by Cheryl Holt
As she arrived in her bedchamber, she was fretting and distracted, so it came as an enormous shock to hear a man say, “Hello, Amelia. It’s about time you got home.”
She whipped around to find Mr. Drake seated in a chair by the fire. From the looks of it, he’d been there for quite awhile. He was drinking her wine, having shed his coat and made himself comfortable.
Where was his precious Mrs. Nipton? He’d left the ball with her but, obviously, he’d rid himself of her and had sought out Amelia instead. She yearned to shake a fist in triumph.
“Lucas Drake! You scared the life out of me.” She was delighted to see him, but knew she shouldn’t let it show. She scowled. “Why are you in my room? You can’t have assumed it was all right to sneak in.”
“I had no desire to speak with any of your acquaintances. Nor did I wish to explain my arrival to Mrs. Middleton.”
“So you just barged in?”
“Yes.”
Amelia understood morality and virtue. She understood that the only appropriate response was to demand his immediate departure. But she couldn’t tell him to go. She didn’t want him to go.
It was quickly dawning on her that she was no better than she had to be. While she liked to envision herself as being very prim and proper, the sad fact was that—apparently—she had very base tendencies. Evidently, she was exactly like her mother who’d been loose in every imaginable way.
Mr. Drake had one type of relationship with females, that being a carnal one. If she could convince him to stay with her for a few hours, if she could tantalize him with the possibility of another salacious event, she’d be nearer to her goal than ever. She was excited by the prospect. She was practically giddy with anticipation, and any ethical reservations she’d previously possessed were pushed out by the urge to misbehave.
“This isn’t your father’s house,” she scolded.
“Thank God.”
“You can’t enter my private quarters whenever you feel like it.”
“As I already have, it’s clear that I can, so your complaint is ridiculous.”
She stomped by him and proceeded through the bedroom to the dressing room beyond. She didn’t peek around to see if he’d followed, but she expected he would. What was occurring? What was his objective? She didn’t know his, but she knew hers. When they were in close proximity, heat ignited and sparks flew. She merely had to keep that fire burning once it was started.
She went to her dresser and plucked the combs from her hair, and as the brunette mass tumbled down her back, he appeared in the doorway. He leaned against the wood, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched her grab her brush and tug it through the lengthy strands. He was vehemently focused on the simple act.
“Your manners are growing more atrocious by the second,” she said.
“Why?”
“If you weren’t welcome in my sitting room, you’re definitely not welcome in here.”
“I like your hair,” was his reply. “Was your mother’s dark too? Did you inherit the color from her?”
“I don’t remember, but I’m told I look just like her.”
“She must have been very beautiful.”
“Mr. Drake! Don’t you dare be charming. You’ll make me like you.”
She finished her task and laid down the brush, then she spun and approached him. He didn’t move, but stood, blocking the door. He stared down at her, seeming angry and confused, and—to her surprise—a tad lost, as if he couldn’t figure out his purpose. She wasn’t sure herself.
“You left London,” she hurled like an accusation.
“For two weeks.”
“You didn’t even say goodbye.”
“Why would I have?”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were running away from me.”
He snorted with affront. “I wasn’t running.”
“Are you positive?”
“Very.”
“Why have you returned? Let me guess. It was not to see me—even though this is the first place you’ve come.”
“It wasn’t the first place,” he scoffed.
“Now that you’re here, what is it you’re hoping to accomplish?”
“I have no idea.”
“You must have some clue.”
“Not really.”
“With all the entertainments currently in progress, you expect me to believe you had nothing better to do than visit me?”
“Nothing that interested me anyway.”
She raised a brow, curious over what had happened with Nanette Nipton, why the adulterous doxy hadn’t been able to keep him by her side. Amelia took it as a very encouraging sign that he’d fled Mrs. Nipton in order to be with Amelia. She had to take it as an encouraging sign. What else could she think?
“How long are you intending to stay?”
“I’m still debating.”
“It’s very late, Mr. Drake.”
“It is.”
“And I’m home alone.”
“I’m aware of that fact.”
“It’s the height of impropriety for me to let you remain.”
“It certainly is.”
“Are you supposing you can make it worth my while?”
His glorious blue eyes meandered down her body, assessing her lips, her breasts, the womanly spot between her legs. Her cheeks heated as she recollected how he’d brazenly touched her there, how she’d exploded with pleasure.
“I’m not supposing anything,” he ultimately said.
“Shall I pour you another glass of wine?”
“I don’t want anymore wine.”
“What do you want?”
“I’m about to show you.”
“I don’t imagine you should.”
He reached out a finger, laid it on her chin, then traced it down her neck and bosom, stopping at the bodice of her dress.
“You have to let me, Amelia.”
“So it’s Amelia now, is it?”
“Yes, and it’s time for you to call me Lucas.”
“How will that help our situation?”
“It won’t, but it will make me happy.”
“Have you been unhappy?”
“Not enough to matter, but things are suddenly looking up.”
“Are they?”
