Pleasure Me (7 page)

Unable to help himself, Garrick was entranced by the gentle sway of Ruth’s hips as she turned and walked toward the bedroom door. There was no artifice in her movements, and the sensual elegance with which she moved stirred his blood in a manner he’d not experienced since he was seventeen. But not even Bertha had created this strong of a reaction in him. He ran his finger just beneath his stiff collar in an effort to ease his breathing. Christ Jesus, the woman was a heady experience.

Just moments ago, she’d sent him reeling when he’d inhaled that sweetly tart scent of hers. It beckoned a man to see if she tasted as good as she smelled. It was a distinctly different fragrance from last night. Today she smelled crisp and fresh, while last night she’d been an exotic mystery for his senses. He suppressed a groan.

The minute he got Smythe alone, he was going to pummel the man for putting him in such a devilishly tight spot. He wanted Crawley Hall, but it was clear she did, too. And
that
was a problem he’d not had to consider on his way here. Although she didn’t show it openly, he could tell by the way she touched the doors, the banisters, everything, she wanted the property badly.

She didn’t just touch things. She caressed them. As gently as she might stroke a lover. He swallowed hard as his collar tightened around his neck again. He followed her out of the bedroom at a deliberate pace. He was walking a dangerous path with the woman. First last night, and now the proposition he’d seriously contemplated the entire ride to Crawley Hall.

It would have been best to just let sleeping dogs lie. Easier to let her think pity had been his motivation last night when he’d asked her to dance as opposed to his spontaneous desire to hold her. No, the only thing piteous about dancing with her last night had been his reaction to her. As he followed her down the corridor, his gaze dropped to the small of her back, where his hand had rested as he’d guided her around the dance floor. She’d been a soft heat in his arms, and he had no doubt she’d be a fiery creature in a man’s bed.

He shook his head slightly as he obliterated the images beginning to take hold in his head. That was never going to happen. It couldn’t. But if the woman could cloud his senses so easily in the company of others, what would it be like when he was finally alone with her? He clenched his jaw as they made their way downstairs.

Perhaps Smythe had done him a favor. In the light of day, he was seeing just how difficult things could be if he were to approach Ruth about being his lover in name only. It wouldn’t be as cut-and-dried as it had seemed in the carriage this morning. In fact, he had the distinct feeling it would be one of the most difficult challenges he’d ever undertaken.

Despite the dimly lit hallway leading to the back of the house, the kitchen was bright and open. It was an enormous room with a large brick oven and a cookstove that was so shiny clean it could have easily been brand-new. Delight lit up Ruth’s features as she carefully rolled her veil up onto the brim of her hat.

He couldn’t remember ever having seen a more beautiful woman. Her cheeks had a slight blush to them, and a pair of widely set eyes offset her slender nose. He could think of no one he’d ever met who had eyes the color of hers. They were dark violet and filled with secrets. But it was the dark pink of her full, plump lips that made his mouth go dry.

Clasping his hands tightly behind his back, he jerked his gaze away from her animated features. His reaction to her was aggravating. He knew better than to let physical desire take command of his senses. If he had any intention of presenting his proposition to Ruth, he needed to make damn sure he could maintain control of himself when near her. It was the only way the arrangement would work between them. He needed to keep the relationship strictly platonic.

“Do you know if the flue is capable of supporting a second cookstove, Smythe?”

Startled by her question, he looked in her direction. What the devil did she need a second cookstove for? The sales agent seemed equally puzzled as he shook his head.

“I’m not certain, my lady. I would have to have the local blacksmith inspect it.”

“Before I even consider making an offer, I would need that question and several others answered.”

“Of course, my lady,” Smythe said with a look of defeat.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to see some of the garden.”

“But there’s snow on the ground, my lady!”

“Thank you for that observation, Smythe, but all the same, I’d like to take a walk outside. I’m sure Lord Stratfield has questions, so there’s no need to accompany me.”

Before either of them could stop her, Ruth headed toward the door that led to a small mudroom and then outdoors. Smythe’s dumbfounded look almost made Garrick laugh out loud. The agent had no idea how to react to her, but then he wasn’t sure he would have had a response either. As she disappeared out the back door, Smythe turned to him with amazement.

“My lord, do you have—”

“I think I’ll join the Lady Ruth for a stroll outside as well, Smythe. I suggest you wait for us in the main hall.”

He grinned as he walked past the man on his way outside. For a second time the stocky sales agent was at a complete loss for words. The door to the kitchen closed behind him as he paused for a moment in the mudroom. Had Ruth actually gone out into the snow without overshoes? He rapidly donned a pair of the rubber coverings and followed her out into the snow.

From the size of her footprints, she’d foregone the galoshes, which meant she could easily fall if she wasn’t careful. Concerned for her welfare, he moved quickly along the path she’d made in the snow. The garden was lifeless at the moment, small bits of dead plants pushing through the few inches of snow on the ground. Fruit trees, their bare branches like spider legs crooked in every direction, lined the rear of the garden, while a barren white arbor crossed the path he followed.

Ruth’s footsteps led toward an orangery a short distance away, and he could see her shadowy figure through the steamed windows of the hothouse. He reached the building quickly and stepped into its humid warmth. The size of the indoor garden was larger than he expected. Someone had obviously been caring for it as he could see tomato plants bearing small fruit.

