Tempting a Proper Lady (16 page)

She tried to jerk her face free, but he pinched her jaw harder between his powerful fingers, forcing her to stay where she was.

“The world is a terrible place at times. I would hate for anything…unfortunate…to happen to you.”

“You flatter me with your concern, my lord.” She pried his hand loose and shoved it away. “Kindly do not touch me again.”

His lips curled in a snarl, and he leaned in, crowding her, surrounding her with the menace that emanated from him. “You should have a care for that insolent tongue,” he whispered. “You forget your place.” He jerked away from her. “I will call again later to speak to my fiancée.”

She swallowed hard and nodded, too stunned to speak.

He reached the door and paused with his hand on the knob. “No impudent response? I see you are a quick learner. That bodes well for the future. Good day, Mrs. Burke.”

As the earl exited the room, Cilla rubbed her hands together, suddenly chilled. Now that she had seen the malevolence Samuel had described, she wanted to find Annabelle and hide her from Raventhorpe.
She did not want him in the same room with the girl, much less wedded to her.

For the first time, she no longer felt any uncertainty at all about helping Samuel. Raventhorpe was evil, and Samuel was doing the right thing in trying to stop the wedding. And she was going to assist him.

It was worth the price.

 

John returned from Raventhorpe's orphanages in Cornwall late Thursday evening.

“What have you learned?” Samuel asked, waving John into his room.

“The blasted orphanages look perfectly normal,” John said, weariness dragging his steps as he entered the room. “The employees all sing the praises of the generous and caring Lord Raventhorpe.”

“I think I might be sick.”

John grinned as he sat down in a chair. “I almost was. I was able to visit two of orphanages, since they weren't far from each other. At both the places I went, the matrons acted as if Raventhorpe deserved sainthood for his generous sponsorship. The facilities are clean and well maintained. The children are healthy. Well nourished. Educated in a school built on the grounds.”

“Strange. I have heard that Raventhorpe Manor is falling to ruin around his ears, yet the orphanages are in excellent condition?”

“Exactly.”

“What else were you able to find out?”

“I indicated that I was on a mission for a wealthy
man who was interested in adopting a daughter. One of the women was quite enthusiastic to tell me everything about how they operate. Healthy boys are often released into apprenticeships or the military. Healthy girls are taught art, music, and dancing, as well as basic reading and ciphering. When the girls turn sixteen, they are entered into a program started by Lord Raventhorpe himself. A program where they are matched up with potential husbands.”

Samuel frowned. “Husbands?”

“Yes, these husbands apparently live abroad, sometimes in America. Raventhorpe personally makes the matches.”

“I bet he does.”

“There is also a program for boys where they might be shipped out of the country to take advantage of employment opportunities overseas.”

“I'll be damned.”

“Mrs. Waltham at the Beedleville facility says His Lordship is quite the humanitarian and frequently sends them orphaned children he comes across in his travels.”

“You can see what he is doing.”

“Indeed I can. And so can you. But to everyone else?” John shook his head. “They think these children are really being sent out to start new lives. As far as I can see, there is nothing to prove anything illegal is going on.”

“Curse that slippery snake!” Samuel paced the length of the room. “I was hoping to find something concrete to show the Baileys. Even if what he is doing isn't technically illegal, it's bloody immoral.”

“I can tell you from personal experience that Raventhorpe has been operating for at least seven years, if not longer. Rumors among the servants in the area indicate that his father was cut from the same cloth. If no one has caught him at something before now, he must be very, very good at what he does.”

“Too good.” Samuel swiped a hand over his face. “I was so hoping to knock the bastard off his pedestal this time.”

“Looks like you will have to rely on your other plan if you are to stop that wedding.”

“I know.”

“What will you do if Mrs. Burke fails to convince Annabelle to jilt Raventhorpe?”

Samuel fisted his hands. “Whatever it takes.”

F
inally Friday came.

Lord Raventhorpe had been successful in tendering his apologies to Annabelle Thursday afternoon, but Cilla thought she now saw a caution in the way the girl dealt with Raventhorpe that had not been there before. The earl had actually helped Cilla's cause by revealing a glimpse of his odious nature.

And his visit yesterday morning had not contained a bit of subtlety. If he decided for certain that Cilla was trying to turn Annabelle against him, there was no telling how he would retaliate—but retaliate he would, and probably in a most painful manner. Better to allow him to think she feared him too much to meddle further, which might have actually been true had Samuel not been her ally.

She lingered in the foyer at noontime awaiting the carriage Samuel was going to send, grateful that the Baileys had left earlier with Lord Raventhorpe to attend a boat race some distance away. The last thing she wanted was questions about her plans for the day. She had never been the type of woman for
secret assignations; even her late husband's courtship had been common knowledge, if not accepted by her family. But this…this was something out of one of the romantic novels that Annabelle was always reading, the young widow preparing to meet her lover on a lazy afternoon.

Her lover. Heat crept into her cheeks despite her efforts to remain calm. Samuel Breedlove would become her lover this afternoon. He would teach her about men and intimacy, the sorts of things most widows already knew. The sorts of things that would help her to choose a well-suited husband. It was business.

