A Scandalous Lady (24 page)

Her lashes fell, and she started to pull her shirt closed.

“What are you doing?” he asked, stopping her.

“It's all right, Baron. Ye've changed your mind. I understand.”

Bloody hell, was she crying? “Faith?” he leaned over her and tipped her chin toward him. Her eyes were shiny. “Why would you think I've changed my mind?”

She wouldn't look at him. “Because I'm not—”

“Not what?”

“Not a lady.” Again, she tugged at her shirt to cover her nudity. This time, Troyce let her, even though every nerve in his highly aroused body screamed in protest and urged him to take her before he lost the chance. “What does being a lady have to do with what's happening between us right now?”

She didn't answer right away, and when she did, he had to strain to catch her words. “Every man wants a lady. No man wants a guttersnipe.”

And his heart fell, shattering into a thousand pieces upon the deck of
La Tentatrice.
“Jesus, Faith. Where do get such ideas?” Then he got angry. At her damnable family, at Jack Swift, and yes, even at Devon. But most of all, he was mad at himself. To see this strong, scrappy street girl broken and cowed . . .

He seized her hand and pressed it to the front of his trousers. Electric shock slammed through his groin. “Does this feel like I don't want you?”

Her eyes widened, her mouth parted. “Then I'm not an amusement?”

“Do I look amused?” he growled.

No, he looked . . . hungry. Powerful. On-the-edge dangerous.

And Faith's heart unfurled. Lucy was so wrong. The baron did want her. With her hand pressed to the front of his trousers, with the iron length of him pulsing against her palm, a boldness infused her, empowered her, awed her. She slid her hand down the proof of his need and smiled when his eyes fell shut and his head dropped back. He moved his grip to her wrist and guided her motion, up nearly to his flat stomach, down between his thighs, groaning when she picked up the rhythm. She'd never known a man could feel so . . . delicious. So hard, and yet at the same time so soft. So firm and so swollen. Touching him, watching him enjoy her touching him, caused her breath to quicken and a damp heat to spread between her thighs. “Troyce, take them off.”

He stilled, and his eyes drifted open. Then a wicked smile appeared on his face. “Whatever Her Highness commands.”

With a slow, deliberate flick of his fingers, he released the first button of the placket of his trousers, then the one beside it, and the three angled down the thick bulge in the fabric. Faith forgot to breathe. Black hair sprang out from the dark fabric, then taut skin stretched over his manhood. Faith leaned forward and, starting at the bottom, unfastened his shirt. Inch by glorious inch, she laid bare the bronzed skin and rippled muscle of his abdomen, and traced the hollow between his ribs with his tongue up to the formed brawn of his chest.

Troyce gasped, arched, then lost all patience and ripped the shirt off. Faith smiled. This was going to be so much more fun than she'd ever, ever dreamed. “What do you want, Baron?”

He dipped his head and gaze at her from beneath his lashes like a cat on the prowl. Then he moved between her legs and smiled. “I want it all.”

Laughing, she opened her arms, and into them he fell, bracing one forearm on the deck so as not to crush her with his weight. The fingers of his other hand began a leisurely stroll up the inside of her thigh to her most intimate spot and sensations poured through her with such power that Faith thought she would go through the deck. When he again touched the moist folds of her womanhood, circling the nub, her thighs fell open.

“No more waiting,” she gasped, feeling wanton and wicked and desperately impatient. She knew he would fit himself inside her. At one time, the idea would have frightened her. But now, with her nerves raw and alive, her body wet and hot and ready, she could think of nothing grander than having him inside of her.

And then, he was, just the tip of him, pushing into her tightness. Sliding against her, inside her, enough to drive her mad. She clutched his steely bum with her thighs and pulled his mouth down to hers. His tongue thrust inside her at the same moment as his hips, and Faith went utterly still, shocked by the size and thickness of him.

“It's done—you're mine now,” he rasped against her neck. Then he drew back, and pushed forward, stretching her, filling her, skin to skin, pulse to pulse.

