School For Heiresses 2- Only a Duke Will Do (32 page)

“I told you that neither I nor my wife’s group support Godw—”

“Ah, but most people don’t know that. And by the time that information has been disseminated and confirmed, I could have your credit with the Commons so undermined that no one would ever dare offer you a position of power.”

It was a clear and blatant threat. Continue to let Louisa support the London Ladies and his political career was over. Nor did he have the supporters to combat that yet.

“This is not just,” he said in a low voice. “Those women have every right to press for reform, every right to put up a reasonable candidate—”

“And we have every right to choose who replaces Liverpool, don’t we?”

“The king will never allow it,” he hissed.

“The king knows we are having this conversation. He says that you have not done as he hoped with his daughter. So now it is our turn to persuade you.”

Simon paled. He should never have trusted His Fickle Majesty. The man would sell his own mother to placate his ministers. Never mind that his people suffered at the hands of the bloody idiots; the king wanted only peace and quiet, however he could get it. And the leisure to enjoy his pleasures. Yet was Simon any different? Because he did not want Louisa to hate him and deny him her bed, he was willing to capitulate to her group, even at the risk to his own career. Even knowing that his being prime minister would be better for the country—for her cause—in the long run. Grandfather Monteith was right. Simon was a slave to his passions. But no more.

“Very well,” he said, much as he loathed giving in to their blackmail. “I will make sure my wife resigns from the London Ladies Society. But understand that I cannot do anything about my sister or her friends

—”

“We wouldn’t expect that. Just sever your ties and we’ll be content. That was, after all, what you promised to do from the beginning.”

True. But that was before he knew how worthy Louisa’s cause was. Before he saw that she and her ladies were intelligent women every bit as capable of reasonable involvement in politics as any man. Don’t think about that. The others will still have their chance. All you are doing is removing Louisa from the situation. Which she would have done herself once she conceived your child. So why did capitulating to Sidmouth’s demands feel like a betrayal of not only her ideals, but his own? It didn’t matter. Politics was a nasty business, and it was time his wife learned that. And as much as he didn’t want to be the one to teach her the lesson, he had no choice.

Louisa awoke after 2 A.M. in the master bedchamber of Foxmoor House, with her book still propped on her chest and the candle merely a nub. And no Simon. He still hadn’t returned from Parliament. Sometimes sessions did go late, but this late? Even poor Raji, whom she’d brought up here to keep her company, was dozing on Simon’s pillow.

Trying not to wake the monkey—or worry about where her husband might be—she drew on her wrapper and headed downstairs. There was no way she’d sleep now. So as long as she was up, she might as well look through more letters.

She and Simon were nearly finished going through his grandfather’s correspondence. Simon’s solicitor had sent a note saying that he’d unearthed a box of his grandmother’s letters in the family vault, but Simon was skeptical about how useful those would be. He’d claimed that his grandfather would never have allowed his wife to keep anything so dangerous. According to Simon, Lord Monteith had kept his wife quite firmly under his thumb. Which didn’t surprise Louisa, given what Betsy had said about the man and his tactics.

She felt that clutch in her belly again, the anger and horror that had hit her after Betsy had revealed the callous methods Simon’s grandfather had used to teach him “that a man must keep his urges in their place.” That women “are interchangeable.”

What a horrible person. No wonder Simon hated him.

But should she tell Simon that she knew the truth about the earl? No. Simon was proud, and clearly mortified by his grandfather’s cruel methods. Otherwise he would have told her already about what he’d endured.

She didn’t want to shame him. She wanted to heal him, to show him that love wasn’t a weakness to avoid. From what Betsy had said and the things he’d said himself, he seemed to believe that he couldn’t feel love. But she didn’t believe that. She’d seen Simon’s kindness, his indulgence. He could feel a great many things, if only he would let himself.

But it would take patience and caring to undo the damage his heartless grandfather had done. One thing her work at Newgate had taught her was that wounded souls responded best to kindness and trust. The women at Newgate had flourished because she and Mrs. Fry had said, “We have faith that you can do it, that you can better yourselves. We want to see you do it.”

