Read The School for Brides Online
Authors: Cheryl Ann Smith
The School for Brides (11 page)
“I only ask you to live up to your part of the bargain, Miss Black.”
Chapter Six
B
argain?” she said. “I have not agreed to a bargain.”
argain?” she said. “I have not agreed to a bargain.”
She attempted to step away, but her foot gave way beneath her, and she wobbled. His Grace caught her tightly against him.
“Easy. I have you.”
She tipped her head back and peered up. The look in his eyes stunned her. Her disguise hadn’t repelled him one lick. The desire in his eyes was acute.
She became aware of a hard ridge against her leg the moment he leaned to drag his mouth across her temple.
He was steely hard with desire. He wouldn’t be satisfied until he had her.
Panic gripped her. He was a debaucher of women, willing or otherwise. She was certain of it. But her body ached for his touch with a shocking intensity she didn’t understand.
Perhaps she was a whore after all.
Eva felt her eyes burn. Somehow she found the strength to whisper, “No, please. No.”
His Grace stilled and lifted his head. Slowly he released his hold and his hands dropped away. He was quiet for a moment, then, “As you wish.”
The duke turned abruptly and walked to Muffin. He lifted her hoof and dug out the stone. Eva wanted to call him to her and slip back into his arms. But the moment was lost. His face was set and his jaw tight as he returned and lifted her into his arms without ceremony.
The little mare barely acknowledged Eva as the duke settled her back in the saddle. For a moment, their gazes met.
Eva gathered the reins and gently kicked Muffin into a run.
N
icholas watched Eva nudge the mare into a jarring lope up the path, his gaze burning across Eva’s back and down to her trim rump. The surprise of discovering a warm and responsive woman in Miss Black had unsettled him. There was an instant, when he held her, that she’d molded enticingly to his body, close enough for him to feel the delightful curve of her breasts; breasts that she kept well hidden.
icholas watched Eva nudge the mare into a jarring lope up the path, his gaze burning across Eva’s back and down to her trim rump. The surprise of discovering a warm and responsive woman in Miss Black had unsettled him. There was an instant, when he held her, that she’d molded enticingly to his body, close enough for him to feel the delightful curve of her breasts; breasts that she kept well hidden.
She’d flattened the firm flesh somehow during her previous visit. He shook his head. Her surprises were endless.
Not once, when he’d stumbled upon her hobbling about in the mist with her fat gray pony, did he expect she would so easily accept his offer to help.
Instead, she’d sat stiff and quiet while he examined her toes, seeming to accept her fate. There was no weeping and wailing, no begging for mercy, no cutting barbs as he nuzzled her temple. He’d known the moment when she’d surrendered her body to him. And it wasn’t just the same resignation he’d felt at first. He felt her stiff spine bend against his hand on her back and heard her breath catch, then grow uneven. It was desire in its purest form.
Her desire had taken him aback. The feel of her erect nipples against his chest had certainly left any question of her hidden sensuality undisputed. There was a hunger in her that was deeply buried beneath her ridiculous costume.
He’d bedded women who feigned desire, and Eva wasn’t one of them. Her response to him was instinctual and passionate.
When he proposed she become his courtesan, she’d responded, as expected, with a biting refusal. Never once did he believe she’d accept any part of his outlandish plot. He’d never forced himself on a woman and didn’t plan to do so now. He expected that even if she did agree, by some queer twist of insanity, she’d come to his bed and lie stiff, cold, and prickly while he made quick work of getting to his release.
A very unsatisfying thought he couldn’t stomach.
This encounter changed everything. Whereas he once looked toward taking revenge on her with trepidation, he now anticipated making her purr. Perhaps he shouldn’t release his hold on her just yet, when there was much about her left to explore. Revenge had turned into a single-minded focus of seduction. He would peel the layers of her spinsterhood away and see all that was hidden beneath.
E
va stared down from the shadowy second-floor landing at the wolf pack of creditors standing in her entryway with stacks of bills clutched in their hands. There were rumbles of discontent and a few upraised voices as they insisted upon a meeting with her. Harold stood sentry over the lot lest they get unruly, and refused their request.
va stared down from the shadowy second-floor landing at the wolf pack of creditors standing in her entryway with stacks of bills clutched in their hands. There were rumbles of discontent and a few upraised voices as they insisted upon a meeting with her. Harold stood sentry over the lot lest they get unruly, and refused their request.
Every shop her mother had visited, every order she’d placed over the last several years, and obviously hidden, had come back to haunt her daughter. Eva counted a full dozen men and wondered how many more were outside awaiting their turn to confront her and demand money. Obviously, His Grace hadn’t purchased all her debt. She could easily surmise the reason they had sought her out this day and who had sent them.
The devil was at work to torment her. He knew she was balancing on a razor’s edge and needed a final push.
“His Grace said to ask for Miss Black.” A portly man in a suit waved a fistful of notes in Harold’s face and nodded to a tall, thin man beside him. “This bill has been past due for nigh six months. When can I expect to get paid?”
Eva blanched. She’d been so careful. Mother hadn’t been allowed to venture out without an escort for several years. When had this debacle happened? She ran all the options through her head and came up with the only conclusion.
Mary. She was the one person who couldn’t refuse her mother.
The girl was an efficient maid, but a ninny. If her mother wanted to circumvent her jailer, Mary would not be difficult to distract. Place a handsome footman in her view, or wave some trinket before her nose, and the girl would be trotting the Bond Street shops like a panting pup.
Mother was not always as fey as Eva feared. She still had enough sense to devise a plan to get what she wanted. If Eva lifted Mother’s mattress, no telling what sorts of treasures would spill out.
She’d have to get Harold to check. Some of the hidden trinkets might be worth selling.
