An Improper Proposition: An Improper Liaisons Novella
Page 5
She suddenly realized she didn’t want to go inside Shropworth House. She didn’t want to talk or dance or pretend to flirt with other men. She only wanted Blake.
“My lady?” Blake prompted, frowning slightly with no more than courteous concern.
Bianca started slightly as if awaking from a dream. Swallowing past a throat tight with longing, she somehow dredged up an almost normal sounding voice. “It’s just that…I have a headache…I think…and I should like to return home.”
“Of course, my lady.”
As Blake handed her into the carriage again, Bianca determined that she would do whatever it took to have her heart’s one true desire. Scandal be damned. She’d survived it once before. She could survive it again.
She only hoped—nay prayed—that Blake would feel the same way when she offered him another proposition.
* * *
Two hours later…
Twenty-Six Curzon Street, Mayfair, London.
Blake stood outside Lady Wells’s study-cum-library, and tried not to fiddle with his cuffs. Tried not to notice the tumultuous churning in his gut. Why on earth was his mistress summoning him into her presence at this time of night? He thought she’d retired to her rooms with a headache.
Surely she didn’t want sex with him again. Hadn’t she stipulated their liaison was to be for one night only? But then, he recalled the way she’d looked at him earlier this evening when he’d stopped her from slipping over on the wet pavement. She’d looked as if she’d wanted to kiss him. Fuck him.
Hell and damnation. His cock, started to thicken just recalling their night together. Think about something else, Blake. Anything. Count the stripes on the wall-paper above the wainscoting. The posts on the bannisters. The number of black diamond tiles on the parquetry floor. Just don’t think about the way she tasted, or the little sounds she made when she came, or how tight and wet she felt when you were pounding into her from behind.
Crap. He was cock was half-way hard already. Thank God no one was about in the main vestibule.
Giving up the fight not to fidget, Blake discretely adjusted his penis into a more comfortable position in his breeches, then heaved a great sigh. He was jumping to conclusions. Maybe sex wasn’t on Lady Well’s mind at all.
But then another, wholly terrible thought occurred to him. What if she’d heard that he’d been making discrete enquiries around town about other positions? That might explain her mystifying demeanor over the past few days—chilly and almost rebuking one moment then quietly offended the next.
He rubbed a hand down his face, then blew out a frustrated sigh. In either case, he supposed he would soon find out what she wanted.
The study door suddenly snicked open and the countess’s butler, Hadley, stepped out. The grim-faced man cast a gimlet eye over him. “Lady Wells will see you now, boy. I have no idea what about. And be sure to mind your manners. I’ve seen that roving eye of yours.”
Blake inclined his head. “Yes, sir.” If you only knew what my roving eye has already seen, Hadley.
Hadley quit the vestibule, making for the servants’ stairs. He’d probably be retiring for the night. Taking a deep breath, Blake stepped into the dimly lit study, careful to keep the door ajar—indeed, as he’d done for the entire week since returning from Lincolnshire. Even though Hadley had gone, there may still be other servants scurrying about, including the night footman, Walters. Preserving Lady Wells’s exemplary reputation was all that he had to offer her. And he would continue to do so until he left her employ, even though acting with the utmost propriety around her was killing him slowly.
“Blake.”
He scanned the large room and found her, beautiful and elegant as always, sitting in a brocade covered wingchair by the fire.
“My lady.” He bowed and then cast his gaze respectfully downwards. If he kept his gaze on her, he had no doubt that he’d start to get an erection again. It wasn’t just thinking about sex with Lady Wells that made him aroused. A glimpse of her ankle, a fleeting view of her exposed nape as she turned her head, the drifting scent of her floral perfume—even these simple, innocent things were enough to send hot blood pounding straight to his groin.
Aside from being frustrating and inconvenient, it was also bloody painful.
He had to go. The sooner the better.
Before he fell even further in love with her.
