Cheryl Holt (9 page)

With her, everything seemed attainable. Even happiness. Even contentment.

He pulled away, and she gazed at him, disquieted by her response.

“You always push me farther than I intend to go,” she chided. “Why do I let you?”

“I told you: You’re so ready for the kind of pleasure I can bestow. It’s futile to fight your temptation.”

“But you promised we wouldn’t dally.”

“I guess I lied.”

“Is fabrication a trait for which you’re notorious?”

“Not usually.”

“Except perhaps in your amorous conquests?”

“Perhaps,” he allowed.

“Why do I have the feeling that you’ll say anything to get what you want?”

“Because I’m a cad?”

“Precisely my worry.”

“Has there ever been any doubt as to my having dastardly tendencies?”

“No, but I’m an optimist,” she said. “I continue to hope for better behavior.”

“Don’t grow too sanguine in your aspirations for my improvement,” he cautioned. “I’ll constantly disappoint you.”

“Hardly. I have a much loftier opinion of you than you have of yourself.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

On hearing that she held him in elevated esteem, his heart raced like a silly lad’s. He was desperate to have her see him as the man he wished to be, rather than the man he was.

“How can I foster this wave of confidence?” he asked.

“We can begin by your not lying to me. I can tell when you are.”

“Can you? How?”

“You look so guilty,” she maintained.

“I must be out of practice at hiding my thoughts.”

“Actually, you’re quite adept, but where you’re concerned, I have a second sense. Why is that?”

There were many plausible answers to her question. He could have talked about sexual magnetism, when there was no reason for any appeal, or how the universe worked mysteriously and some things were meant to be. But if he voiced any of the drivel, he’d sound like a foolish romantic, who believed in such folly as love at first sight, which he most categorically did not. Passion and unchecked ardor had destroyed his family, so he would disavow their power at every turn. He wouldn’t be so idiotic as to fancy himself in
love
with Emily Barnett, so he would never be so stupid as to suggest the possibility.

He settled for a simpler clarification. “It occurs because you’re wild about me.”

“You are so vain.”

“Being vain and correct are not mutually exclusive.”

“Are you so conceited that you presume every woman is bowled over by your pretty face?”

“Of course,” he replied.

“Then I expect you suppose that every woman in London is dying to snuggle on this cushy sofa and be kissed to high heaven by you.”

“What could be more enticing?”

“You can’t continue to accost me,” she scolded.

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because it’s . . . it’s . . . unbearable.”

“Unbearable!”

“It makes me yearn to have a different relationship with you, but I can’t ever forget that I am your employee.”

“You’re more than that.”

“No, I’m not.”

He should have apprised her of what prominent position he felt her to occupy, but he couldn’t describe it. Yes, she was his governess, but she was becoming a friend and confidante, a guide and counselor, and eventually, he’d have her as a lover. No other conclusion seemed likely or acceptable.

It wasn’t in his nature to deny himself, and he wanted her more than he’d wanted anything in such a long, long time, yet he was loathe to picture himself seducing her like some aging, dissipated reprobate. It was such a trite, pathetic story: the lord of the manor inflicting himself on an unsuspecting girl.

Wasn’t he mulling a deed that inexcusable? When had his moral state been reduced to such a disgraceful level?

“It’s just kissing, Emily,” he contended, though he was desirous of doing so much more. “There’s no harm in it.”

“Not to you, you seasoned libertine.”

“And not to you, my little beauty.”

She scowled and blurted out, “Have you any idea of how much I enjoy being with you like this? Or how anxiously I’d hoped you would kiss me again?”

So . . . she’d been pining away, had she? He laughed. “You’re a veritable slattern.”

She punched him on the shoulder. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not.”

“You assume that I’m loose.”

He was surprised that her assessment was so off the mark. “You’re wrong. I think you’re very fine.
Too
fine for the likes of me.”

“It’s so difficult to be here in your home, to be around you, and to . . . to . . .”

He silenced her by resting a finger on her lips. He couldn’t tolerate her protests, not when he was aware of how horridly he was transgressing. Nor could he listen to her objections, for he respected her very much. She could easily discourage him, when he wouldn’t be dissuaded.

“I want to know you this way,” he told her. “Give this part of yourself to me.”

“You make it so hard to say no.”

“Good.”

“Especially when I like everything you do to me! I’d have to be a saint to resist.”

“And you’re not one—you’re very human—so it’s a waste of energy to try.”

He bestowed another kiss, quickly leaping far beyond where they’d journeyed previously. She’d admitted to being eager for a repeat of their madness, so he intended to show her how it could be between them. He would have her so overwhelmed that she’d never hesitate to philander.

He shifted them so that she was beneath him, and he was struck by how perfectly she fit. Her breasts were pressed to his chest, and her legs had widened so that his torso fell between her lush thighs.

He fussed with the pins in her hair, yanking them out and tossing them on the floor. The luxuriant auburn tresses flowed free, and his lust spiraled higher. He was so desperate for her!

“I’m going to touch you,” he advised.

“Where?”

“Under your dress.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“I have to.”

“Oh, I can’t refuse,” she wailed. “I really
am
a slattern.”

“I see nothing wrong with engaging in a bit of wicked conduct every so often.” He grinned. “It builds character.”

