Only Mine

by Cheryl Holt

  “You think I’m loose.”

  He scowled. “I don’t think that.”

  “I want this to be special. I want it to be dear and amazing so—in the future—I’ll fondly recall every detail.”

  “I will make it as special as I can.”

  She studied him again then she nodded as if she’d come to a decision. “I’m glad you’ll be the one.”

  “I’m glad too.”

  But that was all the discussion he could manage. He couldn’t dawdle and chat.

  He kissed her yet again, and she eagerly participated. She was stroking her hands across his shoulders and back, touching him everywhere, each caress like a bullet shot to his loins.

  He unbuttoned his trousers, tugging them down to center his cock where it was so desperate to be. She didn’t exhibit an ounce of hesitation, never trembled or quailed or asked him to slow down. He drove her up and up the spiral of pleasure again, and as she exploded with bliss, he pushed with his hips. Once, twice, thrice and...

  He was inside her, but he’d felt her flinch, had felt the flow of a maiden’s blood. He froze and gaped at her, more stunned than he’d imagined he could ever be.

  “You were a virgin,” he murmured.

  “Yes.” There were tears in her eyes.

  “Dammit!” He tried to yank away, but she held him close.

  “It’s all right, Benjamin,” she claimed. “Truly. I picked you. I wanted it to be you.”

  “Oh, Annabel, I wasn’t worth such a gift.”

  “I thought you were. I still think it.”

  A horrid notion coursed through his mind. Was this some sort of trick? She and her brother were dubious characters—her brother in particular. Was he about to burst in and demand recompense for Benjamin ruining her? Was that their ploy?

  Yet as swiftly as the despicable possibility raced by, he shoved it away. She looked genuinely overwhelmed by what had occurred. She’d been a virgin, but she wasn’t now. The responsible thing to do, the gentlemanly thing, would have been to withdraw, but he couldn’t.

  He started flexing, but he was too aroused. In a quick instant, his seed flooded out in a fiery rush. Like an inexperienced swain swivving for the first time, he plunged in all the way and with a satisfied groan, he emptied himself against her womb.

  It was reckless. It was mad. It was lethally negligent, but just that second he simply felt a careless wave of contentment.

  They rocked to the end, and he collapsed onto her as if all his bones had melted. He was spent, thoroughly and completely bowled over by her and what they’d perpetrated.

  I love this girl...

  The bizarre prospect flitted by, and it sounded so right, so perfect, but he shook his head to chase it away.

  He didn’t love Annabel Fenwick. He couldn’t! He was bound elsewhere, and even if he wasn’t he didn’t believe in love and didn’t believe he could fall in love. It was the stuff of fairytales.

  He’d heard that virgins were distraught after their initial sexual encounter, but he was quite undone himself. He’d suspected that fornicating with her would be astonishing, but he’d had no idea. Absurdly, it seemed as if he hadn’t truly lived until that moment.

  He slid away from her, hating how she winced as their bodies separated. He rolled onto his side, and she rolled too so they were nose to nose, their legs and feet tangled. Already, his cock was stirring, keen to have her again. He thought he might always want her, that he might never have enough.

  “You should have told me,” he complained.

  “I did tell you, probably a hundred times! You wouldn’t listen.”

  “But why me? Why would you agree?”

  “It was temporary insanity.”

  “Has it passed?” he asked.

  “No! I doubt I’ll ever get my fill of you.”

  “I was thinking the same.”

  She candidly assessed him then said, “You didn’t pull out. There at the end, you spilled yourself inside me.”

  “I didn’t plan on it. You simply provoke me beyond my limit.”

  “What if we’ve created a babe?”

  “We haven’t. It rarely happens from doing it just once.”

  Why would he voice such a spectacular lie? His regiment was full of soldiers who insisted they’d tumbled a girl once but had promptly found themselves married a few weeks later. Annabel was no innocent miss, and clearly she recognized the falsehood for what it was.

  “What if this is one of the rare occasions?” she asked. “I could swear you’re about to travel to London for your wedding.”

