How to Treat a Lady (24 page)

The thought made the moment all the more sweet. And he knew that in a way, he was trying to leave her with something, a memory of himself that might never fade. He thrust into her deeply. She gasped, her legs tightening about his waist as she moved beneath him.

Chase tasted her neck, her throat, his hands never slowing, never still. He wanted her to remember this moment, this second for the rest of her life.

Suddenly, she arched against him, her cry of pleasure ringing through the air. Chase gritted his teeth as she clenched about him. God, she was sweet, but he would not release. Not yet.

After an agonizing moment, she relaxed beneath him, her breathing ragged against his neck.

“You are divine,” he managed to say, feeling her breasts against his chest, her hips firm with his. She
was a conundrum, this woman. Strength mixed with curves.

He bent down and kissed her, capturing her water-sweetened lips with his.

Harriet didn't move—she couldn't. For an instant, she thought her heat-sizzled mind had finally let go of the last vestiges of sanity. Surely this was a dream of some sort, induced by the heat and the strain of the last few days.

But…his lips felt real as they closed over hers, warm and insistent.

His hand, before gently resting on her elbows, slid up to her shoulders as he pulled her close, her chest against his.

She was encircled, captured, held in place as if spellbound. The kiss deepened, and Harriet leaned into the embrace, completely lost to his touch. A shiver of heat prickled up her spine, all thinking coming to an abrupt halt.

Heaven help her, but he was delectable. Every handsome, frustrating inch of him. She wanted this. Wanted him to kiss her. Wanted, for one moment, to be the only woman that Chase St. John thought of.

The thought spurred her on. She ran her hands up his chest, marveling at the tautness of his stomach, his shoulders. A new need grew within her. She wanted to drive him as mad with desire as he had driven her. She wanted to give back what he had already given. “What—” She bit her lip, searching for the words.

He kissed her cheek, her neck. “What's what?” he asked.

“What do you like?” Her whisper was broken, hesitant.

He stopped then and lifted his head, his eyes dark, questioning.

She placed her hands on either side of his face and drew him forward until he was looking directly into her eyes. “What do
you
want?”

A slow, masculine smile touched his lips. “With you—everything.” His smile faded, his eyes burning brighter. “Absolutely everything.”

He kissed her again, but this time with heart-stopping urgency. Harriet melted beneath his touch, her heart taking wing and soaring with her spirit. His lips trailed delicate fire down her throat to her neck, and lower. She arched as his mouth closed over one nipple, then the other, before he returned to her neck and the delicate spot behind her ear.

“Do you know,” he asked as he nuzzled her neck, “my favorite place to kiss a woman?”

It was difficult to think clearly enough to talk with her heart racing so. “Where?” she managed to gasp.

He lifted on one elbow to gaze down at her. “You'll have to turn over.”

Turn over? A raw shiver traced over her skin. Without a word, Harriet turned onto her stomach.

For an instant, she felt exposed in some way that she hadn't before. Perhaps it was because she could no longer see his face. Perhaps it was the newness of the situation. Whatever it was, her entire body trembled. She could feel him moving to one side, and then down.

His voice brushed her lower back. “My favorite place to kiss a woman…is here.” His lips brushed her back at the base of her spine.

Harriet arched at the sensation. It was unsettling to be naked before a man, especially like this. She couldn't help but feel vulnerable, exposed. But he
didn't slow down long enough to let her react to that feeling; his lips were traveling a delicately tortuous path, leaving a trail of heated kisses all the way from her lower spine up to her shoulder, to her neck.

His weight pressed against her and she could feel his hardness pressing against the backs of her legs.

“My beloved Persephone,” he whispered in her ear, “I want to show you something.” His lips trailed down the side of her neck.

Harriet could barely think. She wanted him so badly, her entire body was aflame now. She wanted to roll over, to lock her legs about him and let him fill her. But instead she was held, stomach down on the blanket as he tortured her with long, slow kisses in the most indelicate places.

“Lift your hips,” he whispered.

Harriet frowned. “How can I turn over if—”

“Lift for me, sweet.” His hands about her waist, he tilted her hips up.

She did as he asked. If she'd felt exposed before, now she was indecently lifted, her butt cheeks arched in the air.

