Fantasy 01 - Secret Fantasy (21 page)

Still, it was clear that she was up to no good, and he was angry at his foolishness.

When would he ever be strong enough to separate himself from her? He was like a fly, trapped in her spider's web and about to be eaten alive.

"I'm not accusing you of anything," he declared. "I merely want to marry you."

The dangerous moment passed, and her attitude warmed. "I realize how much you do, and it will happen very, very soon. I swear." In an apparent truce, she snuggled herself into his arms and confessed, "I shifted a bit of cash from Penelope's dowry. Just to tide me over. Is that so terrible?"

If that was indeed what she'd done, it was much more than a bit. It was a bloody fortune, but he hated to quarrel, and he was so desperate for the discrepancy to be an innocent error.

"I guess not."

"Can you forgive me?"

"Yes, but you'll have to put it back," he warned, "before the balance is transferred to Lord Romsey."

"I was planning on it." She smiled a sultry, inviting smile. "I can see how tense you are. Let me relax you."

She always recognized when she'd pushed him too far, and it was her habit to smooth over any discord with a bout of sex. She was so fussy at doling it out that when she offered, he agreed as if he were a dog in need of petting.

For once, though, the prospect of crawling into her bed, of flexing away as he stared into her bored face, held no appeal whatsoever.

He thought of Anne Smythe, of how raucous she could be, of how there was no pretense with her. She told you what she liked, and she told you what she didn't, too. There was no mystery to it.

"I don't think so," he said, refusing her for the first time ever.

She grasped that she'd been rebuffed. "Why ... what is the matter with you?"

"I'm busy." He set her away, unable to abide her cloying touch. "By the way ..."

"What?"

"You were correct in deciding you shouldn't have shared your files with me. I'll return them in the morning."

He left her with her jaw dropping in shock. The firm rein with which she'd controlled him had begun to slacken, and he was thrilled to have rattled her. The ungrateful shrew could fix her own damned problems.

In a reckless mood, he marched down the hall, and as he would have proceeded toward the stairs, he continued on to Mrs. Smythe's room. He halted, glanced both ways, and, seeing no one, he slipped inside without knocking.

She was at a writing desk by the window, occupied with correspondence, and when she looked up, there was a flicker in her eye that he assumed was surprise, but which might also have been a smidgen of delight.

She didn't ask what was wrong or why he'd come, didn't order him out or do anything but murmur, "Lock the door."

He complied, then walked over to her, and he took her hand and led her to the bed. He urged her down so that she was reclined on the mattress, her knees bent, her calves dangling over the edge. He lifted her skirt and wedged himself between her thighs, tickled to note that she wasn't wearing any drawers.

Without discussion or wooing, he leaned in and licked his tongue across her, and the taste of her spurred him to decadence. There was something about her that drew him in, that drove him on, and though he didn't understand it, he wasn't about to deny its potent force.

He delved and explored, but in a smattering of minutes, he was too aroused to resist. He tore at the buttons on his pants, loosed his straining cock, and shoved it into her. In a mere five thrusts, he came and came and came. She wrapped her legs around his waist and held him tight until it ended.

On the few occasions they'd philandered, they'd scarcely spoken a dozen words, yet he felt closer to her than he'd ever been to any woman, even his deceased wife, to whom he'd been wed for years.

Did Mrs. Smythe feel the same? Was she sharing his sense of a heightened connection? Had she lain awake nights, pondering their strange and exciting association?

He had no idea.

With his ardor spent, he was embarrassed by his animalistic display. He pulled away, showing her his back as he straightened his clothes. When he spun toward her, she'd stood and done the same.

There were a myriad of remarks he could have made, but what emerged was, "Lord Romsey is marrying Penelope."

"That can't be right. Are you positive?"

"Mrs. Gray informed me personally—just a few moments ago."

"Poor Jordan," she muttered. "He's about to discover how little happiness money actually buys. He'll be sorry." "I'm sure he will be. Will Kettering leave now?" "I haven't the foggiest." "When will you know?"

"I'll talk to him immediately."

When he'd inquired about Kettering, he'd presumed he raised the issue because he wanted some hint as to the Earl's intentions regarding Lavinia. Yet suddenly, it dawned on him that he had a totally different reason for prying.

If Kettering left, Mrs. Smythe would go, too. Robert would never see her again.

He couldn't deduce how he felt about that, and in light of their peculiar relationship, he wasn't certain what he was trying to learn.

Was he hoping she'd remain at Gray's Manor? For how long? To do what?

The answers were too difficult to decipher, and he couldn't figure out what to do but create more distance between them than there already seemed to be.

"I'm curious as to his plans," he blandly claimed. "Let me know his reply, will you?"

"I will."

Like the cad he was, he went to the door and peeked into the hall. Espying no one, he crept out and sneaked away.

Chapter Sixteen

“Where is your bag?" Lavinia demanded. "I asked you to bring it with you." "I didn't pack it yet," Margaret said. "Why not? Did you think I wasn't serious?" "I know you were."

Margaret pulled up a chair and seated herself. They were separated by the library's large desk, the polished oak glimmering with their reflections. She tried to read Lavinia's mind, which she'd never been able to do. The woman's machinations were—and always had been—a mystery.

Lavinia hated her, and Margaret had never understood why. She was about to be evicted from the only home she remembered, and the notion terrified her. She couldn't fathom living anywhere else. Without Gray's Manor as her foundation, she'd be a nomadic wanderer, with no roots or ties. How would she survive?

"I'm curious," Lavinia started, "where you came by the gall to immerse yourself in a sexual affair with Lord Romsey."

