The Delicate Matter of Lady Blayne (6 page)

It had been more than James’ self-assurance. He was so smart. Smart from reading books. Clever from life experience. Always observing. She believed one could ask him anything and he would know the answer. The answer to all life’s difficulties.

And those answers wouldn’t be platitudes like—she took a deep breath…Oh, God forgive her!—no, there wouldn’t be any of Freddy’s blithe platitudes. Nor would there be any of Papa’s rigid rules. No, James would simply state the truth.

She licked her lips and swallowed against the dryness in her mouth. James. She craved his strength. She needed his razor-sharp acumen to help her make some decisions in her life.

She needed his help to make a break from Dr. Meeker.

Oh, God!

She placed a hand to her chest, attempting to still her leaping heart.

Dare she leave Dr. Meeker’s care? Wouldn’t it be the most ungrateful thing she’d ever done?

Or would it be the wisest?

Could she survive without Meeker? Surely she would dissolve into total debauchery without his influence.

Yet sometimes, she secretly believed with all her heart, that she could find the way back to sanity on her own. Indeed, that she must find it on her own. In her own way.

Oh, but she just couldn’t be sure!

But James would know. He could be trusted to give her the truth.

Maybe James could take Dr. Meeker’s place.

Why, he could become her guardian in every sense.

She imagined for a moment what that would be like, to be taken in hand by James. It would feel so safe, right?

Of course it would.

Yet, in the time since she had rejected his proposal and wed Freddy, James had stayed away from Scotland. So much time had passed since he had come home to England from the war, and yet he had still stayed away, keeping busy in Mayfair. He seemed to have forgotten altogether that he had a home and an estate in Scotland.

Because of her?

Sunny’s heart beat faster. Had he dreaded the prospect of seeing her that much?

Clearly, he no longer cared for her as he had before. Of course not. She had rejected him. But he was also a very important man with responsibilities. He didn’t have the time to attend to her. Not like she needed.

Yet, he had cared for her once. At least enough to have proposed. Maybe she could make him care for her again, as deeply as he once had. Care for her in the way a man cared for a woman.

But what if you can make him care for you? What about when you are strong enough to fly on your own? And he doesn’t want to let you go? Men can be possessive. What then?

She placed her hands over her ears and bent her head down.

I don’t know! I need him now. I cannot think past that now.

That was selfish. It was weak.

But she was tired. Tired from spending a lifetime being good. She didn’t have anything left inside to give anyone. Not one speck of goodness.

Yet, maybe she was being too shortsighted. If it turned out that he wanted her longer than she needed to recover, perhaps she could be strong then. Perhaps she could be a good mistress to him.

Never his wife.

She couldn’t take the guilt of a man’s disappointment in her. Not again. And even more distressing, Dr. Meeker had made plain that her hysteria affected much more than just her emotional state. It also affected her womb. It gave her horribly painful courses. It would also prevent her from conceiving a child.

But what if James had a misguided sense of honor about that? Duty and honor and strength, these were the principles that made him the man he was.

Well, she’d make him understand just how unsuitable a wife she would be.

If you cannot be good, then at you can be honest.

Yes, that was the answer. She would make it clear from the start, exactly who and what she was and that she understood and would hold no blame against him.

But first things first, how to make him care for her? To want her for a mistress in the short term.

He was her choice. Her first decision based on true choice in years.

The prospect filled her with excitement. And hope.

Her eyes had grown so heavy and her mouth was getting drier by the moment. The laudanum was taking effect more quickly now. She closed her eyes.

****

Sunny stood by James’ bed, listening to the distant chime of the clock in the vestibule.

One single chime.

Soft snores issued from between his parted, sensual lips. Despite the late hour, he still wore a shirt and trousers. His collar lay open.

She picked up the hem of her nightdress and pulled it up, over her head, then tossed it aside. Cool air made gooseflesh erupt all over her. Tightened her nipples. She shivered then noticed a bottle on the night table. She picked it up and sniffed it. Whisky.

