by Allison Lane
“Mmmm,” she murmured, her nipple puckering into his palm. “Feeling naughty, I see. Well, come along.” Her arm circled his waist to hold him steady.
He staggered, pulling her closer lest he fall. Her giggles kept embarrassment at bay and made it easy to forget that he was supposed to escort Emily home.
It took an age to negotiate the stairs. He couldn’t walk straight even with Harriet’s help, zigzagging so badly he bounced off both sides. When he turned toward his room, he couldn’t straighten his feet fast enough to control his direction, finally crashing into the wall with Harriet pinned beneath him.
“Lord Charles, you are three sheets to the wind and then some,” she laughed, pushing him away – or was she pulling him closer? His senses swam, unaware of anything beyond the breasts pressed against his chest, tipped by hard, excited nipples that stabbed deep, awakening rakish instincts and calling his shaft to attention.
He tried to recall what he was doing – and with whom – but her scent filled his nose, heavily exotic, excitingly erotic, scrambling what was left of his wits. His hand cupped her cheek—
“Drunk as a lord,” she giggled, somehow caressing him from head to foot as she turned him toward his room. “Come to bed, Charles. You need to move out of sight before someone sees you.”
Sweat popped out on his brow as he doggedly staggered down the hall, her arm again steering his course. Or was it her hip? How could she touch so many places at once?
By the time he reached his room, he was too dizzy to think of anything but the black-haired witch rubbing against his side, moaning with desire. His hand was again kneading her swollen breast. She was as aroused as he, her heart pounding wildly, her breath coming in excited pants.
“Ready for bed, my lord?” she murmured seductively, kicking his door closed. Her tongue circled her lips, focusing all his attention on their rosy fullness. Her hands stripped off his coat and waistcoat as she arched against his throbbing shaft.
Heat seared every nerve. His last shred of control vanished. Grinding his groin against her, he dipped his head and plundered…
* * * *
Jacob handed his horse to a sleepy groom and staggered through Oakhaven’s front door. Exhaustion increased his pain.
Emily.
Lost.
But the hard ride had lessened his fury. How could he expect Charles to see what he himself had admitted only yesterday? Charles, who always knew his own mind, had recognized Emily’s perfection and set out to win her. Jacob, the fool, had refused.
So pistols at dawn was out.
He cursed.
Yet if he was to avoid that dawn meeting, he must relinquish his friendship with Charles. Facing Emily would unleash obsession, driving him to dishonor. Honor was all he had left.
The future loomed, bleak as a Devonshire moor.
Grief welled.
Grateful that his valet would not arrive until morning, he threw himself across his bed and let the tears fall.
* * * *
Emily was surprised when Richard escorted her home instead of Charles. She was more surprised when he accompanied her into the drawing room. He rarely came home after balls, preferring to go to his club or somewhere less reputable.
“You look radiant tonight, Em,” he said, pouring wine.
“Thank you.” She doubted it, especially after a long evening as the center of attention, but she tried to look radiant enough to satisfy him.
“I’m glad. I’ve been concerned these past weeks. You had lost your joie de vivre.”
“Not really,” she lied. “I found London subduing – something you’ve likely forgotten after living here for so many years. It seemed prudent to temper any unladylike exuberance until I was sure how it would be received.”
“I suppose,” he said skeptically. “But are you sure it wasn’t Harriet? Several people claim she criticizes you.”
She should have expected Harriet to repeat her snide little cuts to others. But at least she had no further reason to do so. Let Miss Beaumont try to control her megrims. “She’s gone,” she said quietly, crossing to the fireplace to stare at the banked coals.
“But people don’t forget.”
She shook her head. “There is no need to fret, Richard. If you must worry about something, concentrate on Mother. She is not as well as she claims.”
Her ploy worked. Richard immediately demanded details of Lady Hughes’s health, allowing Emily to relax her guard.
