by Cheryl Holt
The rain had kept most of the revelers inside, but a small group of men was smoking across the street. They ignored him as he strolled around the corner. Lanterns had been hung, so he made his way without any trouble.
Behind the structure, it was dark enough to hide a romantic indiscretion, and he loitered under the eaves, till he was certain she’d flaunted him.
Just when he figured that she wasn’t coming, that he’d behaved like a fool, she stormed up, not stopping until they were toe-to-toe. She was in high dudgeon, as if he’d wronged her.
“What is it you want from me?” she demanded.
“I’ve been trying to dance with you,” he said, irately but quietly. “I won’t have you avoiding me.”
“You brought me out here because I wouldn’t dance with you?”
“Yes. I recognize that you are in a snit, but I won’t tolerate it.”
“You won’t tolerate it.”
“No, I won’t.”
“You don’t own me, Lord Redvers, and you have no right to order me about.”
“You are to call me Jordan when we’re alone.”
“Lord Redvers”—she was deliberately mocking—“we are not adolescents in the first throes of young love. You’re at Barnes Manor to marry my sister, and so long as that’s your plan, we won’t dance—or anything else.”
“Why do you keep throwing my marital situation in my face? From the start, I’ve been clear about my intentions toward Felicity.”
“Yes, you’ve been abundantly clear.”
“Then why are you acting like this?”
“Because my heart is broken.”
The rawness of her remark staggered him. He felt as if he’d been slapped, and he couldn’t respond.
“As I have been grievously wounded by your conduct,” she continued, “I can’t bear to be around you.”
“Mary . . .”
He reached for her, but she held out a hand, halting him.
“I have to find a means to carry on,” she said, stabbing him with her words. “I have to return to being the person I was—before you came.”
“I’ll only be here two more weeks.”
“I don’t care. Why can’t you understand how difficult this is for me? Despite what I say or do, I will never be the bride you choose.”
“My matrimonial decision doesn’t have anything to do with you!”
“It has everything to do with me! Don’t insult me by pretending otherwise.” She took a deep breath, reining in her temper. “You matter to me in a manner I could never explain. You matter! But as far as you’re concerned, I could simply be any loose girl who raised her skirt. I’m no one special—at all.”
“That’s not true. I don’t feel that way about you.”
“Then how do you feel?”
“I want you to come to London with me.”
“As your what?”
“As my mistress. After I’m wed, I’ll be set financially. I plan to buy you a house in Town and pay you an allowance. We can be together as often as you like.”
“Your mistress ...” She sagged against the wall of the barn.
“Yes.”
“So I could be your next Mrs. Bainbridge.”
“Well ... yes.”
When she put it like that, his proposition sounded sordid and offensive, and it didn’t begin to describe his confused feelings. He thought she was amazing and unique, and he was keen to bond with her as he never had with another, yet he couldn’t seem to clarify his motives, and his every comment was being misconstrued.
“Would you let Mrs. Bainbridge go,” she asked, “or would you keep us both?”
“I’d let her go.”
“And you’d support me for how long? Until you pick the next Mrs. Bainbridge after me?”
“I’m very fond of you. I imagine I’ll consort with you for several years.”
She buried her face in her hands. “Oh Lord, I am such an idiot.”
“Why would you say that?”
“I gave you the only item I possessed that was of any value. I gave you my virginity, and my reward is that I could become your new Mrs. Bainbridge.”
“There are worse things in the world than being mistress to a man like me.”
“I can’t think of a single one.”
He wanted to be angry with her, but she looked totally bereft, and he couldn’t help but be reminded that he was a callous cad.
“What’s wrong?” he murmured.
“I’m ashamed that you assume I have such a low character.”
“I don’t believe you do.”
“I’m not like the women with whom you socialize in London. I’m just me. I’m Mary Barnes, a spinster who has always lived in the country in my father’s house. I’m not wild or indecent. I want a home of my own. I want a family. I want a husband who loves me, and I would never sell myself for such a small price.”
“I’m sorry. I was sure the idea would make you happy.”
“Then you don’t know me at all.”
He’d presumed that he’d found the perfect solution to their predicament. How could they have such disparate opinions as to what was an appropriate conclusion?
At her refusal, he was inordinately distressed. Why would he be? She’d just saved him an enormous amount of trouble and expense. He should be celebrating, but instead, he felt as if she’d yanked out his heart and stomped on it.
She stepped away and gazed up at him.
“I have to go back inside now. Please leave me alone.”
“I can’t leave you alone.”
“Remember who you are, Jordan, and remember who I am. I’m begging you. I have to be able to live here after you depart.”
Tears glittered in her eyes, and he couldn’t bear that he’d made her so miserable.
He bent down and kissed her, and for a moment, she permitted the embrace. Then, with a wail of despair, she pulled out of his arms and raced away.
Like an imbecile, he dawdled, maudlin as a schoolboy with his first crush.
He was a fool. An impertinent, rash fool, and he deserved every ounce of her disdain. What was there to like about him?
