by Cheryl Holt
“Oh, Captain,” she said, “what am I to do with you?”
“You should allow me to carry you to my bed where I will strip off all your clothes and torment you in ways you never previously considered.”
“I can’t, Captain.”
“Would you call me Benjamin?”
“No.”
He chuckled. “You are so stubborn.”
“Yes, I always have been.”
“I’ve wondered why you’re not married, and I’m betting no one’s dared to propose. You’d grind them down with your obstinacy and inflexible attitudes.”
“I’m sure you’re right.”
“Stop being so willful with me. Humor me. Please me.”
“I wish I could.”
He kissed her again, and she heartily joined in, proving she was more amenable to his advances than she let on. She talked a good game and pretended to be very fierce, but their attraction was so hot and so fascinating. It was impossible to ignore the tempest stirred by their proximity.
He vowed—before the party was over—he would have her for his own. He wasn’t without significant influence to convince her to provide what he craved. First and foremost, he’d confer with Michael Boswell, would find out why she was so reticent.
Boswell didn’t seem to mind that Benjamin wanted her, and maybe Boswell could persuade her that an affair was a terrific idea. If she would give herself to Boswell, why not Benjamin? What was preventing her?
Eventually, she pulled away and snuggled down, her cheek on his shoulder, her pert breasts crushed to his chest. She breathed out a heavy sigh.
“What has you sighing as if the world was about to end?” he asked.
“I want to be a different person for you. I want to be the woman you need.”
“Ha!” he crowed. “We’re making progress.”
“I guess we are. It appears I like you more than I should.”
“And I definitely like you too much too.”
“What shall we do about it?” she asked.
“You know what I’d like to do. I’ve been very clear.”
“I think we should avoid each other.”
“I think we should spend every second together.”
She nestled herself a bit nearer, and he ran a comforting hand up her thigh. He felt a hard object lodged in the pocket of her skirt, and he reached in and drew out a small pistol.
“You brought your pistol to supper?” he asked. “You came armed for battle?”
She sat up with a start, yanked it away, and stuck it back in her pocket. “I’m always armed for battle.”
“I can’t decide whether to be glad or alarmed.”
“Why would you be either?”
“From how independent you are and how you jaunt off by yourself, I’m delighted that you carry protection. But I’m alarmed because I’m certain you have a temper, and if I ever rile you sufficiently you might use your weapon on me.”
“I just might—if you rile me sufficiently. Better behave yourself, Captain.”
“Benjamin,” he reminded her, but she didn’t say his name, and he was vastly irked that she wouldn’t.
She stunned him by initiating a kiss of her own, but it was a very brief one. Before he could deepen the embrace, she slid off his lap and stood.
“I have to go,” she said.
“No, you don’t.”
“I’ve already been in here too long.”
“Mr. Boswell is in London with my brother so you don’t have any other responsibilities. Stay and entertain me.”
“I can’t.”
“I’ll be lonely without you.”
“You will not be. I dare say you’re never lonely.”
“Well, maybe I’ll be a tad lonely.”
At the comment, she laughed, and there was such a husky, sexy timbre to her voice that he felt it to the tips of his toes.
She bent down and pressed her forehead to his.
“When I’m with you, I want to be someone I’m not.”
“I’m ecstatic to hear it.”
“If I could I’d give up everything to make you happy. So...goodnight.”
She straightened and stared down at him, looking young and lost and confused, and her bewilderment thrilled him very much. If she was perplexed about what was happening to them, her defenses would fall quickly.
“Ride with me in the morning, will you?” he said. “I really wish you would.”
“I’m sorry, but I have other plans.”
He scowled, a burst of fury whipping by at the notion of her having an option that didn’t include him.
“I have to visit Lyndon Hall,” he told her.
“Isn’t that your family seat?”
“Yes, but it’s been shuttered for a decade, and I’m afraid it’s likely become a dilapidated wreck. Come with me to assess the condition.”
She considered his request, and just when he thought she’d agree she shook her head. “You should take your fiancée, Captain. Not me.”
Then she spun and left, vanishing so swiftly that she might have never been there at all.
“I don’t want to take Veronica,” he muttered to the empty room. “I want to take you.”
It was his turn to sigh. He went back to the table and gaped at the plate she’d used, the fork she’d used, the glass she’d used. As he realized he was gawking like a besotted boy, he snorted with disgust. If he wasn’t careful, he’d soon be stealing her hair ribbons so he’d have a memento to sustain him in the hours they were apart.
The suite was dreadfully quiet without her. She seemed to have sucked out all the verve and excitement when she departed, and he couldn’t bear it.
She wouldn’t dally with him, but as she kept mentioning he had a house full of strumpets who were dying to have the chance. And his lust was raging. She’d ignited a spark, but hadn’t assuaged it.
He headed downstairs to the party, for once feeling eager to indulge in activities he shouldn’t.
HOULD I TELL HER?”
“I can’t decide. I have to reflect before I answer you.”
Michael glanced over at Wesley. They were in London at a fancy dress ball which Michael always enjoyed.
