Tempting a Proper Lady (24 page)

He certainly felt as if he was going to blow if the lieutenant gave her one more flirtatious grin.

“Captain, did you hear what I said?”

Samuel pulled his attention back to Genny. She had brown hair like her sister, but her eyes were green, her figure was more slender, and her mouth wasn't as full. At the moment her lips were pursed in a pout that told him he had missed something. “I apologize, Miss Wallington-Willis. My mind wandered.”

She gave a big sigh, no doubt designed to draw his attention to her low-cut décolletage. “Shall we change the subject?”

“Good idea. Tell me more about your family.”

“My family? You already know Mama and Papa.”

“Tell me about your sister.”

“Cilla?” She sent an incredulous look down the table to her sibling. “She ran off and got married and has been living in America ever since. Then her husband died.”

“Did you ever meet him?”

“Oh, yes. I could see he was a complete bounder from the very beginning, but there was no talking her out of wedding him. Even Papa couldn't convince her.”

“Because she was in love.”

“Yes.” Genny rolled her eyes. “Anyone could see he was after her money. Even me, and I was only fourteen at the time.”

“She made a mistake. It happens.”

“She was a fool.”

“Everyone is, at one time or another.”

“Cilla abandoned her entire family for him. I do not ever intend to be a fool over a man.” Her eyes widened as if she hadn't mean to verbalize the thought. Then the empty-headed flirt was back, asking him about America and his stay in England, but it was too late. He had seen the truth in her eyes. For all that Miss Genny Wallington-Willis publicly disdained her sister, in private she mourned her absence.

She could not hide it from him, because he felt the same way.

 

Lieutenant Allerton finally left her side to fetch her some punch, and Cilla sought out her mother. Her parents stood together watching Genny dance with Samuel.

Cilla managed not to look at the couple on the
dance floor as she stopped in front of her parents. “Mama, please do not attempt to match me with Lieutenant Allerton anymore.”

“But why not?” Helen asked. “He's handsome and from a good family.”

“Good sailing man,” her father added. “Steady income. Could do worse.”

“No,” Cilla said, holding her mother's gaze. “He is not the type of man that interests me.”

Her father stiffened. “What is wrong with a navy man, might I know?”

“Nothing, Papa. He is just not the type of husband that I want.”

“Then you do want one?” her mother asked.

“Perhaps,” Cilla replied, “when I find a man who will make a good partner. Like you have been to Papa.”

Her father looked startled. “What are you talking about, Priscilla?”

“I want what you have. Nothing less will do.” She looked from one parent to the other. “But you must let me decide.”

“We let you decide before,” Robert grumbled.

“I was young and did not realize there was more to marriage than a wedding ceremony. I have been married now. I know better. Now please do not include me in your matchmaking attempts going forward.”

“I just want us to be a happy family again,” her mother said, her eyes moistening.

“That is up to Papa.” Cilla looked her father in the eye. “Edward was not the right choice for me.
I should have listened to you, and I am sorry I did not.”

Her father remained silent for a long moment. “I tried to spare you heartache.”

“I know you did.”

“You were stubborn and would not listen to reason.”

“I was.”

“I just want you to be happy and safe, Cilla.” Her father cleared his throat. “If you want to come back home, you are welcome.”

“Thank you, but I am not yet certain where I will be living after Annabelle's wedding.”

“Here comes your sister,” Helen said.

The orchestra had stopped. Cilla glanced over her shoulder and found Genny and Samuel only paces away. And Samuel was staring at her. A quiver rippled through her at the look in his eyes. She had seen that look before, but never when she had been fully clothed.

The couple reached them.

“You are a wonderful dancer, Captain,” Helen said.

“Thank you.” He gave Genny a little bow as she moved to stand beside her mother. Then Samuel looked at Cilla. “Might I have the next dance, Mrs. Burke?”

The heat in his eyes touched something inside her and made the world fade away. She extended her hand, and he took it, leading her out to the floor as the orchestra struck up a country dance. She had hoped for a waltz so she could be held in his arms
again, but this was better than nothing. They took their positions.

