Cheryl Holt (41 page)

“What if they do? They’re
my
servants.”

“This is your damned castle?”

“Yes.”

“I might have guessed. Rich witch!”

“Stop complaining about my money. Imagine all the pretty baubles I can buy you with it.”

She untied his cravat, and tugged the lengthy hem of his shirt out of his trousers, but it was in her way and hampering her enjoyment. Since she wasn’t about to loosen his bindings, she couldn’t draw it off, so she gripped the neckline and ripped it down the center, receiving an enormous amount of satisfaction at her raucous display.

She was such a desperate female! Her desire for him was so great that she felt she was a hazard to herself and to him. When he’d first arrived, she’d advised him that she had an itch for him to scratch, and she hadn’t been joking. She needed him as she needed food to eat, or water to drink, and she would continue on until he forgave her.

“Unlike some people I know,” he grouched, “I’m not wealthy, and I don’t have clothes to waste. When this is over, you’re going to pay for a new shirt.”

She always forgot that he was an individual of limited means. He was too arrogant to be poor. “I’ll buy you an entire wardrobe. Don’t grumble.”

What a wanton she’d become! Cursing profusely. Fornicating with enthusiasm. Having a person kidnapped off the street in broad daylight. What would she do next? Any exotic behavior was possible.

Like a greedy cat, she leaned down, and rubbed her cheek across his brawny chest, relishing his smell, his heat. She rooted to his nipple, licked and nipped at the tiny nub. Down below, his cock surged, growing even larger, and he was struggling so mightily to shield any reaction that she laughed. He was so hard for her, yet he was glowering at the ceiling, so detached that he might have been in another room.

Straddling his lap, she eased herself over the blunt crown, until he was impaled to the hilt. On her knees, she hovered over him, her hands on either side, her breasts teasing his lips.

She began to move, retreating, then plunging down, frantic to feel his length, his girth. Though it had only been
weeks, it seemed as if they’d been separated for years, perhaps decades, and she couldn’t get her fill.

Against his will, his body joined in, unable to ignore the blatant stimulation.

“Give over, Charles,” she chided. “Let go.”

“Never.”

“Quit fighting it, and admit how much you still want me.”

“You are so full of yourself.”

He was at the edge. So was she. Another thrust. Another.

“Tell me that you love me, Charles.”

“No.”

Rigid, every muscle tense, he rose up into her, permeating her, as his seed spewed out. He came over and over, never achieving the pinnacle, and as his pleasure erupted, her own did, too. She soared with him, up and up, and as she floated down, he was watching her, wary, intense, and—apparently—unaffected.

He was so stubborn! She yearned to shake him!

She brushed a kiss across his lips. “Will you marry me?”

“No.” He bucked with his hips, striving to toss her off, but he had no leverage. “If you’re finished with your little game, you can release me.”

She thought about refusing, just on general principles, but she decided to grant his wish. Proceeding slowly, she undid his ankles. She hated having the wild escapade end, but then, if he was too recalcitrant, she could shout for Mr. Rafferty. As she slackened his wrist cord, the notion had her grinning, and the moment he was free, he seized her, spun them over, and pinned her down.

“Don’t ever do that to me again.”

“What? Don’t abduct you? Or don’t tie you up?” She flashed a saucy smile. “I could agree to forgo another kidnapping, but I liked your bondage too much. I’m afraid I won’t be able to resist.”

“I ought to take a strap to you.”

“You can’t. You have to be extra kind to me.”

“After this shenanigan, give me one reason why.”

“Because I’m going to have a baby.”

“As I informed you long ago.”

“Don’t you have anything to say?”

“Yes. Good luck finding a husband who will tolerate your nonsense.”

His sustained pique finally set a spark to her temper. How much further did he want her to prostrate herself? Must she slice a vein and draw blood? “You are the most unbending, mulish, relentless bully that I—”

He cut off her tirade with a torrid, punishing kiss, but she reveled in it, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him close. She was grappling and biting at him, venting her frustration and anger, as he was venting his.

“I’m a man,” he decreed, breaking off the embrace.

She batted her lashes. “I noticed.”

“If I’m to marry,
I
do the asking.”

“Well, if I waited for you to get around to it, I’d be a hundred years old!”

“
I
will rule in my family.
I
will be king.
My
word will be law.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“I won’t reside in some infernal castle.”

“I have six other homes. You may have your pick. If you don’t like any of them, we’ll purchase something else. You may choose it.”

“Christ!” he scoffed. “Aren’t you listening? How could we wed? We have nothing in common. I’m modest and indigent, while you’re . . . you’re . . .”

Either he couldn’t describe what she was, or he couldn’t utter it in her company. “I’m what?”

He paused, then he slid off her and sat up. “No. I just want to go.”

“Coward,” she muttered to his back.

Infuriated, he whipped around. “What did you call me?”

“You’re a craven coward.” In a huff, she crawled past him and onto the floor, where she scooped up her robe and jerked it on, wrenching at the sash, seeking the fortitude provided by clothing. “I’m offering to make your every dream come true, but you’re too scared to reach out and grab for it.”

“I am not.”

“Book your accursed passage to America! Slink off all alone! Spend your life by yourself, ruminating over what might have been. See if I care!”

As incensed as she, he stood up and adjusted his attire. His hot gaze sliced into hers, and she was so irate that tears welled into her eyes.

“Don’t you dare cry,” he barked.

