Authors: What A Woman Needs
Caroline Linden (7 page)
“No, no ... I ... I think it may be mine, Papa gave me one once, such as this.”
“Then let me look at it.” Charlotte rose from the table and took the flask from Susan’s stiff but unresisting fingers. It still looked like an ordinary flask, Charlotte thought in puzzlement, turning it over. Why would Susan want to hide it from her?
She went still. An elegant script “D” was engraved on the side, along with a snarling dragon. The beast was almost worn away, but the plumes of fire spouting from his snout made it clear what he was. Charlotte raised her eyes to Susan’s. “Whose flask is this, Susan?”
Her niece blinked rapidly. “I told you, Papa gave me one.”
“Does this belong to Mr. Drake, by any chance?” Charlotte controlled her voice with great difficulty. Susan shook her head with a small whimper. “Then whose, Susan? It was not your father’s.”
Susan opened her mouth, then closed it, looking wretched. Charlotte was beyond caring. If that lowlife, that so-called gentleman had broken into her house and handled her most personal items, she would settle for nothing less than his head on a pike. How
dare
he molest her underwear?
dare
he molest her underwear?
“He wouldn’t break into our house, Aunt Charlotte,” pleaded Susan. “Mr. Drake is a gentleman!”
“After you went to bed, I discovered some of my jewels were missing. Mr. Drake is desperate for money.”
“He wouldn’t do this!” Susan cried.
“He would if he had given up on marrying you and your fortune.” Susan sucked in a gasp, and Charlotte regretted saying it so bluntly. Before she could retract it and try again, Susan flung open the door and ran from the room.
Charlotte examined the flask again, her fury mounting. Susan couldn’t believe her dear Mr. Drake was a thief, but of course that’s what every fortune hunter was, deep down. The infuriating man couldn’t even take a hint and leave town in disgrace like a proper coward. He had to stoop to petty thievery. Had he taken her necklace in retaliation?
She uncurled her fingers from the flask and set it on the table. She should go to the authorities with the flask and demand his arrest. She should march directly to his door and tell him what she thought of his craven sneaking around. She should invite him to return to the scene of his crime, and meet him with a pistol in her hand. She should
not
break into his rooms and vandalize
his
belongings while she retrieved her necklace.
not
break into his rooms and vandalize
his
belongings while she retrieved her necklace.
But that’s what she did.
C
HAPTER
F
OUR
HAPTER
F
OUR
It shocked Charlotte how easy it was to get into his rooms. A quick scramble up the overgrown apple tree, and she was in through an unlocked window. For a housebreaker, he was very lax about his own residence, she thought, dusting off her trousers.
The room she found herself in was a modest sitting room, obviously furnished by the landlady. Charlotte smirked at the thought of tall, masculine Stuart Drake relaxing in the flowery chintz chair, tatted cushions all around. He must be truly desperate to take such a frilly room.
He was desperate enough to break into my house,
she reminded herself, then set to work. She intended to find her jewels, leave a snide little note in their place, and then, time permitting, wreak some havoc, just as he had done to her. Charlotte hoped she would have plenty of time to cut his entire wardrobe to shreds.
she reminded herself, then set to work. She intended to find her jewels, leave a snide little note in their place, and then, time permitting, wreak some havoc, just as he had done to her. Charlotte hoped she would have plenty of time to cut his entire wardrobe to shreds.
She was about halfway through her search when the sound of a key in the lock made the blood freeze in her veins. Praying it would only be a servant coming to turn down the bed, she flattened herself against the wall where the shadows were deepest. She held her breath as a man came into the room, his head bent as he tugged off his gloves.
She closed her eyes. Just her luck, Stuart Drake himself.
He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. There were rustles of cloth as he discarded his overcoat, and a quiet curse as he fumbled with the flint. The spark caught, and the candle glowed briefly before he moved in front of it, blocking most of the light. He paused, head tilting to one side, then went and closed the window she had left open. He stood there for a moment, contemplating it, then gave a little shrug and went to the fireplace.
Charlotte knew a moment of hideous indecision. How was she going to escape without him noticing? There was no way she could open the window and climb back down the tree without making noise. If he would just go into the other room she could slip out the door. He seemed to be home for the evening; whatever had happened to gambling, drinking, and whoring all night like a normal rake?
He had stirred up the fire by now and added a log. With a weary sigh, he sat on the edge of a chair, almost directly across from her, and rubbed the back of his neck. For a moment he stared pensively into the flames, shoulders slumped. Motionless, hardly daring to breathe, Charlotte felt a strange tug of sympathy at his despairing pose. Even though she knew him to be the worst kind of scoundrel, he looked like a man worn down with care and worry, utterly at the end of his rope. And so damnably handsome, in the flickering firelight.
She closed her eyes to keep such thoughts at bay.
Handsome is as handsome does
, she tried to tell herself.
