“Oh, Lance.” Immediately, she acquiesced. “You make this very difficult for me to comply with your wishes.”
“Indulge me, just this once, love.”
“All right.” Innumerable emotions flickered in her gaze, and she swallowed hard. “What exactly would you have of me?”
“As I said, I want you to watch us, as our bodies come together.”
“You mean--where you enter me?” Her eyes flared.
“Aye.”
“Is it proper?” Cara licked her lips. “Is it done?”
“You little hypocrite.” For some reason Lance could not fathom, he laughed. “After your improvised but nonetheless powerful Dance of the Seven Veils, and subsequent command of my bed, you want to see us. You want to know my body as you know your own; else you would not be here. So scoot back and look your fill.”
“Like this?” She shuffled her hips but did not disengage him.
“Perfect.” Lance studied her face as she examined their elemental connection with unmasked enthusiasm, and in her reaction he found paradise and well nigh spilt his seed. “My flesh glistens with the proof of your arousal, Cara. You want me, as I want you. Now ride me, sugar kisses.”
Slowly, methodically, he steered her into uncharted waters, nipping, sucking, licking, and stroking as he mapped her curves. Maintaining ruthless control of his own hedonistic appetite, he stoked her flame to a blazing pinnacle, only to temper his sensuous assault until the intensity abated. Again and again he repeated the tactic, and tension built in epic proportions, as he wrenched from her the affirmation he required.
Whispering praise and encouragement, he told her what she did to him--what he felt. And, oh, what he felt.
Lance was undone.
With his arms at his sides, he surrendered, stunned by the power she wielded over him. Cara framed his face with her hands and kissed him, as she seduced him with a repetitive roll of her hips. It was at once the most exquisite pleasure and the most intense frustration.
Eager to meet his fate, he clutched her hips and drove her, harder and faster, and she met him, measure for measure. As he neared the glorious peak of their union, he pressed his fingertips to the cleft of her backside and anchored her in place. With his other hand, he grasped the hair at the nape of her neck and covered her mouth with his.
Swept away in a tidal wave of passion, they rode the current. Once again, his lady lauded his expertise with a smothered shriek. As euphoria claimed him, Lance declared, “Oh, Cara, we will get on well, you and I.”
#
We would get on well?
Cara traced the wood grain of the headboard and considered Lance’s statement. In truth, it was not the affirmation she had sought after a rigorous round of coitus. Given what had just occurred between them, she had anticipated a vow of eternal love and devotion--as well as a proposal of marriage.
Could the situation get any worse?
“You know, we must marry and soon.” Lance rubbed her lower back. “As I have compromised your character, I feel it is the least I can do to restore your honor.”
It had just gotten worse.
“You have wide-set hips, which are excellent for begetting heirs.” He stroked her hair. “And you have always possessed a healthy constitution, so we will have few concerns in regard to the birthing process.”
He considered the growing of their family a birthing process? And what next would he assess, her teeth?
“In retrospect, you have done me a favor, as I shall escape the morose lunacy of courtship.” He shifted beneath her. “I know you require no roses, scented handkerchiefs, or chocolates, as you are a sensible sort.”
His words echoed in her ears, mocking her, and Cara shuddered and clamped her mouth shut against fast rising nausea.
“As it stands, the deed is done, and we shall have to make the best of it. We will wed as soon as I can procure a special license. As a marquess, I must uphold the social strictures governing my title and place among the peerage. It is my duty, and I vow I will not fail you.”
As Lance continued his impromptu diatribe, it barely registered with Cara.
After all they had shared she expected a grand overture, though not the flowery sort delivered on bended knee, given her hero’s injury. Yet, in light of their long history, she had thought he would make some mention of love. And she considered her assumptions logical and reasonable. But never had she anticipated an offer more akin to a discussion of the latest troop movements on The Continent.
His declaration, though well spoken, was born of societal ideals, gallantry, and obligation. It was the cruelest insult.