Couples swirled by, and he’d like to be dancing himself, but he was stuck in a corner, listening to Wesley rant about his brother and Veronica.
Michael couldn’t help but think how lucky he was in the structure of his own family. Michael’s mother had died when he was a baby, and Lydia was horrid and always had been. But Cecil had been the greatest father ever. And Annabel was the greatest sister ever.
Yes, they’d occasionally been poor and in dire straits, but there had been other times when Cecil had been flush with money. When he was, he’d been nearly manic in his drive to celebrate.
Their home had been filled with interesting characters—gamblers and actresses and confidence artists and the like. Cecil had been a man of extravagant tastes and exotic habits, and people had been drawn to him like flies to honey.
He’d had the charm of a devil and the good looks of an angel, and he’d never told the truth about his background. His claims of parentage ranged from his father being a duke to a vicar to an unknown soldier. He’d claim to have grown up in an orphanage or a palace or an army camp.
He’d been so dashing and elegant that Michael and Annabel had chosen to believe he’d been sired by a prince, that he’d grown up in a castle. Lydia had insisted he must have been a criminal’s by-blow, but they’d scoffed at the notion. He’d always carried on like a dissolute, debauched aristocrat.
There had been no sibling rivalry or jealousy with Annabel. There had been no squabbles or bickering. There had only been fun and camaraderie and the feeling of careening down the rapids together. They’d hung on for dear life, breathing collective sighs of relief when they came through another crisis unscathed.
He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be Wesley, to be the younger brother of dynamic, imposing Captain Grey. Wesley was constan
tly comparing himself and finding fault. Michael didn’t understand why he labored in his brother’s shadow. Why didn’t he break free and build a separate future for himself?
He’d certainly be happier.
Michael had befriended Wesley as a lark, as a scam, pursuing the relationship in the hopes of coaxing money from Wesley’s purse into his own, but Wesley didn’t have much money. He had plenty of wealthy acquaintances though so Michael had remained glued to his side.
To Michael’s surprise, he actually liked Wesley. He was a sad, pathetic fellow who required shrewd guidance. No one was sharper or more astute than Michael so he was content to play the part Wesley desperately needed him to play.
“Am I a fool?” Wesley asked.
“No,” Michael said then he reconsidered. “Well, maybe a bit of a one.”
“I’m doing it for love. That must count for something.”
“I have no idea. I’ve never been in love, and I don’t believe any woman could push me into such extreme behavior.”
Wesley had just confessed that he’d planned the bachelor party so Veronica would hear about it and be upset. Apparently though, no rumors had reached her, and he was wondering if he shouldn’t inform her himself.
Michael thought the whole situation was ridiculous and Wesley should get over the blasted girl.
“Benjamin doesn’t deserve her,” Wesley vehemently stated.
“Probably not,” Michael agreed, “but you can’t change what’s about to happen, can you? Veronica wants to marry him, your mother wants it, and your brother doesn’t seem inclined to jilt her.”
“He could. If he was concerned about my feelings, he’d cry off no matter what.”
“Perhaps he’s not anxious to stir a scandal, at least not at the last second with the inheritance about to be concluded.”
“Bugger the inheritance!” Wesley fumed which Michael deemed a ludicrous attitude.
The Grey family was wealthy, but when Benjamin Grey’s title vested, they would be even richer. It was demented to be nonchalant about such an enormous windfall.
“It can only be to your benefit to have a brother who’s an earl,” he said.
“You know I don’t view it like that. The end result is that he’ll wed Veronica, and I can’t bear it.”
“What if we left London?”
“To go where?”
“How about Paris or Rome? I haven’t been to either city. Let’s book passage on a ship and leave them to it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why must you dawdle in London as your brother struts through all his grand events? I’d shoot myself before I’d watch another man marry my beloved so let’s sneak away. There’s no law forcing you to attend the wedding.”
“Skip my brother’s wedding?”
Wesley looked aghast, as if Michael had suggested he strip off his clothes and parade naked.
“Yes, skip it. Head to Paris and have passionate affairs with dozens of French beauties. You’ll get over Veronica quickly enough.”
“I’ll never get over her!” Wesley vowed.
Michael had to turn slightly so he could roll his eyes. His upbringing had taught him never to care too much. People had waltzed through their lives, particularly when they were young, but no one had ever stayed for long.
The connections and separations had been tremendously difficult, and he’d swiftly learned to keep his distance. It was easier that way.
“Oh, drat it,” Wesley grumbled. “There’s my mother.”
“Where?”
Wesley pointed to a dour, nondescript matron who was painted in shades of grey. Her hair was grey, her dress was grey, her jewels were grey.
“I think she saw me.” Wesley sighed with aggravation. “I have to speak with her. Will you come with me? I’ll introduce you.”
“I’ll pass for now.” Michael had no desire to meet the old harridan. He’d heard too many of Wesley’s horror stories.
“It will take me forever to escape her clutches.”
“I don’t mind. I’m having a marvelous time. I’ll entertain myself while you’re busy.”
