Cheryl Holt (24 page)

After setting the glass on the table, he embraced her, his mouth falling to hers, but she averted him, so he kissed her cheek, her neck, blazing a trail to her bosom, her cleavage. His fingers were busy in her lustrous hair, yanking at the pins so that it swooshed down.

“I’ll have you now, Winnie Stewart. Now and again and again.” He picked her up and carried her to her bed. “You can’t deny me.”

“I’ll scream.” She was lying. Neither of them dared draw attention to what he was about.

“Do . . . if you’ll feel better.”

“You’re crazy,” she asserted.

“Very likely.”

“I’ll request that the men from Bedlam come to fetch you.”

“I’ll go willingly, as soon as we’re finished.”

He felt as if a stranger inhabited his body, as if he were a conquering mercenary, bent on pillage and plunder.

Stretching out, he kissed her in earnest, mouth, teeth, tongue, toying with hers as he fumbled with her dress, with the laces on her corset.

Pushing down the bodice, he exposed her, the curvaceous mounds spilling into his hands. Caressing them,
petting them, he pinched the nipples till she was squirming and writhing, then he suckled the lush tips, calming and soothing himself by nursing at her.

She arched up, offering more of herself, and he indulged, shifting from one breast to the other, dallying, trifling.

Below, he was lifting her skirt as he unbuttoned his pants and, resigned to what was about to occur, she didn’t encourage or hinder his actions. He knew he should desist, or apologize, or clarify what was driving him, but he couldn’t give voice to the insane urges she inspired.

His phallus was ready, eager, and he guided it to her wet, welcoming center, plunging into her like a randy boy, with no regard for her comfort or enjoyment. But she didn’t seem to mind; she widened her thighs and pulled him close.

“You’re crazy,” she claimed again.

“Yes. Crazy for you.”

“We’ll be caught.”

“I don’t care,” he declared. “I don’t care about anything but this.”

He started to take slow, measured strokes. She’d uncaged the beast inside him, a virile, menacing creature that was capable of any despicable deed, that would commit any outrageous exploit to achieve satiation.

He braced himself, his palms on either side of her, and she massaged his chest. Except for his cock protruding from his trousers, he was still fully clothed, for he hadn’t the patience to dawdle, to woo or seduce.

“Are you going to marry Olivia?” she asked, a faint sheen of tears causing her eyes to glitter like diamonds.

“Hush. I don’t want to speak of it now.”

“Are you?” she demanded, and embarrassed, he looked away.

“Yes. No. I don’t know.”

“Promise me,” she begged, “that if you do, you’ll send me far away from here.”

“Winnie—”

“To another part of the country, where it’s too distant to visit. So I’ll have valid explanations for why I can’t come for Christmas, or for the christening of your first child.”

“I couldn’t agree to never seeing you.”

She began to cry, the tears dripping down, and she hugged him, pressing her cheek to his. “If you marry her, I can’t live here. It would kill me, little by little.”

“We could buy you a house nearby,” he suggested, devising the scenario as he went. It was insulting to conceive of her as his mistress, but he couldn’t permit her to walk out of his life.

“In the neighborhood?” she facetiously posed. “Just down the lane?”

“We’ll figure it out.”

“No. Any association would be fraught with peril, and she can’t ever find out what we’ve done, or how I’ve betrayed her.”

She was making their rapturous link sound so terrible, when he wanted her to view it as rare and unique—as he did himself.

“We’ve
betrayed
no one.” But even as he pronounced the sentiment, he felt guilty. Instead of trysting, he should have been downstairs, chatting with Olivia and Margaret.

By lusting after Winnie, he was being disloyal to so many. Yet how could such fervent yearning be wrong?

“Swear to me that you’ll help me to move away.”

“I never could.”

“You must. Don’t you understand? We can’t continue like this.”

“I don’t
understand
anything. All I know is that you’re here, and I can’t stay away.” He curled his hand
around hers and kissed her fingers. “I can’t predict what the future will bring. I can’t see any farther than this moment.”

“This is a disaster.”

“No, it’s not, Winnie. It’s simple. It’s you and me, alone.” He sank into her, each thrust penetrating to her womb. “It’s so right.”

