Cheryl Holt (27 page)

Such an arrangement would have numerous advantages. Peg would have a safe haven, and Suzette would have Peg’s company, both during the day and at night. Peg knew what she was about under the blankets, while Nick—Suzette was positive—would be an inept lover who’d fumble and blunder. At least if Peg was in the bed, Suzette would have a bit of fun before she had to endure the masculine end of things.

“You’re at it again, Suzette,” he barked as he charged in. “I ordered you to desist.”

“And I told you,
mon ami
, that I can’t resist my darling Peg. I won’t abandon her. I need her with me in my beautiful new home.”

“Not bloody likely.”

“You must allow it,
cher
! Suzette rubbed his chest. “If you agree, I will. . . I will. . . make love to her whenever you demand it. You will watch us; then you will join in. It will be very
erotique, non
?”

Peg was quaking with feigned fear as Nick studied her with definite interest. He cupped Peg’s breast, gauging weight and size.

“Please, sir,” Peg implored, “I can’t do what she wants. I’m not that kind of girl.”

“For you, Nicholas,” Suzette chimed in. “Only for you.”

“We’ll see.” He shoved Peg away. “Be gone, you little harlot.”

“Yes, yes,” Peg wailed, stumbling out scarcely dressed, “whatever you say.”

As she went, Nick evaluated her departing ass, envisioning the three of them doing the deed, and Suzette tamped down a smirk.

So soon!
she mused.
So very, very soon!
Everything she’d ever craved was about to be hers.

As Peg’s strides retreated, Nick whipped around, his greedy focus on her exposed bosom, but he wouldn’t try any nonsense. He knew better. She would torment and tease, would give him a taste, but he understood—in no uncertain terms—that he didn’t get to sample the fruits until he paid for them.

“Peg arouses me so much,” she taunted. “After I’ve been with her, I’m all quivery, as if I’m about to explode.”

She reached down to fondle her crotch, but before she could, he yanked her hand away and pushed her to the wall, trapping her with his large body.

“Your puss is mine,” he claimed. “No one touches it but me.”

“It is
not
yours. Not yet.”

“I’m coming into some money this morning, so I’ll sign the contract for the property this afternoon. You can move in tomorrow.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

“After all this time! I can’t believe it!” She hugged him, their loins connecting, and she clutched his hips and ground herself against him. “I’m aching, Nick—on the inside. Make it go away.”

She pulled down her drawers, baring her shaved privates, and she gripped his hand and placed it where it ought to be. He groped around, and she wondered if he had any idea how to proceed, but he finally managed to ram two uncouth fingers into her.

“Get down on your knees, Nick. Lick me and ease my pain.”

“I won’t debase myself as if I’m one of your Sappho friends.”

“You must!” she begged, egging him on. “I’m desperate to feel you there.”

He was convinced she had perverted tastes, and he was determined to cure her of them. “I’ll show you how a man does it,” he boasted. “After I’m through, you won’t need a woman in your bed.”

He slumped down and seized her flanks, but she figured he’d require assistance, so she spread her nether lips, granting him his first view of her pink center. He bent forward and tongued her, stroking over her clit in a rough fashion that did naught to titillate, but she was an actress, after all, and she played her part well.

She offered him embellished sighs and moans; then she put on the performance of her life by providing him with the most dynamic orgasm any female had ever faked.

He preened with satisfaction and wiped his lips on a towel, as she drooled over him, insisting he was the most superb lover in the world. Like the fool he was, he swallowed every word.

“I’m in a hurry,” he said, “so let’s be off. We’ll visit the house you’ve selected, so I can be sure it’s suitable; then I must leave town for a few days.”

“Leave!” she pouted, though she was terribly thankful that he wouldn’t be hovering about and sniping at her over where to situate the furniture or hang the paintings. “You can’t go. Not now! Not when our dreams are about to come true.”

“It’s family business,” he contended. “It can’t be helped.”

He waited in the hall while she donned her fanciest green gown, her matching shoes and gloves. She pinned on a jaunty hat, a feather trailing behind, a lace shawl draped across her shoulders. Her magnificent hair was down, swishing across her back. She appeared exotic and foreign, so out of the ordinary that people would gasp with amazement and delight as she passed by.

