Tempting a Proper Lady (15 page)

He had barely finished speaking before he was kissing her. His mouth was hot, moist, and softer than she'd imagined. At first she kept her lips closed, her mind spinning away with the amazing feelings that coursed through her body. After a moment, the gentle pressure of his fingers on her jaw and the teasing of his tongue against her lips made her open for him. He seized the opportunity, taking her mouth with a fervor that sparked an answering inferno inside her. Her breasts swelled, her nipples tight and aching. The place between her legs flared with burning need. She wanted to rub against him, quench the fire that seemed to blaze higher with every second that the kiss lingered on.

He finally pulled away, running his thumb along her lower lip before sitting back in his seat. “Honor is satisfied,” he said, his voice rough.

She sought a moment of peace, struggling to calm the raging storm within her. Outside the window, the lights of Nevarton Chase shone in the distance.

She had high hopes for her instruction at his hands. Already in the space of time it took to travel from the assembly hall to the manor, he had taught her how to kiss.

And she would remember the lesson.

T
he note came late Wednesday, delivered by a young lad at the kitchen door.

Cilla's heartbeat sped up as she read the note a third time. It was set then. Samuel was sending the coach for her Friday so he could teach her the ways of the opposite sex.

A scullery maid came into the kitchen, and Cilla quickly folded the note and slipped it into her pocket, then hurried up the back stairs to the first floor, where Annabelle awaited her in the music room. The knowledge that she would soon have a secret lover bubbled inside her like a stew simmering on the stove. Dear Lord, Friday was two days away. Samuel had certainly moved quickly in finding a place for their liaison. He was a man who knew what he wanted and acted appropriately to obtain it.

And apparently
she
was what he wanted. She had noticed the hardness of him when she'd stumbled against him in the carriage. He was primed to bed
her, that much was certain, and part of her thrilled to the idea that she could affect a man so. Edward had always seemed to covet her grandmother's jewels more than her body. What would it be like to be intimate with a man who wanted only what her flesh could offer him?

Warmth flooded through her as she imagined Samuel kissing her again. Touching her as he had at the inn. Making her feel that incredible pleasure that had exploded through her like fireworks. Was it the same for him? She knew he would put his rod inside her. Men seemed to like it, though it was not all that enjoyable for the woman. But if Samuel brought her pleasure first, she would willingly let him thrust himself inside her, no matter the discomfort.

She paused before exiting the stairwell, hand pressed to her pounding heart as she struggled to regain her composure. She did not want to appear in any way agitated for fear Annabelle would ask her what was wrong. Once she had calmed herself, she exited the servants' stairs and made her way to the music room.

The sound of quiet sobbing shook her out of her daydream. Alarm streaked through her, and she opened the door to the music room to see Annabelle seated at the pianoforte, head on her folded arms atop the instrument as she wept.

“Annabelle, what has happened?” She hurried to the girl's side, sliding onto the bench beside her and slipping an arm around her shoulders. “Tell me, please, what has upset you so?”

Annabelle looked up, her blue eyes brilliant with
tears in her blotchy face. “I've ruined everything, Mrs. Burke! Everything!”

“Now, now.” Cilla took out her handkerchief and pressed it into Annabelle's hand. “Tell me what happened, and we shall set it aright.”

“I don't know if it can be set right!” Annabelle swiped at her damp eyes.

“I will do my best to help you, no matter what it is.” She rubbed the girl's shoulder, hoping to soothe her.

“It's Richard,” Annabelle said with a sniffle.

Cilla froze, every warning Samuel ever uttered bursting through her mind. “Did he hurt you, Annabelle? Tell me, please.”

“He was horrible.” She sucked in a shaky breath. “I couldn't believe it was the same man.”

“What did he do to you?” She turned on the seat and grasped Annabelle by the shoulders. “You can tell me, Annabelle.”

“He was so nasty.” She took another shuddering breath. “All I did was ask some questions as you suggested, and he…he…”

“Did he strike you?”

“No!” The girl sounded so shocked that the tension automatically left Cilla's shoulders. “But he said the most horrible things. I don't know what I did wrong. And now…now…” She started to cry again.

“Now…what? What did he say?”

“He…he called me a crude American.” She covered her mouth as if she could not bear to have said it. “He said I should mind my place if I had any chance of making a decent countess.”

