Cheryl Holt (24 page)

Michael crept in the door at the rear of the house. It was very late, everyone asleep, and he stood in the dark, listening to the creaks and groans of the old mansion. He was soothed by the familiar aromas of beeswax and polishing, of banked fires and baked bread.

“Oh, Alex,” he murmured to the quiet halls, “where are you?”

His brother had been missing for days, but Michael hadn’t noticed his absence. Fitch had been the one to whisper that Alex’s bed hadn’t been slept in, that he hadn’t been home to change his clothes. Considering Alex’s current disposition, he could be anywhere, doing anything.

Michael had searched every hovel, every brothel, every gambling hall. He’d even lowered himself to asking Mrs. Livingston if she was aware of Alex’s location, but she’d been shocked by what the inquiry implied and claimed to have no idea. No one had seen Alex. No one had heard from him. How could a man vanish into thin air?

Alex was his only brother, his only family. They’d survived their upbringing as a unit, had suffered the same shames and humiliations. In a childhood fraught with trauma and strife, Alex had been Michael’s rock, his sole companion. Without Alex to lean upon, Michael couldn’t gain his balance.

He glanced up the stairs, thinking of Emily. It was so wonderful to know that she was waiting for him, and just pondering her, he felt better. He needed her as he needed air to breathe or water to drink, and before he could talk himself out of it, before superior judgment could prevail, he was hurrying to her room.

He tiptoed in, and he walked to the bed. As he stared down at her, he was inundated by a surge of unusual emotion. She looked so young and innocent, and he yearned to pull her close, to vow that he’d always watch over and cherish her.

Near to love,
he mused as the peculiar sentiment swirled away. It explained his level of infatuation and obsession. She simply affected him as no one else could.

He shrugged out of his clothes. As he mulled what was pending, and how marvelous it would be, his anatomy stirred to life. She roused him to recklessness, and there had to be a point where he’d grow weary of her, where his fascination would peak and wane, but he couldn’t imagine when it would arrive.

The more he was with her, the more he wanted her.

His cock was hard, aching with his desire for her, and he wrapped his fist around it, squeezed and flexed to relieve the tension, then crawled onto the mattress and slid under the blankets.

She was slumbering soundly, and he stretched out, his
body making contact with hers. He kissed her, using the pressure to roll her onto her back, and he came over her, covering her, wallowing in sensation.

For the briefest instant, she smiled and kissed him in return; then consciousness dawned. She stiffened and wrenched away, glaring at him as if a stranger had crept in, as if she didn’t know who he was.

“What are you doing?” she snapped.

“I missed you.”

“So? You’re not welcome here.” She studied his torso, irked by the fact that he was naked, that he’d disrobed and lain down. “I don’t understand you. I never have.”

“What’s to understand?” He put his hand on her bottom, urging them together, so that his phallus was wedged to her belly. “I want you.”

“You’re like a dog in heat,” she muttered.

“Excuse me?”

For some odd reason she demanded, “Pay me my salary.”

“Your salary?”

“When I agreed to work for you, you promised that you’d pay me hundreds of pounds, yet I haven’t received a penny. I want it.”

“No.”

“You promised me!”

Yes, he had, and sometime in the future he would remunerate her, but he’d offered her a small fortune. If he gave it to her, he wouldn’t have any hold over her. She’d be at liberty to leave him, would have the resources to reside elsewhere.

“What need have you for money?” he asked. “I’ve provided you with everything you require.”

“You owe it to me!”

“Have I said I wouldn’t compensate you?”

“You don’t have to. I can read your mind without any problem.”

Had he wandered into the wrong room by mistake? “I have no idea why you’re talking this way.”

“Please go. I have to decide what I’ll do, and I can’t think clearly when you’re here.”

“What is it you have to
do
?”

“Stop it!” she begged. “I can’t bear it when you act like this.”

“Like what?” The word
what
seemed to be the only one he could articulate. He was confounded by her wrath, by her enormous hurt. It was careening off her in waves.

“Are you denying that you had Amanda meet with me?”

