Cheryl Holt (15 page)

Well, Eleanor might be cowed, but Charles wasn’t. He’d
spent his life in army camps, with members of the aristocracy as his superior officers, and with the exception of Stephen, he’d rarely met a nobleman who’d been worth the respect they thought was their absolute due.

As far as he was concerned, Robert Chamberlin was a pompous blowhard, and Charles wasn’t about to have him chastising Eleanor. Not when Charles could deflect any anger toward himself. He didn’t imagine she would welcome his assistance, but he would give it anyway.

After their escapade at the inn, they hadn’t spoken, and he’d avoided her like the plague. Any encounter would have been awkward, and he’d been terrified that she’d want—in an irritating feminine fashion—to dissect what had happened between them.

For an eternity, he’d secretly lusted after her, though he’d never have dishonored her by letting her discover his attraction. He was the orphaned, penniless, maimed son of a soldier, and she was so beyond his reach, that it was ludicrous to hope he might have a chance at her, so he’d been royally shocked to have been invited into her bed, and even more amazed to have dallied with her.

As he’d suspected, she was hot-blooded. His confirmation of her sexual nature had left him so titillated that he’d yearned to ravage her like a wild animal, but he’d managed to restrain his basest impulses and had fled before he’d humiliated both of them.

Since then, he’d remained hidden, a weakling who’d finagled his schedule so as to never be in any spot where he would stumble upon her. While he might have once been a valiant warrior, a brave and fearless leader, with Eleanor Chamberlin Dunworthy he was a coward.

“Where is Stephen?” the earl was barking. “I’ve asked you the question in ten different ways, and I don’t have a straight answer.”

“That’s because I don’t know,” she claimed.

“You’re lying; I can tell.” Lord Bristol had been off the property when they’d kidnapped Stephen, and he’d returned to find that his disabled, critically injured son had vanished. He was furious. “I have it on good authority that you absconded with him. A veritable platoon of servants saw you. Now, where is he?”

“If I don’t confess, what will you do? Paddle me?”

“Don’t think you’ve gotten too big for a spanking.”

Would he really do such a thing? Gad, she was thirty-five—three years older than himself—and a widow, who’d been married for over a decade. Did the earl regard her as a child? Would he treat her like one?

Charles didn’t believe her father would resort to physical punishment, but he couldn’t risk it. He stepped forward.

“If I might interrupt—”

At the sound of his voice, she whipped around, incensed and dismayed. “No you may not, Charles. Begone!”

“Of course, Charles.” Lord Bristol greeted him as though Eleanor hadn’t spoken. “Come in, come in.”

She bristled at the slight, and Charles was baffled by how her family never noticed the fire bubbling inside her. He’d observed it the first time they’d talked, and he constantly wished he could figure out how to ignite her fuse. Just so long as she blazed in his direction!

“I heard you were wondering as to Stephen’s whereabouts.”

“How are you involved in this fiasco?”

“Actually, sir, Stephen was frustrated with his recovery, and he requested that I aid him in traveling to a facility about which he’d read.”

“A facility?”

“Yes.”

The earl waited and waited, intending that Charles supply the name and location, but Charles was silent, and Lord Bristol fumed, aware that he could order Charles to disclose
the information, but Charles would refuse, embarrassing all of them. He wasn’t a retainer, so he couldn’t be fired for insubordination, and he couldn’t be commanded to stop being Stephen’s friend. He could be compelled to vacate the premises, which he’d do in a trice if such a demand was made, but then the earl would have to explain to Stephen why his mutilated companion had been sent away.

Bristol sputtered, striving to discern how to proceed. He was incredulous, confounded by Charles’s admission, as well as his behavior, and he inquired, “Stephen wasn’t happy here?”

“He felt he would have a better prospect for recuperation with a new group of doctors. I handled all of the details. Lady Eleanor had naught to do with it.”

Eleanor shimmered with ire, enraged that he would interfere, that he would assume the blame and steal her thunder, when he’d been opposed to the plan from the very beginning.

She opened her mouth to protest, when the earl queried, “So it was your doing?”

“At Stephen’s behest.”

“Well, then . . .” As his excuse for anger had been quashed, the earl’s temper fizzled. “You know where he is?”

“Yes, sir.”