How much longer would she need such a guard? she wondered as she described Lady Hughes’s latest swoon. Her future was assured. She and Charles would look at houses tomorrow. Once they found one, she would be caught up in duties – staff, refurbishment, learning how to properly entertain his diplomatic and political friends…
Richard’s questions soon wearied her, so she excused herself.
He stared after her, his face twisted into concern that had nothing to do with their mother.
* * * *
Charles rolled over and groaned. His head pounded, and his mouth tasted like an ash bin, but that was nothing compared to the bad taste of the memories parading through his mind. What the devil had he done?
Words weren’t harsh enough. Nor was execution. Only hours after announcing his betrothal, he’d taken another woman to his bed.
Many in society wouldn’t consider that a problem, for marriages were often arranged and involved nothing beyond financial and dynastic contracts. But his was a love match with a friend’s sister. And instead of bedding a courtesan, he’d bedded another friend’s ward, a guest in his mother’s house. Worse, he’d violated his family’s honor. He couldn’t imagine his relatives even wanting another woman.
Which cast his love in doubt. Drunkenness was no excuse. How could he lust after Harriet instead of Emily?
He groaned, for even that question paled beside his real problem. How could he explain this disaster to Jacob? Not only had he defiled the man’s ward, he’d discovered that Harriet was no innocent.
His stomach roiled, sending him to the close stool to retch his guts out. An eternity passed before he flopped moaning on the floor.
What the devil was he going to do? Harriet wasn’t merely experienced. He’d had courtesans who weren’t as skilled. And he hadn’t forced her. Every moment remained etched on his mind, from the instant she’d halted his fall in the ballroom until she’d screamed in ecstasy as he pumped his seed into her just before dawn. She’d been as enthusiastic as he, teasing, caressing, stoking his passion until he’d been too crazed with lust to think.
She’d gloried in the encounter, riding him with abandon, using her hands, her mouth, and her body to bring him to completion three times in as many hours. Only the empty bedchambers flanking his room had kept their tryst secret.
Holding his head, he gingerly sat up.
No matter how he hated baring his crimes, Jacob needed the truth.
Guilt swamped him. He must go to a friend who was already behaving oddly and admit that he had bedded a girl they both thought was innocent. Could Jacob keep his perfidy quiet, or would he tell Richard? The Beaux had always punished their own transgressions.
God, he couldn’t bear for Richard to learn about this one. If Richard called him out for insulting his sister, he would have no recourse but to stand there and take the ball.
But even that image paled beside the bad news about Harriet. He had to inform Jacob that he’d introduced a wanton into society who could likely teach Harriette Wilson a thing or two.
His body heated as it recalled her attentions. Where the devil had she learned such things?
Jacob would be furious.
Then there was the question of Harriet. She could not stay at Inslip House. If her experience became known, it would tarnish his entire family. Sophie would lose most of her court. And while he would never mourn Ashington’s departure, he could not hurt his sister.
Charles dragged himself wearily to his feet and looked around for his clothes. The coat and waistcoat
were tangled together by the door. His cravat dangled from the washstand. His shirt—
He collected the pieces, his stomach turning over as he recalled how she’d ripped it from his body.
Swallowing hard, he found an old shirt he’d left in the wardrobe. Light stabbed painfully into his eyes. Each new detail made his behavior seem worse. This was not a confrontation he wanted. Especially now.
Jacob had seemed odd in recent days, and not just because Harriet drove him to distraction. The look in his eyes last night—
That’s why Jacob’s congratulations had sounded strained, he realized. The eyes had held fury, as if he wanted to challenge Charles to a sparring match but couldn’t because they were in a ballroom. It couldn’t be over Harriet – that had come later.
Charles must have done something to annoy him – Jacob had long exploded over trifling incidents. But what could it have been?
Not the horse he’d recently bought, but maybe—
No, that couldn’t be it. And pique that Charles hadn’t revealed his betrothal before announcing it to the world would not drive even Jacob to fury.
