by Cheryl Holt
“How did you discover this place?” he asked, surprised he’d never stumbled on it himself.
“Oh, everyone in the village comes here eventually. If a girl has a beau, it’s practically expected that she sneak away at least once.”
“Vicar Oswald must not have heard about it.”
She chuckled. “Definitely not.”
“What’s it been like for you, being raised by him?”
“About as horrid as you can imagine. But you know what they say.”
“No, what?”
“The preacher’s daughter is always the worst.”
“That’s the rumor, but I’ve never found it to be true.”
“It is,” she claimed, and he wondered if she was lying or bragging.
He’d seduced every sort of female—highborn, lowborn, rich, poor, young, old, fat, thin, pretty, ugly—and numerous ones had been vicar’s daughters. They’d all sat through too many of their fathers’ sermons and were finicky, naïve, and absurdly worried about their chastity.
As to himself, he ignored church teachings and was proudly hedonistic in his disrepute. While previously, he’d enjoyed the flirtation and chase, he now deemed virtuous girls to be incredibly tiresome. He’d choose a doxy any day of the week.
Which would Veronica prove herself to be? Innocent or trollop?
They dismounted, and he seated himself on a boulder, watching as she pranced in front of him, letting him get a good look.
“How many times have you been out here with village boys?” he asked.
“A half-dozen,” she boasted, “but usually, I come with grown men. Boys are so immature.”
“Yes, they can be annoying,” he mockingly said, “especially when you’re so mature yourself.”
She missed his sarcasm. “Exactly. I love it when adult men pay attention to me.”
“If we’re caught, I won’t marry you.”
“Marry me!” she huffed.
“Yes. I won’t care how your reputation has been shredded or how loudly your stepfather rants. So if that’s what you’re hoping, that you’ll end up compromised and rescued from him by a fast wedding, we should be very clear at the start.”
“Is that why you think I brought you? To wind up as your wife?”
“It occasionally happens to fellows like me.”
She snorted. “I’d never have you for a husband.”
“Smart girl.”
“Yes, I’m very smart. Besides, I’m marrying James.”
“James Talbot?”
“Yes. Does he like me? Has he ever said?”
Lucas could barely bite down a guffaw, aggravated to recognize what a juvenile person she actually was.
“Oh, James is mad for you,” he lied, relishing the chance to play a nasty trick on his friend. “He’s mentioned it often.”
“I knew it!” A sly gleam flared in her eye. “He pretends to be so disinterested. Is he toying with my affections?”
“That must be it. Men are mysterious creatures. They frequently say one thing but mean another.”
“Marvelous.” She walked toward her horse, suddenly telling him, “Let’s go.”
“What’s the rush? I thought you were eager to dabble with me in the forest.”
“Well, there’s no need for it now, is there? Not when you’ve assured me that James will come up to snuff after all.”
“Why should we let James ruin our fun?”
“Are you insane? I have to save myself for him.”
“Save yourself? I could have sworn you said you’ve been out here with numerous men. Grown ones at that.”
“I was trifling with them,” she hastily insisted. “I didn’t do anything I shouldn’t.”
“You little tease,” he scolded. “I should get some amusement for my trouble, don’t you think?”
“I’m not a tease,” she seethed.
“From where I’m sitting, it certainly seems like you are. You begged me to sneak in here with you.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“No, but I participated in anticipation of a reward. I still want it. What should it be? What should I demand?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re awfully innocent for a girl who regularly trifles with boys.”
“I’m not innocent!”
“Prove it,” he said.
“How?”
He was being an ass. There was no doubt about it, and if he was a gentleman—which he’d never been—he would have taken pity on her and let her slink away. But the longer he dawdled in her company, the less he liked her, and for some reason, he was determined to make a point.
The rash child! By luring him to the private, secluded area, what did she imagine would occur? She was lucky she hadn’t been ravished a thousand times over.
“Come here,” he said.
“Why?”
“You have to learn what happens when you’re not careful. And with you being such an irritating trollop, you’ll probably like it.”
“I’m not a trollop! How dare you call me names!”
“Come here,” he stated more firmly, and he gestured impatiently.
For all her impudence and attitude, it was impossible for her to ignore his command. She took a hesitant step, then another, approaching tentatively until they were toe-to-toe.
He pushed himself to his feet, and with his being six feet tall, he towered over her. He’d expected her to lurch away, but she didn’t. Perhaps she was too stupid to realize she could flee. If she ran off, he was too lazy to chase her down.
“What?” she snapped, her expression mulish.
“I want to see your breasts.”
She gasped. “Absolutely not.”
“It’s the price I’m charging for you wasting my time.”
She dithered and debated, finally declaring, “I won’t do it. You can’t make me.”
“I can’t? You idiot. You’re out in the woods with a dissolute, older man, and you don’t believe I can force you into any conduct I wish?”
“I’m not scared of you,” she asserted, but she was trembling.
“Fine. Loose your bodice.” Her expression became more defiant, and he coaxed, “You claim you misbehave with other fellows all the time. Why not with me?”