  The mention of his wedding clenched his innards, but he ignored it. He would not ponder Veronica or duty or obligation. He was with Annabel, and he would keep her in his bed for as long as he could manage it. He would pretend the rest of the world didn’t exist.

  “Hush.” He placed a finger on her lips. “Let’s not court trouble.”

  “Easy for you to say.”

  “We’ll deal with it if it becomes an issue.”

  She scoffed with disgust. “Guess what I’ve realized about myself.”

  “What?”

  “I’m as gullible as any female in the kingdom. A handsome, dashing libertine smiled in my direction, and I lifted my skirt without hesitating.”

  “Are you sorry?”

  “No! That’s what is so ridiculous. I’m not sorry a bit.”

  “Did you like it? Are you glad you tried it?”

  “Absolutely, you cad.”

  He laughed and stretched out on his back, drawing her over him so her ear was over his heart. For a lengthy interval, they were silent, lost in contemplation.

  “You make me happy,” he ultimately said. “You make everything better.”

  Gad, what was wrong with him? If he didn’t shut his mouth, he would be spewing poetry.

  “You make me happy too,” she admitted.

  “Now that we’ve been intimate, will you tell me about your family?”

  “No.”

  “Vixen.”

  “Bounder.”

  “I’d like to do it again,” he said, “but you’ve so thoroughly exhausted me that I’m paralyzed.”

  “I like lying here with you like this. No one ever explained to me about the quiet interlude afterward.”

  “Who explained any of it to you?”

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  “You didn’t seem surprised.”

  “Nothing ever surprises me,” she claimed.

  “Ooh, that sounds like a challenge. I’ll have to invent some devious love games for us to play—if I can ever move again.”

  She chuckled. “You poor, decrepit codger. How will you survive me?”

  “I have no idea.”

  He was worn out, more content but more depleted than he’d ever been after a sexual escapade. He felt as if he’d poured every ounce of his soul into her, and she now possessed a large part of who he was.

  How could he get it back? Why would he want to? Perhaps he should let her keep it so he’d always be with her no matter where his life road took him.

  As his eyes drifted closed, as he dozed off with her in his arms, he noticed he was smiling. Fancy that.

  NNABEL SAT ON THE front steps of Lyndon Hall. Benjamin’s coach was in the drive, the outriders ready to depart. The two horses she’d borrowed the previous day were tied to the back.

  Benjamin was still inside, taking a last look at some of the rooms and conferring with the gardener about the chores that would be required. After the night they’d spent together, she’d been too self-conscious to dawdle next to him so she’d come outside to wait.

  She stared across the overgrown park, at the untended orchards that lined the lane out to the road.

  As a child trailing after her nomadic father, she’d stayed at plenty of country estates so she knew how beautiful they could be. She had expensive tastes and, as the granddaughter of Lord Roxbury, opulence was in her blood. She liked fine things. She liked to dr
ess in fine clothes, eat the best foods, and drink the most delicious wines.

  Many hurts had been inflicted at Lyndon Hall, and she could picture herself soothing them. She could see herself slowly bringing it all back to life which forced her to realize how insane she’d been to immerse herself in Benjamin’s world.

  She would never be the one to stand with him as he renovated the property. That job would belong to his wife, and she was desperately jealous of Veronica Mason.

  During their hours of salacious activity, he’d been extremely negligent with her, had spilled himself in her womb so catastrophe was lurking on her horizon. What if she was increasing? What then?

  He was about to head to London to be installed as Lord Lyndon and to marry his betrothed. There was no spot for Annabel in the scenario, and she was trying to figure out what she’d like to have happen.

  Her father had always had mistresses—usually French ones—who’d had a very different opinion of passion and sexual affairs. They’d viewed lewd conduct as being perfectly normal and hadn’t believed that a girl should be sheltered from facts so Annabel had been taught many details that no decent British female would ever deem it appropriate to learn.

  But in all those ribald discussions, they hadn’t explained how disturbed she would be the next morning. She felt so thoroughly bonded to him that her heart actually ached with gladness, but he could never be hers, and all her pondering had her in a dreadful state.

