Cheryl Holt (2 page)

The unlikely prospect caused him to chuckle inwardly.

What would this troubled creature think if she could read his mind at the moment? She was here on a wretched mission, hoping to protect her family; while he could merely envision her naked, stretched out beneath him, and servicing his carnal needs.

But such was life. He’d sat through too many of these appointments, knew how it would end—badly—and he would much rather concentrate on more interesting topics. Such as the fabulous swell of her bosom. The cleavage she exhibited was dreadfully enticing.

Her face was shielded from view by the netting woven into her hat. All that remained visible was her mouth, the lips lush, moist, and crimson as a ripe cherry. It was the kind of mouth that made a man lose his concentration. Just by staring at it, he began to conjure the varied uses to which it could be put. Quite distinctly, he could conceive of her kneeling down, taking him far inside, giving him frightful pleasure.

Nervously, she ran her tongue across her bottom lip, the pink tip just visible as she wet it delicately. As he watched, he felt a keen stab of desire that took him far beyond fantasizing and into the realm of potentialities. To his great consternation, he could picture himself partaking of what she would eventually suggest once she realized that words would do her no good. The discovery was an extraordinary one.

In the decade that he’d owned the gaming house, he’d never taken advantage of any of the overtures the distressed women made. Not to say he hadn’t been tempted, because he had been. Many of them were incredible beauties, and denying their proposals—to become his mistress, to provide
regular sexual favors in exchange for promissory notes, to engage in a brief coupling in the manner of his choosing—was often difficult. He was only human, after all. Plus, taking into account his life experiences, one could hardly blame him for wanting to bring some of them down a peg or two.

Still . . . to consider breaking his self-imposed rule was immensely out of character, which intrigued him. What was it about this woman? Evidently, she gave off invisible signals to which his body was reacting. He was attuned to her as only a man could be. Attuned to her smell, to the smallest shift of her muscles, to the heat of her skin. Like an untamed animal, he was cognizant of everything about her, as though he knew in some primal way that he had selected the choicest female in his herd.

For some reason, he was tremendously curious as to the color of her eyes. He thought they would be blue, but he needed to know for certain, which irritated him in the extreme. His mental wanderings had led him too far afield, so he forced himself to the tedious task at hand.

“Lift your veil,” he ordered. He never allowed any of his female guests to hide their identities. By the time they arrived in his office, they had few secrets worth keeping.

“Pardon?”

“Lift your veil,” he repeated, stepping behind his desk and reaching for his favorite bottle of brandy. He poured a glass half full, drank it down, then turned back to her. “I assume you wish to have a discussion about a serious topic, and I refuse to engage in such unless I can see your eyes.”

“I fail to understand how viewing my . . . my eyes is necessary.”

“It will help me to judge if you are being candid.” She prevaricated for the longest time, until he decided she was going to refuse, so he cautioned, “If you don’t do as I ask, I will have my servant show you to the door. What a waste it would be to have come so far . . .” He let the thought trail off, let the implication linger.

Another silence ensued, and he could almost see the internal
battle raging within: She had been brave enough to face him, but she had hoped to retain the bit of anonymity afforded by her hat. Just as he resolved to put an end to the charade by having her escorted out, she spoke again.

“I have something quite delicate to discuss with you,” she said, “but if you should deny my request, I would rather that you not be able to recognize me at a later date.”

“I realize that.”

“Then perhaps I could—”

“No.” Taking pity, he added, “I have discussed any number of
delicate
topics in this room. Whatever you have to say will neither surprise me nor shock me. Nor will it ever be repeated to another living soul. You have my word.”

She assessed him, trying to decide the verity of his last statement. Would he keep her secrets? What value did his assurance hold? After all, his lineage was deplorable: a nobleman’s by-blow, his mother a famous actress. He’d made his living the best he could, becoming quite well off in the process, but along the way, he’d rolled in the gutter with the worst sort of vermin, and none of them were of the lower classes.