“I don’t like you. I thought I did, but I’ve changed my mind.”
“Would you like to know what I think? I think you’ve never been out here with a boy. I think you envision yourself as being reckless and naughty, but in reality, you’re just a prudish vicar’s daughter.”
“Bastard!” she hissed.
“You’ve learned some curse words. How nice.”
He waited, then waited some more, wearing her down with his greater age, size, and male authority.
Her cheeks reddened, then she reached for the top button on her dress and flicked open the top one. She was bound up from chin to toe, every inch of skin concealed as a proper English girl should be, and he saw only a flash of chest.
He grabbed her and undid a few more buttons, then tugged down fabric to bare her upper arms. He yanked at corset and chemise, and two very plump, very delectable breasts popped into view.
He studied them, deeming them to be perfectly delightful. Too bad they were attached to such an unpleasant shrew.
“You’re embarrassing me,” she mumbled.
“You embarrassed yourself. I had nothing to do with it.”
He clasped her by her waist and drew her to him, holding her close so she couldn’t escape. With his free hand, he stroked one mound, then the other. He pinched a nipple, liking how it tightened, liking how she frowned at him.
“This is what a man wants,” he told her. “This is what a man likes.”
“I knew that,” she said.
“Liar,” he chuckled. “He’ll touch you here. He’ll kiss you here. And other places too.”
“I’m not afraid of a bit of kissing.”
“I’m sure you’re not. In fact, I’m positive—in t
he future—you’ll get all kinds of fools to lust after you. But I won’t be one of them.”
He shoved her, and she stumbled away.
“Are you finished?” she spat. “May I cover myself?”
“Yes, you may.”
He watched her, his expression stony, as she strutted around, straightening herself. She marched to her horse and let him help her mount without protest.
Once she was seated, she fumed, “You’re despicable.”
“Yes, I always have been.” He grinned. “Good luck with your pursuit of James. I’ll be happy to inform him that your teats are very pretty.”
She growled with offense, jerked on the reins, and kicked her horse into a gallop. As she hurtled through the trees, she called another slur over her shoulder, but she was too far away for him to hear.
“Stupid chit,” he muttered.
He climbed onto his own horse and rode away at a much slower clip.
* * * *
“Please, Miss Ralston.”
Stanley stared at her, waiting for her to reply. When she didn’t, he tried again. “Please. It’s all I can say.”
Still, she was silent as a tomb. Women typically drove him batty with their incessant chatter. Now, when he wished one of them would speak, she couldn’t be bothered.
He recognized she was in a snit, but they had to move forward, the difficulty being that—with all his cards on the table and his hand rebuffed—he had no idea how to win her agreement.
James appeared to understand her better than Stanley ever could. He’d caught her out on the road, headed for the village in the middle of the night. To do what when she arrived, Stanley couldn’t guess. The little fool had no money or place to go. The ridiculousness, the irrationality of females never ceased to amaze him.
They were in his library, with her ordered down to attend him. He was seated at his desk, and she was in the chair across. He probably should have brought James in to join the discussion, but he’d decided James’s presence would make matters worse, so Stanley and Miss Ralston were alone.
It was late afternoon, and she’d been cowering in her room all day. He’d had enough.
“How can we end this idiotic quarrel?” he said.
“We’re not quarreling,” she finally responded.
“Yes, we are. How can I mend the situation?”
“You can’t.”
“Nonsense. Every problem has a solution. Let’s find ours.”
He hated to grovel, never attempted it, wasn’t proficient at it, and loathed that he had to plead with her. He had no aptitude for begging.
“What precisely is the nature of your complaint about James?” he asked.
“I have no complaint about Mr. Talbot.”
“Then it’s some moral question vexing you?”
“Yes, it’s a moral question,” she mocked.
“I suppose we could invite the vicar to counsel you,” he sarcastically retorted.
She shot a glare so virulent that he was taken aback. After hearing Miss Peabody’s description of her, he hadn’t presumed Miss Ralston to be strongwilled. The notion that she was tougher than he’d assumed made him more determined to have his way.
“I have to know something,” she said.
“What is it?”
“And tell me the truth.”
“As much of it as I’m able.”
“What is Mr. Talbot’s relationship to you?”
“There is no relationship,” he scoffed.
“So…you’ve resolved to have a son at all costs, to pass him off as your own, and you’ll have him sired by a virtual stranger. You expect me to believe that?”
“James is hardly a stranger at Summerfield, Miss Ralston. He grew up here, under my tutelage, and you have two eyes in your head, so you’ve seen the facts for yourself. There is no finer male specimen in the kingdom, and any child he fathered would be remarkable.” He nodded, considering the subject clarified and settled. “It’s what I want: a remarkable, extraordinary heir to be in charge after I’m dead.”
“With me as the mother,” she jeered.
“Yes. Should I apologize for thinking you’re remarkable too? Well, I won’t. I can’t have some trembling ninny for this role. I need a woman who can give me the son of whom I’ve always dreamed. Why are you so convinced that it can’t be you?”
