aura of power and danger that drew them in and spurred them to recklessness.
They swarmed like moths to a flame, but of course, it was impossible to get close. He never let anyone matter, because he was convinced his life expectancy would be very short.
He would never bond with a female, just to have her widowed. From watching his own mother die a slow, miserable death, he was aware of how hard it was for a woman on her own. He would never allow a woman to attach herself, would never allow a woman to count on him. He’d only fail her.
It was his way.
But he was irked by the notion that Miss Teasdale might not have wished to socialize with him. Mildred Teasdale was laboring under the mistaken impression that she could charm him into mercy so she’d hosted a lavish supper. John had scarcely tasted the food because he’d been too busy wondering why Miss Teasdale hadn’t joined them.
At the moment, she was ready for bed, wearing a nightgown and robe. The nightgown was a virginal white, with flowers stitched across the bodice and hem. The robe was a lilac hue that set off the blue of her eyes. Her feet were bare, and he grinned, delighted to note that her toenails were painted pink.
Her beautiful hair was down and brushed out, and he’d never previously seen tresses in quite that shade. While most men preferred blond trollops, he considered himself a connoisseur of loose doxies. Red hair always tantalized him, but russet-haired doxies were difficult to find.
He liked auburn hair. He liked her auburn hair.
He still didn’t know why she’d been in his dressing room earlier in the afternoon. If Annalise hadn’t arrived, he wasn’t sure what might have happened. He’d kissed her as a lark, as a joke, but the chaste embrace had rattled him in ways he didn’t like. He was anxious to kiss her again, but more thoroughly, so he could discover what it was about her that was so alluring.
Tired of lurking like a specter on the balcony, he parted the curtains and walked inside.
“Hello, Sarah.”
She jumped a mile, leaping up with such force that her chair toppled over.
“What are you doing?”she hissed. “Are you mad?”
“Yes, I’ve always been told that I am.”
“You can’t just…just…come into my bedchamber.”
“I can, and I have.”
She made a shooing motion with her hand. “Get out of here.”
“No.”
He took a step toward her, and she took one back. He took another, and she did, too.
Her cheeks flushed with agitation, she was clutching at the lapels of her robe, and he thought she was so pretty, so tempting. He was about to reach out and trace his fingers down her hair, to revel in the lush softness, when she lurched away and dashed to the door that led to the hall.
She opened it and peeked out. Seeing no one, she tried to shoo him away again.
“Will you get out?”
“No.”
He marched over, laid a palm on the wood and banged it shut. There was no key in the keyhole, so he retrieved a knife from his pocket and jiggered the lock so it clicked into place, trapping her.
She gaped, aghast. “I knew you were a criminal. I knew it!”
“I’m not a criminal,”he lied. “I’m just…handy with tools.”
“No, you’re a criminal. And a menace. Let me out.”
“No.”
“I won’t stay in here with you, and I can’t believe you’d think it appropriate to enter. Let me out. At once!”
“No.”
“Is that the only word you know?”
“No, and you can’t toss me out. I’m bigger than you.”
“Really?”she sarcastically oozed. “I hadn’t noticed.”
She stomped back to the table, sat, and began eating again. She ignored him, and he was irritated by her disregard.
She jumbled loose all sorts of unusual emotions that he didn’t like suffering. Around her, he felt protective and strong, but foolish and out of his element, too. He might have been ten years old and breathless with his first crush. He wanted her to be in awe of him, to fawn and flatter, to be glad he’d arrived.
He was being driven by insane notions. Why had he sneaked in? What, precisely, was he hoping to accomplish? He hadn’t a clue.
He went over and pulled up a chair across from her. He slouched and stretched out his legs, enjoying her company, enjoying how nervous he made her. She attempted to proceed with her meal, but a strained silence festered, and she couldn’t stand it.
“What are you staring at?”she demanded.
“You.”
“Obviously. Why?”
“You fascinate me, but damned if I can figure it out.”
“Don’t curse. I don’t like it.”
He supposed he could have apologized for his rough language, but he was extremely arrogant and never apologized about anything. Or he supposed he could have informed her that the house and every item in it now belonged to him—Hedley had gambled it all away—and he could act however he pleased.
But he didn’t tell her. Mildred wanted to break the news herself, and he’d given her another day to carry out the distasteful task.
To his consternation, he was troubled over what was about to transpire. The servants were courteous and well-trained, and they would be devastated to lose their positions.
As to Miss Teasdale, what would she think when she found out what Hedley had done? What would she think when she learned that John was the owner of Bramble Bay and that he didn’t care about her home or the people in it.
He’d spent so many years plotting vengeance and pursuing his various retaliations that he’d assumed he was immune to shame or guilt. Apparently, a few flickers of conscience still lingered.
He felt sorry for her and wondered where she’d end up. Had she other kin? Was there anyone to provide shelter and assistance?
