Suddenly

by Candace Camp

  Yet, even more than that, he yearned to touch her, so his body moved back from her a fraction, and his hand crept up from her waist and cupped her breast. Charity drew in a shaky breath at that touch, and Simon’s desire rose even higher. His thumb dragged across the hard circle of her nipple. Charity shivered, and a shy noise of pleasure was torn from her mouth. Passion exploded within Simon, and it was all he could do not to pull her down to the floor and plunge into her right there.

  “Oh, God,” he muttered thickly, raining kisses over her face and down her throat. “You are so beautiful—I want you.”

  Charity sank her fingers into his hair, too stunned by the wonderful sensations assaulting her even to speak. She felt as if she were on fire inside, and her breath came hard and fast in her throat.

  Simon took her nipple between his forefinger and thumb and gently rolled it between them. Charity jerked as if lightning had ripped through her and let out a little moan. Her hips moved unconsciously against him. She could feel a hard ridge of flesh pushing into her, and she sensed, even in her innocence, that it was evidence of Dure’s desire for her.

  Simon’s fingers shook as they went to work on the buttons of her dress, moving with uncharacteristic clumsiness as he unbuttoned the fabric far enough to allow him to shove her dress back off her breasts and down her shoulders, pinioning her arms to her sides. He looked down at her breasts, covered now only in the thin lawn of her chemise. The wet material was almost transparent, clearly showing the rosy buds of her nipples. He gazed for a long moment; then his hands went to the chemise and worked it slowly down off her breasts, teasingly scraping it over her nipples. The little buttons tightened, thrusting toward him. He covered her breasts with his hands, and his thumbs caressed the engorged buds. Charity leaned back against the wall, her eyes closing in pleasure as his hands caressed her. She was the very picture of a woman in the throes of desire, and the sight of her stirred Simon even more.

  He thought about shoving up her skirts and taking her, thrusting deep and hard into her. He clenched his teeth as a shudder of elemental desire rushed through him. Then, reluctantly, he pulled the chemise back up over her breasts and stepped away. He could not continue, or he would take Charity here and now, and he would be a cad to do so. She was a maiden, untouched and innocent, and she deserved to be taken gently, sweetly, in a soft bed, and with darkness to cover her embarrassment. She was to be his wife, and to take her in this way would be an insult to her.

  Charity’s eyelids fluttered open, and she gazed at him, bemused. “My lord? What—Why—Is something wrong?”

  “Yes.” He grated the word out, for her open face, full of yearning and puzzled loss at his pulling back, made the passion surge in him even harder. “I cannot—If I go any farther, I shall wind up taking you, and that would be the work of a blackguard.”

  “Oh.” Charity straightened, blushing a little as she noticed her uncovered state and hastily pulled her dress back together. “I—I’m sorry.” She averted her eyes as she began to rebutton her dress. “I didn’t realize…I thought, since we were to be married, it was all right.”

  “It is all right. Do not look so. There was nothing wrong in what you did. But for me to take advantage of you for my own pleasure—to turn your first lovemaking into a hasty coupling beneath the stairs—would be abominable. I may not be a model of virtue, but I am gentleman enough to know that. We will wait until you are in my bed…when we have every right to do what we want, and all the time in the world to do it.”

  Charity’s color rose even more at his frank statement, but she could not help but thrill to the eagerness and hunger implicit in his words. Dure wanted her—so much so that he had difficulty resisting, even though his sense of honor and morality told him he must.

  “I understand,” she said softly, finishing the last button and glancing up at him. Her blue eyes were soft and lambent, and Simon’s breath caught in his throat at her gaze.

  “I doubt that you truly do,” he responded, a trifle shakily, then turned away with a curse. “I pray we are not to have a long engagement.”

  “The usual year, I would think,” Charity replied honestly. “I am sure that is what my mother expects.”

  Simon grimaced. “Mothers be damned! She is not the one who has to keep his hands off you.”

  Charity giggled a little at his words. “I should think not, my lord!”