“How about you?” he asked. “Are things looking up?”
“I haven’t decided.”
“Well, once I’m through with you, you won’t have any doubt.”
“Tough talk, Lucas. Let’s see if you can impress me.”
She rose on tiptoe and boldly kissed him on the mouth. Then she pushed him away and swept into the bedchamber. Before she took two steps, he swooped in from behind, lifted her, and tumbled them onto the bed.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
As Lucas landed on the mattress and rolled on top of Amelia, his mind reeled as he tried to figure out his plan.
He was courting disaster in a thousand ways. If he was discovered with her, there would be loud demands that they marry, and with his current low mood, he was in no condition to weather a storm of outrage from her brother and friends.
It had happened to him in the past when he’d dabbled with the wrong girl, but he never made amends. When he engaged in a flirtation, he was very firm up front that—should he be caught—he wouldn’t wed as a punishment for his misbehavior. His partners were eager to proceed, despite the danger, so when disaster struck, he never felt sorry or guilty. Why would he?
He never refused what was freely offered.
Amelia seemed perfectly willing to get herself into trouble, but he liked her more than he should. If he quarreled with her brother, her name would be muddied and her reputation shredded, so she’d be harmed when it was over.
For several weeks, he’d worried that she would imperil herself with an unreliable cad. Yet he was the most dangerous one of all, and while he didn’t want any other man to trifle with her, he was perfectly delighted to race down the road to perdition until he crashed at th
e end.
“We’re becoming awfully friendly all of a sudden,” Amelia said.
“Yes, we are.”
“Why do you suppose that is?”
“I have no explanation.”
“We hate each other, don’t we?”
Lucas considered, then mused, “Hate is a bit strong to describe how I feel about you.”
“So we’re lingering somewhere between hate and...what? That’s quite a big range of emotion.”
“We’re not suffering any emotion. We’re simple enjoying ourselves.”
“Are we?”
She arched a brow, giving him that schoolteacher look she was so adept at displaying. He wondered what her students had thought of her. Had they loved her? Had they been as exasperated as he always was in her presence?
His relationship with her was a mystery to him. Though he’d denied it, there was sentiment flaring, and they shared a blatant physical attraction. But when he had no good intentions toward her, and she was much too innocent to dabble, where could it lead?
There was no viable conclusion, and if he could have located his common sense, he would have leapt up and dashed out before he got himself in any deeper. Yet his common sense had fled, and he hadn’t a clue where it had gone.
During his prior visit, he’d learned that she had a very sexual nature. No doubt he could coerce her into even more perilous conduct. No doubt he could deflower her if he wished. Did he wish it? He couldn’t decide.
He started kissing her, and she heartily joined in. They were touching from lips to toes, so he could feel every inch of her delicious torso, and he was fairly certain that he wouldn’t stop until he’d seen her naked.
He liked the chase more than the ending. If he undressed her and viewed what was hiding under the fabric—a body likely not much different from any other female’s—perhaps some of his ridiculous lust would wane.
“We shouldn’t do this.” She drew away, frowning.
“Why not?”
“You know why not.”
“There’s no one at home, so there’s no one to rush in and catch us.”
“The fact that we won’t be caught doesn’t make it right.”
“Who’s talking about right? I’m interested in pleasure. Aren’t you?”
He flexed his hips, his loins pressed to her own. Her eyes widened with surprise, and she grinned.
“You are so wicked,” she said.
“I can be.”
“I have no idea why you’re here or why I’ve let you stay.”
“I think you might be crazy about me.”
She scoffed. “Only a man as vain as yourself would believe that.”
“You liked what we did last time. You want to do it again.”
“Yes, but I can’t figure out where we’re headed.”
“We’re not headed anywhere.”
“But usually, when two people dally as we have, they marry afterward.”
“Usually.”
“Neither of us is eager to wed.”
“No.”
“So...why should I take any risks with you?”
“Because we’re physically attracted.”
“We’re not animals. We don’t have to act on it.”
It was his turn to grin. “Who says we’re not animals? I’ve always been a beast. Ask anybody who knows me.”
“That’s true. You have the most horrid reputation of anyone I’ve ever met.”
“And it won’t ever get any better. I live however I please, and I refuse to be bound by society’s absurd rules. You should try it.”
“I should stoop to your level and become as dissolute as you?”
“If you spend much more time with me, my bad traits will rub off.”
“I’ve been worried about that.”
“There are worse things than being a degenerate.”
“Such as?”
“Being so stuffy that you never have any fun.”
He flexed his hips again, setting off a sizzle of sensation, and she nodded.
“You might have a point.”
“Of course I do. You should listen to me. I’ll teach you plenty of tricks you need to learn.”
She gazed at him, studying him so keenly that he was unnerved by her shrewd assessment. He didn’t want her to be so astute, didn’t want her to delve down to the middle of his cold, black heart. Again, he felt he should leave before it was too late, but he didn’t.
“I have no desire to marry you,” she firmly stated.