Though business rarely included removing one's clothing.

Once the thought had entered her mind, there was no stopping the images that flowed in its wake. Memories of the inn burst to life, and she could clearly see Samuel's bare, hair-roughened chest in her mind. Edward had not been a particularly hairy man, and she found herself wondering if that hair was all over Samuel and how it would feel against her naked flesh. And another question—how large would his rod become when he was aroused? She had heard enough talk from other women that the size differed based on the man. What if he was too big to fit? Edward had not been particularly large, and he had hurt her more than once.

The carriage came down the drive, and she realized she was twisting her fingers together like a green girl. She had been married. She had seen a naked man. Samuel had touched her intimately and not
hurt her. Quite the contrary, in fact. She had never felt such pleasure in her life.

He had indicated there would be more, so she should cease fretting about the unknown like an empty-headed fool. She trusted Samuel. He would teach her what she needed to know, show her the secrets of sexual pleasure, and remain discreet. No would know of their bargain, but they both would benefit from it.

The carriage stopped in front of the house. She opened the door and stepped out just as the coachman climbed down from the box.

“John!” She smiled, pleased to see him up and about. “You look well. I had not realized you had recovered so completely.”

“It takes more than a bullet to fell John Ready.” He opened the carriage door for her and held out a hand.

She took his hand and allowed him to assist her into the vehicle. “I am pleased you are doing so well.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Burke.” With a warm smile, he shut the door.

Cilla sat back in the seat, trying to control her skittering nerves. The coach rocked as John climbed back to the coachman's seat. With a shouted command and a crack of the whip, he set the team in motion.

The adventure had begun.

 

The simple, unassuming cottage stood on a grassy knoll on the edge of the woods. A crumbling stone wall encircled the house with a gap where a gate
must have hung at one time. A well-worn path led to the front door, and a curl of smoke drifted from the chimney. Samuel was already here.

He opened the door as the coach stopped in front of the gateway.

Her heart leaped into her throat as she saw him standing there, the afternoon breeze ruffling his dark hair. He wore no coat or waistcoat, only his shirt and trousers, as if he were just a man relaxing at home while waiting for the return of his wife. He smiled when he saw her, and her pulse went wild. What was she doing? Did she really intend to become intimate with this man who was essentially a stranger?

John hopped down from the box and opened the door. “Mrs. Burke,” he invited, extending a hand.

She hesitated. “What will you do while we…while we are visiting?”

His dark eyes softened with compassion. “I have to go back to town and see about getting the horses reshod. I believe it will take all afternoon.”

“Oh. I see.” She reached out her hand.

“I've got it, John.” Samuel appeared behind the coachman, his gaze steady on her. John moved aside, and Samuel took her hand. Even through her gloves she noticed the heat of his skin. Good Lord, what was she
doing
?

“It's all right, Priscilla,” Samuel murmured. “Come out of the coach. I have a nice luncheon waiting for us.”

Food. So he would not leap on her and ravage her like a beast? As soon as the thought went through her mind, she dismissed it. Of course he would not.
He had had every opportunity to do such a thing with her at the inn, and he had not acted on it.

“It sounds lovely,” she said, and allowed him to help her descend.

He closed the door and, still holding her hand, glanced up at John in the coachman's seat.

“I expect to be back at about six o'clock,” John said.

“Understood.” Samuel gave a nod and turned toward the house.

“Good-bye, John,” Cilla called. The coachman tipped his hat and then cracked his whip. The team took off at a brisk trot.

She and Samuel were completely alone.

The notion sank in with a hint of panic to it. At the inn they had been alone in the dining room, but she had always known there were other people about. That if she called for help someone would probably hear her. Here at this isolated cabin, the only ones who would hear her would be the woodland creatures.

“Have you changed your mind?” he murmured as he led her up the path to the open door. “We can simply have a nice lunch, and you can go back with John later. I do not want you to feel forced into anything.”

“This was my idea.” The words were as much a reminder for her as for him. “I keep my promises, Captain.”

“I have asked that you call me Samuel. Captain seems so formal.”

“I am sorry. I was taught to be formal as a child.”

“Sweet Priscilla.” He paused just before the threshold, still holding her hand. “I intend to give you nothing but pleasure today. If I say or do something that makes you uncomfortable, you must tell me immediately.”

“I am certain you will not—”

He laid the forefinger of his other hand on her lips, then let it drop away. “Honesty between us, Cilla. That is the only way this can work. You tell me if you are uncomfortable. Everyone has different tastes, and this afternoon is about discovering what yours are.”

“I thought it was so I could learn about men.”

“That, too. But first you must learn about yourself. And I intend to help you.” He held up their joined hands. “Are you ready?”

She glanced at the open doorway, then back to him. “I am.”

“Then come with me, Priscilla Burke, and allow me to introduce you to the world of pleasure.”

He stepped across the threshold, and she followed without hesitation. As he closed the door behind them, she got a sudden feeling of finality, as if she had indeed bid good-bye to one world and entered another.