  Her words wrung a reluctant smile from Dure. He bent and gave her a quick, hard kiss on the lips. “You are an imp,” he murmured, “and I think I must have been mad to have offered for you.”

  “Do you regret it?” Charity looked up teasingly at him through her lashes, but her heart sped up a little with anxiety as she waited for his answer.

  Simon’s smile was slow and amused, yet also rife with sensuality. “No. No doubt I should, but I cannot bring myself to regret it.”

  Charity smiled. She wanted to lean into Simon and rest her head on his shoulder; she wanted him to kiss her again and move his hands in that unutterably delightful way over her breasts. But that, she knew, was impossible. With a faint sigh of regret, she moved away, stepping out of the alcove into the hallway.

  “We should join the others, I imagine, my lord.”

  “Yes, no doubt.” Simon joined her, offering her his arm in so formal a manner that Charity had to bite back a chuckle, remembering the situation they had been in only moments before. She took his arm and fixed a dignified expression on her face.

  But as they walked back toward the drawing room and her sisters, Charity felt as if she were walking on air.

  Venetia fastened her hat on her head securely, then pulled down the veil so that it covered her face. It was not her most attractive hat; Aunt Ursula had given it to her, and she had worn it only once before, to a funeral. But it had a heavier veil than any of her other headgear, and that was all she was interested in at the moment. She fervently hoped that no one she might see on the street would recognize her.

  She slipped quietly out the front door, after glancing around once to make sure that none of the servants had come into sight. She had instructed her personal maid to tell all the others that she was taking a nap and should not be disturbed for any reason. George was at his club, and she was sure that he would not be home until this evening.

  Letting out a sigh of relief as she pulled the door softly to behind her, Venetia skimmed down the steps and out to the sidewalk. There she turned and hurried up the street, head down to avoid having to greet anyone. She was afraid of someone recognizing her, but she was almost equally nervous about walking down the street without at least a maid for a companion. Whenever she went out by herself, she almost always took the Ashford carriage, but, of course, that was impossible in this instance.

  She was too preoccupied with trying to be invisible to notice that, down the street, a man slipped out of a hack, paid the driver and started after her. A supremely ordinary-looking man, solidly middle-class in a brown suit and hat, he carried a rolled-up newspaper under his arm. He was the sort of man she had probably passed a hundred times in the street and not noticed.

  Harding Crescent was not far away, only a few blocks, and Venetia soon reached the pretty little park that lay in its curve. Small trees and shrubs grew around its edges, affording some privacy to the green spot within, and there were benches scattered along its carefully tended walkways. Venetia glanced around the park assessingly as she made her way to the bench at the north end of the park, which was more secluded than any of the other benches. Fortunately there was no one in the place at the moment besides herself. She wished Reed had chosen some spot other than this park to meet; she knew Millicent Cardaway, who lived on Harding Crescent, fairly well, at least well enough to know that she was a terrible gossip and had eyes like a hawk. If Millicent saw Venetia here, especially with a man, her reputation would be destroyed. But Reed had been insistent; she thought he had derived considerable amusement from her pleas to change the meeting place.

  She plopped
down on the bench, turning so that her veiled face would not be seen by anyone in the rest of the park. Where was Reed? She would have thought that he would be on time to collect his money, at least.

  “Hiding, my dear?” His smooth voice came from behind her, and Venetia jumped and whirled to face him. “My, my, you seem a little on edge. Must come from keeping all those guilty secrets.”

  Faraday looked as smooth and handsome as ever, not a wrinkle in his suit or a hair out of place. Venetia could hardly bear to look at him.

  She dug into her reticule and pulled out an envelope. “Here.” She shoved the envelope at him and started to leave, but he reached out and caught her arm.

  “Not quite so fast, my dear Venetia. Let me count it first.”

  “I gave you what you asked for,” Venetia replied stiffly. “I do not lie or cheat.”

