Only Mine

by Cheryl Holt

  Once the wagering began, Michael needed her to flirt and distract the other players. They’d grown up at their father’s card games, and it was a natural place for them to interact.

  But her enthusiasm for the endeavor had waned. She was always afraid Michael would slip up and be caught. If he was branded a cheat, he wouldn’t be able to gamble ever again so he would lose his ability to earn an income. If that happened, what would become of them?

  In the opposite corner, Captain Grey was snuggled with two opera dancers who had traveled from London for the evening. They were scantily attired, showing bare arms and plenty of cleavage. He kept glancing over as if he wanted to be sure she’d noticed him cuddling with the trollops.

  Though she was disgusted to admit it, the sight had her incredibly annoyed. She was trying to not watch him, to not see how other women had been delighted to supply what she wouldn’t, but it was impossible to ignore him.

  Was she jealous? She thought she might be which was absurd, and she had no idea why she was letting him taunt her. What did she care if he was loose with his favors? What did she care if he disgraced himself right before his wedding? It was typical male behavior, and she knew better than to be upset by it.

  She was at Grey Manor to help Michael win money, but she was still depressed over her father’s death and in no mood for socializing. Melancholia was an exhausting emotion, and she decided to head upstairs where she could remove her corset, have a whiskey then fall into bed.

  She searched for Michael to advise him she wasn’t staying, but she couldn’t locate him. He was likely off ingratiating himself to Wesley Grey or perhaps flirting with a doxy in a dark alcove. With his glorious blond hair and big blue eyes, he was handsome as a Greek god. Women threw themselves at his feet.

  She asked a footman to tell him she’d left then she snuck away and climbed to her room, hoping Michael wasn’t using it for a tryst. She loved her brother, but there were some activities she couldn’t bear to witness. She would hate to be struck blind.

  Luckily, her suite was empty, and she went to the dressing room and stripped to chemise and drawers, with a robe over the top. She yanked the combs from her hair, the tresses tumbling down her back in an auburn wave. Then she poured herself a whiskey and walked out onto the small balcony that looked across the park.

  She’d come to Benjamin Grey’s bachelor party because Michael had begged her to, but the two weeks stretched before her like the road to Hades.

  Her sister, Lydia, lived a short distance away. She was a widow, her cottage provided by her deceased husband’s father, Edward Boswell. Annabel would call on her the next day. It would give her an excuse to flee Grey Manor for several hours, but it would also give her an excuse to ask after her nephew, Harry.

  He was a Fenwick through and through, a smart and vivacious boy who was so different from Lydia and her stuffy Boswell in-laws that it was difficult to imagine him being related to them.

  Annabel had always wished she could kidnap him and raise him herself. She’d actually suggested it to Lydia once, and Lydia had almost fainted. The fact that Annabel had no home, no income, and no stability were her sister’s reasons for refusing, but it had mostly been Lydia’s aversion to Harry having any contact with his grandfather, Cecil.

  Lydia had loathed Cecil, and her stated goal in life had been to escape Cecil’s crazed world. She’d been determined to wed a boring, steady fellow who would never deliver any surprises, and in marrying Milton Boswell—the dreariest oaf in the kingdom—she’d picked perfectly.

  Lydia was a meek mouse, and her father-in-law was a wealthy merchant and pious, unpleasant Puritan. The whole family was a bunch of devout, boring ninnies. He didn’t like Harry’s domineering and charismatic personality, and he constantly struggled to tamp down Harry’s wilder impulses.

  Maybe—when it was all said and done—Annabel would kidnap him. She might not be rich, but she and Michael had fun. They enjoyed themselves. Harry would be so much better off with them than Lydia.

  The door to the suite opened and, figuring it was her brother, she went inside. But when she saw who had arrived, she stumbled to a halt. Her first and immediate thought was that her gown was in the dressing room, her tiny dagger in the pocket.

  From the hot gleam in her visitor’s eye, she definitely might need it.

  “Hello, Annabel,” Captain Grey said.

  “You can’t be in here, Captain,” she scolded. “What are you thinking?”

  “My party was too boring without you. I had to learn why you didn’t stay.”

  “You didn’t look bored to me. In my opinion, you were having quite a fine time.”

  “Not as fine as you suppose.”

  “What? Two doxies weren’t enough for you?”

  “Not nearly.” He grinned a devastating grin. “Are you jealous?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “You’re not? You’re certain?”

  “Why would I care if you disgrace yourself with a couple of trollops?”

  She was standing in the doorway to the bedchamber, attired only in robe, chemise, and drawers. Even her feet were bare, and she had to get him to depart as quickly as she could manage it.

  “Would you leave?” she asked.

  “No.”

  She sighed with aggravation. “I realize this is your house.”

  “It is.”

  “And I realize you’re a pompous ass.”

  “Ha! Annabel Fenwick, you have no idea.”

  “You likely assume you can behave however you please, but you can’t. Not with me.”

  “Am I scaring you?”

  “Yes, actually.”

  He scoffed. “I am not.”

  He sauntered over to her, moving like a lazy cat, like a lion she’d seen once at the zoo. He was such a large man, but he was athletically inclined, graceful and calculating with every step.

