“My life has been quite hectic these past several years.” He didn’t quite meet her gaze and made no effort to expound on the nature of this “hectic” life, which now hadn’t any room for her.
“Too busy for me?” Despite her efforts to keep things light, all the years of bottled up longing, frustration and anguish managed to seep its way into every word.
Years ago, he’d made it a point to make room for her in his life. When she was twelve, he had taught her to ride astride against Thomas’s objections months after she’d been thrown from her mare and broken her arm. And how could she forget how he’d taken the blame when she’d broken her mother’s favorite Wedgwood vase? And when her brother and Alex had taken to teasingly calling her “beanpole,” he had nicknamed her “peaches.” He’d claimed it was for her peaches and cream complexion, and for weeks after Missy hadn’t walked, she’d floated. He’d been the man of her dreams come to vivid, intoxicating life.
It had taken only one single misguided moment to ruin all of it, she thought, recalling the deafening silence that had accompanied them on their long walk back to the house…after the kiss. Silly girl.
James visibly swallowed as his gaze flitted about the room. After a restless search, his regard returned to settle on her.
“That’s not it at all,” he said, his voice strained.
“Then what is it?” With a naturalness borne of habit, Missy reached out and touched his arm. James jerked sharply back from her touch.
Even before his arrival that morning, James had known this confrontation was inevitable and had anticipated it like a murderer welcomes his punishment. She’d met him at the front entrance, a new sultry air exuding from her, no doubt affected just to tempt and torment him. As if she hadn’t already been desirable enough. She’d had a look in her eye that told him, come hell or high water, she’d trap him alone this weekend. He’d decided to make it easy for her, easily extricating himself from the company of her brother and Cartwright, who remained down at the stables. Best to get the whole thing done with, and hopefully peace of mind—if not body—would be his reward.
But as he stared into her eyes, he silently cursed himself for what he had to do. Causing Missy pain could—and should—put a man to shame. But he had no other choice but to discourage her. Nothing had changed in the years since her debut. Despite the intense pull of attraction he had for her, his future wife would not expect love or fidelity. Missy would expect all that and then the moon.
Then of course he had Armstrong to think of. Although their friendship had met with several challenges over the years, their bond had grown only stronger after each adversity. But the durability of that bond would snap as easily as thread catching on something sharp if he dared to make any overtures toward his friend’s sister, even in the name of courtship.
James had been at Armstrong’s side and matched him step for step in living up to the label of unrepentant rakehell. He could hardly blame his friend for his opposition to any match between them. In any case, Armstrong’s gratitude to Granville had blinded him to all other suitors. Not that James remotely thought of himself in that light. Quite the opposite. He was as unsuitable for Missy as a man could be.
This all would have been so much easier if he didn’t have to see her at all. Lord, if not for the insistence of Lady Armstrong, he’d have dispensed with the visits to Stoneridge Hall altogether. Anything to keep temptation out of arm’s reach.
He had to think of her and do the right thing. The gentlemanly thing. Composing his expression, he regarded her somberly. “I’m sorry, my reaction was uncalled for. But truly, I’m not avoiding you. It’s simply that in the natural course of life, our relationship was bound to change.”
“Yes, that I quite understand. What I don’t understand is why our friendship should diminish altogether.”
The note of hurt in her voice had him clearing the thickness in his throat while reminding himself again he was doing this for her. “But you must understand that we are bound to grow apart. Your thoughts and energies should be directed at finding someone suitable to marry. One of the fine gentlemen of the ton.” Though the very thought of her directing her attentions at Granville or any of those wild bucks brought him little ease. Ruthlessly, he squashed those feelings.
“Would you consider yourself a fine gentleman?” she asked softly, staring up at him, chestnut tendrils wisping each creamy cheek.
Her question hit James with the precision of a marksman’s shot. Missy in all her forward naivete had been hard enough to resist, but Missy flirting, her beautiful eyes flashing the time-old invitation, was like asking a healthy male with normal sexual desires to cease thinking of sex.
Swiftly, he turned away to gather his wits. For several seconds he occupied his hands, releasing the death grip he had on the book to return it to its place on the shelf while the intensity of her gaze singed the back of his head.
What could he say that wouldn’t cause her more hurt? “No.”
“I beg to disagree,” she countered just as softly as before.
She might not say so if she knew some of the wicked things he wanted to do to her…outside the sanctity of marriage. Moreover, she wasn’t looking for a liaison, brief or otherwise. What she wanted was ten times worse. She wanted permanency—marriage and children. What sane man would submit to tying himself down like some hapless fool? None, if he excluded his father from what surely had to be an endless list.
“It doesn’t matter what you believe.” Or what she said or did, he would remain strong.
She advanced toward him until she stood near. So close that the ruffled flounces on her yellow skirt brushed his trousered legs, and the tips of her breasts hovered only inches from his chest. Her high, firm—
He gave his head a mental shake in an effort to stop the direction of his lurid thoughts. Lusting after Armstrong’s virginal sister wasn’t only highly inappropriate, it was dangerous. No woman was worth the sacrifice of the friendship with a man as close to him as a flesh and blood brother.
