Dangerous Lord, Seductive Mistress

by Mary Brendan

  ‘I wrote to you four times. I don’t believe all those letters went astray.’

  ‘Neither do I,’ Deborah answered in a bitter whisper whilst twisting her wrist in his fingers.

  ‘You still think I’m lying?’ His tone was flat. ‘I think I don’t know you. I think I never did know you, and thus I can’t trust you.’ She jerked her arm to liberate it, a sob audible as he tightened his fingers enough to make her cease straining.

  ‘Are you frightened of me, Debbie?’ ‘No…’

  The tiny hesitation betrayed her and made his mouth wryly slant. ‘You weren’t at eighteen. Then I think I was more frightened of you. But I admit I probably knew no more of your true character than you say you knew of mine.’

  She pivoted slowly and he mimicked the movement so they stood face to face.

  ‘You were frightened of me?’ Incredulity was in her voice and in the misty blue eyes that scoured his features. ‘How could I have made you so?’

  ‘In a way you terrified me. You were too beautiful, too popular, too well endowed in every way.’ A searing golden gaze flowed over her silk-sheathed figure. ‘I was constantly scared of losing you to someone more worthy of you than I was. At one point, when I was truly insane, I imagined it might be a good thing if you went ahead and married Marcus. At least I knew he’d care for you, give you everything you deserved to have.’

  Abruptly he released her wrist and thrust his hands into his pockets, for he itched to haul her against him and mould her soft curves against his body. But she could put fire in his loins without them touching at all. The heat and heaviness in his breeches was mockingly insistent despite him now knowing for certain what he long had suspected: she believed him a fraud and a liar. Not once in his life had he acted deceitfully when with her, or lied to her. He’d nothing to apologise for apart from allowing an odious brother’s troubles to drive them apart.

  But why should he care now what she thought of him? He’d been loyal and true to her for eighteen months whilst waiting for a kind word to arrive from England sealed with the Cleveland crest. Finally he’d come to accept that he’d deprived himself of female company for no reason. He’d come to accept too, a while later, that there was no more need to abandon his brother to the hellish life into which he’d sunk and rush back home. He’d had a letter from Marcus; from it he’d learnt that Deborah had just got engaged to an army officer. It was slipped in amongst other news as though Marcus had known how distraught he’d be to find out he’d lost her and had tried to soften the blow. Yet his friend had understood him well enough to know he’d sooner know than not.

  Randolph was tempted to believe Deborah might have lied to him. Had she really not received even one of his letters, sent over that first year? Or was she now ashamed to admit that out of sight had been out of mind and she’d not cared enough to set pen to paper and reply to a note that begged her to wait for him?

  When he’d set sail for the Indies Deborah Cleveland had been a vivacious débutante surrounded by fawning gallants. She’d lost her father and her fortune and no doubt some of the fortune hunters had disappeared too at the same time. But she’d fallen for her dragoon and would now have been Edmund’s wife but for the fellow’s death. She was a woman now…as she’d made a point of impressing on him. Well, he was in need of a woman; he most definitely had a use for her. But perhaps now, with her mother asleep upstairs, was not the right time to seduce her, he reminded himself with sour self-mockery.

  ‘Go to bed,’ he ordered hoarsely. ‘I’ll have another drink and take myself off.’

  Deborah suddenly felt quite ashamed. Perhaps he was embarrassed to admit his infatuation with her had quickly cooled, but nevertheless that was all a long time ago. Harping on what might have been seven years ago was sure to irritate him. They were different people now. She knew her appearance and attitude were more mature, and he was certainly different: harder in looks and character.

  But he had acted as their knight errant again this very evening and gone out of his way to bring them safely home. Her mother felt always more secure in his presence and for that alone Deborah felt grateful. As he plunged down again in the armchair, temperamentally shoving a long leg towards the fire and a hand to the empty glass on the table, she went to him. Carefully she placed the brandy decanter close by.

  ‘Please, take what you want.’