She stood and he couldn’t fail to notice that she’d changed out of her evening finery into an ensemble more akin to her usual morning dress. “Thank you for coming at such an unusual hour,” she said quietly, almost uncertainly. “There is something I need to speak to you about…that I find…cannot wait.”
Despite the fact that his gaze stayed trained on the hearth rug at her feet, he noticed that one of her hands was twisted into the white muslin skirt of her gown, crushing it. She was nervous about something.
Bloody hell. Perhaps his suspicions were right. One of the staff must have snitched on him.
He swallowed past a tight throat and raised his gaze to hers. “I’m sorry if I seem disloyal, my lady, going behind your back the way that I have. But the position I find myself in is…” He wanted to say untenable but it sounded too brusque, too reproving. It wasn’t her fault that he couldn’t deal with the situation. That he wanted her so badly it hurt. “I didn’t want to trouble you with…my concerns. Please forgive me.”
Lady Wells shook her head, frowning. “What on earth are you talking about, Blake?”
Shit. Even though it was not decorous to do so, Blake couldn’t help but run a hand down his face in exasperation. He’d made a stupid assumption about the purpose of this interview, and now he’d well and truly shot himself in the foot. There was nothing for it, he’d have to confess.
He cleared his throat. “My lady…It is difficult for me to say this. And I mean no disrespect…because you must know how highly I esteem your patronage. But I must own up to the fact that I have been searching for another situation…I thought you knew…and that is what you wanted to speak to me about.”
Lady Wells’s face blanched to the same color as the white muslin of her gown. “Oh…I had no idea…” She clasped her hands together, and then paced away from him towards the fire before spinning back around again. Her liquid brown eyes appeared huge in her pale face. “I think you had better shut and then secure the door, Blake. It seems our discussion is going to be more…complicated than I had anticipated.”
Sweet Jesus. Blake’s heart started slamming against the wall of his chest. Locking the door could only mean one thing…and he didn’t know if he could survive another encounter like the one they’d shared in Lincolnshire. His emotions were too raw. He couldn’t just have sex with her. He wanted to make love to her… forever.
But he couldn’t.
“My lady…” Blake could feel a muscle ticking in his jaw. God, he felt like he was carving up his own guts with a blunt butter knife at the thought of what he was about to say, knowing his words would hurt her. He must be mad to reject her, but he had to, for both their sakes. “My lady, as much as it pains me to deny you—and there really is no easy way to say this—I simply cannot—”
“It’s all right, Blake.” Lady Wells bit her lip then turned away from him to face the fire, but not before he saw that her beautiful brown eyes were luminous with tears. “I know that I am probably asking too much of you, to ask you to…stay in my service, let alone being with someone like me.” She glanced back at him and gave him a brittle smile. “Heavens, I’m sure you have at least a dozen pretty young things at your beck and call…I have no right…”
Blake took a step towards her, wanting to drag her into his arms at the sight of her obvious distress. How could he even think about resisting her? Or leaving her? “No, it’s not that, bella…I mean, my lady. There is no one…but you.”
Lady Wells turned towards him, frowning. The expression in her eyes was hurt. Bewildered. “Then why won’t you…? Why won’t you…shut the door?”
* * *
Relief washed through Bianca with such force, she felt giddy. Thank God. Blake didn’t want to leave her. More than that, he seemed to want her, at least in a physical sense.
But still, his revelation that he was actively looking for a position elsewhere, was more than sobering. Hearing him say that had made her heart plummet to the hearth rug beneath her very feet. And clearly it must be her fault he wanted to go—because of the difficult situation she’d pushed him into. Seeing her every day and pretending they were no more to each other than employer and servant, must be impossibly hard for him, just as it had been for her. She’d been so selfishly caught up in her own emotions, she hadn’t considered that Blake might be suffering as well.
But did that also mean he cared for her, even just a little? The thought gave her the strength to continue with what she’d set out to do.
