Suzanna Medeiros (2 page)

Disappointment tinged the anger burning within him as she spoke. The deceitful, conniving woman sitting before him now, the one who would blithely make plans to defraud the heir to her husband’s estate of his rightful inheritance, bore no resemblance whatsoever to the woman he’d once known and loved.

And with that realization came the certainty that he was well and truly free of the hold she had once held over him.

He started to refuse, but something held him back. He might no longer love Miranda, but he couldn’t deny that he was still very attracted to her. And despite everything, this new woman sitting before him was a mystery he found himself longing to unravel.

“Can you have children? In twelve years you should have already had more than one.”

She didn’t hesitate before replying. “Robert was older. Our marriage was not a physical one.”

He scoffed at that. “I hope you’re not about to tell me you’re a virgin.”

She closed her eyes for a moment and it seemed as though his question had embarrassed her. Given her former bravado and what she had just asked of him, her reluctance to discuss the details surrounding her outrageous plan was more than a little out of place.

“No. In the beginning he visited me, but it was not long before he stopped.”

“Why?”

Annoyance flashed across her face.

“How would I know why? I assumed he had a mistress, but I was not about to ask him.”

He couldn’t keep himself from asking the obvious question. “How long has it been?”

She looked back at him. “Long enough that I am certain I am not carrying his child.”

Her answer was far from satisfactory, but since he didn’t want to hear the intimate details of her marriage, he didn’t press her further.

They sat there for some time, holding each other’s gaze, but neither one willing to make the next move. As the silence lengthened, his awareness of Miranda grew. Images of the two of them in bed, his hands sliding over every inch of her body, her face contorted in ecstasy as she found release, crowded his mind.

He didn’t love Miranda, but he still wanted her. Perhaps he wanted to punish her as well. Give her a taste of all she had cast aside when she’d casually dismissed him for a larger fortune.

His lust for her wrestled with his conscience, but in the end it was his desire that won out, and he knew he would give her the affair she wanted. It would, of necessity, be of brief duration if she wanted to pass off his bastard as Hathaway’s heir. And God help his black soul, but the thought gave him a sense of grim satisfaction. He’d have his revenge on Miranda, ruin her for any other man, and even the score with Hathaway for stealing the woman he’d so desperately wanted all those years ago.

If she wanted him to do this, however, she would have to work for it. She might have had everything she’d ever wanted fall neatly into her lap, but he was no longer willing to exert himself just because she crooked a finger in his direction.

“Satisfy my curiosity about something,” he said, breaking the now oppressive silence. “Why me? I’m sure there are any number of men who would be willing to lie between your legs.”

Her face heated at his deliberate crudeness, but he had to admire the fact that she didn’t lose her composure.

“I know most men have no problem bedding whichever woman happens to be near at hand at the moment. I was young when I married, however, and have spent most of the last few years at our estate in Northampton. I never learned to be as casual as some women are about their bed partners. And…”

For a moment Andrew would have sworn she looked uncertain. Vulnerable. But clearly that could never be said about a woman who planned to pass off another man’s child as the heir to a well-established title.

“And what?” he prompted when she showed no signs of continuing.

“You were once kind to me.”

That was a vast understatement if ever he’d heard one. “Yes, well, kindness is the very last thing I feel for you now.”

She said nothing to that. What was there to say?

“Did you want to start here or should we go up to your bedroom?”

That got a reaction. Her hand fluttered to her chest. “I’m not sure. Do you think it would be wise?”

She licked her lips, a gesture, he remembered, that always indicated she was nervous. His groin tightened. He’d been trying to shock her, but it appeared she was quite willing to carry through with her proposition, and his body responded eagerly.

Irritated she could still so easily rouse his desire, he lashed out at her. “Tell me, Miranda, did Hathaway kiss you and caress you before fucking you? Or did he simply raise your nightgown and grunt away on top of you while you congratulated yourself on the excellent match you’d made?”

She didn’t try to hide the anger his words had roused. Good, he thought. This was the Miranda he wanted. The calculating, aggressive Miranda. He wanted no reminders of how young and innocent she’d once been.

In reply, she stood. His innate manners had him beginning to stand, but she placed her hands on his shoulders to stop him. He leaned back in the chair and waited to see what she would do next. He wasn’t disappointed.

She lowered herself onto his lap, leaned into him, and raised her hands to frame his face. He could feel the rapid rise and fall of her breasts against his chest and, in anticipation, his own breath quickened to match hers. She placed her mouth against his, and in that moment he wanted nothing more than to crush her against him and take what she so freely offered. Instead, he willed himself to remain still, letting her take the lead. She moved her mouth against his, but it soon became clear she’d acted out of bravado and not experience.

When she drew back again, frustration had etched little lines above her nose. Despite the fact she had given him little more than a chaste kiss, she was not unaffected. Her gray eyes had darkened and her breathing was ragged. Aside from confirming the type of marital relations she’d shared with her husband, her kiss had given him another piece of vital information. He needed more, and he needed it now.

When he stood, taking her with him, she gave a surprised gasp and wrapped her arms around his neck. He moved the two steps to the settee and lowered the two of them onto it. She remained on his lap, but now his arms were around her. Her eyes widened when she felt his erection pressing against her hip.

“Right, no kissing,” he said, surprised to find his voice hoarse with his effort at controlling himself. “Let me show you how it’s done.”

He claimed her mouth slowly at first. Touching his lips to hers and brushing them against hers in slow, tantalizing movements aimed at gaining her trust. It was not too dissimilar from the way she had kissed him, but she obviously took comfort from the fact he was now participating. She relaxed against him and the heat of her body, pressed against his, fueled his desire.

