Cheryl Holt (25 page)

How dare she be promiscuous! How dare she be wanton, loose with her favors! With Chamberlin, of all people!

On a daily basis, Willie interacted with the upper crust of society, and he loathed them. They were arrogant, rude, and they scorned him, when they noticed him at all. Usually, they pretended he was invisible, convenient when he was needed to sort out criminal mischief, but unnecessary for any other purpose.

Chamberlin was everything Willie was not. Rich, tall, handsome, he was celebrated by the nation, lauded by royalty and commoners alike, and he probably had a woman around every corner. How revolting that the insolent swine would deign to corrupt Anne!

She was over his lap, reveling in the foul deed like the whore she was. She cried out in passion, and Chamberlin let go, too, spilling himself inside her, and taking no steps to avoid impregnation.

Sickened by the sight, Willie lurched away and barreled into the woods, his head pounding with rage.

He’d been inclined to marry Anne. To honor her by selecting her to be his wife. Oh, the agony of learning she was a Jezebel! Scant more than a prostitute!

Weak, shaking, his legs were wobbly and barely capable of conveying him to his own property. As he climbed the fence, he forced himself to slow, to calm the wild beating of his heart, to restrain his temper, while he evaluated the circumstances.

Anne had betrayed him, had desecrated their friendship, had shattered his faith in her. She’d shamed him, and it was an insult that couldn’t go unanswered, but any redress would have to be sought after Chamberlin was gone. It was obvious that the infamous Captain harbored an affection for her, so Willie wouldn’t behave improvidently. Chamberlin was too renowned, his family too powerful to cross.

But once Chamberlin left, well . . .

Willie had many methods by which he could garner revenge.

The grotto would be his, and Anne would be his, though her position would be significantly lowered from what Willie had originally conceived. She was a harlot, and therefore undeserving of respect or esteem, and he would treat her accordingly.

He knew how to deal with trollops. He did so regularly, and it was invariably pleasurable. Anne would pay for what she had done. He simply had to figure out the most fitting manner for ensuring he was adequately compensated.

 14 

“Marry me.”

Eleanor stopped moving and gazed down into Charles’s rugged, handsome face. “What did you say?”

“You heard me.”

She glared at him with no small amount of consternation. “I could swear you just asked me to marry you, so I couldn’t possibly have.”

“I am askin’, and I’d have your answer.”

Her knees digging into the mattress, she straddled him, his cock a rod, wedged inside her. She relished the indecent position, treasuring the control it gave her, the power she wielded.
She
determined the pace, the conclusion. It was up to her to decide how deep to take him, how fast to let him thrust—or not.

When he was on the bottom, he was at her mercy, and in his surrender, she’d soared. She wasn’t frigid, as her husband had claimed. Hot-blooded, appealing, she was a woman in full bloom, and she’d found a man whose very touch could send her flinging to ecstasy.

He was patient, solicitous, a generous lover, who’d proceeded slowly, who’d treated her like a virgin learning her
way, and his willingness to indulge her exploration and edification had charmed her.

Sweetly and methodically, he’d escorted her down the path of iniquity, making it seem as if what they’d done had been his idea, when in reality, she was like a child with a new toy.

How could she have been wed for over a decade and not know how to please a man? Or how to please herself?

Each day was a celebration, with Charles bestowing another gift. They trysted as if they were lust-starved adolescents, sneaking off and breaking every moral tenet ever devised. Their wild, unrestrained couplings had her wondering if she hadn’t become a bit crazed.

In her daft craving for him, she was growing deranged, and he never refused to oblige her, though he always cautioned that they were courting trouble. Considering the reckless abandon with which she’d thrown herself into the liaison, she recognized that it was a matter of time before they were caught, but she was so heedless to the consequences, that she often speculated as to whether she didn’t hope they’d be detected.

What then?
The question slithered past, but she pushed it away. If she was discovered in a compromising situation with Charles, how would her father respond? What would he demand?

She wasn’t sure she cared. In her negligent drive to be with Charles, she couldn’t worry about rectitude, the family name, her reputation, or anything else. The rest of the world, and its petty ethics, had ceased to signify.

Rocking across his phallus, she reveled in the smooth glide of sensation. She was sore, stretched beyond her limit, bruised and battered from their incessant philandering, but she couldn’t desist.

He had unlocked a well of desire that had to be filled, and she felt that if she trifled long enough or hard enough, she
would find an elusive contentment that had perpetually been beyond her grasp.

He put his arm across her thighs.

“Talk to me,” he urged.

“No.”

“Eleanor!”

His tone was scolding, and she detested it when he was unhappy, when he chided or reprimanded. While in his company, she wanted unqualified acceptance. For so much of her life, she’d been advised that she was deficient and defective, and she couldn’t bear it when he was disappointed in her, even if it was over a minor incident.

She tried to begin anew, but he wouldn’t join in.

“We have to discuss this,” he maintained.

“Why?”

“I love you.”

“No, you don’t.” Frantic to chase away the unbidden attestation, she shook her head.

“I’m lying here, with my heart on my sleeve.”

“Well, you shouldn’t be so indiscreet in blurting out your feelings.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

She couldn’t abide his anguished expression, so she studied the wall behind him. “Have I said or done anything that would lead you to presume I might wish to wed?”

