Tempting a Proper Lady

by Debra Mullins

  “We knew it would at some point.” She strolled about the room, touching a table here, a glass there, trying not to shatter as pain crept through her with enough force to splinter her bones. “We are adults. We must do what is necessary. What is right.”

  “To hell with what is right.” He swept her into his arms, and she didn’t have the strength to even pretend to resist. “You are all I can think about and I would make love to you for weeks until you begged me to stop.”

  His passion stirred her own. “I would never beg you to stop,” she breathed.

  “I want you, Priscilla Burke. If this is our last afternoon together, let’s bloody well make it the memory of a lifetime.”

  “Oh, God, yes.” She bit her lip, trying to control the sobs welling up within her, but she lost the battle. Tears trickled down her cheeks. “She is telling Raventhorpe today.”

  “She hasn’t told me anything yet, therefore I don’t know anything about it.” He cupped her face in his hands. “Come to bed with me, Priscilla, and let me take you to places you never imagined.”

  “Yes.” She jerked at the ribbons to her bonnet. “This is all we have. Our last time together.”

  “And we’ll make it memorable.” He helped her with her bonnet, then tossed it across the room. Both of them tore at her clothing, all the buttons and petticoats and layers, leaving a trail down the hall as they made their way to the bedroom. All the time he kissed her, murmuring words of affection, of praise, against her mouth. By the time they reached the bedroom, she was nearly naked.

  He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her, clad only in her undergarments and stockings, between his spread legs. He snagged the strings of her corset and set about unlacing it as she stroked her hands through his hair.

  Such a woman. Samuel tossed the corset aside and filled his hands with her breasts. God, he loved touching her. Abundant curves formed a woman’s body that begged for his passion and invited him to play. That bee-stung mouth—he had plans for that today. She was a grown woman, not some too slim, immaculate virgin who squealed every time he touched her. No, this was a partner who would arouse him as much as he did her, who would tease him and torment him until they both exploded.

  He fell back on the bed, dragging her with him. She laughed, that husky sound that drove him wild, and wiggled against him as she struggled to pull her chemise over her head. Finally her bare breasts crushed against his chest. He cupped her bottom through her drawers and rubbed his hard cock against her through their clothes. Sounds of pleasure erupted from her throat, and she pushed against his chest, forcing him down on his back while she straddled him.

  He grinned, and she laughed, throwing back her head like a madwoman. Her hair was starting to droop, and she speared her hands through the sedate bun, sending pins flying as she shook her head, her hair exploding around her like some kind of wild mermaid.

  God damn, but he loved her.

  The thought took him by surprise, shaking him to the core. Love? How many times had he said he didn’t think he was able to love?

  She jerked at his shirt, and he allowed her to remove it. Then she tugged at the fastenings of his trousers. The fumbling of her fingers on the fastenings sent his lust soaring like a cannon shot. He tried to help her, and between the two of them they managed to open or remove enough of his clothing that his cock sprang free.

  She pounced on it, making a growling noise that reminded him of a cat with a bowl of cream. She toyed with him, stroking her fingers along the length with a maddening slowness that made his brain slow down.

  He loved her. Why wouldn’t he? This woman who had braved disinheritance for love, who had survived when any other woman would have crumbled. This sensual creature who relished sex as much as any man and seemed to have no inhibitions, no fears. Of course he loved her. Of course.

  She dropped a playful kiss on the blunt tip of his cock, and while rockets went off inside his head, she sat up, braced herself on his chest, and sank down on him, taking him inside her through the slit in her drawers.

  He grabbed her hips and held on as he thrust upward. Her warm body welcomed him, caressing the length of him with sweet, quivering flesh. He closed his eyes, hungry to spill his seed inside her, to claim her. To make her his.

  She made a little cry, and he opened his eyes. She threw her head back, her hair a wild tangle around her slender body as she rode him, her plump breasts bouncing with her rhythm. He reached up, grabbed a hank of her hair, and pulled her forward. She tumbled onto his chest, catching herself, her dark eyes wide and dewy with desire. For a long moment he held her there, the connection between them taut like a vibrating harp string. Then he wrapped her hair around his hand and pulled her mouth to his, greedy to brand her as his, and rolled over so she was beneath him.

  “Samuel.”

  His name on her lips drugged him like wine, and he grabbed her wrists, stretching her arms above her hand. “Say it again.”

  “Samuel.” She made a sound in her throat as he thrust hard. “Samuel.”

  “Yes. Say it.” He worked his flesh inside her, driving both of them higher and higher. All the while he stared into her eyes, willing her to understand, to know, that she was his. Always. His.

  “Samuel!” She arched her hips.

  “Take me,” he demanded, then crushed his mouth to hers. “Take my love, damn it.”

  Her eyes flew open. She gasped just as he buried himself deep, arching his back as his climax exploded over him. Too late. He started to pull away, tried to save her. But she curled her legs around his waist and would not let him go.

  “Mine.” She gripped him with surprisingly strong limbs. “Stay.”

  “God help us.” He stayed, settled as the last tremors of his climax shook him. “I shouldn’t have—”

  “Shhh.” She leaned up and kissed his mouth. “No regrets.”

