What a Lady Demands (11 page)

“Not at all.”

“And here I thought I was supposed to be the one to seduce you. Isn’t that how the old scandals all go? The lord of the manor seduces the governess?”

“Is that what this is? A seduction?”

“It bloody well could be, if I let you.”

Heavens, there was a challenge if she ever heard one. She let her fingers trail down his neck and into the open collar of his shirt. “You’ll let me.”

She pressed her lips to his jaw, breathing in a lungful of earthy, male scent. He stood rigid, but just beneath the surface, he wavered. She sensed the want, the need, the hunger. Oh, yes, he desired her.

And she desired him. Wanted him for the tenderness he’d accept from her. And wasn’t that an odd notion? No one had ever wanted her for the tenderness and pleasure she offered, but she could give this to Lind. He needed it so badly.

He’d been alone so long, just as she had.

She trailed soft kisses down his neck, and his breath released in a gust of air. His arms dropped, and he held himself rigid against the door. She slipped in front of him, her body flush with his. Spearing her fingers into his hair, she offered her lips in invitation, slightly parted, inches from his, her entire being aware that his bed lay just beyond, waiting for them to set it ablaze.

If he took her mouth, he’d be hers. She watched him from beneath lowered lids, challenging, while he wrestled with himself. His inner turmoil, his fight against temptation, was palpable in a barely perceptible trembling beneath her fingers. She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue in anticipation of his yielding.

With a groan he gave in and took her offering. His arms wrapped about her, crushing her against his chest, his lips mobile over hers. Their tongues tangled, pushing against each other, vying for mastery. After a struggle, she surrendered and allowed him to take over the kiss, basking in his unleashed passion. It washed over them both like a dark wave, deep and heavy and compelling.

When he leaned into her and pressed with his full body, she took a step back. He was walking her into his chambers, toward a bed she’d never seen, but she imagined it was massive and wide. She savored the prospect of warming every inch of that broad mattress.

His hands came up to frame her face, and he tore his lips away, his chest heaving against hers as if he’d just run a race, and he rested his forehead against hers. He was grappling for control, steeling himself to stop. She could not allow that.

Once again, she pressed herself against him, hips canted to cradle his erection. She slipped her lips down his neck, while she loosened his banyan. Soon, soon, she’d have her hands beneath that shirt. She’d have beneath her touch all that golden skin she recalled, muscles jumping beneath her fingertips. But he took her wrists and pressed her hands flat. Under her palms, his heart pounded out of control.

With a shudder, he tensed and stepped away. His fists clenched at his sides. He was still on the verge of giving in to the passion he kept locked inside. She could sense it in the very air that thickened and lowered like a storm gathering.

She ran a hand from his shoulder along his chest, and muscles rippled under her fingertips. At his trousers, she paused. He curled strong fingers about her wrist, his grip tight and forbidding.

“Why are you doing this?” His lips barely moved, his jaw was so firm, but somehow the words slid through.

“Because I want to.” She flicked one shoulder. Let him think his potential rejection mattered not at all. A few frantic beats of her heart ticked past before she captured his gaze. “Because I need it. Because I think you need it.”

“I? I need nothing.” His tone was harsh, but she didn’t miss the movement at his throat, the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed.

“You don’t scare me, as much as you’d like to. How long have you lived this sterile existence? How long have you yearned after a little affection? The touch of another person?” Her hand slipped an inch, and his fingers loosened to allow the movement. Boldly, she stroked him through his trousers. “And this puts the lie to your statement. It strikes me that your need is great.”

She kept her gaze pinned on his, while she measured his steely length with her palm.

He flinched, but he did not move away or make to stop her. Good. She just might win this round. He might let her in. If lust was the means of breaking through to his heart, she would take that path.

His eyes fluttered closed, and his breathing quickened. “Who showed—”

“Hush. Let yourself go this once. Let yourself feel. Unless…” She reached for his falls and popped the first button free of its moorings. “Unless you prefer to relieve yourself with a cold dip in the pond.”

Without warning, he pounced. He grabbed her wrists and pulled them above her head, pinning her against the wall with his body. Sharp puffs of hot breath bathed her cheeks. “Who told you about that? How did you know?”

Her eyes widened, and a spear of cold apprehension pierced her through the belly. As hard as he’d made his voice before to dissuade her, his tone had now solidified to a density that rivaled a diamond.

“I…” Her cheeks heated. And when had she last blushed in front of a man? In fact, the most recent occasion may have occurred when she was fifteen.

The image of him emerging naked from the water, limned in the dawn light, flashed through her memory. She’d never stopped to consider why he’d gone for a swim at such an hour. At fifteen, she hadn’t the experience with men to make the connection, but now…

“I saw you. It was years ago, when you invited us to that house party.” The last social event she recalled him hosting, in fact. “I followed you one morning when you went for a swim. And who was the utter fool to turn you down?”

