by Cheryl Holt
It dawned on him that he couldn’t bear to ever stop. He was that overwhelmed. Sensation was pummeling him. He could smell the soap with which she washed her hair, a whiff of perfume she’d dabbed behind her ears.
There was another scent too that was alluring and provoking. It called to his worst masculine impulses so he was anxious to keep her for his own, to never let her go. He’d never felt such wild desires, and he was starting to consider things he had no business considering. He wanted to ease her down into the grass. No, he wanted to throw her down like an animal, wanted to press her down and commit appalling deeds.
Yet he never pursued any behavior that would force a trip to the altar. He would sire no bastard children. His own despicable ancestry was proof of the consequences that could arise, and he would never wed. Well, unless he stumbled on a very rich heiress who didn’t annoy him to death, but that conclusion wasn’t likely.
He’d met plenty of heiresses, and they were all remarkably vain. They thought their fortunes made them special when, in his view, no woman was special.
He drew away, and as their lips parted there was a powerful charge in the air, as if the universe approved of what had transpired.
If he discovered later on that he’d been bewitched, he wouldn’t be surprised. Was she a sorceress? Had she cast a spell that would bind him forever? For once, it occurred to him that he might not mind being shackled, and the realization was terrifying.
“You’re as good at kissing as you are at dancing,” she said.
“I’ve had lots of practice at both.”
“You’re a libertine, aren’t you?”
“Definitely.”
“Gossip has it that libertines are risky fellows, but that they’re also the most fun.”
“You’ve heard correctly.”
“Do you think Desdemona is jealous?”
“I’m sure of it.”
“I’ll be here the entire week. Will you sneak off with me again before I depart?”
“That’s my plan.”
She stepped away, and they hovered, perched on the edge of an amazing finale or admission, but it didn’t arrive.
“I should return to the party,” she told him.
“There’s no reason to leave so soon.”
“There’s every reason.”
“Name one.”
“You are dangerous.”
“Yes, I am.”
“And I had better be careful.”
She spun and ran, and he watched her go. He was suffering from a potent urge to chase after her like a smitten fool. But he was never smitten by any female, and he never acted like a fool. What was wrong with him?
He sauntered after her, and as he neared the verandah Lady Middlebury was lurking in the shadows, furtively observing as Sarah came up from the garden and went inside.
He followed her, eager for Lady Middlebury to see him appear directly after Sarah. Sarah wanted to play games with her cousin, and he was glad to assist her in the effort. It would only increase Lady Middlebury’s interest, and in his world interest always translated into benefits. No doubt the lovely Sarah Barrington would bring him exactly what he required.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Really, Aunt Mildred. Must you?”
“Yes, Clayton, I must.”
Clayton glared at his aunt, and when he realized he was glaring he smoothed his expression to one of benign amusement.
It was a weighty chore to guide her down the proper path, but she was a woman, and it wasn’t natural for her to have her own fortune or to live independently. His deceased father had wasted his life showing her the error of her ways, but she’d refused his wise counsel.
Clayton was determined to have more success than his father had had. After all, the money she was frivolously spending was his money. Or it would be his after she passed away. It wasn’t appropriate that his grandfather had been so generous with her. The old codger had had two children and upon his death, he’d treated them equally in their inheritances.
But who had ever heard of a father evenly dividing an estate between a son and a daughter? Clayton wondered if his grandfather hadn’t been a tad senile, but Mildred claimed he’d been wracked with guilt and atoning for the sins he’d committed against her. Yet Mildred was the one who’d committed all the sins. Why should she have been rewarded for it?
“You could stay with me all summer,” he said.
“I could, Clayton,” she maddeningly replied, “but I won’t. I always travel to Bath and remain there until the end of September. I can’t abide your nagging. Please stop.”
“When you can tarry here for free, it’s such a silly expense. I’ve instituted numerous changes so you’ll be more comfortable.”
“I appreciate it.”
“You make me feel as if it was pointless to have implemented the upgrades.”
“It’s never pointless to improve your home.”
They were in the dining parlor eating breakfast together, and luckily no other guests had stumbled down. Mildred rose early so he’d dragged himself out of bed to guarantee that they would be alone and could chat.
He kept his voice casual. “I see you hired another companion.”
“Yes, Miss Barrington. I’m charmed by her. She’s a Henley. Did you know?”
“No.”
“I only just learned of the connection myself. She and Lady Middlebury are cousins.”
“Mrs. Ford sent her to you?”
“Yes. She’s proficient at providing exactly who I require.”
“Her agency is awfully pricey though, isn’t it?”
“I don’t mind paying for quality.”
“Surely—if you utilized a different company—you could save a few pounds. Would you like me to research it for you? I could find someone just as thorough who doesn’t charge an arm and a leg.”
“Let it go, Clayton.”
“It never hurts to practice economy.”
Mildred had gulped down a mouthful of tea, and his remark caused her to cough and sputter. “You plan to lecture me on thrift, Clayton? Is that it?”
