Cheryl Holt (31 page)

“She won’t be hurt, will she, Hugh?”

How ludicrous for Rebecca to be experiencing a belated stab of conscience! “Where’s the injury in her marrying a wealthy, successful businessman? By having the chance for a home and children of her own? That’s what all women crave, isn’t it? Now . . . be a dear and fetch me another brandy.”

Without argument or condemnation of his bad habits, she proceeded to the sideboard, retrieved the decanter, and filled his glass.

“There’s a good lass.” He tossed it down in a single swallow as she hovered over him, seeing to his comfort, and he was struck again by how pretty she was. With that lavish blond hair, and those magnificent breasts squeezed into that fiercely laced corset, she was an arousing spectacle. In her glorious sapphire eyes, he could read the bald—but idiotic—affection she harbored for him and, after the arduous interview with Sarah, her fondness was soothing.

While Sarah was content to wallow away in the country, Rebecca periodically accompanied him to London where she acted as his hostess—and more when the occasion presented
itself. He’d never admit to another soul that he lusted after his cousin, but she was so bloody accommodating. So bloody convenient. How could a man spurn what was so graciously offered?

“What if she’s alone when we barge in?” Rebecca inquired. “What will we say?”

“We’ll simply invite her down to the party—as though that was our sole purpose.”

He’d worked it out in his head, in his disordered state, satisfied that he was making flawless decisions. Rebecca cheerfully assented as he’d predicted she would. She wouldn’t question him, not after she’d created such a mess when left to her own devices.

“And if we don’t catch her with Stevens,” he pointed out, “we’ll opt for another fellow. We’ll unlock the damned door and shove someone inside—if that’s what it takes.”

“Too bad about Brigham,” Rebecca noted.

“Too bad, indeed.”

Rebecca had discreetly orchestrated Brigham’s interest in Sarah and, with his fortune and title, he’d have been an excellent choice as her husband. Yet, nothing had progressed properly. Not only had the man
not
crept into Sarah’s room, he’d been forcibly removed from possible consideration by his run-in with Michael Stevens.

No one had unveiled the basis for their violent disagreement, and Hugh shuddered over the pummeling Brigham had received. The nerve of Stevens, handling a peer as he’d done! The talk was all over town, though nothing would come of it. The man was a raving lunatic who ought to be hanged, or at the very least, transported at the earliest juncture.

Only Stevens’s father, the Earl of Spencer, stood in the way of the contemptible scoundrel getting what he truly deserved. With his connection to Spencer, Stevens was untouchable.

Factor in the number of markers he owned, and the damning, confidential secrets he’d unearthed, and who was
safe from the bastard’s wrath? He was a menace, one that Hugh would be delighted to destroy.

All in good time, he
counseled. Stevens would get his due, but for the moment, Hugh wasn’t going to fuss about him. He was exhausted from traveling, and the constant trepidation induced by his fiscal dilemma, and he was geared up for some entertainment.

While he was anxious to retrieve his pipe from his bag, he pushed his impatience aside. Once he partook of the herbs, he wouldn’t be able to adequately savor Rebecca’s ample charms. After he’d debauched her a time or two, he’d indulge in his favorite pastime.

Obscurely, it occurred to him that sex had previously been his
favorite
diversion. When had that changed? And why? But the sentiment was fleeting as were so many. Recurrently, concentration proved elusive.

As he contemplated Rebecca, a welcomed stirring tickled betwixt his legs, and he almost wept with relief. Sporadically, with all the liquor and herbs he consumed, he was unable to perform his manly duties, and the incidents were beginning to frighten him. His inability to generate a cockstand had advanced into a recurring problem, and he was increasingly concerned that his aptness might vanish forever.

“Come here,” he ordered.

More and more, women failed to spur his male urges. Even the most disgusting, unconstrained whores had no rousing effect on his limp manhood, so when he felt another prickle of desire in his nether regions, he was deluged with optimism and abruptly ablaze.

“Really, Hugh,” she huffed, affronted. “Since you arrived, you’ve done naught but chastise me, and now you presume that I’ll just blindly do whatever you require.” Her pert nose went up. “Well, you’ve just pushed me too far.”

