Fantasy 03 - Double Fantasy (21 page)

"You are so wicked," she said, giggling. "I can't deny it."

"Can we do that again sometime?" "Whenever you wish, my little beauty." "You are going to kill me with pleasure." "That's my intent."

He gazed down at her, letting his affection shine through as he fussed with the buttons on his trousers.

He was so aroused, and she was so eager.

He clasped her hips and entered her in one smooth thrust. As they joined together, he decided that the wedding vows had to be more powerful than he'd understood, because the strangest sensation rushed over him. He felt as if he was finally home, as if he'd finally arrived right where he belonged.

For a fleeting moment, the world narrowed to just her, and it seemed as if it hadn't been Gladstone and the earldom at all that had brought him back to England, but his chance for the universe to ensure that he found her.

He wasn't a romantic, though, and he paid no heed to ridiculous, maudlin premonitions. He wanted only to copulate with her, and to do it over and over again till some of his mad attraction was sated. No woman could keep his interest, and there had to be a limit to his infatuation. He merely needed to reach it, which he was certain would happen soon.

"Mine, Anne," he murmured, his seed rising, the end coming.

"Yours, Jamie," she agreed.

"Mine forever."

He flexed and let go, flooding her womb with a relish that bordered on desperation. The novel coupling had bonded them in ways that went beyond vows or human comprehension, as if they truly could never be separated till death.

He pumped into her till every drop was spent, till his heart was hammering so hard that he worried it might quit beating. Then he fell onto her, crushing her with his weight, as he struggled to breathe, to think.

His erection hadn't waned in the slightest, and it occurred to him that he could have sex with her for a hundred years and never have his fill.

Alarmed, disturbed, he closed his eyes, wondering what he'd gotten himself into and frantic over how he'd ever get himself out of it.

Sixteen

“I had no idea it would be like this." "I'm glad for you." "He's a marvelous husband."

"I must say that I'm extremely amazed to hear it."

Anne smiled at Sarah, then stared out the window toward the stables. Jamie was leaned against a fence and talking to his brother, and she relished having the chance to spy on him without his being aware.

He wasn't a typical aristocrat. He couldn't abide sloth, and he worked from dawn till dusk, fixing and changing things so they were done his way instead of Percy's. The tenants and servants seemed to like Jamie, when they'd never liked Percy, so he was gradually winning them over.

It was a hot afternoon, and he pulled off his shirt and dipped his hands in the water trough, splashing his hair and face. As he stood, water trickled off him, the summer sun shining on his bronzed skin, and her breath hitched with delight.

At his instigation, she'd become a wanton, a slave to

him and the naughty deeds he'd taught her to perform. There was nothing she wouldn't do to please him, nothing she wouldn't try at his suggestion. He could be sweet and tender, or stern and demanding, and she was so consumed by desire that she felt he was a sorcerer who had cast a spell on her.

He seemed equally obsessed, and there was no sight in the world so fine as Jamie Merrick gazing at her with love and affection.

And she was positive he was starting to love her. A person couldn't fake such devotion, so her dream was coming true. She was cherished by her husband, and she couldn't believe how lucky she was that he'd forced her into their marriage.

Whenever she remembered how she'd fought to escape his clutches, she shuddered at her stupidity. What if he hadn't been so adamant? What if he'd given up on her?

"Look at him," she murmured, her fondness clear and difficult to mask. "He's posed like a Greek god."

"He certainly is. It annoys me that he's so handsome."

"He knows it, too. The man doesn't have a humble bone in his body."

Sarah chuckled. "You love him, don't you?"

Did she love Jamie? Was it possible? Her feelings were so conflicted, so new and raw. When he was near, she suffered such quivery, insane surges of joy, and if that was an indication of love, she'd never admit it. Sarah would deem her mad.

"No, I don't love him." She scoffed, struggling to appear blas6 about the topic. "I just find him so... so ... remarkable."

"You don't have to explain it to me," Sarah said gently. "I'm happy for you. I just hope ..."

"Hope what?" Anne asked when Sarah couldn't finish.