“You’re mad,” she insisted.
“You’re not the first person who’s thought so.”
“Let me go away. Return my dowry and I’ll leave. I’ll take your secret to the grave. I promise. Just let me go.”
“No.”
“Please?”
He’d started the conversation with begging, and she’d ended it with begging.
He sighed with exasperation.
As far as he was concerned, her predicament was exactly the same except that she’d suffered a fit of pique over Stanley’s arrangement with James. She still had no money or kin, and—if her womb proved fertile—she could marry Stanley and be mistress of Summerfield. He merely had to persuade her that his plan was best.
“You’re distressed today,” he said.
“Who wouldn’t be?”
“You shouldn’t make decisions when you’re angry.”
“I won’t feel any differently tomorrow.”
“Perhaps not. But how about in a week? You’d be surprised how the passage of time can alter one’s opinion.”
“I won’t change my mind.”
“I want you to stay for a month. Meet more of the neighbors and become better acquainted with James. You should be absolutely certain you wish to leave.”
“I’m certain now.”
“A month, Miss Ralston,” he cajoled. “How can it hurt? It’s not as if you have an offer of shelter or employment. Remain here—as my honored guest. Grow comfortable. Learn to love my home as I have always loved it.”
“I repeat: You’re mad.”
“No, not mad. Not in this.” He softened his expression so he’d seem wise and kind—when he was neither. “I’m an old man, Miss Ralston. I’ve spent my entire life chasing this magnificent but elusive goal. I can’t give up without a fight. Tell me you’ll stay. Tell me you’ll help an old man in his hour of need.”
For an eternity, she stared at him, then—when she broke away and peered down at her hands—he knew he’d won.
“Just one month,” she grumbled, “and when the thirty days are up and I ask to go, you won’t prevent me.”
“Of course I won’t.”
“No arguments. No wheedling discussions. No playing on my sympathies or trying to dissuade me. You’ll let me go.”
“Yes, I will,” he lied. “In the meantime, as an insurance policy for you, I’ll write to some of the schools where I am a patron. If you ultimately choose to depart, you’ll have a teaching position waiting for you.”
“Swear it,” she demanded.
“I swear,” he lied again.
“All right.” There was a lengthy, fraught silence, then she pushed herself to her feet. “May I be excused?”
“Yes, and I hope you’ll join me at supper.”
“I will.”
“In the morning, I have a seamstress coming to speak with you.”
“A seamstress? Why?”
“You’re very pretty, and you should have some pretty clothes.”
“You mustn’t trouble yourself on my behalf.”
He forced a smile. “If you’re to be my bride, Miss Ralston—and I’m an optimist who’s fully expecting it to happen—you must look the part.”
“If I’m leaving shortly, it will be a waste of money.”
“I don’t think so. I’m betting it will be the best investment I’ve ever made.”
“No, trust me. It will be a great waste.”
She spun and left.
The door shut behind her, and he smirked with satisfaction. She’d never escape him, and she was a fool to assume she could.
He rang for the butler to summon James. The boy
had to get to work on wooing her. She hardly required new gowns to incite James’s attention, but they couldn’t hurt.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Hello, Mr. Talbot.”
“Hello.”
It was very late, the whole house abed, and he was in her suite again, in the sitting room and seated in a chair by the fire. She’d just returned from a neighbor’s supper party. James could have gone, but hadn’t, and he’d found himself regretting the decision, because he’d missed the chance to socialize with her.
To his great relief, she hadn’t tried to sneak away again. Not that she could have. After James informed Stanley that he’d caught her out on the road and brought her back, Stanley had assigned footmen to furtively spy on her so she couldn’t make a second attempt.
He grinned. “Aren’t you surprised to see me?”
“No.”
“We’ve only been acquainted a few days. Have I become predictable already?”
“Very predictable.” She frowned. “I don’t suppose it would do any good to tell you to leave.”
“A waste of breath.”
“That’s what I thought.”
She marched by him and proceeded through the bedchamber and into the dressing room. He followed, tagging after her as if he had every right.
Though he was pretending the previous evening hadn’t happened, he hadn’t succeeded in forgetting it. He kept thinking of how angry she’d been at Stanley, but mostly, he kept thinking about the quiet moment they’d shared on the dark road.
There was something so tenderly touching about how she’d snuggled herself to his chest and wept as if her heart was breaking. It had rattled him in ways he didn’t like and hadn’t intended. Apparently, he’d developed fond feelings for her, when he couldn’t have any feelings at all.
He had to get their relationship back on track, had to reestablish himself as the cad and libertine he’d always been. Yes, he’d spent some intriguing minutes comforting her, but he wasn’t a sympathetic person, and the encounter was over. He had to stop reflecting and move on.
She was standing at the mirror, taking down her hair and completely unconcerned that he was watching.
“I love your hair,” he told her. “It’s very beautiful.”
“So you’ve said.”
“Am I so miserly in my compliments that I’m repeating them?”
“Yes.”