“It’s a reputable establishment?”

“Of the highest quality.” Charles had no idea if his appraisal was accurate. Mrs. Smythe’s farm had looked tidy and well run, but he hadn’t interviewed her, and he didn’t trust Eleanor’s assessment. She was too distraught by Stephen’s condition to be impartial.

“Are you in contact with him?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll keep me posted.”

“Certainly.”

Charles accepted the remark as his cue to leave, and he slipped out, not eager to loiter when Eleanor was in a snit.
Hustling to the dining hall, he gobbled the last bites of a supper he’d abandoned when he’d been notified that Lord Bristol was about to upbraid Eleanor in the library.

He went outside, enjoying the fresh air and the gloaming, and he wandered through the stables, checking that the horses were settled, before returning to the manor and his room on the third floor. Due to his vague position in the household, he couldn’t reside in the attic with the servants. Stephen had insisted he be furnished a grand suite on the second floor, but he wouldn’t have slept a wink in that bloody king’s bed up on its pedestal.

After one peek at the ornate apartment, he’d opted for less, and it had been a good choice. Functional and modest, it was the sort of chamber that would have been provided to an undistinguished guest, and it was situated at the end of a deserted corridor. No maids walked by, no visitors bumped into him, and he was next to the rear stairs so he could come and go without being detected.

He undressed, which was an arduous task with only one arm. Stephen had offered him a valet, but he couldn’t have tolerated some queer bloke yanking his trousers on and off, so he’d declined. He washed, another difficult endeavor, then he crawled between the clean sheets. As he’d been born on a battlefield, and had grown up following the drum, he never took for granted such amenities as a soft mattress. Smiling, he gazed out the window. Dusk had faded, the stars were twinkling.

A board creaked in the hall, alerting him that someone was approaching, and he tensed, listening, and determining that it was a female. Was it a housemaid? Sneaking down for a tryst? Several had hinted at an interest, but he’d kept his distance, not wanting to curry displeasure with his host, should Lord Bristol learn that he’d been trifling with the employees.

His caller halted outside his door, and his curiosity spiraled. She hesitated, and he watched, intrigued as to whether she’d enter. Ultimately, she found the courage to spin the knob, and as she did, he was hard as stone. It had been ages since he’d copulated, and he wouldn’t be adverse to a tumble. As she prowled in, he scooted up so that he was resting against the headboard, and he blinked and blinked.

Eleanor! What the devil!

What did she want? To fight? To philander? He wouldn’t argue with her, and he wouldn’t fornicate. He had his pride after all, and if he so much as touched her, she’d grasp how smitten he was, and he wasn’t about to reveal his enamoration.

She was attired in her nightclothes, a slinky, shiny negligee and robe outlining her curvaceous form. Her blond hair was down and brushed out. Sexy, bewitching, desire incarnate, she tempted him to all manner of debauchery.

“Get the hell out of here,” he hissed. “Before you’re caught.”

“No.”

“Are you mad?”

“Very likely.”

Carrying a candle, she set it on the dresser and advanced on him. She was in a fine state, still seething after their appointment with her father, and he was reminded of the myriad of reasons he’d lived his life surrounded by men.

He sighed. “Lighten your load, darlin’, but make it quick. I’ll not have your ruination on my conscience.”

“Lighten
what
load?”

“Whatever lambaste you’re about to level. Let me have it.”

“How dare you treat me like a . . . a . . . child!”

“I’ve never—”

“Did I ask for your help?” She was shouting, though in a whisper. “Did I? Am I such a namby-pamby that I can’t
confer with my own father without you sticking your male nose into my affairs? What do you suppose? That I’m ten years old and I can’t possibly survive without your controlling every breath I take?”

She was a far cry from ten. With no corset to conceal her shape, he could see her breasts, the erect nipples jutting at the thin fabric. He’d viewed them before, had fondled and suckled, and he’d acted as chivalrous as he was able, but he couldn’t force himself to be so noble a second time.

Reaching out, he clutched her wrist, the gesture stemming her tirade.

“Let me go!”

“No.”

She struggled, but he wouldn’t release her, so she lashed out with her free hand and slapped him across the face. He wasn’t as nimble as he’d been previously, and he couldn’t prevent the blow. The whack reverberated in the quiet space, freezing them both.

