Too Wicked to Wed

by Cheryl Holt

  Obviously, his close proximity to all that manly vigor had rattled loose a deviant nature. Was the appeal like a drug? Once released, would it become more and more unmanageable until he was a raving reprobate, chasing young boys into secluded alcoves?

  Buggery was a capital offense! What was he to do?

  He’d have to remain on the property till Westmoreland let him leave, but how was he to show his face around the house? If he ran into Reilly again, he’d die of mortification. With every fiber of his being he had to fight his infatuation.

  “A sodomite!” he wailed. “What next?”

  He grabbed his things and darted out.

  7

  If you poke me again,” Helen heard Captain Westmoreland bark as she walked down the hall, “I’ll cut off your hand!”

  The threat had her hurrying into the front salon, where the local tailor, Mr. Haversham, jerked away as if he might lose the appendage at any moment.

  “He’ll do nothing of the sort, Mr. Haversham,” she insisted as she stormed in. “Don’t fret.”

  “I apologize, Miss Mansfield,” the beleaguered tailor said. “I’m trying my best.”

  “I know you are.”

  “He’s squirming so much that it’s like working on a pile of ants. He won’t stand still.”

  Westmoreland growled, “The oaf acts as if I’m a bloody pincushion.”

  She scowled at the Captain. “You! Be silent.”

  “Perhaps I should come back and finish tomorrow?” Haversham suggested, clearly wanting to leave as rapidly as possible. The initial proposition of crafting a fashionable wardrobe for the notorious Captain had sounded intriguing, but obviously the gild had rubbed off the golden notion.

  “That’s a wonderful idea,” Helen agreed. “Have you all the measurements you require?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you needn’t return. You could sew a few things and have them sent over.”

  “But what if they don’t fit exactly right?” He huffed with indignation. “I have my reputation to consider.”

  “You’re a genius with needle and thread. Whatever you produce will be perfect.” She glared at Westmoreland. “And if there’s any question, I’ll make sure it’s understood in the village to be the fault of the wearer. Not the creator.”

  Haversham scooped up his tools and raced out, but he was so inconsequential to Westmoreland that the Captain didn’t spare him a glance. Westmoreland went to the window and stared across the fields to where horses ran in the pasture.

  Though it was a disloyal thought, it was so pleasant to have him in the house instead of her brother. Archie and Westmoreland both fostered drama and upheaval, but Westmoreland’s was a different type of chaos. He was brash, loud, and demanding, but though he behaved outrageously, the conduct was driven by his desire to have tasks accomplished to his specifications.

  He scarcely noticed that she’d tarried in the room with him, and his disregard was really beginning to grate. Since they’d arrived at their strange bargain, he’d been very busy with the property, so she rarely saw him. On two separate occasions, he’d kissed her senseless, and the abbreviated seductions had left her in a fine fettle.

  Her body was aching, her mind restless, and she couldn’t stop obsessing over him, which was so aggravating. She despised the hours wasted in rumination as she pondered how he could have frolicked with such abandon but remained unaffected. She was dying to inquire, but she was too timid to engage in such a frank discussion.

  How can you ignore me? she yearned to shout. How can you pretend we’ve never kissed?

  She crossed to him and scolded, “Must you intimidate everyone with whom you come in contact?”

  “Yes.”

  “With such constant bullying, how can you expect to convince others to do what you want?”

  “People always obey. They wouldn’t dare defy me.”

  “They obey, but wouldn’t it be better to have them participate simply because they were eager to be helpful?”

  “If we did things that way, how would anyone know who’s in charge?”

  “Trust me, Captain, there could never be any doubt as to who is the boss.”

  “Damn straight.”

  He smiled at her, his striking blue eyes glimmering with a heightened interest. He had the most incredible knack for focusing in, for absorbing every detail, and she couldn’t tamp down a shiver of excitement. Though it was a sorry statement on her pitiful life, there was no more splendid feeling in the world than to have his undivided attention.