  He laughed, a coarse sound that was little more than a rumble in his throat. Golden eyes slanted upwards as hers darted ruefully down and were immediately captured. She realised that it had been most unwise to come again so near to him whilst his mood was volatile, but try as she might to retreat, her feet felt leaden and seemed to root her to the spot.

  He raised a hand slowly, taunting her with its leisurely approach and her chance to escape it. Long dark fingers spread on a pale, fragile wrist and, when still she remained quiescent, manacled it. A deft rotation of his hand had her off balance and tumbling sideways on to his lap.

  Finally Deborah was jerked from her trance. Her shrill protest was lost beneath the swift plunge of his mouth on hers. She struggled furiously to free herself; the humiliation he’d inflicted on her once before whilst angry was still painfully fresh in her mind. But despite the imprisoning hand at the back of her head maintaining contact between them there was no savage demand present as his mouth started to move on hers. A persuasive pressure was moulding her lips to his and the slide of his tongue against the clamped line of her lips was not selfish, but seductive. A thumb spread to stroke against her nape with mesmerising softness. When it shifted to caress the sensitive spot behind an ear, she instinctively swayed her head to allow the subtle touch.

  It was enough of an encouragement for Randolph to deepen the kiss. Hard fingers cupped her satiny jaw, skilfully manoeuvring it apart so he could tease the plump softness of her inner lips before penetrating further to torment with his tongue.

  Deborah sensed the outrage that had inflamed her transforming to something more sensual and betraying. An ache low in her belly was shooting icy fire to her breasts, making them feel tender and weighty. A hand had wound into her golden chignon, loosening it, and she felt a wave of glossy hair sway to bathe her bare shoulders. Tilting back her head, she allowed his mouth to steam warmth against the pulse bobbing crazily at the base of her throat. As he traced a hot moist trail vertically on smooth skin instead of avoiding him, she turned into the kiss, her pulsing lips parted in readiness to receive him.

  Randolph sensed his victory and took it. His mouth covered hers again with an erotic barbarity, his tongue plunging and retreating while his artful fingers pushed down her bodice straps and glided over warm velvety flesh.

  Deborah gasped as cool fingers enclosed her breast, stroking and squeezing in a rhythm that matched his mouth’s pressure on her lips. She felt her feminine core heating and she fidgeted restlessly against him.

  With a throaty growl Randolph swivelled her hips towards him so she almost straddled his lap. His head lowered as he pushed the bodice beneath her bare bosom so lush flesh was propped on its silken support. He teased the satiny flesh he’d exposed with mouth and tongue before he gave her what she whimpered for. First one, then the other tense little nipple was taken and suckled until she was sobbing and squirming with need.

  A moan escaped Deborah as she surrendered to the outrageous pleasure he was giving her. She locked her small hands behind his head, holding him close as she instinctively rocked to and fro.

  It was the clock chiming midnight that jolted Randolph to his senses. That and the discomfort of his tortured body as Deborah writhed against his pelvis. He pulled her head down roughly to his and kissed her whilst his unsteady hands yanked up her clothes, protecting her bruise-tipped breasts from his ravening hands and mouth. Eyes blackened with desire whipped over her; she was languorous with passion; her eyes were a faint blue light behind a web of inky lashes. Her head was lolling to one side and then she moaned and her slick scarlet lips were seeking his again.

  He�
�d wanted to stop her probing more deeply into his past and perhaps asking for answers he couldn’t yet give, and to his shame he couldn’t deny that a part of him had wanted to punish her for denying knowledge of his letters. But he’d allowed things to get out of control. God knew he desired her now as much as ever he had. When he’d implied to Luckhurst she was his mistress, the idea to seduce her had already seeded itself in his mind. In fact, from the moment their eyes had clashed in Hastings, and he’d felt a strange satisfaction settle on him, he’d known he was lost to wanting her again. When she’d hinted she’d lost her virginity he’d seriously considered doing something about it.

  Her mother was keen to return to London; Deborah had admitted she missed her friends and the lifestyle she’d once enjoyed. Randolph was confident that in a short while he’d have the wherewithal to give her back what she missed. He’d be in a position to offer to help her and her mother move back to the metropolis and again have the luxuries they’d previously enjoyed. An isolated property could be purchased where they could discreetly meet and make love, and if her mother guessed what was going on, Randolph had a feeling Julia Woodville might opt to keep her suspicions to herself.