He’d been all too innocent and eager to prove himself worthy of her when he’d courted her as a youth and so hadn’t kissed her the way he’d longed to. But now, with the confidence that came from experience, he intended to make up for his former restraint. When she sighed, he took advantage of the opportunity to deepen the kiss, tracing his tongue first against her lips and then entering her mouth. She stiffened, but only for a moment before matching his movement.

The notion entered his mind that perhaps she’d been acting the innocent earlier, but he dismissed the notion as inconsequential. Did it really matter? He leaned back against the cushions and she followed, draping her body over his. He groaned as the kiss became more urgent, their tongues and mouths dueling for dominance. Blind to everything but the lust sweeping through him, he placed one hand on her backside and ground his erection against her hip. He lifted his other hand to cup her breast. She moaned low, arching into his touch as he covered her full breast and teased the hardened nipple with his thumb. She moved now, writhing against him. Without conscious thought, he shifted, reversing their positions so that she lay under him on the settee.

When he had her exactly where he wanted, he started to raise her skirts so he could settle between her legs. It took him a few moments to realize that her hands had moved from clinging to his shoulders to trying to push him away.

He lifted his head and looked down at her. Her lips were swollen from their heated kiss and a flush stained her cheeks and upper chest a rosy pink. She was clearly aroused. Behind the heat in her eyes, however, he detected a hint of uncertainty. Damn. How had he lost control so quickly? He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath before pushing himself away from her. He watched in silence as she struggled with her skirts before rising to sit on the other end of the settee. One hand moved to touch her bottom lip and he knew with certainty that neither her husband, nor any other man, had ever kissed her that way.

“Are you…” Flustered, she stopped before starting again. “Does this mean you agree to my request?”

Mere agreement was laughable when compared to the feelings warring within him. Desire. Lust. An almost desperate need to throw her back down and finish what they’d started. Oh yes, he would most definitely give her what she wanted. And at the same time he’d finally get Miranda Hathaway out of his system and be done with her. And if a child resulted… Well, he wouldn’t be the first man with a bastard. And in his case he knew his son would be well provided for as the next Viscount Hathaway. And a daughter would also ensure Miranda had claims to the next Viscount’s generosity.

Schooling his features to mask his anticipation, he rose and moved to the door. With one hand on the knob he turned back to face her.

“I’ll send word of where and when.”

At her nod he opened the door and, anxious to be away from Miranda and his newly aroused need for her, showed himself out.

Chapter Two

Andrew’s note came the following morning. It contained simply an address and a time later that evening and was signed with an
S
for his title—Sanderson. That formality told her everything. He wanted her to know that despite the heated kiss they had shared the previous morning, there was to be no real intimacy between them.

That kiss had haunted her the rest of the day and had led to a night of passionate dreams. It had also served to make her feel like a fraud when acquaintances and family friends called on her to offer their condolences and see how she was faring. While she appreciated their show of support, the very last thing she needed was to be forced to act the part of the grieving widow when all she could think about was the fact she would soon be physically intimate with Andrew.

The hours crawled by and when evening finally arrived, a swarm of butterflies had taken up permanent residence low in her belly. But despite her nerves, she could hardly wait for the appointed hour to arrive. Her brief meeting with Andrew had told her what she had always suspected—there was more to the intimate relations between a man and a woman than what she had experienced in her marriage. She knew men took great pleasure in that physical act, and if the way she’d felt when Andrew had touched her was any indication, she suspected there could also be great pleasure for a woman.

When it was time to prepare for their encounter, she took great care to dress to her best advantage, choosing an outfit that would give her the confidence she’d need. Given the illicit nature of the errand she was on, she couldn’t bring herself to wear one of her mourning gowns. She chose, instead, a satin gown of deep red that had a simple row of buttons up the back that she could reach herself with a little effort.

Her maid had been surprised when Miranda dismissed her after the woman had laced her corset, but it was vital that the servants believe she was going out to have a quiet dinner at the home of a family friend. If gossip started to spread about her activities, she would not be able to carry out her supposed ruse and Andrew would have no reason to see her. If that happened, she would never find another reason to entice him to make love with her.

She left her hair in the simple knot her maid had created that morning and concealed her outfit with a black cloak before stepping out into the street. Her butler had been aghast when she’d told him she planned to walk, alone, to her destination, but it was only a few minutes away and he’d had no choice but to acquiesce to her insistence that she be alone. She’d felt a stab of guilt knowing he’d only backed down because he hadn’t wanted to upset her further during what was supposed to be a very painful time for her.

To ensure no one would discover her true destination, she hired her first carriage a few blocks from her home and changed hansoms twice during her journey. When the third cab finally stopped at the address Andrew had provided, she was relieved to find herself at a small house on the outskirts of London.

She paid the driver and stepped down from the carriage. Despite her nerves, she thought she’d managed to push aside the last of her misgivings. But standing before the front door of the nondescript house, she couldn’t help but wonder if she was making a mistake.

Her husband had been ill for some time, but his illness hadn’t been a fatal one. After the shock of Robert’s unexpected death the week before had worn off, she’d been taken aback by how quickly the idea for her current plan had come to her. She’d tried to ignore it at first, but the need to see Andrew again, to recapture the emotions she’d once experienced when they had courted, wouldn’t leave her.

Their courtship hadn’t ended well and it had been her fault. He’d been so young and earnest then, only a year older than her own eighteen years. They’d been in love. She might have been young and inexperienced, but she’d known he would never leave her and she’d felt the same devotion to him. Her confidence that they could have a future together had withered under her parents’ displeasure. Andrew had been next in line to be the Earl of Sanderson, but theirs was not a wealthy estate and everyone had expected it would be many years before he came into his modest inheritance. Her parents had, therefore, taken it upon themselves to promise her hand in marriage to the much older Viscount Hathaway.