Forever a Lord (20 page)

He laughed. “You put them on, is what.”

“I know, but how? Does it matter which hand goes into which?”

He flicked the right glove and pointed to her right hand. “That goes on that one. And the other on the other one. Once you get them on, I’ll string you up.”

She nodded and quickly tugged on each glove. She held them up before herself awkwardly, the lace of her sleeves falling to her elbows. “Aren’t they a bit heavy?”

“They are meant to do more than protect the hands during sparring. Their weight also builds mass in the arms during training.” Leaning toward her, he wrapped the strings and tied them firmly and tightly into place, until the strings indented the leather. He genuinely enjoyed strapping her hands. Even binding her into gloves was incredibly erotic.

She met his gaze, her mouth quirking. “Do I get to hit you? Hard?”

A laugh escaped him as he pushed down her now-bound strings. “Yes. As hard as you like.”

She lifted a hand and tapped at his shoulder with the rounding part of the glove. “Go get those gloves on right quick, lest you lose the championship to me.”

Another laugh escaped him. As of late, it was as if all he did was laugh. She brought it out in him more and more, damn her. “Walk over to the floor.”

“Yes, sir!” She popped up off the bench and bustled toward the boxing floor, holding both gloves up high over her head of bundled curls.

He called after her, “You don’t need to hold them that high, you know. The idea is to protect your face, not your hair.”

“Oh. Right.” She turned and lowered the two leather gloves, setting them against her chin. “Like this. Like you do.”

Something about the way she said it made him draw in a slow breath. It made him realize how much she really had been watching him.

He loved knowing it. Because his boxing was an extension of everything he was and would always be and to have her acknowledge that part of him, despite its savageness, was more than endearing. It was downright soul rendering.

Casually crossing toward her, he rounded the floor and paused before her. This was going to be fun. He snapped up both bare fists. “Are you ready to take me on?”

Though she held up her gloved hands at her chin, she glanced toward his hands. “What about your gloves?”

He kept his fists up. “What? You don’t trust me without them?”

She hit her gloves against each other, thudding them. “The real question is, do you trust
me?
”

“Ooooo. That sounds like a challenge I’m looking to lick.” He rounded her. “Come on. Come at me, tea cake.”

She pursed her lips. “At least try to pretend I’m one of the boys. You wouldn’t call them
tea cake
whilst sparring them, would you?”

He lifted a brow. “If they looked like you, I would.”

“Now
that
deserves retribution, my lord.” Her features tightened with genuine focus and she darted forward, swinging out a fist.

He skidded aside, impressed she could move so quickly. He let out a low whistle. “Very good. Do it again.”

By the end of the hour, the woman had worked them both into a dripping state of sweat. He couldn’t help but be in awe. She not only stayed with him throughout every swing but hadn’t asked to rest once. In what felt like a breath, she had become a little boxer. His little boxer.

“Last hit,” he called out. “This time let it land. That way, you know how it really feels to follow through with a swing.” He moved in close. Much closer than he normally would with an opponent.

“Are you certain you want me to actually hit you?”

“Quite. Come on. Come at me.”

“What if I hit you too hard?”

He wanted to kiss her. “Don’t be ridiculous. If I can’t take a hit from you, I shouldn’t be boxing.”

She gasped. “Was that a jab at my being a woman?”

Now he
really
wanted to kiss her. “Will it make you swing at my head?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. Because women can hit just as hard as men if given the chance.”

“I see. Then yes. It’s a jab. Women can’t hit.”

“Oh, now, that deserves a hit. Watch this.” She turned toward him, her flushed features still focused, and swung at his head with her right hooking toward it.

He purposefully didn’t move and let it bounce off his head. Though it hit him impressively hard given her light weight, he added in an exaggerated “Ooof!” and threw himself onto the ground, enjoying the rest.

“Nathaniel?”
she echoed, scrambling toward him and kneeling beside him, gloves jabbing into his sides. “Did I really hit you that hard? Or did you fall on purpose?”