I gift you my virginity, my body, and you speak to me of providence?
Gathering her wits, and swallowing the last vestiges of her pride, she pressed her palms to his bare chest for stability, as she rose on her knees and disengaged herself from his body. A rush of warm wetness seeped from between her legs, and she cursed the telltale sting of a blush in her cheeks.
“Your connections are impeccable, and I daresay we shall be a force to be reckoned with when Parliament is in session,” he stated with unimpaired aplomb.
For a while, she sat beside him, staring at his face. With indefatigable sangfroid, he laid out his case, counting the reasons on his fingers, which necessitated their hasty nuptials. Indeed, he presented his rationale with polite decorum and common sense.
Yet what they enjoyed had been the most incredible, beautiful, intimate experience of her life. Nothing about the joining of their bodies had been proper or sensible. It had been an act of love--at least, for her.
To Cara’s chagrin, all too familiar words of warning sounded in her brain: If you truly want a love match, then make sure you have engaged his heart before his ship weighs anchor in your harbor.
At the time, her sister’s admonishment had seemed uncharacteristically cautious and a tad overprotective. In the aftermath of her amorous tangle in Lance’s sheets, Cara could not deny the irony of Brie’s sage advice. Despite her carefully crafted plan, she had erred in her judgment. And because she refused to settle for less than her fondest hopes, she could not accept her hero’s offer.
Inside, her heart shattered, scattering in invisible pieces at her feet. If she could not marry Lance, then she would forever remain a spinster, always wondering what might have been had she listened to Sabrina.
In ear-splitting silence, she retrieved her clothes and his kerchief. Donning the chemise as armor, she shielded herself from the agony of his pragmatic proposition. After slipping into her stockings, she cinched her garters and then pulled her dress over her head. Mustering the signature deportment that had never failed her, she walked to the long mirror and smoothed her wayward locks. Once fortified with her prim and proper facade, which manifested a lie of the cruelest sort, she faced him.
“So, it is agreed. We will marry in two weeks,” Lance stated with grim acceptance, which almost brought her to tears. “I shall send a directive to your father requesting an immediate audience. My solicitor can have the contracts drawn in a matter of hours, and the announcement will be sent to The Times, tomorrow.”
For good or ill, Cara set a new course. “No.”
He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
The picture of serenity, she strolled to the middle of the bedchamber. “I said no.”
“To what?” With an arched brow, he cleared his throat. “Have I missed something of importance?”
“You might be surprised.” Gazing at the floor, she mulled her circumstances. How could she make him understand her position without revealing her reasons? “I cannot marry you.”
“What?” His mouth fell agape, but he quickly snapped it shut. “You must be joking.”
“Actually, I am quite serious.” She lowered her chin and inclined her head. “As it is, I do not comprehend the fuss.”
“Cara, there is no time for a proper courtship. If there were, I would gladly do the pretty for all to see.” Lance belted his robe and eased to the ed
ge of the mattress. “Given our exercise for the better part of the afternoon, you could very well be carrying my heir. I will brook no doubts to its legitimacy.”
“Stuff and nonsense.” She managed a giggle. “You make too much of the situation, but that is your nature. I am sure there is no cause for alarm, because we did it only once.”
“Twice.” He held up two fingers, as if she could not count. “And once is enough.”
“I grant you that.” She shuffled her feet. “But it is still no reason to marry.”
“How can you be so obtuse?” He speared his fingers through his hair. “I have ruined you. Do you not recall my admonition prior to claiming your maidenhead? You cannot take another to the altar. I am your only option.”
“Perhaps I do not wish to wed, and I did not require such commitment to give myself to you.” She shrugged. “If I indicated otherwise, I am sorry.”
“Then you should not have come to my bed.” He stood, leaning on the mattress for support. “You are mine.”
“I am my own person.” Cara clutched a fist to her bosom. “And I will not marry you.”