“I’m sick to death of men telling me what I can and cannot do. If I feel like sobbing for a week, I will. You can’t stop me!”

Her delicate condition had her overly excitable, and a wave of emotion swamped her, teardrops cascading down.

At witnessing them, he was enraged. “Dammit. Why did you do this?” He was scowling at her as if he really and truly hadn’t a clue.

“You idiot! Don’t you know? I want to be your wife. I want to give you a family who will cherish you. I want to use my fortune to alleviate your burdens, to ease your way so that you don’t have to work so hard.”

“I like to work.”

Throwing up her hands in defeat, she growled, “Fine! Just bloody fine! Work yourself to the bone. Wallow in squalor and poverty for the rest of your days. Struggle till you take your last, exhausted breath.” She marched to the door and flung it open. “Go! Go to America! Get out of my sight!”

Mr. Rafferty and his partner snapped to attention.

“Mr. Hughes is leaving,” she explained. “Drive him into
Southampton. Deposit him at his precious ship so that he can board immediately.”

“Are you sure, milady?” Rafferty queried.

“Yes. I don’t have anything to
offer
Mr. Hughes that he deems to be important.”

Perplexed, Rafferty evaluated the two of them, then shrugged.

“As you wish.” He stepped toward Charles, ready to escort him out, and muttering his opinion of Charles’s decision, “You crazy loon.”

Charles halted him with a fierce frown. “Bugger off, Rafferty.”

He shoved Rafferty into the hall, slammed the door, and stared her down.

“I won’t live with your father.”

“Am I forcing you to, you blasted ingrate? I told you: I own six houses!”

“I won’t come begging to you for every penny.”

“Upon signing the marital contracts, the income from three of my properties will be allocated to you. You can dispose of it however you like.”

“I won’t be some idle oaf, who has nothing to do.”

“Toil till your fingers fall off, if it makes you happy. It’s none of my affair.”

“I’ve always wanted to breed horses. Thoroughbreds.”

“Have I said you couldn’t?”

“I’ll need stock and stables, farms and employees. It will be expensive.”

“Do you have any idea how rich I am?”

“No.”

“Then, maybe you should propose, before you make me so angry that I change my mind.”

“All right.” He nodded. “I’ll have you.”

“You call that a proposal?”

“It’s the best I can do on short notice.”

Bristling, she almost retorted in the same rude, flip fashion, but her energy waned, her ire fleeing as rapidly as it had spiraled. She wasn’t furious, but sad and discouraged. With such high expectations, she’d chased after him, had been so optimistic about the future they could build together. She’d convinced herself that she mattered to him, that once he saw her again, all would be forgiven and forgotten.

What a fool she was! Would she never learn? She didn’t understand men, how they thought, what they craved. Hadn’t her disastrous marriage proven what a failure she was at dealing with the male animal?

Sighing, she turned and went to the window, blindly studying the grounds. “When I was betrothed to my husband,” she began quietly, “he didn’t ask me, either. His father and mine signed some papers, and it was done.”

She peered at him over her shoulder. “Since then, it’s occurred to me that he didn’t really desire the engagement, that I was so inconsequential to him, he couldn’t be bothered.”

“I’m nothing like your husband. I believe I’ve mentioned as much before.”

“I realize you’re not, but if you’re serious about marrying me, I guess I need to hear you say why, and your reasons should probably have something to do with me personally. I won’t let you break my heart. I’m wiser now.”

He observed her, concealing his introspection, and her pulse thudded with dread. Just as she’d persuaded herself that he wouldn’t profess his feelings, that her madcap pursuit had been a waste, he spoke.

“You’re correct,” he admitted. “I am a coward.”

“Of what are you afraid?”

“I’m terrified that what you’re posing isn’t real, that it will be snatched away. Over the years, I’ve suffered horrendous loss, Eleanor—more than anyone should have to bear—and I can’t endure more.”

“I know,” she concurred, “and it pains me to be reminded of how alone you’ve been.”

“If I ask, and you accept, it’s forever. I won’t let you renege or back out. A promise means something to me.”

“Have a little faith, Charles.” She extended her hand, a lifeline, a tether that would bind them till death.

It hovered there, and he crossed the room, took it in his own, and knelt before her.

“I love you, Eleanor.”

“And I love you, Charles.”

“I’m not much of a catch—”

“I think you are.”

“—but I swear to you that I will be a dependable, loyal husband. That I will watch over you, and care for you, that I will honor and cherish you, till my dying day. Will you marry me?”

“Yes, I will.” She helped him to his feet and hugged him, confessing for the second time, “We’re going to have a baby.”

“I hope it’s a girl, who looks just like you.”

“Oh, you sweet man.”

He was so stalwart, so strong and steadfast, and he would always be by her side, her best friend, her constant companion. She whispered a prayer, for her baby—but for Charles, too. She was so glad to have this chance, and she vowed to spend every minute bringing him peace and contentment, making him happy.

Serene, satisfied, she laid her head on his shoulder.

She was home. Home at last.

 24 

Anne rushed across the lawn, attired solely in her robe, her feet bare. She’d been sequestered in the house, lounging in her room like an invalid, and she was feeling restless, jittery, a bit wild.

It was a brisk, bleak autumn evening, a vivid indicator of the changed season. The moon cast ghostly shadows, the tree branches brittle with frost, the ground hard and ready for the snow and ice that would come with the onset of winter.