Miss Foster’s Folly (14 page)

The owner himself stood behind the bar, polishing his glassware. When he spotted Derrington, he set his work down and hurried over.

“Your lordship,” he declared. “We had no idea you’d planned to return.”

“I only decided myself the other night.” He gestured toward Juliet. “Mrs. Marlow, this is Mr. Rufus Quinn, the finest hotelier in these parts.”

“How nice to meet you, Mr. Quinn,” she said. “This is a lovely establishment.”

“The only one in these parts, and I’m the only hotelier, but his lordship does enjoy his little joke,” the man said. “Let me show you to a table.”

Quinn did and pulled out a chair for Miss Foster. She took it and sat, sagging a bit in her seat.

“Rest for a moment,” Derrington said, “while I confer with our host about some supper.”

“My lord, we can do that very well right here,” Quinn said.

“By the bar, if you will,” Derrington said.

The man’s forehead wrinkled in confusion, but he obeyed, leading Derrington far enough away from Miss Foster for private conversation.

“We’ve some mutton stew left, my lord,” Quinn said. “Some cheese and bread, baked today. And there might be a bit of gooseberry tart.”

“Excellent.”

“I’ll go tell Martha to bring it all out.” Quinn turned toward the kitchen, but Derrington stopped him with a hand to his shoulder.

“There’s something you should know about the lady,” Derrington said.

Quinn gave him an evil chuckle. “None of my business, sir, what you and the lady—”

“It’s not like that.”

“Whatever you say, sir.”

He might take offense at the man’s implications if they hadn’t been spot on about how he planned to pass the night. “She’s a relative.”

Quinn gave him the bland smile of a man who didn’t believe a word of the story but honestly didn’t care.

“No, truly. A distant cousin,” Derrington said. “From the Italian side of the family.”

“She sounds American, sir.”

Of course, she did. Why hadn’t he ever cultivated the art of lying before? “She’s been in the United States for many years. Recovering.”

“Recovering?”

He dropped his voice an octave. “Recovering.”

“Here, now.” Quinn leaned toward him. “Is it something catching?”

“Nothing like that.” Derrington tapped his own temple. “She’s not quite right in the head.”

“Pity.” Quinn clucked his tongue.

“As I said, the Italian side of the family.”

“And she seems so nice,” Quinn said. “Normal.”

Derrington glanced toward Miss Foster. She sat patiently at the table. A bit droopy, perhaps, but that was to be expected after such a long voyage with hardly any rest.

“From childhood, she’s had a tendency to wander off and lose herself among strangers,” he said. “Of course, it became dangerous as she got older.”

“Of course,” the innkeeper repeated.

“The family sent her to the best asylum in the United States. I think they just wanted her out from underfoot,” he said.

“Why, the poor thing,” Quinn declared. “I didn’t know Italians were so cruel.”

“Caligula,” Derrington whispered. “Enough said.”

The man’s eyes widened to fill his face. “Good of you to rescue her, your lordship.”

“Alas, I wasn’t soon enough. By the time I found her, she’d gone completely ’round the bend.” He gritted his teeth and swiped at his perfectly dry eye. Who knew if the act would work? He’d never done anything this devious before.

Quinn clapped him on the shoulder. “Buck up, sir.”

“Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “After a while, she came to believe she’s a New York heiress named Juliet Foster. She’d run away from the asylum and beg for help to get back to her home.”

Quinn clucked his tongue again.

“One poor soul got her all the way to Manhattan before he discovered the truth,” Derrington said.

“I’m glad you’ve brought her here to heal, sir.”

“Long walks, country air, good English cooking. We’ll fix her.”

“I’ll get that dinner for you now, your lordship,” Quinn said.

“I knew I could depend on you,” he said. “Remember, though…”

“Yes, sir?”

“If she should manage to escape and wander in here claiming to be an American heiress who’s being held against her will, send for me.”

“Absolutely.”

“And let the rest of the village know.”

“Your family has been good to us,” Quinn said. “We’ll be happy to return the favor.”

“Stout fellow.”

Quinn turned and headed for the kitchen. Derrington gazed back at Miss Foster. He’d played a nasty trick on her. A whole series of nasty tricks, and they’d get even nastier if she tried to leave too soon. Tonight, he’d give her her reward.

