Her head felt as though a vise tightened around it. She huddled deeper into her robe and closed her eyes.
Right now, Perth was somewhere in her house and she would have to confront him. She knew him well enough to know he would not leave until she did so. But she did not think she could bring herself to discuss Mathias horsewhipping him. That was something she was not yet prepared to do.
It was something Mathias would have to answer to, if it were true. And, painful as the knowledge about her brother was, she had no reason to believe that Perth would lie to her about something like that.
She rubbed her hand across her eyes. She still had to face Perth.
Thirty minutes later and fully clothed, she entered the drawing room with as much dignity as her anger with Perth and disillusionment with her brother would allow. Perth should be made to understand that he could not follow her and barge into not just her room, but her life. There was nothing between them. She would not let there be, even if it meant tearing her heart out.
Perth watched her cross the room, her chin high and knew she was more than angry with him. Dressed in a slate grey kerseymere gown that covered her from neck to wrist, she should have been drab. Instead, she glowed. She took his breath away.
He took a step towards her.
‘Do not come near me,’ she ordered, putting up a hand to ward him off. ‘You have no right coming here, and especially barging into my private rooms as you did.’ Her voice trembled with fury. ‘I want you gone immediately.’
Knowing it would infuriate her more, he sat in one of her overstuffed chairs and crossed one muddy Hessian boot over his thigh. ‘In my own good time. I believe we have something to discuss.’
The hectic flush left her face, leaving her looking like the finest porcelain and just as fragile. ‘You are in error. We have nothing to discuss.’
The urge to go to her and offer her his name and his protection was great. He resisted. She must marry him on his terms for her conditions were beyond his emotional ability.
He attacked. ‘You carry my child. Admit it.’
If he had thought her pale before, he was mistaken. Her skin was nearly as white as her hair. She swayed and put a hand on the back of a nearby chair.
‘Ridiculous.’
But her voice was tremulous and her eyes would not meet his. ‘You lie,’ he said softly, rising and pacing towards her.
She started to back away, but his hand shot forward and gripped her wrist. Slowly, inexorably, he drew her to him.
‘You carry my child and you left London hoping to keep me from finding out.’
Her eyes widened and now she did meet him glare for glare. ‘I left London at the same time of year that I always do. You had nothing to do with it.’
‘You would sound more defiant if your voice did not shake.’ He shifted his hands so that they gripped her shoulders. ‘Everything you do is my business.’
‘No.’
‘Ah, but yes,’ he murmured, sliding one hand along her shoulder to the back of her neck. ‘Everything.’
He felt her heart beat and the rise and fall of her bosom. Desire, hot and powerful, rushed painfully through his body. Caution and restraint disappeared. He shifted once more, fitting her to him, breast to chest, loin to loin and thigh to thigh.
A soft sigh escaped her parted lips. He took advantage of her vulnerability. His mouth descended and captured hers. Longing flooded his senses. He wanted her, only her.
He sensed her surrender instants before her fingers tangled in his hair. It had always been this way between them. He vowed it always would be.
He drew back. The need to watch her, to see the emotions play over her face as he loved her, were too great to resist. He took one breast in his hand and gently squeezed. Her mouth puckered and a soft sigh escaped her lips. His loins tightened into an ache that demanded release.
He groaned and leaned down to take her other breast into his mouth. Even through the thick wool, he felt her nipple harden. Her hands tangled in his hair and held him tight. Elation surged through him.
He suckled her while both hands slid around her waist to the multitude of tiny buttons that marched down her back. He undid them with skill gained from much practice. Only when he could feel the fine cotton of her chemise did he raise his head and then only long enough to peel the gown down her shoulders to bare her bosom to his gaze and his mouth.
Her nipples pointed rosy and swollen through the gossamer cloth. One thumb tweaked a peak while his tongue laved the other. Her soft sighs drove him on.
