Tempting a Proper Lady (25 page)

He frowned. “Annabelle, I can handle Raventhorpe.”

“I'm sure you can, but he wasn't pleased that Pa's letting you escort me around, so I'd rather just avoid him when we are together.”

“I won't hide from him.”

“We're not hiding. We're avoiding. Please, Samuel?”

“Very well.” He led Annabelle onto the dance floor to set her at ease, but dodging the earl did not sit well with him. “I don't want you to be afraid of him, Annabelle. If he starts trouble, I'll finish it.”

“This is no place for a brawl, and I don't want Richard embarrassed. He's a very proud man.”

“And I am not?” The orchestra started up, and he swept her into an energetic polka. “I'm civilized enough not to start a brawl in the ballroom, Annabelle. Certainly you know that.”

“Now, Samuel, don't fret.” She gave a soothing pat to the shoulder she clung to as they danced. “I know you're brave. I just think it's better to avoid a scene. Surely you can do that for me?” Her smile was all coaxing and sugar. She might as well have yanked on a leash.

Was this the life he had once strived for? Was this the woman he had imagined as the mother of his children for all those long months on the island? This uninitiated flirt who thought to control a man's actions with fluttering lashes and a smile? If so, then he'd had a lucky escape the day Annabelle had broken their engagement.

“How old are you, Annabelle?”

She laughed. “Now Samuel, you know it's not polite to ask that.”

“Humor me. The years have gotten away from me.”

Her merriment faded to be replaced by compassion. “I'm so sorry. Of course they have. I'm twenty years old, though I'll be twenty-one in June.”

“Twenty-one.” Hell, she was just a baby. Had he really considered her for his life's partner?

He caught sight of Cilla strolling down the edge of the dance floor with Sir Harry. Her womanly curves never ceased to draw his attention. Cilla and the
baronet appeared to be in an animated discussion. Her eyes flashed with intelligence as she laughed, the husky sound getting lost in the volume of the music. Her hand rested on Sir Harry's sleeve. Now that was a woman suitable for a long-term partnership.

Friday couldn't come soon enough.

F
riday dawned bright and cheerful. Cilla glanced at the note in her hand, her heart stumbling over itself as the words sank into her consciousness.

She folded the paper as if were made of moth's wings, then tucked it into the tiny wooden box that held her simple jewelry and other treasures. Someday when she was much older, she would find these notes and remember with fondness how she had indulged in one wild love affair.

She had thought after watching him with Annabelle Wednesday night that Samuel would not want to see her again. But when the young boy had arrived at the kitchen door yesterday afternoon with the missive in his hand, it was all she could do not to snatch up the lad and kiss him soundly. One more day with Samuel brought joy to her heart.

She loved him. How could she not? Here was a man who sacrificed anything necessary to do what
was right. A man who fearlessly pursued the honorable path, even though it might seem an impossible task. No wonder he had survived the trials of his captivity! He had bound himself to Annabelle two years ago and strived from the moment of his release to keep his promise to her. She could respect him for that.

A knock came at the door. She tied the ribbons of her bonnet, then hurried to open the portal. Annabelle stood outside in the dim hallway. “Oh good,” she said, twisting her fingers together. “I was hoping to see you before you left for the day.”

“Is something wrong?” Cilla tightened her hand around the doorknob.
Please, God, let nothing go awry that would keep me home today!

“Not wrong. I just wanted to talk to you for a moment. Might I come in?”

“Certainly.” Cilla stepped backward, opening the door wider.

Annabelle darted inside, and stood fidgeting as Cilla shut the door. “Mrs. Burke, I need your advice.”

“Of course.” A bit alarmed by Annabelle's nervousness, Cilla indicated the chair of her tiny writing table. “Would you like to sit down?”

“No, I can't sit still.”

“Are you sick? Is something wrong?”

“No, no.” The girl shook her head.

“Is there a problem? Was someone cruel to you?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“Did you—”

“I've decided to break my engagement to Richard so that Samuel can court me, too,” Annabelle blurted. “That is, let both Samuel and Richard court me so I can decide which one to marry.” She sucked in a breath and bit her lower lip, eyes wide as she awaited Cilla's response.

Cilla, on the other hand, had no breath. Surely every whisper of air had left her lungs. Her heart had stopped. The world stood still, then sharply turned over on its axis, tossing Cilla aside like a discarded handkerchief. Annabelle was actually talking about jilting Raventhorpe, but the price would be Samuel stepping to the role of suitor.

He had already told her that he had no intention of taking his relationship with Annabelle any further than close family friend. But if courting her got him the goal he wanted—keeping Annabelle from Raventhorpe—would he then consider it? And once in the position of contender for her hand, would he then be compelled to follow through with marriage? Would his honor demand it?