  “You’re looking very fetching today,” he said.

  “Why . . . why, thank you.” She fought the urge to pat her hair or tug on her sleeve.

  “But I loathe that dress.”

  “My dress?”

  “It’s deplorable. In fact, I detest all your clothes.”

  “Captain, you can’t—”

  “Lucas,” he interrupted. “When we’re alone, you must call me Lucas. Or Luke. I’ve told you before, but you never do it, and your reluctance is starting to annoy me.”

  “We wouldn’t want you annoyed, would we?”

  She was being sarcastic, but he responded in all seriousness. “No, we wouldn’t. Now, you were saying?”

  “In polite society, you can’t comment on a woman’s apparel or make disparaging remarks about how she’s attired.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s just not done.”

  “Maybe some females need a little guidance.”

  “Not from you.”

  “What if I don’t like what she’s wearing?”

  “You should keep it to yourself,” she snapped.

  He laughed and gestured to her torso. “You should show more skin.”

  “I’m displaying plenty.”

  “You could be a prissy governess.”

  “I’m a country hostess, who’s entertaining company, not some London doxy.”

  “You’re much too pretty to hide your best attributes.”

  She was about to chastise him again, but she couldn’t move beyond the discovery that he found her attractive. The flattery did something funny to her insides, had her wanting to shed her conservative gown, to take down her hair, to do whatever would induce him to repeat the accolade.

  Her need for praise was pathetic! She hadn’t realized she was so starved for masculine esteem, and she abhorred her weakness. She was irked that she liked him so much, that she was mooning after him and hanging on his every word.

  Luckily, a maid was coming with the tea cart, so Helen had an excuse to step away, to reassert her aplomb and regain control of her careening emotions. When she was with him, she stuttered and fumbled like a ninny, so in awe of his magnificence that she could barely function.

  She had to buck up! Had to quit wallowing in his glory. He was just a man—a very dynamic, handsome, intriguing one, to be sure, but a man none the less. There was no reason to be quite so agog.

  “I’ve planned a treat, Captain,” she announced as the maid entered. “Won’t you join me on the sofa?”

  He peered at the sofa, then at her, then at the sofa again, giving her such a salacious, naughty grin that it twisted her stomach and curled her toes.

  “I’d be delighted, Miss Mansfield.”

  “For tea, Captain Westmoreland. For tea.”

  “I hate tea.”

  “You’ll learn to like it.”

  “It hasn’t happened yet, and I’m thirty years old.”

  “I recognize that it goes completely against your nature, but could you humor me and at least try to be accommodating?”

  “I can try,” he offered, “but I’m not positive I’ll succeed. You’re awfully hard to please. What do you think?” he suddenly inquired of the maid. “Does she seem kind of fussy to you?”

  “Captain!” Helen hissed. “Shut up! You’re embarrassing me.”

  “Why?”

  She walked over so the maid wouldn’t eavesdrop, and she spoke very softly. “It’s not appropria
te to be so familiar with the servants.”

  “What did you say? You’re talking so quietly I can’t hear you.”

  He bent down, as she rose on tiptoe and glanced up. He was gazing at her so wickedly that it was clear he’d been intentionally luring her closer.

  “You bounder.” She leapt away and grumbled, “You can hear me just fine.”

  “Yes, but it’s amusing to have you so flustered. I love it when your cheeks are all red with temper.”

  The observation rattled her further so that she was a mumbling, bumbling bundle of nerves. Praying for patience, she took a deep breath. “Could we get down to business?”

  “I’m ready whenever you are.”

  “You can’t fraternize with the servants.”

  “I wasn’t fraternizing. I was merely asking her opinion.”

  “Well, don’t.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s not fitting.”

  “According to whom?”

  “Captain, do you want my assistance or not?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then be silent, and do as I tell you.”