He bit back wanting to laugh and rolled onto his back, throwing his arms out beside him on the floor. “Both.” Reaching for her, he grabbed her hard by her corseted waist and yanked her down onto himself, forcing her to hang above him. “You win the bout, given I can’t get back up. Now name your prize. I’ll give you anything you want. And I do mean anything. So think good and well on this. I’m in a rather vulnerable position. Rare for me, you know.”

She grinned down at him, long curls falling out from her pinned hair. “I get whatever I want? Can I hold you to that?”

He nodded, tracing his gaze adoringly from those bright hazel eyes to her unraveling blond hair. “Anything. Because I’m more than impressed. What do you want?”

She leaned down, touching her nose to his nose and whispered, “You. Can I keep you? Forever, my lord?”

He stilled beneath her, searching her face. It was as if she meant it. His hands jumped to her face and held her possessively in place, right where she was, her nose touching his nose. “And what would you do with me if I let you keep me forever?” he asked in a low tone.

She hovered above him. “I would spend every moment adoring you. In the way you deserve.”

It was as if she was admitting to loving him. As if he deserved to be loved.

Tightening his hold on her face, he covered her mouth with his and savagely kissed her, not only
wanting
to give in to the idea of her, but
needing
to give in to the idea of her. It was obvious he was done for. He’d never seen that coming.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Act well your part—THERE all the honour lies!

—P. Egan,
Boxiana
(1823)

The Wentworth House
Two weeks later—evening

E
XCUSING
HERSELF
FROM
an old gentleman whose words slurred from one too many cognacs, Imogene scanned elegantly dressed guests quietly conversing at the small gathering. The Duke of Wentworth—being the endearingly supportive brother-in-law that he was—had decided to host an intimate party for a select few the night before Nathaniel’s first fight toward the title of Champion. Whilst the duke hadn’t been all that pleased with Nathaniel taking on the role of an aristocratic boxer, the man still genuinely supported Nathaniel in his decision and tried to openly acknowledge it.

Oddly, she hadn’t seen Nathaniel in some time. He had disappeared somewhere within the small crowd. Sashaying into a pause, she found him and his nephew propped against the farthest wall in the room intently discussing something.

Garbed in black evening attire, an embroidered waistcoat and a silk cravat with his black hair suavely swept back with tonic, Nathaniel looked as debonair as ever. And the way he had casually set his broad shoulder against the wall with his head slightly cocked in conversation made him appear even more so.

It was astounding to see him look so at ease in a social setting he had initially resisted attending. He was worried the duke and his nephew wouldn’t be as accepting of his boxing aspirations, but they had proved him wrong.

The duke and his nephew supported him completely.

She smiled, still watching him. He seemed so different from the man she had first met. More at ease with himself and the world. She sometimes liked to think that she had brought about that change.

Nathaniel glanced toward her in midconversation. With the quirk of his full mouth and the perusal of her chartreuse gown, he inclined his head, acknowledging her from across the room.

Her stomach fluttered and that incredible feeling of being acknowledged by a man like him in
that
way, and in public, was something she knew was going to stay with her all her life.

There were times she wondered what was happening between them. They were partners in everything and yet…they were not. She was still achingly waiting for him to verbally acknowledge that he adored her as much as she adored him.

Shifting against the wall, Nathaniel returned his gaze to Yardley and said something seemingly more involved to which Yardley shook his head, half-amused.

Knowing she ought to give Nathaniel time alone with his nephew, she let out a breath and rounded the room, trying to find someone else to talk to. With only two dozen people present, as opposed to the ten dozen or more that usually attended gatherings or balls, she felt more at ease.

She had never been all that fond of crowds.

A pretty redhead dressed in an elegant primrose lace and satin gown, sidestepped toward her, startling Imogene into a quick halt.