“You will do as I say.” He clung to the footboard.
“I will not.” She retreated, nearing the door to the chamber. “What we did was pass a pleasant afternoon in each other’s company. Nothing more.”
“Excuse me?” Grasping the frame of the four-poster, Lance limped to the corner of the platform. “We made love, Cara. I breached you.”
“Yes, we did. And I thank you for the enlightenment.” She drew herself up with the noble hauteur of the daughter of an admiral. “I learned a good deal today.” More than I wanted to know.
“My dear, you must be in shock, as you are clearly not thinking.”
“But I am.” She had to remain calm. “Furthermore, I impinged on our friendship. For that, I am truly sorry. It will not happen again.”
“Why do you not ring for tea, my girl?” Lance reached for her. “Let us discuss our future, at length.”
“That is not necessary, as I believe I see the situation better than you, old friend.” She smiled, as she had to stay strong. “And your actions do you great credit.”
“Cara, there are consequences to our actions.” He sighed, and she fought the urge to console him. “If you refuse to accept my terms, then you leave me little choice. I will have to speak with your father.”
“Go ahead.” She picked a speck of lint from her dress. “He will not force me to marry you.”
“Oh, no?” He frowned. “How can you be sure?”
“When Lord Markham compromised Sabrina, my father did not compel her to wed,” she explained. “He left the decision to her. It serves to reason he will afford me the same courtesy.”
“I would wager Everett’s infraction was nowhere near egregious as mine.” Lance’s stare fixed on the walking stick, which rested on the floor. “Would you be so kind as to hand me my cane?”
“But I must away.” She shook her head and palmed the doorknob. “It has been an eventful day, and you should sleep, as you missed your nap.”
“Cara, stay--please.” He flicked his fingers in entreaty, and she gave him her back before she weakened. “Come, let us talk things over.”
“I must go--now.” If she went to him, if she allowed him to touch her, she would never have the courage to do what needed to be done. “And given your improvement, you no longer have need of my assistance. My presence will only impede your progress, so I wish you well with your continued recovery, Lance.”
With that, Cara exited the chamber--but not his life.
She would retrench. And when the time was right, she would stand for her man. She may have lost the opening battle, but she would win the war.
CHAPTER TEN
“Dearest, you have callers.”
Engrossed in her embroidery, Cara flinched, pricked her finger, and then peered at her mother. “I am still not feeling quite myself. Could you explain that I am not at present receiving callers, and convey my regrets?”
“Of course.”
Cara returned her attention to her needlework and, for the third time, pierced her flesh. “Ouch.”
It had been a week since the incident, as she privately referred to her encounter with Lance. On pain of a cold, which she faked admirably with a sniff here and a sneeze there, she had been excused from the few galas and dinners that signaled the beginning of the Little Season. With Parliament in session, London once again bustled with tonnish activity.
And uncharacteristically, she wanted nothing to do with it.
Instead, Cara secluded herself in her bedchamber. Alex had visited once, Sabrina twice. Cara pled fear of exposing them to her illness and refused to grant an audience.
Call her a coward, but she could not face her sister or her friend with such shame. And given that she had confided in both, concerning her campaign to win Lance, she fretted they would have a litany of questions, for which she had no answer. When she was certain she could meet their inquiries with unreserved equanimity, she would welcome their company.
Never would she divulge the truth.
Her love had been unrequited and her affection denied. Nor would she admit the extent of her ruin. They would not know she had resorted to seduction in a desperate attempt to claim the man she loved.
On the thought, Cara closed her eyes, lowered her head, and tamped the ever-encroaching tears. Crying had benefited her greatly, rendering her nose red and puffy, and her parents mistook her malady for the cold of which she complained. When the door opened, she reached for her handkerchief to maintain the pretense.
“Why are you avoiding us?” With a frown, Sabrina tapped her foot.
Cara was positive she would swoon.