“Come here,” he repeated more forcefully.

“I won’t, I tell you!”

“You will,” he crooned softly, “or I’ll be extremely angry”

“For once, I don’t care.”

The bitch spun away, as though she’d march out in a snit! Who did she think she was, putting on airs? For the first time in months, he could fornicate without any disconcerting obstacles, and by the heavens, she would oblige. Just the notion that she had the temerity to reject him inspired him to a fierce cockstand.

Embarrassingly, there were many available women at the party besides his cousin, but he couldn’t seek out any of them for fear of being incapable of maintaining an erection. So far, Rebecca was the only person who’d been with him when the worst had ensued, so Hugh never had to brook any discomfiting rationalizations or humiliating elucidations. She was in no position to discuss their sexual relationship with others, and she hadn’t sufficient carnal enlightenment to grasp what was amiss.

She couldn’t depart; he wouldn’t allow her to.

Exhibiting uncommon agility, he leapt to the floor, grabbed her, and whipped her around. “Get back in bed.”

“Hugh, stop it” she sniveled as he urged her toward the mattress. She attempted to stare him down, but her defiance waned—as always—when confronted by his firm insistence. “You’re hurting my arm.”

“I won’t be denied, Rebecca.”

In a visible rage, she lay down, and he fell on top of her. He bared her breasts and suckled, but she was unmoving as a corpse, declining to participate as he’d repeatedly instructed. He thought about slapping a response out of her, but didn’t. At the moment, he was unconcerned by her deficient cooperation.

Stimulated by the fierceness of her insubordination, he spread her legs and feasted. Elated that he was able, he climaxed in haste, then pulled out and collapsed on his side. She scooted away, scurrying to right herself.

“Don’t leave,” he decreed. “I’ll have another go at you in a few minutes. As soon as I’ve rested.” But the haze from his orgasm was clouding his deluded brain, and he faded into a disturbed slumber.

Michael was resting impatiently on his bed when he heard Sarah’s arrival in her room. Though the hour wasn’t overly late, he’d been waiting an eternity for her to return from supper. She’d begged him to join her, but he’d rebuffed her invitation—not out of his customary disdain for fraternizing with the other guests, but because of their diverse positions.

They wouldn’t have been able to converse in the parlor before the meal was announced and, due to their disparate statuses, they’d have been seated at opposite ends of the table. He couldn’t conceive of watching from afar, pretending they weren’t intimate, as she chatted and mingled. If she was in proximity, he couldn’t feign disinterest.

How he wished he could have accompanied her downstairs! That he could have proudly stood with her, her arm slipped through his. That he could have escorted her into the dining room, held out her chair, whispered in her ear throughout the banquet.

Astoundingly, he was chomping at the bit, hating the elite restrictions that kept them from acknowledging one another in public. While usually he could have cared less about the constraints upon him, for once, he was keenly feeling the divisions that his dubious parentage had engendered.

Over the years, he’d ridiculed James for his fascination with the members of the
ton
. Michael had always assumed that he had more sense, but since meeting Sarah and becoming involved with her, he recognized that he wasn’t immune to the enticement of her world.

In Paris, with his mother a lauded, sought-after celebrity, his paternity hadn’t seemed important. He’d been welcomed
into the looser French society, befriended by the noble sons of the wealthy families, eyed for future marriage by the daughters of the prosperous merchants. His ancestry hadn’t had any effect on his behavior, so he hadn’t worried about fitting in.

But in London, where lineage was everything, he’d been slapped in the face with reality. A trespasser, he’d fluttered on the fringes of their exclusive domain, an interloper simply because his father and mother—two dynamic, charismatic, selfish individuals—had never wed.

Edward Stevens had four adult children—three daughters and a son—who were legitimately born to him during his lengthy marriage, and it had been painful to discover how differently they were viewed. Michael and James were Edward’s shameful indiscretion, and despite how much they looked like Edward, or acted like him, how much they postured and strutted, they could never be anything but his bastards.

