Cheryl Holt (22 page)

“When you tire of me, will you have your brother cast us out?”

“Mary!” he scolded. “I could never behave so despicably to you.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“You have to trust me.”

The request that she
trust
him was insulting and preposterous. What had he ever done to merit higher esteem? He’d used and abused her in the worst fashion, and now, with her practically begging for recompense, he was too spineless to supply it.

“If I become pregnant”—she was like a feral bird, swooping in for the kill—“I have to know your intentions. What are they?”

“I’ll marry you,” he insisted, quickly and without deliberation.

“Swear it.”

“I swear.”

She chuckled wearily. “I hate it when you lie to me.”

“I’m not lying.”

She raised a hand, the motion stopping further protestation, and he was silenced. She was quiet, too, blankly staring at the fireplace. Finally, she murmured, “Sometimes, I’m so afraid.”

The comment did something funny to his insides. His dormant conscience woke up and wiggled around, reminding him that he’d once been a compassionate man.

Where had that individual gone? Why was it so difficult to bring him back?

“Of what are you afraid?”

“I’m
afraid
of our being tossed onto the streets without a penny in our pockets.” She gestured around her
room. “You’ve always resided in this grand mansion, and you’ve had your brother to watch over you, the family coffers to provide an allowance, so you have no clue what it’s like to struggle. Can you imagine how any of this might frighten me?”

“Yes, I can,” which was another fib. He was so selfish, so bent on his own pleasure, that he’d rarely pondered what her plight would be after they were through.

He was living in a bubble, where naught was real. Not his liaison with her, not her unstable position, or the fact that she had a daughter who needed a father. He’d never so much as said hello to the girl, had never inquired as to her name.

He was an ass. A certifiable, unrepentant, unreliable ass. Why did Mary put up with him?

“So,” she persisted, “I’m sorry if I’ve disturbed you with some uncomfortable questions, but I’ve earned the right to ask them.”

She was talking as if she had no value to him, as if he considered her no more than a whore, and he had to admit that he’d done little to leave her with any other impression. Suddenly, he was eager to pose a few questions of his own. If she could dig and poke, so could he.

“You’re badgering as to whether I care about you, so let’s turn the tables. Do
you
care about me?”

“Yes,” she answered without hesitation.

“And what does that mean to you?” he prodded.

“I love you.”

He blanched. “You couldn’t possibly.”

“Why not?”

“You can’t have any genuine regard for me. Not after how I’ve acted. You’re being foolish.”

“No, I’m not. I know there’s a better man lurking inside you. I’m hoping you’ll set him free.”

He gazed up at the ceiling, and an idiotic rush of tears surged to his eyes, and he was so glad she wasn’t able to witness them. He couldn’t stand to hear that she’d placed him on some absurd pedestal.

If he dared to pledge himself, ultimately he’d fail her, and when she discovered that there was no white knight beneath the gruff exterior, she’d be crushed.

The notion that he might hurt her, that he might break her heart, was too distressing. It knocked at the door to his emotions that he kept tightly locked. By dallying with her, he was wallowing in oblivion, pretending that the world outside her bedchamber didn’t exist. There was just him and her and the licentious things they did together. Peripheral issues, such as integrity and honor, had ceased to signify. As he was immersed in a void, Society’s tenets no longer controlled him. Due to his obsessive and insane need for her, they’d been nullified.

Hadn’t they?

The sex he had with her was his entire universe, and he was anxious for the shallow, superficial experience to continue on forever. He felt like a jester at a fair, as if he were juggling balls in the air and he couldn’t drop one, lest his whole life crash to the ground in pieces.

“Come here.” He held out his hand, but she didn’t take it.

“No. I don’t want this from you anymore. I never should have started. It’s been folly from the beginning.”

“You’re wrong, Mary. It’s been grand. Every second has been more than I deserved.”

“I’m sure it’s been magnificent for you, but for me, it’s been a tad less fulfilling.”

He was desperate for his illusions to remain intact, and he climbed off the mattress and went to her.

“I love you, Mary.” The declaration slipped out before he’d realized he would utter it. Apparently, he was ready to express any crazed sentiment in order to have her compliant and willing.

“No, you don’t,” she interjected. “You insult me by saying so.”

“I do love you. Let me show you how much.”

He kissed her, his lips tentatively falling on hers, as he worried about how she’d accept the embrace. She didn’t push him away, so he deepened the kiss, his tongue in her mouth, his fingers in her hair.

She’d donned her robe, and he abhorred that she’d hidden herself from him, and he untied the belt, the lapels flopping open, so that he could massage her breasts. He petted his thumbs over her nipples, reveling as they hardened.

While she might fuss and stew, might fret and agonize, she was as captivated by their carnal antics as he was, himself. She couldn’t deny the pleasures in which they engaged.

Moving to the bed, he drew her down on top of him. He rooted to her nipple, sucking and biting at it, until her hips responded.

He gripped her thighs and spread them so that she was perched over his loins. She was wet, relaxed, and with the barest thrust, he glided inside.

This was what he wanted, the only thing that mattered.
Their quiet, comforting ability to join, to bond without words, was a treasure unlike any other.

He reached between them, stroking her, driving her to the edge, and tossing her over, and he followed, spilling himself as recklessly as ever, and he was amazed by his negligence.