On a daily basis, he gambled, drank, and consorted with women of dubious character—the only type he enjoyed—and his mode of employment required that he regularly intermingle with the most despicable sorts of human beings. He had seen and done things that would have slain lesser mortals, yet he persevered. How must one such as himself appear to the woman who was regarding him so meticulously? Could he be trusted?

A second lengthy inner struggle ensued, and she ultimately arrived at a decision.

“Very well,” she said, resigned. Grasping the pin that secured it to the back of her head, she removed the offending hat and tossed it on a nearby sofa.

Her eyes were not blue. They were green, a deep emerald, as deep and vibrant as mowed grass on a summer day, and they were ringed by long, light-colored lashes,
winged brows. Her skin was smooth as silk, her cheeks still rosy from the cold, her nose pert with an upturn at the end, a smattering of freckles across it. The hair he had originally theorized to be blond was much more than that: blond with streaks of auburn and gold as highlights. It was pulled up on her head, but he could imagine how it would look hanging free and spilling across her shoulders and down her back.

The man in her life who had sent her to do his begging had chosen well. She was an irresistible enchantress. Whatever her request, it would be difficult to refuse, but refuse he would.

“How may I help you?” he asked.

“I have a proposition for you.”

“Really?” She intended no small talk! Most of them wanted to chat endlessly about their boring schedules or children, completely skirting the issue that had brought them sneaking into his establishment. He couldn’t prevent himself from inquiring, “What kind of proposition?”

“It may sound quite odd,” she said, not answering his question and only serving to pique his curiosity further. “In fact, considering that you don’t know me, you might find it rather astonishing.”

“I doubt that. As I said, I’ve had any number of amazing topics reviewed in this office.”

“Yes, well . . . I don’t expect you’ve ever heard anything like this.”

“What is it?”

“Before we begin”—she glanced out the window, suddenly embarrassed to meet his gaze—“I must admit that I’ve listened to gossip. Others insist that you are remarkably circumspect.”

“I am.”

“Previously, you vowed that you would never disclose what we discuss, but I must ask anew for your guarantee that what I’m about to say will be held in the strictest confidence.”

“What you have gleaned from others is true. I will never
divulge your secrets to anyone. As we are not acquainted, I don’t know how to convince you other than to repeat myself: I am discreet.”

She found the nerve required to look at him once again, and she stared, taking his measure. “Yes,” she eventually mused, “I can see how you might be.”

“Why don’t we make this easier by your telling me who your husband is. I shall then have a frame of reference about of what and of whom we are conversing.”

“My husband?” she queried, her brow wrinkling attractively. “I’m not married.”

“Oh, I see.” Perhaps a brother or her father had asked her to come. “Then who is it who has sent you to plead so prettily on his behalf?”

“I’m alone. No one knows I’m here.”

“So . . . this is your own mission of mercy. Well, what is it you would have me do? Refund the money? Tear up the promissory notes?” When it appeared as though she might comment, he held up a hand, stopping her. “Before you respond, let me point out that I can very probably do none of those things. I hold few men’s markers, and they are all for small amounts. Whatever your family has lost is most likely not mine to return.”

“I think perhaps you have . . .”

“Aren’t you listening?” He rudely cut her off, angry because she was disposed to sacrifice all, prepared to completely demean herself for an undeserving man. “I doubt I can be of service, but if I can, what will be my reward should I grant you a favor?”

“I’m not here to ask for a favor,” she declared, clearly offended. “I fully intend to pay you for your services. I realize you are a busy man, and I would never dream of occupying your time without remuneration. I had thought fifty pounds might be about right.” Apparently ready to retrieve the cash and hand it over, she glanced down at her bag.

“Fifty pounds?” He wasn’t certain he’d understood correctly.

“Well, I’ll go as high as seventy-five, but no higher.”

Just when he’d deemed that nothing could surprise him, he was halted in his tracks. She wanted to pay
him?
“I guess I am confused. About what are we speaking?”

“I need to hire you with regard to a very personal undertaking.”