“You never count your pennies, Aunt Mildred.”
“I have plenty of pennies. I don’t have to count them.”
She leveled a particularly caustic glower, and he squirmed as if he were a misbehaved toddler.
“I’m trying to help,” he insisted.
“Your sort of help isn’t necessary.” Appearing totally innocent, she asked, “By the way, there’s furniture missing from the blue bedchamber upstairs. How are your gambling debts?”
He blushed ten shades of red. “I have them completely under control. There’s no need for you to worry about them.”
“Oh, I definitely don’t worry.”
He couldn’t bear how she chided him or how he always fell into her trap. London was a very posh place, and he was a fashionable gentleman. It was difficult to keep up with all the costs. A man was expected to wager and revel. If he didn’t, he’d quickly have no friends.
She didn’t understand how hard it was to be in his position. She puttered along in her spinster’s world, subsisting on a tiny allowance and a handful of servants. Her great extravagance was her carriage and driver, but it was twenty years old.
He couldn’t live as she lived. He had to spend amounts as were equal to his status. Her money was sitting in a trust, and she had a lawyer as the trustee who parceled out the funds. Clayton could distribute an allowance as competently as that stuffy old goat, yet she refused to consider it.
If he could manage her share now, without having to wait for her demise, his pressures would be lessened substantially.
“Don’t pout, Clayton,” she said. “It’s exhausting.”
“You never listen to me,” he complained.
“I would—if you ever offered a comment worth hearing.”
“You’re determined to head to Bath.”
“Of course. How often mus
t I repeat it?”
“The street fair will be held while you’re there.”
“Yes, it will.”
“I suppose you’ll visit the gypsy fortunetellers. You’ll have your palms read and your future told.”
“Yes, I will.”
It was the limit for him. He threw down his napkin. “Honestly, Aunt Mildred, what if people find out about your obsession?”
“Why would I care if they find out?”
“It’s unseemly, superstitious rot. It has me wondering about your mental faculties.”
“My faculties are fine, and it’s merely fun and games. Don’t be such a fusspot.”
“It’s not fun or games with you,” he fumed. “Don’t pretend.”
“It makes me happy. What’s wrong with that? You should try it. Happiness can take you far in this miserable life.”
“There are more important things than being happy.”
“I can’t think of what they might be.” She pushed back her chair and stood. “Thank you for getting up to eat breakfast with me.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I realize you hate to be up so early. It’s always a pleasure to pass a few private minutes with you.”
She patted him on the shoulder and strolled out, and he stayed in his chair, seething over many perceived slights.
When she spoke, she stared him right in the eye, and she was always—well, usually—cordial and friendly, but there was often a hint of sarcasm, as if she deemed him a sluggard or a fool. She’d talked to his father the same way, and it was infuriating to tolerate such impertinence from a female family member.
She ought to know better, but then from her past misdeeds, it was clear she didn’t know better. His grandfather had instilled no moral code at all.
When she was eighteen, she’d been betrothed to a very respectable fiancé her father had chosen, but she’d eloped with a secret beau. By the time she’d been caught and dragged home, the damage had been done.
She’d been with child, and Clayton’s grandfather had had to clean up the mess. He’d plotted to have her beau vanish and never return, then he’d locked her in a facility for unwed mothers. Her son had been born and immediately jerked from her arms and put out for adoption. She’d been ruined after that and had never married.
She was besieged by memories of her lost swain and baby, and she consulted with gypsies and others, desperate to learn if they were alive, if she might cross paths with either of them before she died.
For pity’s sake, it had been thirty years, and she was still pining away. Why couldn’t she stop ruminating and move on? Her fixation was embarrassing and inappropriate—and pointless.
Didn’t she grasp he would never let her locate her boy? Clayton was her heir, and he fully expected to inherit the other half of his grandfather’s estate. His aunt could pray and cast spells and confer with mesmerists, but it was all for naught.
Should a man ever appear on Clayton’s horizon and claim to be her son, he really and truly thought he might be driven to homicide. He’d be that incensed about it.
She would travel to Bath and attend the street fair where one gypsy in particular took advantage of her. She showered the cunning oaf with money—Clayton’s money—hoping for news, and the charlatan wasn’t stupid. He recognized a pot of gold when he saw it, and he used words like soon and close by.
Mildred was like an addict in her need to be reassured, and occasionally she seemed quite mad in how fervidly she obsessed.
He decided to write to her dear friend, Winston Winthrop. He was always in Clayton’s same dire fiscal condition and anxious to earn a few pounds in any fashion he could arrange. Clayton paid him to spy on his aunt. Winston could arrive on the spur of the moment, and Mildred would be glad of it, but she’d never figured out that he was watching over her for Clayton.
Winston was her confidante so he was always the first to discover if she got out of line. Then he’d contact Clayton so Clayton could yank her to her senses.