Poised behind her younger sister, Alex adopted a similar stance, along with Caroline and Rebecca, and Cara knew her goose was well and truly cooked.
“I do not know what you mean.” Inwardly, Cara cursed herself and her shaky voice. “I was concerned for your health. With the babe coming, I did not want to risk infecting you and my future niece or nephew.”
With the door secured, Sabrina, Alex, Caroline, and Rebecca stood before Cara as immovable sentries, with arms folded imperiously in front of them.
“And I see no reason to contaminate Alex, Caroline, or Rebecca.” Suspicious in an instant, and with nerves on edge, Cara babbled. “How fares the weather?”
Her sisters remained silent.
“Mama told me you called.” She set aside her silks and smoothed her skirts. “And I am grateful for your regard, but it is not necessary, as I improve every day.”
They uttered not a word.
“So, how are you?” Cara wrung her fingers in front of her, and her heart beat a rapid salvo in her chest. “Heard any gossip? Any new on-dits?”
The chamber remained quiet as a tomb.
“No? Well, you need not worry about me.” Cara thought the room unseasonably warm, and she searched the immediate vicinity for her fan. “I assure you I am quite at my leisure.”
A pin drop would have reverberated throughout her quarters.
“This has nothing to do with Lance,” she blurted.
“Ah-ha!” Sabrina waddled to the chaise and plopped to the cushion. “I knew it. What happened? Did he propose? When are you getting married?”
“Did everything go as planned?” Alex bounced with giddy excitement. “Did he declare himself?”
Caroline and Rebecca exchanged a surreptitious glance, and gooseflesh covered Cara from head to toe. Did they suspect her? Did they discern her shame? To calm her trembling, she clasped her hands in her lap.
“Sister, what did you do?” Sabrina offered a half-hug of support. “Tell us the latest developments.”
For a few desperate seconds, Cara considered her predicament and Lance’s rejection. Despite efforts to conceal the truth, a traitorous tear belied her tremulous state, and she sniffed.
“Oh, dear.” Sabrina caressed her round belly. “Alex, would you
ask Mama to send us a tray? I, for one, would love some shortbread. And perhaps some chamomile tea?”
“All right.” Alex paused before the door. “But do not say anything interesting until I return.”
“You have my word.” Sabrina waved. When the hinges creaked and the latch clicked, she turned to Cara. “Now, out with it.”
“Why did you invite Caroline and Rebecca?” To her lifelong friends, Cara said, “I mean no insult, but this is such a personal matter, and I had hoped to keep it secret.”
“Of course, it is.” Caroline pouted. “But we understand your situation, as we have been there, ourselves.”
“And you need the reinforcements,” Brie stated.
“You made love to him,” Rebecca declared.
It was a statement, not a question.
Caroline gasped.
For a scarce second, denial traipsed her tongue, but Cara desperately needed their help. So she nodded an affirmative, and then doubled over, buried her face in her hands, and succumbed to inestimable grief, which gushed as a roaring river of tears. “Oh, do not tell Alex. I cannot bear it.”
“We will say nothing, I promise.” Sabrina stroked Cara’s hair. “She could not comprehend the intimacy involved.”
“So the deed is done?” Caroline inquired in a small voice.
“Physical relations complicate everything,” Rebecca stated grimly.
“Yes, and you should have heard him. After all that we shared, he proposed marriage.” She sobbed. “It was awful.”
“Wait a minute.” Sabrina sat upright. “Lance proposed?”
Cara dipped her chin.
“Then why are you crying?” With unabashed enthusiasm, Sabrina chucked Cara on the shoulder. “That is wonderful news. We must begin wedding preparations, posthaste.”
Though well intended, her younger sister’s words only compounded Cara’s sorrow. Drowning in misery, she wailed even louder.
“Hold hard, Brie.” Caroline frowned. “Cara, what are you not telling us?”
One-Knight Stand Page 13