As his father always brutally pointed out, he had no redeeming qualities. Why would he have supposed that Mary—whom he viewed as so rare and so remarkable—might bind herself to him?
He meandered out of the shadows, stopping for a minute to peer up at the sky, letting the drizzle cool his heated skin. Then he went into the barn to pretend that everything was fine.
LAURETTA was so glad she’d attended the village dance.
As the sophisticated, beautiful friend of Lord Redvers, she was the life of the party. Everyone was eager to bask in her glow, and their obvious approval was a balm for her sour mood.
She’d danced every dance, and the only way the event could have been improved was if Redvers had noticed how all the men were enthralled by her.
“Have a final sip, Mrs. B.,” her current companion said.
He was a charming, courteous university student, home from Cambridge to visit his parents. So young. So cute.
He’d brought a flask of whiskey, and they’d slipped out to have a drink. They were across the street from the festivities, under the eaves to stay out of the rain.
“Don’t mind if I do,” she tartly replied. She grabbed the flask and downed the remaining contents.
“I love a woman who enjoys her liquor.”
“That’s not all I enjoy.” She raised a brow, happy to tease. Long after she’d returned to London, he’d fantasize about her.
“Are you cooled down?” he inquired. “Shall we head back and kick up our heels?”
“Let’s do.”
He offered her his arm, and as they would have moved off, she espied Mary Barnes hurrying from the dark yard behind the barn. She looked extremely distraught, as if she’d been crying, but at the last second, she forced a smile and swept inside.
Lauretta wouldn’t have thought anything of it, but a man emerged from
the exact spot where Miss Barnes had been. He appeared distraught, too.
For a brief instant, he stood in the rain, then he spun toward her, and he was clearly visible. There could be no mistake.
She was stunned, and she stumbled, her companion reaching out to steady her.
“Are you all right, Mrs. B.?”
“Yes ... I’m fine. I just missed my step.”
Redvers and Mary Barnes? Was he insane?
In a rush, desperate that he not see her, she hustled her companion along, feigning impatience to get back to the dancing.
Once she was safely inside, she rippled with fury.
Of all the horrible, despicable betrayals! He’d been ignoring Lauretta so that he could fuck Mary Barnes.
The gall! The infamy! The insult was too great to be born!
“The bastard,” she muttered to herself. “The worthless, inconsiderate, philandering bastard.”
Mary Barnes was going to be so bloody sorry!
Chapter 16
“OPEN this door.”
“No.”
“Open it, right now, or I will kick it in.”
“No!”
“I swear to God, Mary. I’m not joking!”
Jordan banged his fist on the wood so hard that the sound had to have wafted through the entire mansion.
It was the middle of the night, three long nights past the awful village dance where she’d had to smile and flirt and pretend that everything was fine. She’d assumed she could enter into a meaningless fling with him, but it simply wasn’t in her nature to proceed with such a dangerous, unsatisfying relationship.
She wouldn’t be his mistress. Nor would she watch as he finalized his courtship of Felicity, so what could she do?
Avoidance had seemed the best option.
Since she’d walked out of the barn, she hadn’t seen him again, and she suspected his current fit of pique was driven by the fact that she’d told him no. She didn’t suppose women ever refused him, so her temerity would be too much for him to abide.
“Mary!” He pounded on the wood again, the echo reverberating down the hall.
How long would it be before someone heard the ruckus and came to investigate?
If he was spotted, she wouldn’t be able to deny any charge Victoria chose to level.
“All right, all right,” she fumed. “Pipe down or you’ll awaken the whole house.”
She spun the key and stepped back, allowing him to storm inside, and it was immediately obvious that he’d been drinking. She could smell alcohol; his color was high, his hair mussed. His coat and cravat were off, his shirt unbuttoned and untucked.
He looked livid and perplexed, ready to either kiss her or strangle her, and she had no idea what behavior he would select.
She closed the door and locked it, which was pointless. They could easily be discovered, and if they were, she had no one to blame but herself. Her idiocy had landed her in her predicament, and she’d known better than to engage in such rash conduct.
For years, Victoria had been threatening to evict her. Would Redvers be the catalyst that spurred Victoria to act?
He whipped around, his blue, blue eyes freezing her in her spot.
“I give up,” he snarled.
It was the last comment she’d expected. She scowled.
“What?”
“I give up! I give up!”
“What, precisely, does that mean?”
“I was going to ignore you.” He started to pace. “I was never going to speak to you again. I was going to let you fuss and stew and martyr yourself on your stupid pride and maidenly offense.”
He stopped and glared as if his arrival was her fault.
“I didn’t ask you to come here,” she insisted.
“No, you didn’t, and look how that turned out.”
“Not too well.”
“No, not too bloody well, at all.” He thrust out his palms, beseeching her for answers. “What do you want from me?”
“I don’t want anything.”
“That can’t be true.”
It wasn’t, but she didn’t know what else to say. She couldn’t continue on with their affair, and they had no future she would countenance.