She must show her faith in her husband, too. She’d already taken the first step by abandoning her sponges. Time to put her fear behind her, so he could put his past behind him. She entered Simon’s study, then stopped short. Her husband was slumped in the chair behind his desk, sound asleep. His coat was slung over a chair, his waistcoat neatly folded on his desk, and his cravat hung from the globe stand.

A smile touched her lips. Poor dear Simon. He must have come home late, found her asleep, and decided to work on the letters. Skirting the desk, she removed from his hand the one he was clutching. That was enough to wake him, for he jerked up with a start. “Bloody hell, what—” He broke off as he saw her standing there in her nightdress and wrapper. A strange wariness passed over his features before he dropped his gaze to his desk and picked up another letter. “I…um…was doing some work before I came upstairs.”

With a smile, she took that letter from him, too. “It’s two in the morning, darling. I think you can rest now.”

“Why are you still up?” he asked.

Her smile faltered. So he hadn’t found her asleep. He’d come in and gone straight to his study. She swallowed. That probably wasn’t unusual for a man like him, was it? Yet he hadn’t done it before. Even on nights when he’d decided to work late, he had come up to tell her first.

“Raji and I fell asleep waiting for you,” she explained. “When I woke up and you still weren’t home, I came downstairs.”

“I did not mean to worry you,” he said, then seemed to catch himself, for he added more coldly, “I went to my club. Men do that, you know. Stay out late at their clubs. Drink. Gamble.”

Yet she didn’t smell liquor on him.

No, he was pushing her away. And she suspected she knew why, too: because he was afraid of what she might have learned about his past this afternoon. Of how it might affect her feelings for him. So she must show him that nothing could alter her feelings for him. “You’ve had quite the busy night then, haven’t you?” she said cheerily and bent to take his hand. “All the more reason you need to come upstairs and get some sleep.”

He inhaled sharply, then caught her hand in a firm grip, staying her. When she glanced at him, he met her gaze with a heavy-lidded one of his own, then flattened her hand against his groin. Instantly, his flesh stirred beneath her fingers. “It’s not sleep that I need,” he growled. He eyed her with an almost feverish intensity. She knew that hungry look well. It came whenever he was tense or distraught, and it inevitably came before a swift, hard bout of fierce lovemaking that wrung them both out and enabled him to sleep.

She’d never questioned it before, but that was because she hadn’t known about his grandfather’s curst “

training.” Now that she did, she wondered if what he really wanted was something he dared not ask for. Closeness. Affection.

Which he probably thought he could only get from bedding her.

The earl had lots of rules for us to follow with him, Betsy had said. No talking to the lad ever. And if he spoke to us, we were to report every word to his grandfather. Anything other than “do this, do that”

earned him a thrashing later. He learned not to say anything foolish or sentimental. He learned not to request anything, only to demand his pleasure.

Slowly, he stroked her hand up his burgeoning arousal. “What I need is satisfaction for this.” With his other hand, he tugged loose the tie of her wrapper, then pushed it off her shoulders to bare her sheer nightdress.

Her nipples tightened beneath the stark hunger of his gaze. He swept some letters aside, then ordered, “

On the desk. Get up on the desk.”

Though he often made such commands, a chill swept through her at this one. Because now she knew why. But this time she would also give him what he couldn’t bring himself to ask for.

“Up on the desk, Louisa,” Simon repeated.

“No.”

He blinked. “What?”

Only certain positions were allowed.

Louisa had asked Betsy to explain that. That was when she’d realized that Simon only made love in positions where he was in control. And that there were other positions he could have used but didn’t. Louisa had just been too inexperienced to know any better.

“I want to try something else,” Louisa said, determined to erode his “training” however she could. Reaching down, she unbuttoned his trousers, then his drawers, so that his rampant erection sprang free. She lifted her nightdress and straddled his legs.

“How did you learn about that?” he rasped, even as his hands settled on her hips.

“From a book in that shop in Spitalfields where I got my sponges,” she lied. “It looked interesting.”

Sliding up his legs until her privates cradled his rigid member, she held her breath, fearful of how he would react.

He just groaned. “You never cease to amaze me, sweetheart.”

