by Lisa Torquay
“Major…Lord Crompton,” Rockfield hadn’t been invested with the dukedom yet, but was being called by his new title informally. “These are Baron Drawbridge, my father and Charles Eastwell, my half-brother.” The three of them bowed to each other, veiled hostility.
Both unattractive Eastwells exhibited medium height, dark eyes and apple-moth hair. Her father on the verge of balding; Charles, overweight and emaciated by his lifestyle.
“Lord Crompton?” Charles asked in an unpleasant tone. “Are you sure my sister isn’t with child?”
Philip tried to understand from where Selene’s enchanting looks came from, if not from that part of the family. Her mother, perhaps. There was something about father and son that didn’t appeal to him. At all. The barb didn’t contribute for friendship. The thought of her pregnant by another man, any man, churned his guts. But he preferred the gallows to demonstrate what went through his mind.
So he put on a phlegmatic expression. “That’s what mourning periods are for. To clarify if the widow isn’t with child. In which case, I would act as the duke until the child, if a boy, came of age.” He eyed the despicable brother fully, hard. “I’ll be Lord Crompton for a long time, anyway.” He smiled blandly.
Charles made a sour face and turned to Selene. “You widowed well, you could mother a duke to complete your fortunate turn of events, little sister.”
Philip saw her blanch and ire flash in her deep-forest eyes. “As if I had wanted any of this!” This remark intrigued him. What could have caused it?
“You should be careful of what the solicitors will do with the paperwork, you know.” Came her father.
Selene stared at him with a pained expression Philip had never seen in her. He’d seen her combative, furious, haughty, but never this.
“Leave the premises immediately, gentlemen.” She said in a voice dripping bitterness. Too early to mention such trivial matters, and in these circumstances?
Discomfort smeared the Eastwells at last. Grudgingly, they bowed and left.
“No wonder you don’t keep their company.” Philip murmured under his breath.
She made no answer, sitting down again and resuming her role as a host and the deceased’s widow.
After the burial, the Dukes of Crompton solicitor came to Crompton house. Selene and Philip sat in the study and listened as the greying man read endless documents.
Selene knew that, as the dowager Duchess, she’d have free use of the London house and the manor. Until the new Duke married, at least. A possibility she avoided thinking about, as it evoked mixed feelings in her.
When the solicitor came to the part where the documents described the settlement John had made for her, she was taken aback. The amount she’d receive a year would be enough to buy a luxury mansion. Plus her choice of a cottage in the estates would be designated to her. She wouldn’t need to worry about money for the rest of her days.
Then the solicitor went on about the amount for the keeping of the London house, the manor and the lands. The list of the Duke’s obligations and tasks came afterwards. She had married into a very wealthy family indeed. Nevertheless, she’d exchange all of this to have back her hopes and dreams, the chance of loving and being loved. Now she’d become a rich widow, love would not come to her, only fortune hunters, she thought sadly.
Next day, she awoke to the news that the new duke had disappeared, vanished in thin air. He’d left instructions with the butler, the solicitor and the steward in the manor to keep on their good job and evaporated. Selene felt completely dumbfounded by his attitude.
It conjured ambiguous sentiments in her. On one hand, she felt relieved, for, without John, she stood defenceless against the pull Rockfield exerted in her. On the other hand, it made her think he had been just toying with her, while in town. Gone away in search of more excitement, since he didn’t have any more obligations toward his uncle. The latter prevailed and bitter anger installed in her heart.
She sought to continue with her arid life, now little more alive with the management of Crompton house in full. Also she entertained herself with her books and the company of her friends, since she wouldn’t be attending big social events for a while.
Chapter 6
After breakfast, Selene went to the study, which she’d been using for practical matters, like correspondence from the manor, Crompton house bookkeeping and other minor chores.
She’d worked all morning and now stood to keep the books in their proper shelves. The door opened, distractedly, she looked up and froze. The very devil stood there, tall, magnificent and implacable. It was as if a blast of heat had hit her full in the face. Her heart started a frenetic rhythm and she must have flushed all over.
But she couldn’t do it, take her eyes off him. If possible, he looked even more hellishly attractive than ever. His skin held a golden hue, his sleek hair a little longer over his neckline, his aristocratic features finer, sharper. She stood there like a silly schoolgirl for several seconds. Their stares locked in mutual surveillance. His clove eyes perusing her avidly.
“The lost duke makes it home, at last.” She mocked, hoping to have hidden her reaction.
“A home kept meticulously by the dowager duchess.” He devolved in kind.
A quizzical stance covered her face. “Jenkins kept me informed.” He answered her unspoken question.
Anger transmuted her. “How dare you spy on things for these last six months?”
A lopsided smile enhanced his features even more. “It’s my duty to watch over what’s mine, my lady.” His eyes implying that he considered a great many things his.
Barely five minutes and the damn woman already cracked his hard won peace! He’d been travelling restless across Europe to give them some time after the unexpected passing of his uncle. He counted the days, the hours, the seconds to come back and see her again. The “warm” welcome he received didn’t improve his frame of mind.