  Faraday smiled mockingly. “How admirable. I’m sure you’ve told your good husband all about us by now.”

  Venetia caught her lip with her teeth, her face flushing.

  “Ah, I see I have struck home.” Faraday opened the envelope and ran through it, then stuck it inside his coat. “Some of us are rather selective in our lies. I find it much easier simply to be a cad, through and through. That way one is never confused.”

  “Very clever,” Venetia said sourly. “I have lost my taste for your bons mots, however. I must go now.”

  She turned away, but his next words stopped her. “But, my dear girl, we haven’t set a time and place for your next payment.”

  Blood drained from Venetia’s face, and she turned back to him. “What?” She hastily rolled up her veil to the top of her hat in order to see him more clearly. “What did you say?”

  “I was talking about your next…ah, ‘gift.’ I think a month would be ample time.”

  Venetia stared at him. “You can’t be serious!”

  “Oh, but I am. I am a man of many needs, and I am afraid my wife has grown somewhat less than generous.”

  “I would think she would pay you to leave the country!”

  “Well, I haven’t put that proposition to her yet. Perhaps she would. But, frankly, I prefer to stay in London. So many of my friends are here, you know.”

  “You have no friends!”

  He raised a lazy eyebrow. “How unkind. And quite untrue, you know. For instance, the lovely young Miss Emerson—you know, the new bright shining star of London—regards herself as my friend.”

  “Leave Charity alone!” Venetia cried. “She is a sweet girl, and I won’t have you ruining her!”

  “That is something that is hardly in your hands. You can’t keep a young girl from running headlong into destruction. You should know that.”

  “You pig!” Venetia spat.

  Reed grinned evilly, then reached out and grabbed Venetia’s arms and pulled her to him. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her still despite her struggles, and kissed her full on the mouth. He ground his lips hard against hers, so hard that one of her teeth cut her lip. When at last he released her, Venetia staggered back, her face filled with revulsion. Her gloved hand went to her mouth and came away with a spot of blood on it. She was filled with hatred and repulsion; the emotions rose in her like bile, flooding her throat with bitterness.

  “Don’t you ever touch me again!” she spat, her dark eyes for once so like her brother’s that Reed took an unconscious step backward. “I’ll kill you if you try to—God, I cannot fathom what ever attracted me to you! You are scum! You’re evil.”

  “Careful what you say,” Reed said lightly, recovering from his momentary surprise. “Remember, I am the one who sets your price.”

  “I will not continue to pay you!”

  “Then you’re prepared to have me tell Lord Ashford about you and me?”

  “No!” Venetia’s anger fled, replaced by fear and a sick hopelessness. “You can’t. I paid you all you asked. You can’t turn around now and ask for more.”

  “Oh? Are there rules for this sort of thing? I didn’t know. To whom are you going to complain? A magistrate?”

  “I can’t get that kind of money again,” Venetia protested. “You don’t understand.”

  “Come now, do you expect me to believe that our dear George is not rolling in money? Everyone knows the Ashfords own half of Sussex.”

  “Yes, he has money, but much of it is tied up in the land, and the improvements he makes to it. He doesn’t squeeze his people for every cent. I have no way of getting to his money, anyway.”

  “He gives you an allowance, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes, of course, but I’ve given you my clothes money for this quarter right there. I have nothing else.”

  “What about the household money? You could borrow from that, couldn’t you?”

  Venetia looked shocked. “No! George would notice if suddenly the quality of Cook’s meals diminished or I stopped having parties or we let go some of the staff.”

  “Tell him some tale about an overdue bill or something. Say you made an unwise purchase. He’ll give you extra money.”

  “I don’t want to lie to him!”

  “But you already have. I presume he doesn’t know about our arrangement to meet here.”

  “Of course not!”

  “Then what is one more lie? I’m certain that you will come up with some plausible excuse. And there are always your jewels. I’m sure they’re worth a pretty penny. For instance, those earrings you have on right now should bring a fair price at the moneylender’s.”