A complete and total separation was the only solution.
“Why are you here?” she inquired. “Why all this bother? You don’t care about me, and you’re acting as if you belong in an asylum.”
“I do care about you!” he shouted, making her cringe at his volume.
“You have a funny way of showing it.”
“What do you expect me to do?” He was pacing again. “I am not free to wed whomever I’d like. I have to marry for money, and you don’t have any. I’ve been extremely candid, yet you behave as if I deceived you. I’ve explained my situation over and over—till I’m blue in the face—but you won’t listen!”
He stumbled to a halt, his fury fizzling out. His shoulders slumped, and he collapsed against the wall, his back braced as if his legs could barely hold his weight.
“Why won’t you listen to me?” he plaintively asked.
She’d planned to maintain her distance, to let him speak his piece, then toss him out, but his expression was so bleak that she couldn’t remain detached.
The barrier she’d erected to protect herself was crumbling.
From the moment she’d met him, he’d had a lock on her emotions. He simply affected her as no other person ever had, and she couldn’t disregard the tempest brewing inside him.
Had she caused it? Why would she have?
By his every word and gesture, he’d indicated that he wanted a brief liaison. Yes, he’d mentioned an arrangement as his mistress, but the position would have been temporary.
Had she mistaken his level of interest? Did he possess feelings she hadn’t noted or suspected?
Perhaps he cherished her in a deep and abiding way, but being a man, he didn’t know how to tell her.
The prospect—that he might love her—was arousing and dangerous. It made her eager to abandon the logical reasons she’d devised to stay away from him.
If he loved her, wasn’t anything possible? If she could have him in the end, how could she send him away?
“I’m listening to you now, Jordan,” she said very quietly.
“I can’t give you what you want.”
“You keep claiming that, but I don’t think it’s true.”
“I‘mreturning to London very soon. I can’t bear the thought of leaving you here, but you refuse to come with me.”
“We’ll figure it out. We’ll find a way to be together.”
“Yes, we’ll find a way,” he vowed. “I swear it to you.”
“I can’t be your mistress, though. I will only cast my lot with you if you promise to marry me. You’ll have to relinquish Felicity’s dowry. You’ll have to cry off from any engagement.”
“I realize that, and I will. I promise. I can’t stand to have you so angry with me.”
“I can’t stand it, either.”
He extended his hand, offering a truce, offering himself, and she raced over and clasped hold. He pulled her into a tight hug, then he was kissing her and kissing her until she was dizzy with the thrill of it.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she kept repeating.
“I’m sorry, too.”
“I love you,” she admitted. “I’ll always love you.”
She’d taken the chance, had leapt off the cliff and confessed her feelings, but he said nothing in reply. He simply moaned and deepened the kiss.
He picked her up and carried her to the bed, and he laid her down and came down with her.
He seemed focused in a manner he hadn’t been previously. He gazed at her as if he might set her ablaze, as if he was hungry for her and would never have his fill.
“Don’t ever tell me,” he said, “to leave you alone.”
“I won’t.”
“It’s not in me to stay away. I don’t know how.”
“I don�
�t want to be separate from you. I can’t be separate from you. It hurts too much.”
Since she’d been sleeping when he’d first stormed down her hallway, she was attired in her nightgown. He gripped the front and ripped it down the center, and in an instant, she was naked. Then his hands were everywhere, on her breasts, her stomach, between her legs.
She felt as if she was drowning, as if she was plummeting to the bottom of the ocean, and he was plummeting with her. They were sinking into a hole of bliss and ecstasy from which they would never emerge.
He touched and bit and caressed, until she was writhing in agony, and when he finally clutched her thighs, when he loosened his trousers and impaled himself, it was such a relief.
She cried out with joy and hugged him close as he began to thrust.
There was none of the tempered restraint he’d shown prior. He was rough and out of control, his demons driving him to wild heights. His hips slammed into hers, like the pistons of a huge machine, his body working her across the mattress, until her head was banging into the headboard with each penetration.
As her pleasure crested, his did, too, and they ended together in a hot rush of need and elation.
As he spiraled down, as his torso relaxed onto hers, she stroked his hair, his shoulders, and arms. She yearned to confide how extraordinary it had been, how happy she was, but before she could, he drew away and promptly fell asleep. His face was buried in the pillow, alcohol and sexual lethargy rendering him incoherent.
She covered them with the blankets, and for a long while, she watched him.
When he awakened, when he was sober, they had to hash out the details of how they’d proceed. He’d sworn they would wed, and she would make any sacrifice, would endure any hardship, to guarantee that it transpired.
Eventually, she drifted off, and when she roused, the color of the sky indicated that it was midmorning or maybe even afternoon.
She frowned.
Before she’d even opened her eyes, she’d known he was gone, that he’d sneaked out without a good-bye.
There was a terrible stillness in the air, as if he’d left and was never coming back, as if she’d never see him again, which was silly.
Of course he’d come back. Of course she’d see him again. He’d promised.