Why would he proceed down such a dangerous path? Fleetingly, he wondered if he didn’t hope that she
did
become pregnant. How else could he justify his actions?

Holding her, cherishing her, he rocked them to the end, but as their passion waned, she glanced away. Naught had changed. They could fornicate till Armageddon and not arrive at a mutually satisfying resolution.

He pulled out of her, and the instant he did, she rolled away, and he hated that she was so forlorn. He hadn’t the flowery language necessary to smooth over their disagreement. He spooned himself to her, nibbled at her nape, and kissed at her shoulder.

“Will you marry me?” It was what she was frantic to hear, the sole remark that would repair their rift.

“I’ve humiliated myself by begging for a proposal, but that doesn’t mean you have to offer one.”

“You’ve been a veritable nag,” he teased.

She elbowed him in the ribs. “Shut up. You needn’t remind me of how pathetic I am.”

“Marry me,” he repeated. He waited for a reply, but when he didn’t receive it, he asked, “How could I convince you that I’m serious?”

“I suppose if you marched down to inform your brother. I
might
believe you then.”

His heart pounded. How had he ascended to this perilous precipice?

“All right, I will.” As if he was prepared to stride out, naked as a jaybird, he shifted away.

Would he? Could he?

To his vast relief, she stopped him. “Don’t you dare.”

“Why not?”

“Lord Winchester would talk you out of it.”

“I’m a grown man, Mary. I make my own decisions.”

“Yes, but you respect him, and he’s dear to you. If he advised against it, how could you refuse him?”

A valid point. “What about your sister? If you went to her, what would she say?”

“She thinks you’re a lunatic.”

“Why, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She grinned, relishing the opportunity to bring him down a peg.

“So . . . she’d be against it, too?”

“She’d tell me I was mad to consider it.”

She sighed, as did he, and he spun her toward him so that he could look at her.

“Let’s elope,” he said, and his suggestion stunned them both.

“You’re joking.”

“No, I’m not. Let’s do it.”

“Emily is correct: You are deranged.”

“I’m not. Listen: Our biggest obstacle is the people we know, that they’d disapprove, and if we were to wed here in London, we’d have to have my vicar call the banns. That gives our relatives an entire month to dissuade us.”

“Or for you to back out.”

Precisely,
he mused, though he wasn’t about to admit as much aloud. He was swept up in the rashness of the
moment, ready to spew any contemptible promise that he might—or might not—keep.

“An elopement is for the best,” he contended.

“But how would we accomplish it?”

“We’d travel to Scotland. To Gretna Green. That’s where everyone goes. It’s a town across the border.”

“
Everyone
goes there? You make it sound as if lovers are popping up there by the thousands.”

“Only those who are in a hurry.”

“Hmm. . . .” She was silent again, wanting to trust him, but she couldn’t.

“We can race up in Michael’s curricle. We’ll return in a few days, with the event concluded, and no one will be able to complain.” He paused and chuckled. “At least, not to our faces.”

“When would we leave?”

“When can we most easily avoid your sister?”

“On Saturday. She’s escorting the girls to a country house party. They’ll be visiting for a week.”

He bit down the urge to moan. He was hesitant to set a specific date, for that would bind him and it would be impossible to renege.

“Saturday morning it is then.” He nodded and smiled. She was buying every word. “We’ll head out after they depart.”

“What about your brother?”

“He’s so busy, he won’t realize I’m gone.”

She studied him, her shrewd perception reaching out, and he kept his expression blank, his mind still, not wanting her to discern how disordered he was.

“Are you sure?” she queried.

“Very sure.”

“You’ll never regret asking?”

“No, I never will.”

How he yearned for it to be true!

Before she had a chance to question him further, he pulled her into his arms, determined to immerse them in carnality.

She joined in, as eager as he to seal their pact, to pretend that they would go forward. With all the vows he’d uttered, with all the persuading he’d done, how could he fail to follow through?

 15 

Emily wandered into the solarium, pausing to admire how the afternoon sun shone through the windows. It was her favorite room in the large mansion, and she frequently stopped by to sit and think.

Her world was spinning too fast, and the routines of daily life were beyond her. The person she’d once been had ceased to be, and a new, wild woman had taken her place. She wanted things she couldn’t have and dreamed about things that could never be.

She felt so wonderful!

She was so miserable!

She was hopelessly, desperately, in love. With a man who would never love her in return, who would never marry her or make a commitment to her. Oh, what folly had led her to this forlorn, gloomy precipice?

She didn’t have the courage to end their destructive affair, yet she couldn’t keep on. Every time they were together, she grew more smitten, but no good could be generated from the disaster she’d wrought.

“Emily Barnett Farrow,” she whispered, trying out the name to hear how it sounded, and, at her whimsy, she blushed bright red.

How could she presume such a preposterous outcome? Yet she couldn’t help yearning for a conclusion that was more satisfying than each of them ending up lonely and alone.

Why couldn’t she be his wife? The prospect was absurd, but she couldn’t set it aside. He wasn’t the sort to dwell on titles and bloodlines, and they could be so happy. If she was clever enough, she ought to be able to wrangle the result she craved, and Michael could be hers forever.