She performed the steps by rote. Promenading with their arms linked together. Facing each other, hands touching. Turning toward Samuel, then away from him, as if flirting with him. Good heavens, how was it she had never noticed how sensual dancing was?

Their set ended with them facing each other, breathing with exertion. Sweat glistened on Samuel's forehead, and she, too, felt overheated. Was that because of the exercise or the sizzling attraction between them?

Samuel offered his arm. She took it. He bent his head close to her ear.

“I need to be alone with you. Meet me in the garden in ten minutes.”

 

I need to be alone with you. Meet me in the garden in ten minutes.

The passionate whisper played itself over and over in her mind. Had she imagined that Samuel had said such a thing in the middle of a crowded ballroom? She had thought he would spend the evening obsessed with Annabelle and Raventhorpe, but he had barely spared them a glance. He had been watching her, Cilla, since their arrival.

Had it been ten minutes yet? Samuel had left the ballroom after escorting her back to her parents and the lieutenant. After what she determined to be the correct amount of time, she made an excuse and left the ballroom.

She found the door to the garden and slipped outside, then wondered how she was supposed to find Samuel. Was she mad to be doing this? What if someone saw her or came looking for her? She should go back inside right now and forget this foolishness.

She didn't.

She followed the path. She'd gone only a few paces when someone grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her into the shadows. She was pushed against the wall of the house, and a mouth came down on hers, demanding and hungry. She knew the feel of that muscled body pressing her into the warm stone, the scent of him, the taste of his kiss.

“Samuel,” she whispered when he pulled back.

He rested his forehead against hers. “I had to touch you.” He traced a hand down her breast and along her waist.

Tingling followed in the wake of his caress, but one of them had to remain coolheaded. “We cannot stay here. Someone will come looking for me.”

“I know. I'm being selfish.” He bent his head and nuzzled her throat. “Be selfish with me, just for a few minutes.”

She should say no. She should push him away. Instead she leaned her head back against the wall and moaned as he kissed a path from her neck to the edge of her low-cut bodice.

“Thank God you are wearing a ball gown.” He drew his fingers along the expanse of bosom revealed by the daring décolletage. “I told you once your skin looks like cream. But it tastes even sweeter.”

“Samuel, I have to go back inside.”

“Just a few more minutes.” He let out a slow breath. “I haven't been able to take my eyes from you all night. I'm feeling quite murderous toward that shiny young lieutenant who is so smitten with you.”

Words caught in her throat. “What about Genny?” she managed.

“Genny is a child. You are…” His voice trailed off.

“Convenient?”

“No! Passionate. Caring. Intelligent. The list goes on.” He searched her eyes in the dim light from the nearby path. “Wednesday I must escort Annabelle to the Archer ball. Are you going?”

“You will be Annabelle's escort, so what does it matter?”

“I want you there.” He brushed a kiss across her lips. “Tell me you will come.”

She sighed. “As it happens, the Baileys requested I attend with them so I probably will be there.”

“Not probably. Say yes.”

She relented. “If the Baileys want me there, I will go. I cannot go just to see you.”

“Or the lieutenant?”

“I have no interest in Lieutenant Allerton. That is my mother's doing.”

“Good.” He cupped her breast through her dress. “I have no claim on you, yet I feel the urge to cosh that young man over the head and dump him in the Thames.”

She laughed, almost a sob. She did not have the strength to ask him to stop touching her. She did not want him to stop; she wanted him to touch her
everywhere
. “I wish it were Friday.”

“Let's not wait until Friday.”

Her breath caught. “Are you mad? I cannot get away on days I am working for the Baileys.”

“Perhaps I am. You've become irresistible for me.” He kissed her again, openmouthed, his tongue exploring with rough possession. “If you didn't have all these petticoats on, I could take you right here.”

Sweet longing swept through her, and she curled her fingers around his shoulders. “You make me want things no lady should think about.”

“And you make me want things I never wanted before.”

“I have to go back inside. Someone will miss me for certain.”

“Yes.” He kissed her again. “
I
will.”

“Samuel…”

“I will see you Friday. Noon.”