He set it aside. There was no dealing with Jacob’s little obsessions. He would have to deflect any anger, then risk a worse blowup over Harriet.
Sighing, he headed for the door.
Richard was the one who usually jollied Jacob out of his megrims. But not this time. He would have to face Jacob on his own.
Chapter Twelve
“I’m so furious, I could run Jacob through!” The usually insouciant Sophie paced Emily’s drawing room a week later, showing more agitation than Emily had ever seen in her.
“What’s wrong?” Emily asked calmly. For her, the emergency that had called Jacob to Oakhaven was a godsend. By the time he returned, she would no longer flinch whenever his name was mentioned.
“Harriet, of course.” Sophie abruptly sat, downing half a cup of tea before continuing. “How you survived three weeks with her, I’ll never know. That girl is worse than the most encroaching mushroom. I’ve never met anyone so willfully obnoxious or so determined to ignore anything she doesn’t like.”
“What did she do now?” She wasn’t really interested, but talking about Harriet kept her mind off Charles. Every day he grew more morose until she hardly recognized him – which boded ill for the future. She had counted on his love and humor to see them through the early days of marriage, giving her time to learn how to please him. Now she feared he regretted their betrothal.
“What hasn’t she done?” demanded Sophie crossly. “Her latest was flying into hysterics because she cannot attend the Hartleigh ball tonight – it hadn’t been an issue until she heard Mama mention that the Regent would be there. She actually accused Mama of locking her away and vowed that Jacob will be furious when he returns.”
“If he returns. The problem at Oakhaven must be serious to keep him this long.”
“Very. I asked Charles about it, but he’s heard nothing.”
“Nor has Richard.” She left it at that. Harriet received daily letters, but revealing that would raise the question of why Jacob would write to her.
The only good thing about Emily’s week was that she’d only seen Harriet twice, but last night’s tête-à-tête more than countered four days of peace.
Emily still didn’t know why the girl was so spiteful. Though she and Charles had shared Lord Wrexham’s theater box instead of the Inslips’, Harriet had sought her out during the intermission to gloat over her letters and recite the most intimate parts for Emily’s unwilling ears. Then she’d repeated what Charles had told Mr. Larkin in the park that morning – that he’d contracted a marriage of convenience out of pity for Richard’s family; Lady Hughes’s health and Lord Hughes’s financial setbacks meant they couldn’t afford another Season. If Emily didn’t wed, they would have to find her a post as a companion, for they couldn’t afford to keep her at home.
Emily didn’t want to believe it. But no matter how hard she tried to forget the spiteful words, she could not ignore that Charles had been as condemning of love as Jacob that day at Lady Sheridan’s. He hadn’t kissed her since the Inslip ball, and at Almack’s he’d claimed but a single set. If he’d lied about loving her, such coolness made sense. As did his neglect – he skipped half the balls.
She’d seen so little of him in recent days that she hardly credited Sophie’s next words.
“I’m so grateful that you are keeping Charles occupied, Emily. It’s given Lord Ashington the chance to court me properly. Charles hasn’t glowered once since Mama’s ball.”
“Is that going well?” she asked, wondering where the devil Charles had been if he’d avoided both her and Sophie.
“Very. I’m hoping for an offer quite soon. With you controlling Charles, I can accept without fearing an attack.”
“I can never influence him.”
“Don’t be so modest. The man dotes on you. Why, he cried off dinner with Lord and Lady Marchgate last night so he could escort you to the theater.”
Emily’s heart warmed. She hadn’t realized the sacrifice Charles had made for her. Dinner with a lord was the most prized invitation of all, for dinner parties were restricted to a select few. “So will Harriet stay home tonight?” she asked, returning to the original topic.
“No. She and Cousin Alice will attend the Smythe ball – a distant connection of Lord Tardale,” she added when Emily raised her brows.
“Miss Beaumont had better keep a close eye on her drinks, then. I hate to think of the mischief Harriet might cause if she puts her to sleep again.”
