Cheryl Holt (15 page)

“Why are you laughing?” Rebecca asked.

“Because you’re being silly.”

“Why?”

“Who would love me?”

“Any lucky chap, and you know it,” Rebecca kindly insisted. “But I’m not talking about men being in love with you. I’m curious if
you
have ever been in love.”

“Have I had an unrequited, ardent
amour
?

“Yes.”

Ellen thought for a moment. “There was a boy, once, when I was sixteen.”

“Were you wild for him?”

“I presumed I was at the time.”

“But you weren’t?”

“Well, he had the biggest blue eyes, but I believe he was more infatuated with his horses than with me. And with a neighbor—who was very rich.”

“So you probably couldn’t describe the signs.”

“The signs of what?”

“There must be symptoms that would help a woman to tell.”

“I suppose there are,” Ellen agreed. “Don’t the poets write about racing pulses and constant yearnings?”

Rebecca pressed two fingers to her throat, checking her heartbeat. “Mine’s barely pounding.”

“Perhaps your
innamorato
must be present for you to suffer any physical reaction.”

For the longest while, Rebecca gazed out the window; then she said, “Do you think Alex loves me?”

“Lord Stanton?”

“Yes.”

Ellen shifted uncomfortably. This was a murky bog,
into which she had no desire to wander. There was no proper way to respond. In her philandering with Stanton she was so compromised that she couldn’t offer a valid opinion.

Suddenly the terribleness of her choices was battering her like bricks tumbling from a wall. She needed to flee, to slink off where no one knew her, where no one would ever discover the stupid predicament into which she’d thrown herself.

Yet the notion of going was so distressing that she couldn’t contemplate it. She’d grown so attached to Stanton, was fixated on him in a wretched fashion that she couldn’t conceive of severing. If she left, she’d never see him again. He was the only remarkable thing that had ever happened in her pitiful life, and she was too foolishly smitten to walk away.

She’d always pictured herself to be a smart and pragmatic person. How had she vaulted into such a mess?

Very gently, she inquired, “Does it matter if he loves you or not?”

“I expect not, but wouldn’t it be wonderful if he did?”

“Would it make any difference, though? You’d still be bound to wed him.”

“I might be happier,” Rebecca shockingly admitted.

“You’re not. . . happy?” Ellen dared to query.

The question startled Rebecca out of her peculiar mood. “Of course I’m
happy.”
She waved off her odd comments. “Don’t mind me. I’m tired, so I’m a bit grumpy.”

“You’ve been awfully busy,” Ellen concurred. “All this socializing is exhausting. You should stay at home tonight and rest.”

“I just might,” Rebecca replied. She dawdled a tad more; then, appearing confused and anguished, she ambled away.

“What have you to say for yourself?”

“Well, I. . . well, I. . .”

Lydia watched Nicholas as he hemmed and hawed, refusing to answer Alex, and she rippled with fury. Days had passed since he’d forced himself upon her, and she’d waited on pins and needles for him to speak with Alex so that the wedding plans could proceed.

No confession had come, so she’d assumed control of the situation, had sought out Alex, herself.

It was painfully obvious that the lout imagined he could ravage her and get away without making compensation. The realization—that he hadn’t intended to follow through with a marriage—had her in such a state that it was all she could do to keep from leaping up, marching across the room, and assaulting him.

As he was about to learn, he discounted her at his peril!

Her entire life, men had insulted and underestimated and offended, her father being the worst of the lot. The deviant codger had found out—the hard way—how dangerous it was to cross her. Nicholas would, too.

“It was horrid, Cousin Alex,” she interjected, as the conversation ground to a halt. “If Nicholas was interested in marrying me, I don’t know why we didn’t simply talk it over. Instead, he felt it necessary to. . . to. . .”

“You needn’t specify the details, Lydia,” Alex grimly responded. “I accept your word as to what transpired.”
He glared at his brother. “I’m merely ready to hear from Nicholas.”

Nicholas was deathly pale. He rose and went to the sideboard, poured himself a stiff brandy, and downed it. As he turned to face them, a bleak, fake smile curved his lips. “There will have to be a wedding, I guess.”

“Don’t tell me,” Alex barked. “Tell Lydia.”

Nicholas gulped and trembled. He didn’t look at her but stared at a spot over her shoulder. “Lydia, old girl, what do you say?”

Lydia gaped at him. He called that pathetic sentence a proposal? The marriage was to have been her stellar triumph, her shining achievement, but as with every man in her past, he’d wrecked it.

She stood, gripping her cane so tightly that her knuckles were white. “I’m not
old
and I’m not a
girl,”
she growled, “as you would be wise to remember in your dealings with me. But yes, I will marry you.”

Nicholas’s knees gave out, and he sank into a nearby chair.

“How soon can you be prepared?” Alex asked her.

“A month from today.”

“A month?” Nicholas croaked.

“Yes,” she sternly asserted.

“It’s all set then,” Alex said.

“I’ll have my solicitor draw up the contracts,” she lied. She’d draft every deceptive paragraph herself.

“And I’ll have mine inquire about the Special License. We’ll have to have the ceremony here at the house.”

“Rather than the church?”

She was aghast. Her ruination meant she’d never parade down the aisle, would never be a blushing bride. It was another sin to lay at Nicholas’s feet.

“It would be more fitting.”