***

If a building could loom, Derrington Manor did. It dwarfed the carriage as they pulled up the circular drive and stopped in front of the imposing entryway. When Juliet climbed out and stood before the building, she had to crane her neck to see all the way to the roof.

Derrington came up next to her and put his hand at the small of her back. “It’s not much, but we call it home.”

“Joke all you want. It’s magnificent.”

“I won’t tell you right now that this could be yours, too.” He leaned over and put his mouth against her ear. “I’ll save that for when I have my cock buried deep inside you.”

A thrill coursed through her, liquid and hot. Her knees threatened to buckle, but he caught her and held her against his body. His firm, strong body.

“Frightened?” he asked.

“No,” she answered. “That is, a little.”

“You should be. I plan to ravish you thoroughly.”

“Let’s go inside.”

The door opened as if it had heard her words and complied on its own. It wasn’t magic, though, as she discovered when they climbed the steps and crossed the threshold. A gray-haired woman dressed in a nightshirt and robe held it and dropped a curtsey when she saw Derrington.

“Mrs. Wills,” he said. “I’m sorry for waking you.”

“We heard the coach pull up the drive,” the housekeeper said. “I hope the house is properly ready for your visit.”

“I’m sure everything’s fine. Russell and the rest will be here soon to help you.” He grasped Juliet’s elbow. “This is Miss Foster.”

If the housekeeper took offense at a woman coming here alone with the lord of the house, she didn’t show it. She curtseyed again. “Welcome to Derrington Manor.”

“Thank you.”

“Two rooms are made up, as usual, my lord,” Mrs. Wills said. “There should be plenty of water for baths.”

“You’re an angel,” he answered. “The driver will need a bed. And see if you can find someone to help with the trunks.”

“As you say, sir.” She closed the door and hurried off.

“Well, here we are.” Derrington pulled her into his arms and gave her his best devilish smile. “The scene of the crime.”

“I’m glad you brought me here. It’s beautiful.”

Beautiful was an understatement. The huge foyer sparkled with marble and brass, in the light of several candelabras set around the periphery. The huge chandelier would make things bright, indeed, when lit. A curving staircase seemed to soar to the floor above, and statues stood in alcoves here and there.

She inclined her head toward one of them. “Are those the nudes you told us about?”

“Some of them.”

“None of the men look as impressive as you.”

He laughed. “You flatter me.”

“I’ll see you completely naked tonight,” she said. “No hiding beneath the covers.”

“You’ll do anything you want to me tonight.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Anything that enters your head.”

“And you’ll do the same for me.”

“That’s our agreement.”

She sighed happily. “I’ve waited so long.”

“Wait a little longer. You can have a hot bath first.” He released her, but took her hand in his. “Come. Let me show you your room.”

***

More opulence, everywhere she looked. The house even had the same modern plumbing as the fine houses of Manhattan and London. The light from the candles gleamed off the faucets and mirror, amplifying the glow enough that she could see the steam rising from her bath water. She dipped her head back to rinse the lavender-scented lather from her hair and then rose again to rest her back against the tub and close her eyes.

This could be the most important night of her life. Though she’d considered her virginity an annoyance—a small obstacle to achieving her goal—her first time with a man had taken on a new meaning. No, not
a
man, but
this
one. For whatever reason, the most handsome man in the world, the most rakish and the most seductive had decided he wanted her. He might have asked to marry her for all the wrong reasons, but the state of his body didn’t lie. He really did want her.

She’d been awkward as a child and then just gangly as an adult. Neither coarse nor delicate, her features simply didn’t impress anyone. She didn’t have the large breasts men seemed to admire. Even her best asset—her mind—rebelled against the proper woman’s role, making her clever rather than compliant, headstrong rather than docile. She couldn’t even pretend to be a female paragon of virtue because after five minutes of trying, she bored herself into a stupor.

And yet, she’d somehow managed to attract this desirable man. For some reason, he enjoyed her cleverness. He even tolerated her headstrong nature and came back for more of the same.

He wanted her.

She tipped her head back and let out a full-throated laugh. Her voice bounced back at her off the tiled walls. It sang of a woman who knew her own desires and would have them fulfilled. A confident and lustful sound. Tonight, she’d be both of those things.

