Authors: Cheryl Holt

Promise of Pleasure (21 page)

BOOK: Promise of Pleasure

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“It’s all right. You don’t need to be embarrassed.”

“Oh, Jordan.”

She wiggled away and stood, which only increased her mortification. Her nudity felt shameful, much as Eve’s must have in the Garden once her sins were exposed.

Lurching about, she searched for her robe and found it under his trousers. Without looking at him, she jerked it on. When she turned to face him, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, the sheet covering his lap.

She scooped up his clothes and pushed them at him, but he batted them away.

“You have to get dressed,” she insisted. “You have to get out of here.”

“Stop it.”

“No, I can’t have you—”

He took hold of her hand, the simple gesture halting her comment.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“You know what’s wrong.”

“We made love,” he said. “So what? It doesn’t change anything between us.”

“Are you insane? It changes everything.”

“How?”

“I can’t ever get married now.”

“Yes, you can. No one need ever be informed of what we did.”

Tears surged and splashed down her cheeks. On seeing them, he pulled her nearer and brushed them away.

“Don’t cry.”

“But I’ve wrecked my life. And for what?”

“You’re overwrought, Mary, but it’s a normal reaction. Sex can be very ... intense for a female. You’re just a bit emotional, but it will pass, and you’ll calm. We’ll go on as we have been.”

She eased away and stepped out of reach.

“You suppose I’d do this with you again?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

She gazed at him, wondering how he could be so cavalier. On her end, the incident had rocked her world, had ruined her future. On his, he looked rumbled and delectable and coolly ready to head down to breakfast.

“Could you ever imagine yourself falling in love with me?” she humiliated herself by asking.

“No,” he responded in his usual blunt way, “I couldn’t imagine it.”

It was the answer she’d expected, but still, she staggered as if he’d struck her.

“You should go,” she said. There was a tense silence, but he didn’t move, and she added, “Please.”

“It’s not you, Mary.” His expression was bleak. “I don’t know how to love anyone. I never have. I don’t have that sort of powerful sentiment inside me. It’s not part of my makeup.”

“I don’t believe that.”

He shrugged, but didn’t continue.

“Don’t marry Felicity,” she pleaded, disgracing herself. “Now that you’ve lain with me, now that you’ve shown me what it’s like, I’m begging you not to.”

“I have to marry her.”

“You could marry me, instead. I don’t care if you have no fortune. I don’t care if you’re broke as a shard of pottery.”

“I need her dowry,” he obstinately asserted.

“There are more important things to consider than money.”

“I can’t think of any.”

She stumbled to the chair and sat. They stared, separated by an impasse as vast as an ocean.

“I could make you happy,” she claimed.

“Yes, you could.”

“Then stop being so stubborn. Take a chance on me. Change my life! Change yours!”

“I don’t have a penny to my name. A friend of mine lets me live for free in a bachelor’s room above his gambling club. The bed I sleep on isn’t even mine.”

“If I could just be with you, I would endure any hardship.”

“I couldn’t support you,” he said with a ringing finality.

“We could find a solution—if you really wanted to.”

He sighed. “Maybe I don’t want to.”

She swallowed down more tears, feeling bereft, aggrieved, and so very alone.

“I see ...”

“I don’t want to get married, Mary—to anybody. I’ll be an awful husband, but if I have to proceed, then I’ll do it for money, but you don’t have any. I’m sorry. I’ve tried to be so clear with you.”

“I thought last night might have altered your decision.”

“It didn’t.”

She studied him, on tenterhooks, foolishly waiting for him to say he didn’t mean it, but he was stoically, intractably silent. He remained on the bed, watching her. Ultimately, he rose and walked about, tugging on his clothes.

“Would it make any difference,” she asked, “if I told you I love you?”

“No, none at all.”

“Then I don’t. Love you, that is.”

“Good, because I’m not worth it.”

He went to the door, peeked into the hall, and strolled out.

“WELL?” Victoria demanded. “What have you to say for yourself?”