  He could muster enough decency and control not to possess Deborah quickly now on the sofa before they were disturbed. A woman she might be—no thanks to Edmund Green—but he could tell from her shy kisses and blushing bashfulness that she was no seasoned mistress. He doubted the dragoon had bedded her more than a couple of times. With a groan that seemed to resonate from deep in his being and was swiftly followed by a curse, Randolph stood up with her in his arms.

  The sudden movement roused Deborah. ‘What…what are you doing?’ It was a befuddled murmur against his shoulder.

  Before he could answer Randolph’s head jerked up as he heard a tap on the parlour door. He put a silencing finger to Deborah’s lips and gently lowered her to the ground, but kept her hard against him as though he were unwilling to yet break contact.

  Deborah frowned, still sensually stupefied. A moment later the knock came again, loud enough this time to penetrate her torpor. Her eyes widened in shock before she sprung back from him, blinking wildly.

  His deft hands flowed over her, straightening her rumpled skirt and bodice. With a subtle smile, he turned and walked to the door and opened it.

  Basham entered and, having flicked a look between his flushed and rather bedraggled mistress and the hard-eyed handsome guest, diplomatically fixed his regard on Mr Chadwicke’s cool, quizzical expression.

  ‘A Captain Stewart is in the hallway, sir. He wants to speak to you. Shall I tell him…umm…you’re unavailable?’

  ‘Not at all,’ Randolph smoothly contradicted. ‘Tell him I’ll come and find him in a moment or two. I was just finishing my nightcap and am ready to leave now in any case.’

  ‘Very good, sir,’ Basham said and, having swung a furtive look between the couple, he clicked the door closed.

  Deborah took a step towards Randolph, five unsteady fingers raking through her unruly locks in an attempt to neaten them. A niggling of alarm at the reason for Basham’s appearance momentarily subdued some of her acute awkwardness at having nearly been caught in fla-grante by one of the servants. She realised that she had to be very thankful Basham had had the discretion to wait for permission to enter. Had he not done so…Her cheeks flamed at the excruciating embarrassment she’d just escaped.

  Now her sensual daze had deserted her, her wanton behaviour had to be faced. She felt blood fizzing in her cheeks as she realised it might not just be Basham who deemed her disgracefully immodest. What did Randolph think of her now? He had told her to go to bed, yet she had stayed. He had given her the chance to evade him, yet she had remained daringly close until she’d tempted him to pounce.

  ‘Captain Stewart?’ she blurted breathily. ‘What does he want at this time of the night?’ She kept her eyes lowered to her skirt, brushing and adjusting it. ‘Do you think he has news of what or who frightened Fred?’ She took another step towards him, her nervous hands now occupied in fierce attempts to contain her abundant hair in a neat flaxen coil.

  ‘It’s more likely the captain has come to ensure that I’m not overstaying my welcome.’

  Deborah’s eyes flicked up to his.

  ‘The captain seemed quite taken with you,’ Randolph said on a slight smile. ‘I thought for a while we were going to come to blows over who had the privilege of bringing you home.’

  ‘I’m sure he was just being polite,’ Deborah blurted on a blush. A chill crept over her. Was the privilege he’d acidly referred to the chance to tumble her on the sofa? Did he imagine she would have allowed the captain a few liberties if he had been the one to linger over a warming drink before leaving?

  ‘I’m sure he wasn’t being polite,’ Randolph contradicted her as he strolled towards her. ‘I’ll see what he wants and return to see you another time. There are things we need to talk about.’ He raised a cool finger to brush against her warm cheek. ‘Lost letters…aged misunderstandings…what does any of it matter now?’ he said silkily. ‘You’re a very seductive lady and undoubtedly we still like one another enough to want to keep in touch, don’t you think?’