Blake was still waiting by the door. She stepped a little closer, as carefully as she would approach a wary stag or stallion that might bolt at any moment. “Blake, I don’t want you to leave either,” she said softly. “That’s why I sent for you…to discuss the conditions of your…employment. I want to make things between us…better.” Blake watched her, his expression unreadable. But at least the telltale tick in his jaw had stopped. Encouraged, she drew another breath and edged closer. “Since Lincolnshire…things have been rather difficult, for both of us it seems. I wanted to see if we could come to some other, more workable arrangement. One that is mutually beneficial.”
Blake smiled a little and Bianca’s heart trembled with flickering hope. “Perhaps it would be best if I locked the door then,” he said. She noted his usually smooth baritone had a slight husky edge to it. It seemed Mr. Harry Blake was a little rattled also.
“Yes,” she said softly. “I think that would be a good idea.”
When he turned back to face her, she gestured for him to take a seat in the wingchair opposite her own.
Once they were seated, she caught his gaze—the light in his eyes was somewhere between guarded and interested. She prayed to God her bold, entirely mad stratagem would work.
She cleared her throat. “Now, Mr. Blake,” she said, clasping her hands in her lap, pretending to be all business. “First things first. I no longer wish you to wear that periwig. Please take it off.”
He cocked a dark eyebrow. “This is to be one of the new terms of my employment?”
“Yes,” she said surprisingly firmly, considering what she was about do. Make him do. “No periwigs. And no gloves either. Unless the occasion calls for it.”
“I see,” replied Blake evenly. “And I take it that this particular occasion does not call for gloves?”
“No, definitely not.”
Blake smiled and removed his gloves and periwig and placed them all neatly on a side table. His gaze returned to hers. Instead of shadows, there were now bright sparks in the deep emerald green of his eyes. “Are there any additional terms that I should know about, my lady?”
She tapped her chin with a finger as if considering his question, then gave him a mock frown. “Yes. I don’t want you to wear that liveried jacket any more. Aside from detesting that particular shade of navy on you, it won’t look right at all for what I have in mind.”
“As you wish.” He stood and shrugged out of his jacket, then hung it carefully over the back of his chair. “Are there any other amendments that I should make to my work attire?”
“Hmm…Yes.” Bianca waved a dismissive hand. “That gold waistcoat and cambric shirt will definitely have to go. In fact, it will all just have to go, Mr. Blake.”
“Everything, my lady?” Blake asked, his green gaze bright and sharp with arousal.
“Yes, everything.”
Blake inclined his head then proceeded to strip himself bare. His heated gaze barely left hers as he removed each item of clothing, with deliberate, tantalizing slowness. His hard, sleek muscles rippled with every movement as fabric slid away and as he turned and bent to place his waistcoat and shirt neatly over the chair. Bianca could feel her nipples tighten and her sex growing slick with desire at the glorious sight.
When he unfastened his silk breeches, she could see he was mightily aroused as well, if the size of his proudly jutting cock was anything to go by. Her lower belly throbbed with almost painful anticipation at the thought of all that thick hardness filling her.
Blake cocked an eyebrow, his expression amused. “What else would you have me do in my new role, my lady?”
“Well, Mr. Blake.” Bianca rose. She wondered if he’d assumed this encounter was only about sex again. She sauntered closer then ran her fingers down his lean hard chest and tautly ridged stomach, but paused at his navel, deliberately teasing him, wanting him to be caught in the same helpless thrall that she was in. She needed his complete surrender and she intended to have it. She repeated the teasing glide of her fingers over his torso and smiled when he groaned. “One thing is for certain,” she continued, her voice suddenly more than a little breathy. “You will definitely have to stop calling me, my lady, or Lady Wells for that matter.”
“Then what shall I call you?” He reached out and brushed his thumb over her lower lip, making her insides quiver.
She swallowed and drew a shaky breath, suddenly, unbearably nervous about how he would respond to her proposal. “You may call me, bella, or Bianca. Or a combination of the two…Or Mrs. Harry Blake.”