“I hate him,” Felicity replied.

“I don’t care.”

Victoria was seated in the front parlor, Felicity standing before her. After pitching a full-blown tantrum, she’d been locked in her room, and Victoria had finally allowed her to be released, but she was defiant and mutinous.

“You can make me wed him,” Felicity vowed, “but you can’t make me like him.”

“You don’t have to like him. You just have to shut your mouth and do what he tells you.”

“I won’t live like that!”

“You will, and you’ll be fine. If not, he will beat you, regularly and thoroughly. He seems to have a strong arm; I’m sure he’ll get his point across quite vehemently.”

Felicity turned to Cassandra, who was perched on a nearby sofa.

“Help me,” Felicity implored. “Do something.”

“I tried to warn you,” Cassandra retorted, “but you wouldn’t listen.”

“He’s a monster.”

“All men are.”

“Aren’t you worried about what might happen to me?” Felicity wailed.

Cassandra scoffed. “You’ve been chasing this stupid dream for years, Felicity. It’s become a nightmare; but then, it usually does.”

“Cassandra!” Victoria snapped. “If you have nothing constructive to say, then don’t say anything.”

“She asked my opinion,” Cassandra rebelliously sassed.

Victoria glared at her older daughter. For such a young woman, she was so jaded, so cynical, and Victoria was weary of how she moped about, lamenting her widowhood.

Victoria wanted to marry her off again, to be shed of her upkeep and dour personality, but Cassandra refused to discuss another match. The ungrateful child had actually accused Victoria of selling her the first time, of deliberately placing her in mortal jeopardy, but Victoria wasn’t about to accept any blame.

She’d instructed Cassandra on how to deal with her degenerate husband, and it wasn’t Victoria’s fault that the unruly girl had declined to follow Victoria’s advice.

“If you insist on being horrid to me,” Felicity whined to Cassandra, “just go away. I have Mother sniping at me. I don’t need you, too.”

“I’ll go,” Cassandra rejoined, “as soon as Viscount Redvers arrives. I can’t wait to see you grovel.”

“You wicked shrew!” Felicity moaned. “Mother, make her leave. I can’t bear to have her watch.”

“She’ll stay,” Victoria declared. “If her presence shames you, so much the better. If I thought it would do any good, I’d invite the entire neighborhood.”

Redvers’s booted strides sounded in the hall, and the three of them straightened.

The butler knocked and announced Redvers, who was shown in. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his legs braced.

They rose, like a trio facing a firing squad.

“You wished to see me, Victoria?” he imperiously asked.

“Yes, Lord Redvers. I realize we had a bit of a
situation
last evening. I’m dreadfully sorry about any upset we might have caused you. I have talked to Felicity, and she has a few remarks she’d like to make.”

Redvers spun toward her but didn’t speak, and at viewing his angry countenance, Felicity squirmed and flushed with embarrassment.

“Lord Redvers”—Felicity gulped, then continued—“I should like to apologize for my behavior.”

“And ... ?”

“I understand that it was inappropriate of me to concern myself with your habits and your friends.”

“And ... ?”

“It won’t happen again.”

“And ... ?”

“I most humbly beg your pardon.”

He studied her, observing as she fidgeted. Victoria was on pins and needles, expecting him to call them a pack of provincial buffoons, then depart for London.

But he said, “Apology accepted.”

“Thank you,” Victoria replied. “I’m glad we can move beyond any unpleasantness, and I hope you are still planning to attend the village social with us. We would be delighted if you would deign to meet some of our neighbors.”

“I will,” he curtly stated.

Victoria nearly collapsed with relief. If he was willing to suffer through their paltry rural dance, then the wedding was a distinct possibility.

“Felicity has one other comment.”

Felicity was doggedly silent, and Victoria’s vicious scowl spurred her on.

“I would be eternally obliged if you would...would...”—she was choking on the request—“tell Mrs. Bainbridge and Mr. Adair that we are charmed by their company, and that we would like them to join us at the village social, too.”

