Bold Seduction (11 page)

“You cannot wait another two hours?”

“Phil, the way I want to ring in the new year is by making love to you. At midnight, I will be inside you.” He removed the cork on the bottle, poured the wine into the goblets, and passed one to her.
His words.
Did he have any clue at all at how incredibly sensual he sounded? He spoke freely from his heart, without any guile or prevarications. Something she was not used to in her dealings with men. Spence cleared his throat and raised his glass. Phil scrambled out of bed, then held hers up.

“Here’s to the bright new year and a fond farewell to the old. Here’s to the things that are yet to come and to the memories that we hold.” They clinked their glasses together. “A very Happy New Year, Philomena McGrattan.”

“And to you, Professor-Lord Spencer Hornsby.” Her voice was quiet, awed after his charming toast. Had he even heard her? They sipped the wine, and about to take another drink Spence whisked away the glasses and placed them on the table.

Taking her hand, he spun her around and placed her in front of him in a waltz position. “Now, we dance.” He twirled her about the room in breathtaking sweeping motions. Then, incredibly, he began to sing. Of course he could sing. How could he not with that astounding voice.

“Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind? Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and auld lang syne
.
”

Phil did not know whether to laugh or cry. He sang
Auld Lang Syne
with the cadence and beat of the
Blue Danube
by Strauss.

“One-two-three- ‘
For auld lang syne, my dear, for auld lang syne, we’ll take a cup of kindness yet, for auld lang syne
.’” His moves were fluid and graceful. The room swirled past her in a rush. Then he hummed the waltz, slowing down the beat until they stopped in front of the fire. She found their waltz more intoxicating than the wine they consumed. Cupping her cheeks, he stared down at her. Surely she would melt on the spot. What Phil read in his eyes speared her heart. He cared for her--very much. That knowledge warmed her insides as much as it made them tumble in fright. “Happy New Year, Phil.” He kissed her, a gentle touch of his lips, which spoke of the tenderness within.

Do not cry, you silly woman.
Tears did threaten, but she blinked them away. She stepped back and caressed his cheek. “Happy New Year, Spence.”

It seemed deep emotions hung between them, too numerous and unknown to name. To dissipate them, Phil walked to the tray. “Shall we eat? You brought bread, cheese, and oh, my favorite. Grapes. Come, sit here on the bed.” Her voice sounded too high and false in its cheerful tone to her own ears. She did not want to speak of anything serious. Not tonight. Not…now. Not ever.

Spence settled in next to her and placed the tray between them. As he nibbled on a piece of cheese, she helped herself to the grapes.

“Phil, I’ve been thinking. You and I could…”

Oh, no.
She immediately stiffened, her breath caught in her throat. “Spence, you are a darling man. There is no ‘you and I.’ It is not possible.” She kept the tone of her voice gentle, though her insides lay in turmoil.

“You do not care for me.”

“That is not it at all. Think about it. You are the son of a duke, and I…I am not able to move about or be part of your world.”

“I am not out and about in society! Who would care?” he demanded.

Frustration caused her temper to flare. He was ruining this perfect night. Her hunger disappeared and she tossed the grapes back on the plate. “Your family! I will say it again--you are the son of a duke. A damned duke! It cannot happen; it will not happen.” She crossed her arms defiantly as her face flushed hot in annoyance.

“I am a nobody. Not the spare, and certainly not the heir. I am the peculiar one, the eccentric lordling who is worth a jot but what I inherited. Not handsome or charming and far too strange for the front parlors. What’s more I am glad of it. Perhaps I’m outlandish in my habits and life state, but I do have feelings.” He pounded his chest in emphasis, laying his hand flat above his heart. “Feelings that run deep and wide like a calm river, and like a calm river little seems to happen or change or take effect on it. But if you were to measure the strength of those feelings, their force would be powerful indeed.” His commanding voice ended on a whisper of sincere emotion, resonating straight from his soul.

What to say? Her heart ached for him. She did care, far more than she should or would admit. Could he be merely caught up in the new sensations he experienced with having sex for the first time? Entirely possible. Yet he seemed to know his own mind. Regardless of his potent words, her frustration flared further.

