A Proper Mistress (17 page)

He stared at her, his expression blank with surprise, so she gestured to him, trying to encourage him to pick up on her ploy. He was supposed to be the infatuated one here. Understanding finally spread across his handsome features, and he nodded back at her, but with a glint in his eyes.

He raised his voice, his tone a touch stiff, "Of course, my sweet Sweet. Anything you wish! Just allow me to press my lips to yours."

With a click, he shut the door. Molly shook her head. "Your father's not half fooled by any of this, you know."

Theo strode across the room. Leaning against the carved post at the foot of the bed, he grinned. "Nonsense. He may be fishing the waters to see what he can catch, but his bait won't take. I've already been to see the local vicar and his spectacles just about fell off when I told him what I wanted. I also encouraged him to take his reservations to my father, so he'd stop bleating at me."

Theo frowned at that. Bad enough to have his father trying to manage his life—and Terrance's—but it was beyond bearing for Vicar Meers to try to stick his long nose into this. Particularly when the fault for everything lay at his daughter's door.

Molly shook her head again, her red curls tumbled loose and glinting in the candlelight. "At least he cares about you. And I can't imagine that many would welcome the likes of me as your wife."

Theo grinned. "Lady Thorpe seemed to like you—or so I heard from the gossip at the inn today."

The blush rose from her bare throat and spread into her cheeks. Not a hot red, but a becoming pink that gave that white skin of hers vibrancy. He decided he liked making her blush, so he unfolded his arms and came closer, sitting down on the edge of her bed.

"Word does travel fast around here," she said. She tucked her knees up to her chest, and sat there, mouth prim, almost as if she had never had a fellow sitting on her bed.

Or as if he planned something utterly immoral.

Only they had business to discuss. Of course, her sitting there with a frill of lace peeking out from a rather fetching dressing robe which showed the tempting valley between her breasts did stir other ideas, but that would have to wait. Only the image of those lovely legs of hers kept intruding as well.

"Yes, but I didn't come here to talk to you about Lady Thorpe. I'm going to need more from you than I thought I would."

She offered a skeptical gaze from the corner of her eyes. "Your father already didn't act as you thought he would, so I don't know what more we can do."

"Leave that to me. Your part is to be quite vulgar—remember. Make it clear you'd strip me and the estate clean if you got your claws into it."

The skepticism in her eyes deepened. "If I'm that awful, how could anyone think you enamored of me? And, anyways, if you wanted all that, you ought to have hired a real actress!"

Put out by her criticism, he frowned at her. "Don't you think I tried? I had one of 'em turn me down because she'd been offered a role in some nonsense called
Czar of the Docklands
or something at Sadler's Wells—just like an actress to think that more important than a fellow's life! And the other—well, let's just say that Sallie seemed a more reasonable person to deal with. But none of that has to do with us—you're the girl I hired, and if my father sees there's a hot-blooded infatuation between us that's utterly addled me, that's why you can be grasping as the devil..." he offered a grin. "...for I am besotted!"

"Addled more like! And just how much 'hot-blood' did you have in mind showing him?"

His smile warmed. "For a start, you'll have to stop glaring at me as you are doing now. And if we're seen kissing and with my hands on your..."

"Now, just a minute, I'm a good...good business woman," Molly said, hastily amending her words. She had been about to say she was a good girl, but that wasn't what she was supposed to be. And what with him sitting so close to her the pleasantly masculine scent of him winding around her, she was having trouble remembering just what she was. "We made our bargain in London. And now here you are wanting extras—extra time, and extra...extra liberties."

"Liberties!" He glared at her, blue eyes darkening. "As if I've take a single one with you—and the bargain you made was to get me disowned. You'll not do that acting standoffish."

"Well, I..."

"Oh, come now—it's only a few kisses. That's all you need agree to."

"Nothing more?"

"Look, I'll demonstrate. That is if I may have your permission, madam?"

He didn't wait for her permission, but rose and took her hands, pulling her to her feet. She glared at him from the corner of her eyes, but as he had a firm grip on her, she had no choice but to stand up or fall into him, and she rather suspected he was hoping for the latter.

Settling his arms around her waist, he abruptly dragged her close and asked, his tone all innocence, "Now, is this so bad?"

Her pulse skittered, but she tried to stare up at him as if she'd been held so close by dozens of gentlemen. Even if she had, however, she suspected her heart might still be racing in this particular case.

Since she had nowhere to put her hands, she braced them on his chest—and found the strength of hard muscle under her touch delightful. No wonder Sallie's girls found it hard to keep hearts and heads untangled. She knew she ought to act the cold jade, but she didn't feel cold. Heat surged through her, spreading from where his body pressed against hers, and from her palms up into her arms and across her chest.

A tingling spiraled loose inside her.

"You can do that much," she allowed, her voice almost steady and level.

Leaning down, he brushed his lips across her neck and asked, his words half muffled by her skin, "And this?"

Her knees softened, loosened along with the rest of her. She tried to stiffen them, but her body seemed to have other ideas just now. "I don't think I..."

"Oh, for...blazes, but I'm paying the bill here, and if it's a few kisses it takes to get my father to turn me out, then it's a few kisses you're going to have to allow, my girl."