She hated whisky. But her mouth and throat were so hellishly dry. She put the bottle to her lips and took a drink, coughing and sputtering then shuddering as the burn of liquor spread through her. The fire was thrilling. Stimulating. Forbidden to her. She took another drink. And another. When the bottle was drained, she replaced it on the night table. The bottle teetered and she caught it. The chamber seemed to tilt and turn.

She closed her eyes and licked her lips, waiting for the giddiness to ease. But it wasn’t passing too quickly, so she sat on his bed. Though the bed rocked, he made no sign that he’d noticed.

She considered the way he lay in the bed, as though he had flung himself there. She frowned. What cause had he to drink himself to sleep? Was he troubled by something?

What could possibly affect a Rock of Gibraltar that much?

He groaned softly in his sleep.

She smoothed the hair off his forehead, lingering a moment over the surprisingly silky texture of the inky black strands.

She slid her hand down the crisp linen shirt, down to the bare, hard flatness of his abdomen.

Chapter Four

Once again, James moaned in his sleep. Sunny lay beside him and leaned close to his face. He snored softly between slightly parted lips and the scent of whisky and musky male sweat overwhelmed her.

She placed her mouth on his. His lips were soft yet firm. She pressed her lips to his more passionately. The lack of response sent a wave of frustration through her. She slid her hand down the cool linen of his shirt, down to where the shirt ended. The warmth of his flesh, the hardness of his muscled stomach, the line of coarse hair, it all set her pulses pounding.

She slid her hand further down, down, down, edging beneath the waistband of his trousers, searching until her fingers met the coarser, prickling hair and then the smooth warmth of his cock.

She caught her breath.

His erection swelled against her hand, making things very confined beneath his fall.

He groaned.

She did her best to stroke him in the limited space.

He groaned louder, harsher, rolling towards her. He grasped her hair, and the brush of his fingers sent tingling chills down the back of her neck. His hold tightened and he held her head in his grip.

Dull pain spread over her scalp and gooseflesh erupted along her nape, down her back. The sensation made her nipples harden and ache. She arched her back, pressing against his chest. The crisp linen of his shirt abraded her tight peaks. He pressed his lips to hers more firmly, definitely changing the balance of power between them.

She was no longer kissing him; he was kissing her.

Intense, delicious pressure.

He slid his hands down her back.

His touch sent waves of shivering pleasure through her. She writhed and the crisp linen of his shirt stimulated her nipples, sending sparks of fire shooting down deep into her belly. He slid his hands down to cup her buttocks, holding her writhing body still. Pressing her to his erection.

He was huge and so hard.

“Wench,” he muttered.

Did he think she was a tavern wench? Is that what pleased him?

He thrust his hips, grinding his throbbing heat against her aching nub. She was growing wetter and wetter, dampening the skin between her thighs.

He kissed her more intensely, the taste of whisky and carnal fire on his tongue as he stroked it against hers, sweeps of wet, sensual velvet. The stubble on his cheek scraped hers. She thrust her tongue back against his. He gripped her hair harder and deepened the kiss, in his ardor sucking away her breath.

She put her hands to his chest and pushed.

He lifted his mouth.

“James…,” she said breathlessly. Inside she was tingling, her blood thrumming. She gulped for air, still tasting the exquisite, fiery elixir of his kiss and wanting more. His whole body went stiff.

“Sunny?” His voice rang with disbelief.

He pulled away.

“No, no…” She grasped his shoulders and tugged with all her might to bring him back.

He propelled her from his body and spun her to face away from him so fast that her stomach lurched and the chamber seemed to spin. She gasped, trying to catch her breath, to regain her bearings. His cock pressed against the softness of her buttocks, rock hard and pulsing heat. She arched backwards, pressing herself against that glorious erection.