“Oh, no.” Cilla took the handkerchief from Annabelle's hand and wiped away a stray tear. “That is indeed horrible. What brought on such talk?”

“I was just asking questions like you suggested. His favorite food, his favorite book. About his family and his childhood. His favorite pastimes. Who his friends were.”

“That does not seem like anything that would incite such a violent reaction.”

“I didn't think so, either, but he went a little mad. Accused me of being too meddlesome.” She let out a big sigh. “When I was engaged to Samuel, we used to sit outside on the porch at night and talk about all kinds of things like that while Mama and Pa sat just inside the house. Sometimes Mama would read to Pa, and Samuel and I would sit quietly listening through the window. I always thought that's what my married life would be like.”

Cilla resisted the urge to cheer that Raventhorpe had begun to show his true colors. “It seems natural to me that a woman would want to know such things about her future husband.”

“That's what I thought, too. But I guess English lords see asking questions as being nosy.”

“I never heard of such a thing,” Cilla said, “and I have known some English lords in my day.”

“We were just walking through the garden, talking. He asks me questions all the time. About America, about when I was engaged to Samuel. I always answer them.”

“He asks you about Samuel?”

“Well, yes.” Annabelle shrugged. “I think he's
a little jealous, actually, because I was engaged to Samuel first.”

“Men can be that way,” Cilla murmured. Her mind raced with the implications.

“I just hope I didn't ruin everything by asking too many questions,” Annabelle said. “My wedding dress is nearly ready, and I've so got my heart set on being a countess. If Richard changes his mind, I would just die.”

“He won't change his mind,” Cilla said automatically.

“Perhaps you're right. I know he's marrying me for my money.” She dropped her gaze to her hands and twisted her fingers together. “I just thought maybe he was starting to love me…maybe a little.”

“Oh, Annabelle.” Cilla sighed and stroked the girl's arm.

“Things weren't like this when I was going to marry Samuel,” Annabelle said with a sniff. “Sometimes I wish Pa had never found that coal mine.”

“We cannot undo the past.” Cilla paused, trying to find just the right words. “The earl will probably not call off the wedding. It would be a terrible scandal and would blacken his reputation. In order for the engagement to be over, you would have to be the one to jilt him.”

“Oh, I don't know if I could do that!”

“I have faith that you can do anything as long as you know it's the right thing to do. Just follow your heart, Annabelle.”

“I don't know what my heart wants!”

Cilla smiled at the frustration in her voice, recog
nizing a kindred spirit. “You will. In the meantime, let us go up to your bedchamber so you can splash some water on your face. You do not want to worry your mother.”

As expected, the mention of Dolly spurred Annabelle into action. The girl leaped to her feet and headed for the door. Cilla followed behind. It seemed Lord Raventhorpe's temper had begun to sow the seeds of his own destruction. Perhaps it would only take a little nudge to encourage Annabelle to call off the wedding.

Would Samuel leave England once he had accomplished his mission?

They had not discussed the possibility that Cilla might succeed in her part of the plan right away. What if Annabelle was so upset at Raventhorpe that she called off the wedding this very day? How long would Samuel stay in England once that happened?

Cilla was keeping her side of the bargain, and she was determined that he would keep his. They needed to set a minimum time frame on their affair so that if Annabelle did call off the wedding sooner than expected, Cilla would be guaranteed a certain number of lessons before Samuel returned to America. There was much she needed to learn in order to pick the right husband this time.

She was gambling on Samuel's sense of honor to see the bargain through. God save her if she was wrong about him.

 

Raventhorpe reflected on the disappointment of his assassin's failure with a hatred that ate at him
like acid. How he longed to do the deed himself, to take Breedlove's life and watch him die as he thought he had done on that island.

But the damned American had the devil's own luck—marooned on a deserted island and instead of finding death, he found gold. And somehow got himself rescued as well.

Aye, the captain had more lives than a cat. But Raventhorpe could count higher than nine. He would just keep trying to get rid of the irritating American until he was successful. Here in England, he was nearly untouchable. And he was a patient man.

Had he not courted Annabelle for nearly two years in order to get her to marry him? She had been grieving for her lost betrothed, so it had been over a year before she had even begun to see him as a suitor. Her father had only just struck it rich from the huge coal deposit under one of his fields, and Raventhorpe had made it his business first to comfort Annabelle, then to court her. The Baileys were impressed with his title, and he used it to dazzle Annabelle into accepting his offer of marriage.

