DANGEROUS DESIRES
An Ellora’s Cave publication written by
JULIA TEMPLETON
Warning:
The following material contains strong sexual content meant for mature readers. DANGEROUS DESIRES has been rated HARD R, erotic, by three individual reviewers. We strongly suggest storing this electronic file in a place where young readers not meant to view this ebook are unlikely to happen upon it. That said, enjoy…
Chapter One
Rochford Manor, 1810
Arlie sat in an uncomfortable settee shivering from both fear and cold. It had been a long ride from her home in Wales to this manor, and now as she sat awaiting her introduction to her guardian, she wished to be anywhere else.
Just days ago she’d been living in her small cottage by the Irish Sea. A home she had shared with her father, until his death. Now her father was gone, her house was gone, and her fate lay in a stranger’s hands—Dominic Santrell, the Earl of Rochford. Though she knew little of the man, what she’d heard from others was not exactly flattering. Apparently, he was a womanizer of the worse sorts. A rakehell so sinfully handsome, women had fainted at his feet.
Arlie rolled her eyes. How utterly dramatic the stories were. His appeal most likely came from his title and vast wealth made obvious by the grandeur of his home. From the moment she’d caught sight of the three-story manor with its numerous archways and columns, she’d been intimidated. And that was before she’d stepped within the threshold of the manor to find extravagance far beyond her expectations. The spotless marble floor of the landing came up against an enormous staircase. The steps led to different wings, one of which would contain her new room.
Her gaze strayed to the walls where gold-framed portraits of Rochford ancestors hung on display. The stern faces that stared back at her made her seriously doubt the earl was as handsome as rumored.
She ran her hands down the worn fabric of her breeches and sighed with impatience. How rude of him to leave her sitting for so long. She tapped her boot on the marble floor. The sound brought a butler out of an adjoining room. His brow lifted as he regarded her.
“Miss Whitman,” he said with a curt nod, “his lordship will see you now.”
Arlie followed the man, peeking into lavish rooms that confirmed the earl’s status of filthy rich. After passing the largest library she’d ever seen, Arlie backtracked. She loved to read. When her father had gone out to sea, she spent nearly every night reading about different adventures, learning about things no school would dare instruct. And when he returned, he would ask her to read for him. It was a ritual, one that both of them had become fond of.
“Miss Whitman?”
Arlie glanced up to find the servant at the end of the hallway before a pair of open doors, motioning for her to enter.
The dark-paneled room was filled with heavy, masculine furniture.
“My lord, I shall return shortly,” the butler said from behind her.
“Thank you, Joseph,” a deep voice replied from across the room.
As the door closed, Arlie moved toward the man who kept his back to her. Ignoring her, the earl stood staring out the window. Her guardian. Swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat, she stopped beside a high-backed chair, but rather than sit, she stood, her fingers digging into the velvet. “My lord,” she said, wincing when her voice came out a squeak.
For a moment she thought he didn’t hear her. She opened her mouth to repeat herself when he turned to her, his gaze sweeping her length. Her pulse skittered. She knew this man. Her mind scrambled thinking of when she had last seen him, and then it hit her with a force that nearly stole the breath from her lungs. The stranger with the ring—the black prince. Her gaze quickly went to his hand. The familiar ring on his middle finger confirmed her suspicion.
She had thought him large and imposing then. Now he seemed even more so. The short dark hair she remembered him having now fell in thick waves past his broad shoulders. His eyes were a clear blue; so striking against his dark skin and hair she couldn’t help but stare. His hips were narrow, his legs muscular and well defined in navy breeches.
To Arlie’s horror, her knees actually felt weak. She gripped the chair tighter.
“So…you are Arlie Whitman.” His voice was low, appealing.
She focused solely on his face, not letting her gaze drift further to his powerful body. She’d seen many men in her time, but no other had looked like this man. White teeth flashed when he gave her an easy smile. Uncomfortable with her reaction to him, she stumbled over her words. “Y-yes, my lord.”
“You may sit.”
She immediately did as he asked, glad to be off her wobbly legs. He walked toward her, and she forced herself to sit tall instead of sinking back into the cushion. She let out the breath she’d been holding when he sat down in the chair just opposite her, stretching his long legs out in front of him, to where his boots nearly touched hers.
“Miss Whitman, I wish I could say I remember your father well, but to be perfectly honest, I don’t. I only met him on a single occasion, yet it is obvious he thought it enough to appoint me as your guardian.” His brows furrowed into a frown. “But I suppose that is beside the point. My lawyers have assured me that the will is legal and binding. Therefore, it appears you will be living at Rochford Manor as my ward.”
Arlie saw the nerve in his jaw tick and as he lowered his eyes, she noticed his incredibly long lashes. How unfair that one person should have so much physical beauty. She shook her head clear of her wayward thoughts. Good Lord, what was wrong with her? The man was her guardian. A connoisseur of women. He used them, then tossed them aside when he tired of them—which he did with great regularity, or so she’d heard.
“Are you listening?”
“Yes, my lord.” She nodded, trying hard to concentrate on what he was saying, rather than what had been said about him.