The woman playfully smiled and confided in a conspiring, American-Irish accent, “The name is Miss Tormey. We’re going to be relatives, you and I.”

Imogene pulled in her chin. “I beg your pardon?”

Trying to flick open a fan with a sweep of her gloved hand, Miss Tormey rolled her eyes, realizing the fan hadn’t opened. She manually pried it open and grouched, “It never opens right. No wonder men don’t bother with these. I only use it because Lady Burton kept telling me it keeps people from reading lips. Which you Brits like to do all the time.” Setting the now-open fan strategically beside her face, Miss Tormey leaned in. “Robinson and I will be announcing our engagement tonight. In about an hour. I wanted you to know, seeing you and I are about to be family.”

Imogene blinked. “Uh…congratulations.” Realizing she had no idea who the woman was even talking about, she asked, “Who is Robinson?”

Miss Tormey grinned, her green eyes brightening. “That would be Lord Yardley. Robinson is his nickname. You know, like Robinson Crusoe. The character from that book.” Her grin faded and she took on a more pensive look. “I actually read the book for the first time last week. It wasn’t even good. Cannibals and pirates don’t make for what I call a good story. There wasn’t even a romance in it. In my opinion, men ought to stop writing books. They are wasting not only their time but ours. Though mostly ours.”

Imogene stifled a giggle. She rather liked this Miss Tormey. “So you and Lord Yardley are set to wed?”

Miss Tormey nodded, sending her gathered strawberry ringlets swaying about her face. “Yes. He and I would have been married weeks ago, but you aristos are all about formality and ba ba ba.”

Ba ba ba? Another laugh escaped Imogene. “Well, congratulations. With you marrying Yardley, that would indeed make us family. Nathaniel is incredibly fond of his nephew. He always tries to find time for not only him but the duke between all his training. ’Tis endearing to know how well they all get on.”

“Let us hope it lasts, yes? Or you and I will be at a loss.” Miss Tormey leaned in again, still holding up the fan to their faces. “Is it possible for you and I to get to know each other? I need more than just male company.”

Imogene gently grabbed the woman’s arm. “I would very much like that. Shall we take tea in the next few weeks?”

Miss Tormey lifted a rusty brow. “How about whiskey instead? I’m going to need it, knowing that I’m staying in London for the rest of my life.”

Imogene stifled another laugh. “I have never had whiskey, but I’m certain if you can sip whiskey, so can I.”

“Oh, you don’t sip whiskey, lady friend. You guzzle it. I’ll show you how.” Miss Tormey tilted her head toward the other end of the room. “I never thought that heathen would ever take a wife. Is he treating you good?”

Imogene’s heart skipped at seeing Nathaniel striding toward them. “Incredibly good,” she managed.

“I’m glad to hear it.” Miss Tormey flicked her fan shut. “I should paddle away. I doubt the man is coming over to see me. We’ll do whiskey sometime. After I’m officially engaged, that is. I hear society grants a little more lenience to a woman then. Thank God. Because I can’t keep at this.” Miss Tormey swept past and made her way toward Lord Yardley, who was mouthing something to her from across the room. Miss Tormey set her fan to the side of her mouth and returned the silent mode of conversation.

Imogene bit back a smile. They were adorable.

Nathaniel sauntered up close and lingered before her, setting both hands behind his back. “I see you met Georgia.”

Imogene glanced up at him. “Georgia?” She blinked. “I take it you know her well enough to call her by her given name?”

Nathaniel rolled his tongue on the inside of his mouth before blurting, “You can say that. She lived in the same ward I did back in New York. Apparently, she and Yardley are announcing their engagement tonight. The poor boy. He is beyond saving.”

“I think he did quite well for himself. She appears to be incredibly witty and genuine. I like her.”

He smirked. “Hopefully not too much. It’s bad enough Yardley is getting married to her. I don’t need to lose you to her antics, too.”

A smile touched her lips. “Lose me to her antics?” she taunted. “And who says you have me to lose? It isn’t as if you have committed yourself to me. I’m still waiting.”

