Fantasy 01 - Secret Fantasy (13 page)

"How is Penelope?" she inquired. She was anxious to switch the topic and interject some sanity so he remembered why he was at Gray's Manor. "Any progress on the marital front?"

"I'm fairly sure that she hates me"—he grinned— "but I'm wearing her down."

Margaret chuckled and they walked on, ambling arm-and-arm, as if they were close friends. She allowed him to escort her all the way to the house and in the rear door, and she reveled in his elegant manners and gallant charm. When they parted, she was proud of how well she managed to hide her sorrow that he could never be anything more to her than he was at that very moment.

Lavinia gazed out the window, watching as Margaret and Lord Romsey promenaded through the garden. They were a handsome couple, and it was enjoyable to observe them as they passed under her perch, unaware of her elevated scrutiny.

They were entirely too cordial, as if they knew each other well, as if they'd established a relationship of which Lavinia was totally ignorant.

When would Margaret have had the chance to become so familiar with him? And she was extremely familiar. Lavinia had no doubt. She studied how Margaret leaned toward him, how she smiled whenever he spoke, and Lavinia rippled with unease.

What was Margaret's game? Was she making a play for Romsey? Was she planning to snatch him right from under Penelope's nose?

The little tart! If that was her ploy, Lavinia would kill her.

She went to the mirror and dabbed powder on the scratches Penelope had inflicted during their physical altercation. When she witnessed them, her rage bubbled up, but she refused to be distracted.

She and Margaret had to have a chat, and she proceeded to the other wing of the mansion, to Margaret's bedchamber, certain that was where Margaret was headed. She was climbing the stairs as she heard Margaret and Romsey approaching from the other direction.

She halted and peeked around the corner, blatantly spying, listening to them joke and carry on like bosom companions. Romsey deposited Margaret at her door, then continued on to the adjacent room as if it was his own.

Lavinia scowled, waiting. Shortly, Romsey exited, having changed his coat, and he left the way he'd come.

As his strides faded, she stomped over and peered inside, and she was stunned to see his clothes. He .. . he ... was in the room next to Margaret's!

Lavinia quivered with fury. When she'd told the housekeeper to lodge him by Miss Gray, she shouldn't have had to specify to which Miss Gray she was referring. How could the competent servant have made such a ghastly error?

She marched to Margaret's door, knocked once, then entered without being invited. Margaret was seated at a small writing desk by the window.

"Hello, Lavinia," she welcomed, but she couldn't conceal her annoyance at Lavinia's unannounced appearance.

Lavinia scanned the space, searching for anything out of the ordinary, for any sign of trouble, but everything seemed satisfactory. "How long has Lord Romsey been in the bedchamber next to yours?"

"Since the day he arrived."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Margaret's expression was all innocence. "I thought you meant to put him there. Why would I comment?"

Lavinia went into the dressing room that was conveniently and dangerously situated between the two bedchambers, but it revealed no mischief, either.

When she stormed back, Margaret had risen from her chair and was assessing Lavinia as if she'd gone mad.

"I saw the two of you sauntering in the yard," Lavinia accused.

"Yes, we were."

"Why were you together?"

"I'd visited my school, and I ran into him in the woods as I was returning. He escorted me home." "That's all?"

"Yes, that's all." Margaret frowned. "Honestly, Lavinia, what's come over you?"

Lavinia advanced on her, and though she wasn't much bigger than Margaret, her wrath made her seem much larger. Margaret had always been too confident, too sure of herself. She paraded around like a bloody queen, acting as if she were lady of the manor, instead of a penniless orphan who was tolerated because of Lavinia's benevolence.

"Swear to me that there's nothing between you."

"Between whom?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Margaret. It doesn't become you."

"Between me and Lord Romsey?" She was aghast at the suggestion. "Yes." "I swear."

"He's going to marry Penelope."

"I know that. Everybody knows it."

"No matter what you hope, no matter how hard you pray, he'll never pick you. If you assume so, you're a fool."

"I can't imagine why you're saying these things to me. You're speaking as if I... I... have designs on him."

"Let me be very clear: His debts are so vast, his responsibilities so enormous. He has to choose Penelope— or another girl just like her."

"I realize that."

Lavinia scrutinized her, then nodded. "Good. Don't forget it, for if you betray me, if you try to snag him for your own, I'll kill you. Do we understand one another?"

"Kill me! You're being entirely too melodramatic, and I have no idea why you're behaving this way. I don't even like him. Penelope can have him—with my blessing."

"He needs to spend more time with her, so that he can get to know her better. I don't want to see you with him again."

"You won't."

"I'm sending the maids to move his belongings over to the other part of the house, so he can be nearer to his intended."

"Fine."

"Fine."

Lavinia stepped into the hall, her mind racing, her misgivings not assuaged.

Margaret hadn't seemed distressed by the news that Jordan would be relocated, but still, one could never be too careful, so she would have to watch Margaret like a hawk. There were too many plans in the works, too many irons in the fire, and Margaret could not be allowed to interfere with any of them.

Chapter Ten

Jordan heard the door open, and he jerked awake and peered through the dark. Someone was sneaking in, but who? And why?

He prayed it wasn't Charles in need of assistance, Penelope hoping to be ruined, or Lavinia wanting to tryst, but he couldn't imagine who else would dare. Not any of the housemaids, certainly. He had no desire to become involved with Lavinia's servants, so he'd maintained a polite distance.