With fingers as experienced with chemise ties as they were with buttons, he undid the satin bows and slipped the thin cotton down her chest and waist so that she stood fully exposed to his hungry gaze. The firelight played along her skin like a lover’s touch, his touch.
He buried his face in the valley between her breasts and breathed deeply of her. Lilac and woman. Going to his knees, he edged her gown and chemise lower until her belly lay naked beneath his cheek. With a touch light as a feather, he tongued her belly button before slipping lower. Her fingers gripped his hair and held him.
‘Please,’ she gasped.
‘Relax,’ he murmured, marvelling at her response to him. Never before had a woman been as wanton with him as she was. And never before had he striven so hard to please a woman. But he found that her ache was his ache, her pleasure his pleasure.
He pulled her clothing the rest of the way over her hips and down her flanks. She stood before him in all her heartbreaking beauty.
Her nearly silver hair hung around her like a silken veil. The light of the candles turned her skin to ivory and left dark hollows that beckoned his hands, his mouth and his lust. She was everything he wanted, everything he needed. She was his.
A groan ripped from his throat as he slid to his haunches and urged her to let him touch her more intimately.
Not until she gasped and trembled in his arms did he stop and then only so that he could slide his face back up to her stomach and rest his cheek against her still-spasming flesh.
More gently than he had ever done before, he ran the tips of his fingers along the soft swell of her belly. He trailed kisses over her flesh. She carried his child and the wonder of it was overwhelming.
He rose to his feet and gathered her close. ‘You are mine,’ he whispered. ‘Now and always.’
She opened eyes still heavy from his lovemaking and gazed up at him as though she had not fully heard his words. A smile tugged at her kiss-stung lips.
This was how he wanted to see her. Always. Drunk from his lovemaking, quiescent in his arms.
He ran his hands possessively down her side and along the curve of her hip and thigh then back up to cup one heavy breast. ‘Soon this will suckle our child,’ he murmured, awed by the thought.
He stroked the still-erect nipple before bending and taking her swollen flesh into his mouth. Her soft gasps excited him. His loins exploded as he lost control. Surprise caught him and ripped him apart. He gasped.
He had not even entered her and still she wrung him dry of everything he had to give her.
Shaking with a release he had never before experienced, he gathered her into his arms and took her to the couch where he lay her down. With fingers that were no longer sure, he undid the buttons of his pantaloons and freed his flesh. He parted her legs and entered her completely.
She shuddered against him. Her head fell back and her eyes closed. He watched her with shuttered eyes, determined to make her cry out for him. He pulled her closer and began a languid, slow movement that was torture but worth every long, tremulous moment as he saw her begin to shake and then heard a long, low moan of pleasure rip from her.
Driven by more than his own passion, he increased the pace until she screamed and her nails dug viciously into the skin at his shoulders. Still he plunged and still she begged for more. He gave her everything he had and more. He died in her arms and was reborn again, more powerful and more potent. And still he gave her more.
Perth pushed up on one elbow and looked down at her love-flushed skin. ‘I have a special licence,’ he murmured, running his palm over the slight mound of her abdomen. ‘We can be married immediately. Our child needs a name.’
He was so involved in touching her that it was several minutes before he realised she lay still and unresponsive under his caresses. She caught his wrist in her hand and held him still.
‘I am not marrying you.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I know I am weak where you are concerned, but I am not so weak as to enter a union with you that we will both regret. Not even for the child I am carrying.’
She pushed away from him and rolled to her side and got up with her back to him. She gathered her garments from the floor and pulled the dress over her head.
‘Lillith,’ he said, ‘look at me.’
‘No.’ She kept her back to him. ‘Not until you are clothed and we can speak like adults and not rutting beasts.’
She took a deep, heaving sigh and he was sure she cried. He rose and went to her, totally unconcerned about his nakedness. He put his arms around her and turned her to face him. He had been right.
‘Don’t cry, Lillith. Everything will be all right. I promise you.’ He wiped her tears with his fingertips.