  She stood her ground, and he approached until they were toe to toe, their feet and legs tangled together. He rested his hands on her waist and nestled her close, and she probably should have displayed some panic or outrage, but she didn’t for she sensed he was deliberately trying to frighten her. He was testing her in some fashion, and if she recoiled she’d fail whatever analysis he was conducting.

  “You didn’t come down to supper,” he said. “Why?”

  “I didn’t like the company.”

  “Meaning me? You can’t be serious.”

  She shrugged. “I upset you this afternoon.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “I’d hate to return to London so soon so I didn’t think I should flaunt myself where you might ask me to leave early.”

  “I hope I’m not that thin-skinned.”

  “Are you?”

  “I guess we’ll find out over the next few days.”

  “I guess we will.”

  “You could improve my mood by being a bit nicer to me.”

  “You don’t need me to be nice. You have trollops lined up to entertain you. Why don’t you go dally with one of them?”

  “You’re at the front of the line. Not them.”

  “I’m not a strumpet though so you’re flirting with the wrong girl.”

  “You’re not a strumpet? You keep saying that, but I don’t believe you.”

  He was a wily character, and he’d gradually sidled them over so she was backed into the doorframe. She could feel every delicious inch of him, and her body was responding in shocking ways that she didn’t appreciate at all.

  “I’m not dressed, Captain,” she pointed out.

  “No, you’re not—I’m delighted to discover.”

  “You really can’t be in here.”

  “Well, as you just mentioned, it is my house. My house, my rules.”

  “Are you in the habit of blustering in on your female guests?”

  “Not usually, but I’m making an exception for you.”

  He dipped down and kissed her, as she’d suspected he would from the moment he’d ente
red. His lips were soft and warm, and he tasted so good, his firm, masculine torso so soothing. She was so lonely and so alone, and it was comforting to be wanted, to be desired—even if it was for an inappropriate reason.

  For a few minutes, she reveled in the embrace which was madness in the extreme. She’d only encourage him in his folly so she pulled away first, but it was difficult. She could have tarried all night, kissing him like a ninny, like a fool.

  “You overwhelm me, Captain Grey.”

  “Marvelous.”

  “I keep telling you this, but you won’t listen. I’m not the woman you need me to be.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “I’m quite independent, but I have no idea how to handle you.”

  “It’s easy, Annabel. Take me to your bed.”

  At his blunt proposal, she winced. “I can’t.”

  “Why not? There’s no one to know.”

  “I would know.”

  “And I would too, but it will be our little secret. Your chum, Mr. Boswell, is busy at the card table. We’ll lock the door, and we won’t be interrupted.”

  “I can’t,” she said again.

  “Let me convince you.”

  “You never could.”

  He kissed her again, and he was more determined, more urgent. Down below, she could feel evidence of his rising lust, his phallus blatantly hard and impossible to miss. Although—miraculously—she was still a virgin, she wasn’t an innocent so she understood about men and their physical conditions. She was aware of what was happening to his body, what she was causing to happen.

  To her great disgust, she wondered if she shouldn’t relent and proceed to a conclusion she’d never considered prior.

  She’d shared many passionate kisses over the years. Never with anyone as exhilarating as him though. She enjoyed kissing very much and would probably enjoy the rest of it too. He seemed the sort of fellow who would know his way around a bedchamber. But...

  She’d never fancied a man enough to ruin herself, and she wasn’t about to start with Captain Grey. She continued for several minutes then she drew away. When he tried to pull her back into his arms, she placed a palm on his chest to stop him.

  “I can’t do this with you, Captain.”

  “Why not? What will persuade you? Are you hoping to become my mistress? Are you dangling for an offer of support?”

  “I won’t be your mistress, and you insult me by suggesting it.”

  He studied her, his mesmerizing blue eyes digging deep. “My goodness. You might actually be telling me the truth. You don’t want anything from me.”

  “No, I don’t. I’d simply like to avail myself of your hospitality for the next two weeks.”

  He gaped at her then he muttered, “I’ll be damned. You really don’t want anything.”

  “No.”

  “You have to be the first person ever. My life has been a long slog of fawning sycophants who glom onto me for my fortune or my status or my family name.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “It’s so common that I assume people have an ulterior motive in befriending me.”

  “I don’t.”

  “So if I can’t entice you with my money or my position, can I use my stunning personality?”

  She chuckled. “No.”

  “You are a hard woman, Annabel Fenwick.”

  “I’ve had to be, Captain.”

  Their banter dwindled, the room growing quiet. They stared and stared, and the most delicious intimacy flared.

  It seemed as if they’d always been close, as if they’d been acquainted forever. She could tell him about her past—about her father, about her bizarre upbringing—and he would commiserate and empathize. He could unburden himself too, could share any horrid story and she would say exactly the right thing to make him feel better.

  Desire had her craving boons from him she couldn’t ever have, and it was madness to expect passion could lead her to anywhere she truly wanted to be.

  “Would you go?” she finally murmured.

  “I can’t decide. Should I?”

  “Yes, you definitely should.”