She had adopted the half-mourning now, wearing a grey dress, with white lace on the neckline and long sleeves. She looked even more delightful than before.
“Furthermore, I had to be sure about” he stopped, his gaze falling meaningfully to her slim middle, “certain matters.” He smiled blandly.
He heard her inhale pointedly and her eyes darted fire. Oh dear, maybe it would be better to sit down behind the desk, because she already aroused him.
“As you can see, there are no…matters that concern you.” End of quiet life, she thought, stiffening a frustrated sigh.
“Everything concerns me, my lady.” Especially her. He didn’t know what he would have done if she’d been with child, the very evidence of…of what he’d avoided thinking about as death itself. No, don’t go there!
She breathed deeply, sat down on an armchair, seeming to force herself to calm down. Yes, that’s what he should do too. How? He sat on the sofa, in deference to her.
“Where are you staying, by the way?” Her hands neatly folded on her lap, she looked at him like a civilized lady.
“Here,” he answered in an obvious tone. “I asked Jenkins to prepare the master’s chamber, formerly my uncle’s, as you know.” Casually, he crossed his legs, pretending to adjust his cravat, albeit observing her closely.
She blanched and her stance spelt indignation. “You can’t!” As if remembering herself. “I mean, it’s not proper.”
He didn’t move, didn’t change his expression. “The dukes of Crompton stay at Crompton house, when in London, as usual.” Oh, how he loved baiting her, watching her beautiful face change stances, her delectable bosom rise and fall, seeking control. It brought spice to his life. To the utterly dissatisfying life he’d had so far.
“I should request you to re-think this arrangement.” She contemporized, desperate with the idea of staying in the same house as he. She’d have to move to another room, naturally. Hers and his had a connecting door, supposed for husband and wife, she blushed at the thought. She had ceased to be a wife, though, and should have done it before, b
ut he had…evaporated. She’d kept things unchanged, procrastinating. Not very smart of her.
“I’ll will move out, then.” She could rent something more appropriate.
“Oh, no you won’t!” He ordered all too matter-of-factly. “The dowager duchess stays in her former husband’s house. That’s the custom!”
She could not argue with him on that. She’d have her things moved to another room in no time. “If you excuse me.” She stood up and rose on her feet.
“I informed Jenkins that your room will remain the same.” His rich velvet voice dripped command.
She turned abruptly to him, her eyes shooting fury. “How dare you?”
His brows rose sardonically. “I am the duke, I can dare anything.”
“You devil!” Was all she could blurt.
“Witch.” And smiled saccharine.
She left the room before she gave in to the impulse of punching him.
As soon as she left, his smile died. It seemed like she would give him a hard time…and a hard other things as well. He’d keep her close though. Very close…the closest possible. At last, he relaxed and sat back. Home, sweet home.
If the devil thought he would direct her life as he wished, he’d be very disappointed. Because he wouldn’t.
She rang for her lady’s maid, Nell, and together, they moved her things to a room on the opposite wing. The poor girl, worried, said that those hadn’t been the duke’s orders. Selene convinced the girl that she’d talk to the duke.
“So you decided to change rooms anyway?” They sat at the long table at dinner, he at one end and she at the other. He drank his wine, watching her.
Food served, he dismissed the footmen.
“Yes. Propriety is still in fashion.” She raised her eyes to him, his eyes attentive on her, her skin prickled. The candlelight on the table tinted the room in warm reddish colour and conferred an air of cosy intimacy, despite the distance between them.
“I hope your new…accommodation will be as comfortable as the other was.”
She blushed at the thought that she might lie down and he’d be next door. The idea made her tingle in the most inappropriate places.
“I’m sure they will.”
“Pity…the other arrangement meant we could…spar more often.” His clove gaze boldly told her that “spar” was not the verb he’d had in mind.
Her heart jumped, she sucked in a much needed air, the room suddenly too hot, for her dark purple bombazine silk dress felt too warm.
His gaze turned from sarcastic to hungry and it strolled over her with deliberate appreciation. Every place it surveyed, branded like wicked touch on her skin.
He wanted her. Now. He’d never stopped wanting her, not even while roaming Europe aimlessly. She remained in his mind day and night. Especially night. All he could think about at that precise moment was to carry her back to his chamber and make her his, sate both of them, alleviate the hunger that had eaten at him incessantly.
As a widow, she wouldn’t be betraying anyone, even if this anyone had been his own uncle. He was past any care. He’d tired to lay at night alone, craving her.
“You travelled, I gather.” Her voice sounded a little husky and he supressed a moan. Would she sound like this in the height of passion?
“Yes, exploring some of the continent, before my duties drag me in.”
“You never said you planned to leave.” She dabbed her lush mouth with the napkin, he followed the movement, envying the bloody piece of cloth.
“I hadn’t. It was a rather sudden decision.” He ate a forkful, never leaving his eyes from her.
He had to remember, though, that she was just a gold digger, as any other petit-noblesse woman. He couldn’t let her entice him so miserably. Anger and contempt had to defend him from falling in her web.