“Noon,” she agreed and fled the garden before she decided to throw caution to the wind and beg him to take her.

T
he Archer affair on Wednesday night was an exercise in torment.

Samuel escorted Annabelle, and Cilla accompanied the Baileys as per their request. Her parents and Lieutenant Allerton were not on the guest list, and the wedding to the earl had been postponed, so Cilla's only duty this week had been to watch over Annabelle. And watch her she did.

Watched her waltz in Samuel's arms.

Once again she was struck by the sheer handsomeness of the couple. He so dark, she so fair. They moved together like swans gliding across a lake. If they had married, their children would have been beautiful.

The thought clenched around her heart like a fist and would not let go.

She barely noticed when their host walked up to them. Sir Harry Archer was a local squire, a baronet with a jovial disposition and an injured leg that required he walk with a cane. He was a handsome enough gentleman with dark hair, hazel
eyes, and spectacles, and some found his perpetual cheerfulness grating. He almost never spent any time in Town, preferring his country estate and his horses and hounds to the pleasures of the Season. The most noteworthy thing about Sir Harry was the fact that he was Raventhorpe's old hunting companion, though he could no longer sit a horse, and often followed the earl about much like one of his beloved hunting dogs.

“Good evening, ladies!” he said. “Mrs. Bailey, so lovely to see you again. And I believe this is Mrs. Burke?”

“Indeed it is, Sir Harry,” Dolly said.

“So pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Burke,” Sir Harry said, bending over Cilla's hand. “I do not believe you were able to attend my picnic some weeks ago.”

“Unfortunately my duties required I remain at Nevarton Chase,” Cilla replied, “but I am delighted to be present this evening.”

“And I am delighted to have you!” He grinned. “If not for this bothersome leg of mine, I would ask you to grant me the pleasure of a dance.”

“I am honored,” Cilla murmured.

“Since I cannot dance, perhaps you will grant me a turn about the room instead, eh?”

“Oh! Well, I—” Cilla glanced at Dolly, silently hoping for a savior.

“A wonderful idea,” Dolly said, acting oblivious to Cilla's pleading look.

“Excellent! Come along, Mrs. Burke. And do not
fear that I will topple over during our perambulation. Despite my cane, I am quite adept on my feet.” He extended his arm, and she had no choice but to take it.

“You are too kind,” she said, and allowed him to start her along a path past the matrons seated along the side of the dance floor.

“Your father is Admiral Wallington-Willis, is he not?”

“Yes.”

“An admirable gentleman. I had the pleasure of meeting him at one of the public balls. Your mother and sister, too.”

“I am certain the pleasure was mutual, Sir Harry.”

He chuckled. “Very well said, certainly more polite than what you are probably really thinking.”

Cilla shot him a quick glance. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that neither of us is the type to exchange inane pleasantries when there are topics that are much more interesting, such as why young Annabelle is suddenly torn between two suitors.”

She nearly stumbled, and he caught her by the arm with a strength that surprised her. “It is not in my nature to gossip, Sir Harry.”

“I believe you, Mrs. Burke, but as Raventhorpe's closest—if not only—friend, I would like to know the true story of how that upstart American has managed to wedge himself between an earl and his betrothed.”

“He is no upstart,” she replied, keeping her tone even with effort. “Annabelle was engaged to him first. But he was…away…for a long time, during which Lord Raventhorpe claimed her hand.”

Sir Harry clucked his tongue. “Come now, I am certain there is much more to it than that. How is it a young woman can even consider choosing between an earl and a lowly sea captain?”

Cilla clenched her teeth. “Captain Breedlove is hardly lowly.”

“If I may summarize what you have already told me…This Breedlove was betrothed to Miss Bailey, then went away for a long time? Is that true?”

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

“I hardly see—”

“Now, now, do not insult the intelligence of either of us.” He halted, forcing her to stop as well. The look in his hazel eyes froze the excuses on her tongue. “How long was he gone, Mrs. Burke?”

She relented beneath the sharp intelligence in that implacable gaze. “Nearly two years.”

