Pleasure Me (9 page)

“Why not?” The blunt question left her floundering for a response.

“It’s far too extravagant.”

“Somehow I don’t think that’s the real reason, Ruth.” He gestured toward a nearby chair. “May I?”

When she hesitated, a small smile of wicked amusement curved his sensual mouth. It disconcerted her even more than she already was. Heat skimmed its way through her body, and she tried to wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. The moment she did so, she saw Garrick’s eyes narrowed on her, and her mouth went dry. She suppressed her nervousness and sent him what she hoped was a serene nod.

“Of course.” As she gave her blessing, he seated himself in the chair with a casual air that reflected all the grace and power of a sleek panther. Even his gaze reminded her of a predator assessing its prey.

“I’m under the distinct impression you don’t like me, Ruth.” The casual tone of his voice didn’t deceive her. The man was about to pounce.

“I don’t recall ever saying such a thing.”

“No, but you clearly showed a distinct aversion for my company at Crawley Hall. Even after I explained my actions at the Somerset ball. You bristled every time I came near you. Except one.” His last words were a low murmur as if he was talking to himself.

“I do
not
bristle,” she snapped, her tone immediately contradicting the words. She clasped her hands to keep from balling them up into fists. “Any aversion for your company was because you were a threat.”

“A threat?” The way he arched his eyebrows in amusement only agitated her more. This time with irritation.

“Yes, a threat. I wanted Crawley Hall in the worst way, and when you arrived, I saw it slipping through my fingers. You were the competition, and I couldn’t afford to like you.”

“So you
do
like me then?” He slammed the cage door shut.

“I . . .” Her skill at witty repartee deserted her when she needed it most. “I don’t know you well enough to say one way or the other.”

“Then tell me why you really don’t want to accept my gift.”

“It would offer up . . . the wrong impression.”

“Wrong impression?”

“That I’m interested in pursuing a relationship with you.”

“I see.” He lifted up the cane he carried to examine its silver head. “And what type of liaison do you think I want from you, Ruth?”

“I . . . I was under the impression that you . . . that . . .” Irritated by her inability to remain calm and serene in his presence, she drew in a sharp breath of frustration.

“That I want you for my mistress?”

The question made her heart sink with fear and unexpected disappointment. Of course he wouldn’t want a woman of her significant age as a mistress. Even worse was the small voice inside that mocked her for even considering the idea of a liaison with him, let alone wanting one. She shoved the thought into a dark crevice in her head to silence it, but it was still there taunting her. Unable to trust her voice to remain steady, she didn’t respond. His dark eyes studied her for a moment, his expression revealing little.

“I wonder if you would even
allow
me to be your patron, Ruth.”

“Of course not.”

Her quick response brought him to his feet in one powerful movement, and she instinctively took a step back and averted her gaze the moment he stepped forward to tower over her. Another smile tipped the corners of his mouth as his forefinger trailed its way lazily along her jawline until he forced her chin up so she had little choice but to look at him.

The banked fire in his blue-eyed gaze alarmed her. It displayed his ease of self-control—a discipline she didn’t possess at the moment. Worse, his look created a stark hunger inside her, one she wasn’t accustomed to feeling. Lust was a requirement of any intimate relationship she entered into, but this man was different. The intensity of the emotion he aroused in her was far too dangerous. She drew in a sharp breath as his thumb brushed across her lower lip.

“I wonder why you’re so resistant to the idea, Ruth.” He leaned into her, his breath warming her lips as his gaze locked with hers.

“I simply have no wish to enter into another liaison so soon after Marston,” she snapped, irritated that she couldn’t control her attraction to the man.

“What if it were your friendship I wanted?”

The quiet question was so unexpected she simply stared at him in bewilderment. She’d never had a man ask for her friendship. Although there was the occasional past lover she’d remained good friends with, such as Westleah, there were few men she could call her friend. Even her circle of women friends was limited to a small number.

When she didn’t respond immediately, she saw a flash of indecision cross his features and it surprised her. The idea that he was uncertain about anything was at odds with the impression she had of him. Lord Stratfield was not the type of man to lack confidence in anything he did.

He stepped back from her, and she immediately regretted the loss of his heat and the way it had warmed her body. As her eyes met his, she saw a glint of something she recognized in herself. A need to keep a distance between him and whatever might be a threat. But why would he think her a threat? He’d been the one to seek
her
out.

“Why?” She shook her head slightly as he watched her with a quizzical expression. “Why do you want to be my friend?”

“Because I like you.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“I know that you’ve an immense amount of courage. You displayed it when you entered the Somerset ballroom the night we met. Marston had just broken with you and yet you found the wherewithal to enter that room with your head high. You also have a good sense of humor.”

“And exactly how do you know that?”

“For Queen and country?”

There was mischief in his voice, and his wicked smile made amusement tug at her own mouth as she remembered the mirror in the master bedroom at Crawley Hall. Her good humor subsided slightly as she wondered what had made him not bid on the property. She wanted to ask him, but was afraid of what his answer would be. She wanted to believe it was because the property didn’t suit him. Otherwise, why ask for nothing more from her than friendship?

The sudden sliver of disappointment she experienced that he’d not asked for something more alarmed her. It was a preposterous idea to even imagine becoming his mistress. It was the last thing she wanted.
Liar.
Her inner voice was quick to denounce her, but she ignored it. She glanced across the room to where the jeweler’s box sat on her desk.