His eyes shuttered, and he eased away. “That is none of your affair.”

The harsh manner of his reply told her all she needed to know. Only one woman had turned his head then. Lydia Bowles. His future wife.

She pushed aside that ghost. Lydia was gone, but Cecelia could still have him, although her chance was fast slipping away. He was rebuilding the wall of his resistance with every breath.

She pressed her body against him, and his arousal probed at her belly. Thank God. She still had a chance. “I would never turn you away.”

He set his arms about her waist, but loosely. “We shouldn’t.”

“No one would need to know. I’m not…” She swallowed, unable to quite believe what she was about to reveal, but on the other hand, he had to have guessed by now she was no simpering little society miss looking to land the best marriage possible. “I’m not trying to trick you into anything. I won’t turn around in the morning and demand you make me an offer.”

“But your brother might.”

“He already has, for all the good it did him. He does not need to know about any of this.” She leaned in and pressed her lips to the side of his neck. “Please.”

He pulled away, setting his hands on her shoulders, holding her at arm’s length. “Some paths, once you go down them too far—there’s no going back.”

“Do you think I don’t know that already?” She nearly laughed out loud at the realization that he still believed in her purity.

He spluttered. “What do you know of such things?”

“More than an unmarried lady of my standing should know.”

His eyes searched hers, trying to pierce the shadows. “Who forced you?”

Drat. His fingers tightened about her shoulders. He sounded so sincere. So protective. And when was the last time a man truly wished to defend her? If she were at all conniving, she’d let him go on believing someone else had been the author of her fall from grace.

But simply because he believed her in need of a white knight, she owed him a measure of the truth. “Nobody,” she replied, pulling away. “And that’s the problem.”

Cecelia ran a hand along the smooth curve of the wooden hoop. At her feet lay a pile of colorful grosgrain, the remnants of the ribbon decoration. Without such feminine accoutrements, she might convince Jeremy to try the game.

She didn’t even know why she’d kept her old plaything and the sticks used to toss and catch it. Like the ribbons, they were a vestige of a long-lost childhood. Yet she’d carried them with her to this job. It was almost as though she couldn’t bear to part with this last connection to a more innocent time.

Now to propose a small outing to Jeremy.

She took the hoop and sticks in hand and turned from her chamber, only to come face-to-face with Mrs. Carstairs. “My goodness, you gave me a fright.” She’d have put a hand over her heart, only both were full.

“His lordship has asked me to inform you that you are not to come near his study unless summoned,” she pronounced. “He’s asked it to be locked at all times.”

The study was the least of it. Thank goodness Mrs. Carstairs didn’t warn her away from Lind’s private rooms. Cecelia’s pronouncement just before she returned to her quarters last night had left him slack-jawed, an expression she’d never seen on his face, but it was better than anger. His anger might yet boil over, though, if he decided she’d lied to him about her reputation. She really ought to have thought about her reply and schooled her tongue, but the truth had popped out before she could stop it.

“Indeed? And what makes him think I’ve been poking into it?” If he’d thought she was prying into his affairs last night, surely he’d have mentioned it personally.

“Why else would you have been wandering in the small hours if not for nefarious purposes?”

“My goodness, you seem to know a lot about my doings.”

Mrs. Carstairs narrowed her eyes. “I heard you.”

“I see.” The back of her neck prickled, and she dearly hoped any telltale blush confined itself to places below her neck. She couldn’t afford to show any sort of guilt, real or imagined. Not that she felt particularly guilty about snooping, since said snooping hadn’t led anywhere, but she’d rather Mrs. Carstairs didn’t find out Lind had invited her into his bedchamber. No matter what they’d done or not done, the housekeeper would draw her own conclusions. “And how would you know it was me you heard and not his lordship?”

An odd, pinched smile twitched about Mrs. Carstairs’s lips. “That only confirms my suspicions. If you know his lordship was up and about, it only proves you were, as well.”

“Suspicions, is it? A moment ago, it sounded like you were carrying orders directly from Lord Lindenhurst. So has this proscription come down from on high, or are you inventing tales?”

Mrs. Carstairs glanced away for a moment, but it was enough. Cecelia was an accomplished enough liar to pick up on the subtle clues others used when they were trying to hide a measure of the truth.

“And what is it to you if I enter his lordship’s study?” she asked quietly. “Why should you care what he’s hiding?”

“It isn’t what he’s hiding.” Her fleshy cheeks quivered. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

Cecelia carefully composed her features while her mind spun with memories of Lind’s kisses and touches. With the possibilities of what might have happened. “That has nothing to do with anything.”

“If you say so.” Mrs. Carstairs pressed her lips into a firm line, but Cecelia was an old hand at dealing with stubbornness.