“I will no longer extend credit until these bills are caught up,” one man protested as Harold began to slowly remove the men from the pack one at a time and ease them out the door.
Another shouted, “I am owed one hundred pounds!”
She wasn’t sure what Harold said to the crush to finally get them all out, but when the oak panel door was closed and locked behind the last man, she felt deflated.
After her meeting with His Grace in the park this morning, she’d rushed home to hide in her room and pace. Her body aches and fevered flesh didn’t subside with time or angry grumbling. Truthfully, the more she thought about the dark duke, the hotter she became, until she was certain she was coming down with some dreadful illness.
She felt trapped and ready to wring his manly neck. A few moments in his strapping arms and she was ready to throw aside all her principles to see what other kinds of sensuous games he could teach her.
Even now, distanced from the devil duke, she could think of nothing but the way he’d nuzzled her neck and how desperately flushed she’d become. She had turned into another person, not Miss Black with the dowdy gowns and bland wig, but Evangeline Winfield, daughter of a once celebrated and scandalous courtesan.
She couldn’t understand what was happening to her. Perhaps if she’d had more dealings with men, her experiences would offer an explanation. She hated His Grace with all of her being—if he were crushed beneath a mail coach, she’d not shed a tear—so why did her body not recoil at his touch?
Worse yet, in the moments after she fled from him and plodded home on Muffin, she’d envied the year Arabella had spent in his bed.
Truly and fully envied Arabella!
Gads. She leaned her elbows on the rail and dropped her head into her hands. What was she to do? He had her trapped in a fox hole. His Grace was pacing above, waiting for her head to emerge so he could snatch her up with his large paw.
And devour her with his hot mouth.
She let out a low groan and dropped back against the wall. Below, Harold walked toward the kitchen, unaware she’d been spying. He was her protector, her only friend. And she’d never felt more isolated than she did in this moment.
Eva could not confide in him. Not this time. His Grace wouldn’t be safe from her enraged servant if he knew what liberties His Grace had taken with her. And what she’d allowed!
Slowly, she limped down the hall to her room and closed the door to her sanctuary. But even in this place with the tiny blue flowers on its papered walls and coverlet in a matching hue, she could not close out His Grace, not completely. He was a specter ever floating over her, watching, waiting.
The mirror beckoned. Facing her reflection, she looked for marks on her skin, some evidence of His Grace: handprints, red splotches where his mouth had pressed against her skin. Nothing.
It was as if he’d never kissed her there, never caressed her face, never run his lips across her pliant flesh.
Frustrated, Eva looked down at her breasts. She never gave more than casual thought to the pair. They were just another part of her body and her femininity. But His Grace had touched one without invitation.
They were no longer hers alone.
If she went to his bed, would he play with them? She cupped the full flesh over her bodice as he had done. Would he kiss them, lick her nipples; suckle them until she cried out? Would he kiss her neck and touch her bottom and do all sorts of deviant things to her until she finally succumbed to pleasure?
Would she like these things? Would she encourage his exploration, invite his possession, or fight with every ounce of will she could muster?
Eva shook her head, dropped her hands, and backed away from the mirror. She no longer recognized the woman reflected there.
“I cannot become my mother,” she whispered and sat on the bed. The grim hand of fate had intervened to connect her and the demonic duke. He would never set her free until he tired of her. Eva flopped back on the coverlet and stared blindly at the ceiling. Would he be satisfied with one night?
Deep inside her she knew the pull of His Grace was too powerful to fight. He owned her; he’d sent the creditors to her today to prove his power and force her hand. He’d woven himself into her life and left her open and vulnerable.
“I cannot let him touch me again,” she whispered, disheartened. “I will not be his whore.” And yet, she knew she would be. He’d weakened her with her desire until all she could think about was how desperately she wanted him. How the taste of his mouth had left her wanting to explore further the silent promises his body had offered and her body ached for.
When he came for her, she wouldn’t refuse him.
Downtrodden and defeated, she pushed from the bed and called for a bath.
A
coach has arrived for you, Miss Evangeline.” Mary walked into Eva’s room as she was giving her appearance a last glance in the mirror. The girl’s voice held a touch of awe as she clasped her hands to her thin chest. “ ’Tis from a duke.”
coach has arrived for you, Miss Evangeline.” Mary walked into Eva’s room as she was giving her appearance a last glance in the mirror. The girl’s voice held a touch of awe as she clasped her hands to her thin chest. “ ’Tis from a duke.”
Eva kept her face calm and inspected her clothing. Everything in her costume was in place. Evangeline was deeply buried beneath Miss Black. She hoped it would be enough.
Mary examined her gown and grimaced. “I can fetch the blue gown if you like, Miss Eva,” she offered timidly. “ ’ Tis a lovely shade and fitting for an outing.”
The blue would be a fine choice if the duke were a suitor. Since he wasn’t courting her, and debauching her was his plan, he’d have to make do with the brown. His happiness was the least of her worries. “Thank you, no, Mary. This is perfect.”
“Yes, Miss.” Mary shot her a puzzled frown and withdrew.
When she’d requested the bath, Eva knew he’d send for her, sensed it to her toes. Her benefactor was not a patient man, and he was on a hunt for a bedmate. She’d felt the press of his desire against her thigh this morning. She knew time had ticked away, and the hour to accept or refuse his request had gone.
Arabella had left him months ago. Unless he visited prostitutes, he’d lived without a mistress for a long time.
Smoothing her skirts, she smiled tightly. The brown gown was little better than the one Mary was wearing and without ribbons and bows. It had a severe collar so high and tight, her neck rivaled that of an ostrich. She wore her wig under her oldest bonnet, and her spectacles were in her valise.
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