“I will extend the invitation,” he said. “Mrs. Bainbridge will likely be eager to go, but I’m certain Mr. Adair would rather not.”

He whirled away and left.

They were frozen in place, his footsteps fading down the hall, then Felicity whipped around to Victoria.

“I hate you,” she hissed, “and I will never forgive you for this as long as I live.”

“I don’t care,” Victoria repeated.

Felicity raced out, and though Victoria had tried to pretend great aplomb, she was shaken by the scene.

She staggered to the sideboard and poured herself a stiff brandy, downing it in one quick gulp. In the stress of the moment, she’d forgotten that Cassandra was in the room.

“That was ghastly,” Cassandra chirped. “Are you happy now?”

“I’m very happy.”

“Why would you do this to her?”

“She’ll be a bloody countess,” Victoria seethed. “Don’t tell me it doesn’t matter.”

Cassandra gaped at Victoria as if she was insane, and Victoria barked, “What are you looking at?”

“I’m looking at you and wondering why you behave like this. What are you trying to prove? That you can make Felicity miserable all her days?”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you. Get out of here.”

Without further argument, Cassandra left, too, and Victoria was alone with her brandy and her fury.

“SIT, darling, sit.”

They were in Jordan’s bedchamber, where Lauretta had had a table set in front of the fire. She gestured to it and flashed her most seductive smile.

“All right.” He sighed and plopped down in a chair.

Though she’d traveled to the country for the express purpose of entertaining him, they’d spent hardly any private time together, and she was panicked.

He had to be dabbling with a housemaid, but though she’d snooped and pried, she couldn’t determine the woman’s identity. If an affair was occurring, he’d been extremely furtive, and the fact that he would engage in stealth was troubling.

Why was he concealing his antics? Since he was never concerned as to what others thought of his conduct, he must have grown fond of someone who needed secrecy. But who was it?

The possible answers to that question kept her up at night, kept her fretting over the consequences both for her immediate and long-range future.

It was difficult to latch on to a nobleman like Redvers, and though he was temporarily in a financial bind, it would pass. When it did, she intended to be at the center of his life.

He had to recollect why he continued on with her, so she’d surprised him by having a special meal prepared for just the two of them.

She was attired in a red robe and negligee he’d given her the prior Christmas. The color accentuated her features, and the negligee was sewn of lace, and thus, transparent in all the pertinent spots.

For all his incorrigible ways, he was quite a romantic person, and she’d often organized similar evenings, which he’d thoroughly enjoyed. He should have enjoyed this one, too, however when he’d entered the room, he’d appeared irked, and she had to make him forget that he was displeased.

She walked behind him and massaged his shoulders.

“You’re tense as granite. Let me relax you.”

As she dug her thumbs into his muscles, he groaned with relief.

“That feels good.”

She rubbed more vigorously. “This visit is taking its toll on you.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Felicity has been so horrid.”

“She certainly has.”

“What shall we do about her?”

“We
shan’t do anything.”

“But you can’t let her treat you so shabbily. Not with others watching!”

“I spoke with Victoria. She has the problem well in hand.”

In the matter of his marriage, Lauretta was his constant confidante. They’d analyzed his choices at length, and he’d heeded all of Lauretta’s advice. Yet suddenly, he was reluctant to confer on the topic, which was a very bad sign.

“What if Victoria isn’t able to rein her in?”

“Don’t worry about it, Lauretta. I’m not.”

“But she—”

“Lauretta! I don’t wish to talk about Felicity.”

He shrugged her off and leaned forward to lift the lids on the dishes the maids had delivered. There were slices of roast beef, a thick gravy, roasted vegetables, pie, and a hunk of cheese.

He seemed bored by the selection, and she scurried around the table and grabbed his wineglass, pouring to the rim, hoping some alcohol would loosen him up.

“Shall I fill a plate for you?”

“If you’d like.”

She heaped servings of everything, then did the same for herself and began to eat.

He was very distracted, and he picked at his food.

BOOK: Promise of Pleasure

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