“I will not be around a great deal, but my butler, Joseph, is well informed as to what I expect as far as your education is concerned.”
His blue eyes, so magnetic, kept her riveted. Pinching her wrist to stay alert, she replied, “Yes, my lord.”
He ran his hands down his face, then attempted to look pleased, but failed. He was not happy about her presence there, that was obvious. For all that she’d told herself she would not throw herself on anyone’s mercy, she realized that whether she liked it or not, this man held her fate in his hands. Penniless and homeless, she needed his help.
“My lord, I am aware that my position as your ward came as a shock. Trust me when I say it surprised me equally. I can assure you I will not be a burden. I’ve lived an independent life since the age of ten.” She took a deep breath and continued, “I guess what I’m trying to say is, I will stay out of your way…that I promise.”
He sat forward in his chair, his long fingers playing with the tassel of a pillow. The side of his mouth lifted slightly. “Miss Whitman, your time here is not a prison sentence. On the contrary, you will have tutors like every other young debutante in London. Soon you will be introduced to all the eligible bachelors of the ton. Who knows, within a few months time we may be placing a wedding announcement in The Times.”
She could feel the blood drain from her face. “Marriage?” A gasp followed the word. As she stared at him, she hoped he would tell her he only teased, but by his expression, she knew he meant every word. Tears stung the backs of her eyes, but she blinked them back. By God she would not let this…this rakehell marry her off! She’d endured too much in her short life to let some stranger tell her who she would marry.
Her stomach clenched into a tight knot. A husband would expect an obedient wife to throw galas and tea parties for his friends and their wives. And he would no doubt see
she conceived right away and then leave her at some country estate to spend the rest of her days, while he kept a mistress in town and drank until all hours of the night. She had read far too many stories about such instances, and she was not about to let her life take that turn. She would rather find work somewhere, perhaps as a governess or maybe a housekeeper. After all, she’d taken care of her father for her entire life. How hard could it be to manage a large household, or to care for children? She sighed heavily. Why hadn’t she just been born a male? At least then she could set off on her own and not worry about having to answer to anyone.
“Did you hear me, Miss Whitman?”
“Yes, you mentioned marriage,” she replied, her voice barely audible.
He smiled, the gesture softening the harsh lines of his face. If possible that small gesture enhanced his good looks. “Arlie, I believe…It is all right to call you Arlie?”
She nodded, confused that her heart jumped at hearing her name on his lips.
“Arlie, I believe marriage to be the perfect solution for this predicament that we find ourselves in. After all, you’re of age, and I can’t imagine you’d want to live here for long. Believe me, it won’t take any time at all to find a suitable beau. In fact, after careful preparation, we will be sure to arrange your coming out at one of the most influential balls of the Season.”
Too stunned to reply, Arlie bit down on the inside of her cheek. She nodded obediently, knowing that arguing would get her nowhere. What had she expected from this man—for him to be overjoyed about being a guardian of a penniless stranger? He wasn’t that old himself, and to be strapped with a ward was obviously the last thing he wanted, or needed. What better solution than to marry her off?
“I can see you are in need of a wardrobe,” he said, his gaze moving down her body once again. She clasped her hands together in her lap and sat up straight.
He frowned, and a slow blush crept up her neck to her cheeks. She cleared her throat. “I am accustomed to wearing breeches rather than dresses.”
His frown lines eased. “I realize that the life you led in Wales was…different than the one you are now living. You will dress appropriately, which means you will wear gowns, not men’s breeches.”
Forcing herself to meet his gaze, she replied, “Yes, my lord.” Her fingernails dug into the skin of her palms. How subservient she sounded. What had happened to her bravado? It had all but disappeared the moment she met him. Oh, but he was so dark and sinful-looking. Women no doubt fell at his feet. And to think that at one time in her life she had looked upon him as her black prince, dreaming that one day he would come and sweep her off her feet.
He stood abruptly. Following his lead, she stood as well, trying earnestly not to stare directly into his baby-blue eyes, but it was impossible. His striking features demanded attention.
He nodded. “Miss Whitman, I’ll see you this evening at dinner. Joseph will show you to your room. Please take the rest of the day to make yourself at home.”
Like magic, the butler appeared at her elbow. Obediently Arlie followed the older man out of the room, glancing over her shoulder to see her guardian watching her.
* * * * *
Dominic waited patiently in the dining room, occasionally glancing at the clock. Only a few hours had passed since he’d met his ward, and he was still trying to come to terms with the fact he was a guardian. He shook his head. He could scarcely take care of himself, let alone a seventeen-year-old girl. It wouldn’t have been so difficult had she been a young man instead. He would simply give the boy an allowance, point him to the best social events and encourage him to marry well. But a young woman was altogether different.
Nor had he imagined she would be a beauty. When he first saw Arlie standing in his study, her wisps of blonde hair falling out of the thick braid, Dominic figured he had to be the butt of a joke Langley had cooked up. He waited for his friend to step out and shout “surprise”. Yet as the moments ticked away, Dominic realized with a sinking feeling that this was no joke.
The young woman watching him with green almond-shaped eyes was indeed his ward. Her very appearance startled him. Her baggy breeches hung off her slender frame, and the worn shirt actually had patches at the elbows. Yet she stood before him like a princess, despite her beggars clothing.
