Cheryl Holt (23 page)

“He’s to wed Miss Drake immediately. The staff is making preparations. Notices have been sent.”

“I guess there’ll be no backing out—for either of them.”

Lord, what a mess! Where was Alex? Nicholas was anxious to parlay with him, and he tried to move away, but Lydia was firmly gripping his waistband, and she wouldn’t release it. Short of wrestling with her, he couldn’t escape.

“I’m quite resolved,” she was babbling, “though Miss Drake whined about it being improper because she’s Alex’s inferior.”

“Well, she is,” Nicholas pointed out.

“It’s not simply her birth status that makes her unsuitable. Her brother, James, is a dangerous felon who stole some jewelry from the Barringtons. So, not only is she lowborn; she’s directly related to the criminal classes.”

He rippled with unease. “What did you say his name was?”

“James Drake. Why? Are you acquainted?”

“No.”

“Good, because I can’t have you tarnished by a connection to him. I won’t tolerate any further scandal.”

“You’re absolutely fixated on Alex and Miss Drake. Why does the situation matter so much?”

“When someone betrays me, I take it personally, and I expect compensation.” She evaluated him, seeming menacing in a fashion he hadn’t previously noted. “You wouldn’t ever
betray
me, would you, Nicky?”

“What a peculiar question.”

“If you did, I would be very upset. For example, if I learned that you’d done something you oughtn’t, I would be unhappy.”

A frisson of fear whispered down his spine. What
was she implying? Had she heard rumors about Suzette? Or was it other gossip? There had been a few incidents over the years, offenses of which he wasn’t proud, but they were part and parcel of his history.

She wouldn’t hold the past against him. Or would she?

His pants were loose around his hips, and he resisted the urge to clutch at them. Was he about to be ravished? Was she some type of sexual fiend? What if she was? What if—as his wife—she demanded regular servicing?

His stomach roiled.

“Poor Rebecca,” he crooned.

“Yes, poor, poor Rebecca.”

“She’ll be devastated.”

“She’ll live.”

For an elder sister, who’d raised Rebecca since she was a babe Lydia didn’t sound very sincere, and her lack of concern had him even more disturbed. Did he know her, at all?

“I should probably go find Alex,” he tossed out. “He might need me.”

“We don’t give two hoots about Alex.”

“You
may not, but I certainly do.”

“A pretty speech, but you’re about to be my husband, and I will require your support and assistance in my time of despair.”

“What do you mean?”

“Rebecca and I are departing for the country at once, and you must escort us.”

He was scheduled to tour Suzette’s house. If he missed the appointment, there was no telling how she’d react.

“I . . . I . . . can’t leave London this week.”

“Why?”

“I’m a busy man. I can’t tot off whenever you command it.”

“What could be more important to you than helping me?” She narrowed her gaze, looking treacherous again, an adversary not to be crossed. “We’ll go after I finish up with the lawyers. After I make the arrangements regarding your money.”

Dammit!
he cursed to himself. She had him trapped like a rabbit in a snare. If he declined to accompany her, he wouldn’t get the cash. She might cancel the marriage altogether, and he’d never see a single farthing.

She’d always been an obnoxious hag. It would be just like her to entice him with the prospect of great wealth, then snatch it away. The witch!

She jerked at his trousers, and they plummeted to his ankles. His loins were exposed, and his balls clenched, his John Thomas shriveling to a tiny nub.

“I was told that these appendages were big on a man,” she ridiculed. “What’s wrong with yours?”

Without warning, she grabbed his phallus and clasped it tightly. He screeched in agony, but she was too thick to realize she was inflicting pain.

“Lydia, old girl—”

“I’m not your
girl,”
she calmly retorted. “I’m not your anything—yet.”

“Be a little more gentle, would you?”

He was genuinely fretting that she might rip the blasted thing off, and he had a terrifying image of himself standing there emasculated, his bloody cock dangling from her fingers.

“I want you to perform the marital act,” she decreed.

“I most assuredly will not.”

“Isn’t it how a babe is created?”

“Well . . . yes.”

“It recently dawned on me that—since I’m more mature—it might take a while for me to become pregnant, and I’m eager for us to have a family. We should get an early start.”

“A family?” He felt as if he might retch.

“I can’t wait for us to have children.”

She went to the dresser, and he dawdled like an imbecile, his boots on, his pants wrapped around his feet and positioned to trip him should he attempt to waddle out. She returned with a jar of cream and knelt down. His cock shrunk even more.

“You seem to have trouble with manly functioning,” she derided. “I hope this isn’t evidence of your constant condition.”

“Gad, Lydia. Be silent.”

“I’ve heard that lotion can work wonders when a man can’t manage on his own.”

She scooped up a daub and slathered it all over his phallus; then she made a fist and pumped him. Of its own accord, the brainless rod swelled under her manipulation.

He was aghast. How had she learned the carnal deed? From where had her knowledge been obtained? When he’d initially seduced her, she was purportedly a virgin!

At her success with his erection she smirked, and she walked to a chair and bent over it, her fat ass sticking out. She lifted her robe and wadded it up, so that he had a disgusting and unimpeded view of her backside. He was sickened by the sight but too paralyzed to move.

“Come!” she barked. “Mount me! Do your job.”

Sweet Jesu! She couldn’t expect him to pant after her like a stallion to a mare. He wouldn’t
rise
to the occasion
simply because she nagged. She was mad as a hatter, and he swallowed down the insults he longed to hurl.