"It's nothing. Don't pay any attention to me."

"No, tell me."

"I hope he stays, that's all."

"You think he won't?"

Anne was horrified that Sarah could have so little faith in him, but then, in the beginning, before she and Jamie had grown so close, Anne had worried over the same.

But no longer! He'd stay because she was at Gladstone. He would never leave her.

"Don't mind me," Sarah said. "He's totally besotted with you."

"He is? Really?" At the prospect, Anne was as excited as an adolescent girl with her first crush.

"He's too smitten to hide it."

Sarah came to the window, too, as Jamie turned to the trough again, and he soaked his shirt in the water and stroked it across his heated chest. He was sexy and decadent, too delicious for words.

They could see all of his back, and old whip marks were visible, providing silent evidence of his hard life as a boy. Anne had gotten used to all his prior wounds and had ceased to notice the numerous spots where he'd been marred by violence.

Sarah mentioned, "I hate those scars."

"So do I. They're awful."

"Jack has them, too. I can't bear that they were beaten so viciously—and at such a young age."

Sarah froze, realizing how peculiar her comment had been, and there was an awkward pause as Anne tried to digest it.

Tentatively, Anne inquired, "How would you know that Mr. Merrick has flogging scars?"

"I don't," Sarah insisted, her panic palpable, "and I have no idea why I said such a thing."

The two sisters stared and stared. Finally, Anne broke the tense moment.

"Sarah, is there something you'd like to tell me?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Very sure. I... ah ..." She wrenched away and headed for the door. "It's been a tiring afternoon. I should take a nap."

She raced out, and as Anne listened to her go, she was unnerved.

Was Sarah having an affair with Mr. Merrick? How else would she have learned such an intimate detail about his anatomy? It wasn't as if Jack Merrick wandered the estate without his clothes.

If Sarah was cavorting with Mr. Merrick, why lie about it? Anne knew—better than any woman alive— how irresistible a Merrick could be. She was in no position to judge.

She scrutinized the two brothers again, curious as to their similarities and differences. Occasionally, she chatted with Jack, and he was always scrupulously polite, but she had trouble moving beyond his domineering behavior on her wedding day.

Had he seduced Sarah? If so, why hadn't he stepped forward to propose?

At the notion that he might be trifling with her sister, Anne decided she should speak with the earl. Jamie enjoyed reminding everyone that he was in charge, so she'd give him a chance to prove how much power and authority he actually had.

If Mr. Merrick and Sarah were involved, then another Merrick brother needed to tie the knot—and quickly.

Anne walked out to the verandah and down into the yard, watching Jamie as she neared. Where she was concerned, he'd developed a second sense, and as she approached, he spun toward her. His gaze was so hot and so potent that she was weak in the knees, and she pondered—as she often did—how she'd survived before he'd burst into her life.

She kept coming until she was directly in front of him. Her skirt swirled around his legs and she could smell the sweat on his skin. His brother had vanished like smoke, though she couldn't have said when, so they were alone. Not caring who might see, she brazenly wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him to her, and she rose on tiptoe for a stirring kiss that he was happy to bestow.

He was surprised by the bold gesture, but humored, too, and he reveled in the embrace, being so thorough that he curled her toes.

They were the talk of the neighborhood. The scandalous news—that the earl and countess were wild for each other—had spread hither and yon, but she wasn't bothered by the gossip. The tongue-waggers could all go hang!

"Lord Gladstone?" she greeted, and he chuckled at her formal mode of address. "Yes, Lady Gladstone?"

"Is your brother having an affair with my sister?"

He cocked his head, as if he hadn't heard her correctly; then he shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know."

"Would he?"

"Well, he is my brother."

"Which means he probably is."

"He hasn't confided in me, though. What makes you wonder about them?"

"It's nothing important. I'd just like you to speak to him for me. Would you?"

"For you, my dearest Anne, I would do anything. You know that."

"Anything? Hmm...."

She grabbed his hand and started for the house. "Where are we going?" Jamie inquired, following along like a trained pony.

"You did say anything, didn't you?" "Yes."

"I want to see if you're serious."