She’d stay at the manor for some time, too, while he taught her the art of lovemaking. She could enjoy herself. Hell, she could enjoy him. As long as she kept her wits about her and didn’t fall in love with the man, they could have a wonderful time, irritating each other by day and burning off the energy of the battle by night. She could do that. Hold him physically close and emotionally distant. She’d never tried that before, but if she put her mind to it, she could manage.

He showed up at the bathroom door as if he’d risen from the steam of her bath. He held another candelabra in his hand—high enough that it threw his face into shadow. He wore a robe and, from what she could see, nothing more. He was naked from the hem all the way down to his toes. Dear Lord in heaven, he somehow even managed to have sexy feet.

“Still in there?” he said. “I might think you’re avoiding me.”

“This was too delicious to rush. Besides, I wanted every inch of my body clean before you defile it.”

He barked a laugh. “You make absolutely no sense, do you know that?”

“I like to keep you on your toes.”

“Tonight, I’ll have you sitting on my cock.”

Lord, what he did to her when he said things like that. Even with him standing across the room, her pearl responded with a soft ache, and a tiny gush of moisture seeped from inside her. She might have lied to herself and thought it was bath water, but her body knew differently.

“That got your attention,” he said. “Or at least, it shut your mouth.”

“You have quite a way with words.”

“And even more ways with my hands.” He entered the room, set the candelabra on the floor, and knelt behind the tub. “Let me wash your back.”

“A Peer of the Realm bathing a mere commoner?” she said.

“I don’t see why I shouldn’t. After all, I’ve had my face between your legs.” His hand appeared in front of her. “The soap and cloth, if you please.”

She gave him both and sat, waiting to see what he’d do. The moment held magic, embellished by the heat of the water, the scent of lavender, and the flickering light of the candles. He lathered the cloth and then scrubbed it over her shoulders, using a pressure that was firm and gentle all at once. From there, he went lower, scrubbing her shoulder blades and along her spine.

“You have a marvelous back,” he said.

“A back’s a back. It can’t be marvelous or anything else.”

“How lacking in imagination,” he said. “So unlike you.”

“Then, tell me how it’s marvelous.”

He kept washing her, lower in the water, stroking the cloth over her ribs. “It’s graceful, and it has this lovely furrow down the center.”

Come to think of it, she’d admired his back the night she’d climbed into his bed. She’d measured the width with her hands and marveled at the firmness of his muscles. Did he see something similar in her?

“I love your height,” he said. “Have I told you that?”

“Most men, in my experience, prefer petite women.”

“If so, most men are fools.” His hand and the cloth went to the bottom of the tub and to the end of her spine. “And this part of you…I can’t wait to see your arse.”

“My derriere?”

“Lord, yes. I don’t know why women’s fashions show off the breast and hide the backside. The silly bustles give no clue to what she really looks like.”

“I had no idea men liked to look at a woman’s ass.”

“You have no idea about a lot of things,” he said. “I plan to fix that while you’re here.”

She sighed and stretched. “I think I’ll like that.”

“I know you will.” His hands appeared in front of her. He’d lost the cloth somewhere but held the soap. He lathered both hands thoroughly, allowing her to watch. For a man, he had graceful fingers—long and expressive. They seemed to have a life of their own as he swirled the soap between them. She followed their movements, entranced, not even imagining what he’d do next until he dropped the soap and placed his palms over her breasts.

“Oh,” she cried.

“You didn’t expect that?” He bent and nibbled at her shoulder. “I’m going to wash you everywhere.”

“You only said my back.”

“How absent-minded of me.” He massaged her sensitive flesh, his fingers still slick with lather. He kneaded and rubbed, finally teasing the nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. If she could have melted into a puddle, she would have done it in a heartbeat.

“Does that feel good?” he murmured against the base of her throat.

“Oh, my.”

“I’ll take that as yes.”

She let out a groan of pure pleasure as he continued. Her nipples had stiffened and tightened, and still, he played with them. She closed her eyes and floated in a sea of sensation. A mere touch, even to so sensitive a place, shouldn’t sap her strength and cloud her brain—but it did. When his hands went lower over her ribs and to her belly, her sex clenched and then released more moisture.