  Deborah moistened her lips. His mocking, lustful tone had lacked the emotion she’d craved to hear. A searching glance at his smouldering eyes told her that with just a little encouragement from her he’d see off the captain and come back to her in minutes, not days. He very much wanted her, but not as he once had, as his wife. Next time when he returned to Woodville Place he would proposition her and to her shame she knew if he did so whilst touching her, she might be tempted to accept an offer to be his mistress.

  ‘Please don’t feel under any obligation to return,’ she whispered in a brittle tone. ‘I know you have business matters to attend to.’

  ‘Believe me, Deborah, I no longer feel obliged to you in any way. But I’ll be back as soon as I’m able.’ A moment later he was gone from the room.

  * * *

  A few days later Deborah was foraging in the grounds of Woodville Place when Basham came crunching over leaves in an uneven gait. The manservant wobbled to a halt beneath the huge gnarled branches of the walnut tree.

  ‘Gentleman caller arrived, miss,’ he puffed out.

  Deborah handed her basket brimming with walnuts to Lottie who, after an inquisitive look at Deborah, continued to search amid brittle brown leaves for more crinkly shells to swoop upon.

  ‘Who is it, Basham?’ Deborah pushed back behind an ear a stray curl that had tumbled on to a wind-pinked cheek. Immediately on hearing the sex of the visitor her insides had lurched. Then she remembered she was not expecting Randolph to yet call. After their strained farewell she’d decided he’d be sure to let a suitable length of time elapse before returning. But return he would—she was equally sure of that. In addition, he’d further to travel now; she’d heard from Harriet, who’d had it from her brother, that Randolph was no longer lodging at the Woolpack. He’d moved on and was staying with an aristocrat at his hunting lodge. Deborah had guessed the nobleman must be Viscount Stratton, for his name had been mentioned in conversation and she knew he resided in the area.

  ‘A Captain Stewart’s in the parlour, miss,’ Basham replied. ‘Mrs Woodville’s taking her afternoon rest in her chamber. In any case he did ask to speak to Miss.

  Woodville.’

  Deborah brushed together her palms and with a frown went towards the house.

  ‘It’s a nice surprise to see you, Captain.’ It was a tactful rather than truthful greeting.

  Paul Stewart turned about from where he’d been gazing through the parlour window, hands positioned neatly behind his back and his gauntlets tapping idly against an open palm. He gave her a crisp bow. ‘I hope you will not mind this unexpected visit, Miss Woodville. I hear your mother is indisposed at the moment. I hope she is well.’

  Deborah tucked the unruly fair tendril again behind her ear and gave him a smile. ‘She is very well, thank
you, but she rarely misses her afternoon nap. Sometimes she takes herself off to bed in the late afternoon and I do not see her again until morning.’ A curled leaf was picked from where it clung to her plain dimity gown and was let drift to the empty grate. ‘Mama likes her novels and her letter writing and her own company.’

  As the silence between them lengthened Deborah felt at first unsettled, then vaguely irritated by his taciturnity and fixed stare. She was on the point of prodding him to reveal his business when he spoke.

  ‘It is not lonely for you having no siblings or companion of your own age?’

  ‘I have enough to occupy me.’ Deborah managed a faint smile. ‘And I have a friend to visit close by if I wish.’ She had an intuition that Captain Stewart came not simply to see her, but to have some information.

  ‘You are good friends with Harriet Davenport?’

  ‘Yes, I am,’ Deborah replied.

  ‘And Mrs Davenport?’

  ‘We are not well acquainted,’ Deborah replied. ‘The vicar got married only a year ago and Susanna is not from around here.’

  ‘How did they meet?’

  A slightly exasperated look met that blunt enquiry. ‘I’m not sure exactly; I believe I recall Harriet saying at the time that it was at the assembly rooms in Brighton. Gerard was there on church business and happened to socialise with friends one evening. I have not asked more as it is not my place,’ she commented pointedly. ‘Will you take tea, Captain?’ she asked out of politeness, but hoped he would decline. Oddly, though, she hoped he’d stay long enough for her to discover why he had come here and had wanted to speak to Randolph on the night of the Davenports’ soirée.