If he agreed to any of it, their arrangement would end. And she wasn't ready.

“Mrs. Burke, you haven't said anything.”

Cilla inhaled slowly. “Does he know?”

“Samuel? No. I still need to break my engagement with Richard first before telling Samuel.”

“You made this decision after one evening in his company?” Cilla asked, her lips dry.

“He was going to marry me before, so I know my money doesn't matter to him. And I know him. I'm comfortable with him.”

Cilla nodded. Words lodged in her throat, unable to wedge past the emotion welling up there.

“I haven't told anyone yet,” Annabelle said. “I wanted you to be the first to know.”

“Thank you.” Was that raspy croak really her voice? She cleared her throat. “Thank you, truly. I am honored to be the first to know.”

“I'm off to tell Mama and Pa.” Annabelle grabbed Cilla in a huge hug. “Thank you for being such a wonderful friend, Mrs. Burke. I don't know what I shall do without you when we return to the United States.” She opened the door and rushed out, leaving Cilla stricken and alone.

 

John helped her down from the carriage. Samuel came to the doorway of the cottage, shirt untucked and his hair askew as if he'd run his hands through it. When he saw her, a smile swept across his face, and her chest seized.

Dear God, how could she ever walk away from him?

He stepped forward as she neared the doorway and pulled her into his arms, his mouth coming down on hers in a kiss that fueled her own passion. She clung to him, clenching her hands in his shirt as he gave her what she'd been craving.

Him. Just him.

Tears pricked her eyes, but she forced them back. Later she would cry. Later she would curl into a ball and let pain carry her away. But for now—

Dear God, she needed to tell him. How could she form the words?

He must have sensed something because he pulled back, slowly as if he couldn't bear to stop, and looked into her eyes. His brow furrowed. “Priscilla, sweetheart, what's the matter?”

She opened her mouth to speak and could not, not while she was looking into that face, those eyes. Beloved face, beloved eyes. God help her, but she did not want to let him go.

“We should go inside,” she managed.

“Of course.” Samuel gave a salute to John, who returned the gesture and snapped the reins over the horses. Samuel curled his arm around her shoulders and led her into the house.

Once inside, she didn't know what to do with herself. She stared around her, at the tiny cottage and the memories that lingered there. She wanted to moan like a grieving widow, to beat her breast. She could not do this. She wasn't strong enough.

“Cilla, my darling.” He took her by the shoulders and peered into her face, his own a study of concern and confusion. “What is it? Tell me.”

Tell him. Yes, she needed to tell him. She sucked in a deep breath. “I have news, Captain.”

“Captain?” He reared back a bit, as if uncertain. “Something has happened. What is it?”

“Good news.” She forced a smile to her lips, hating its falsity, trying to project a cheerfulness she would never feel. “Annabelle told me this morning she wants you to court her. She is going to break off the engagement to Lord Raventhorpe completely and allow both of you to compete for her hand.”

“Both of us?” he repeated, his voice flat. Shock, perhaps?

“You should be happy. We are closer to our goal.”

“Indeed.” He frowned and looked down at the floor, hands on his hips. “Certainly this is a time to celebrate.” Her insincere smile was going to crack her face if it got any wider. “Maybe some of that wine you are always offering me.”

He jerked his head up, his eyes intense in his face. “Are you pleased about this?”

“I am happy for you. I am not pleased about losing my position now that the wedding may not happen.”

“Hang your position! Aren't you the least bit upset about us? That our arrangement might have to end, even for a little while?”

“We knew it would at some point.” She strolled about the room, touching a table here, a glass there, trying not to shatter as pain crept through her with enough force to splinter her bones. “We are adults. We must do what is necessary. What is right.”

“To hell with what is right.” He swept her into his arms, and she didn't have the strength to even pretend to resist. “You are all I can think about and I would make love to you for weeks until you begged me to stop.”

His passion stirred her own. “I would never beg you to stop,” she breathed.

“I want you, Priscilla Burke. If this is our last afternoon together, let's bloody well make it the memory of a lifetime.”

“Oh, God, yes.” She bit her lip, trying to control the sobs welling up within her, but she lost the battle. Tears trickled down her cheeks. “She is telling Raventhorpe today.”

“She hasn't told me anything yet, therefore I don't know anything about it.” He cupped her face in his hands. “Come to bed with me, Priscilla, and let me take you to places you never imagined.”

“Yes.” She jerked at the ribbons to her bonnet. “This is all we have. Our last time together.”