  She pointed to where he should sit—far on the opposite end of the couch from herself—and once he was comfortable, she could see that ease wouldn’t be possible. He was too large, too grand, too . . . too . . . everything, and the piece of furniture was absolutely tiny with him on it. He extended his legs, his strong thighs so evident, and it was disconcerting to have all that solid male flesh rippling next to her. She could scarcely recollect her purpose.

  She’d meant to explain the ritual of tea, the pouring, the passing around, the calming effect, but before she could utter a sound, he grabbed a teacup and held it out to the maid.

  “What’s your name, lass?” he queried.

  “Peg.”

  “Fill this with brandy, would you, Peg? All the way to the brim.”

  “Yes, Captain.” She hurried to the sideboard, as Helen gnashed her teeth.

  “We’re not here to drink brandy,” Helen chided. “It’s the middle of the afternoon.”

  “So? I’m dying of thirst. I could use a good, stout nip.”

  “I’m trying to educate you about tea!”

  “I know you are, Helen”—he gave her wrist a placating pat as Peg delivered his liquor—“but when I meet my dear old da I doubt we’ll carry on like a pair of persnickety society matrons. I’m fairly certain we’ll tip a few pints.” He chuckled. “Probably more than a few.”

  Her exasperation bubbled over. “Talking to you is like talking to the wall.”

  “You’re not the first person who’s said that to me.” He gaped at the plates, arranged with dainty pastries and petite biscuits. “That’s not enough food to keep a bird alive. Peg, I’m starving. Would you go to the kitchen and have Cook slice me up some beef and bread? Big, thick slices, if she has them. A hunk of cheese would hit the spot, too.”

  “Oh yes, Captain! Right away, Captain.” Peg assessed him with a look that bordered on hero worship; then she rushed out, thrilled at having the chance to attend him and scurrying faster than she ever had at Helen’s behest.

  “We’re having tea!” Helen seethed as Peg disappeared. “With biscuits! We’ll have a full meal later this evening.”

  “What time will that be?”

  “Nine or so.”

  “But I’ve been working since dawn. I’m famished now.”

  Helen threw up her hands. “I give up. You’re a heathen, a savage, a . . . a . . . brute.”

  “Which of those is the insult?”

  “There’s no teaching you anything. You already know it all.”

  “You’re correct about that.”

  “I can’t imagine why you sought my help. You don’t really want it.”

  “No, I don’t,” he admitted, and he reached for a pastry and wolfed it down.

  “Then why am I here?”

  “You’re entertaining me. You’re doing an excellent job of it, too. I haven’t had this much fun in ages.”

  With no thought at all, he gobbled all of the food she’d debated over at length and with such relish. Then he went to the sideboard and refilled his brandy. When he returned, he poured a dash of tea on top of it, and she couldn’t decide if he was trying to pacify or further aggravate her. As he was too arrogant to attempt civility, it had to have been done to irritate, and the realization made her unbearably sad.

  Though she couldn’t deduce why, she yearned to matter to him. She wanted him to be glad he’d let her stay on at Mansfield, glad that she was his friend and guide in his quest to better himself. It wounded her to ascertain that he couldn’t care less, that she could be present or not. She felt like a pet lapdog that he could absently stroke when he was in the mood, and that he could disregard when he wasn’t.

  Disheartened and humiliated, she murmured, “I’ll just be going.”

  “Going? Where?” He scrutinized her, his curious gaze digging deep, and he frowned. “I’ve hurt you.”

  “No, you haven’t.” She forced a laugh and waved away his comment. “Don’t be ridiculous. I merely have plenty of chores, and as I’m obviously not needed here, I should get after them.”

  “I don’t excuse you.”

  “I wasn’t aware that I had to have your permission.”

  “Oh, you do,” he said. “You definitely do.”

  He amazed her by picking up a napkin and wiping his fingers with it. After his continuously claiming not to have learned such conduct, she was confused by the polite gesture. She was watching him intently, so she was caught off guard as he leaned in and trapped her against the arm of the sofa.