“Exactly, but you needn’t worry. I’ve never seen Cousin Alice so angry. She hasn’t let Harriet out of her sight since. And she makes sure a maid sleeps in Harriet’s room so she can’t slip away.”
“Good. If society discovers that she escaped her chaperon, she will be ruined.”
Sophie nodded agreement. “She doesn’t care a fig what other people think. But we know her better now, so her tricks no longer work. Nor do her megrims.”
“Is she making new demands?”
“Shopping.”
“That’s hardly new.”
“This time she wants a court gown – Mama and Papa dined at Carlton House Monday night.”
Emily groaned. “Not again. I’ve explained at least a dozen times that her breeding does not give her entrée to court. Even if she could find a lady willing to present her, the queen’s secretary would never allow her name on the list. But she won’t listen. It’s not a matter of stupidity. She simply refuses to hear anything that contradicts her desires.”
“Jacob made a grave mistake by bringing her out in town,” said Sophie, accepting another cup of tea. “I’m amazed that he didn’t wait until he’d met her before deciding to do so. It’s not like him.”
“No, it’s not.” Emily nibbled a lemon biscuit while she sought a new topic of conversation. She couldn’t disclose why he’d had no choice. His wife had to know society.
But thinking of him tied to a nobody like Harriet stabbed her to the soul. The girl might have ties to several houses, but she was still too low for an earl. He deserved so much better. If—
She shook away her thoughts. “How did Harriet hear about the Hartleigh ball? I thought Miss Beaumont was watching her.”
“For the most part. But she was speaking with Mama when Harriet awoke – about Harriet, I’m afraid. The discussion did nothing to sweeten her temper.”
“What now?”
“They think her unsuited to town. Mama wants Jacob to move her to the country as soon as he returns.”
“Why not write to him?” The question was out before she remembered that discussing Jacob was not in her best interests.
“She can’t admit failure.” Sophie shook her head. “Writing is too definitive. She would rather drop a gentle hint and let him work out the details for himself. I know,” she added when Emily shook her head. “It sounds cowardly, but what else can she do? She promised to look after the girl.
Complaining makes her seem incompetent, as though she can’t even control one wayward miss.”
“She can’t. No one can, including Jacob. She should never have left India.”
“But she did.” Sophie resumed her pacing. “And I’m worried that she will start rumors about Mama and me. Whenever she feels slighted, she finds a scapegoat and attacks.”
“What do you mean?”
“Surely you know that she blames you for her lack of invitations.”
“Of course. But your family is safe from such criticism.”
Harriet’s remarks usually focused on Emily’s inadequacies. Unfortunately, Emily couldn’t even dismiss them as exaggerated, for it was true that she lacked the poise and social instincts so obvious in Sophie. Her inadequacies left her feeling uncertain and might harm Charles. What if she—
Without warning, Jacob’s eyes floated before her, wide with shock. She’d forgotten that momentary reaction to their betrothal. He’d immediately smoothed his face, but she’d seen that flash of horror. He’d feared that Charles was tying himself to someone unworthy.
Stop this, she admonished herself. Wallowing in self-pity was useless. Charles loved her. She must see that he never regretted their marriage.
“Should I ask Richard about Harriet?” she asked Sophie at last. “He might have some ideas on how to control her. Or he might talk to Jacob about removing her from town.” The best solution was for Jacob to cloister his soon-to-be wife in the country until she turned into a respectable lady – if ever.
But Sophie was shaking her head. “Mama promised to take care of Harriet. If Richard interferes, it would seem like a cut. We will have to make the best of it for now.”
“Very well.” But if Jacob didn’t return soon, they would all suffer. It was past time for him to announce his betrothal so he could care for Harriet himself.
* * * *
Jacob dismounted in Grosvenor Square, handed the reins to his groom, then climbed wearily to his door.
A week in the country had done little to settle his mind. But at least he could maintain his usual façade with others – which was more than he could have managed a week ago.