He’d jokingly told Raven that he might offer to keep her as a mistress, and it occurred to him that it was a proposition he might eventually tender. He doubted she’d be worth the bother, but how could a man guess what benefits a woman could ultimately supply?
“You didn’t come down to supper,”he said.
“No, I didn’t.”
He waited, but she didn’t explain.
“Why not?”
“It isn’t any of your business, is it?”
“Humor me.”
“No.”
She picked up her fork to start eating again, but he clasped her wrist and took the utensil from her.
They engaged in a visual battle she could never win. She didn’t comprehend how tough he was, didn’t understand the deeds of which he was capable. She was a poor, unprotected female, with no husband or father to watch over her. She could never best him, and it was pointless to try.
“Fine,”she huffed. “I didn’t join you, because Mildred asked me not to. You’re such an important guest”—she batted her lashes in a facetious way that made him grin—“and she was afraid my frivolous presence would upset your digestion.”
“She didn’t say that.”
“She didn’t have to. Besides, I don’t like you or your friends, and I didn’t want to dine with you.”
“Not like me?” He gestured down his torso. “What’s not to like?”
“You’re a bully and a fiend, and I’m not certain why you’re here, but I’m positive you’re up to no good.”
He nodded. “You could be right.”
“Where is your mistress?” From her expression, it was clear she was hoping to rattle him by mentioning Annalise. “Won’t she be angry if she finds out you’re with me?”
/>
His grin widened. “You’re jealous.”
“Hardly.”
He studied her, amused at how she couldn’t hold his gaze.
“Yes, you are. You’re jealous.”
“The woman is a trollop.”
“She definitely is. It’s the only type of female who interests me.”
“I would never be jealous of someone like her.”
“You’re a very curious person—as you demonstrated when you sneaked into my bedchamber.”
“I didn’t sneak in.”
“Call it what you will. I fascinate you, and I’m happy to regale you with stories. Would you like me to tell you why I keep Annalise? Would you like me to tell you all the ways she entertains me?”
Her eyes flashed daggers. “Oh, stop it. You’re embarrassing yourself. And me.”
“Are you truly an innocent maiden?”
“How crass of you to inquire.”
“I don’t meet many innocent women.”
“I’m sure you don’t. I’m sure you spend all your time rolling in the gutter with slatterns.”
“You’ve summed up my life perfectly. Perhaps I should hire you to write my biography.”
“You wouldn’t like my tone. Or my ending. I’d have you killed off—by me, because I’m so aggravated by you.”
“Women usually love me. How have I earned your disfavor?”
“There’s something fishy about you. I can’t decide what it is, but I’ll figure it out.”
He sighed. There were many, many things fishy about him. It was such a long list, if he chose to enlighten her as to his proclivities, it would likely take a whole year to confess it all.
“I’m simply visiting in the area,”he fibbed.
“Liar.”
“Yes, I am a liar. I always have been.” He clasped her wrist again and stroked a thumb across the spot where her pulse beat so furiously. “While I’m here, I want you to come down to supper.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s no fun without you there.”
“You don’t even know me. Why would you utter such a ridiculous comment? I could be the most boring supper companion who ever lived, and you’d be stuck with me.”
“You wouldn’t have to talk. You could merely sit and let me stare at you.”
“Don’t flirt with me. I don’t like it.”
She yanked away and tucked her hand under her thigh so he couldn’t grab for it again.
“Every woman likes a man to flirt.”
“Not this woman.”
“Now who’s lying?”
He leaned forward, his elbows on the table. She didn’t like him moving nearer, and she leaned back in her chair, shifting as far away as possible.
Poor girl. She hadn’t yet realized that he always got his way. If she tried to avoid him, he’d make her stay by his side just to prove that he could. If she tried to keep her distance, he’d push and push and push until she gave up and behaved as he demanded.
It was his nature, inherited from his father, Charles Sinclair, Earl of Trent, who by all accounts was an arrogant, unyielding ass. John had never met Charles, but he’d heard plenty of stories, and he believed them all. He was possessed of Charles’s worst traits and none of his good ones. Actually, Charles didn’t have any good ones.
“If a disaster occurred at Bramble Bay,”he asked, “would you have anywhere to go?”
“What do you mean? What might happen?”
“I’m just posing a question. You seem fairly miserable with Mildred and Hedley.”
“I’m not miserable,”she insisted, but her dour glare belied her remark.
“What if you had to leave? Are there any kin who would take you in?”
“No.”
“What would you do?”
“I’ve often wondered myself,”she surprised him by admitting. “I’d like to leave Bramble Bay, but I haven’t the funds. And my friend Caroline is here. She’s in a bit of a…jam. If I left, I’d have to bring her with me. There would be two of us needing shelter, and I have no idea how I’d provide it.”
“You don’t get along with Mildred.”
“No.”
“How about Hedley?”
“I get on with Hedley all right. He’s too reckless for my tastes.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-five. How old are you?”
“Thirty. Why aren’t you married?”