Horror-stricken, she pressed her fingers to her lips, appearing as if she might be ill. “Oh, God . . . oh, God . . . I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m not a gentleman. If you hit me again, I’ll hit you back.”

Pulling with all his might, he flipped her onto the bed. He had lost much of his maneuverability, but his legs were as strong as ever, and he kicked out from the blankets, rolled her, and locked her in place beneath him. She pushed and encountered bare skin, and her eyes widened with shock. She hadn’t realized that he was nude, and suddenly, she was being pinned down by a very naked, very irate, very provoked male.

He wasn’t positive what he intended to do with her—scold her? paddle her? make love to her?—and he studied her, wishing he could utter something profound, but she
curbed any comment he might have made when she swallowed, shuddered, and started to cry.

He couldn’t bear to witness her distress! Couldn’t stand that he might have caused her any anguish.

“What’s this?” he soothed, and he dipped down and kissed her, lingering, tasting the salt of her tears. She was too dejected to explain her upset, and he nestled her to his chest until she’d calmed. Her body went limp, as though she’d deflated with the effort of sobbing.

Brimming with hurt, she chided, “Why don’t you ever talk to me anymore?”

“What do you mean? Of course, I
talk
to you. Whenever I can.” A lie, which they both knew. After using her so badly at the inn, he’d been too chagrined to interact.

She peered at him, and her mottled cheeks broke his heart. “No, you don’t. Since that night when we . . . when you . . .” Too shamed to refer to the ignominious event, the tears flowed again, and she buried herself at his nape, so she could hide her mortification.

“I’m not loose,” she contended, “if that’s what you’ve been thinking.”

“I never imagined you were.”

“That was the first time . . . the only time . . .”

Was that what this was about? Was she hurting over the aftermath of their aborted assignation? He’d flayed himself, rationalizing his conduct to the point of absurdity, but he hadn’t paused to wonder how she’d weathered the ordeal. Obviously, not well.

What had she expected? He couldn’t begin to guess. She couldn’t have anticipated that they’d developed an affinity, or that they’d established a relationship that could be disclosed.

It had been a moment of temporary insanity, a wild, incautious romp that neither of them had foreseen or sought. It had
just
happened
. She was a widow. Surely, she understood that insignificant dalliances occurred with alarming regularity.

Had she hoped for it to be something more?

He wouldn’t presume that she might have. The concept was preposterous, but thrilling, too, and his pathetic spirit enlivened merely from his pondering it.

“Don’t humor me, as if I was a baby, Charles.” She nibbled at his neck, the sensation hurling a lightning bolt to his groin. “All my life, those around me have been convinced that I can’t care for myself. I’m so weary of being coddled, and I can’t abide it from you.”

Was she implying that she had a fondness for him? That she had tender feelings? To what end?

He let her words sink in, but couldn’t reply, for he didn’t know what to say. Should he tell her she was being foolish? That she was stupid to fancy him? Should he send her away? Warn her never to return?

He couldn’t. He wasn’t that honorable. Forlorn, isolated, he was alone in the world, and there was such enchantment in holding her. If she was willing to venture all, to be with him despite the consequences, then he wasn’t about to discard the gift she was anxious to bestow.

“I wasn’t being condescending,” he said. “I simply can’t tolerate your father berating you. Why do you let him?”

“It’s his way.”

“I won’t allow him to speak down to you ever again. I swear it.”

He sealed his vow with a stormy kiss, and he couldn’t keep a moan of delight from escaping. Initially, she was reticent, timid about her participation, but she rapidly shed her reserve, her busy fingers tracing his shoulders, his back, though she couldn’t muster the courage to go any lower. She was both bold and cautious, her gestures tentative, as if she’d never frolicked before, and a niggling suspicion dawned.

Yes, she was a widow, but what kind of experience had
she truly had? He’d heard gossip about the lout to whom she’d been married. The physical side of their union must have been less than satisfying, and the prospect intrigued him. Was she a budding flower, ready to bloom?

He clasped her hand, and guided it to his cock. It had been so long since a woman had touched him there that he nearly spilled himself like a callow boy of fourteen. Staring at the wall, he let visions of Spain fill his mind, concentrating on anything but her, until the fierce urgency passed.