He was exactly as she would expect a rake to look, his hair a little wild, dark and gleaming in the candlelight, coat and waistcoat removed, his unrestrained shirt flowing in full and sumptuous folds over his powerful torso and unbuttoned to display the dark shadow of hair on his chest. The width of his shoulders and upper body was enhanced by the tight breeches that encased his thighs. He looked tall, powerful, masculine. Irresistible. No wonder Ellen had fallen in love with him.
Phyllida marched forward and looked all around the bed, expecting to find the girl hiding in the shadows on the floor.
‘Where is she?’ she demanded angrily. ‘Where is Ellen?’
‘She is not in here.’
Phyllida glared at him. ‘Do not lie to me, I heard her—’
He reached out and caught her arm, pulling her closer. At the same time she heard another stifled giggle.
‘There,’ he ground out, turning her towards the window. ‘There is your precious stepdaughter.’
Phyllida stared. Moonlight flooded the gardens and illuminated two pale figures. Julia and Ellen were dancing in the fountain. Richard’s hands tightened on her shoulders.
‘If you had walked on a little further you would have seen that there are backstairs at the end of this passage, leading to a garden door.’
‘Oh. I thought...I thought...’
‘I know exactly what you thought,’ he flashed, his words harsh and bitter, ‘The very worst of me!’
The shock of relief had not quenched Phyllida’s outrage. It surged up, relentless, like fat on a fire, fuelled even more by her own feelings of guilt and remorse. The cool, reasonable façade she had kept up for so long shattered and she turned upon Richard like a wildcat.
‘And why not? Have you not given me reason to think the worst of you? “Let battle commence”, you said.’
‘And have I not shown you since then that I did not mean it?’
She gave a savage laugh. ‘A few weeks of good behaviour!’
Impatiently he dragged her away from the window and she found herself pinned against the heavily carved bedpost.
‘Hush! Do you want to draw their attention to us? Remember where you are, madam!’
She remembered.
She was in Richard Arrandale’s bedroom, something she had dreamed of, wished for, but had thought could never happen. But he had not enticed Ellen there and the hot blue fire sparking in his eyes was not only anger, but passion, too. And desire. She saw it, recognised it and felt it stir her already heated blood. He wanted her. She had put her hands against his chest to steady herself. Now she slid them upwards, wound them around his neck as she reached up and kissed him. There was no reasoning, just an overwhelming need to taste him, to blot out the aching loneliness that was life without him.
His response was immediate. He crushed her to him and returned her kiss savagely. She parted her lips, giving him back kiss for kiss, revelling in the hot, sensuous tangling of her tongue with his. He drew back a little and she nipped his lip. He groaned against her mouth, sending her dizzied senses flying still higher. His hands moved to her shoulders and he pushed at their silk covering. Quickly she shrugged it off and the wrap fell to the floor with a whisper. Richard’s mouth shifted away from her lips to kiss her jaw, moving on to the tender spot beneath her chin and then down towards her breast, leaving a burning trail in its wake.
The ribbon ties of her nightrail snapped easily beneath his fingers and he cupped one breast in his hand. Phyllida gasped as his thumb circled the hard nub, but the pleasure only increased when his mouth covered its twin. Her head went back and she moaned softly. Her heart was thundering, making it hard to breathe, but just as she thought she might swoon Richard gathered her up, swept her into his arms and laid her gently on the bed.
She cupped his face, feeling the rough stubble against her palms. He kissed her, his hands fumbling with the fastening of his breeches. His urgency excited her. During her marriage the couplings with her husband had been slow, measured and unexciting. Now she felt a breathless, frantic need to have Richard’s skin press against her own. She sat up and clutched at his shirt, dragging it up and over his head. She paused to gaze in wonder at his naked chest, the muscled contours shadowed and exaggerated by the single candle’s flame. Richard moved away from her to shed his breeches and stockings and impatiently she threw off her nightrail.