Ahead of him, he saw the top of Ruth’s hat. He really needed his head examined for seeking the woman out. But something beyond his comprehension drove him forward. Worse, he knew whatever was compelling him onward would most likely bring him nothing but trouble. He rounded a corner to find Ruth examining an ornamental pear tree. Whether she’d been so preoccupied inspecting the hothouse or his tread had been lighter than he expected, she cried out in surprise the moment she turned and saw him standing behind her.

“Good lord,” she gasped as her eyes flashed with anger. “You scared me half out of my wits.”

“Forgive me. I thought you heard me come into the building.”

“
No
. I didn’t.”

She turned away from him to continue along the pebble-lined path in silence. With a frown, he followed her. After several steps, she whirled around to face him.

“Is there something I can help you with, my lord?”

“I thought we’d settled on you calling me Garrick.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake. Is there something you want,
Garrick
?”

He ignored the lustful images that immediately flooded his head at her words. Folding his arms across his chest, he eyed her cautiously. “Why do you want Crawley Hall?”

“What?”
Shocked, she took a step back from him and shook her head as she stared at him in mute surprise.

“I asked you
why
you want Crawley Hall.”

“I . . . it’s an investment,” she snapped.

“No. It’s more than that.” He frowned at the way she blanched. “You want this estate. Badly.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes you do. You show it with every thing you touch in the house, even with these plants. A man could easily die of pleasure in your arms if you were to stroke him the same way.” He stiffened as he saw her eyes widen, and he realized he’d said too much.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She sniffed, her cheeks flushed with color. “It’s a house, nothing more.”

“If that’s true, then why don’t you answer my question, Ruth?”

He saw her swallow hard the moment he said her name, and the flash of emotion in her eyes propelled him forward until there was little more than an inch between them. She was breathing rapidly, and her scent filled his nostrils as he concentrated on the lushness of her lower lip. He stood there breathing her in, feeling her heat press into him despite the fact that he wasn’t touching her.

What the devil was wrong with him? At the first sensation of desire, he’d always managed to put distance between himself and a woman. But not this time. Christ Jesus he knew it was a mistake, but he wanted to taste her. He lowered his head toward her, but she suddenly darted out of reach.

“You must excuse me, my lord. I must return to London now in order not to be late for a supper engagement.” Clearly agitated, she started to move past him, but he blocked her path.

“Not until you tell me why you want Crawley Hall.” His persistence puzzled him. Why was it so important to him to know her reasons for wanting the Hall? The answer to that question eluded him. He simply knew he had to know.

“Step aside please,
my lord
. Your tenacity is most annoying particularly when I’m not obliged to tell you anything.”

“True,” he said quietly. “But I would like to know why it’s so important to you.”

She stared at him for a long moment, her gaze filled with a wariness that made him frown. He wanted her to trust him as she might a friend. The thought made him question his sanity again. Resignation furrowed her brow as she released a sharp sigh.

“Very well. I wish to retire here.” Another emotion darkened her gaze as he stared at her. He was certain she was telling him the truth as to why she wanted the estate, just not the whole truth. She didn’t need a house as big as Crawley Hall. It was meant for a large family, or as in his case, as a home for orphans. He clasped his hands behind his back and arched his eyebrow.

“Retirement? You’re far too young for that.” It was a sincere observation, but it made her eyes open wide with amazement. Suddenly, she laughed out loud. It was a melodious sound that generated a bolt of pleasure inside him. He liked the sound of her laughter.

“I thank you for the compliment, but I’m forty-one. And for a woman in my position, that makes my prospects shall we say . . . limited.”

“I think you underestimate your charms, Ruth. There are plenty of men who would eagerly seek out your company. You’re a beautiful woman.” And younger looking than she gave herself credit for
.
The woman could have easily passed for little more than a few years older than him instead of the twelve that was between them.

“You flatter me, but you have the blindness that comes with youth, something I lost a long time ago.” She sent him a wry smile. It irritated him that she could dismiss his compliment so easily. She was more desirable than she realized. He ignored the alarm ringing in his head.

“You seem to think me a callow youth attempting to gain your favor with flattery,” he snapped. “I’m not in the habit of saying something I don’t mean.”

Her violet eyes turned a stormy hue as she stared at him in surprise before she tipped her head in his direction.

“Forgive me. I’ve clearly forgotten how to accept a compliment.”

Despite her quiet apology, he was still annoyed. There might be a substantial gap in age between them, but it wasn’t as if he was fresh out of the schoolroom. Nor had she captivated him so completely that he’d lost his senses. An unconvincing lie, but one he could live with at the moment. He might not have the experience of a woman’s bed, but he was far from innocent as to what happened between a man and woman. More importantly, he wasn’t the kind of man who would unceremoniously discard a mistress simply because of her age.

And Marston had made that point brutally clear by his comments and current relationship with a woman half Ruth’s age. What the bastard had done to Ruth was reminiscent of the humiliation he’d suffered more than ten years ago. He’d lost his youth and innocence in one fell swoop the night his uncle and Bertha had deliberately humiliated him. He understood more than she’d ever know how deeply insults could cut.

The thick silence between them obviously made her uncomfortable, and he saw her fingers fidget with the handle of her umbrella. A ridiculous thing to be carrying out here in the snow. Of all the things about women, their fashions and need for fripperies was the one thing he’d never understood.

“If you’ll excuse me, my lor . . . Garrick, I think I’ll return to the house.”

“You continue to have difficulty with my name. Do I make you nervous?” He narrowed his eyes as he saw color flush her cheeks.