He shoved her further away from him…

His hands were like bands of iron, holding her wrists.

She tried to turn in his arms but he held her fast.

“Hold…still.” His words came between heavy pants.

She struggled all the harder but, truth told, she relished in his restraint.

It made her feel safe.

Odd, the restraints Dr. Meeker used when administering treatments never made her feel safe. They were a torment to her.

Confusion made her feel dizzy once more, and dry-mouthed fear tingled to life within her. The urge to flee sent her into an erratic beat and she wrenched her arms, trying now with desperation to free herself. She kicked backwards and shrieked a curse at him.

He seemed to freeze for a moment. Had she shocked him?

She kicked and pulled harder. One of her wrists came free, her arm flying free. She turned, halfway, and on instinct, let her hand continue flying. It made sharp stinging contact with his chest where his shirt gaped open.

His grip tightened on her remaining arm. Fear-fueled rage energized her. She reached for his face, clawing him.

His curse burnt her ears.

Something made contact with her buttock. The sound echoed sharply in the room. Shock hit her, made her freeze. In the next moment, a fiery sting spread over her bottom.

Rage overtook her fear, so strong, she screamed with it and kicked her legs and beat at his chest with her fists.

She cursed him roundly, demanding that he let her leave. Now.

He laid several more spanks on her posterior. Several very sharp spanks. Stinging pain spread over her buttocks.

She whimpered, stunned into stillness for the moment.

Still holding one wrist, he rolled her onto her back and flung a leg over hers, locking her into place.

She tried to resist him again but she was growing tired, her struggling becoming more like flailing.

And the maddening thing was, he simply watched her.

Watched her fight, watched her grow weaker.

Eventually, she went limp in his arms. Exhausted.

“What the devil, Sunny?”

“Let me go!”

“You want to go?” he asked, as though she hadn’t just spoken clear English.

“Yes, you-you-you…
coxcomb!”

He regarded her seriously. “I don’t think I should let you go. At least not quite yet.”

She swallowed hard, trying to think of what to do or say.

“What are you about here, Sunny?”

He spoke in that same calm, serious tone he always did. Yet, now there was a hard edge beneath the calm.

Her mouth went even drier and she swallowed once more, delaying her response. Her racing heart was slowing.

Well, what the devil had just happened? Dizziness overcame her as she frowned, confused.

She’d come here to do what?

Seduce him.

Right.

She hadn’t expected his resistance. She certainly hadn’t expected his aggressive response. She had become frightened.

No, she had become frightened of her feelings toward him.

Just as when she’d been a girl. She ought not to have run away from him that night in the garden, so long ago. She ought to have allowed James to seduce her. They would have had to get married then, wouldn’t they? It wouldn’t have been her fault?

No, Freddy needed me.

And you let him down.

She frowned. That was the past and the past was set in stone. All her sins and failures were set in stone.

But the lesson is don’t be a ninny! Don’t run, seduce him!

How did women tempt gentlemen? Surely gentlemen had more refined tastes than commoners did.

Certainly kissing him and thrusting her hand down his trews and stroking his manly parts hadn’t worked. Yes, it had given him an erection—and what an erection! But it hadn’t placed her any closer to attaining her goal, either.

What else should she do? How did one seduce a Gibraltar?

“You’re drunk,” he said.

“No, no, I am not.”

“Just how much did you have to drink?”

Again, she heard the incredulousness in his voice.

She reached up with her free hand, intending to stroke the side of his face. To make an appeal.

He seized her wrist. “There’ll be no more of that.”

Hurt blossomed in her chest. Did he not trust her? “No, do no’ deny me. Take me. Make me yours.”

And protect me. Protect me from all harm. Even that which I bring onto myself. Take that horrid Dr. Meeker’s place.

He was giving her the oddest look. “I think you said you’d like me to
take
you?” His frown deepened. “Bed you?”

She nodded avidly. “Yes, yes…oh, please, yes.”