With a sob of anguish, she accepted what he was doing to her, joining in the rush to gratification. She wrapped her arms around his waist, her feet around his legs.

His tempo was no longer deliberate or purposeful. He’d leapt beyond restraint. There was only her, and his vital, compelling desire for her.

Reaching between them, he touched her with his thumb, and an orgasm swept over her. She moaned, and he captured her wail of ecstasy, letting it mingle with his own as he spilled himself inside her.

An alarm bell rang, but he couldn’t heed its warning.

By spewing his seed, he’d transgressed in a fashion that was much more dangerous, and more immature, than the abuse he’d leveled on Phillip’s mother. On this occasion, he couldn’t use youthful naïveté or exuberance as an excuse.

He might have impregnated Winnie—as his potential bride was down in his parlor, sipping tea. There were a hundred reasons his behavior was callous and negligent, but he wasn’t concerned. On the morrow, there would be plenty of opportunity to lament, but for now, he would rejoice, and wallow in the luxury of having had her in the only way that counted.

Immersed in her, Winnie’s lavish torso enfolding him from head to toe, he couldn’t remember ever feeling so happy. He was reeling, stunned, dazed by his burgeoning affection.

What if she were pregnant? Did he have a secret wish
for it to be so? If she were increasing, she couldn’t trot off to the hinterlands, hoping to elude him. A babe would provide genuine justification for contact, for a persisting affiliation.

The possibility was electrifying, and it raised his pulse to such an elevated rate that he frightened himself.

Was he planning on fatherhood? On siring another illegitimate child? With an inappropriate, unknown woman, to whom his sole connection was strident sex? Had he learned nothing from his past mistakes?

Apparently not, for he coveted a family with her so badly that he could taste it. When he shut his eyes, he could envision perfect girls, with her brunette hair, dancing across the floor. Rowdy boys, who looked like Phillip, wrestling on the rug.

His need to make them a reality was primal, incomprehensible, and he declined to acknowledge them, forcing them to vanish.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” she whispered in his ear.

“I’m sure you’re correct.”

She sighed, the weight of the world on her shoulders. “What are we to do?”

“We’ll make love till dusk,” he said. “After that, I wouldn’t hazard a guess.”

She chuckled humorlessly. “I suppose there are worse ways to spend the day.”

“I can’t think of any better.” He retrieved a blanket and dried the tears on her cheeks. “Don’t fret, Winnie. It will work out for the best.”

Agonized, she assessed him. “Don’t hurt me in the end. My heart couldn’t bear it.”

“I never will,” he vowed, even as he wondered if he could keep his pledge. How could any of this have a beneficial conclusion?

“If we’re to dally”—she slid off him and commenced unbuttoning his shirt—“we might as well disrobe.”

“A marvelous idea.”

He grinned and rolled onto his back, letting her take the lead.

Penelope hovered inside Olivia’s room, ready to sneak out. Olivia’s portfolio was tucked under her arm.

After their encounter the previous night, she’d determined it would be advantageous to steal the satchel of pictures. It wouldn’t do to have them disappear just when she needed to show them to Margaret.

She’d been positive that Olivia would have concealed the drawings in a new spot, so she’d been delighted to stumble across them still tucked under Olivia’s pillows.

Olivia’s main character flaw was that she was too trusting, too honest, and she naturally assumed that others were, too. For an adult, she was incredibly naïve. And stupid. In this instance, her idiocy would be her downfall.

While Penny had merely insinuated that she’d tattle to Margaret, she had no intention of waiting. If Olivia breathed a word, Penny would be sent to London, and she wasn’t anywhere near finished with Freddy Blaine. He presented too many exhilarating prospects, and she meant to explore every one of them.

Others couldn’t be allowed to spoil it for her. Least of all stuffy, proper Olivia.

Rubbing her thighs together, she relished the ache that remained from her wicked rendezvous with Freddy. While she wasn’t certain how she’d ended up surrendering her virginity, she was thrilled to have it gone. The deed had been a tad less inspiring than she’d been led to believe, and definitely less romantic, but it was tolerable.

She would make her own choices, would do as she
pleased—with Freddy or anyone else who tickled her fancy—and she wasn’t about to be dissuaded by a bit of pain or discomfort.