  “I’m having too much fun.”

  “You’d have more fun downstairs.”

  “I doubt it,” he said then he asked the strangest question. “Have we met before?”

  “No, we never have.”

  “You’re so familiar to me—as if we’ve always been friends.”

  “I was just thinking the same.”

  “We seem connected. Why do you suppose that is?”

  “I wouldn’t try to guess.”

  But she did know. Her father’s mistresses had often talked about it. There were some lovers who were so attuned they were bound to be together—almost as if Fate insisted on it.

  It was a situation poets waxed on about, but it was the sort of nonsense Annabel didn’t believe in. She could have told him about it, but he might start to presume an amour was destined to occur when she was determined it never would.

  “Go, please?” she said.

  “Why? Are you afraid if I stay I’ll change your mind?”

  “No.”

  “You liar. You’re absolutely afraid I will.”

  “You’re deranged.”

  “When your defenses are weakening, why would I give up?”

  He pulled her too him and initiated yet another string of stirring kisses she couldn’t resist. He was correct that she was weakening, and she couldn’t predict what might have happened, but the door opened and Michael blustered in.

  “Annabel? Are you here?” He stumbled to a halt. “My, my! This is a surprise.”

  At being caught by Michael who was her alleged paramour, Captain Grey didn’t flinch, didn’t appear guilty or abashed. He simply set her away then he casually said to Michael, “Hello, Boswell.”

  “Sorry to interrupt,” Michael blithely responded. “I came to ask if Annabel would join me in the card room, but I see she’s otherwise engaged.”

  Annabel had never been more embarrassed. “Captain Grey was just leaving.”

  “Was he?” Michael was practically brimming with mischief. “He doesn’t look as if he’s about to leave. He looks as if he’s having the time of his life.”

  “No, he’s leaving,” she insisted.

  “He doesn’t have to,” Michael replied. “I’m happy for the two of you. Have at it—with my blessing.”

  Captain Grey raised a brow and said to Annabel, “Your devoted swain has an interesting attitude with regard to you.”

  “As I’ve mentioned previously, Captain,” Michael said, “I would never tell Annabel how to behave.”

  “How lucky for me then.” The Captain turned to her. “We’ll take a ride in the morning, Annabel. Meet me in the breakfast parlor at ten.”

  “I shouldn’t.”

  “Why not? Clearly, Mr. Boswell doesn’t mind.”

  “You know my opinion about our consorting,” she said.

  “And you know mine. It’s my house and my rules.”

  “You’re a bully, Captain.”

  “Yes, and I always get my way, remember?” He headed for the door, stopping before he exited. “Ten o’clock, and please don’t be late. I can’t abide tardiness in a female.”

  Then he strolled out. She and her brother were frozen in place, Michael appearing more astonished than she’d ever seen him. After the Captain’s footsteps had faded, Michael spun to her, his grin wide and annoying.

  “What is going on up here?” he asked.

  “He likes me.”

  “How bloody grand is that?”

  “It’s a disaster!”

  “Why?”

  “He’s engaged to be married! It’s his bachelor party.”

  “He’s not married yet, Annabel.” He rubbed his hands together as if schemes were already hatching. “How shall we play him?”

  “We’re not playing him. I intend to avoid him as much as possible.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous
. Of course you’ll encourage him. He needs to think you’ll agree to an affair. There could be enormous benefits for you.”

  “I’m not encouraging him,” she countered.

  “Why won’t you?”

  “I like him.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  Michael skipped through the world, never bonding, never attaching himself, never caring about others. With those traits at the fore, he was exactly like their father.

  She couldn’t begin to explain the feelings roiling her, and he wouldn’t understand them anyway. Captain Grey stirred a hunger in her, a yearning that was empty and lonely that she didn’t want to have stirred.

  He made her wish she was a different sort of woman, that she had a different sort of life, but she’d learned long ago that it was pointless to hope for things to change.

  “I won’t discuss him with you,” she said. “Go back to your card game.”

  He must have recognized the steely look in her eye because he didn’t pester her. “Put your clothes on. Come down with me.”

  “I can’t. Not tonight.”

  “All right, but we have to talk about this tomorrow. We have to talk about him. It’s Captain Grey, Annabel! He fancies you!”

  “He lusts after me, Michael. It’s not the same.”

  “It is in my book.”

  “Well, it’s not in mine. Now go away. I’m not in the mood to spar with you.”

  “You and Captain Benjamin Grey! I’m agog—just from considering it.”

  They both smiled.

  “It’s mad, I know.”

  “You deserve someone like him,” Michael claimed.

  “Yes, but he could never truly be mine.”

  “You could win him for your own—if you’d try. Shall we bet on it?”

  “No. You’d cheat to be sure it happened.”

  “From how he was gazing at you, there’d be no cheating necessary.”

  “I couldn’t do it though.”

  “Why? Because you won’t be the other woman?”

  “Precisely, so return to your game.”

  He left then she trudged over and filled her glass with whiskey. She walked out onto the balcony again, desperate to cool her hot skin. She was all jumbled on the inside, feeling happy and sad and anxious all at once.