Wicked (18 page)

A man’s lust had to be assuaged, but there was no chance of it happening with her, so why torment himself? Their flirtation simply made matters worse.

“Come inside,” she said when he pulled away.

“Only if you promise to permit me to stop by later.”

“James…”

He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “We have to spend more time together.”

“Why?” She scowled. “Did Mr. Oswald tell you to say that?”

“Bugger Stanley! This isn’t about him. It’s about you and me.”

“But it’s pointless for us to fraternize, James, isn’t it? It can’t lead anywhere. You haven’t the desire or the means to marry, and you’ve been very clear with me. We’re courting disaster.”

“I don’t care.”

“Well, I do. I can’t become embroiled in a scandal with you. I just want to finish out my thirty days and go away.”

“If I’m in your room, no one will know.”

“You can’t be certain of that.”

“I’ll use the secret stairs—the ones that enter into your dressing room.”

He laid the tip of his finger on her neck and traced it down to the bodice of her gown. He dipped into her cleavage, but ventured no further.

“Let me,” he demanded.

She gazed at him, and he could practically see the dozen remarks she was ready to hurl as to why she should say
no
. In fact, she’d just said
no
, so he was braced for her refusal. But to his surprise, she nodded—as she grumbled with disgust.

“I can’t stay away from you. I order myself to shun you, but I can’t. I think I came out here so you’d convince me to proceed.”

“You’ll be at the estate for a month. It’s silly for us to avoid each other.”

“You’re correct. The guests are heading home at eleven.”

“I’ll be there at midnight.”

They stared and stared, recognizing that a profound bridge had been crossed. James had no idea where it would take them. He predicted it would be somewhere marvelous, but dangerous too.

“Once we’re inside,” she firmly commanded, “you have to dance with me.”

“As you wish, my lady.”

He gave a courtly bow, as if they were at a London cotillion.

She snorted, then spun and hurried away.

* * * *

The floor creaked, and Rose jumped.

She was in her sitting room, and it was almost twelve-thirty.

After she’d shooed people out to their carriages, she’d rushed upstairs.

A cheery fire burned in the grate, two chairs positioned in front of it. She’d poured some wine, then sat down to wait, but James hadn’t arrived.

She wondered if she wasn’t losing her mind. She’d had so little joy in her life, had had few opportunities to feel special, and her despondency was pushing her into bad choices, but she didn’t care. James made her happy. Was it wrong to sample a bit more of the elation he induced?

Yes. She kept conveniently forgetting how he’d schemed with Mr. Oswald. And she didn’t know what she believed about Veronica. Yet she was breathlessly waiting for him anyway.

“What am I doing?” she murmured, appalled by her weakness.

If she’d truly yearned to socialize with him, she could have lingered in the parlor after the guests had gone. But she didn’t want the public room and longing glances and separate sofas.

She wanted him all to herself and behind closed doors.

Was she a trollop at heart? She couldn’t bear to ask the question because she was so sure of the answer.

Suddenly, he was standing in the doorway, and she laughed at her foolishness. Despite her impatience, he’d entered when she wasn’t looking.

“Hello,” he said, grinning.

“I had begun to think you weren’t coming.”

“Me? Not come? Are you mad?” He strolled in, all loose limbs and masculine swagger. He dropped into the chair opposite. “Lucas cornered me in the foyer. I couldn’t get him to shut up.”

“He is a talker.”

“An annoying talker.”

She chuckled. “Yes.”

“Are you liking him any better? He feels he’s ingratiated himself.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to explain her relationship to Lucas, to spill the whole sordid story, but she simply couldn’t reveal the sad tale.

Though it had all occurred before she was born, in a peculiar way, it seemed her fault somehow, that she was to blame for her parents’ lapses of judgment.

James Talbot was worldly and smart and sophisticated, and she was anxious to retain his good opinion. Why tell him about Lucas or any of the rest? It would only leave her diminished in his eyes.

“I’m not wild about Lucas Drake,” she said, “and I never will be.”

“What is it about him that rankles?”

“He’s lazy and entitled, and I can’t abide how he’s squandered his fortunes and talents.”

He considered, then nodded. “A valid assessment.”