Chase lifted himself above her and found her wetness. She was moist, swollen, squirming ever so slightly beneath him in a way that was driving him mad with lust.

He splayed his hands over her back, marveling at the muscles that were displayed there. She was beauty and feminine strength, delicacy and exotic enticement. He lifted himself and pushed into her wetness, his mouth never leaving the back of her neck as he nipped and teased.

“Oh my—Chase!” She arched beneath him, lifting her hips higher, pressing back against him. God, but she was hot and tight and ready for him. Her hot
wetness held him in a velvet-sleeved grip, tormenting him mercilessly. Beads of sweat dotted his upper lip and brow as he moved into her, slid deep, then withdrew to the tip.

Harriet groaned and pressed back as if eager for him to resume his pace. He thrust again. And again. And each time she met him, writhing enticingly beneath him. He could feel the excitement building inside her, feel the tremors of her as he thrust deeply. He fought for control, but the more he fought, the more she drew him onward. Finally, with a gasp, she said his name and broke his tenuous control. She swept him with her over the edge of passion and beyond.

C
hase collapsed, cradling Harriet in his arms as he fought for breath, for the ability even to think. In all of his days, he'd never experienced such a sensuous woman. Never.

He pressed a kiss on her neck and then turned her so that she faced him. She had her eyes tightly clenched, her breath ragged between her lips.

“Harriet?” he whispered against her bare skin.

A shiver trembled across her.

Chase took her hand and threaded her fingers with his, then leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on the corner of her mouth. “You are magnificent.”

Her eyes cracked open at that and to his relief, a faint smile touched the corners of her lips.

He smiled and pressed another kiss to the spot below her ear. “And I think I lo—” He stopped.

Had he almost said—it was impossible! Why the hell had he almost said
that
?

She blinked, her eyes now wide open. “What…what did you say?”

“Nothing,” he said hastily. He pushed himself upright and raked a hand through his hair, unwilling to admit how shaken he was that he'd almost let such a thing slip. “I was going to say that I…love the way you kiss.”

She arched a brow in disbelief. “My kisses are nothing special.”

“Oh yes, they are.” He smoothed the hair from her forehead, noting how the sun had kissed her cheeks with even more freckles. He traced a path from freckle to freckle with the tip of his finger. It would soon be time for him to leave, and yet here Harriet would be, fighting to make Garrett Park a working, living estate for her brothers and sisters. “I worry about you.”

“Me? Why on earth would you worry about me?”

“You work too hard.”

Her smile disappeared. “I don't work any harder than the others. Chase, don't make me out to be a saint. I'm afflicted with far too many faults to be considered anything other than human.”

“What faults do you have?”

She snorted. “Well, let's see. I'm short-tempered. I have a dislike for doing anything whatsoever inside the house; Mother despaired of my watercolors and embroidery years ago. Oh and…” She peered up at him, a twinkle in her eyes. “I'm apparently not a woman of virtue, either.”

He winced.

“Not that I mind,” she added swiftly. She placed her hand on the side of his face. “In fact, I'm glad
we've had this time together. I've enjoyed every second of it. Especially today.”

“Today?”

“Yes, the last round left me feeling quite…exuberant.”

Despite his misgivings, he found himself smiling down at her. “I feel the same way.”

“I know. I could tell.” She eyed him for a moment. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“I confessed my shortcomings. What are yours?”

God, what he would give to be able to answer that question. “We've all done things we're not proud of.”

She glanced up at him, curiosity bright in her brown eyes. “You sound almost…sad.”

He was sad. And sorry. He had to move, to get up. He pushed himself to his feet. “Harriet…I've done things I'm not proud of. One…one thing in particular.”

She met his gaze solemnly, and to his surprise, there was no condemnation in her expression. “What?”

He opened his mouth to tell her, but no words would come out. All those months of not saying, of not facing the truth, seemed to have melted into him until he could not break free.

She lifted onto her elbows, her gaze never wavering. “Whatever it is that you did, did you make amends?”

“Amends?” He grabbed up his breeches, and yanked them on. “There was no way to make amends for this.”

She sat the rest of the way up and wrapped her arms around her knees. In the indirect light, her
brown hair falling over her shoulders, her eyes wide and solemn, she looked like a pixie. “But you
tried
to fix things?”