He paused, reflected. “No.”

“There you have it.”

“So . . . I’m not to receive the courtesy of a yea or nay?”

“Nay,” she bluntly decreed.

As he absorbed her harsh repudiation, his erection waned. “Then what have we been doing here every night?”

“We’ve been having enthusiastic sexual relations. There’s no reason to complicate the proceeding by interjecting unnecessary sentiment into the middle of it.”

“I see.”

He was quiet, contemplative, not the type who would declare himself without an abundance of forethought. His hurt was so colossal that she was paralyzed with the enormity of her conduct, and as though it had never existed, his warm regard faded. She yearned to reach out and grab for it, to clutch it to her chest so that it wouldn’t be lost to her, but it was already gone.

Her passion for Charles was the only magnificent, splendid event that had ever happened to her, and if he took his affection and rejected her, what would she do? How would she carry on?

Oh, why had he opened this door? She wanted to shout at him. Didn’t he realize that she couldn’t deal with his emotions? Or her own? She wanted to return to where they’d been minutes earlier, but that place had disappeared.

“May I be apprised of why?” he queried.

“I don’t intend to wed again.”

“Have the decency,” he barked, “to look at me as you say it.”

She forced herself to be strong, to meet his gaze. His blue eyes were wide with torment and anger, and she could peer into his soul, could read how terribly he’d been wounded. She’d rather die than harm him, yet she replied, “I’m honored that you asked, but I can’t.”

“Spare me your apologies.”

He pulled away and evaluated her, providing her with a chance to redeem herself or change her mind, but she couldn’t furnish the words he needed to hear, and even though she hated herself for it, she made no rejoinder.

Sighing, he rose and went to the chair where, in his haste to couple with her, he’d pitched his trousers. He sat and tugged them on, which was an arduous task for him.

“Let me help you,” she offered.

“Don’t you dare.”

Disconsolate, she watched him struggle, recalling the previous occasions when she’d assisted.

He scowled at the floor. “Is it because of my arm?”

“How could you think so?”

“My background, is it?”

“God, no.” She’d had a spouse with the loftiest of antecedents, and the experience had taught her a valuable lesson: lineage was an idiotic measure of worth.

“Are you afraid that I’m after your money? If you are, I can tell you that I don’t give a bloody damn about it. You can burn every farthing for all I care.”

“It hadn’t occurred to me that you might be interested in my fortune.”

“Then, what? You’re fairly eager to fornicate as long as no one knows. So what has this been about? Was it just a lark for you? A naughty romp with your hired man?”

She was crushed by his use of
was
. He was intimating that the affair was over. “Charles, please.”

“Answer me! Why have you been doing this?”

“Because it was amusing and delightful.”

“Am I to gather that you’ll debase yourself in private, but you’d be too ashamed to claim me in public?”

Was that how he perceived her? Hadn’t she shown him, in every way possible, how much he meant to her? How could he discount what they’d shared?

“Can you really believe I’m that shallow?”

He assessed her, and a silence festered, becoming awkward, then painful.

“You’d better leave.”

Her heart skipped several beats—literally—but she remained calm. “No. I’d planned to spend the whole night. Like always.”

“Your
plans
have been altered.”

Sitting up, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed
her feet dangling. She was naked, and with the sudden tenor of the conversation, she felt vulnerable because of it. She scooped up his shirt and drew it on so that she could be surrounded by his scent. The aroma soothed her, gave her courage.

“Don’t do this, Charles. Don’t send me away.”

“What purpose would be served by your staying?”

“I need to be with you.”

“I’ve fucked you several times today,” he crudely mentioned. “That ought to keep you sated for a few hours, until you can persuade somebody else to give you a tumble.”

He moved toward the door, and she was positive he would physically toss her out if she refused to go on her own. Desperate to smooth over their rift, she clasped his hand, linking their fingers. “I don’t want another lover. Just you.”

“No. If I had to explain your behavior, I’d argue that you receive a thrill from degrading yourself with a commoner. Does it arouse you? Is it part of some odd fantasy?” As if he couldn’t stand to be near her, he yanked away. “I’m sorry, but I won’t play your game. You’ll have to find another who will.”

“Are you truly convinced that I’m the sort who would lie down with just anyone?” He was too much of a gentleman to voice his opinion, and she started to cry, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“If you suspect that a bout of weeping will make any difference, you’ve miscalculated. Now go, before this gets any worse.”

She couldn’t describe why she’d plunged into their reckless amour. Had it been loneliness? Advancing age? Insanity? But the stormy liaison had swept her into a dream state, where nothing was concrete. Stuffy, pompous Eleanor Chamberlin Dunworthy had metamorphosed into someone new and free, who was at liberty to indulge her raucous whims.

The idea that he might cast her aside was too bizarre, and
the strange reality she’d built came crashing down, the rubble pummeling her as it fell.

“I am barren,” she choked out, humiliated at having to remind him.

“So?”

“A married man deserves children.”

“Have I said I wanted any?”

“You don’t have to. It’s what all men want.”

“Is that what this is about? You think you can’t have children, so you won’t have me, either?”