Think of all the terrible things he’s done
. But instead, her mind recalled the feel of his hands, sliding over her shoulders; the sound of his voice, low and seductive in her ear; the weight of his body, pressing into hers ...
Handsome is as handsome does
, she tried to tell herself.
Think of all the terrible things he’s done
. But instead, her mind recalled the feel of his hands, sliding over her shoulders; the sound of his voice, low and seductive in her ear; the weight of his body, pressing into hers ...
A loud snap broke her thoughts. Charlotte’s eyes flew open. He was on his feet again, prodding the log farther into the flames. It was beginning to light, and the room was no longer dark. He lit a lamp, and a bit more of Charlotte’s shadow cover fled. If he turned around, he would clearly see her.
He went into the other room, taking the lamp with him. She sagged against the wall, weak with relief, then quietly picked her way toward the door. Just as she reached for the knob, the room lit up again, and she glanced back without thinking.
“What the—?” She caught a glimpse of pure astonishment on his face before she lunged at the door in a panic. Charlotte seized the doorknob and even had it open a few inches before the door was slammed shut and she was thrown thrown against it.
“What the devil are you after?” he snarled, pushing his face up beside hers. “Who are you?” Pure fear squeezed her heart for a second; he didn’t sound or feel at all like a cowardly fop. Which of course he was. She made herself stay still, keeping her head down, biding her time. He grabbed her collar and one arm, pushing her across the room toward the fireplace. “Followed me home, did you?” he muttered. “I hope you’re feeling more talkative tonight.” He pushed her down into a chair, knocking off her hat.
Charlotte barely heard his swift breath of surprise as she shoved, setting him back on his heels before bolting for the door. He recovered from this surprise just as quickly, though, and caught her less than halfway across the room, tackling her to the rug, where her struggles were quickly proven useless.
“Well.” He sat back on his haunches and looked down at her. Charlotte glared back venomously. “What an unexpected pleasure.”
She tried to buck him off, without success. He was sitting on top of her, and had her wrists in an iron grip. “Let go of me!”
“I don’t think I will,” he said. “Not just yet, anyway. To what do I owe the honor of your visit? I would have let you in if you simply knocked on the door, you know; there was no need to sneak into my bedroom.”
“I don’t want to be in your bedroom,” she hissed. “You know why I’m here—I want my necklace back! I know you stole it.”
That wiped the smile off his face. “What makes you say that?”
She smirked, pleased to have rattled him. “You’re not as clever a thief as you think.” He seemed to consider this for a moment, his gaze narrow and calculating. “Let go of me, return my necklace, and perhaps, just perhaps, I shan’t call the authorities,” she added.
He focused on her again, and his grin returned, darker this time, wicked and sensual. “Oh, won’t you?” he murmured. “And I thought you’d come to apologize for being a nasty little gossip.”
Rage overpowered Charlotte. Writhing and snarling, she fought against his grip, his weight, his smile. She kicked and bucked and rolled, called him the foulest names she knew in every language she knew, and only ended up several minutes later spread flat on her back, arms above her head, beneath the considerable weight of one hateful, despicable, aroused man.
It was that last realization that finally ended her struggle. She could feel the hard length pressed against her belly, unprotected by layers of corset, petticoat, and gown. Thin drawers and breeches were all that separated them, and Charlotte was horrified by the tight knot of heat deep in her belly at that thought. She fell still, breathing hard.
Stuart knew better than to think she was surrendering. Good Lord, the woman was a hellcat, scratching and spitting at him until the only way he could protect himself was to hold her down with his own body. And now he was enjoying himself. Just the feel of her beneath him was almost worth what she had cost him. Almost, but not quite.
“I find myself in a bit of a quandary,” he told her. Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t respond. “I ought to summon the authorities and let them haul you away for housebreaking. It’s against the law, you see, and very dangerous.”
“You would know, having done it yourself!”
“However,” he continued, “I don’t really want to let you go yet. Not until I’ve repaid all you’ve done for me.”
“Get off me or I’ll cut your throat,” she said in a low voice. Her eyes glittered with fury, but she didn’t move. Too bad, Stuart thought; he’d rather liked her squirming. “Let me go this instant and I won’t call the authorities on
you
for breaking into
my
house.”
you
for breaking into
my
house.”
“Ah, but you aren’t quite in the position to be giving orders, are you?” he said sympathetically. “I seem to be on top, so to speak, and I rather like it that way.” He shifted his hips against hers, half to prove his point and half to satisfy the clamoring of his body, and a tiny, inarticulate sound escaped her before she cursed him again, more volubly than before.
“No doubt,” he said when she stopped. “But that doesn’t answer the question: what am I going to do with you?” He shifted his grip on her wrists, holding them with one hand. She struggled briefly, until it became clear that he could hold her just as well with one hand as with two. Gently he stroked the loose dark curls away from her face, laughing softly as she looked away. His fingers lingered on the curve of her cheek and the line of her throat. She had impossibly soft skin, and he leaned closer to inhale her scent, fainter than usual.