“Perfect,” he murmured as she joined him. He took a box from his jacket, and he opened it, gifting her with a strand of pearls. “This should go nicely.”

“Oh, Nick,” she gushed, for once not having to affect gratitude, “they’re splendid.”

“There’ll be plenty more where those came from.”

She spun so he could clasp them around her neck. Through the door to her dressing room she could see herself in the mirror. She smiled with approval, then led him out to the street and his sporty yellow gig, with its dashing red wheels. Just as he would have lifted her up, someone called to them from down the walk. It was a woman, with a nasal, irritating voice.

“Nicky!” she bellowed, waving a kerchief to draw their notice. “Oh, Nicky!”

Nick froze; then he dropped Suzette’s arm and
lurched away, putting several feet of distance between them.

“Dammit,” he cursed, and he actually shuddered.

“Who on earth is that?” Suzette whispered as she assessed the ugly hag.

“My cousin.”

“Your cousin?”

“Yes.”

Realization dawned. “Good God, Nick, she’s not your . . . your . . . fiancée, is she? Tell me she’s not.”

His cheeks flushed as he admitted, “She’s rich as Croesus.”

“But still. . .”

Suzette reveled with triumph. If he would marry such a horrid individual, he had to be smitten beyond sanity, and she saw years of manipulating him to beneficial effect.

The harridan advanced on them, her fat thighs squishing together. “Nicky, there you are.” She was breathless from her race to catch up with them. “I’ve been searching everywhere.”

“What is it, Lydia?”

Lydia?
Suzette watched as Nick groveled. What strange behaviors money could induce!

“I can’t find Rebecca,” Lydia said.

“I’m sure she’s about somewhere,” he replied. “Keep looking. She’ll turn up.”

“You misunderstand. She’s vanished without a trace.”

“Oh, hell,” he muttered. “Isn’t there enough turmoil at the house?”

“Well, now there’s more. You must accompany me at once, so we can discover if she’s fled to the country on her own. Come!” Lydia started dragging him away.

Suzette was impatient to be off, and irked that the busybody hadn’t so much as glanced at her. She was even more infuriated that Nick hadn’t introduced her, that he was pretending she was invisible.

“Nick,” she interjected, “aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Oh yes,” he mumbled. “Lydia, I can’t attend you. I have a previous engagement.”

“It’s cancelled,” Lydia decreed.

Obviously, Lydia wasn’t a person whose edicts were ever countermanded, and Suzette wondered if Nick fathomed the catastrophe he was setting in motion.

Had he a clue as to how domineering Lydia was? Suzette could practically smell Lydia’s obstinate character, and the recognition had her uneasy. She’d assumed Nick was marrying a simpering debutante, not a mature, independent female.

Should she be provoked, Suzette had no doubt, Lydia would be a dangerous adversary, but enemy or no, Suzette was tired of being ignored.

“Lydia, is it?” she inquired. “Nick has had an appointment with me for some time. Whatever is bothering you will have to wait. Let’s go, Nick.”

“Who is this interloper, Nicky?” Lydia demanded, her scornful gaze roving up and down Suzette’s fabulous attire, her sneer indicating that she wasn’t impressed.

Nick handled the awkward moment with more composure than Suzette might have predicted. “Lydia, may I present an acquaintance of mine, Miss Suzette DuBois, esteemed star of the London stage.”

Suzette pulled herself up to her full height, giving the podgy shrew an imposing glimpse of what she was up
against. Suzette was a great beauty, stunningly outfitted, her hair and eyes aflame in the bright sunshine.

To Suzette’s shock and chagrin, Lydia scoffed. “An actress, Nicky? Honestly, you should be more careful about the company you keep. What would people say if they learned that you were wont to consort with someone so lowborn?”

With that deftly delivered snub, Lydia guided Nick away, and the hapless man hadn’t the fortitude to so much as peek over his shoulder in farewell.

Enraged, fuming, Suzette tarried next to his abandoned gig, curious if he expected her to tend it like a humble servant.

She was more insulted than she’d ever been. The nerve of the witch! Deeming herself to be so bloody superior! Well, she might have a bank account crammed with money, but Suzette would have Nick, and all the cash in the world wouldn’t alter that fact.