“And we'll make it memorable.” He helped her with her bonnet, then tossed it across the room. Both of them tore at her clothing, all the buttons and petticoats and layers, leaving a trail down the hall as they made their way to the bedroom. All the time he kissed her, murmuring words of affection, of praise, against her mouth. By the time they reached the bedroom, she was nearly naked.

He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her, clad only in her undergarments and stockings, between his spread legs. He snagged the strings of her corset and set about unlacing it as she stroked her hands through his hair.

Such a woman. Samuel tossed the corset aside and filled his hands with her breasts. God, he loved touching her. Abundant curves formed a woman's body that begged for his passion and invited him to play. That bee-stung mouth—he had plans for that today. She was a grown woman, not some too slim, immaculate virgin who squealed every time he touched her. No, this was a partner who would arouse him as much as he did her, who
would tease him and torment him until they both exploded.

He fell back on the bed, dragging her with him. She laughed, that husky sound that drove him wild, and wiggled against him as she struggled to pull her chemise over her head. Finally her bare breasts crushed against his chest. He cupped her bottom through her drawers and rubbed his hard cock against her through their clothes. Sounds of pleasure erupted from her throat, and she pushed against his chest, forcing him down on his back while she straddled him.

He grinned, and she laughed, throwing back her head like a madwoman. Her hair was starting to droop, and she speared her hands through the sedate bun, sending pins flying as she shook her head, her hair exploding around her like some kind of wild mermaid.

God damn, but he loved her.

The thought took him by surprise, shaking him to the core. Love? How many times had he said he didn't think he was able to love?

She jerked at his shirt, and he allowed her to remove it. Then she tugged at the fastenings of his trousers. The fumbling of her fingers on the fastenings sent his lust soaring like a cannon shot. He tried to help her, and between the two of them they managed to open or remove enough of his clothing that his cock sprang free.

She pounced on it, making a growling noise that reminded him of a cat with a bowl of cream. She toyed with him, stroking her fingers along the
length with a maddening slowness that made his brain slow down.

He loved her. Why wouldn't he? This woman who had braved disinheritance for love, who had survived when any other woman would have crumbled. This sensual creature who relished sex as much as any man and seemed to have no inhibitions, no fears. Of course he loved her. Of course.

She dropped a playful kiss on the blunt tip of his cock, and while rockets went off inside his head, she sat up, braced herself on his chest, and sank down on him, taking him inside her through the slit in her drawers.

He grabbed her hips and held on as he thrust upward. Her warm body welcomed him, caressing the length of him with sweet, quivering flesh. He closed his eyes, hungry to spill his seed inside her, to claim her. To make her his.

She made a little cry, and he opened his eyes. She threw her head back, her hair a wild tangle around her slender body as she rode him, her plump breasts bouncing with her rhythm. He reached up, grabbed a hank of her hair, and pulled her forward. She tumbled onto his chest, catching herself, her dark eyes wide and dewy with desire. For a long moment he held her there, the connection between them taut like a vibrating harp string. Then he wrapped her hair around his hand and pulled her mouth to his, greedy to brand her as his, and rolled over so she was beneath him.

“Samuel.”

His name on her lips drugged him like wine, and he grabbed her wrists, stretching her arms above her hand. “Say it again.”

“Samuel.” She made a sound in her throat as he thrust hard. “Samuel.”

“Yes. Say it.” He worked his flesh inside her, driving both of them higher and higher. All the while he stared into her eyes, willing her to understand, to know, that she was his. Always. His.

“Samuel!” She arched her hips.

“Take me,” he demanded, then crushed his mouth to hers. “Take my love, damn it.”

Her eyes flew open. She gasped just as he buried himself deep, arching his back as his climax exploded over him. Too late. He started to pull away, tried to save her. But she curled her legs around his waist and would not let him go.

“Mine.” She gripped him with surprisingly strong limbs. “Stay.”

“God help us.” He stayed, settled as the last tremors of his climax shook him. “I shouldn't have—”

“Shhh.” She leaned up and kissed his mouth. “No regrets.”

“But—”

She kissed him again, softly. “This is all we have now, and I want to take all of it.”

He let out a long breath. “Wanton wench.”

“Yes.”

“All right. We won't speak of it now.” He took her lower lip with his teeth and tugged, then let it go. “Are you hungry?”

“Only for you.”

He chuckled. “Dear God, what have I done?”

“Brought me to life.” She stretched beneath him, her eyes slitted like a cat's, her lips curved in a knowing smile. “And I cannot thank you enough.”

“I bet you can.”

Her laughter echoed through the cottage as he rolled over and started all over again.

 

She loved him.