He stared at her. Oh, his expression! As though she’d suddenly sprouted horns. Did she repulse him
that
much?

She wriggled against the coverlet, the contact making her aware of the lingering sting on her buttocks.

He had actually
spanked
her!

Why had he been so intent on detaining her if he hadn’t wanted what she had offered him?

He laughed softly.

“You think it is amusing?” she asked. Shame burnt into her.

He brushed the hair off the side of her neck then and traced a fingertip along the cord down to her collarbone. “I didn’t think I needed to lock my door against you, Sunny.”

How cruel and mocking he was! She had never known this cruel side to him.

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to her neck. The soft-firm touch of his mouth sent shivers through her. Making her nipples tighten.

Making her more confused than ever.

“You don’t really want this,” he said.

His assured tone puzzled her. Hadn’t she come here naked to his bed? What man would ask himself aught beyond that? “I do,
I do
,” she said.

“Much as I’d love to oblige you, my lady, you’re too foxed to know what you are doing.” He kissed her nape again, this time opening his mouth. Heated breath blew on her flesh, and then the slight bite of teeth.

Wild shivers of pleasure chased down to her belly, tightening her nipples all the more and sending gooseflesh all over her body.

Despite the kindness in his voice, he had been teasing her. Mocking her. How foolish of her to have come here.

To have thought he might still want her. Was that it then? His wounded pride at having been rejected for Freddy’s sake?

But what other choice had she had? Freddy had
needed
her.

James would never need anyone.

He didn’t even feel the need to bed her when she had come to his chamber and presented herself naked for his pleasure.

Why hadn’t he come after her that night, so long ago in the garden? Surely he had known she must slap his face, that she must resist his seduction. Why had he simply let her go?

Because he didn’t want you badly enough, he didn’t need you.

Freddy did.

You had to be needed!

It was you who made the decision to wed Freddy, not Mama, not Papa.

You!

Your vain desperation to be needed!

All her fight left her. Her body went weak and she collapsed against the sheets and burst into tears.

It was too much. Just too much to think about.

James had never loved her. Not really.

He wouldn’t care about her now. Her means of escape had been an illusion.

Vain girl! Vain, needy, desperate girl! A wife’s place is to serve and obey, not to be needed with desperate passion.

James Blayne saw the unnatural hunger in you. He ran. Believe me, Catriona, he ran. Any sane man would. You must learn to cool your passions. You must sublimate that unholy passion of yours.

She had wanted passion. Wanted it desperately.

She hadn’t really ever found it, had she?

The emptiness rose up in her, threatening to choke her.

Some people had passion in their lives, didn’t they? They had fire. They were allowed to take joy in being alive.

Why was she denied? Why had she always been denied?

She hated her life. She hated herself.

Hated herself!

“I want to die! I want to die!” The words tore up through her throat. “If I have to stay here, I shall kill myself, I swear it!” She heard the rising hysteria in her voice, but she couldn’t tamp down her emotion—not now, not lying naked in James’ bed. “Do no’ let him hurt me. I can no’ bear it any longer! Don’t let them keep me here, I am a prisoner!”

He lit the lamp and held it to her face and studied her for long moments. “Christ,” he said softly.

His calm tone sank through her panic. She clung to that. To his calm, his strength. How like James to be so stoic in the face of her hysteria.

Hysteria.

Oh, how she wished to have never heard the word!

She had lost control of herself. Shown him her worst side.

It couldn’t be undone.

He would never want to help her now.

He will run, Catriona. Any sane man would.

James caressed her cheek, ever so gently. “You’re not drunk at all. You’re drugged.”

Then he leapt up from the bed. She heard the bellpull. Heard the rustle of him dressing. Then some time passed and, from the adjoining dressing chamber, she heard him order his valet, Robert, to fetch some strong coffee and to leave it in the dressing chamber and to stay the hell out of the bedchamber and not to allow anyone in.