Dreams of Desire (17 page)

As she tensed with ecstasy, he thrust once, twice, and just that easily, he entered her.

The feel of her maiden’s blood, so slick and hot, immediately goaded him to the edge. Without warning, he emptied himself against her womb—the deed was done and couldn’t be undone—but even though his seed was spilled, he shoved himself in and in.

He hated that he had to stop, hated for it to be over, but as his hips ground to a halt and he drew away, he was swamped with guilt. He should have gone slower! He should have prepared her for what was to come!

She’d been a virgin, for pity’s sake, yet he’d behaved like a rutting beast with no concern for her chaste condition.

He’d opened his mouth to apologize, to counsel her on how it would get better with repetition, but a knock sounded on the door, and the words died in his throat. Out the window, he noted that morning had arrived. The servants were up and seeing to their chores.

“Miss Lambert?” a maid softly called, and he suffered a moment of alarm.

The previous night, he hadn’t spun the key in the lock. What if she strolled in and caught them?

Reality returned with a vengeance.

What was he doing? What was he thinking?

He’d spent his entire life castigating his mother for her immoral lapses. If he was capable of the same sort of illicit conduct, what did it indicate about his true character?

“Tell her,” he whispered in Lily’s ear, “that you’re not up yet, and you’d like her to come back later.”

Lily appeared stunned, her expression a mix of distress and regret, and he wished he could calm or placate her, but there was no time.

She remained silent, and he urged, “Tell her! Quick! Before she turns the knob and peeks in.”

“It’s . . . it’s . . . Miss Lambert,” she stammered. “Could you come back in a half hour?”

“Yes, Miss. Are you needing anything for now?”

“No, I’m . . . fine.”

The girl walked on, and as her strides faded, he slid from the bed. In a panic, he rushed about, straightening his trousers and tucking in his shirt. Lily watched, not speaking, her gaze anxious and perplexed.

He yearned to climb under the covers, to soothe and console her over the abrupt coupling and even more abrupt conclusion. But they’d already courted sufficient disaster. He didn’t dare dawdle further.

Leaning over her, he braced his hands on the mattress.

“Sleep in,” he said, “all day if you’d like.”

“What about . . . about ...”

He wasn’t sure what she was trying to ask, but he suspected any query would involve his contemptible, abbreviated seduction. He was a disgraceful ass, but with the carnal heat of the encounter waning, he was too embarrassed to hash out his failings.

“I’ll see you this afternoon,” he insisted. “We’ll talk then.”

He went to the door and peered out. Espying no one, he tiptoed away and—like the cad he apparently was—he hurried to his room without glancing back.

“LOCK the door,” Barbara whispered. “Hurry.”

Phillip sneaked in behind her and did as she asked, quickly sealing them in her boudoir.

She’d thought their initial tryst would be in
his
room, at
his
home, but she was more than happy to seduce him in her own suite. It was particularly thrilling to know how vehemently Esther would disapprove. She was still whining about how Barbara had stolen her bed, and if she had any idea of what Barbara was about to do on its mattress, she’d suffer an apoplexy.

“If your son finds out I’m in here,” Dudley said, “there will be hell to pay.”

“He won’t find out.”

“How can you be sure?”

“He’s with Miss Lambert. He’ll probably be with her all night.”

“In her bedchamber?”

“Yes.”

She walked to her dressing room, and he followed, being a man accustomed to lingering in a woman’s private quarters. From the moment she’d first noticed him, she’d suspected a lusty character. With that dark hair and those seductive brown eyes, that tall frame and muscular physique, he was a sin any female would gladly commit.

She sat on the stool and studied herself in the mirror as she drew the combs from her hair and let it tumble down her back. She was putting on a show for him, wanting him to watch, wanting him wild with desire, but would he be?

He could have had his pick of several neighborhood widows, but she’d snagged him before anyone else had a chance. But with her being so much older than he, would she keep his attention?

He was casually lounged against the doorframe, observing as she went about her simple feminine rituals.

“Miss Lambert told me,” he said, “that Penworth is strangely enamored of her.”

“Why would it be strange? She’s very pretty and very sweet. It’s not odd that he’d be enchanted.”

“Will he ruin her?”

“Yes. He’s a healthy, red-blooded male. What would you expect?”

“Could he fall in love with her?”

“Are you joking?” She spun around and scowled. “He’s his father’s son. He’s not capable of that sort of strong emotion. Charles drummed it out of him when he was a boy.”

“What will happen to her?”

“I suppose what happens to all girls like her when a handsome nobleman becomes interested. He’ll trifle with her until he grows weary or until she winds up pregnant. Then? I can’t guess what John might do.”

“Would he ever marry her?”

“Stuffy, fussy John?” she scoffed. “No, he never would. Miss Lambert is so far beneath him that I’m amazed he can see her.”

“If he gets her pregnant, I’ll kill him.”

His ferocity made her imagine that he might actually perpetrate violence, and she reveled in that type of passion. It was a rare man who exhibited it.

He came over and hauled her to her feet, then led her to the bedchamber. He rolled onto the mattress and tugged her down with him. She stretched out atop him, and she arched like a lazy cat, relishing the feel of his body beneath hers.

“You’re awfully friendly with Miss Lambert,” she said, glaring down at him.

“I am,” he agreed, but offered nothing more, which infuriated her.

She hated that he wouldn’t confide in her, and she hoped his reticence wasn’t because he and Miss Lambert were lovers. Though Barbara was loathe to admit it, she worried he might be smitten by the engaging, much younger woman.