He nodded once, hating himself, hating that he was having this conversation with Harriet, of all people. Bloody hell, life was not fair. He found his shirt and yanked it over his head.

She shrugged. “Then that's all you can do.”

He had just picked up one of his boots. He stopped and turned to face her. “Do you believe that?”

“If you try your best, then no one can ask for more.”

Chase looked at her for a long moment. “I wish I could believe that. And maybe it's true for other people, but I'm a St. John, born with every conceivable benefit. There are no excuses for my actions.”

“What exactly did you do?”

“I…” The words pushed at him, begging for release. He swallowed, then closed his eyes. “I killed someone.”

Silence. He forced his eyes open, ready to read the condemnation in her eyes.

She met his gaze, her face pale.

“I didn't mean to,” he gritted out. “I didn't. I was careening drunkenly through the streets of London in my new carriage. I ran over a woman. She…” He gave a helpless shrug as his eyes grew hot.

Harriet's eyes were already wet. “Oh, Chase,” she whispered. “I'm so sorry.”

“So am I. I was with…not a friend. But a person I knew. When the accident happened, I pulled the horses to and started to get out to see if the woman needed assistance. But my companion panicked and began screaming at me to drive on. I was drunk and frightened and…I did.”

“Did you go back?”

“As soon as I was sober enough to realize what had happened. The man I was with, he helped search for her, too. He visited the hospitals and I spoke to every person I saw on that street, but we never found her.”

Chase turned away from Harriet and pulled on his boots. He didn't think he could stand seeing the disappointment in her eyes. “I was on my way out of the country when I came here.”

“Out of the country…Why?”

“The companion I was with that night has been steadily draining me of funds ever since the accident. I decided the time had come to face my demons.”

“By running away?”

“By protecting my family from scandal. My brothers and sister do not know the truth. I couldn't tell them.” Chase picked up Harriet's gown and shift and draped them over the edge of a stall.

“You need to tell them.”

“It is better if no one knows.”

She regarded him steadily. “You are the one who told me that I was not doing my family any favors by taking care of them. Perhaps you should heed your own advice.”

Chase wiped a hand over his eyes. He
had
said that. And for Harriet, it made sense. But for him? “I'm not sure why I told you about it. I-I haven't told anyone.”

“Perhaps it is practice, for when you face your family.” There was a rustle of hay as Harriet stood and made her way to the water bucket. Water plopped in fat drips to the ground as she washed.

Chase watched her silently, noting the lush curve
of her backside, the tight muscles of her calf. She was a nymph of ancient lore, washing herself at the bucket, the slanted afternoon light that cut through the cracks in the barn walls stripping across her smooth creamy skin and touching her hair with gold. But for all that her outer beauty tantalized him, it was her inner beauty that held him, captured him, and refused to release him. The unfairness of his situation cut to his soul. Damn it, why had he met her now, when he had no choice but to leave?

Chase turned toward the barn door, his chest tight. “I should go and see if Stephen and Derrick need any help.”

“What you should do,” she said in a matter-of-fact voice that brooked no argument, “is pack your things and get yourself home as soon as possible. You cannot run from yourself, you know.” There was a soft whisper as she pulled her clothing from where Chase had hung them and began to dress.

Chase stiffened. “I'm not running. I am—”

“Running.”

She was right, and he knew it.

“You made a mistake, Chase. We all make mistakes.”

“Not mistakes that cost lives.”

“No. But whatever our mistakes are, they weren't performed because of malicious intent. They happened because we were careless or didn't realize the consequences of our actions.”

“It's not that easy.”

“Isn't it?” She came to stand before him, calmly pinning her hair. “Tell me what you've been doing since this accident.”

“Doing? I don't know. I suppose I've been drinking. Trying to forget—”

“You've been wallowing in a sea of self-pity.
That
is your grossest error.”

Chase didn't know what to say. She looked so damnably sure of herself. He envied her in that moment, envied her calm certainty about life, her intrepid spirit, her refusal to let life sour her spirits. He wondered how he'd been so fortunate as to have met her. “You, Harriet Ward, are an exceptional woman.”

Color flooded her cheeks. “I'm nothing special,” she said gruffly.

“Really? Do you not run this entire estate all by yourself?”