“I’m sure it would be.” She was more irate than ever. “I’ll handle the arrangements.”

“Let me know if you need anything,” Alex agreeably mentioned.

“I will.”

Cane thumping on the floor, she stomped out, and she ignored Nicholas, who seemed to have descended into a panicked stupor. She walked down the hall and rounded the corner, and once she was out of sight she grinned with malice.

Nicholas thought he was about to get his hands on her fortune, but he had no idea of how thoroughly she’d secured her finances. It had taken decades of clever manipulation to wrangle her father’s assets away from him, and she wasn’t about to part with a single farthing.

She knew more about money—how to obtain it, how to conceal it—than the most miserly banker. It would be impossible for Nicholas to receive a penny without her allowing him to have it. What hoops would he jump through to keep her happy?

It was going to be so amusing to find out!

  10  

“I’m here.”

James’s voice emanated from the dark shadows, and Rebecca jumped at the sound. She couldn’t see a thing, and she whispered, “Where?”

“Here.”

She whirled around, and he linked their fingers. Through the lace of her glove she could feel his warm skin, and she rippled with exhilaration, much more glad than she should have been, but she wouldn’t tamp down her elation.

It was wrong to meet with him, yet she couldn’t stop herself. When his note had been delivered, inviting her to sneak out after midnight, it had seemed to be a tether to the thrilling world she yearned to inhabit instead of the sedate, dull one where she actually resided. She was going mad in Alex’s mansion, so frustrated that she often wanted to run away and never look back.

James represented all that was beyond her grasp—excitement, risk, danger—and she intended to revel in their odd acquaintance. She was tired of being a good
girl, of behaving exactly as she ought. For once, she planned to do something out of character, something totally outrageous.

Her engagement was about to become a reality, and after it transpired she would lose part of herself, would be subsumed by Alex. She had this silly sinking impression that any chance for happiness would have passed her by, and she was plagued by a fierce need to grab for whatever bliss she could find, as if it might be her sole opportunity for joy.

There would be eons after the wedding to plod along in her routine, to accept that marriage hadn’t changed her life a whit. But for the moment, she was free and away, not boring, tedious Rebecca Burton but someone audacious and confident, someone who was eager to throw caution to the wind.

Having eyes like a cat, James guided her down the alley. Soon they stepped into the street, where there was more light, where she could see his carriage. She scanned it, searching for a crest that would give her a hint as to his family or identity, but the vehicle provided no clues.

A tall, blond footman, attired in a fancy red livery, held the door and helped her with the stairs. James clambered in behind, and before he was fully seated the driver cracked the whip and they were off at a fast clip that had him off balance and tumbling into her.

Previously, she might have been shaken by the jarring impact, but she declined to let decorum shape her conduct. She was determined to forge ahead, to have James regard her as the passionate, madcap woman she wished she were.

“I can’t believe you came.” He laughed and hugged her.

“I can’t believe it, either.” Her venturing off with him
was the only shocking, unexpected thing she’d ever done.

“I was positive you’d say no.”

“How could I refuse such a naughty invitation?”

As though she weighed no more than a feather, he scooped her up and perched her on his lap, and she was assailed by new sensations. Her bottom was nestled to his crotch, her thighs flattened to his own, and she was amazed at how breathtaking it was to be so close to him. Every nerve tingled with anticipation, and it seemed that any extraordinary event could happen.

He untied the string on her cloak, loosening it so it fell off, and she shivered, though not from the cold. He noticed immediately and reached for a blanket, and he draped it over them so that they were sealed in a snug cocoon.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“We’re having a late supper in my private quarters.” When she hesitated, he added, “I didn’t think we should be out in public.”

“No, we shouldn’t.”

“I suppose we could ride around all night, but the air is chilly, and I’d hate to have you uncomfortable.”

“Your lodgings will be fine.”

She smiled, stunned by her words. Her visit to his home would be scandalous in the extreme, and she couldn’t understand the forces that were spurring her on, but she couldn’t rein them in.

She would have an adventure if it killed her!

He eased her forward, so that her chest was pressed to his. Her nipples grew very hard, and with each jolt of the coach they rubbed against him.

She hadn’t known that her breasts were so sensitive, that touching them to a man could have such a stimulating
effect, and her level of agitation scared her. She was suffering from a desperate need to shed corset and chemise, perhaps to have him pet the soft mounds to alleviate the ache. The urgency was terrifying, and lest she do something she oughtn’t, she had to remain composed.

How did James inspire such rashness? Why was she letting him? He had her ready to leap into a conflagration from which there could be no return. She intended the outing to be a fun jaunt, a harmless flirtation, but it was so difficult to keep the encounter frivolous.

He stirred longings she didn’t comprehend and didn’t particularly like, and if she wasn’t careful, he’d have her forgetting her place—and his. She was bound to Alex, and nothing could alter that fact, not even a dashing, daring stranger who was smitten by her for no reason, at all.

The carriage rattled to a halt, and he peeked out.

“We’re here,” he said.

“So soon?”

He perceived her anxiety, and he nuzzled her cheek, her ear. “Don’t be afraid.”

“I’m not.”

The door was whipped open, and she was whisked out and into a stairwell and instructed to climb. She could smell the river, and she’d glimpsed the mast of a ship, so they were near the docks, but wherever their location, she’d never be able to find it in the light of day.