“How is it that you’re connected to him?”

“He befriended me in school when I was a boy. Because of my lowly status, I was frequently bullied, and he fought off the scoundrels who picked on me.”

“Mr. Drake did that?”

“He was actually quite a gallant champion.”

“I can’t picture it.”

“It’s difficult, I know. I helped him on occasion too, as his antics began to enrage his father. When he wasn’t welcome at home, Stanley let me bring him here.”

“I can’t imagine Mr. Oswald acting that way. You’re painting a strange portrait of both men.”

“Lucas grows on you after awhile.”

“And Mr. Oswald?”

James shrugged. “I suppose he grows on you too. After you move past the bluster, he’s displayed an incredible capacity for generosity. Toward me, anyway. I can’t guess how you feel about it.”

“He’s been very generous.” She waved at her dress. “He bought me clothes.”

“I was wondering. The color is very fetching on you.”

She blushed furiously, being inordinately pleased by the compliment. “He said I shouldn’t gad about the estate looking like a pauper.”

“He’s got a point.”

“I think he hopes—if he showers me with gifts—I’ll agree to his scheme.”

“There are worse fates than to live out your life as mistress of Summerfield.”

“Spoken like a man who is free to trot off and do whatever he likes.”

They were quiet then, and there was the most exhilarating sense of expectation in the air, as if any remarkable thing could transpire.

He stood and offered his hand for her to grab hold.

“What?” she asked.

“Come with me.”

“Where?”

“Into your bedchamber.”

“We shouldn’t go in there.”

“Why not?”

“We’re fine right where we are.”

“I hate chatting.”

“You do not.”

“I want to spend our time in more interesting pursuits.”

“I don’t.”

“Liar. Are you scared of what might happen?”

“Not…scared, precisely.” She thought about it, then laughed. “Well, maybe I’m a bit scared.”

“I need to show you something. You’ll like it. I promise.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Why, Miss Ralston,” he mocked, “have you a naughty side?”

“Yes. I didn’t realize I had a capacity for misbehavior, but you lure it to the fore.”

“I’m so delighted to hear it.”

He clasped her wrist and drew her to her feet. The swift motion pulled her against him, so in an instant, their bodies were forged fast. Sparks ignited, and she stared up at him, liking how he towered over her, feeling almost dizzy with glee at their intimate positioning.

“First, you have to tell me more about Veronica,” she insisted.

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“She says you confided to Lucas that you’re enamored.”

“Lucas was just stirring trouble. He told her I was sweet on her, but I’m not.”

“I can’t decide if that’s the truth.”

“It absolutely is. She’s like an annoying little sister. I could never have affectionate feelings for her.”

“Swear it to me,” she urged.

“I swear.”

She scoffed with derision. “I have asked for your vow, but I have no means of judging if your word is any good.”

“It’s usually not, but in this case, I’m being candid.”

She studied him, seeking a veracity she couldn’t locate, and she had to admit that she was desperate to believe him.

It occurred to her that this was how unsuspecting females got themselves into jams. A cad could voice any falsehood, and Rose was disgusted over how rapidly she’d arrived at such an untenable spot.

He could fabricate or trick or conceal, and she’d merrily look the other way. Hadn’t they originally crossed paths because of his devil’s bargain with Mr. Oswald? Why was she able to ignore such an enormous flaw in his character? Why didn’t it matter anymore?

She shouldn’t have let him within a hundred yards of her, but in her recklessly smitten state, she was eager to disregard the obvious.

“I guess I don’t want to talk about Veronica,” she said.

“I
never
wanted to talk about her.”

“What is this grand secret you have in store? Let’s see if you can amaze me.”

“Oh, I can amaze you all right.”

“Shall we wager over it.”

“Don’t ever wager with me. You’ll only lose.”

She spun away, suddenly in a hurry to go exactly where she shouldn’t. She rushed into her bedchamber, and he swooped up behind and lifted her off the floor. In a flurry of petticoat and tangled legs, he tumbled them onto the bed. He came out on top, his large body holding her down in a manner that was unexpected, but particularly thrilling.

“How much wine have you had, Rose?” he asked.