His naughty hand wandered down to dip inside her bodice, to cradle her breast. It was soft, supple, and he caressed and petted it. She did nothing to hinder him, but even if she’d complained, he wouldn’t have halted. He pinched the nipple, which sent her into a dither of squirming and exacerbated the pleasure for his phallus. He was so close to dragging up her skirt and deflowering her that he scared himself.

Of what might he be capable? She drove him to new
heights of licentiousness. Any appalling peccadillo might be committed.

He tugged at the front of her gown, drawing it down so that her breast popped from corset and chemise. The silky mound was creamy white, the nipple a delightful shade of rose, and he licked his tongue across it.

“Oh, oh my.” Panting, breathless, she arched up. “What are you doing?”

“I’m making love to you.”

“Well, stop it! I can’t abide this . . . this . . .”

As a maiden, she had no vocabulary to convey her titillation, and he chuckled, then wrapped his lips around the tempting bud and sucked it into his mouth. The effect was abrupt and potent, as she gripped his neck and jerked him nearer, urging him to feast. He was tickled by her response, elated by her sexual nature, by her willingness to allow it to flourish.

He kept on as long as he dared, until he was too inundated by desire. With great reluctance, he eased away, taking a last, covetous glance at her nipple, and vowing to himself that he’d see it again very soon. He wouldn’t let her avoid him.

She frowned. “Are we finished?”

“For now.” As if in farewell, he placed a kiss at the center of her cleavage.

“But . . . but . . . you can’t leave me like this.”

“It can’t be helped.”

“I feel all ragged inside,” she grumbled. “I’m in misery!”

“I’m sure you are.”

“Is there a cure for what ails me?”

“A most dramatic one.”

“Then I demand you initiate it. At once.”

He sat up, his cock an uncomfortable rod between his legs. He pulled her up, too, so that she was facing him. With her hair spread across her shoulders, her cheeks flushed, and her lips swollen from his kisses, she looked adorable.

And all mine
. The greedy, satisfying message shot through his head.

“I’m a man, Emily.”

She batted her lashes. “I noticed.”

“You arouse me beyond any circumspection.”

“I do?” Amazed by his admission, she smiled.

“So we have to quit.”

“But I have no wish to quit.”

“That’s why I’m deciding for you.”

“Arrogant beast.”

“It’s very late. Let’s get you up to bed.”

“To bed?” She stared as if he were deranged. “Just like that?”

“Yes.”

“What are you? A spigot that can be turned off and on at the drop of a hat?”

“No.” He assessed her in a crude and chilling carnal fashion, meant to alarm and disturb. “I want you so badly, in such a thoroughly masculine way, that if you don’t depart—immediately—I can’t predict what might transpire.”

She gulped in dismay. “Would this, by any chance, involve the loss of my virginity?”

“Absolutely.”

She fidgeted, then asked, “Could you enlighten me as to what that might entail?”

“No, but imagine that it would have been entirely wonderful, but utterly reckless.” He stood and hauled her up with him. “Now go, before I’m not quite so chivalrous.”

She studied him, the door, him again. “Will I . . . will I . . . see you tomorrow?”

“Definitely, my dearest Emily. You most definitely will.”

She dawdled, clearly yearning to say more, but better sense prevailed. She spun away and fled.

 6 

Pamela Martin tiptoed into Michael’s library, peeked around, then rushed to the sideboard. She retrieved a silver flask from her reticule and filled it with brandy. Every now and then, she liked to have a nip, especially at bedtime, so it was important to keep a hidden stash.

With the snooty, puritanical Miss Barnett constantly lurking, it was growing more and more difficult to indulge in her favorite amusements.

For years, she’d been free to gad about in whatever manner she chose. With her mother deceased and her father a wastrel, she’d had a liberal upbringing, with few restraints or restrictions, so it was aggravating to have Miss Barnett setting limits.

Barnett actually believed she should act as a governess ought, and Pamela was tired of the interference. From long experience, Pamela knew how easy it was to dispense with an irritating servant, and should Miss Barnett become too bothersome, Pamela would get rid of her. Michael Farrow was a typical male, as malleable as
her father had been, so it would be simple to trick him into doing what was necessary.

From down the hall, Margaret yelled to announce that they were ready to depart. Miss Barnett insisted that they engage in tedious rounds of afternoon visiting, and the notion of sitting and chatting in all those stuffy drawing rooms made Pamela ill. She needed a restorative, so she grabbed the whiskey decanter and downed several hefty swigs. The liquor, coupled with the amount she’d imbibed earlier, was immediately soothing.

To conceal the odor on her breath, she popped a minted candy into her mouth, then headed into the corridor.

“Yes, Margaret,” she called. “Be silent. I’m coming.”

She strolled to the foyer, where Margaret was on tiptoe, eager to race off on another adventure. In contrast to herself, Margaret was the perfect child, and Pamela couldn’t wait to be mistress of her own home so she could be shed of the little angel.

Margaret studied her gown, then scolded, “Miss Barnett will never let you wear that.”

Pamela had deliberately donned her most shocking dress. The red color was much too bright, the neckline much too low, but the maids had been gossiping as to how Michael loved red, and while he was usually absent during the day, there was always a chance she might run into him.

“How I attire myself is none of Miss Barnett’s business.”

“
She
thinks it’s her business.”