Amanda? This was about Amanda? “Yes, I am. I haven’t seen her in days.”

“In days? Really?”

Realizing his slip, he squirmed, which no doubt made him appear guilty as hell. He was no longer fraternizing with Amanda—as least not for any carnal purpose—but Emily couldn’t know how difficult it was to avoid Amanda, how intertwined their lives and associates were. It was tricky business, getting their affairs settled, particularly when Amanda was opposed to the split. She was like a second skin he was trying to molt, but he couldn’t slither out from under her cloying grasp.

“So I suppose”—Emily was almost sneering—“you’re not tossing me over so you can move on to another?”

“Of course not. Where did you come by such an absurd notion?” Although he didn’t need an answer. If she had spoken to Amanda, Amanda would have tormented her with horror stories.

“It’s too dark,” she complained. “I can’t see your eyes.” She wriggled out from under him, lit a candle, and lifted it toward him. “Tell me the truth, and don’t lie. I’ll know if you are.”

He rippled with frustration. Why should he have to defend himself? Why couldn’t she trust him?

“Emily”—he started slowly, as if clarifying something for an imbecile—“I haven’t conferred with Amanda, I haven’t discussed any plans with her, nor would I.”

“Swear it.”

“I swear.”

“I don’t believe you.”

He flopped onto the pillow and blew out a heavy breath. “Then why interrogate me?”

“I have to hear you say it.”

“Say
what
?” He nearly shouted the query. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No.”

“How can I be sure you mean it?”

“Listen: If Amanda claimed as much, she must have learned about us, and she’s hoping to rattle you, hoping you’ll flee. She’s jealous of you.”

“Are you attracted to Pamela?”

“Pamela who?”

“Pamela Martin.”

“My . . . my ward?”

“Yes.”

How could she assume that he would have sex with his ward? Pamela was a confused, annoying girl, scant more than a child, and his temper flared. “Have you gone completely mad?”

“How many virgins have you ruined before me? Or have you lost count?”

There was no more despicable remark she could have hurled. In the corrupt circles where he was wont to roam, he flaunted his dissolution, letting his colleagues have whatever foul opinions they chose. Some of the gossip was accurate, but most of it was false, especially the rumors involving his infatuation with innocent maidens.

He’d been certain that Emily understood him, that she’d delved to the man lurking below the surface. Her disdain wounded him, and he was livid over the denigration. She was more blind than her sister!

He yanked the candle away from her, hot wax splashing his wrist as he set it on the nightstand. He ignored the burning pain and rolled them so that she was trapped under him. She fought and clawed to escape, but he wouldn’t release her.

“How dare you lay such sins at my feet! Apologize at once!”

His fury registered, and her wrestling halted, but her own rage hadn’t dissipated. “Answer my question,” she retorted. “Was I just another virgin in a long line of them?”

As he assessed her, he was stunned to find that she was genuinely worried as to his motives. After all they’d shared, how could she be so wary?

“My God,” he murmured, “you don’t know me, at all.”

It was a crushing deduction. He’d presumed they were friends, that she liked him and maybe even loved him, but obviously, his perception was wrong. In his pathetic need for acceptance and approval, he’d deluded himself.

She was no different from any of the other people who flowed through his life, people who’d always anticipated the worst from him, and had always received it. He was perverse in his ability to live down to their expectations.

“I absolutely adore chaste females,” he crudely declared, “and you were the best of the lot. By far.”

He sat up, his feet dangling over the edge of the mattress. His clothes were scattered across the floor, and he knew he should tug them on and stomp out, but he couldn’t compel himself to go.

She was the only grand thing that had ever happened to him. She made him smile, made him happy in ways he couldn’t explain. She gave him something to look forward to, a reason to come home, and it occurred to him that this was why a man might marry, why he might bite the bullet and propose.

What would it be like to have her with him forever, to have her constantly by his side? It was such a pretty picture that he yearned for it to be real, but the possibility was ridiculous. If he was foolish enough to bind her to him, she would ultimately grow to hate him, and he refused to have them both so wretched.