Blake’s eyes grew wide and he shook his head, clearly startled. “What? You can’t mean what I think you mean.”
“Oh, but I do mean it, Mr. Blake.” Bianca caught his hand and kissed his knuckles. “It seems I no longer require you to be my footman. But I most definitely, want you to be my husband. That is…if you want to be wed to me…”
“Bella.” Blake shook his head. “I…I’m speechless.” He ran a hand through his hair. “You want to marry me? Someone like me?” He caught her face between his hands. His eyes were as dark as a stormy green sea. “Why, Bianca? You are a countess and I am…I am nobody.”
Bianca placed her fingers on his lips. “You are not nobody, Harry,” she said softly. “You are the man I love with my whole heart. And I can’t bear the idea of not being with you, every single day for the rest of my life.”
Blake searched her eyes. “But what of the scandal, my bella? Society will not accept such a union. You sacrifice too much.”
Bianca shrugged. “I have lived through scandal before, my sweet Harry. And I do not consider it a sacrifice to be with the person I love. I don’t give a farthing about the ton’s opinion, or living in London, or Bath, or anywhere in Britain for that matter. My real friends will stay true. And if you didn’t already know, I have a sizeable fortune and no family to speak of. I have no siblings and my parents have both passed on. We can live anywhere in the world, anywhere at all.”
“But still…” Blake sat then pulled her onto his lap, his lips pressed to her temple.
She could feel his cock, thick and strong against her hip; she resisted the urge to stroke him, when so much between them clearly needed to be said. She contented herself with caressing one of his corded forearms instead. “You were saying…”
Blake’s lips quirked into a slight smile. “You say you have a scandalous past, my bella. Perhaps you should tell me about it, just so that I know what I may be getting myself into.”
Bianca bit her lip, hope flaring inside her just a little bit more. The fact that Blake hadn’t run screaming from the room after her proposal, together with the fact that he was holding her close, were positive signs that he must be seriously considering her offer, as insane as it sounded. And she had nothing to hide from him, not after all that they had shared.
“There’s not much to tell really,” she began, tracing a fingertip over the veins in one of his large hands. “When I was se
venteen, just before my first Season, I became hopelessly infatuated with the son of my Italian dance master; his father was training him to follow in the family’s footsteps, so to speak. His name was Roberto Cavellero and he was young and beautiful—exotically so—and he convinced me to run away with him, even though he was as poor as a church mouse. But I was young and silly and didn’t care. I thought my father would forgive me, and that perhaps he would even give us an allowance so that we could live quietly somewhere. Roberto and I got as far as Liverpool—we’d thought to wed in Scotland—but then my father caught up with us. He was not very happy…to say the least. And of course, my reputation was ruined.”
“I can well imagine,” Blake said, stroking her nape gently. “You must have been devastated.”
“For a while…” Which was an understatement. Aside from being heartbroken over losing Roberto—she’d never heard what had become of him—her parents had steadfastly turned their backs on her for several years. She was an only child and she had brought untold shame to the family name—or so her father told her just before he’d died five years ago. Both her mother and father had never forgiven her.
She took a deep breath and continued, barely aware that Blake was beginning to remove the pins from her elaborately arranged hair. “I was effectively banished from my parents’ household in London to live quietly in the country with a maiden aunt. But then my aunt’s neighbor, the Earl of Wells, took a liking to me. He was a quiet, scholarly man—twenty years older than myself—and I was flattered by his interest after being shunned for so long. He courted me, and after a year, proposed. Despite my scandalous past, Algernon really did care for me. And over time, I grew to care for him as well.”
Blake gently raked his fingers through the loosened locks of her hair. “I can understand why your young dance master and Lord Wells fell in love with you, bella, Bianca.”
Bianca’s breath caught and she lifted her gaze to meet Blake’s. His green eyes glowed with warmth as his gaze traced over her features. And he was smiling at her, softly. Tenderly.