“Do you know what I believe we should do?” she asked, all innocent seduction. She regarded his mouth with such stark desire, had he been tinder he would have burst into flames.
Tamping down a surge of unwanted lust, James wished the sight of her didn’t remind him just how long it had been since he himself had enjoyed the pleasures of the flesh. Something he fully intended to rectify the moment he set foot back in London.
“Nothing. We should do nothing, Missy.” Was that his voice, strangled and weak?
Life, at times, was patently unfair, he concluded, taking in the length of her slender body. She was exquisite from her jaw-dropping face, to her small, perfectly shaped breasts, and a waist he could easily span with his hands. Memories of shapely calves and ankles peeping out from beneath her riding habit flitted through his brain. And he could well imagine—had imagined—gently curving hips, and long slender thighs beneath the layers of her frothy skirt.
Blast! Why did it have to be this hard? And in every conceivable way.
Smiling as if she knew something he didn’t, she reached up with white slender fingers and stroked the taut line of his jaw. He gave an involuntary flinch and took a quick step back to dislodge her hand, his breath a harsh puff of air.
“I believe I spoiled things between us, kissing you like that. I readily admit I was young and foolish. I don’t believe I even opened my mouth, did I?”
For a moment, James couldn’t think of one sound reason not to pounce on her and take her on the floor. Then reality seeped in to the only area in his brain not listening to his cock.
“That’s enough, Missy,” he said in a stern, reprimanding voice.
“Enough of what?” she asked and ran the tip of her tongue along the lower curve of her lip, before worrying its cherry lushness in deep concentration.
James stood frozen. Mesmerized.
It required considerable effort, but he managed to drag his gaze from her mouth after a telling pause. He feared
if he didn’t remove himself from her immediate proximity, his state of arousal would grow too obvious to conceal. And her scent, a faint wisp of lilacs, had already enveloped his senses and was fogging his usually lucid mind with lust.
Crossing the red-and-black Oriental rug spread beneath a small sitting area in the corner of the dome-shaped room, James took a seat in an armchair beside the stone fireplace. He didn’t intend to abandon their discussion; she’d just hunt him down, relentless as ever. At least seated, his body’s reaction to her would be hidden from view. No need to hand deliver her the weapon to bring about his own doom.
Missy stood where he had left her, perfectly still, her expression uncertain for a moment. Then, as if finding her resolve, she marched over and took a seat on the adjacent blue damask sofa.
She stared him square in the eye. “As I was saying before, I believe my impetuousness has been the cause of our distance. But I believe I’ve come up with a solution of sorts.” Then her expression softened and her voice dropped to a near whisper. “If we were to do it one more time, you know, clear the air as it were, we could end much of the curiosity.”
If her suggestion had been issued solely to discomfit him into tongue-tied silence, she could easily claim success. “And whose curiosity are you speaking of?” he finally asked, his tone a quiet rumble.
She had the grace to look sheepish. “Well, I suppose mine.”
Proper young ladies did not proposition men. It was unseemly. And entirely too tempting. James was torn. Torn between the desire to haul her onto his lap and have her satisfy the fire raging inside his trousers, or putting her over his knee to give her the spanking she had obviously lacked as a child.
He did neither. Instead, he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Either option would likely end the same way. With her moaning beneath him.
“Missy, this is complete nonsense.” His agitation and her closeness brought him to his feet once again, to cross the length of the room and perch himself against the mahogany desk.
A lengthy silence followed as she thoughtfully regarded him.
“You would not do it for the sake of our friendship?” She rose from her seat.
James steeled himself as she advanced upon him. The cadence of her gait caused her skirt to billow in her wake, and brought to mind the gracefulness of a young gazelle. A young gazelle in heat. Without an ounce of shame, his member twitched again.
“Is it because of my brother?” She peered up at him with those gorgeous slate blue eyes.
He averted his gaze in an effort to cool his ardor, and found himself staring at the large oil painting of the late Viscount Phillip Armstrong hanging on the dark-paneled wall. He must have been in his forties when he sat for the portrait, his dark hair sprinkled with gray and fine wrinkles fanning the corners of his piercing blue eyes. What would he think of his eldest daughter’s boldness and her choice in husbands? On both counts, James hardly thought he’d be pleased.
Directing a steely gaze back to her, he said, “You’re forcing me to be more plainspoken than I would have liked. As I told you in the past, while I have great affection for you, it has never risen to the level of anything remotely romantic.” Unless thoughts of stripping her naked and feasting on her delectable flesh could be considered romantic.
“So are you not curious at all? Your feelings for me have remained the same? That of a sister?”
“That’s correct.”
He gave the response with the sort of haste only the guilty employ when facing execution. A convincing liar he was not.
“Are you quite certain?”
A look of disbelief flared in his pale blue eyes. He thought her impertinent, but if she failed, she’d seriously have to consider a proposal from someone else if she wanted to marry at all. A more despairing thought she couldn’t imagine but sadly a possibility she had to entertain.
“Truly, I’ve had quite enough of this,” he growled, and then made a move as if to brush past her, his face a formidable mask of barely contained emotion.
