Bold Seduction (9 page)

“I am sad for the horse, but shouldn’t you have purchased another? You should not be out here far away from civilization without means of transport. What is this place, anyway?”

He gave her a warm smile, thrilled over her concern. She cared about him. “Do you worry for me then, Phil?”

“Of course, you daft man. I can’t stand the thought of you out here alone….” Shaking her head, she slowly sipped her tea. Not only did she reveal plenty with those words, her look of solicitude warmed his heart as well. She would worry about him. How very gratifying.

“I meant to purchase another horse, but time it seemed, slipped away from me. This place belonged to my grandfather. An avid huntsman, he used to come here for the plentiful game before he fell ill. It has not been used in twenty-two years since his death. I own it now.”

Phil looked aghast. “This is your home?”

“No, I have an estate outside of London near Swanley. Being a son of a duke has its advantages. When I reached the age of majority, I was given it by my father. One of several manors and properties he owned. I haven’t been there in many months, but employ a competent steward who keeps things running smoothly.” He chuckled as he cut into his ham and popped a piece in his mouth. “My parents know me well. They gifted me the more isolated of the ducal properties. It is up on a hill far enough away from the village to give the illusion of privacy and away from the blasted trains. What a racket they can make…Phil, what is wrong?”

* * * *

How on earth could she forget his father was a duke? In this grimy place with his disheveled appearance, it became easy to overlook he came from quality, though his voice and formal mode of speech was a dead giveaway.
Here, son. You are now a man, have a manor house. Happy birthday and all that rot.
Her heart sunk like a stone thrown into a lake. Common sense told her there could be nothing between them, but last night, regardless of her feeble protests, a kernel of hope took root. A hope that something more permanent could exist between them.
Addlepated, dreamy fool.
She frowned, wiped her mouth with the napkin, and tossed it to her plate, her appetite gone. “Nothing. At times I forget the fact you are part of the aristocracy.”
Quite beyond my reach.

“I do not consider myself as such. It is Harrison who is the heir apparent, not me. At thirty-two, he’s feeling the pressure to settle down and set up his nursery. Thank God no such expectations will be thrust upon me. Harrison is the Marquess of Tennington, a courtesy title, but a great deal of responsibility goes with it. Even Tremain, as the second son, had expectations forced on him. He joined the army for a time and made Captain. That left me free to pursue my academic dreams. I am quite fortunate to have been born last.”

Her mouth pulled taut into a thin line of disgust for indulging in silly school girl fantasies. What absolute foolishness. “Yes, how fortunate.” The uncontrollable urge to run to her dusty chamber, fling herself upon the bed, and cry her eyes out nearly overcame her. Instead, she stood and held her chin high. “I have many things to do to prepare for tonight’s meal.”

He stared at her, his expressive eyes showing confusion, his brows knotted in puzzlement. She tried to keep the coolness from her voice, but it was obvious he heard it. “What is it?”

How could she explain when she barely comprehended her confused emotions? Or tell him that leaving him would be the hardest thing she would ever do? That she wanted much more between them, but the prospect was impossible? Outside of this small, remote world they would not mix in society, nor would society accept such a couple. How utterly depressing. Instead of succumbing to the upsetting thoughts swirling about in her mind, Phil did what she did best, retreated behind a wall of polite indifference. Her place of escape built years before. A safe haven.

Steeling her resolve and shuttering her emotions, she moved to his side, picked up the teapot, and poured him a fresh cup. “Nothing at all. I’m fine. Drink your tea and get yourself off to your work.”

She walked out of the room, her knees shaking under her skirts. He must never know how deeply she was falling for him.

Spence decided after an afternoon of burying himself in research and seeing to the dogs comfort he should pay a little attention to his own needs.

Dressing for dinner would be a bother as he did not bring any formal clothing with him. Who would he dress for, the hounds? However, he did have one pair of black trousers, a decent white shirt, and one white cravat he could use in a pinch. The gold and black waistcoat had many frayed threads. He sat on the edge of his bed and snipped away as many as he could. Since he did not bring a dress jacket, he would have to go without. Old habits die hard with regard to the current culture’s standards, even though he personally couldn’t give a toss. He did want to look his level best tonight.