A low fire burned in the grate, a steel cooking pot hanging over it with steam drifting from it. The savory scent of stew reached her even as she noticed the fresh bread on the table and the bottle of wine.

“I do not expect I will need the wine this time,” she said with a laugh.

“Perhaps not.” He looked down at her hand in his. “Will you remove your gloves?”

The rough timbre of his voice sent ripples along her flesh. Keeping her gaze on his, she began to remove her gloves, one finger at a time.

“And your hat,” he added. “We might as well be comfortable while we eat.”

He held out his hand for her gloves, and she gave them to him, then removed her hat. He took that, too, and went to hang it on a peg near the door, then placed her gloves on a small table near it, which stood beneath a mirror. As he came back, a ripple of excitement curled low in her stomach. Already she had willingly discarded her hat and gloves. How much longer before the rest of her garments followed?

“The first thing you should learn about a man,” he said, taking her bare hand in his, “is whether or not he treats you like the treasure you are. If he does not, you should reject his suit and look elsewhere.”

“How will I know?”

He led her to the table, then pulled out her chair. “He should treat you like royalty. Put your needs before his own.”

“That is how all gentlemen are raised,” she said, sitting down.

He leaned down and murmured, “They are all taught, but many do not practice. If a man does not treat you like a princess before you are wed, how can you expect him to do so afterwards?”

His breath tickled her ear. Her body responded with a quiver that surprised her, and even as she turned toward him, he drew away and sat down
in his own seat to her right. “If you do not care for wine today,” he said, “there is water for tea, though I will have to heat it.”

“A little wine would not be amiss.” She could not help but watch his hands as he uncorked the bottle and poured some into her glass, then poured his own.

“Is something wrong?”

She jerked her gaze up, realizing she had been staring. “I was looking at your hands.”

“They are rough, I know. I will apologize now. The life of a seaman tends to leave nicks and calluses behind.” He set down the bottle.

“No, that is not what I meant.” She reached for his hand before she thought to stop herself and turned it over so she could run her fingers along his strong, smooth palm. “Your hands are so much bigger than mine, see?” She laid her palm against his, noting how much longer his fingers were than hers. “For some reason I find the differences between us fascinating.”

“Your hands are little and soft.” He closed his fingers around hers. “I remember how they felt against my skin.”

Her mouth fell open even as heat flooded her face. “I…I remember, too.”

“Before this afternoon is through, I want to feel them on me again.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Are you hungry?”

The truth slipped out before she could stop it. “Not really.”

“I had hoped to seduce you gently, to ease you into
bed with wine and food and civilized conversation.” He licked between her knuckles. The shimmer of sensation nearly sent her jerking out of her chair. “Now I wonder if perhaps you are as curious as I am.”

“You are curious?” Was that husky whisper really her voice?

“I've been curious about you ever since I first saw you.” He turned her hand over and nipped the pad of her finger. “You are so sensual—I don't think you even realize it. It's completely unconscious, which makes it all the more tantalizing.”

“I do not know what you mean.”

He nipped another finger and soothed this one with a quick lick of his tongue. “The way you move. Your figure—so lush and inviting. Your big brown eyes and those gorgeous, soft-looking lips. A man gets ideas from a mouth like that.”

“I do not intend…I…” He touched the tip of his tongue to her palm, challenging her comprehension of the English language. “Surely men do not see me like that,” she managed.

“We do. There's something you should understand about the male of the species, Mrs. Burke.” He leaned forward. “A man is always stimulated to bed women. Even if he has no intention of actually doing so, he is always distracted by the urge. Tempted. And you, Priscilla, are quite tempting indeed.”

“I never—” She cleared her throat, though her voice still came out huskier than normal. “I never thought of myself that way.”

“That's part of what is so fascinating about you. Here you are with the body of a goddess, yet the
innocence of a virgin. An irresistible lure to any man with blood in his veins.”

“Is that how you feel?” She squeezed her eyes shut as she realized what she had blurted out.

“Haven't I just told you so? Or perhaps you don't believe me.” He stood up, his chair scraping backward across the wooden floor. “Here. Undeniable proof.” He pressed her hand against his groin.

She nearly snatched it away again. His rod was big all right, bigger than Edward's, it seemed. How could this possibly work? Yet even as she contemplated snatching back her hand, her fingers seemed to move on their own, stroking with curiosity over the turgid flesh straining against the cloth of his trousers.

He let out a breath on a hiss and closed his eyes. “Priscilla, you are going to make me embarrass myself if you keep doing that.” He took her hand by the wrist and took a step backward.

“I am sorry. I do not know what came over me!” She snatched her hand back.

“You did nothing wrong, love. When a man goes a long time without bedding a woman, his control falters.”

“Do not call me your love, Samuel.” When he met her gaze with surprise in his, she held it fast, needing to emphasize the seriousness of what she was saying. “Never call me your love unless you mean it.”

“Very well. May I call you sweetheart?”

“You may.”

“What about darling?” She nodded. “Sweetness?” Again she nodded. “So anything but love.”

“Not unless you truly mean it.”

“All right.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, his brows furrowed as if he were puzzled.