“He abandoned that angel for two years? Criminal!”

“It was not his fault,” she snapped. “He was marooned.”

“Marooned?” Sir Harry laughed out loud, earning them curious glances from those nearby. Jerking his head as a signal to move forward, they began to stroll again. “That is certainly the most original excuse I have heard for such disgraceful behavior. Why, the man's a cad.”

“He is not a cad, though I'm certain Lord Raventhorpe must have given you that impression.”

“Really?” A curious note entered his voice. “Why do you believe that?”

“I have said too much already.” They neared the other side of the room, and she stopped, her attention caught by the distinctive pink of Annabelle's evening gown as the girl disappeared through the doors of the darkened terrace on Samuel's arm. Cilla's heart twisted into the knot that had become so familiar to her.

“Ah, my dear Mrs. Burke.” Sir Harry's voice held a note of compassion that was echoed in his eyes. Eyes that seemed to strip away her façade of calm and see the roiling emotions beneath. “I believe it is what you
don't
say that is the most captivating.”

She glanced away from that perceptive gaze. “I do not understand your meaning.”

“Yes, I have been told that quite frequently.” He indicated the terrace doors. “Do you care for a stroll on the terrace?”

She eyed the doors, bit her lower lip. Samuel was out there with Annabelle. She trusted that he was not yet ready to end their arrangement, but would the nostalgia of being alone with him prove too much temptation for young Annabelle? Curiosity about what might be happening ate at her.

She could go out there, be the chaperone she was supposed to be, and break up whatever intimacies might be occurring. Annabelle would not think anything of it. And Samuel…well, Samuel on a dark terrace was too tempting. Even in a crowded
ballroom. Even with gossips in every corner. Even with Sir Harry beside her and Raventhorpe lurking about somewhere.

She could pretend that it was duty that motivated her, but she knew the truth. She had turned into a creature that craved a man's touch as much as she craved air to breathe. And not just any man. Samuel.

Curse him. She had wanted him to teach her how to choose a husband, and instead he had only taught her to want
him
. She ached for his kiss, the stroke of his hands on her skin. She burned to feel him inside her again.

“Mrs. Burke?”

She took a deep breath. “I would love some fresh air.”

 

“I've always loved the moonlight,” Annabelle said, slanting a sideways glance at Samuel.

He could not mistake the invitation in her voice. She looked like a vision, all blond curls and blue eyes and pink silk. Her skin glowed alabaster in the moonlight, her lips half pursed in welcome. A man would have to be deaf and blind to misinterpret her intention.

She wanted him to kiss her.

How many times had he imagined a scenario just like this one as he lay alone beneath the stars on that blasted island? In his fantasies, he had always accepted the siren's call with eagerness, feasting on Annabelle's pretty mouth and slender body, greedy
to possess her. He had indulged himself in imagining how she would look naked in his bed or big with his child. Always before, the tantalizing visualizations had left him hungry, hot, and hard.

Now here they stood, alone for a few precious moments in the dark. And he didn't move. Didn't even want to. Clearly Virgil had not made it clear to Annabelle what Samuel's intentions were.

Or maybe she had just decided she was too irresistible for a mere man to resist.

Confusion flickered across her features, but then she turned to face him, one hand flat on the stone balustrade. A small smile played about her lips. Did she realize how her posture thrust her breasts at him? How her white throat arched just so, begging for his mouth to trace the pulse there?

He observed all this as if from a distance, unmoved by what would once have been a compelling enticement.

“Samuel, why did you want to marry me?”

The question surprised him. “That's a silly question. You're sweet and pretty, and you'll make a great mama some day.”

She pouted. “Is that how you see me? As somebody's mama?”

“Now don't get all upset. Most fellows want children.”

“I guess.” She bit her lower lip, glanced at him from beneath lowered lashes. Hell, every man alive knew what that look meant.

“Now, Annabelle…”

“Oh, Samuel!” She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.

Her lips were soft and her skin smelled sweet, and her young body felt pleasant pressed against his.

Pleasant. Nothing more.

He broke off the kiss and eased her back a step. “Annabelle, we're supposed to be getting to know each other again, not sparking.”