  Her thoughts were scattered, her body pained as if she’d been pummeled with clubs. She was overwrought and overly excited and constantly on the verge of weeping.

  She couldn’t imagine climbing into the coach and being stuck with him in the small, enclosed space. What would they talk about?

  She’d assumed she could blithely fornicate with him, that she could treat the episode like a science experiment, that she could proceed without consequence, but she’d been wrong.

  Though it was absurd, she was terrified she might be madly in love with him now, but she hadn’t ever envisioned herself as the sort of woman who would fall in love. She’d witnessed too many occasions where it led to ruin. She absolutely couldn’t love Benjamin Grey.

  She had to wrap her mind around the new status of their relationship, and it would involve significant solitary contemplation.

  “Time and distance, Annabel,” she murmured to herself. “That’s what you need. Time and distance.”

  She pushed herself off the step and went over to one of the outriders.

  “Would you help me to mount?” she asked as she untied a horse.

  “Well...ah...yes,” he hesitantly replied.

  “The fresh air is invigorating,” she said. “I’m going to ride for a bit.”

  “Very good, Miss.”

  “Tell Captain Grey that I left. I’ll wait in the first village for him to catch up with me.” Of course she had no intention of waiting for him. “Also tell him, if we don’t cross paths I’ll meet him at Grey Manor.”

  She lifted her foot, and he pitched her into the saddle then she grinned and waved at all of them as if she wasn’t spurning the Captain by traipsing off without him. She cantered away, anxious to be as far down the road as possible before he walked out and discovered she’d run away like a coward.

  She had no desire to return to Grey Manor immediately, and she decided to visit Harry. She’d promised to stop by, and he’d be wondering where she was.

  She relaxed and let the horse take her away. To her surprise, the tears that had threatened all morning suddenly surged to the surface and dripped down her cheeks, but that was all right. There was no one about to see how pitifully maudlin she’d become.

  “YOU SHOULDN’T HAVE DONE it.”

  “I had to. Don’t nag.”

  Peggy glared at Lydia. They’d begun their lives together as servant and employer, but Peggy had gradually moved up to the role of companion. Yet more and more often, she was struggling to remember why she kept on with Lydia.

  She frequently reflected on the woman she’d been in the past. She was certain she’d been happy, had liked to dance and sing and play the harpsichord.

  At a young age, she’d hitched her wagon to Lydia’s mother, then Lydia, and now they were bound at the hip. Peggy had no family and no money. She only had Lydia, and all of Lydia’s support was supplied by Mr. Boswell. Lydia relied on him for the roof over their heads and the food in their bellies, and Peggy relied on Lydia.

  Over the years, she’d turned into a version of Lydia. She was morose and miserable, and just as Lydia would accept any humiliation in order to receive the stipend Mr. Boswell sent, Peggy would accept any humiliation too.

  There had to be options for a loyal, destitute person such as herself. There had to be, but if they were out there on her horizon, she couldn’t locate them.

  “It’s so bloody quiet without him,” she griped.

  “Don’t curse, Peggy,” Lydia primly scolded. “I don’t like it.”

  “What shouldn’t I curse? Are you afraid Mr. Boswell might hear me?”

  “The servants could tattle, and we’d be in trouble.”

  They were sewing in the front parlor, the interminably long afternoon ticking by at a snail’s pace. The silence was so extreme that the sole noise was the sound of their needles poking through the fabric.

  “It wouldn’t have killed you to let him stay,” she said. They’d plowed this field a thousand times since Mr. Boswell had taken Harry, but Peggy couldn’t shut up.

  “No, it wouldn’t have killed me,” Lydia agreed, “but Mr. Boswell sets the rules for all of us. If you’re weary of obeying them, you’re welcome to find another post.”

  It was the cudgel Lydia had always held over Peggy. Where would Peggy go? They both knew she had no choice but to remain.

  Peggy studied Lydia, and she couldn’t help but recall Lydia’s mother who’d also been dour and despondent. The only exciting thing that had ever happened in her mother’s life had been her meeting dashing, urbane Cecil Fenwick.