“I always was,” she whispered, as the slight stinging sensation gave way to liquid heat. He kept his pace slow at first, allowing her to grow accustomed to him. But Faith soon grew greedy for a faster, harder tempo. Her fingernails bit into his back, his chest crushed against her swollen breasts, her hips rose of their own will. Breathing came by sheer nature, fast, heavy, furious. The rhythm increased. Guttural sounds of pleasure matched the beat, and Faith felt herself floating higher. Higher. Higher . . .

The explosion tore through her at the same time Troyce made the last drive home and stiffened above her with a lion's roar. Finally spent, they stayed in each other's arms, with him between her splayed thighs, their legs entwined, their skin clinging. How long they remained that way she would never know.

She only knew that she had never felt so wonderful, so gloriously alive, in her entire life. Her limbs quivered. Her heart slammed against her ribs. Her brain had gone completely numb. “I never . . .” she panted. “I had no idea . . .”

“Nor I . . .” He moved away slightly, careful to keep his weight to the side and drew her against him with his leg. She felt him drag some piece of clothing across their nudity to protect her from the slight chill, then collapse beside her. “Definitely . . . not an amusement.”

Faith smiled and cuddled up into the arms encircling her. She closed her eyes, yawned, then just before she drifted off to sleep, she whispered, “I love you, my prince of dreams.”

And in the morning when she awoke, he was gone.

 

Just as dawn was breaking over the horizon, Faith sneaked up the back servants' steps toward her room. If she'd not awakened on the deck of a ship, with only a thin blanket to cover her nudity, she might have wondered if the night she'd spent in Troyce's arms had been nothing more than a dream.

No, it had been no dream. It had been all too wonderfully real. She could still feel the heat of his kiss, the power of his arms, the beat of his heart against hers.

And the emotions swelling beneath her breast grew so large she could hardly contain them.

Every girl should feel like a princess once in her life.

She touched her lips and smiled. But maybe fairy tales did come true. A girl could dream, couldn't she?

Feeling lighthearted and giddy, she raced up the last few steps, then slipped into her room. She startled at the sight of Scatter sitting on her bed.

“Zounds, Fan, where ye been? I've been lookin' all over for ye.”

At dawn? She self-consciously smoothed her tangled hair and wrinkled skirt. “I just had an errand to run. Did you need something?”

“Look what I found!” He scooted aside and waved toward the mattress, where a large assortment of glittering gems littered the coverlet. She recognized Lady Brayton's brooch, the one she'd been wearing the day they'd gotten into the pillow fight. And the diamond earbobs she'd worn last night with the red gown. Faith didn't know where the other pieces of jewelry had come from; but at the same time, she wasn't sure she really wanted to know.

“Where did you get all this?” she whispered, even though her heart knew the answer.

“In the stables. I was mucking out the last stall and they were just laying there in this sack. Easy pickin's, huh, Fan!”

She gathered up the treasures and piled them into the bag. “Put it back. I don't care how, but you must put every bauble back where you found it now!”

“Put it back? There's a fortune in that sack! It'd take me months t'score this big on the streets!”

“I don't care. We are
not
stealing from these people. They've treated us well.”

“I didn't steal it. I told you I found it.”

“Then you won't have any trouble remembering where it goes, will you?”

His shoulders slumped, his head drooped on his shoulders. “Fine, I'll put it back. But if someone else finds my swag, I'm blaming you!”

He wouldn't be the only one.

With the sack clutched in his fist, Scatter started to leave the room. Rapid steps down the hallway had him spinning around.

“Someone's coming!”

Faith tensed. Her attention shot to the door she'd left halfway open.

“What am I gonna do? I'm supposed to be mucking out the stables!”

“Quick, under the bed. And take this with you.”

No sooner did Scatter get his long, lanky body under the metal frame than Lucy pushed the door wide open, unannounced. “Ah, so you're finally here.”

“What do you want, Lucy?”

“Millie's been calling for you for the last hour.” Her gaze swept the room, paused at the bed, then returned to Faith and raked her with disdain. “You might consider making yourself presentable first.”