“We’ll leave for the theater the moment I’m free.”
“All right.”
“Unless Veronica arrives. If Mother’s here, she must be here too. If she is, I’d like to remain.”
“Whatever you wish is fine by me.”
He waved Wesley away then strolled out of the ballroom and wandered toward the rear of the house, the noise of the party fading away.
He always snooped when he was a guest, and he’d pilfered many treasures. Annabel didn’t approve of such blatant criminality, but he never told her of his worst transgressions. If he stole a bauble, he pawned it for money so she assumed he’d won at gambling.
Rich people were so lax about their valuables. In Michael’s view, if they were too stupid to protect their possessions, was it his fault if they lost some of them?
He hadn’t gone far when he rounded a corner and bumped into a very pretty girl. She was holding a champagne bottle and glass, and champagne sloshed over the rim, a few drops dampening the front of his coat.
She was a bit younger than he was, probably twenty to his very elderly twenty-two. She had blond hair and blue eyes that matched the sapphire sash on her white gown, and she was dripping with jewels, her neck, wrists, and ears weighted down with all kinds of stones. He considered himself an arbiter of high fashion, and it was too much adornment, but what man wouldn’t be dazzled by such a stunning display?
“Oh, dear,” she said. “Did I ruin your coat?”
“I’ll survive.”
“I didn’t think I’d run into anyone back here.”
“It will be our little secret.”
“Thank you.”
“Why aren’t you at the party? Are you hiding?”
“Absolutely.”
“Why?”
She glanced down the hall, checking to be sure he hadn’t been followed.
“You won’t tell, will you?” she asked.
“My lips are sealed.”
As she turned toward him again, she stumbled on the heel of her shoe, and he reached out to steady her. With her being off balance, her body was pressed to his, and he was delighted to report that she was very shapely.
“I just love champagne.” Her words were slurred, providing evidence of inebriation.
He chuckled. “I can see that.”
“I wasn’t allowed to taste it until a few weeks ago.”
“Why, your life must be torture,” he facetiously said.
“It is, it is!” she insisted. “But once I enjoyed that tiny sample, I couldn’t resist having more.”
“In my opinion, no lady should have to deny herself any pleasure.”
“My feeling exactly, and I’m about to be married. In two months, I’ll be a bride. Shouldn’t I be able to do what I like?”
“Yes, definitely,” he agreed.
“I’m twenty years old, but I’m treated like a child.”
“You poor thing.”
She hadn’t moved away from him so their bodies were still touching. Since she was new to alcohol, she likely didn’t realize how quickly or completely it could affect a person, and he wasn’t about to warn her.
Where pretty girls were concerned, he’d inherited all his father’s worst tendencies. If nothing else, they could chat and flirt for a minute, and he’d furtively relieve her of the large gem on her wrist before they parted company.
“Let me get this straight,” he said. “You have to hide in dark halls in order to drink any champagne?”
“Yes. I’m watched like a hawk so I don’t have a second to myself.”
“It would drive me batty.”
“You men are so lucky. You can act however you want.”
“I’ve always thought I’d hate to be a woman.”
“You would, you would.”
“If you’re being guarded so closely, how did you sneak away?”
�
�I told my chaperone I had to use the lady’s retiring room. She couldn’t very well prevent me.”
“I’m surprised she didn’t follow you in there.”
“So am I. That’s how horrid my life is! I can’t so much as sneeze without someone handing me a kerchief.”
“You’ll be in trouble if you’re caught with me.”
“I’m to the point anymore where I don’t really care. All I hear these days is lectures on how I have to comport myself, how I have to set an example, how I have to prove that I’m worthy.”
“Worthy of whom?”
“My fiancé. I’m so sick of it.” She gestured with the bottle. “Would you like a sip?”
“Certainly—if you have enough to share.”
“If I finish this off, I can steal another.”
“Yes, you can, and I will be happy to assist you in your petty crime.”
He flashed his most charming smile, letting it wash over her, letting her bask in his fierce attention. There was no man in the kingdom more adept at making a woman feel special and cherished. His father had been a master at it, and he’d taught Michael all his most despicable tricks.
“You’re very handsome, aren’t you?” she said.
“My mother always thought so.”
“I bet you’re very wicked too.”
“I can be.”
“I’m never wicked,” she glumly replied. “I’m boring and tedious, and I have to be perfect at all times.”
“How dreadful for you.”
“Occasionally, I wish I was brave enough to misbehave.”
“I could help you with that situation. There’s no one better at misbehavior than me.”
She grinned. “I’m sure that’s true.”
They stood together, gazing at each other and taking turns swallowing down the last drops of the champagne.
Once it was gone, she sighed and frowned, looking gloomier by the second. “I suppose I should get back. If I don’t, my future mother-in-law will send an army to search for me.”
“I’ll escort you—if you’ll dance with me when we arrive.”
“My dance card is full, but I’ll scratch someone off and put you on it instead. What is your name?”
“Michael. What’s yours?”
“Miss Mason.”