“I thought we
were
getting to know each other.”

“Not like that.”

“Oh, all right.” She sighed and rested her cheek against his chest. “You always made me feel safe, Samuel. That's why it hurt so much when you left me alone.”

“I didn't intend to leave you that long.” He gently eased her back a step.

“I know that now.” She looked up at him. “I'm not mad at you anymore, you know.”

“That's good.” What else could he say? “I think we'd better go back inside before someone comes looking for you.”

She giggled. “Yes, like Mrs. Burke. She would scold me for being indiscreet.”

Just the mention of Cilla hit him like a splash of cold water. The secluded privacy of the terrace suddenly struck him as wrong. The intimate darkness closed around him like water over his head. What was he doing out here? How could he not have realized what Annabelle intended when she'd suggested they get some air?

“Time to go back,” he said, and took Annabelle's arm to steer her toward the ballroom.

Cilla and Sir Harry filled the doorway.

“Good evening,” said Sir Harry. “Breedlove, isn't it?”

“Yes. Good evening, Sir Harry.” Samuel nodded at the baronet, and then his gaze slid over Cilla. “Mrs. Burke.”

“Good evening, Captain.” Cilla looked at Annabelle. “I believe your mother was looking for you, Annabelle.”

“Oh, dear,” Annabelle said.

“I will escort her back straight away,” Samuel said.

“Good idea, Captain. Best not to give the gossips any more to chew on,” said Sir Harry. He looked out at the night sky and gave a huge sigh of satisfaction. “Beautiful night, do you not agree, Mrs. Burke?”

“It is indeed.”

“Allow me to point out the constellations to you.” Sir Harry led her toward the balustrade.

Cilla could feel Samuel's gaze on her as she moved past him, but she did not dare meet his eyes. She did not know what she might do if she saw the slightest invitation there.

Sir Harry pointed at the sky, then glanced back at Samuel. “If you would not mind, Breedlove…”

“Not at all. My apologies.” His voice sounded tight and a bit gruff to Cilla. “Come, Annabelle. Your mother is waiting for you.”

The two moved off; she could hear the rustle of Annabelle's skirts. Gripping the balustrade with both hands, she lowered her head and let out a long, slow breath.

“If it is any consolation,” Sir Harry said, “he did not like the idea of you being out here with me.”

She straightened. “Nonsense. Why would you think such a thing?”

He merely looked at her with those too-perceptive eyes, his face a study of compassion. “Why, indeed.”

She raised her chin. “You were about to show me the constellations?”

“Quite so.” He pointed. “If you follow my finger, you will see the North Star…”

 

Samuel escorted Annabelle back toward her mother, but his mind was still out on the terrace with Cilla.

Cilla and Sir Harry Archer.

Looking at the stars.

On a dark terrace…

He'd “looked at the stars” with a lady a few times in his life, and the heavenly bodies had nothing to do with his motivations for taking the woman outside for a moment of privacy in the dark. Had Cilla begun to look for a new husband already? Was she considering Sir Harry Archer?

He didn't like the idea, and his jealousy threw him off balance. First the navy man, now Archer. Hell, his fiancée had been engaged to another man, and he hadn't even felt a hint of the green-eyed monster, only a determination to set things right. But now? He rubbed a hand over his heart. Now he was surprised his jacket wasn't in shreds from the monster's claws.

“Samuel, are you all right?”

He'd nearly forgotten about Annabelle, though she held his arm as they navigated the crowded ballroom. “Of course,” he said, forcing a smile as shame cringed inside him.

“Then let's dance. I do love it when you hold me in your arms.” She flashed her coquette's smile at him.

“I thought I was taking you back to your mother?”

“Come now.” She quickly stroked her fingers along his sleeve, a movement that would incite a firestorm of gossip if anyone noticed it. “Don't you want to spend more time with me?”

“Of course.”

“Besides…” She gave a quick jerk of her head. “Richard just came in and he looks like a thunderstorm. I sure hope he hasn't lost again. Maybe we can avoid a scene if we're dancing.”