The inequity had been harrowing, and he’d eventually accepted their situation, but not James. Though to be fair, James had suffered more due to the fact that he’d been older when they’d moved away. His recollections of their father were precise and ingrained, so his loss had been greater. He was the firstborn son of the prominent aristocrat, but he could never hold his rightful place, and he had yearned for approval, while Michael had perpetually conjectured that he was beyond those youthful daydreams of assimilation.

Then, Sarah had bewitched him. From the start, he’d been infatuated with her, even though attraction was pointless. When he should have run fast and furiously in the opposite direction, he’d acceded to her bold petition for an affair, and as a result, they’d instituted some of the most lusty, ribald sex he’d ever encountered.

Interspersed with the erotic sessions were tender words, quiet interludes, and gentle sharing that had left him enchanted, enraptured, and utterly immersed in the liaison until he couldn’t eat or sleep. His entire life now revolved
around the handful of stolen moments when he could tarry in her arms. The past had disappeared; the future had no meaning. He existed solely for their episodes of carnal bliss.

Thoroughly besotted, he never tired of watching her, never wearied of her company, of her pretty face or lush body. Considering his enchantment, he couldn’t have gone to supper with her, because he would have spent the repast gazing longingly down the large table like a lovesick boy.

He listened to the muffled noises she made, and he could picture her perched on the stool at her vanity. As the maid unbuttoned her gown and unlaced her corset. As she washed, then slipped into her nightrail and robe.

Amazingly, he visualized himself—instead of the serving girl—assisting her, once again, with her private ablutions, and the notion was unsettling. The desire to aid her was irresistible, and he’d previously given in to it on that one occasion when they’d dined together, but he’d carefully prevented himself from doing something so idiotic a second time.

Never before had he been prone to dawdle in a woman’s boudoir. With all the lovers he’d had, nary a one had inspired him to loiter. He’d never cared how they undressed, how they bathed, or readied themselves for slumber, but with Sarah, his beguilement had flared, early on, and he couldn’t seem to get enough of her mundane details.

How unfortunate that this remarkable relationship would terminate before it had begun. There would be insufficient opportunity to explore these strange and wondrous sensations, and he sighed regretfully. What would Sarah think when she learned that he was packing his bags? Would she be upset or, more likely, would she be relieved that their
amour
had been so easily concluded?

Though he hated to admit it, Pamela had done them both a favor by forcing him to depart, and the request hadn’t been a surprise. After the incident with Brigham, he’d been expecting it. She’d been courteous and compassionate; he’d appreciated her tact and, bearing in mind that Hugh Compton
had arrived, she could hardly have acted in any other fashion.

But how to disengage from Sarah?

When he’d rashly initiated their romance, it had never occurred to him that it would be difficult to end it. He’d always been a competent, shrewd fellow, who examined every angle and option before proceeding, yet he’d permitted this slip of a woman—whom he barely knew and with whom he had so little in common—to totally inflict herself into his life and heart. He couldn’t predict where he’d travel next, because he couldn’t envision being separated from her.

What a foolish, foolish man he was!

The adjoining door opened, and she peeked in, smiling when she saw him. As he ached over the dreams that would never come true, he was confronted with the ample depth of his folly.

How could he endure losing her?

“I asked to have a bath delivered,” she said. “Would you wash me?”

“I’d like that.”

His cock hardened at the idea of touching her when she was wet and slippery, and she immediately noticed. Her delighted appraisal lagged on the bulge she’d produced in his trousers.

“Then, when you’re finished, we’ll switch, and
I
will bathe
you
.”

The gleam in her eye was lecherous, and he chuckled. “I’ve created a monster.”

“Yes, you have. Are you sorry?”

“Not a whit”

“I didn’t think so.”

A servant rapped on her door, and she motioned him to silence, then vanished in order to direct the hauling in of the jugs of water. Many minutes later, she entered again, clad only in one of her functional chemises. She approached the bed, her thighs pressed against the frame.

“Did you lock the door after they left?” he inquired.

“Yes.”

“Did you double-check?”

“Yes!” She was riled by his caution.

“Are you certain?”

“Michael!” She was regularly exasperated by his overt vigilance. Even after everything that had happened, she was too trusting. With Brigham routed, she declined to suppose that there were others who might have designs on her.