“Why aren’t you?”
He laughed. “What sane woman would have me?”
“That’s the truest thing you’ve said since we met.”
“Your father has been dead for several years,”he pressed. “Why didn’t he select a husband for you before he passed?”
She shrugged. “I was engaged to a neighbor boy when I was younger. He died in the army, and I wasn’t much interested after that.”
“You have no other prospects?”
“Mildred is pestering me to marry our neighbor Mr. Fishburn, and he’s amenable. I suppose I could agree in a pinch.”
“Why don’t you?”
“Because he’s thirty years older than I am, has already outlived three wives, and he was my fiancé’s father.” She scowled with irritation. “It seems a bit tawdry to me.”
John gave a mock shudder. “Mildred certainly knows how to pick a winner.”
“Yes, she certainly does.”
“Do you have a dowry?”
“Honestly! You’re so nosy. My private life is none of your business.”
“I’m making it my business. Do you have a dowry?”
“I thought my father had put some money aside, but after the will was read, Mildred learned that he hadn’t.”
“You trust Mildred’s word on it?”
“I don’t have much choice.”
“It never occurred to you that she might lie?”
“Why would she lie? She’d love to be shed of me. If there was dowry money tucked away somewhere, she’d be first in line to arrange a match for me.”
“Would you like to marry? If you could stumble on a husband who would be better than your neighbor?”
“Why? Are you offering?”
“No,”he swiftly said, and she snorted with disgust.
She scrutinized him, her derision clear, her impatience blatant. Suddenly, she appeared much more weary than he’d deemed her to be.
“You’ve barged in to my room when you shouldn’t have,”she scolded, “and you’ve peppered me with rude questions—that I’ve answered when I shouldn’t have. I’m tired, and it’s been a long day.”
“If I asked you to be my mistress, what would you say?”
“Your…mistress?”she sputtered.
“I’d send Annalise away, and you could take her place.”
She stared and stared, then she shook her head. “My hearing must be affected. I could have sworn you just suggested that I be your mistress.”
“I did.”
She slapped her hands over her eyes, and for an eternity, she sat there. Her body started to tremble, and for a horrified instant, he presumed she was crying. Then he realized she was laughing.
“Oh, my lord,”she mused to herself, “this—this!!—is what my life has come to.” She pulled her hands away, and her gaze was firm and furious. “No, I won’t be your mistress, Mr. Sinclair. I have no idea why you would assume you could make such an indelicate proposal to me.”
“I’m handsome and very rich, and I can be extremely generous when the mood strikes me.”
“Bully for you.”
“You can’t predict what might happen in the future. You shouldn’t be so hasty.”
“In a thousand years, I would never agree.”
“You might.”
“Not if I was starving on the street.”
“I’ll ask you later—when your situation might be more dire.”
“It will be a waste of time.” She stood and gestured to the window by which he’d entered. “Tell me why you’re really here. Tell
me one true thing, then go.”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
“That’s precisely why I’m worried about you.”
“You should be nicer to me.”
“I’ve been plenty nice. Now go before I scream for help.”
“Who could help you? When I am in the room, who would dare?”
He stood, too, and stepped to her. She didn’t move a muscle, didn’t reveal any fear by so much as a quiver of her brow. He could do anything to her. He was bigger and stronger and so very fierce in his actions and passions, but she recognized he wouldn’t hurt her.
Each moment he spent with her was novel and refreshing, and he was overcome by the most potent need to be connected to her.
He slid an arm around her waist and drew her to him. She was dressed in her nightclothes, and with no corset or undergarments to hide her feminine parts, he could feel her pert breasts, the taut nipples poking into his chest like shards of glass. But it was the scent of her skin and hair that was most arousing.
She smelled like sunshine and flowers, like woman and fertile earth, and the aromas called to him like a siren song that—if he wasn’t careful—would lure him to his doom. He’d be crushed to death on a rocky shore.
He might have been balanced on a tightrope, an unusual urge about to sweep him away. Desire was racing in his veins, pounding in his phallus, burning in his mind, and spurring him to take her, to have her.
He—who never lost control—was desperate to proceed to ravishment. He was like a stallion sighting his favorite mare, like a sultan in his harem, espying a new and pretty virgin.
He took a deep breath, calming his nerves, tamping his lust down to a manageable level.
“Close your eyes, Sarah.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
“Are you going to kiss me again?”
“I believe I am.”
“I wish you wouldn’t.”
“It’s not up to you. With me, it will never be up to you.”
“I don’t want this behavior from you, and I don’t understand why it’s occurring. If I’ve done something to make you think that I—”
“Sarah!”he interrupted.
“What?”
“Close your eyes!”
She shook her head, as if to refuse, but her body ignored her. Against her will, her lashes drifted down, and he touched his mouth to hers. It was very brief, very chaste, just a quick brush of his lips to her own, yet he was so disturbed by it that he rapidly pulled away.