Richard stood beside the bed, looking down at Phyllida. She had fallen back against the covers, her creamy breasts rising and falling with every ragged breath. Her naked body lay open and inviting, her eyes dark, molten with desire. He was aroused, taut as a wire and his jaw clenched when she reached out and ran her fingers over his erection. By sheer force of will he held off from throwing himself upon her and sating his lust there and then. He wanted to satisfy the yearning he sensed in her. To bind her to him for ever. He stretched himself beside her, cradled her cheek as he moved closer for another long, lingering kiss. Her body arched against him as he ran his fingers down her side, dipping into the valley of her waist, caressing the swell of her hips, revelling in the silky smoothness of her skin.
Fierce exultation ran through Phyllida. She felt glorious, all-powerful, her body thrummed with wild anticipation. His fingers were moving with slow deliberation over her body and she trembled as they edged towards her core. Then, even as his tongue flickered between her parted lips she felt his fingers slip inside her. Instantly her body reacted, arching, clenching. She felt as if she was flying, soaring high and free. She broke away from his kiss, moaning. The pleasure was almost unbearable, but those gentle fingers continued their inexorable rhythm. Her body was no longer hers to command, it moved against his hand. Her skin tingled, heat flooded her in a shimmering wave yet still he did not stop. The surge that had been mounting inside her suddenly broke. She bucked, cried out. Richard stifled her scream with his mouth and at the same time he moved over her and she felt the ultimate triumph as he entered her, matching her bucking rhythm as he drove her to the edge of oblivion and beyond.
* * *
Phyllida opened her eyes. It was still dark but she heard the crow of a cockerel, so dawn must be approaching. The birth of a new day, and she felt reborn, too. She had shared such pleasure with Richard as had only been hinted at in her marriage bed. It was all so new and exciting. Frightening. She needed to think. Silently she slipped from the bed.
* * *
Richard stirred and his hand reached out, only to find the bed beside him was empty and cold. He opened his eyes to the grey light of the breaking dawn. Phyllida was standing by the open window, slightly to one side, in the shadows, where she could look out without being seen. Desire surged through him at the sight of her. She had put on her wrap but it did little to disguise the curve of her body, the firm breasts, tiny waist and those long, long legs that had wrapped around him as he drove into her, pleasuring her, he hoped, as much as himself. His body began to stir again and he shifted restlessly. She turned then, as if aware that he was awake, but instead of the serene smile he expected her face was pale, the eyes solemn.
‘What is it?’ He sat up. ‘What is wrong?’
To his relief the shadowed look fled.
‘Nothing. That is, Ellen—’
‘You need not worry about Ellen. She is safe enough. As soon as I saw her and Julia Wakefield in the gardens last night I sent word to Sophia’s dresser. Duffy will have scolded them back indoors when she thought it was time. She is quite used to doing so, you know. She often had to chase after Lady Cassandra.’
Phyllida’s smile was a little forced.
‘I fear I have not acted as befits a chaperon.’
‘You are too young to be a chaperon. I have always thought so.’ He put out his hand. ‘Come back to bed.’
‘I should go.’ But she was moving towards him.
‘Not yet.’ He pulled her on to the
bed beside him, wrapping his arms around her. She melted against him, raising her face for his kiss and returning it with a passion. He murmured against her hair, ‘It is still early, no one is yet abroad.’
She laughed, a soft, throaty sound that made his heart race, but she struggled in his arms and immediately he let her go.
‘The servants will be rising soon and I dare not risk being seen. Think of the scandal.’
He cared nothing for that, but he knew it mattered very much to her.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Leave me, if you must.’
She nodded but as she moved away from him he caught her hand, pressing a kiss into the palm. Looking up, he saw the glow in her eyes, the shy smile that curved her lips but still she disengaged herself and glided away from him. He propped himself on one elbow and watched as she slipped out of the door, closing it almost silently behind her.
