Promise of Pleasure (29 page)

“You’re a hard woman, Victoria.”

“And Mary is a foolish romantic who will have built up all sorts of fantasies about you. I expect you to courteously dash them, so she isn’t left hoping for what will never be.”

He sighed again. He was bereft, troubled, contemptible beyond bearing.

“As you wish. Let’s get it over with.”

“We shall deal with her as soon as we’re finished with Felicity.”

 

FELICITY walked into her mother’s library, taking small steps, prolonging the moment so she would recall every detail.

She had brought Jordan Winthrop to his knees!

Ha!

He had to be choking on his pride and conceit, and she was thrilled to have put him in his place. She wanted to laugh with arrogant glee. She wanted to twirl in circles and kick up her heels.

He and Victoria were over by the desk, seated across from each other, glaring.

“You asked to see me, Mother?” She acted shy and demure.

They both stood.

“Yes, Felicity. Please join us. Lord Redvers and I have been talking. He has something he would like to say to you.”

Felicity bit down a grin.

She knew what was coming. Victoria had warned her to be ready, and she’d been in her room for hours, dressing to perfection.

She strolled over, but as he turned toward her, she frowned.

He looked as if he’d slept in his clothes, as if he’d been in a brawl, and there was a strong odor of alcohol hovering about his person.

Was he drunk? Had he needed to imbibe of whiskey in order to muster the courage to proceed?

Ooh ... the wretch! He’d spoiled everything!

“He didn’t even shave,” she blurted out.

“Felicity!” her mother scolded. “It’s not your business to comment on his condition.”

“Well, he didn’t. He’s a mess.”

Redvers grumbled an epithet. “Let’s make this brief and to the point, shall we? Before I change my mind?”

“By all means,” Victoria replied.

“Felicity”—Redvers was curt and cold—“will you marry me?”

Felicity’s mouth dropped open in shock.

He hadn’t so much as glanced at her beautiful gown or magnificently styled hair. He hadn’t uttered a single compliment. He hadn’t spoken a civil word.

“That’s it?” she complained. “That’s your proposal?”

“Yes.”

“But you didn’t say what you were supposed to say!”

“I believe I remembered the most important part.”

“Felicity,” Victoria barked, “Lord Redvers has asked you a question. You must grace him with your answer.”

“But . . . but ... he has to get down on one knee. He has to take my hand and pledge his undying love. He has to tell me that I’ve made him the happiest man in the world.”

“Oh for pity’s sake,” Redvers mumbled.

Victoria growled with exasperation. “Her answer is yes, Lord Redvers. She would be honored to be your wife.”

Felicity stamped her foot. “I want him to do it again. I want him to do it correctly.”

“Are we finished?” Redvers inquired of Victoria.

“Yes, we’re definitely finished.” She rounded the desk and took Felicity by the arm, escorting her out. “Go find Mary and send her down. Inform her that she must attend me at once.”

Felicity studied them. Redvers wasn’t leaving, so it was obvious they would meet with Mary together. Why?

A frisson of concern slithered down her spine. What was happening?

“Why must you speak with Mary? Why would he sit in with you?”

“Just fetch her for me.”

Victoria shoved Felicity into the hall and shut the door in her face.

Her proposal ended, her marriage set, she marched away.

“CASSIE! There you are!”

Cassandra whipped around to see Adair chasing her down the hall. She refused to think of him as
Paxton,
and she couldn’t have him referring to her as
Cassie
right out in the open, where anyone could hear.

“What is it, Mr. Adair?”

He hurried up, skidding to a halt.

Debonair as ever, he looked handsome and elegant in a perfectly tailored suit. He’d been barbered and shaved, and he smelled very good, a hint of masculine cologne discernible beneath his clothes.

The scent tickled her senses, pricking at whatever insane itch he always goaded until she was desperate to have him scratch it.

Needing to put space between them, she took a step back. He’d expected a warm greeting and when he didn’t receive it, he frowned.

“You called me Mr. Adair.”

“Of course I did. We don’t have a familiar acquaintance.”

“You little liar. What’s come over you? Why have you been hiding from me?”

“I haven’t been hiding.”

“Yes, you have. You’ve been positively dodgy.”

“You’re being absurd. I have no reason to avoid you.”

“Don’t you?”

He smiled a smile that made her knees weak, that promised iniquity, that wickedly reminded her of how she had no secrets from him.

“It’s been three days since we”—he bent down and whispered—“fucked like rabbits, and I haven’t seen you anywhere. If I’d had any idea of the location of your bedchamber, I’d have sneaked in every night.”

“Would you be silent?”

“Call me Paxton, or I’ll say it again. Very loudly.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I would, so call me Paxton.” He glared, tapping his foot. “I’m waiting.”

“No. I won’t let you bully me. Go away before someone sees us.”

“Why would I care if anyone sees us? Quit being such a prim shrew.”

“Me! I’m not prim.”

“You couldn’t prove it by me. You’re acting like a frightened virgin, and it annoys the hell out of me.”

There was a deserted parlor next to them, and he grabbed her hand and dragged her inside. He closed the door with his toe, then shoved her back. He leaned in, trapping her against the wood.

“Have you missed me?” he asked.

“No.”

“Why do you keep lying?”

His mouth covered hers in a devastating kiss. It went on and on till she was dizzy, till she managed to forget that they were in a downstairs room in her mother’s house.

A servant could walk by and push his way in, and the possibility of detection added a dangerous element to their behavior. She found it oddly thrilling.