“I know what I would like to do with you,” he murmured in her ear. She said nothing, but her breathing accelerated. Stuart shifted, sliding one knee between hers. Instantly her legs clamped together, but too late, and she shook as he settled himself more comfortably atop her, his thigh between hers. “I like your trousers,” he whispered. “Very much.” He palmed the curve of her hip, and she jerked.
“I was wrong about you,” Charlotte spat, still not looking at him. “I thought you were merely a common whore, trading on your looks and manner to gull women out of their money. I didn’t expect you forced yourself on them as well.”
“A common whore?” He frowned. “I doubt it. I admit to relying on my good looks and charming manners, but what of it? Women do as much when looking for a husband. And my intentions are always clear, about marriage or ... other things.” He paused, his fingers still playing idly up and down her side. Charlotte bit the inside of her lip—hard—to keep from betraying any reaction to that touch. Because she did not want to respond to it, or to him, and she especially did not want him to know that her body was responding in spite of her wishes.
“Still,” he went on in the same thoughtful tone, “I can see how one might mistake my intentions in this instance. I believe what I would like is very clear.” He slid his hips into the V of her thighs and grinned wickedly at her tremor of alarm. “But forcing myself on women? Oh no, never. Especially not on you. You, I think, will have to ask very nicely indeed.”
“You’re hurting me!” Charlotte burst out. How she hated this man cradled between her legs, using her body against her. She didn’t know what to do, squeeze or relax, and tried to kick him instead. He reached back and caught her knee, pulling it up until it was hooked around his waist. “Ouch!” she protested, even though it didn’t hurt at all, and even felt appallingly right.
His grip loosened, and his hand slid down the underside of her thigh toward her hip. “I don’t think I’m hurting you any more than you’re hurting me,” he whispered, his breath hot on her cheek. “And I don’t think you would be here at all if you were truly frightened of me.”
“I am not afraid of you,” she shot back. “I despise you, and all men like you. You’re nothing but a bunch of cowardly swindlers, duping innocent, naïve girls out of their fortunes.” He raised his head and looked at her, his mouth tight.
“You’re not a very good negotiator.” He rose up on his knees above her so quickly she didn’t have time to resist, and hauled her to her feet. Charlotte struggled again, with a hard kick to his shin and a quick elbow to his stomach, but he simply bent her arm behind her back until she went up on her toes with a gasp.
“And that was not very nice, either,” he said, breathing hard. “Come with me, little cat.”
Whimpering, Charlotte obeyed, letting him propel her into the next room. His bedroom, she realized as he shoved her onto the wide bed, tugging his cravat loose. As it came free, he grabbed her wrists and looped the silk around them, then stretched her arms up above her head again, and began lashing the cravat to the bed.
Panic rolled through Charlotte in a nauseating wave. Tied to his bed, she would be helpless, humiliated, trapped. She yanked desperately, to no avail. Grim-faced, he tightened the knot with one last tug, and then unleashed a terrifying smile at her. Heart slamming, Charlotte tensed, watching him with an almost feral fear as he got off the bed.
Then he walked away. Striding to the windows, he began unknotting the cords that held back the draperies. One fell closed with a shush of velvet, deepening the shadows. “You have nothing to worry about,” he said, going to the other window. “I won’t hurt you. In fact, I won’t even touch you. I’ d rather wait until you ask me, perhaps even beg. ”
Shwush,
the second drape closed. “Yes,” he said more decisively, tugging the drapes all the way closed. After all you’ve done, I should like to see you beg.”
Shwush,
the second drape closed. “Yes,” he said more decisively, tugging the drapes all the way closed. After all you’ve done, I should like to see you beg.”
“Let me go,” she said again. The room was totally dark now. She had no idea where he was or what he was doing. His hand closed around her ankle and she nearly jumped out of her skin.
“No,” he said with a hint of laughter. “Not yet.” He pulled, and Charlotte swallowed her protest, letting him tie her legs. The drapery cords, no doubt. The dark must be just an added bonus to him. Trussed like a Christmas goose, unable to see or anticipate any of his actions, she was completely at his mercy.
“I promised I wouldn’t touch you,” came his voice, very near her ear. She jerked, turning toward it and pulling away from it at the same time.
“Tying me down doesn’t count?” Ah good, some of the freezing scorn had come back to her voice, at least.
“No more, then. Let’s just talk, shall we?”
“I won’t pay you a pound.” It popped out of her mouth before she could consider the wisdom of it. But money was what he wanted, and she absolutely refused to give him a single shilling.
He laughed, a low chuckle that was more threatening for sounding genuinely amused. “I don’t want to talk about money.”
She thought hard. “I can’t retract what I said about you. Lady Kildair would never let go of gossip like that. But if you leave, I shan’t try to follow or blacken your name elsewhere.”
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