Yes, Winston had to hurry to Bath where he would act as Mildred’s nanny. Clayton jumped up from his chair and marched to the library to pen a letter and send it out with the morning post.
* * * *
“Where are you from, Mr. Swift?”
“I’m from nowhere and everywhere.”
Nicholas meticulously assessed Mildred Farnsworth. They were in the breakfast parlor, and no other guests had come down so he had her all to himself. He’d specifically sought her out and organized his schedule so he’d catch her alone. She was very rich, and he was always attracted to wealth. She was too old for a flirtation and much too astute to believe any flattery, but that didn’t mean she might not benefit him in other ways.
He was a wastrel and ne’er-do-well, and she was the sort of female who would be charmed by the information. She’d want to assist him. She’d want to save him, and he was happy to let her. But he genuinely liked her too. She was blunt and funny, her wit sharp, her tongue barbed, and she had a keen eye for the absurd.
And he was riveted by any woman whose surname was Farnsworth. The minute he’d met Clayton he’d become intrigued. Clayton was exactly the type of dolt Nicholas liked to befriend. He was imprudent and reckless, and he wasn’t cautious with his money so it was easy to take it from him when he wasn’t looking.
He drank and wagered and shared too many personal stories so it had been a simple matter to find out that he had a spinster aunt. His birthday party had provided the perfect opportunity for an introduction.
“Everyone is from somewhere,” Miss Farnsworth said.
“I was raised in a small village in the country,” he told her, which was true.
“Who is your family?”
“I don’t have one. My father vanished when I was a baby.”
“He died?”
“I don’t know.”
She tutted with dismay. “How scandalous.”
“My mother never remarried or had any other children. She passed away years ago.”
“So you’re an orphan?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t have a slew of cousins or uncles to smooth your path?”
“No. There’s just me, wandering the world on my own.”
He studied her blue eyes, and he had to admit that his were very similar. Miss Barrington had claimed—when she’d espied him at the lake—she’d mistaken him for a Farnsworth, and it was a delicious tidbit.
“I don’t suppose you have a fortune,” Miss Farnsworth mused.
“No—to my great regret.”
“You’re a gambler?”
“Yes, and that’s my best quality.”
She snorted with amusement. “At least you’re up front about it.”
“There’s no reason to lie about my profession.”
“Do you gamble because you need the funds? Or are you addicted like so many others?”
“I’m too smart to grow addicted.”
“I imagine you’re a libertine too.”
“Of course.” He grinned. “What else would I be?”
She grinned too. “Heaven help the women who see that smile of yours. You must have them dropping at your feet.”
Sarcastically, he retorted, “It’s a huge burden to be as wonderful as I am.”
“I’ll bet it is.”
“Where is Miss Barrington?” he asked. “Isn’t she your companion? I’d have thought it was her role to hover at your side.”
“She was asleep, and I couldn’t bear to wake her. She’ll stagger in when she’s ready.”
“You’re not eating,” he said. “Aren’t you hungry? You should fill your belly before you flit off on your day’s adventures.”
“I dined with Clayton, but he nagged so ferociously it gave me indigestion. I’m having some tea to settle my stomach. He generates so much bile.”
Nicholas laughed. “You are a character, Miss Farnsworth.”
“I d
efinitely can be.”
“How was your nephew aggravating you? May I inquire as to why? Or is your family’s closet full of skeletons about which I shouldn’t pry?”
“My family’s closet is so full I can barely shut the door.”
She sipped her tea and scrutinized him over the rim of the cup. She was taking his measure, trying to figure out what drove him, but it wasn’t hard to deduce. Money drove him. Not having enough of it drove him. He had no hidden depths.
“I had one sibling,” she told him. “A brother. When my father died, he split his estate between the two of us. My brother was a spendthrift and Clayton an only child. He’d squandered much of Clayton’s inheritance before he perished. I haven’t squandered any of mine. I’ve scarcely dipped into it.”
“It doesn’t surprise me.”
“He’s my heir, and it enrages him if I use a single penny of it to pay my own expenses. He thinks of it as his money.”
“How awfully bold of him.”
“My feeling exactly.”
“I hope you live to be a hundred—just to spite him.”
“That’s my plan.”
“Why are you staring so intently? Is there something you wish to know about me? You can ask me anything. I’ll answer you.”
“What is your opinion of Miss Barrington?”
“She’s exquisite.”
“Isn’t she though? Were you aware that she’s a Henley cousin?”
“Yes, Lady Middlebury mentioned it.”
“Did she clarify how close of a cousin?”
“No.”
“Question Sarah about it. See if she’ll confide in you.”
He raised a brow. “I will—unless you’d like to apprise me yourself?”
“It’s not my secret to share.”
“I’ll pester her about it.”
“I watched the two of you dancing. You’re quite charmed by her.”
“I am charmed. She’s enticed me against my will.”
“You’re such a striking couple. Have you ever considered marrying?”
At the brazen query, he nearly swallowed his tea wrong. “Only to an heiress.”