  “But—”

  She kissed him again, softly. “This is all we have now, and I want to take all of it.”

  He let out a long breath. “Wanton wench.”

  “Yes.”

  “All right. We won’t speak of it now.” He took her lower lip with his teeth and tugged, then let it go. “Are you hungry?”

  “Only for you.”

  He chuckled. “Dear God, what have I done?”

  “Brought me to life.” She stretched beneath him, her eyes slitted like a cat’s, her lips curved in a knowing smile. “And I cannot thank you enough.”

  “I bet you can.”

  Her laughter echoed through the cottage as he rolled over and started all over again.

  She loved him.

  There was no doubt in her mind as, hours later, she lay in the bed with Samuel half on top of her, his face buried in her neck as gentle snores shook his body. She toyed with his hair, staring up at the ceiling and thinking about what came next.

  This afternoon was all they had. Today or tomorrow, Virgil Bailey would summon Samuel and offer to let him officially court Annabelle.

  Had Samuel wanted this all along? He claimed that the courtship would be simply a delaying tactic until Annabelle was safe. That their lessons would stop only temporarily, until Raventhorpe was permanently out of the picture. What if he could not resist the temptation of marrying the woman he had fought so hard to come home to?

  No, she could not believe that of him.

  He was exactly the type of man she had always dreamed of, a man who could share with her all the pleasures of the flesh and yet still be counted upon when times were bad. A man who would do anything to win his lady.

  A man who kept his word.

  But both of them knew the truth. They could not continue their relationship if Samuel had to court Annabelle. It was the right thing to do—even if it broke her heart.

  Samuel groaned in his sleep and turned his head. His eyes drifted open, and a sleepy smile curved his lips when he saw her. “Hello.”

  “Hello.” She almost choked on the word as she reached up to stroke his hair.


  “Did I fall asleep?”

  “For a little while.”

  He frowned. “I must be heavy.”

  “No—”

  He shifted onto his back, taking the delicious weight from her, but then he dragged her against him, tucking her head on his shoulder. She curved against him as if she’d been made for him. “There. Much better.”

  “I was fine.”

  “I’m sure you were.” He tipped up her face with a finger beneath her chin and pressed a kiss to her mouth. “You are the finest woman I have ever met.”

  Her heart fluttered in her chest. “You do not need to flatter me, Samuel. I am already in your bed.”

  “That’s not what I was trying to do.” He traced her cheek with his finger. “I was speaking from the heart.”

  “Oh.” Her insides melted. Such lovely words. But she wanted more. And that determination to make sure she did things right the second time gave her the strength to resist his sweet words.

  Sweet words that did not include the one she most wanted to hear. Love.

  She sat up, her insides churning. What they had was so close to what she had dreamed, and yet…“We must be realistic. Things are changing.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Annabelle.”

  “Blast it, I told you I don’t want Annabelle.”

  “I know. But you are committed to saving her. We both are, which is why we hatched this mad scheme to begin with—so you could keep her safe from Raventhorpe. And I helped you do it. I helped you drive a wedge between them, but now she wants you to court her…” She paused, struggling with a control that was rapidly slipping from her grasp. “I am worried I may end up losing you.”

  “Come here, Cilla.” He sat up and tried to pull her into his arms, but she shrugged him off.

  “We were fooling ourselves. Or at least I was fooling myself.” She jerked away the covers and stumbled from the bed, tripping over one of the shoes she had discarded earlier. “I thought I could have an affair with you and walk away whole. But I cannot. I will never forget you, and any man who comes after you will pale in comparison.” Naked, she began collecting her clothes, which were scattered around the room.

  “I don’t want to hear about other men, damn it.” He got out of bed, shoving the covers to the floor. “There won’t be any other men.”

  “There have to be. I must find a husband, Samuel. And you are not capable of giving me what I want. What I need.” She found her drawers and pulled them on, tying them swiftly.

  “Love.” He fisted his hands, the mere word setting him on edge.

  “I have told you how important that is to me. The longer you pretend otherwise, the harder it will be to walk away from each other.” She bent down to grab her chemise from the floor. “And if you start courting Annabelle, our affair must end. We agreed on that. What if you decide you want to wed her after all?”

  He jerked her up with his hands around her upper arms, making her drop the garment. “Blast it, Cilla, that won’t happen.”

  She gave a violent shrug, shaking him loose, then snatched up her chemise again. “You don’t know that. We have no choice, Samuel. We must end this affair now if we are to live with ourselves.”

  “God damn it!” He ripped a hand through his hair. “This is why I didn’t let myself believe in love all those years. It hurts too damned much.”

  “Please accept my apologies for making you feel some sort of emotion!” She jerked the chemise over her head and tugged it down around her hips. “Had you continued the way you were, you would have grown into a bitter old man.”

  “I might have been better off.” He scowled as she retrieved her corset. “Don’t go yet. John won’t be here for another hour.”

  She stilled and looked at him. “Perhaps this is better. A clean break.”

  “I’m not ready.”

  The words sounded as if they’d been ripped from him against his will, and she couldn’t stop the tender smile that curved her mouth. “Neither of us are. But it must be done, whether now or an hour from now. The day will not stop simply because we will it to.”