Richard rolled onto his back and put his hands behind his head, smiling. She had felt so good in his arms, so right. He could not wait to have her there again, to awake that smouldering desire and make her cry out for him once more, but he would not rush her. The trust she had in him was fragile and he must take care not to break it. The feeling of well-being intensified: he could afford to be patient, they had the rest of their lives to enjoy each other. Richard blinked, realising that it was not a brief affair that he envisaged, but a lifelong commitment. Marriage.
It was a shock, but he suddenly knew that he wanted to abandon his wayward life, to forgo the bustle of London and spend more time at Brookthorn, looking after his property. A shaky laugh escaped him.
‘By God you are ready to settle down.’
But only if Phyllida was beside him, only if he could wake up every morning to find her in his bed, her hair spread over the pillow in wild abandon and those greeny-grey eyes dark with desire. With love. He needed her to love him as he loved her.
Richard turned and pulled the bedcovers over him, but it was not the cold of the morning air that made him shiver, it was the tiniest whisper of doubt that Phyllida might not accept his proposal. She was no lightskirt, no wanton woman, and their lovemaking last night would have meant a great deal to her, but he could not forget the shadow he had seen in her eyes. She was a woman of principle, and it was just possible that his reputation was too much for her. The thought that he might lose her, even now, chilled him to the bone. He contemplated going after her immediately, asking her now if she would marry him, but already there were faint sounds from below. The house was stirring. He must wait, do the thing properly with no breath of scandal.
* * *
He heard a faint scratching at the door and his heart leaped when he thought Phyllida had returned, but the sudden elation evaporated quickly enough as he heard his valet’s soft voice asking if he was awake.
‘Come in, Fritt.’
‘I beg your pardon for disturbing you so early, sir, but Collins has sent word, asking if you could go to the stables.’ Immediately Richard was on the alert and he was reaching for his clothes as the valet continued. ‘They have apprehended an intruder in the grounds, sir.’
* * *
Richard made his way to the stable block, turning without hesitation towards the buildings furthest from the house, where no horses had been kept for many years. Inside he found Collins and two of the men he had hired to patrol the grounds. They were standing watch over a man dressed in rough country garb. He was seated on a stool, his hands bound behind his back.
‘Found this fellow prowling in the gardens,’ the groom explained. ‘He tried telling us he worked on the estate, but we’d made ourselves acquainted with all her ladyship’s people soon as we got here, so we knew that weren’t the case.’
Richard stared hard at the man.
‘Well, who are you and what are you doing here?’
When his question elicited nothing more than a vicious glare Richard shrugged. ‘Very well. Collins, take him to the magistrate, and take along a brace of pheasant.’
‘I ain’t no poacher!’
The groom grunted with satisfaction. ‘Then if you don’t want to hang you’d better tell us what you was doing prowling around the gardens, my lad.’
The fellow licked his lips and looked nervously from the groom to Richard.
‘I ain’t done nothing wrong.’
‘You are Sir Charles Urmston’s man, are you not?’ barked Richard.
‘What if I am?’
‘And what were you doing in the grounds?’ Richard’s eyes narrowed. ‘Would you prefer to take your chances with the magistrate? If you are lucky you may get off with transportation—’
‘Sir Charles brought me here.’
The reply was swift, and once he started talking the words came tumbling out.
‘We followed you from Bath. He’s been dropping me off at the edge of the park each morning. He said I was to look out for a yellow-haired chit. He’d pointed her out to me in Bath, so’s I’d know who she was. Sir Charles couldn’t come into the grounds himself, you might have recognised him, but he said if anyone saw me I was to say I was one of the dowager’s tenants.’
‘And what were you to do when you found the lady?’
‘I was to take her to him. He’s waiting in his carriage on the Salisbury Road.’