“I understand what you’re saying, and you are
not
a nobody. Let us not discuss this tonight,” she said, waving her arm in dismissal.

“When will we discuss it, as you are walking out the door?”

“In a couple of days time, when the man Boyle arrives with the wagon, I will be leaving with him, Spence. I must.” He opened his mouth to speak, but she laid two fingers against his lips. “No more talk of this. Let us enjoy the rest of the night and the remaining time we have.”

Spence tossed the piece of bread he’d been eating onto the tray. “Very well. I will not talk anymore of this right now. However, consider this. I believe we are well suited. When Boyle arrives I can leave with him and acquire a carriage and horses and we can pack up the books, dogs, and anything else we wish and head to Penhaven, my estate.”

She closed her eyes, her heart contracting in pain. Why did he insist on continuing on this path? A fleeting vision of her and Spence living in domestic and connubial bliss fluttered through her mind. She shook it away. Merely a dream. A fragment of what can never be. She popped a grape in her mouth not daring to look at him.

“You do not want a woman who has been with dozens of men. Perhaps a hundred or more. A woman so jaded she no longer feels anything. I am thirty-two years old, Professor. Old by most standards of society. Older than you. You need a companion of a sweet temperament, an untouched young miss who will worship you. This conversation grows tedious. Do speak of another topic.”

* * * *

If it were physically possible for a heart to break in two, then Spence experienced the sensation. Her words were spoken in a voice devoid of emotion; frost coated every word. He might be totally convinced of her indifference if he hadn’t managed to glance at her and read the stark misery on her face. Brows furrowed, her mouth twisted in sadness, yet her cheeks flushed crimson in annoyance. One thing he had learned the last few days is Phil did not hide her emotions well, at least the deeper ones. She did not believe in the cold words she flung at him. How to convince her she was everything he wanted, needed, and craved for? She did not want to hear the words. Fine. Spence picked up the tray and laid it on the nearby table. Turning toward her, he leaned in and kissed her. He would show her what emotions she stirred in him. Phil stiffened as if trying to steel herself from experiencing desire. He dove deeper and his tongue tangled with hers. The kiss grew desperate, fierce, and passionate. Both gasped for breath.

He unhooked the corset as he longed for his gaze to feast on her. The garment fell away and he pushed it off the bed. All she wore were stockings. Magnificent breasts and creamy alabaster skin bore a stark contrast to her ebony hair. With a quick motion, he slipped out of his trousers and threw them aside. Skin against skin, he longed for the sensation. Phil lay flat and he rose above her, balancing himself on his arms. He drank his fill of her glorious form. Phil reached to the table and grabbed one of the envelopes. After slipping the sheath on his stiff prick, she explored his torso. God, her touch. He did the same, every luscious curve. Moving his hand between her legs, he closed his lips over a nipple and sucked hard. She cried out as he plunged two fingers inside her. Wet. Welcoming.

After a few minutes he removed his fingers, and damn and blast, fumbled trying to enter her. His skin grew hot with embarrassment, his inexperience plain to see. He exhaled and tried again, his cock slipping to the side of her thigh. Grumbling, he flushed in mortification, his breathing uneven.

Phil kissed his cheek. “Calm, Spence. It’s all right.” Her gently spoken words had the desired effect, he exhaled a cleansing breath. She gripped his unruly prick and guided him in.

He sank deeper, then stilled. He’d come home. This is where he was meant to be. Skin to skin, he reveled in the heat they generated. How her inner muscles clutched him in a possessive, intimate embrace. They fit together as a well oiled machine with the proper working gears. An interesting analogy considering he wished to pump her hard and fast as a piston. However, he wanted to try and go about this in a decidedly deliberate manner. Threading his fingers through hers, Spence raised their clasped hands above her head. He kissed her while pulling out with an agonizing slowness, then pushing back into her with an unhurried roll of his hips.

Phil moaned, her back arching with each glide of his cock. Yes.
This.
He did it again and again, over and over until both were covered in a thin sheen of perspiration. To hell with glancing at the clock, though he was aware in his lust-fevered brain that a good deal of time had passed. Controlling his release became difficult as he teetered on the edge of sensual oblivion. Phil neared her release, too. Her skin flushed, lips parted, and cries became husky and raw.