  “God damn it!”

  She could tell from the frustration on his face that he’d accepted that she meant what she said, though he didn’t like it. He stood in the center of the room, stark naked, his hands clenching and unclenching into fists as he watched her collect and put on her garments. With each piece of clothing she donned, her insides steadied, as if the attire represented the walls she was building inside herself. Finally he stalked across the room and found his trousers, jerking them on.

  She finished dressing, but then ran into a problem with her hairpins. They’d scattered all over the room, so she began looking for them on the bed first. Just the memory of his hands raking through her hair, strewing the pins all over the place, made her heart twist. By the time she had finished searching the bedclothes, he stood waiting with a handful of pins he had found on the floor. She scooped them out of his hand, her fingers tingling just from touching him, and went to the bureau to look in the mirror.

  “I don’t suppose you have a hairbrush—”

  A crash came from the other room. Samuel jerked to attention, striding to his coat hanging from a hook on the wall and digging a pistol out of the large pocket. He waved her toward the corner of the room as he took a position beside the door, attention focused outward.

  “Samuel!” someone shouted.

  He lowered the pistol. “It’s John.” He gave her a quick glance as if to assure himself that she was decent, then opened the door. “In here, John. What’s wrong?”

  The bearded coachman appeared in the doorway. He glanced at Cilla, gave a nod, then turned his attention back to Samuel. “Raventhorpe has kidnapped Annabelle.”

  “What!” Cilla cried.

  “That bastard!” Samuel’s eyes narrowed. “What happened?”

  “Bailey invited Raventhorpe to come so Annabelle could end the engagement. The fool left them alone so she could tell him herself.”

  Samuel shook his head. “Bailey always put too much store in the honor of noblemen. So he took her then?”

  “Mrs. Bailey saw Raventhorpe carrying off Annabelle from the parlor window. Of course those bloody servants are all loyal to him, so none of them stopped him. Mrs. Bailey ran after them and tripped on the stairs. She fell, and then it was all bedlam because she hit her head and injured her leg. Probably broke it.”

  “Oh, my heavens!” Cilla splayed a hand over her bosom. “Is she all right?”

  “I don’t know. Bailey sent a lad around to the inn to tell you to come,” John said to Samuel. “I think he wants you to go after Annabelle.”

  “Absolutely. I trust you brought the rifle?”

  “And your other pistol. He looks to have headed north. Most probably—”

  “Gretna Green. That scum. Does he really think she will wed him after all that?”

  John nodded. “Annabelle delights in her new social status, and being trapped overnight with a man not her husband is enough to ruin her.”

  “Doesn’t seem like that would matter to Annabelle. No one ever made her do anything she didn’t want to,” Samuel said.

  “John has a point,” Cilla said. “Her reputation would matter to Annabelle, but not for herself. For her mother. She wants Dolly to be able to go about in society.”

  “God damn it. So she might marry him to save her mother some grief.”

  “Yes.”

  “We’ll just have to make sure they don’t stay somewhere overnight.” Samuel handed his pistol to John. “Take this while I get dressed. I’ll be ready in a minute.”

  “And what about Mrs. Burke?”

  Samuel glanced at Cilla. The regret in his eyes echoed her own. “We can’t leave you here. I guess you have to come with us. We’ll make up some story.”

  “All right. Let me finish getting ready.” She walked over to the mirror and began coiling her long hair into her familiar style. She watched Samuel
in the mirror as he searched out his clothing. So handsome. So strong and sure. Everything a woman could want in a man.

  A pang of longing shook her. Their arrangement had come to an end. Never again would she see the inside of this little cottage where she had learned so much. About men. About herself.

  The adventure truly had ended.

  Chapter 20

  Annabelle awoke in a carriage. She could tell from the movement and the scent of leather and horses. Her head ached, and her tongue felt made of cotton. She groaned, opening her eyes.

  “Ah, you are awake.” Richard smiled from the seat across from her.

  She realized she was lying down and pushed herself into a sitting position, the blanket that covered her slipping to the floor. Her head spun for a moment, but then settled. “What are you doing? What happened to me?”

  “You do not remember? You tried to refuse my suit, my dear. I could not allow that to happen, so I had to take desperate measures.”

  She frowned. “I just remember talking to you, and then you took my arm…”

  A pinprick, she remembered. Then dizziness.

  “What did you do?” She studied his face, so familiar, and yet the look in his eyes that of a stranger. “You did something to me, didn’t you?”

  “Just gave you a little something to keep you quiet so I could get you out of the house. I had the feeling you would not come with me willingly.”

  “You drugged me? Then kidnapped me?” She jerked aside the curtain to reveal the countryside whipping by, then glanced back at him. “Why?”

  “Why? Because you were about to jilt me for that lowborn American! Luckily I still have friends among the servants in your household, and they warned me.” He smiled, and the expression chilled her. “So I came prepared.”

  “To kidnap me and hold me for ransom? Are you crazy?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Ransom has nothing to do with it. We’re going to Scotland. I own an estate there, and you’re going to marry me.”

  “You really are crazy if you think that’s going to happen!”