She stared at him, wide-eyed. His eyes looked almost black as he glared at her.

Without warning, he bunched her hair in one hand and with the other he captured her chin. And his mouth lowered to cover hers.

She tasted of apricots. Blazes, but that's just what she was like—lush and ripe and soft and round. She folded into his arms with a soft whimper—only this was no muffled cry of resistance, but a warm, welcoming sound of pleasure.

Her arms came about his neck, pulling him to her. Yet, for all the experience she must have, she kissed like a girl—awkward with where to fit her nose, her lips closed. Nibbling gently on that lush mouth, he teased his way deeper, his own desire rising as her lips parted.

He wanted more. But he had no right to take without asking.

Pulling away, his breath uneven, he stared down at her. Her eyes seemed enormous—and thick, red-tinged lashes swept down over the green, veiling her gaze.

He still had hold of her chin, so he nudged it up, and wounds the fingers of his other hand even deeper into her curls.

Voice thick, and with her fingers playing with the strands of his hair at the back of his neck, she said, "Well, I supposed we could do a little of that—just for show mind."

The corner of his mouth quirked. "And might I not perhaps brush my fingers across your cheek?" He matched action to his words and said, the words dragged from him, "You've skin fine as silk."

She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch for a moment before she straightened and pulled back. "Ah, now, this is all going to lead to more."

He damned well hoped it would. Fitting his hands to her trim waist again, he dragged her closer, pressing soft curves against him. "Such as to my holding your body like this?"

Lowering her hands from around his neck, she braced the heels of her palms against his chest and stared up at him, sharp reason returning to her eyes.

"You can't afford this, ducks."

"How do you know? Name your price for how much to cup my hands around your naked breasts and feel their softness?" Lifting his hands, he ran them down her sides, brushing his fingertips against the outside swell of her breasts before he tightened his hold on her waist again.

Color stained her cheeks almost as if she were embarrassed by such intimacy, but her breath quickened to match the pounding that had started in him. Yet, still she held him back.

She could drive a man to think of marriage—or anything else to get her into his bed.

Voice not quite steady, but with a disapproving amusement, she said, "D'you think I'll sell my favors piecemeal? Like bargains at a street fair?"

He grinned. "Oh, you're a bargain—a fair, sweet bargain. We fit well together—you can feel it, too. I know you can. Come, let me spend the night with you, my sweet Sweet."

She shook her head, and said again, "You can't afford it."

"Then name something I can afford? Perhaps to undress you? Just to see you stand naked in the firelight? Or how much to slip my hands along the length of your leg and trace the lines from ankles to the backs of your knees and up to those delicious round hips? Or to lay kisses each place where I touch? How much for all that?"

She wet her lips. He could see the pulse pounding in the hollow of her throat. "Two hundred pounds."

He grinned. "And how much more to lay with you?"

"A thousand," she shot back.

"What!" He pushed her back. "Not even a discount for what I've already paid?"

She shook her head, and the red of her curls danced. "I told you—I'm a good business woman."

Frustration pooled in him. Almost he blurted out that he'd pay her price—any price—to lay with her now. Only he fought to cool his senses. He'd feel a damn fool in the morning to have promised so much for what he could have from any tavern wench for a few shillings. Only she wasn't a tavern wench. No, there had been times over these past few days when he had almost forgotten she was a woman for hire. She had the manners to fool almost anyone into thinking her more a lady than a Cyprian. Blazes, no wonder she commanded such prices, for she had the best skill he had ever seen—or tasted—of pretended innocence.

He would swear that kiss had stirred the same passion in her as she ignited in him. But he could not really judge with her what was real. And a thousand to satisfy his curiosity about that seemed beyond any sense.

He still wished he had the money to throw away on her.

With a crooked smile, he let her go. He was still half-tempted to take her up on paying two hundred to see her stripped bare, but she had pegged it right—it wouldn't stop there. So he would try to content himself with the kisses and stolen touches she had agreed to give.

Either that or mortgage his soul.

Stepping away, he said, "You set a fierce price."

For a moment, he could swear she almost looked disappointed. Which meant he had some hope that he might yet charm more from her—without the pounds spent. Well, he would leave her tonight—and he would see what tomorrow brought.

He flicked her nose with one finger. "Good night, my sweet Sweet." He started for the door, but as his hand touched the cool, brass knob, her voice stopped him.

"I've never been kissed like that—I mean, that is...well, I just want you to know it was special. I mean that."

Glancing back at her, he saw that she stood with one arm wrapped about the bedpost, her head tilted and that glorious red hair spilling loose.

Lord, but she tempted. However, he had hold of himself again. He sketched a bow. "I'll have sweet dreams tonight, my Molly."

Theo let himself from the room, shut the door behind him with a quiet snick. And Molly hugged the bedpost even tighter, as if it might keep her standing upright and not melting into a sizzling puddle.

She was the one besotted to allow such liberties. She pressed one hand to her hot cheek to where his fingers had touched. And then to lips still tender from that kiss. Oh, and to have told him it was special.

She put a hand over her eyes.

All just to see him smile.

But, well, she had wanted him to know that he was special. Folks needed to be told that, and if his father had ever told him that, Theo and his father probably wouldn't be at loggerheads now.