The money . . . Suzette . . . the money . . . Suzette . . .

The chant rang through his head. Both were about to be his. He couldn’t refuse.

He took a faltering step, then another, stumbling over his pants, but he wouldn’t stop to shed them, for it would seem as if he were complicit in the copulation, which he most categorically was not!

He clutched her hips, and his cock located the route all by itself. The cream she’d applied made it an easy entry, and he thrust and thrust, but he couldn’t stay hard. The balm was so slippery, and he was so uninterested, that he wasn’t able to generate any friction.

“Have you already worn out your shaft tonight?” she suddenly queried. “Have you been furnishing to another what you should be saving for me?”

“Lydia!”

“I have to tell you, Nicky, that if I found out you’d been unfaithful, I’d be very angry.”

“I’ve been with no one.”

“Then why are you so flaccid? Were you born with a limp noodle?”

“Good Christ, woman! Shut your mouth!”

“Why should I? I have every right to inquire as to your obvious problem. Will you keep
up
your end of the marital bargain?”

His temper soared, and he yearned to seize her by the throat and squeeze until he choked the life out of her, which he couldn’t do. Not till after the wedding anyway. He tamped down his fury, directing it into his nether regions, where it provided the necessary impetus.

He grew rigid as stone and abruptly spurted into her,
a trickle dribbling out, the sensation of orgasm scarcely noted.

Revolted over her behavior and his own, he retreated from her and had his trousers straightened before she could drop her robe and spin around.

She assessed him as if he were a pet dog, as if she’d trained him to sit up and beg, and he nearly slapped her homely face.

“Will that be all?” he snarled.

“You haven’t had your bath.”

“I don’t need one.”

“But I insist.” She grasped his waistband and held tight. “Kick off your boots.”

They engaged in a tug-of-war he couldn’t win. He gnashed his teeth but complied, and she yanked off the remainder of his clothes. He stood before her naked, his cock shriveling again. She strolled around him in a slow circle, studying him as if he were a bull she was considering purchasing.

“Are you finished?”

“I believe I am.” She gestured to the tub. “You may get in.”

He climbed in and sank down, thankful for the covering the water supplied. He felt defiled, and he was glad to have the chance to wash.

Lydia leaned over, her smile grim. “I’ve been thinking.”

“About what?”

“Once we’re married, we’ll forgo separate bedchambers. We’ll share the same room. Each and every night.”

She dipped the soap and rubbed up a lather.

  15  

“But you don’t want to marry me!” Ellen shouted. “And I don’t want to marry you! Why didn’t you tell Lydia to leave us alone?”

“I couldn’t get a word in edgewise,” Alex grumbled.

“You allowed her to bully us as if we were children.”

“Are you actually supposing I could have shut her up?”

“Yes! Get us out of this mess.”

She sounded like a deranged shrew, but she couldn’t stop herself. As if she’d fallen in a raging river, the events of the night had swept her along, and she couldn’t slow the torrent on which she was riding.

“What would you have me do?” Alex asked, as irate as she. “Should I parade about on the street, screaming to all of London that I’ve ruined you and I’ll take no action to rectify my offense?”

“The only people who saw us were Lydia and a few of your servants. You like to brag about the fact that you’re an earl. Use some of your power. Summon them! Order them to be silent.”

“She’s already sent out messengers, proclaiming that
the engagement to Rebecca is broken by me, that the marriage to you is on. The liquor’s been spilled out of the bottle, and we can’t scoop it up and pour it back in.”

“I’m the hired help!” she grimly pointed out. “Your friends don’t care if you behaved badly toward me.”

“They’re gentlemen. They’ll understand why I had to propose.”

“Hah! Nary a one would raise a brow over your seducing me. They’ll all wonder why there’s been such a fuss.”

“Has it occurred to you that perhaps my feelings are genuine, and I’m perfectly happy to wed you?”

“A few hours ago, you were prepared to walk down the aisle with Rebecca. Now, with hardly any thought, you claim you’re eager to do the same with me, so pardon me if I consider you to be a tad fickle in your choices.”

“Better fickle than cold as a fish!”

She rippled with fury and whipped around to stare out the window into the manicured garden. Morning dew dappled the roses, birds sang in the trees, but she scarcely noted the beauty. She was in turmoil, careening from dread to joy to dread again, and she couldn’t make sense of what she wanted.

Her body was aching, her head throbbing, and she yearned to lie down and rest, then take a hot bath. She needed to catch her breath, to steady her thinking and her nerves. In her chaotic condition, she couldn’t be expected to make major life decisions.

She was filled with mixed emotions, and she couldn’t determine if she was glad for what had transpired or if she wished she’d never met Alex. At the moment, he seemed to be a stranger, a hulking, angry fellow who was yelling and delivering ultimatums.

How could she marry him? While she was certain he hadn’t had any connection to James’s catastrophe, if she proceeded she’d be betraying James and her father. James would never forgive her, yet what alternative did she have?

If she didn’t wed Alex, her reputation would be shredded, and she wouldn’t be able to find a job. James had invited her to live with him, but what would that entail? Had he suitable lodgings where she could stay? For how long? Which brought about the old questions: What if he was captured by the authorities? What would happen?

Alex was laboring under the mistaken notion that James was out of the country. What if he learned that James was home? What might he do?