Smirking, she reflected on how furious her mother would be at this turn of events. Margaret had so many grandiose schemes, which included dukes and princes, but Penny had found a fellow who was much more to her liking, who knew what she wanted and needed, who went out of his way to obtain it for her.

And he was rich, too! Despite Margaret’s grumbling about his finances, Penny had eavesdropped when the maids were gossiping, about his fine house and elegant carriage, his dapper clothes and toplofty friends. He’d be able to support her in the style to which she was accustomed.

There’d be no arranged marriage to some boring, tedious oaf like Edward Paxton. She craved excitement, action, the exact sort of existence she imagined Freddy would furnish on a daily basis.

She ran a hand down her stomach, to her privates, touching herself. Freddy had commanded that she shave, and just to annoy him, she was going to refuse, but the more she considered it, the more titillated she was by the depraved dictate. It would be decadent to walk around in polite company, knowing she’d removed the hair between her legs!

She’d snooped in an empty guest room and had located a razor, had taken it to her bedchamber and placed it in a drawer as if it belonged there. Now, she had to muster the courage to use it.

Peeking out, she checked to see if it was clear, when down the hall, another door opened, and Penny’s eyes widened. She’d presumed she was the only one on the floor. If she’d deemed otherwise, she wouldn’t have tarried.

To her amazement, Winnie poked her head out and scanned the corridor. Though it was late afternoon, her hair was down, and she was attired in a flimsy robe that was loosely tied at the waist, most of her naked torso exposed.

Espying no one, she stepped back, and the earl emerged! He bent down and bestowed a lingering kiss, then he strolled out and strutted to the stairs. At the landing, he stopped and gazed at her. They didn’t speak, but the look he gave her was passionate, intense, riveting. He shrugged, flashed a rueful smile, and descended.

Winnie watched him go, then she slumped against the doorframe, her knees weak; she whimpered, and it sounded very much like despair. For a lengthy interval, she rested there, letting the wood brace her up, until she regrouped and closed the door. The key clicked in the lock.

“My, my,” Penny murmured. Wasn’t this intriguing?

The earl and Winnie were so greedy for each other that they’d risk philandering in broad daylight. Did the earl love Winnie? Might he be pondering marriage to her rather than Olivia?

Penny mulled the questions over and over.

This won’t do at all
, she resolved.

Olivia would wed Edward. Penny had already decided on it. Olivia loved the stablemaster, and she was likely contemplating how she could end up with him instead of the earl.

Wasn’t she in for a rude awakening?

Nobody threatened Penny. Nobody told her what to do or how to act. By sticking her nose into Penny’s business with Freddy, Olivia had made a grave error, and she would have many, many years to regret it throughout her protracted and monotonous marriage to Edward.

Winnie couldn’t interfere in the impending outcome.
She had to leave the property, and Penny needed to determine how to effect her rapid departure. There were many details to be contrived, many feasible scenarios that could be set in motion. Which one was best?

She tiptoed into the hall and crept away, unheard and unseen, her thoughts awhirl with possibilities.

Olivia crept across the grounds, the waning moon lighting her way, but she needed no illumination to guide her. Her feet had a second sense that led her to her destination.

Up ahead, Phillip’s cottage was outlined in the shadows, a candle burning in the window as he waited for her to arrive. She pulled up short, listening to the silence, staring at the cozy building, her heart pounding in her chest.

This was the last occasion she’d visit him. She would never again observe his house from this angle, would never have this wondrous feeling of anticipation, or suffer this exhilarating rush of joy.

The entire day, she’d been on pins and needles, braced for the shoe to drop, to be ordered to Margaret’s room for the lambaste that would ensue, but it hadn’t transpired. She’d been a nervous wreck, speculating and fretting over what the backlash would be.

By the time it had dawned on her that she should hide her portfolio, the pictures had vanished. She’d searched every nook and cranny of her bedchamber, praying that she’d somehow mislaid the satchel, that perhaps the maids had discovered it and moved it while tidying up.

She’d even dared to ask a servant if she’d seen the pouch, but the girl had denied any knowledge of its existence, and Olivia had believed her.