She made an instinctive move to stop him. Their torsos collided, the tips of her breasts flush with the solid wall of his chest. The pleasure staggered her, the contact exquisite. His hands came up, but whether to push her away or pull her near she would never know, for he seemed to catch himself, dropping them to his sides as he took a cautious step back.
“One kiss, James, how could it possibly hurt?” Missy had never known the motivating power of desperation, fear, and waning hope until that precise moment. Until her audacious dare saturated the air in something thick and fiery hot.
His expression remained impassive and only the tight tick of his jaw conveyed the tenuous hold he had on his composure. Without saying a word, he stared down at her upturned face.
At length, he asked, “And after, what then?”
“I guess that will depend on our response. Were we to enjoy ourselves and be willing to explore the possibility of pursuing a more, er, intimate friendship, then perhaps you’d be in agreement to remain in London and participate in the London Season.”
He regarded her with cold, flat eyes. “No.”
“I see,” she said, only slightly put off by his biting response. If he truly saw her in the light of a sister, surely he would have jumped at the opportunity to prove it. She didn’t think a kiss would have been too much of a hardship to accomplish that end. It is not as if they had never kissed before. Perhaps, he was afraid one kiss would not be enough.
His refusal gave her hope.
James’s fists contracted spasmodically at his side. Missy was certain at that moment he’d like nothing better than to throttle her. Well, his days of steering the course of their relationship were over. She refused to waste one more year waiting for the man she loved to realize how perfect they would be together. Something potent existed between them. She’d known it since the age of sixteen. And it was that potent, indefinable something that had kept her from losing all hope over the arid years. No, as of today she planned to assume control. Ruthless, seductive control.
“One day you will proposition the wrong man,” he bit out coldly.
“Or the right one.” Offering him a small smile, she then pivoted on her kid leather heel and quit the room.
Chapter Two
“Armstrong will have you hanged, drawn, and quartered if you so much as touch her.”
James’s head snapped in the direction of the voice of Alex Cartwright. His friend sauntered into the library and dropped into the rococo-styled winged-back chair.
“I passed Missy as she was leaving,” Cartwright elaborated, making no attempt to stifle a highly amused smile.
Sending him a disgruntled glance, James made his way back to his recently vacated chair to settle in with a weary sigh. “It’s his sister he need concern himself with. I’m certainly not the problem.”
Cartwright chuckled. “So, have you properly discouraged her? Any hope she’ll accept Granville’s suit—or that of any of the other dozen gentlemen who have requested her hand?”
James emitted a humorless laugh. “I quashed any hopes of marriage between us, which is all I can do. I can’t very well force her to accept proposals from men she has no desire to wed, even Granville.” He detested the way he uttered the man’s name as if it were an invective.
“Well as long as you remain unwed, I doubt she’ll seriously consider another.”
A fact that should have saddened James, but failed miserably in that regard. But truly, a married Missy would be far less dangerous than the one who plagued him now.
“I’ll say one thing for Missy, she’s certainly loyal and tenacious if nothing else.” Regarding him from beneath a shiny black lock of hair, Cartwright remarked, his gray eyes sparking with a speculative gleam. “I must admit, I’m surprised you aren’t the least bit tempted. Why, before her debut, the two of you were thick as thieves.”
“Yes, my mistake,” James grumbled, leaning forward to prop his forearms on his thighs.
“Mistake?�
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“Well, isn’t it obvious? I took pity on her. She was painfully thin, awkward, shy and young when we met. Lord, the poor child had just lost her father. I merely intended to bring her out a bit, put a smile back on her face. If I’d had the slightest notion a little attention would all result in this…” And they both were well aware of just what this was. Missy still infatuated. Missy still pining for him. And worse still, Missy unwed and going into her fourth Season. Lord, she shouldn’t have required a third much less a fourth.
Cartwright gave a short, dry laugh. “Well you did an admirable job. Armstrong should be thanking you instead of bemoaning the fact she believes herself in love with you.”
Believes? James had to stop the reflexive raising of his eyebrow, quickly thrusting aside his momentary affront at the word. “Regardless, she’s an innocent and his bloody sister. Each would be a disaster in and of itself, but together it’s nothing short of suicide. Anyway, she’s hardly my type,” James scoffed, flicking a dismissive hand for additional effect. The more he’d repeated it over the years, the easier the lie had rolled off his tongue.
People could say what they would about him, he didn’t particularly care, but they could never say with any veracity that he dallied with innocent, well-bred women. And he certainly wouldn’t start now, no matter what or who the provocation.
Cartwright’s brow shot up as he snorted in disbelief. “Except for the ailing and elderly—and even there I’m sure some exceptions could be made—any man who has red or, more importantly,” this he said in an arid tone, “blue blood running in their veins would snatch her up if she’d just give the word. She has everything—beauty, lineage, and money. She’s any man’s fantasy come true.”
Experiencing an odd tightening in his chest, James eyed his friend. “Even yours?” The two words felt wrenched from his throat, sounding overly harsh and accusatory to his own ears. He immediately wished he could call back the question. He wasn’t some jealous suitor, and certainly didn’t want to come across as such.
Beverley Kendall Page 2