No doubt her maturity came from spending months alone in an isolated shack while her father captained a fishing vessel; one Dominic had helped buy Alexander Whitman out of gratitude for helping him one evening when he’d been caught in a rainstorm. An act of gratitude he now regretted. Celebrating his twenty-first birthday with friends, Dominic had been well into his cups, so much so he barely remembered the burly man who walked with a limp and had a fondness for poker. Not many would have invited him into their home and made him so at ease. In fact, when Dominic’s carriage had broken a wheel, the man had stepped outside his small cottage and asked to be of assistance. Since the footman said he did not desire help, Alexander had offered Dominic a drink and some company.
Arlie had been just a young girl at the time. Dominic vaguely remembered a child with a head full of pale blonde curls, asleep on a cot in the corner of the cottage she shared with her father. Who would have thought that child would come to be his ward? And who would have imagined she would grow to be such a beauty?
What a shame Alexander had lost everything to drinking and gambling. Even the vessel Dominic had bought him had been taken as repayment for his many debts.
“She’s quite a lovely lass, isn’t she, my lord? A little rough around the edges perhaps, but lovely all the same.”
Dominic glanced at Joseph, whose mouth held the slightest hint of a smile. “Indeed, she is lovely,” Dominic agreed.
“The maids told me she is quite friendly, not to mention gracious. She is delighted with her quarters. With a bit of polish you should have no difficulty finding a husband for her, my lord.”
Finding Arlie a husband was exactly what he intended to do, posthaste. Not only did he not have time for a ward, he didn’t like the idea of spending too much time with a young, beautiful woman. Not that he didn’t trust himself—well, on the other hand, he didn’t. He shook his head. Good Lord, what had her father been thinking?
“I say, when she has her coming out, every dandy in town will be beating down the door,” Joseph added, smiling widely.
If Dominic didn’t know better, he would think his butler waited expectantly to see how he handled his new “parental” responsibilities.
Before he could respond, the door opened and the woman who had been burning in his thoughts walked into the dining room. Arlie wore her hair up, in a chignon that made her look years older. The borrowed dress, compliments of his latest mistress, was most becoming on her slender frame. Her tightly corseted body displayed an impossibly small waist, and full breasts that pushed up against the silk of her low bodice until they threatened to spill over. He would never have guessed a beautiful body existed beneath the horrible male attire she had arrived in.
Joseph pulled out her chair, and Dominic was grateful for the few seconds her attention was elsewhere. It gave him a chance to watch her when she was unaware of his scrutiny. A diamond in the rough. Her long lashes fanned against high cheekbones. Her cheeks, like her lips, were pink…and bloomed with color by the second.
He bit back a smile. How charming she was. And how very young, he reminded himself.
Nodding at Joseph to proceed with dinner, Dominic became intrigued by the lovely young woman who had been made his responsibility. He watched her through dinner, pleased to see her take dainty bites of food. She used the correct silverware, and kept her elbows off the table. A surprise, especially since her father had not appeared to be concerned with etiquette. “Your father—was he a good man?”
At the mention of her father, a transformation came over her. Her green eyes sparkled and her mouth split into a wide smile, showing small, white teeth, and deep dimples that creased her cheeks. He shifted in his chair, uncomfortable that
his ward, this young lady who he should be thinking of as a daughter, he instead found attractive…very much so.
“He was a wonderful man, very loving and kind. When he went out to sea, I would miss him terribly. But when he returned, we would celebrate into the wee hours of the night. He enjoyed cards. Perhaps too much,” she said, her voice losing its luster.
“I remember his laugh,” he said, wanting to protect her. He could not bear to see sadness come over her gorgeous face. “And his smile, with those large dimples, which I see, you were blessed with.”
Instantly the smile returned in force, and to his disbelief, his heart missed a beat. “Indeed,” she said, “his laughter could bring a smile to anyone’s lips. Though he did sometimes laugh at the most inopportune times. And his voice boomed so, I could hear him coming from a great distance. He was quite a character.”
“You have no other family?”
She shook her head. “No, none. My mother died when I was very young.”
“Tell me of your life.”
“There is not much to tell.” She shifted in her seat. “I grew up in Wales. I was alone a lot, except for our neighbor, Johanna Hopkins, a spinster who taught me to read and write. She had been a music teacher at a school in Cardiff. I remember hearing her play the piano at night, the soft notes floating over to our house.” She closed her eyes and smiled, obviously reliving the memory.
Dominic sat entranced by her innocence. The memory of a simple moment in time had stirred Arlie, and he could see the passion on her face.
“I feel as though it were yesterday,” she said.
“How old were you?”
She opened her eyes. “About ten. Johanna was a good friend to me and my father, who I missed terribly when he left.” Her voice faltered as she stared down at her lap. “I often feared he would never return.”
“But he always did.”
She nodded and met his gaze. “Yes, he always did. When he lost the boat you’d bought him, he was so sad. I tried to get him to stop drinking and gambling, but he couldn’t. They were as much a part of him as breathing, I’m afraid.”
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