Fornication. Sex.
While nervous, he anticipated the act. The proof lay in the way his hand shook as he gripped the scissors. Would it be as cold, mechanical, and meaningless as his brothers hinted? Granted, they said not all their experiences left them feeling empty. A select few were quite memorable. He hoped his first experience would be--unforgettable. Now that he thought on it, his brothers may have been bragging when they described their sexual exploits in salacious detail. But he knew them well enough to understand they were giving him instruction, preparing him so he would not act as a bumbling fool his first time.

His memory had always been sharp and his organizational skills marveled many. He could retain vast amounts of information, which would come in handy for the task ahead. Only this wasn’t a task to him. It meant
everything.
Philomena McGrattan inflamed him as no other woman before. He would not have agreed to this if he did not already have deep feelings for her. How could it be possible after only three or four days of acquaintance?

No denying
something
existed between them. She admitted to feeling it as well. Perhaps they would both exorcize the attraction from their systems tonight. Or sex could merely fan the simmering embers into a roaring blaze.

Spence placed the scissors on the end table and held up the waistcoat for inspection. It would have to do. Now to freshen up and shave. A hunger he could not describe thrummed through him. The walls he had erected around his heart were all but smashed down, but enough of the protective barrier existed to absorb any coming heartache and disappointment. For his own sanity, at least he hoped that was the case. Spence believed it would be prudent for him to plan for any number of scenarios. Tucking the garment under his arm, he headed for his small dressing room.

* * * *

Nothing prepared Spence for the beautiful vision awaiting him in the dining room. Phil wore a burgundy gown of silk and velvet with an abundance of lace on the sleeves and across the bodice, which revealed astounding milky white breasts pushed up high in invitation. He swallowed hard. Arousal held him in thrall, but also an ardent tenderness. The gown was not daring, but rather beautiful and appropriate for a holiday meal. She’d swept up her midnight black hair into an attractive style. The tresses were held together with silver combs and a few tendrils framed her beautiful face. She wore very little makeup as she had done since her first day, and he preferred her fresh-faced prettiness over the paint. Collecting his thoughts, he stepped forward and bowed. She curtsied.

“Too bad I didn’t bring gloves and a fan. Spence, you look very dashing.” She caressed the smoothness of his cheek. “And you shaved. Take my advice. Never grow facial hair again. These cheekbones should not be hidden. It would be a mortal sin.”

He clasped her hand, raised it to his lips, and kissed it. Spence escorted her to her chair and gallantly pulled it out for her. She flushed in what he hoped was pleasure at the gesture.

“I hope you don’t mind I ladled out the food down in the kitchen. It would be tedious to drag it all up here, including the chicken carcass. If we wish more, we can fetch it later. I could only find the one bottle of white wine. Better we save it to ring in the new year. Meanwhile, the claret will do.”

Spence smiled and sat opposite. He adored her chatter. It did not annoy him, but rather calmed him. Surprising. He snapped open the napkin and laid it across his hips. The food on the plate looked very appetizing. Sliced roast chicken with a bread stuffing, carrots, potatoes, and peas in a creamy sauce. He hadn’t enjoyed a meal like this in months, since the last time he visited home with his parents and brothers to be exact.

“You’ve outdone yourself, Phil. Everything is perfection, from the food to you. You quite sparkle tonight. Your beauty overwhelms me.”

Phil blushed prettily. “Oh, my. You do know how to charm.”

“No, I do not. Not at all. It is you that brings this out of me. Only you.”

She blinked several times as if having difficulty processing his declaration. He meant it. “Oh, Spence,” she whispered.

Raising his glass, he said, “To us and this night. To you, my dear Phil.
‘She walks in beauty like the night. Of cloudless climes and starry skies; and all that’s best of dark and bright, meet in her aspect and her eyes.’
And I cannot believe I quoted Byron.” He took a sip and shook his head in amusement.

Phil’s eyes were moist. Perhaps he did right to quote maudlin poetry to her. They both tucked into their meals. All that could be heard was the crackling of the wood in the fireplace. The silence did not feel awkward at all, but rather had a peaceful companionship he found most comforting.