“Why does she call you Dubois?”

“I’m a charlatan and a fraud. It’s one of my false names.”

“Really?”

“I speak fluent French, too, with a very sexy accent. Women drool over me.”

“You’re a man of many talents.” She grinned, not able to discern if he was telling the truth, but fascinated that he might be. “What are you? A spy? A bandit who’s wanted by the law? A traitor to the Crown? What?”

“Something much worse.”

“Worse than a traitor, spy, or bandit? What could be worse than those?”

“You’d be surprised.”

She sat on her haunches and grabbed the lapels of his coat.

“Spill all, you knave!” she commanded. “What are you about?”

“I’m a sorcerer.”

“Would you be serious?”

“I can make a woman fall in love with the man of her dreams. I can make the man in question return her affection.”

“You expect me to believe such a ridiculous tale?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“All right, Mr. Sorcerer. If you’re so powerful, can you make my son love me again?”

He smirked. “I’m a sorcerer, not a miracle worker.”

She snorted with disgust. “You’re impossible.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Why won’t you divulge your background?”

“You’ll like me more if I keep it a secret.”

“No, I won’t,” she pouted.

He chuckled. “You’re horridly spoiled, and I can’t abide that you display it so blatantly. I’m not certain we’ll get on all that well.”

“Trust me: We’ll
get on
just fine.”

“As long as I don’t provoke your temper?”

“Yes, and as long as you always let me have my way.”

“Now
that
I can’t promise at all.”

She was tired of waiting for him to kiss her, tired of waiting to learn what it would be like, so she bent down and kissed him first. He was aggravated that she’d taken charge, and he flipped her onto her back, seizing control of the embrace. He was very adept, very thorough, so it was as delicious as she’d predicted.

She probably should have forgone an affair, should have focused her energies on reestablishing her connection to John, but she was terribly nervous as to how events would unfold. Her confidence would surely be bolstered by being involved with Phillip Dudley.

If she had a paramour, she would feel younger and stronger, better able to maintain the pretense that she knew what she was doing. Dudley—for his part—would bring intrigue and excitement to her life, and he would provide the added benefit of keeping her occupied so she didn’t fret over her troubles.

Whenever she thought about John, she panicked. What if he evicted her? Where would she be?

She was desperate to block out any anxious rumination with a bout of rough, fast sex, yet Dudley was in no rush, being perfectly happy to dawdle.

There was no hasty groping, no fumbling with her skirt, no race to the next level. He simply kissed her, then kissed her some more, until she grew impatient. Why didn’t he hurry, the oaf?

Perceiving her dismay, he pulled away and peered down at her.

He had the shrewdest way of looking at a woman, as if he could see to her soul, and she didn’t care for the sensation. In light of her notorious history, there was plenty she liked to conceal.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing, why?”

“All of a sudden, you’re tense as a board.”

“I have a lot on my mind.”

He laughed. “I haven’t distracted you from it?”

“Of course you have,” she gushed, worried she might have bruised his poor male ego.

“I know a thing or two about amour. If I can’t entice you, you’re obviously not in the mood.”

“I’m absolutely in the mood!”

“There’s no need to continue.” He patted her on the shoulder, then slid away and sat up. “I’ll come back another time.”

Her panic soared. Recently, she’d been deluged by her pitiful reflections. She had too much to regret, and she wasn’t eager to be by herself. Dudley had been invited to her room so she could keep her demons at bay for a while.

He couldn’t leave! How would she fill the quiet hours till dawn?

“Don’t be a boor,” she scolded, sitting up, too. “Turn off the lamp, and we’ll start in again.”

“You want to have sex in the dark? Why? Do you think—if I can’t see you—your upset will be hidden from me?”

“I’m not upset!”

He studied her again, those astute eyes digging deep, and she squirmed with discomfort—as if she’d misbehaved and had been found out.

“My beautiful, brazen Barbara,” he murmured, “what is it?”

He posed the question so kindly, and with such compassion, that she had to glance away. She stared at her lap.

“I hate to be alone,” she whispered as if he’d wrenched the confession from her.

“Everyone does.”

“And I’d like to pass the time with you.”

“With some dispassionate sex?”

“Well . . . yes, but I hope it’s at least a little passionate.”

“You only want me for my magnificent body,” he teased.

“I won’t deny it.”

“I feel so . . .
used
,” he sarcastically complained, and he put a finger under her chin, forcing her to look at him.

“Just . . . stay,” she begged. “Please?”

“I will on one condition.”

“What is that?”

“I want to know everything.”

“About what?”

“About what happened to you. I want to know how you got so lost that you can’t find your way back.”

“I’d have no idea where to begin.”

“How about with the day you were a young wife and decided to leave your husband? Tell me all that transpired between then and right now.” He leaned against the headboard, a pillow propped behind him, as if settling in for a long story. He watched her intently, daring her to confide in him, and the notion was tempting.

No one had ever sought to understand what occurred, why she’d left, or how awful it had been.

“You can trust me,” he urged, “and I’m a great listener.”

He held out his arms to her, and for a moment, she hesitated, then she fell into them. She snuggled herself to his chest, her ear over his heart so she could hear its steady beating.

“I was nineteen,” she said, “and I had already been married for four years. I was so miserably unhappy . . .”

 

“YOU have one chance to explain yourselves. Who would like to start?”