“What can I do? Tell me what to do,” he rasped in her ear.

“Hook your arms behind my knees, tilt me upward,” she replied breathlessly. “Oh, Jesus. Yes. There. Now, thrust hard and fast. I’m close.”

He did as instructed. The change in angle caused him to slip in deeper. He moved quicker with each plunge of his cock. Phil scored the skin on his back with her nails as she hooked her ankles across his ass. Then, something infinitely magical happened. They both reached their peak at the exact same moment, clutching each other tight, shaking and shuddering as one. Embracing, they lay for several minutes until their breathing regulated once again.

The clock on the mantel bonged twelve times. Midnight. He kissed her, long, deep, and with a poignancy that could not be denied by either of them.

Undeniably a happy new year. Cannot think of a better way to ring in the new.
One resolution he made. Before time ran out on her stay, he would convince her they belonged together and that he desired to share his life with her. That…he loved her.

New Year’s Day turned out to be a bright one, the first time the sun shone since she arrived at Spence’s hunting manor. It should melt the snow, which meant Boyle and his wagon would be here in two or three days.

The sooner the better. Her defenses grew weaker each time she and Spence touched. Last night they fell asleep in each other arms. At two in the morning she awoke and slipped back into her own room. If she were smart, she would spend the remainder of her time here cloistered away neither seeing nor speaking to him. Or touching or kissing or…making love. Phil almost thought “fucking” but that rough word did not adequately describe what they shared.

Could they become a couple? Perhaps not in the conventional sense; however, she
could
be his mistress. Decide on a length of time and even fashion a contract since such arrangements were made often in the upper echelons of society. She would need to find someone to run The Starling Club for her, a person she trusted. Not an easy task.

Why not carve out a little corner of happiness for a year or two? Obviously, if he married she would not continue on as his mistress. The thought of him sharing his bed with another woman caused a roll of nausea to move through her. Already staking a claim--a huge mistake. She did have a long-term plan for what remained of her life. At least five more years were needed to save the money required to live out the rest of her days in comfort. Perhaps she could do so in a small cottage by the sea in a part of England where no one knew her or her former occupation. She could negotiate a sum from Spence for her services as mistress, sell the brothel to make the rest. With this plan she could retire in two or three years instead of five. A sound arrangement. She would wait for him to mention it again, and if he did not before she departed, she would stick with her original pact. In reality it was all she could offer under the circumstances.

Phil clutched the dusty drapes as she stared out the window into nothingness. Her life was as empty as the horizon before her. That is why she took this assignment. She wanted to experience something…anything other than the predictable tedium of her life. Well, she certainly experienced plenty, including an overload of intense emotions and sensations that only served to make her confused, aggravated, and unsure.

As soon as she stepped back into civilization she should send a telegraph informing her staff of her whereabouts, but would anyone actually care? The people at the club were not her family. They were not even her friends. Perhaps in her absence they robbed her blind. No, she chose well when she hired people to work for her.

Regardless, she would not be collecting the rest of the fee for this “job” for the express reason it ceased being one after the first day. What she shared with Spencer Hornsby could not be measured in pounds and shillings. This glorious week would be forever etched in her memory and she did not want it tainted by the exchange of further coin. And yet she considered becoming his mistress. Rather hypocritical under the circumstances. Becoming his mistress would be a separate matter. Or was she deluding herself? Enough speculation, her head began to ache.

Time to face the day. Dressed in her striped gown once again, she headed downstairs. The study door was open, the temptation to explore to great too disregard. She stepped across the threshold. A fire already crackled in the hearth, but no Spence or hounds. He must have taken them for a breath of air. Phil paused a moment to study the room, then moved to the bookcases and scanned the titles. Very old and dusty, must have been here in his grandfather’s time. Books on philosophy and history by the looks of it. Phil strode to the tables and unrolled one of the scrolls. A map. Yes, there was Constantinople. Spence had mentioned the ancient city during their fireside chat. God, the dust! Coughing, she moved aside a few books that looked to be newer in age. She reached in her side pocket and pulled out a cloth and began to clean the table, lifting a few books and maps to reach underneath.