"Now?"

"Yes, now."

He glanced back at the barn. "I'm a tad busy."

"I need you to attend me. Immediately."

She kept on, leading him to precisely where she wanted him to be, though not nearly fast enough. Between the spot where they were and the spot where they'd end up, there had to be a thousand stairs, each one a petty delay that seemed ridiculous.

Perhaps they should just bring their bed down to the front parlor and save all the climbing.

"I've created a monster," he muttered as she dragged him into the manor.

She glared over her shoulder. "Are you complaining?''

"Not complaining," he said. "Merely stating the facts."

She reached the stairs, and they ran up together.

»

M

y wife asked me the strangest question." "What is that?" Jack turned to look at Jamie. "She wants to know if you're having an affair with her sister."

"Nosy little wench, isn't she?" "She is at that."

Jack kept his expression carefully blank and sipped at his whiskey.

It was early evening, the two of them out on the verandah and discussing the estate before supper, which had become a nightly ritual. Yet Jack vividly remembered when Anne had leaned out a window while they'd been discussing her. Jamie's comments had caused a peck of trouble, and Jack wouldn't make the same mistake.

While Jack usually told Jamie everything, and couldn't recall when he'd last had a secret from his brother, he hadn't confessed about Sarah. He and Jamie had an acute mental connection, and frequently they thought the same thoughts at the same moment, so it was pointless to conceal information from him. Still, for reasons Jack didn't understand, he hadn't mentioned his trysting with Sarah. Nor had he explained about her being Tim's mother, and he couldn't fathom why he hadn't. Women—and his and Jamie's peccadilloes with them—were a common topic of conversation, so Jack's reticence was baffling. Why couldn't he say anything?

"So ... are you?" Jamie pressed.

"I might be."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I might be."

Jamie scowled. "You might be fucking her? You might not? You're thinking about it? What? Don't you know?"

Jack peeked around, searching for eavesdroppers but seeing none. "I've had sex with her a few times." "Really?"

"Yes, and if you tell your wife, I'll cut out your tongue, then slice off your balls."

As if the bloodletting were about to begin, Jamie held up his palms in a sign of surrender.

"She won't hear it from me."

"She better not."

"What's she like?" Jamie crudely queried. "Is she any good under the covers?"

"Shut up, or I'll knock your teeth out, too."

"All right, all right." Jamie studied him, amazed by Jack's surly attitude. "Since she's my sister-in-law, I suppose I ought to learn if you have any intentions toward her."

"Intentions!"

"You know what those are, don't you?" "Don't be a smart-ass."

"Is she going to wind up pregnant? Should I be demanding a wedding?"

Jack shrugged, refusing to discuss Sarah or his insane attraction to her.

She was everything he loathed in a female—fickle, flighty, unreliable, moody—and he couldn't comprehend why he'd been bewitched.

Like a puppet on a string, he kept crawling back to her bed, each fornication dragging him deeper into the morass. Every time he trifled with her, he told himself it would be the last, but the second he saw her again, he instantly capitulated. He was so weak!

"So there's nothing to worry about," Jamie said. "No, nothing."

Except for vicious rumor, scandal, another illegitimate child, plus the chance of the countess's sister being exposed as a fallen woman.

"If I asked Miss Carstairs her opinion about your behavior, what do you imagine her version would be?"

"If you ask her anything—if you so much as glance in her direction—I'll kick your ass from here to Jamaica."

"My, my," Jamie mused, and he whistled softly. "You're hooked like a fish on a line."

"I am not," Jack insisted. "She's very nice, and we've passed some pleasant hours together. That's all there is to it."

If he believed in Hell, which he didn't, he was positive the huge lie would have guaranteed he spent an eternity there. He had jumbled but potent feelings for Sarah and would have proposed immediately if he'd thought she'd have him—but she never would.

He was a vagabond and uncouth sailor, who had naught to show for himself but the fact that he was Jamie's brother. Jack had nothing to offer a snooty, refined lady like Sarah Carstairs, and he wouldn't humiliate himself by giving her an opportunity to spurn him.