She only had to wait the other woman out.

“I’ve already told you more than I ought,” the housekeeper said, the words coming low and rapid as the hoofbeats of a galloping horse. “If you find out things his lordship would rather keep quiet, the blame could fall on me, especially if you insinuate yourself into his good graces by means I no longer possess. I owe you a debt of gratitude for smoothing things over with him once, but I cannot count on it happening again. I know more than I’d like about thin ice—of all sorts.”

“You have told me what I needed to know about the boy. I swear I am not looking for any more information where he is concerned.”

Mrs. Carstairs leaned closer. “Please watch what you say in the corridors. The walls around here can have ears, you know.”

“Shall we move into my chamber, then?” Cecelia backed up a few steps toward her quarters. “I’d like to set you at ease,” she said once they’d closed the door. “I’m very grateful you told me what you could about Jeremy, and I assure you that any further information I’m looking for has nothing to do with the boy.”

Mrs. Carstairs’s eyes narrowed. “What is it you wish to find out?”

Cecelia studied the older lady while she turned the possibilities over in her mind. On one hand the housekeeper might run straight to Lindenhurst, but on the other, Cecelia might discover what she needed to know and she wouldn’t have to attempt sneaking into Lind’s study again. And as Mrs. Carstairs had pointed out, she owed Cecelia. “Lord Lindenhurst is attempting to ruin an old friend of his, and I want to know why.”

“Which friend would this be?”

“You mean he’s trying to ruin more than one person?” Good heavens, what had happened to the man who used to be such close friends with her brother? When he left for India, Alexander might well have packed Lind’s moral compass among his trunks, the way he was acting. “I’m talking about Mr. Battencliffe.”

“Oh, him. His lordship has his reasons. Reasons, I might add, I’m in no way able to divulge.” Mrs. Carstairs paused and studied Cecelia, considering. “And you’re wrong when you say the whole sorry affair doesn’t involve the boy. It does. Closely.”

Cecelia opened her mouth, but Mrs. Carstairs held up a hand. “That is all I can say on the matter. And I hope my trust in you is not misplaced. Please do not endanger me by pursuing this matter any further.”

And with that, she sailed out of the room. Cecelia followed her, but not in protest. She went to the nursery to collect Jeremy.

He eyed her hoop and sticks with interest. “What are those for?”

“It’s a game, but we need to go out on the lawn to play it.”

He chewed on his lower lip for a moment. “Is it like the games Emmy was talking about?”

“Not quite. Her games are more fun with lots of children, but for this game you just need a partner. Come along, and I’ll show you.”

She led him down the stairs, noting how carefully he kept hold of the banister. She hoped he’d take to this game. Normally the activity was introduced to young girls to encourage gracefulness, but Jeremy might benefit from the coordination it required. Or so she prayed. If he was unable to master the movements, he might simply become frustrated.

When they had reached a grassy area away from the house, she handed him a pair of wooden rods. “Now, here’s what you do. You use the sticks to catch and toss the hoop. The catching bit is easy enough, but the tossing part takes a little practice. You cross the sticks like the letter X and pull them apart quickly so the hoop takes flight. Like this.”

She placed the hoop on the end of her pair of sticks and demonstrated the motion. The wooden circle sailed through the air to land on the grass several feet away.

“If we stand far enough apart, we can toss the ring back and forth. You have to watch it as it flies through the air so you can anticipate where it will fall. Once you get under it, you can hold your sticks up to catch it, and then you’ll be ready to toss it back. Would you like to try?”

Jeremy didn’t look quite convinced, but still he nodded. Thank goodness. If he stuck to this activity with the same assiduity with which he’d applied himself to writing his name, he might overcome some of his clumsiness. Eventually, he might learn to walk without falling so often.

She retrieved the hoop and placed it on his set of sticks. “Let’s try just tossing it for now.” She put her hands over his to show him the proper motion. Beneath her palms, his wrists trembled, the same as when she first set a pen in his fingers. “When you make up your mind to go, you have to pull cleanly and crisply. If you hesitate, it won’t work, and your hoop won’t fly. Ready? Go.”

In a deft movement, she uncrossed the sticks along with him. The hoop sailed through the air and fell to the grass. “Very good. Do you want to try it by yourself now?”

At his nod, she retrieved the hoop and stood facing him. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Face scrunched in concentration, he jerked his hands, and the ring flopped to the ground at his feet.

“That was a good try. You may need to practice a bit.”

He reached for the hoop and tried again to a similar result. The next several attempts showed little improvement, and soon Cecelia found herself straining to maintain a cheerful demeanor. He could learn this, she told herself. He’d learned to write his name. It just might take him a little longer to master the movement.

The next try produced a pitiful result.