Through hooded lids, he focused in, concluding the intruder was female, and as she neared, he braced. She reached out to touch him, and before she could, he clasped her wrist and pulled her onto the mattress, rolling them so he had her pinned down.

She gasped, and he froze.

"Margaret?"

Terrified and mute, her heart pounding, she gazed at him, her eyes glimmering in the pale moonlight. He pictured her creeping through the deserted halls, destined for his room and determined not to be discovered.

What had happened that she would have risked so much?

Surely, she knew what sort of response her conduct would garner from him. He wasn't a saint, so if she was willing to crawl into his bed, he was willing to let her, but where would that leave them?

His goal of wedding an heiress was his paramount consideration. Margaret could be compromised beyond redemption, with the whole household looking on, could wind up pregnant and abandoned, but Jordan could not behave honorably and marry her.

He was about to enter a bog, where a wrong step would suck him to the bottom. The only logical course was to refuse what she was offering, but his cock was full and heavy between his legs, and his entire being— down to the smallest vein and pore—was ecstatic over her appearance.

"Margaret," he said again, "what are you doing here? What are you thinking?"

"You know what I'm thinking."

"But... but... why?"

"After Lavinia had your belongings moved, it was so quiet without you, and I couldn't bear it."

She stunned him by initiating a torrid kiss. He perceived passion and lust, but desperation and despair, too, and her level of anguish gave him pause.

Should he do this? Could he do this?

He broke off and drew away, and she took his hand and laid it on her breast, the erect nipple branding him with the shock of the erotic moment.

"What is it you want from me?" he inquired.

"You once asked me if I was ever lonely, and I am—most of the time. I want to stay with you. I want you to fill a few of my hours, so that I'm not quite so alone."

He eased away from her, glad he'd had the foresight to don a pair of drawers before he'd slipped under the blankets. Usually, he slept in the nude, and if he'd been naked, there was no telling what he might have done to her.

He fussed with lighting a candle, using the chore as an excuse to delay. As the flame sputtered and grew, he'd assumed it would provide increased illumination— of both his room and the best path to take—but only the bed was clearer.

As to his choices, and what they should be, he hadn't a clue.

"If I agree to this," he ultimately said, "I won't let you leave. It's all or nothing with me. In a few minutes, if you change your mind and wish you hadn't come, I won't permit you to skitter out like a frightened rabbit."

"I won't want you to stop." She looked as bleak as he felt.

"I'll insist on having you more than once. I'll insist on being with you every night—for as long as I remain at Gray's Manor."

"I understand."

"You couldn't possibly."

"I ask one thing in return."

"What is that?"

"You must try not to hurt me."

Rankled, he frowned. "Despite what you may have heard, I'm not the type to brutalize a woman."

"I don't mean physically. You have to swear that you won't break my heart when you go." As if it was already aching, she rubbed the center of her chest.

This would be her first sexual relationship, and he the first man who'd ever showered her with any genuine attention. As a virgin and spinster, she couldn't be aware of how a carnal association might seem like something else, something more. She would become fond of him, might even love him when they were through, but her feelings would have no bearing on what he elected to do with Penelope.

"I can't make you any promises," he warned.

T know. You've been very blunt—from the beginning."

"If Lavinia strolled in this very second and caught us, it wouldn't matter to me. Your reputation would be destroyed, and she could shout and demand reparation, but I couldn't marry you—my responsibilities lie elsewhere."

"I realize that. I'm not seeking anything from you. I don't want anything from you. Just let me have tonight. Please. Don't send me away. I can't go."

She was content to give all, with no guarantees, and the notion bothered him enormously.

He wanted her to care! He wanted her to at least pretend—here at the outset—that he was important to her. She had him feeling as if he were merely a tool, an empty vessel she would use to assuage her loneliness, and stupidly, he yearned to be so much more.

Her poise and resignation had him angry, both at her and at himself. But how could he decline to seize what he so urgently craved?

He tugged off her robe, then undid the tiny buttons at the front of her nightgown. The bodice flopped loose, supplying him with a hint of the paradise hidden beneath.

'Take it off," he ordered.

"All the way?"

"Yes."

He wanted her to comprehend that this was her choice and her doing—rather than his own. It was a pathetic attempt to mollify his nagging conscience, but he wouldn't be deterred, nor would he lament.

She didn't hesitate. Bravely, she faced him, and as she grabbed the neckline and jerked it to her waist, only the slight blush on her cheeks betrayed any discomfort.

"No regrets, Margaret."

"No, none, at all."

He captured her mouth in a hot and hungry kiss. She joined in, having abandoned all restraint. She was eager to participate, and he planned to take full advantage.

He dipped to her breasts, and he suckled and played, nursing at one, then the other as he yanked her nightgown down and off and pitched it on the floor. She was naked, her glorious body splayed beneath him. He settled himself between her thighs, his naughty fingers slithering down to cup her, then slide inside. She was so tight, so wet, and he eased her open, exploring, stretching her for what was to come.

"I want to show you something," he murmured.

"What?"

"It may seem strange at first, but let me do it." "You may try whatever you wish," she assented. "I'm happy to allow it."

"It will feel very, very good." "I'm sure it will."

He nibbled down her stomach, and she writhed and giggled as he tormented and teased. She didn't recognize his destination until he arrived at her womanly hair, and as he spread her nether lips, she tensed, but didn't resist.

He licked her with his tongue, and she arched up and tried to squirm away, but he wouldn't release her.