After she left, Faith shooed Scatter out of her room to return the items to wherever he'd “found” them. Then she hastily threw on a clean uniform and hurried toward the kitchen. Breakfast wasn't to be served till eleven, but there were guests to tend, coal bins to stock, bread to bake, and a dozen other tasks to attend to. And the sooner she completed her chores, the sooner she could seek out Troyce.

Her worries over what mischief Scatter might be up to rolled to the back of her mind as she wondered where the baron might be now. She wished she'd been able to wake up beside him, but she also understood the danger in that. Not that anyone ever ventured down to the boathouse; but with so many strangers in the castle, she didn't want to take any chances of discovery. It was bad enough that Lucy had seen her in less-than-crisp form.

Faith had just turned the bend in the hall that led to the kitchens, when a set of voices drifted from an open door, into the hallway. She immediately recognized Lady Brayton's sophisticated lilt.

Remembering the sight of her last night, Faith started toward the doorway, fully intent on confronting her about the mysterious reappearance of her missing red dress when the train of conversation gave her pause.

“. . . the most eligible ladies from Brighton to Land's End were in attendance last night, and he showed no interest in any of them.”

“You're worrying for nothing, Your Grace.”

“I cannot help but worry. If he does not settle on a bride soon, I fear he will leave England again. I could not bear it.”

“It's my belief that he is suitably interested in remaining at Westborough.”

“It's that girl—the one he dragged home from London. He's been taken with her since the day he brought her into this house, and I'll not have him throw his inheritance away for a girl who—”

“Is suiting a purpose.”

“You can't be serious!”

“So what if he amuses himself with her? Lord Westborough knows his duty. You said yourself that no one will invest in his venture, so he must marry a lady of wealth and title. You, my dear, must simply give him a nudge in the right direction.”

The conversation turned toward other matters of no interest and yet, Faith was too stunned to move. That . . . Judas! She'd been told the ball was to give him an opportunity to meet with investors. How could the duchess pretend to support Troyce's decision to rebuild his ship and plot behind his back to marry him off?

She had to tell Troyce—what?

What could she possibly say to him? “Your sister is plotting to press you into marriage so you won't leave England?”

He'd never believe her. His trust in her was still too unpredictable, their relationship too fragile. What if he thought that she was trying to drive a wedge between him and Lady Brayton for her own gain? No, it was too risky to say anything yet.

Still, she couldn't just do nothing and let the duchess convince him to take someone else to wife. Not before she had a chance to love him, and he had a chance to love her back, even if only a little.

But what could she do?

Millie. Surely she would have some idea of how to protect his lordship from his sister's wicked plan. But the instant she entered the kitchen and saw Lucy and Millie sitting at the table, their eyes bright and smiles wide, a horrible sinking feeling slowed her steps and dulled her senses.

“There you are, Faith,” Millie greeted brightly. “Have you heard the news? Wedding bells will be ringing in Westborough soon.”

“Indeed? Who's getting married?”

“Lord Westborough.” Lucy simpered. “He put himself on the market last night during the ball.”

Faith's heart pitched, her knees went weak. “I didn't realize the bar—his lordship wished to marry.”

“Of course he doesn't—no man wants to surrender his bachelorhood, but he's got the barony to consider. 'Tis about time, too, I say.”

But what of me?
She wanted to cry. What of the sweet things he'd said to her and the feelings he was making her feel? How could he have kissed her the way he had, held her, made love to her, knowing all along he would be taking another to the altar? How could he have taken her heart knowing he'd be giving another his name?

“Faith, are you all right?”

“What?”

“You're looking a bit peaked of a sudden,” Millie said, concern etching her brow. “Maybe you should sit down.”

“Maybe you're coming down with the grippe like Chadwick,” Lucy taunted, glee shining in her eyes.

The grippe. How appropriate she thought, for it felt as if a vise had clamped around her heart and was squeezing all the blood from it. She ignored Lucy's knowing smirk as she stumbled to the door. She didn't know what excuse she made for herself. She didn't even know where she was going. At the moment, she didn't care.