“I can’t do this,” he wailed.

“Of course you can,” she countered. “Remember how you had to work at signing the letter to Miss Crump? But you kept at it until you got it right. This is the same. You just need to prove to yourself you can do it.”

Another effort and another, and as the attempts piled up, his expression darkened.

“Would you like me to show you again?” Cecelia asked in desperation.

“No.”

Wonderful, he’d regressed to monosyllables. Never a good sign, that. Before long, he’d be off in his own little world with his tin soldiers. “Why don’t I take a turn, then? I’ll toss and you try to catch.”

But that proved just as disastrous. Jeremy concentrated. His gaze followed the flight of the hoop through the air, but the moment he took a step to get under it, he fell flat on his stomach.

Drat it all, couldn’t something go right? Cecelia had held out such hope that this activity would be within his grasp and it might teach him some grace. She didn’t want to end on a failure, either, because he might never wish to try again.

“What are you doing?” chirped a voice.

Cecelia turned to find a familiar-looking little girl watching them from the path. “Emmy, good heavens. What are you doing here?”

“I came up with me dad.”

Thank goodness, at least one of the adults responsible for her was aware she’d come all the way to the manor. But still, what a long walk for her little legs. “I’m glad no one will be worried about you when you turn up missing.”

But Emmy was far too interested in their activity. She ran and picked up the hoop.

“Can I try?”

Cecelia hesitated. While a partner his own age might encourage Jeremy, he could give up altogether if Emmy proved proficient at the game without putting in any effort. “I suppose you can at that. Here’s how you do it.” She demonstrated the movement. Emmy watched, her brow furrowed. “Do you want to have a go?”

Emmy took the rods. “Yes.”

Cecelia set the hoop on her sticks. With a quick movement of her hands, Emmy pulled the sticks apart. The hoop sailed a foot or two before it landed on the grass, the attempt better than Jeremy’s efforts, but still nothing close to expert. Or catchable.

“Why don’t you try it again?” Jeremy suggested.

Cecelia smiled. “You’re being a proper gentleman.” At the very least she could encourage his manners and sportsmanship.

Emmy tried again, but the result wasn’t much better. “This is hard,” she proclaimed.

“Yes, it is,” Jeremy agreed.

Cecelia’s heart felt light as a balloon. If another child agreed the activity was difficult, perhaps Jeremy wouldn’t feel so bad about his lack of success. “Shall I show you again?”

Wordlessly, Emmy handed her the sticks, and Cecelia demonstrated.

“Did it take ye an awful long time to learn?” Emmy asked when the hoop soared through the air to land several yards behind Jeremy. He’d been so transfixed by its flight that he forgot to try to catch the ring.

Cecelia smiled. “I honestly cannot recall. I was probably no bigger than you when I first played this game.”

Jeremy retrieved the hoop. “It’s my turn now.”

This time, the hoop flew in Cecelia’s direction, a credible effort, indeed. She lunged and caught it on the very end of her sticks. “Well done, Jeremy.”

Emmy clapped her hands and bounded on the spot. “Good fer ye!”

Cecelia sent the hoop back in Jeremy’s direction. He stretched to catch it and missed, but at least he didn’t fall this time or even trip. Perhaps, just perhaps, the activity might prove beneficial. She handed the sticks to Emmy. “It’s too bad we don’t have an extra set, or we could all play. I’m afraid I’ll have to give up my place.”

She settled in the grass, her skirts billowed about her, while the two tried to send the hoop back and forth. They missed more often than not, and when they succeeded, it was most likely an accident, but at least they were having fun. They giggled and shouted and ran, and while Jeremy tripped a few times, he didn’t fall once.

In fact, a new note infused his childish laughter, one Cecelia hadn’t heard from him as yet.
He’s happy.
The thought struck her from nowhere, and she knew it to be true. Stronger than that was the realization that such moments were rare for him. And no wonder. Stuck up in the nursery most days, a string of governesses force-feeding him lessons without taking the time to understand him. A distant father. The desire to run and play beyond his physical capabilities.

Perhaps whatever ate inside him, whatever gave rise to that expression of pure hunger she’d noted on his face, would be appeased for the moment. She could hope. And she could plan. As soon as she had a moment, she would contact Henrietta and see about Alexander’s daughters paying Jeremy a visit.

A sense of accomplishment filled Cecelia. She might well be guessing what the role of governess required, yet she was improving her charge. Granted, it wasn’t any academic achievement, but perhaps Jeremy wouldn’t be such an embarrassment to Lind if she could teach him to move with some semblance of grace. After all, when he was older he’d be expected to attend balls, where he’d have to dance without tripping over his own feet.

“Emmy,” she called after the children had played a while, and the game had devolved into downright silliness, “won’t your papa be looking for you to go back home?”