* * *
Richard strode out across the park, making directly for the point where the main road to Salisbury ran close to the palings. He was relieved Urmston had not set his servant to prowl the grounds during the night. He might well have evaded Richard’s guards and come across the girls playing in the fountain, and if Ellen had been snatched away in the dark it would have been almost impossible to find her. His mouth tightened as he thought of Phyllida’s distress if that had happened. Well, today was Michaelmas. If he could keep the girl safe until midnight then the damned wager would be over.
Not that that would be the end of it. Ellen Tatham was still an heiress and a beautiful one at that. He had no doubt she would be pursued by any number of men and it would fall to her stepmother to look after her until she could be safely married off. A rueful grin tugged at his mouth. It would seem he was not only prepared to take on a wife, but a full-grown daughter, too. Before he had come to Bath the idea would have appalled him, now he found himself looking forward to it.
His amusement died away as he neared the edge of the park. The trees and bushes grew thickly here, providing for the most part a dense barrier between the grounds and the road, but there was a definite track meandering through the bushes. No doubt this was the point used by the daily staff to make their way to and from the lodge. Soon he could see the highway, and a carriage drawn up at the roadside. Richard approached cautiously. A coachman and guard were sitting up on the box but a caped figure stood behind the carriage, pacing restlessly to and fro. Screened by the bushes, Richard moved along and stepped out into the road just as the man was at the furthest point from the carriage.
‘What the—?’
‘Good day to you, Sir Charles.’
Urmston’s face registered surprise, anger and disappointment before he recollected himself.
‘Arrandale. I, um...’
‘You are waiting for your henchman to bring Ellen Tatham to you,’ suggested Richard.
‘How perceptive of you.’ Urmston’s thin lips curved into an unpleasant smile. ‘I take it you have foiled my little plan.’
‘I have. I suspected you might try something like this. Your man is even now on his way to Salisbury in the soil cart. You may collect him from there.’
Urmston’s face darkened.
‘Devil take you, Arrandale, you have stolen the march on us all.’
‘It would seem so,’ replied Richard, unmoved.
‘You have the heiress here all right and tight and mean to have her for yourself. Very clever, using Lady Hune to
befriend the heiress and her stepmother.’
‘It was certainly an advantage.’
‘You are a cunning devil, Arrandale. I suppose you plan to seduce the wench under Lady Phyllida’s nose. Or have you already done so?’
Richard’s lip curled. Let him think what he liked, the truth would be out soon enough, but he could not resist one final twist of the knife.
‘You shall hear all about it tomorrow when I return to Bath to collect my reward.’ He grinned at the thought: not ten thousand pounds, but Phyllida’s hand in marriage. Sir Charles was glaring at him, chewing his lip in frustration. Richard laughed. ‘Admit yourself beaten, Urmston. Off you go to Salisbury to find your lackey, and leave me to enjoy my victory.’
Sir Charles stood for a moment, undecided, then with a final, vicious, ‘Damn you Arrandale!’ he turned on his heel and strode to his carriage, barking orders to his coachman.
Richard watched the carriage drive off. Another hurdle overcome, but he would keep his men on the alert, just in case. It would not do to let down his guard now, not when everything was working out so well. Smiling, he turned to retrace his steps, only to find an outraged figure on the road behind him.
‘Phyllida!’
Chapter Thirteen
‘You—you rogue! You scoundrel.’
‘Oh, lord, you were not meant to hear any of that.’
‘Obviously not.’ She was pale and shaking with anger. ‘You have been making May game of me.’
‘No!’ Richard ran after her as she turned on her heel and almost ran back into the park grounds. ‘Phyllida, listen to me.’
He touched her arm but she shook him off.
‘I have listened to you far too much. Never again.’
‘I have no intention of harming Ellen. You know that.’
She stopped and fixed him with a look of burning reproach.
‘I know nothing of the kind. You and your...your sort, you will stop at nothing for your pleasures, I am well aware of that. I should never have trusted you, but I was weak, and as guilty as you last night.’
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