“Not nearly enough.”

“If I could coax you in here so easily, I’m betting you’ve had plenty.”

“Drinking has added an entirely new dimension to my personality.”

“Are you becoming a doxy?”

“I’m worried I might be.”

“Lucky me to have stumbled on you just when you’ve discovered your first vice.”

“I have many vices.”

“Name one.”

“Cursing. Indecent conduct. Immoral thoughts. If I were a Catholic, I’d have to spend the next week on my knees in the confessional.”

“Good thing you’re not a Catholic then.”

“Yes, a very good thing,” she agreed, then mumbled, “I’m happy.”

“So am I.”

“I’m glad I met you.”

“So am I,” he said again, and they laughed.

Then they were quiet, staring, and he dipped in and kissed her. Immediately, she was sucked into the swirl of desire. Each time they jumped in the fray, the passion ignited quicker and burned hotter. If they kept on through her month’s visit, what would it be like in another thirty days? She couldn’t imagine.

He rolled and turned her, bit and licked her. His hands were everywhere, as he pinched and nibbled and massaged, until she could hardly breathe from the excitement he generated. Somehow, without her realizing it, he’d unbuttoned her dress, had bared her breasts and was sucking on her nipple.

“Here is your surprise,” he told her.

Like a virgin about to be sacrificed on an altar, she lie on her back, limbs splayed. “I think I’ll like it. I think there’s no question I will.”

He was tugging up her skirt, his fingers wandering up her thigh.

“Have you ever touched yourself here, Rose?”

“Where?” she inquired, not understanding his destination.

“This special spot.”

To her astonishment, he caressed her—at the woman’s sheath between her legs!

Instantly, she seemed to shatter, seemed to break into a thousand pieces. She was soaring to the heavens, and someone called out a wild, feral sound, and it took her a moment to recognize that the howl had emerged from her own throat.

The tumult went on and on until finally, blessedly, she reached an apex and began to tumble down. Eventually, she landed safely in his arms. He was grinning, preening, nuzzling a trail up her cleavage and neck.

“Gad, but you are so fine,” he murmured.

“What was that?” she gasped when she could speak.

“
That
was sexual pleasure.”

“It’s normal for it to happen?”

“Yes, it’s very, very normal.”

“Am I still a…virgin?”

“Yes, you’re still a virgin.”

“So I couldn’t be…with child?”

“No. There’s quite a bit more to it.”

“Show me.”

“Just relax, Rose.” He chuckled and kissed her again. “Relax for a minute.”

She gaped at the ceiling, trying to figure out how such marvelous bliss could have lurked out on the horizon, but she hadn’t known.

“Have I amazed you?” he inquired.

“Yes, you bounder.”

“Aren’t you glad I insisted on visiting?”

“Now that you’ve so competently demonstrated your devious tricks, I might never leave this bed.”

“We’ll wallow here for all eternity?”

“That depends. Can you make it happen more than once?”

He laughed, then sobered. “Yes, it can happen every time—if we work at it. I always forget how dissolute my life has been. I forget there are women like you in the world.”

“Women like
me?
What does that mean?”

“You’re so sweet and innocent. I’m almost sorry I corrupted you.”

“I’m not!”

He laughed again, and he shifted onto his back with her draped across his chest. He caressed a lazy hand up and down her arm.

She let out a huge, unladylike yawn.

“All of a sudden, I’m so tired.”

“Carnal conduct can exhaust a person.”

“I need a nap.”

“Feel free to rest. Get your strength up so we can start again.”

She was swiftly fading away. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“I won’t.”

She didn’t want to sleep, but couldn’t stop the creeping lethargy. As she dozed off, she thought he was smiling, and vaguely, it occurred to her that he hardly ever smiled.
She
made him smile.

She snuggled closer, slumber encroaching. She simply couldn’t prevent it.

When she opened her eyes, it was morning, sun shining in the window. She groaned and stretched, her head pounding from the wine she’d drunk.

Slowly, memory returned, and she recollected the prior evening with James. She glanced over, terrified that he might still be next to her, but he wasn’t.

To her eternal delight, he’d left a single rose on his pillow—with a note:
A rose for Rose.