“Hire me?” Coming around the desk, he rested against the edge directly in front of her. She was only a few feet away, and if he’d desired, he might have easily reached out and touched her waist or gripped her hand. At his unanticipated nearness, he could sense a prickle of sensation moving across her skin, see the manner in which her eyes widened, how she struggled to steady her breathing. Clearly, the lady felt the same strange attraction he was experiencing, and she had no immunity from these bizarre physical responses, either.

“What would you engage me to do?” he inquired.

“I need you . . .” she began, then paused, swallowed, started over. “Rather . . . I need your knowledge and skills.”

“I’m good at so many things,” he said facetiously. “In what arena do you require my marvelous attendance? My pugilistic abilities? Marksmanship? Swordplay? Gambling? Drinking? What?”

“Don’t tease me. Please.” She requested it quietly, fervently. “Simply being here is difficult enough.”

“You’re right, of course.” He nodded his head in agreement. “My apologies.”

“No. ’Tis I who apologize. I’m handling this poorly.” Sighing in frustration, she added, “Perhaps, I should explain.”

“Perhaps you should.”

“I have it on good authority that you have quite a way with the ladies.”

A muscle twitched in his cheek, but he did not immediately respond.

His reputation with the women of her social circle was shocking, contemptible, and mostly accurate. After his wife’s death, he had blazed a carnal swath through the
Quality, making certain that he enjoyed the sexual company of those females who had shunned her in her short life. He’d intentionally broken hearts, strained marriages, and corrupted any number of women, but he had no regrets.

For her untimely demise, he had made them pay, and pay dearly.

“And your point is?” he asked.

“I would like . . . that is . . . well . . .” She wrung her hands in dismay. “Oh, this is so dreadfully difficult.”

“I find it’s easiest to just say what’s on your mind. Whatever the subject matter, it can’t be as hideous as it seems.”

“All right.” She took a deep breath, let it out, then turned toward the window, toying with the drape while she gazed outside, much as she’d been doing when he had first entered. “I am twenty-five years old. I have never been married, and therefore I am not overly familiar with the interactions of men and women, but . . . but I have need of instruction on what occurs between them during their private moments.”

“To what
private
moments do you refer?”

“When they are . . . are . . .” She stammered, blushed fiercely, then whispered, “Intimate.” Facing him once again, yet staring at the floor, she massaged a finger and thumb across the bridge of her nose as though she suddenly had a brutal headache. “You see, I find myself in a somewhat awkward position, and I am at a loss as to how to resolve it without someone to tutor me. The knowledge I pursue is not the type I can gamer from any of my personal acquaintances.”

No doubt about it, their meeting was becoming more peculiar by the second! He crossed his arms over his chest and studied her. “What is it you hope to learn?”

“Everything!” Suddenly agitated, her head came swinging up, and he was impaled by her earnest gaze. Her eyes were open wide, two rich pools of emerald green. She waved her arm, gesturing as though to encompass the entire world. “I want all the details. What happens. How it starts. How it ends. What goes on in between.”

Over the years, women had invited him to do many things, but he’d never received a request that was remotely comparable to this one. He scowled, thinking he was hardly the man to instruct an untried woman on the intricacies of physical love. She’d said that she was aware of his reputation, but plainly she’d not caught the true facts. If she had, she’d never make such an outrageous solicitation. The type of
lessons
he could provide were a far cry from what such a sophisticated lady should ever be taught.

“I am of the opinion,” he contended, “that you do not entirely realize what kind of man I am.”

“I have no illusions.” Her verdant eyes seemed to penetrate inside his being, her astute gaze piercing all the way to his black heart. He did not care for the impression at all, and he had the sharpest desire to hide from her comprehensive assessment, when she added softly, “I appreciate the sort of scoundrel you are. That is why I am here.”

Not certain if he’d just been complimented or insulted, he growled low in his throat. “Have you no females who could assist or advise you?”

“Nary a one. Even if I dared ask, I’m not sure they would give me the guidance I’m seeking.”

“Are you to be married?” Pending nuptials must be the reason for her odd proposal. “If so, your husband”—she made a derisive sound and rolled her eyes at the mention of a
husband
—“will instruct you on what you crave to understand. You need have no fear about that . . .”