She laughed, the light slanting over her sparkling eyes. “No. Garrett Park is run by committee. Derrick is in charge of household repairs. He's very talented at tinkering with things. Stephen is in charge of keeping up the stables. He's always been good with horses, though we had to sell most of them three years ago.”

“What a pity.”

“Yes, Stephen was devastated, though he refused to admit it.”

“What do your sisters do?”

“Sophia helps with the books. She's almost as good at figures as she is at playwriting.” A faint smile softened the line of Harriet's mouth. “Better, in fact, though I'd never tell her that.”

“And your mother?”

“Who do you think sees to it that we all have fresh linens every week? That the meat is cooked well and the floors always scrubbed? She makes sure there is enough so that we can eat through the winter, and she spoils us with clothes that she herself sews.”

When he stopped to think about it, it was amazing
how this family, left in near poverty and distress, had banded together to make a success out of their seemingly dire straits. But he supposed he understood that concept—in a way, his brothers were never closer than when facing adversity. “What does the intrepid Ophelia do?”

“She sees to it that we are not remiss in our attention to our neighbors.”

He frowned. After hearing of the contributions of the others, that seemed far less than important.

His thoughts must have been evident on his face, for Harriet sent him a sharp frown. “Ophelia spends a good portion of every year helping Cook with the herbs. She also makes Christmas gifts for our neighbors. She does far more than her fair share.”

“Gifts? Why bother with gifts?”

She turned to fix a gimlet stare on his face. “Neighbors, Mr. St. John, are important to us all. When our plow horse strained her foreleg in the midst of spring plowing, our neighbor to the west, Baron Whitfield, sent one of his horses to take her place. When Ophelia became ill and we needed medicine, but were unable to get to town because it had snowed so deeply that our poor farm mare could not make it out the drive, Mr. Nash came to our aid. He made the trip to town himself, wrapped head to foot in wool and riding in an old farmer's cart to cut through the roads.”

She eyed Chase up and down, as if uncertain whether to spit on him or kick his shins. “I can give you other examples, if you'd like.”

“No. No, that won't be necessary. I had just forgotten—” He raked a hand through his hair. He couldn't forget what he'd never known. The St. Johns were the community. Not a mere part of it.

Harriet turned and made her way to the door. She grabbed the bar and lifted it to one side, then pulled the door open. Sunlight flooded the barn, turning the hay to spun gold.

Her gaze fell on the pile of shears and she laughed. “I almost forgot those.”

Her eyes crinkled and her mouth curved in such a beguiling fashion. He caught her amused look and an unaccustomed heat traveled up his neck.

She straightened, her gaze suddenly fixed on the driveway. “Someone is coming. I think—oh, it's just the cart from the inn. Mother must have asked them to send some spiced wine.”

Chase glanced indifferently at the cart, watching as Derrick walked up to speak to the driver. They spoke for a moment, then Derrick gestured toward the barn. The man looked toward Harriet and Chase, nodded once, then hawed the horses on.

Harriet frowned. “I wonder what that was about?”

Derrick stood in the drive, watching the cart rumble away before he walked toward them. “That was strange,” he said on reaching them.

“What did he want?” Harriet asked.

“He said he'd heard about the captain and wondered if he could meet him.” Derrick flickered a gaze at Chase. “He was wondering if you were the same Captain Frakenham that he sailed with two years ago.”

“I doubt it,” Chase said.

“That's what I said,” Derrick returned, a disturbed look in his eyes. “I even pointed you out, thinking that would turn him. But instead, he seemed to recognize you.”

Chase frowned. “Are you certain?”

“I think so. He nodded as if you looked exactly the way he'd expected you to. But then, when I offered to introduce you, he said that wouldn't be necessary.”

Harriet sighed. “I wonder if Mr. Gower is up to his tricks again.”

“I can't imagine how,” Chase said. “But if so, he's too late. We'll be done with the shearing in another two days and he won't be able to do a thing to you after that.”

Derrick nodded, a relieved look on his face. “That's true. Well, I'd best get back to the pens. I have some shearing to do.” He grabbed a set of shears and then walked away, whistling a sprightly tune.

“I must help,” Harriet said, collecting the other shears. She turned to go, but Chase caught her wrist.

Against her brown skin the talisman ring glittered as if jewel-encrusted. “You wore this to irk me.”