If he didn’t stop looking at her that way, she would…dissipate, for pity’s sake! They sat far from each other, but he swallowed the distance with his stare.
“You’re happy now, aren’t you?”
“Happy? How so?“ The movement of his Adam’s apple, as he ate drew attention to the smooth skin of his neck, golden with the Mediterranean sun. What’d it feel like to slide her fingers along it, untie his cravat and…Stop this damn nonsense!
“You held your title and obtained a considerable settlement on top of it.” Saccharine smile plastered on his thin sensuous lips.
Fury exploded in her like a canon ball. This she would not tolerate ever again. She clapped her hand on the table, where she left her napkin, stood resolutely and started tramping, ramrod straight, chin lifted, to the door, behind him.
He stood agile as a feline and caught her hand on the door-handle. A lightning sensation hit her the moment their skin touched. And spread itself like burning whisky all over her body. Philip seemed to sense it too, as he froze, their eyes combatting.
Her heart thundered, her breath uneven. He towered over her, so close she could see the darker rim around his irises, when she lifted her furious eyes to him. He smelled soap and man. She wanted to tangle her fingers in his sleek black hair, see for herself if it was as smooth as it seemed.
“Never forget,” His voice low, dark, hoarse. “I am a predator. I caught the enemy by hunting them down.” His thumb strolled lazily over her hand on the door-handle as he bent and inched closer, their mouths apart by a breath. “If you run, I’ll chase you and bring you under my power.
Ripples of sensation emanated from her hand under his lazy thumb; his breath caressing her lips ever so feathery. Mesmerized by his stare, she almost leaned in and tasted his wine flavoured mouth. She struggled to catch hold of herself, gyrated the door handle, untangled her hand and broke free, banging the blasted door behind her.
Hands fisted on the banged door, Philip rested his forehead on the cool wood. He didn’t have the power. She did. All of it. Her presence made him do things he’d never imagined himself able to do. Again he treated her badly due to a long accumulated frustration.
He dragged himself to the study, filled a glass with a generous amount of brandy, threw himself on the sofa and gulped it in one swig.
Selene ran to her chamber; fell on the bed breathing fast, her emotions thorn between despising him bitterly and her own sense of nonfulfillment. She avoided thinking from where the latter came from. She didn’t understand it and had no wish to.
The week that followed figured among one of the most distressful of her life. She tried hard to put up with his renewed presence in the house, failing miserably. Even when he wasn’t in sight, she sensed his presence in the study; knew he’d come back from wherever he’d gone. They bumped in the breakfast room, in the hallways. And there were the dinners. Damn, the most difficult of it all, where she had to keep up a cool posture and maintain polite conversation for the sake of their bearing before the staff. She wished she could escape somehow.
She couldn’t escape her own thoughts, though, filled with him. The nights begun to be what she dreaded awfully. Between sleep and wakefulness, her mind broke loose and produced very shameful images of them indeed. So much so, she had extreme difficulty meeting his eyes in the morning. She felt her body aflame, her thoughts turned over, her life totally out of her control. How would she be able to endure more, if a simple week went this way?
Philip was no better. The difference being that he didn’t deny the fire she ignited in his blood. Seeing her every day, being in her presence, looking at her, cast him in a hell of desire and frustration. Something about her kept him hanging on. He couldn’t put his finger on what. His friends constantly invited him for…outings, where women would be available. He knew he should go and try to get rid of this obsession. He found himself unable to do it. The idea of touching another woman felt disgusting. Thus he spent his nights burning with unconfessable fantasies, his days with sinful thoughts, his eyes following her whenever possible. The pressure building, his blood boiling, the solitary solutions ineffective. He fast approached exploding point.
Cha
pter 7
One morning, a Sunday, Selene went down by the servant’s stair to leave the week’s menu at the housekeeper’s desk. The house deserted, as the staff attended church on Sunday mornings.
Climbing up the servant’s stairs, she planned her day mentally. She had groceries list to do, a bit of clearing in her rooms… She’d come to her landing, when she saw Philip descending from the servant’s quarters. She froze, as her heart started a lunatic’s dance. He stopped short, as well, and their eyes locked on each other. The impact of his presence on her was so immense that she gave a step back, meeting the wall by the closed door.
Never leaving her eyes, he resumed his descent, his stare hungry and purposeful. The predator. He advanced, coming to inches close to her. She lifted her head to follow his movements. Her blood heated, a daze misted her brain as his clove attention zeroed on her.
They said nothing; there was nothing to say. Her breath accelerated and her nostrils registered his smell of man, she begun to recognise only too fast. Her irises dilated and a hollow feeling gnawed in her.
Philip had gone in search of his valet, having forgotten the Sunday thing. As soon as he saw her, his predator’s instinct aroused, together with other parts of him. Rational thought vanished; his senses drove him. Towering over her, he observed her dilated pupils, her short breath, the rise and fall of her appetising bosom, the womanly smell, only hers.
He snaked one hand along the nape of her neck, the other around her slender waist, pressing her to the wall with all his body. He plundered her lush mouth. The moment their skins touched, he heard her groan in agony.