Suzette plotted her revenge. It would be fast, it would be beastly, it would be amusing, and she was eager to commence.

Rebecca stirred and reached for James, but he wasn’t there. His absence brought her completely awake, and she peered around in the dark. Through the door to the outer parlor she could see a candle flickering, could see him leaning on the windowsill and staring out into the night sky.

He was naked, moonlight wafting in to starkly accentuate his torso, casting odd shadows on his skin. His back appeared striped, with peculiar crisscrossed lines
moving in all directions. His legs were rugged and powerful, his bottom rounded and . . . and . . . cute! There was no other word to describe it, and she grinned, not having comprehended that a woman could take pleasure from viewing a nude man.

As she recollected the things he’d done to her, her stomach tickled. If she’d had a hundred years to ponder, she couldn’t have devised such decadent, incredible acts. He’d been so patient, tender and loving one minute, then firm and insistent the next. She ached in spots she’d never noted before—even her inner thighs had been abraded by the scratch of his whiskers!—and when she thought about how he’d kissed her there, she burned with excitement.

She’d liked it! And she wanted to begin again as soon as she could lure him to the bed, but the relish with which she’d wallowed in the endeavor worried her. While she wasn’t overly schooled in carnal affairs, she didn’t suppose she should have enjoyed it quite so much. But she’d never tell another soul how glorious it had been! It would be her wicked, marvelous secret with James!

He seemed so sad and pensive, as if a heavy burden rested on his shoulders. She could sense his tension and concern, and she wished she had some idea of how to soothe him. A wife ought to know how to calm and console, but it was increasingly clear that many details had been omitted in the bridal preparation she’d received from Lydia.

She’d figure it out, though. By coming to James she’d made the correct choice. Everything felt so right, as if her destiny had clicked in place like the pieces of a difficult puzzle.

She crept off the mattress and, not as comfortable as
he with nudity, she wrapped a sheet around herself. She went to him, but he was so engrossed in his rumination that he didn’t notice her until she was a few feet away.

He didn’t speak but raised his arm in welcome, and she snuggled under it. The window was open, the cool air causing her to shiver, and he cradled her to him, his body’s heat rapidly warming her.

After a lengthy silence, he asked, “Were you aware that in the Southern Hemisphere the stars are different?”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“When even the stars have changed, you feel so far from home—as if you know in your heart you’ll never get back to where you truly belong.”

He was so melancholy, and his woe had her afraid. Was he already regretting their decision?

“Have you traveled the Seven Seas?”

“I’ve been to many exotic lands.”

It was the first real comment he’d shared about his past, the first reference to a personal event, and she was thrilled.

Gently, she prodded, “Have you found your way home?”

“I don’t think I ever will.” Glum and dejected, he gazed outside again.

“What is it, James? You can confide in me. I’m your wife now. Perhaps I can help.”

He muttered a curse, and she couldn’t deduce which portion of her remark had him scoffing. The part about being his wife? About helping?

He brooded, as she rippled with dismay. Whatever he was about to confess, she didn’t want to hear it.

“I’ve done a terrible thing,” he finally claimed.

Murder? Mayhem? What? What?
The questions
screamed through her head, but she smiled and stated, “You’re the sweetest man I know. What mischief could you possibly have perpetrated that would qualify as
terrible
?”

“Sweet? Gad!” He chuckled with derision. “I’ve been called many names in my life, but
sweet
has never been one of them.” He hugged her; then he said the most dreaded words of all: “Sit down. We need to talk.”

He led her to the table, and he held out a chair; then he pulled up another so that he was facing her, their knees intertwined.

“For the last ten years,” he asserted, “I’ve hated Lord Stanton.”

The admission confused her. She’d thought he and Alex were acquaintances, maybe even friends. “You hated Alex?”

“Yes. I’ve been consumed with how I could hurt him.” He stopped and studied her, cataloguing her features as if he was anxious to memorize them, as if this was farewell. “Instead, I’ve hurt you.”

“You haven’t done anything to me.” Frantic to touch him, she took his hands in her own. “I’m fine.”

“I was determined to find what mattered most to him and wreck it.”

“You assumed it was me?” How absurd. She’d been so insignificant to Alex that he probably hadn’t yet realized that she’d left.