  She’d had a fat dowry, and he’d frittered it away in just a few months. Matters had tumbled downhill from there. Lydia’s mother had perished, and Lydia had grown up disapproving of her carefree, irresponsible sire. She’d snagged Milton Boswell, hoping he’d provide what Cecil had lacked, but Milton could never have saved Lydia from herself.

  And of course, Milton had had the audacity to die, and he’d left Lydia at the mercy of her in-laws. Occasionally, Peggy suspected Lydia was cursed, and if she was, what did that indicate about Peggy?

  A horse’s hooves were clopping up the lane, and Peggy went to the window.

  “It’s your sister,” she told Lydia. “I suppose she’s come to see Harry.”

  “Is she alone?” Lydia asked. “Captain Grey isn’t with her, is he?”

  Peggy whipped around. “Don’t you mean Lord Lyndon?”

  They exchanged a glower then Lydia said, “Is he with her?”

  “No.”

  Lydia sighed with aggravation. “I’ll handle this.”

  “Yes, please handle it.” Peggy oozed sarcasm. “I can’t wait to hear you explain why Harry’s gone.”

  “She’ll be upset so I’ll talk to her in the drive. You stay inside.”

  “Don’t boss me, Lydia. You can’t.”

  Lydia huffed out, and Peggy followed her. Miss Annabel had just reined in. As always, she was pretty as a picture, smiling, a hint of mischief in her merry blue eyes.

  “Hello, Lydia,” she said.

  “Annabel.”

  “And hello to you as well, Miss Peggy.”

  “Hello, Miss Annabel.”

  “I’m sorry I’m late. I told Harry I’d be here this morning, but I was delayed.”

  Annabel glanced toward the house, expecting Harry to come bounding out, and Peggy wondered why Annabel bothered with Lydia. It would serve Lydia right if Annabel cut all ties.

  “He’s not here, Annabel,” Lydia said.

  Annabel scowled. “Where is he?
”

  “His grandfather took him back to school.”

  There was a pause where Annabel scrutinized her sister then her shoulders slumped. “Oh, Lydia, you wrote to him? How could you? Harry wasn’t hurting anybody. What’s wrong with you? Why must you be so horrid?”

  Lydia was trembling slightly, and Peggy knew it was from indignation, but she also knew that Lydia was a bit afraid of her sister. She craved her sister’s approval and was nervous when she pushed Annabel into a fury.

  Annabel was all that Lydia wasn’t: beautiful, smart, brave. She would never have let Mr. Boswell grind her down. She would never have let Mr. Boswell implement rules for Harry with which she disagreed.

  “I won’t debate the situation with you, Annabel,” Lydia said. “Mr. Boswell is Harry’s grandfather.”

  “You’re his mother!” Annabel sharply said.

  Lydia ignored the comment. “He’s in charge of Harry, not me. He decides how Harry is to carry on. He’s at school where he belongs, and it’s better that he’s there.”

  “Better for whom?” Annabel hotly inquired.

  “You’re not to visit him,” Lydia said. “Mr. Boswell has spoken to the headmaster and you won’t be allowed on the premises. So don’t press the issue. You’ll only embarrass yourself, and you’ll get me into trouble with my in-laws.”

  “Heaven forbid that your in-laws be disturbed.”

  “My life is not my own, Annabel, and I’m not you. I can’t live like you do. I’ve made a home for myself, and I intend to keep it.”

  “Even if you’re killing your son a little at a time?”

  “Harry is fine.”

  “How would you know?”

  Annabel jerked on the horse’s reins and raced off. Lydia stood, frozen in her spot, until her sister disappeared around the bend in the road.

  “Well, that was unpleasant,” she muttered.

  She spun and went in, but Peggy dawdled forever, her temper spiking. She yearned to march down the road after Annabel. She yearned to walk and walk and continue walking until she found a good place, a safe place, where she would be welcome and happy again.

  But there was no place like that for her.

  There was just Lydia and Mr. Boswell and the small house he chose to provide.