  Venetia clapped her hands to her ears, as if he might jerk the emeralds from her ears right there. “They were a gift from George. I could never—”

  “Then perhaps you should borrow the money from your loving brother. He would be happy to help you out, as he did before.”

  “Why do you hate Simon? All he ever did was protect his sister. You act as if he had wronged you.”

  “He spoiled my plans. I had to marry that loathsome slug. Pretend that I loved her and wanted her.” His face twisted with disgust. “I have to dance to her tune if I want anything. Stay by her side, wait on her, beg her for every cent I get. It is her father who is wealthy. God knows he gives her ample money, but he gives it to her. She is free to do with it as she will. I have to live on her mercy. Even when he dies, it will be the same. She has told me that he has his entire fortune tied up in trusts, and the trustees will dole out money only on her say-so. If she dies, I have nothing.”

  “No doubt she and her father realized what kind of man you were. It sounds like a practical arrangement for someone married to a scoundrel.”

  Reed glared at her. “Your fee just went up. I want twenty pounds more next month.”

  “I can’t give you even this much again!”

  “You had best go home and figure out some way to do it. Because I will expect my money on the first of next month.”

  “How can you be so wicked? How could I ever have thought I was in love with you?”

  Venetia whirled and hurried through the park toward the street, tears blurring her eyes. Behind her, Reed stood watching, his eyes narrowed and his mouth twisted. It had been sweet to take Venetia’s money, sweeter still to hear her beg him not to make her pay any more, but it was not as pleasing as he had imagined it would be. It always turned out that way. Whatever kind of revenge he took against Dure, it was never as satisfying as he had dreamed it would be. Always, he wanted more.

  Today was the same. He could look forward to squeezing more money out of Venetia. It would be fun to watch her squirm—and profitable to him, as well, which was always something to be considered. But he knew that it would not be enough to satisfy the need that burned in him, the need to humiliate Dure as he himself had been humiliated when Dure easily thrashed him and literally threw him out of the inn where Dure had caught him with Venetia. No, it was quite obvious, the only thing that would satisfy him, that would pay the high-and-mighty Earl of Dure back would be the publicly known seduction of his fiancée.

  Just the tho
ught of it made a chilly smile cross Reed’s face. Thinking of his triumph—for he was already sure that the innocent little Miss Charity Emerson was becoming smitten with his charm—Reed strolled out of the park. So intent was he on his own thoughts that he did not notice, just as the distraught Venetia had not, that an ordinary-looking man in a brown suit stood at the opposite end of the park, half-hidden by a large bush. Nor did he see when the man slipped out of the park behind him and trailed him down the street.

  “My lord?” The ever-correct Holloway stopped in front of Lord Ashford, who was in the elaborate process of readying a thick cigar for smoking—rolling it between his hands, sniffing it, cutting off the end with a small pair of gold-chased scissors.

  Ashford looked up, suppressing his irritation. Holloway was never one to interrupt a man at leisure in his club unless it was something important. He raised his eyebrows questioningly. “Yes? What is it?”

  “There is a…person outside who wishes to address you, my lord.” Ashford knew from his tone, and the way he hesitated before he said “person,” that whoever it was was not the sort who could be mistaken for a gentleman who would frequent a private club.

  “A person?”

  “Yes, my lord. A man in a brown suit. He said that you would most certainly wish to see him, and he asked that I present his card to you.” The servant stretched forward his hand, in which lay a small silver platter.

  Ashford took the card from the platter and read it. His face tightened. “Yes. Thank you, Holloway. I’m afraid he is right, and I must see him.” He rose and followed Holloway through the smoking room and into the hall beyond. “I’ll see him outside.”

  “Very well, my lord.” Ashford knew Holloway would have been horrified if George asked him to bring the man inside—though, of course, such emotion would never have been allowed to touch his composed features.

  Ashford opened the heavy wooden door at the front of the club and stepped outside. A man stood on the stoop, his back to the door, gazing idly across the street.