Margaret blushed with mortification. She'd led such a sheltered life, had been such an innocent before the relationship had commenced, and she had no idea how to have such a disturbing, frank discussion.

"Well?" Lavinia pressed. "I'm waiting."

"He ... he ..."

"Spit it out! I would hear an explanation for this treachery from your own perfidious lips."

"He was in the room next to mine, and he... just..."

"Are you claiming he seduced you? How quaint."

Margaret couldn't have Lavinia assuming the worst of Jordan. Margaret was an adult, and she'd willingly chosen to philander with him.

"He didn't seduce me."

"Then how did he come to be in your bed?"

"I invited him."

"So . .. you're naught but a whore, after all. I've often wondered what sort of person you are deep down."

"I didn't mean for it to happen."

"Shut up. I won't listen to any excuses."

Lavinia seethed, her malice washing over Margaret. Any pretense of family that might have once bound them together was finally stripped away.

"I can't bear to leave Gray's Manor." Margaret sounded as if she was begging, and she was desperate to keep the panic out of her voice.

"Your remaining here is not an option."

"No one saw us but you, so no one else need ever know."

"Is that what you suppose?" Lavinia scoffed. "You've deceived me and betrayed your cousin, yet you have the audacity to assert that we should sweep it under the rug? If that's your hope, then you have more nerve than anyone I've ever met."

"If you wished it, I'm positive we could keep it a secret."

"What if you're pregnant? What then?"

Margaret's hands trembled, and she tucked them under the folds of her skirt so that they were out of sight.

"Lord Romsey said I couldn't be."

The moment she uttered the statement, she realized how idiotic it was. Girls were forced into matrimony all the time after a single tumble with the wrong boy. Why should Margaret presume herself to be free from danger?

"Lord Romsey said ... Lord Romsey said ..." Lavinia imitated in a mocking singsong. "Isn't it interesting how he can predict the future? Do you really imagine I will allow you to linger in my house, while your belly swells out to here with his bastard?"

She made a crude gesture over her stomach, and Margaret winced with shame and glanced down at her lap.

"No, I wouldn't expect it of you."

"Jordan is marrying Penelope."

Confused by the announcement, Margaret frowned. "What did you say?"

"You heard me: Jordan is marrying Penelope, tonight or tomorrow, as soon as the footman returns from London with the Special License."

Margaret shook her head. "That can't be right."

"Can't it? He jumped out of your bed, pranced back to his room, and advised me that he was ready to proceed. I accepted his offer. It's all been arranged."

"No ... no ..."

"You stupid fool! Did you believe he was in love with you? Is that how he convinced you to spread your legs?

My God, but you're naive! Aren't you aware that a man will spew any falsehood to stick his cock in a hole?"

"It wasn't like that between us."

"Wasn't it?" Lavinia laughed shrilly; then she reached down and retrieved some documents from a drawer in the desk. "Here is your only alternative: You shall depart Gray's Manor immediately."

"Please don't make me."

Lavinia continued as if Margaret hadn't spoken. "Because your uncle was fond of you, I will provide you with fifty pounds to see you on your way, but I caution you to spend it wisely, for you shall never receive another farthing from me."

"Fifty!" It was a pittance, but at least she'd have funds for a few weeks while she figured out what to do. But when it was gone, what would become of her?

"You're lucky I'm giving you a penny," Lavinia fumed. "You will sign these papers, whereby you admit what you've done; then you'll go."

"And if I refuse?"

"I'll toss your belongings out on the road, have some burly servants throw you out bodily, then bar the doors so that you can't slither back in. If you loiter on the property, I'll send for the sheriff and have you hauled off as a common vagrant."

"He'd never let you abuse me so hideously."

"Wouldn't he? After I notify him of how you've disgraced yourself, you'll get no sympathy. The story of your downfall will race through the neighborhood. You'll be shunned by everyone; there won't be a family who will assist you. So you can take your fifty and leave quietly, with your pride intact, or you can go with nothing but scandal and infamy, but you're going."

"Why are you doing this to me?"

"Because I won't risk Penelope's learning that you were fucking her fiancé while she waited down the hall for his proposal. By being Romsey's wife, she'll have to endure much, but she shouldn't have to endure that!"

Margaret peered at her lap again, struggling to deduce how her marvelous affection for Jordan had brought her to such a despicable spot. From the first, she'd been so attracted to him, and when she'd been with him, her conduct hadn't seemed wrong.

She'd never considered the harm to Penelope or the horrid consequences once the illicit liaison was discovered. She'd been so happy knowing him, when she'd never been happy before, so it had seemed that any behavior was permitted.

A bit earlier, when he'd still been snuggled in her arms, he'd sworn that if there was a way for them to be together, he would find it. She simply couldn't accept that he'd made love to her, then waltzed out and offered marriage to Penelope.

The tale was too cruel to be true, and she had to look him in the eye and ask him if he'd hurt her as Lavinia was claiming.

"What is your decision?" Lavinia badgered.

"I want to talk to Lord Romsey."

"But he doesn't want to talk to you!"

"He owes me an accounting. He should have to tell me himself that he's picking Penelope over me."

"Why torture yourself? He doesn't love you! He never cared about you! You're acting as if you're the only female in history to be ruined after a handsome rogue whispered a few pretty words."

"You're making it sound so tawdry, but it wasn't!"

"It's always been about the money and naught else! He came to get it from Penelope, and he's leaving with his pockets full. As an added benefit, his cock was regularly sated—by you!—while he was here. I'm sure he's grateful for the entertainment you provided, especially since he didn't have to shell out any cash for whores at the tavern in the village."