Relief coursed through her at his capitulation. “I do my best.” She leaned forward to brush her lips over his tousled hair and his fine wide brow. “What else can you expect from Cleopatra?”

“Less talk, more seduction,” he muttered, shoving his thick flesh against her. He reached for her breasts, but she pushed his hands aside.

“I’d rather play with you a while first.” She unfastened his braces and tossed them aside, then unbuttoned his shirt and stripped it off.

“Playing” had been another of his grandfather’s taboos at the bawdy house. The women were supposed to be mere vessels for Simon’s urges. Anything that smacked of affection or kindness had been forbidden. Including flattery, since the women weren’t allowed to speak to him.

“I love touching your body, Simon.” Louisa ran her fingers down his lovely broad chest. “It’s so finely made, like those exquisite carvings you whittle.” With a coy smile, she tweaked his flat male nipple. “And it’s fun to play with, too.”

“Louisa…” he choked out, throwing his head back against the chair. “Oh God, don’t tease me…I want you…too badly tonight.”

“Just tonight?” she quipped.

He gazed at her with an oddly stricken expression. “Of course not.”

Briefly unsettled by his reaction, she guided his hands beneath her nightdress to her breasts. “I love the way you touch me,” she whispered. “The way you make me feel.”

“Do you?” He fondled her, his eyes holding such yearning that it made her heart ache.

“I love how you look at me,” she went on, determined to make this be about more than just swiving. “It makes me feel how much you care for me. It sends shivers down my spine.”

“I can think of better ways to send shivers down your spine.” He stroked her with his erection. “And haven’t you played long enough, sweetheart?”

She choked down a protest. “Yes, I suppose I have,” she said, reminding herself that changing his habits would take time. And quite likely Simon would never relinquish control entirely over their lovemaking. But this was at least a start.

Rising up on her knees, she impaled herself on him, delighting in the shudder that wracked him. But when he thrust up so hard he practically lifted her off his lap, she said, “Wait. I want to be in charge for once.”

His eyes blazed at her. “You always want to be in charge, you with your London Ladies and your sponges—”

“No sponges.” Casting him a loving smile, she squirmed on his lap. “I threw every one of them out after I got home this evening.”

He blinked. “Really?”

“I want your child—our child.” When his eyes lit up at that news, she rose, then came down on him with an aching slowness. “Today made me see that childbirth has rewards, as well as risks. And having your baby is a reward I can no longer resist.”

She kissed him then, and the kiss instantly turned wild and raw, all tongues and teeth and uncontrollable passion.

So uncontrollable that it took her a few minutes to realize that he’d taken over the motion she’d wanted to claim for herself, and was pumping up and down inside her in short, quick bursts. She tore her mouth from his. “Sit still, for heaven’s sake! It’s my turn to make love to you.” Her eyes gleamed at him as she rose up too high for him to fully thrust inside her. “You might like it, you know.”

“You go too slow,” he grumbled.

She came down on him hard, then repeated the motion swiftly. “Better?”

“Yes.” Trembling with the effort not to thrust, he nuzzled her breasts through her nightdress. “But it would be better still if you…took off your gown.”

Delighted that he hadn’t commanded her to do it, she complied. But perhaps commands weren’t such a bad idea, given what Betsy had told her. She pushed her breasts in his face. “Suck them, Simon,” she demanded, then couldn’t help adding, “Please.”

Not only did his mouth seize her nipple with unprecedented fervor, but his flesh seemed to stiffen and grow even larger inside her. Her taking charge was arousing him. Perhaps there was hope for him yet.

“That’s so good, yes,” she whispered, wanting to reward him. “I love when you do that.”

That sent him into a frenzy of caresses and kisses, each more delicious than the last. She increased her pace until he was moaning low in his throat, his fingers digging into her waist, his mouth frantic on her breasts.

“Touch me…down there…” she begged, “the way you do…”

“Like this?” He pressed his finger right where she wanted it.

She jumped. “Yes, yes…oh, heavens…just like that.”

“That pleases you, doesn’t it?” he demanded, his body moving in tandem with hers, forcing her up in violent jerks as she slammed back down against him over and over.