What would it be like to be friends with a man who expected nothing but friendship in return? Was it even possible? She turned and quickly crossed the floor to the secretary. The moment her fingers wrapped around the jeweler’s box, she wondered if she was in her right mind.

“My friendship isn’t for sale,” she said as she looked down at the small package.

“I see.”

His words were like ice cracking in the room, and she looked up to see that his features resembled the unemotional façade of a statue. Her heart thudded wildly in her chest as she drank in a deep breath.

“But as a friend, I would never refuse such a lovely apology as this. Thank you.”

Silence filled the room as she stood there in front of him with the jeweler’s box in her hands. He didn’t say anything. Instead, he found himself debating what her words really meant. Had she just accepted his friendship or had she just agreed to be his mistress? The mere fact that he was even questioning himself over the matter irritated him.

It was true she was far more skilled than him in the intricacies that existed between a man and his mistress, but he didn’t like feeling as if she was the one in control. Now what the hell was he supposed to do? His fingers curled tightly around the silver wolf that capped the top of his cane. The sooner he was back in charge the better. He cleared his throat and offered her a slight bow.

“I’m delighted to know you intend to keep my . . . apology. If you like, I can offend you more often so as to ensure that my apologies are equally pleasant.” He deliberately kept his tone light and teasing.

“No. If I accept gifts from you it changes everything between us.”

Her quick response put him back on a balanced footing. So she really didn’t want to be his mistress. The disappointment nailed into him with surprising force. What the devil was wrong with him? This arrangement was far better than making her a mistress in name only. It would make things much easier.

The Set would automatically assume Ruth was engaged in a liaison with him whenever they appeared in public, and it would immediately put to rest any unpleasant rumors. It would also hold the mothers with marriageable daughters at bay. It was the perfect solution. Better still, he didn’t have to explain why he wouldn’t touch Ruth.

Touch her? Bloody hell. He’d been itching to do more than that since he first walked into the room. And given he’d never actually performed the deed, that would be a joke of magnificent proportions, especially since his first and only attempt had resulted in humiliation and disaster. His hand pressed painfully into the snout of the wolf cane head. No, this wasn’t the direction he’d planned to follow at all where she was concerned.

Now he’d agreed to an arrangement that was far different than the one he’d envisioned. Were she his mistress, he could have kept his distance. The entire affair would have been a financial arrangement, nothing more. He ignored the mocking laughter echoing in the back of his head. A friendship on the other hand put them on a far more intimate footing.

He’d walked into a trap of his own making. And instinct told him it had the possibility of sending him straight to hell if he wasn’t careful. It wasn’t his habit to be at a loss for words, but at the moment, he wasn’t certain what to say. Even Ruth seemed disconcerted. Her violet eyes had darkened significantly, and he saw a small tremor pass through her.

Perhaps he wasn’t the only one uncertain as to how to proceed. She looked like a vulnerable young girl. How she could think herself old was unimaginable. He wanted to pull her into his arms and reassure her there was nothing to fear from him or anything else. The thought made him wince inwardly.

If anyone should be afraid, it was him. His throat tightened at the erotic images in his head. To break the awkwardness of the moment, he pulled his pocket watch from his waistcoat and flipped open the lid. It was past two, and he’d promised to meet Lily at Caring Hearts Home to review the orphanage’s financials.

“You have an appointment?” Her voice was a soft breeze in his ears.

“Yes. I promised to meet my sister. But if I may, I’d like to escort you to the opera tonight.”

“I would like that very much.” There was a breathless quality to her voice that sent a rush of heat through him. He immediately crushed the sensation.

“I’ll call for you at, shall we say, seven?”

He stepped forward and accepted her outstretched hand. The instant he wrapped her hand in his, an electric shock raced up his arm. He bowed slightly, his mouth lingering against her skin. The crisp scent of lemon brushed against his nose. It did things to his insides he’d not experienced since he’d thought himself in love with Bertha.

The sobering thought was the same as if someone had doused him in icy water. Desire was an animal reaction, nothing more. He’d managed to control his physical needs where other women were concerned. Ruth would be no different. The mocking laughter he’d heard earlier echoed in his head again.

He straightened upright, his eyes meeting hers. The sudden warmth in her gaze made his chest seize up with an emotion he annihilated before he could even define it. With a quick nod, he left the salon and charged out of her house as if the hounds of hell were snapping at his heels. He wasn’t able to outrun the demons as he threw himself into his carriage.

“Damnation.”
He slammed his cane against the seat opposite him in a vicious blow. “Friendship. You offered the woman
friendship
. You’re insane, Stratfield, goddamn insane.”

A groan rolled out of him as he closed his eyes. Why the devil did he care so much what anyone thought of him? He didn’t need the approval of people like Wycombe or Marston, so why did he bother to keep up this ridiculous farce? An image of his uncle filled his head, and he flinched. The man had hated him and his siblings. They’d stood in Beresford’s way to a small fortune and a profitable estate. A fortune and livelihood his uncle had almost bankrupted.

The past threatened to push its way up over the wall he’d built around it, and he breathed a sigh of relief as the carriage came to a stop in front of the orphanage. Here was a place where his troubles always seemed negligible. A great many of the children at Caring Hearts Home had endured much darker woes than he or his siblings. He didn’t wait for his driver to open the door for him, and in seconds he’d crossed the threshold of the orphanage.