She closed her eyes and pushed against him. ‘Don’t touch me. Don’t come near me. Get dressed.’ Her voice rose. ‘I will not marry for convenience again.’ She opened her eyes and stared hard at him. ‘Do you understand? I will not.’
Her continued rejection of him and everything he offered began to simmer deep within him. ‘Do you think ours will be a marriage of convenience after the passion we just shared?’
He stepped away and grabbed up his clothes. He yanked on his pantaloons and twisted the buttons closed. Hands on hips, he glared at her.
‘Passion,’ she spat. ‘Passion and nothing more.’
‘It is better than what you had with de Lisle.’ He leaned forward until his face was nearly in hers. ‘Or do you intend to lie to me and tell me he made you feel the way I just did?’
‘Why? Why must you make this so difficult?’ she demanded, her voice nearly a cry. ‘I will not marry you. That is final.’
He stepped back and made her a curt, mocking bow. ‘I hear you. But what of our child? Will you condemn it to a life of poverty or, worse yet, a father who is not its true father?’ His voice turned cruel. ‘I know women of the ton regularly have their lovers’ bastards and expect their husbands to acknowledge the child as theirs. Some men even allow the child to inherit their titles and honours. Is that what you want?’
‘No. And I don’t have to settle for that. I am wealthy in my own right.’ Her mouth twisted bitterly. ‘My marriage to de Lisle insured that.’
‘Did it?’ he asked softly. ‘Are you sure?’
He saw doubt flit across her face before she closed off the possibility. ‘Yes, I am absolutely sure. Mathias is taking care of my estate. De Lisle left it that way. My brother would never pauper me.’
Perth laughed harshly. ‘Wentworth? With his inability to stay away from the gaming tables?’ He paced close to her. ‘Do you know that he lost ten thousand pounds to me a couple of weeks ago? Do you know that he paid me with a draft on your bank?’
She flinched. ‘He has money of his own and he keeps it in the Bank of England just as I do.’
‘But are you positively sure?’ He pushed her with his words and with the closeness of his body. He had to get through to her. ‘What if you are wrong and your brother has spent your funds? What if you are no longer a wealthy widow? Then what will become of our child?’ He saw fear enter her expressive eyes. ‘Can you afford to continue refusing me when you are not sure?’
‘I am sure,’ she countered, arms crossed protectively across her stomach. ‘Yes, I am.’ She turned away and moved to the fire where she held her hand out to the embers.
He followed her. ‘Check things before you send me away again. A couple of days. That is all it will take. I will wait here.’ She flinched. ‘Not in your home,’ he assured her. ‘I will stay at the inn in the village.’
She said nothing, just stared at the smouldering orange coals. She started shivering. The urge to pull her close was strong. He resisted. This was the moment she had to decide.
She angled around, her face a mask of anger and uncertainty. ‘I will do as you suggest. But I am sure you are wrong.’
He did not smile. He knew what she would find.
Chapter Thirteen
Lillith made a conscious effort to appear calm as she was ushered into the office of her man of business. Mr Joseph Sinclair had been de Lisle’s solicitor and was the solicitor for the current Lord de Lisle. De Lisle had left Lillith’s inheritance under Mathias’s control with the stipulation that the money be managed by Mr Sinclair. Until now, Lillith had not called on Mr Sinclair, trusting her brother or the solicitor to contact her if there was need.
Mr Sinclair rose when Lillith entered. He was a tall, cadaverous man with sallow skin and wire spectacles. He was a solemn man, his shoulders stooped from carrying the burden of many an aristocrat’s financial future. He was very good at what he did if allowed to do as he saw best.
‘Lady de Lisle, please have a seat. I am glad you have come to see me.’ The pinched V between his bushy grey eyebrows deepened. ‘I have sent several letters asking to arrange a meeting with you.’