  “Do you recall the day I arrived at Mansfield?” he inquired.

  How could she forget? He’d stormed in like a hurricane battering the coast, like a rebel army breaching the fortress. “Of course.”

  “We were up in your room.”

  “Yes.”

  “I have to tell you a secret.”

  He scooted nearer, nearer. She scooted back, back, but there was nowhere to go.

  “What is it?”

  “I adore kissing you.”

  “You do not.” She scoffed, scared to believe him.

  “I do, too. And how about you? Do you like kissing me?”

  “No, not a bit.” She wasn’t sure why she’d told the whopping fib, but it didn’t seem proper to have enjoyed it so much.

  “Helen, you shouldn’t ever lie to me. It’s so apparent when you are. If we were on my ship, I’d have you whipped for playing me so false.”

  “Maybe I liked it a little,” she allowed.

  “Only a little?”

  “Well, perhaps quite a lot.”

  “Would you like to try it again?” he probed.

  “I think about it occasionally.”

  “I’m so glad.”

  “You are?”

  “Yes, because I think about it constantly.”

  “That can’t be true.”

  “It is, my darling Helen.”

  He closed the distance between them, his lips falling lightly on hers, and she sagged with relief. She felt as if years had passed since they’d been together. She’d missed him so much! How had she survived without him?

  She clutched at his shirt, demanding that he enhance the embrace. At her blatant invitation he chuckled smugly, having been confident that she couldn’t resist. His tongue glided into her mouth to tangle with her own, and his fingers were in her hair and deftly removing the combs so that it slid down to hang over the edge of the sofa.

  She wasn’t certain what might have happened, but Peg’s footsteps sounded in the hall as she brought his requested meal. Helen gave a squeal of alarm and Westmoreland ended the kiss, but he didn’t shift away or release her.

  As Peg waltzed in, he hovered over Helen, their torsos intertwined, his hand on her hip. Their positioning was appalling and decadent, and Peg gasped.

  Westmoreland didn’t glance up. “Leave the food on the table, Peg,” he quietly orde
red. “Then shut the door on your way out.”

  Peg did as she was bid, though she slammed the tray harder than necessary, and she marched out with a disapproving stomp in her stride.

  “That was a disaster,” Helen wailed, huddling into the cushion.

  “What was?”

  “Her seeing us like this.”

  “So?”

  “She’ll notify the staff. They’ll assume we’re . . . we’re involved.”

  “We are involved,” he reminded her. “Besides, that’s what they already suppose. It won’t come as a surprise to anyone.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Haven’t you heard the gossip about us?”

  “No. What are they saying?”

  “They claim I’ve had my wicked way with you—and more than once, too.”

  “But we haven’t done anything,” she protested, “except kiss, and that doesn’t count.”

  “The details don’t matter to a servant. As far as they’re concerned, you’ve been ruined. And”—he wiggled his brows—“you liked it! But I was your partner, so what’s not to like?”

  “I have to get out of here.”

  “No.”

  She pushed at his shoulders, but he wouldn’t budge. “Captain!”

  “Be still.”

  “This is bad enough. I have to go before it grows any worse.”

  He studied her, then shook his head. “I’ve been entirely too patient with you. I should have made you mine long ago.”

  “I have no notion of what that entails, but I’m not having any part of it. Now let me up.”

  “No.”

  “What is your plan? To ravish me?”

  “Yes, but I guarantee that you’ll enjoy it.”

  She was prepared to argue, but he halted any tirade by pulling her beneath him. In a thrice, she was flat on her back, with him on top, as she’d been that day in her bedroom, but this time, the situation was much more intimate and exciting. The door wasn’t locked; anyone could walk in and catch them misbehaving. The prospect of discovery was thrilling and added a degree of naughtiness that baffled her. When had she become so wanton?

  The couch was so small that there was no space to maneuver or escape. He settled himself between her legs so that his privates were pressed to her center. The touch was electrifying, and at the contact her body celebrated.