Her rejection pricked at his vanity, but he tamped down his aggravation. “I realize that. I’m not interested either.”
“I have my eye on someone else.”
His temper tried to flare, but he wouldn’t let it. Why would he care if she wanted someone else?
“Don’t tell me who it is,” he said. “I don’t wish to be apprised.”
“We can’t engage in any behavior that would prevent me from marrying another.”
“We won’t,” he asserted, but he might have been lying. He was aware of how quickly passion could escalate. With how attuned they were, any wicked, out of control conduct was likely.
“I’m clueless about carnal matters,” she said, “and I’m terrified I’ll cross the wrong bridge without knowing I have.”
“I know all the bridges. I won’t let you cross the wrong one.”
Her assessment intensified. “Can I trust you?”
He was taken aback by the question. He stared and stared, anxious to declare himself ethical and honest, but he couldn’t, and he laughed aloud.
“No, you absolutely can’t trust me.”
“I was afraid you’d say that.” She eased away. “You should go.”
On hearing her request, his pulse actually raced with alarm, and he was swamped by the most annoying wave of sadness.
“I don’t want to go,” he murmured. “Not just yet.”
“You should though.”
He shrugged. “When have you ever known me to behave as I ought?”
She pondered him, then smiled the most beautiful, beguiling smile. It tickled his innards and curled his toes in his boots.
“I don’t even like you,” she sighed.
“Yes, you do.”
“We’re mad. Both of us are stark raving mad.”
“Perhaps,” he agreed.
Then he smiled too, and the most curious contentment washed over him. He kissed her again, positive that a dose of physical amour would cure what ailed him. They got on better when they weren’t conversing, and they’d be happier if they dallied. He was certain of it.
She didn’t pull away, didn’t ask him to desist. She jumped into the fray, being delighted to proceed precisely as they shouldn’t.
Swiftly, they were swept into the inferno. His busy hands set to work, caressing her, massaging her, investigating her shape and size. He was suffering from an almost desperate need to imprint her form into his memory.
She was rapidly overwhelmed, so it was easy to loosen her dress, to bare her breasts, without her noticing. He nibbled a trail down her neck, her bosom, to suck a pert nipple into his mouth.
She gasped and drew him closer, urging him to feast, which he did with relish. For some reason, he felt better in her presence, and he simply couldn’t resist the chance to be nearer to her, to impress himself on her in a way that no other man would ever be able to accomplish.
He tugged at her skirt, raising the hem up her legs, her thighs. In a thrice, he had two fingers inside her. She was such a lusty creature that her desire peaked instantly, and she was pitched into a potent orgasm that went on and on and on.
As she reached the peak, as she tumbled down, she was laughing, merry, glad for what they’d perpetrated.
“Why does that happen to me?” she asked.
“It’s a typical part of the sexual experience.”
“So I’m not abnormal?”
“No, you’re very, very normal.”
Her innocent question underscor
ed how hideously he was acting. What sort of cad was he that he would inflict himself on her, that he would goad her into immoral conduct she wouldn’t have tried if she hadn’t met him?
She claimed she wanted to marry another man, and he suspected it was Bryce Blair. Lucas should have left her alone, should have let Blair teach her the necessary techniques once they were wed, but Lucas wasn’t that noble. Nor was he sorry that he’d forged ahead.
“I worry about what I’m really like,” she said.
“Why would you?”
“My mother was a renowned slattern, and I’ve always been afraid that I harbor her worst tendencies.”
“Your mother wasn’t a slattern, Amelia. She loved your father and reveled in her life with him. That’s all. Don’t believe the stories you’ve heard about her.”
“You’re kind to say that. I’ve rarely heard a good opinion from anyone.”
“The vicars like to preach about sin and damnation, but sometimes people just need a bit of joy.”
She nodded. “I think that’s probably true.”
“And if you have a few risqué inclinations, who cares? I never thought lewdness was a bad trait in a female.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“You’ll be happier if you embrace this side of your character. You’ll be more content.”
“You could be right.”
He was staring at her, and she stared back, a profound look in her eye as if she’d discovered something about him she hadn’t previously understood. He had to glance away.
Down below, his phallus was hard as a rock, perfectly positioned at the vee between her thighs. He’d dabbled with her on several occasions now, and while she’d gained some relief, he hadn’t attempted to assuage his own rampant ardor.
It wasn’t healthy to be so titillated, and every facet of his being, down to the tiniest pore, was shouting at him to take her, to have her. He was perched on the very edge of ravishment, which was a frightening place to be.
He was a master at self-restraint, at separating the physical from the emotional. But at that moment, he was out on a ledge where he’d never climbed before. If she shifted even the slightest inch, there was no telling how he might react.
Very cautiously, he eased away and rolled onto his back. He gazed at the ceiling, struggling to clear his mind and tamp down his arousal. Apparently, no deflowering would occur, so he had to locate Nanette. Earlier in the evening, he’d parted with her but, evidently, he needed to recommence the affair he’d planned to abandon.