Her brows rose and the smile she had worn trailed off. ‘Oh. I—’ She stopped. Why had she never received those letters? Immediately she thought of Mathias. But, no, that was ridiculous. ‘I never received your letters. They must have gone astray.’ The solicitor said nothing. The worry she had berated herself for feeling intensified. ‘Thank you for receiving me on such short notice.’
Sinclair frowned and his long, thin fingers shuffled papers as though he needed an outlet for nerves. But he was not a nervous man. ‘I am glad to see you, Lady de Lisle. I did not arrive on your doorstep because Mr Wentworth said he was keeping you informed of everything and that if you needed my help, you would contact me.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I now realise that I should have gone around Mr Wentworth.’
Mathias had never said a word to her about her monies or that Mr Sinclair was concerned. Her nerves tightened in a very unpleasant fashion. ‘Why have you wanted to see me?’
He answered her gravely. ‘I prepared these papers for your brother so that he could deliver them to you.’ He shrugged his thin shoulders and handed her the sheaf of papers he had been fiddling with.
Lillith took the packet and set it carefully in her lap, noting as she did that her fingers shook. This did not feel good. ‘Perhaps you would tell me what these papers say. It would make things quicker, and I can ask for clarification immediately without having to wait for another appointment.’
He took a deep breath. ‘There is no soft or kind way to say this, and believe me I have tried many times. My lady, you are nearly broke.’ He paused and the silence grew strained. ‘As Mr Wentworth knows.’
She gasped, a tiny painful sound. ‘He was right,’ she breathed. Despair, regret at her brother’s profligacy and fury all combined to make her stomach heave dangerously. She swallowed hard, determined not to give into the urge to cry. ‘Is everything gone? De Lisle left me very well off and that was only just over a year ago.’
Sinclair’s brown eyes held a hint of pity. ‘You have the use of your Dower House until you remarry or die. The house in London was left to you in perpetuity, but Mr Wentworth has taken out a lien on it to pay some of his…more pressing bills.’ He spread his hands helplessly. ‘That is one of several times I sent you a letter. I wanted to make sure that you knew what was happening.’
‘Gambling debts,’ Lillith interjected bitterly. ‘And your letters never reached me.’ Her voice chilled. ‘How many have you sent?’
‘Three,’ he said.
She shut her eye
s to block the pity in his. Somehow his notes had gone astray. Or been intercepted. How could Mathias have done that?
Finally, when she was sure she would not crumble, she opened her eyes. Her voice was even calm. ‘Please continue.’
‘The money in the Funds has been gone for the last six months.’ He shrugged and raised his hands palm up in a gesture of defeat. ‘I am sorry it is so bad.’
The pain of betrayal constricted her chest. Once more it seemed that Mathias had used her for his own means without any regard for her best interests. Hurt warred with love. He was all she had left.
‘I should have tried harder to reach you,’ the solicitor continued. ‘You might have been able to talk to Mr Wentworth.’
She shook her head sadly. ‘No, I do not think so.’
He bowed his head in acknowledgement of her words. It was normal for a female to have her nearest male relation handle all matters of finance. He had not been surprised by her deceased husband’s directive, and would have been very surprised had she managed her monies herself. But he had been saddened when he saw where Mr Wentworth was headed. The man had taken a sizeable fortune and in the space of fifteen months decimated it.
‘Can I sell the London house to get funds to live? If I stay in the Dower House I can get along quite frugally.’
Again he had to tell her bad news. ‘You will most definitely need to sell it, but the monies realised must go to paying the lien. If there is any left, and I doubt that there will be much, I can invest it in the Funds and hopefully realize you a very modest stipend.’
She looked down at her clenched hands, not wanting him to see the despair in her eyes. No wonder Mathias had been urging her to remarry. He needed another fortune to squander, and to him she was as good as money in the Bank of England. A sigh of despair escaped her before she pulled herself up short. This was neither the time nor the place to wallow in self-pity.
The Rogue's Seduction Page 15