He hadn't counted on Breedlove returning from the dead just as he was about to wed one of the richest heiresses in the world.

And now that he was thinking about it, he realized it was more important than ever that he apologize to Annabelle for losing his temper earlier today. But the chit had started prying into his past, asking a hundred questions that were none of her business, and he had finally snapped. She'd dissolved into
hysterics and babbled something about Mrs. Burke telling her to ask him these things.

Mrs. Burke. Now there was a troublesome one. Between her and Breedlove, the two of them threatened to ruin everything he had carefully built. Breedlove would be dealt with soon enough—permanently this time. And as for Priscilla Burke…

She was a fetching thing with her generous bosom and her fine, rounded arse that begged for a man's attention. That tongue of hers could be put to better use than filling Annabelle's head with nonsense. Like around a hard cock. Aye, with her fair skin and lush figure she would certainly command a good price in the slave markets overseas, even though she wasn't a virgin.

Perhaps, he thought as his own loins stirred, he would try her out himself before he sold her into someone else's keeping. Always best to test the merchandise.

He rose from his desk to ring the bell. He would have one of the chambermaids come in and take care of his swelling sex—perhaps the new, young one with the pert breasts. He might even close his eyes and pretend she was the widow Burke as she serviced him.

Tomorrow he would go to Nevarton Chase to set things right with Annabelle. Abject apologies and pretty words should do it. Perhaps he would even speak of love. Whatever it took to make the little bitch forgive him.

The door opened in response to his call, and he
nearly grinned as he saw it was the delectable young maid he had intended to summon.

“It's about time,” he growled, returning to his chair. He sat down, pushed the chair far back from the desk, and sprawled his legs wide. The girl hesitated on the threshold. “Get in here and close the door behind you. I have a task for you, and you had best do it well or else you will be turned out immediately.”

She shut the door and hurried toward him, round little breasts jiggling in her haste, as he reached down and unfastened his trousers.

 

Thursday morning began with a call from Lord Raventhorpe.

Dolly and Annabelle had gone out to pay calls on their neighbors, leaving Cilla home alone to work on Dolly's correspondence. Every time she tried to focus on one of the letters, her imagination had turned toward her rendezvous on Friday, and so very little got done. When the butler showed Lord Raventhorpe into the parlor where she was working, she jumped to her feet and smoothed down her skirts before sketching a curtsy.

“Good morning, my lord. I am afraid you have missed Annabelle.”

“So I have been told.” He sent a look at the butler, who bobbed his head and scurried out of the room, closing the door behind him.

So Samuel was right. The servants at Nevarton Chase
were
still loyal to Raventhorpe. Cilla refused to be intimidated by his show of power. “May I help you with something?”

“I wished to have a private word with you, Mrs. Burke. About your place here.” He drew himself taller, a reed-thin man with blond hair and narrow blue eyes that focused on her so intently she fought not to fidget. “You have overstepped your boundaries one time too many. I believe you have forgotten that you are no longer of the quality.”

The threat in his voice shook her as he no doubt intended, but she would walk barefoot in hell before she let him see it. “How so, my lord?”

“It has come to my attention that you are putting treasonous ideas into the head of my betrothed.”

“I do not understand.”

“Do you not?” He strolled across the room until he stood over her, glaring from his lofty height as if he regarded some offal on the street. “You have been encouraging Annabelle to ask questions.”

Fear shivered through her, and she assumed an obedient stance, folding her hands before her. “She was curious about the man who will be her husband.”

“She has never been so curious before. I wonder what encouraged her to do so now? Or should I say
who
?” He actually stepped closer, crowding her backward nearly to the desk. “My sweet betrothed should be preoccupied with wedding preparations and instead she quizzes me on my associations.”

Cilla looked down, hoping he would not see her nervousness. “Obviously she finds you very interesting, my lord. I believe it is only natural for a woman to want to know about her future husband.”

“And do you know what I believe?” He whipped
out his hand and jerked her chin up so she was forced to look at him. “I believe you are putting ideas in her head that have no business being there. And be warned, Mrs. Burke, that if I discover you are saying anything to Annabelle that would turn her from me, it would go very badly for you.”