Spence watched Phil under half-hooded eyes as she ate her chicken. Her good manners spoke of the upbringing she received, though by her own admission, it had been cut short. To lose one’s parents at such a vulnerable age he could not imagine. He adored his parents, their marriage not typical of the aristocracy. They actually loved and respected one another. Spent time together. Talked to one another. It is probably why he and his brothers remained unattached. All of them were holding out for true love. Sentimental and silly at its core, but nonetheless true. They had all spoken of it on more than one occasion.

Time was running out for Harry. As the heir, he had a duty to marry and have children. He had announced to his parents the last time they were all together that he would give it one more year. When he turned thirty-three he would seek a bride amongst the ton and settle down. What a cold and calculating prospect. Spence had vowed then and there he would not marry, but if he did, it would be only the truest and deepest love that would induce him because he’d not settle for anything less. The option to hold out for it seemed a realistic prospect unlike poor Harry for whom time was not a friend and duty a stern taskmaster.

He glanced down at his empty plate. A hunger still burned hot and fierce inside him, but not for more food. No, nor would drink slake the thirst that accompanied the fire. This exquisite melding of agonies, mere heartbeats from ecstasy, was unlike any emotion or desire he had experienced, and he wanted more. At this moment he yearned for something else. The scent and softness of a woman. More specifically--Philomena McGrattan.

* * * *

To eat a full meal while one’s stomach fluttered with nervousness proved to be difficult, but Phil managed it.

Spence’s intense and concentrated gaze stayed on her through the repast, and it took all her resolve not to return it. Perhaps a little light-heartedness was in order. She picked up a chicken leg and tossed it to Spence. He started at the sudden movement, but caught the meat in his fist.

She picked up a wing and brought it to her lips. “Shall we rip the meat off the bone as we give each other lusty looks across the table like the scene in Fielding’s
Tom Jones
? Make bawdy talk of legs, thighs, and plump breasts all the while licking our lips in rapturous delight?”

Spence laughed. The resonant sound sent thrilling chills down her spine.

“Food and sex make for compatible companions you know.” She smiled.

“Has that been your experience, then?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Which do you wish to hear about, the earl who likes to pour honey over the girls, then proceed to lick it all off? Or the Royal Navy captain who likes to fuck food as one of the girls lightly paddles his behind?”

Spence’s eyes widened as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “How does one ‘fuck food’ as you delicately put it?”

“There is a very large bowl full of cream or a fruit pudding, and he crams his erect…”

Spence raised his hand to silence her, the chicken leg still in his grip. “Dear God. I may never be able to remove that vision from my mind, nor be able to eye a bowl of syllabub quite the same way again.”

Phil laughed. “One can desire food as much as one can desire sex.”

“Not in my experience.”

“Well, my dear Professor, there are other joys in life besides research and study.” She gave him a sultry look as she buried her teeth into the chicken wing, slowly pulling off a strip of meat and skin.

Spence followed suit with the leg. The heated stare he gave her caused her insides to dip. Spence swallowed. Even watching his throat work was a sensual delight. He tossed the leg to his plate.

“I want you, Phil. I want to be inside you. Now.” He stood and held out his hand. She could not keep her gaze from scanning his glorious form. His erection was clearly evident and his eyes burned with passion. “I want you in my bed, in my arms. Come with me. Come--for me.”

Oh, bloody hell.
His words. The moan that left her throat reverberated through her as heat bloomed between her legs. A poignant ache of longing circled her heart. She dropped the chicken. Phil stepped before him and placed her hand in his. Spence threaded his graceful fingers through hers, the touch scorching.

“Yes, to all of it.”

Everything that happened after those words of longing left his throat seemed to have occurred in a dream. Words he never thought he would say to any woman. Speaking of his deepest yearnings, revealing how thoroughly aroused he was, gave him the courage to act on every complicated and potent emotion rolling through him. Hand in hand they climbed the stairs. The anticipation tempted him to gather her up in his arms and run the rest of the way to his bedroom.