He clasped her thighs and wrapped them around his waist so that her privates were pressed to his. He was hard with desire, and she was delighted to have aroused him, experiencing none of her usual fear or revulsion. Instead, joy swept through her.

Did people really fornicate like this? Against a door? In the middle of the day? With such reckless abandon?

She was grinning, and she couldn’t stop.

Like a magician, he raised her skirt and opened his trousers. In an instant, she was impaled on his masculine rod, and he was thrusting into her.

He lowered the bodice of her dress, her bare breasts hanging out, and he pinched her nipples, sending waves of lust shooting to her womb. In an instant, she exploded with pleasure, and so did he. This time, he didn’t pull out, but spilled his seed far inside her, and she should have been worried, but she wasn’t.

She could practically see the son they might create. He’d have Paxton’s golden blond hair and her big blue eyes, and she almost wished he had planted a child.

His flexing slowed, his face buried at her nape, his eager lips hot on her skin.

“Now will you call me Paxton?” he inquired. “If you say no, I’ll spank your bottom.”

“Oh, Paxton ...” she murmured. “My goodness!”

“That’s more like it.” He drew away, guiding her down his torso till her feet touched the floor.

They tarried, straightening their clothes, and he was studying her with the most charming expression, as if she was very dear to him.

The look unnerved her. It seemed to demand a similar look in return, but she couldn’t give it to him. She didn’t know how.

“What are you staring at?” She felt foolish and giddy.

He was quiet, contemplative, then he admitted, “I’m leaving.”

“Leaving? Why?”

“Jordan is sick of me. He’s kicked me out. Lauretta, too. She and I are heading back to London.”

“When?”

“Right away.”

“I see.”

She’d understood that he’d be at Barnes Manor a short while, but she hadn’t realized the end was so near. Panic assailed her.

“Come with me!” he urged.

“To where?”

“To London.”

“London! Are you mad?”

“No. I’ve been thinking about us.”

“There is no
us.”

“There is! Don’t deny it. Something happens when we’re together. It’s wild and extraordinary.... Oh, just come with me.”

“I couldn’t.”

“And why couldn’t you? What’s keeping you here?”

“It’s my home.”

“You hate it here. You’re constantly under your mother’s thumb. You trudge around as if you died at age sixteen when you were wed. Let me breathe some life back into you. Escape with me.”

“To do what? You have no income. How would we live?”

“I’ve decided it’s time for me to grow up.”

“What does that mean?”

He sobered, appearing very sensible for a change.

“I’m going to tell my father
yes
that I would like very much to take possession of his plantation in Jamaica.”

“You’re off to Jamaica?”

“Yes.” He grinned, his excitement bubbling up. “Can’t you picture me, sitting on the verandah of my grand house, gazing out at the blue sea? I’ll be wearing a white suit, and I’ll have a cadre of Negroes fawning over me and serving me iced rums.”

She smiled, being able to absolutely visualize it, as if it was a place she’d previously resided herself. She could see the palm trees swaying in the wind, could smell the tropical flowers lining the balustrade, could feel the warm breeze drifting up off the beach sand.

“I can picture you in just that spot,” she said.

“Then come with me. There’s a chair on that porch for you, too.”

For an insane, impetuous second, it was on the tip of her tongue to accept.

After all, what reason was there to stay at Barnes Manor?

Her mother wanted her gone, and Cassandra was desperate to depart. But in her ponderings, she’d never actually assumed it might transpire, and with Paxton offering her the chance, she was too terrified to reach for it.

She didn’t know any details about him save for the fact that he was a gambler, cheat, and philanderer. How could that be the basis for a lasting relationship?

In a pinch, he wasn’t the sort of fellow a woman could count upon, so she would never rashly board a ship and sail across the ocean with him. The prospect was so fantastical that he might have suggested she sprout wings and fly to the moon.

“No,” she said. “I can’t.”

“You can!” he insisted.

“No.”

He grabbed her and shook her. “Do it for me. Do it for yourself!”

“No ... no ...”

“I can’t bear to go without you. Don’t make me.”

His heartfelt plea was too enticing. Her resolve was weakening, and she yearned to throw herself into his arms, to laugh and say yes, yes, yes, but she couldn’t.

Despite how she complained about Victoria, Cassandra was her daughter in every way.

Although Cassandra had been wed and widowed, she couldn’t imagine marrying again without her mother’s consent. Victoria would never deem Adair an appropriate spouse, would never agree to a match.

“I really couldn’t, Paxton. I couldn’t. I’m so sorry.”

She squirmed away and opened the door, stepping into the hall without peeking first. He lunged after her, and unfortunately, her mother took that very moment to appear at the end of the corridor.

She halted and frowned, assessing the intimate scene.

“Mr. Adair, what are you doing? Unhand my daughter at once.”

He moved away, and he stared at Cassandra, giving her the opportunity to tell the truth, to admit a bond, but she was a coward and always had been. She had no idea how to stand up to Victoria, and she was stubbornly silent.

He winked, taking the blame, forgiving her for her spinelessness.

“I apologize, Mrs. Barnes.” He was convincingly contrite. “I didn’t mean any harm.”

“Lord Redvers has asked you to go,” Victoria seethed, “and it can’t happen soon enough for me.”

“He was just flirting, Mother,” Cassandra fibbed.

“In an empty parlor,” Victoria charged, “with the door closed? He might have done anything to you.” She glared at Paxton. “Pack your belongings, Mr. Adair, and get out of my house. Don’t let me catch you sniffing around Cassandra again.”

Paxton hesitated, his disappointment clear. Cassandra thought he might defend himself or beg her to be candid about their friendship, but he didn’t.