He had to depart, had to make a clean break and put them both out of their misery, yet if he left, he wouldn’t return. He wouldn’t lower himself to begging. If she didn’t have faith in him, so be it, but an obstinate, forlorn piece of him was desperate to remain.

Drained and despairing, he closed his eyes, praying that she would move to him, that she would display some indication that affection still flickered, but it never arrived.

He began to rise when she startled him by leaping up and draping herself across his back, her arms around his neck, her hands on his chest.

“Don’t send me away,” she pleaded.

“I won’t,” he assured her. “I can’t.”

“Can you forgive me for what I said?”

“I already have.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right.”

“I was so afraid.”

“You shouldn’t have been, you silly girl.” He reached over his shoulder and linked their fingers.

“I love you,” she proclaimed, and his jaded spirit soared.

I love you, too!
The affirmation was on the tip of his tongue, but he was too much of a coward to admit it. He’d never uttered the words to anyone, wasn’t positive what they meant, or what such a confession would do to the shaky ground upon which their relationship rested.

He couldn’t acknowledge how much he cared, but he could show her.

He spun around and seized her lips in a searing kiss, and he pressed her down. This was what he wanted, this tempestuous, heedless rush to ecstasy. Nothing else signified. Not his brother or Amanda. Not the future or the past. There was only now, and the flagrant, inexplicable desire he felt for her.

He had to be joined with her, and he struggled with
her nightgown, drawing it off; then he dipped down and took her nipple in his mouth. He was too rough, biting too hard, but he coveted her with a resolve he’d never previously experienced, and his lust spiraled to a frightening height.

What if she’d let him march out of the room? What would have become of him?

If she’d decided she’d had enough, he couldn’t envision what his life would be like. For the first time in ages, he had a purpose to drive his existence, and the fact that he could have lost her was too agonizing to contemplate.

He centered himself and entered her in a smooth, brutal thrust. He hadn’t relaxed her, or prepared her for such an invasion, and she arched up and cried out, caught off guard by the strength and depth of his need.

With no concern for her comfort or welfare, he reveled, pushing in all the way and pulling out to the tip, then pushing in again. Harshly, viciously, he used her, not worried if she would be torn or bruised. Like a crazed animal, he had to mate or die, and his pulse was pounding so wildly that he wondered if his heart might quit beating, if he might finally fornicate till he perished.

“Tell me that you’ll always love me,” he demanded.

“Yes, I always will.”

“No matter what!” he growled. “No matter where you go, or what happens between us, promise me that you’ll never stop.”

“Never,” she vowed.

“I have to know that you’re mine.”

“I’m yours forever, Michael. I swear it.”

He spilled himself inside her, his hot seed spewing into her womb. In all the prior occasions they’d dallied,
he’d never hazarded so much. He’d been cautious, prudent, but in his current condition, rational reflection was beyond him.

He ached for her in a fashion that transcended explanations or justifications, that surpassed logic or sanity. There was no excuse for his rash behavior, no defense he could provide.

As his mind whirled with the recipes for disaster, his body celebrated, a primal urge sweeping over him. He was elated to have made her his in the sole manner that truly counted.

Was he deranged? Was he hoping to impregnate her? Was he bent on fatherhood?

No!
The fervent denial rang in his head, yet he smiled, satisfied with what he’d wrought. She’d stirred an ancient, potent compulsion that he couldn’t resist, and he was pleased to have risked all.

In the morning, he would curse and lament, but not now. Not while he was still throbbing deep in her sheath. Not while she was trapped beneath him, subjugated, and under his control. He was preening, cocky as any rooster.

He reached his peak, and he floated down, but instantly, he wanted her again. If he had his way, he’d copulate all night, would rut until he was too sore to walk, until she was too sore to move.

He collapsed onto his side, but he couldn’t look at her, for he didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t sorry. Not a whit. He gazed at the ceiling, while she studied the wall.

For a lengthy interval, she was silent; then she contended, “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Probably not.”

“If I wind up pregnant, will you marry me?”