Nathaniel shifted his jaw and observed her heatedly for a long moment. “You and I need to resolve that.”

Her lips parted and for a moment she was too astounded to respond. “Do you mean it?”

He leaned in close and rumbled out in a low tone, “Meet me upstairs. I’ll be waiting.” He strode past and after exchanging a few words with some guests in passing, he veered out of the receiving room, disappearing into the candlelit corridor.

She glanced around, her heart pounding. What on earth did he have in mind? Surely not…
that.
She puffed out an exasperated breath and brought her gloved hands together, unable to keep from fidgeting. No one seemed to have noticed Nathaniel had left the room.

Tarrying for a few minutes more, she edged her way closer and closer to the open double doors, trying to look interested in a painting on the wall, until she was out of the room and in the corridor.

Gathering her skirts, she bustled her way up the main staircase and paused on the landing. “Nathaniel?” she whispered into the unnerving darkness that fingered its way toward her.

A large hand caught her arm from around the corner of the landing, making her yelp. A tug and a spin yanked her entire backside firmly against the contours of a tall, muscled body.

Her heart skipped. It was Nathaniel’s body.

“Good evening,
wife,
” his gruff voice hoarsely said into her ear as he pulled them into a dimly lit room just off the stairwell.

A tremor overtook her ability to think. He never referred to her as wife. “Good evening…
husband.
”

He locked the door with one hand, as his other hand pressed her backside harder against a very notable erection she could feel through her skirts. “I missed you.” He pushed her against the door.

She caught herself against the door, her breaths uneven.

He jerked up her skirts to her waist. “Keep your hands where they are. I don’t have anything to bind you with.”

She stared at the panel door in disbelief as his warm hands rounded and rubbed her exposed bum.

He moved his hands toward her bare thighs. “Now this is my idea of a real party.”

Unable to breathe all that well, she choked out, “We really shouldn’t be doing this, you know. People will notice we are gone.”

“Let them,” he murmured, sliding a tongue down the side of her neck. “We’re married. Or did you forget?”

Her eyes fluttered closed against the thrilling sensation of his tongue. She felt his hands unbuttoning his trousers. It was a bit overwhelming to know he wanted her enough to do it just up the stairs from a respectable gathering. “You can’t wait until we get home?”

“No.” Nudging her legs apart with his knee, he set the tip of his erection against her opening. “Ask me why we’re doing this.”

She swallowed, feeling faint against her need for him. “Why are we doing this?”

He thrust deep into her wetness from behind.

She gasped, rattling the door with her hands, which were planted heavily against it.

Leaning toward her ear, he rasped, “The moment you climax, I’ll tell you why we’re doing this.” Holding on to her hips, he slowly slid in and out of her.

She heavily breathed in and out, trying to regain control of herself, her pulse throbbing in her throat and her heart threatening to burst as he jerked into her.

She felt her core tightening against his aggressive, slick thrusts. She swayed against the door as he moved against her harder. Her hands slid against the wood as she tried to stay upright and he pushed them back into place. She instinctively pressed back against him, wanting and needing more of his erection.

His seething breaths mingled with hers in the silence of the room. Each thrust he dug deep into her, making them both gasp.

Her world tipped and her climax overwhelmed her. She bit out a moan, quaking against those violent thrusts that banged her into the door.

After several more ruthless presses, he stilled deep inside of her womb, flattening them both against the door, and groaned loudly, letting his seed pour into her. After a few heavy breaths he bent his head and nipped the inside curve of her throat from behind. “Will you be mine?”

Her eyes popped open. She swallowed, and with her cheek still against the door, whispered, “As in forever?”

He slowly pulled out and let her skirts drop back down around her legs. He gently smoothed them around her and kissed her neck before stepping back. “As in forever.”

Astounded, she turned toward him as he buttoned the flap of his trousers back into place.

She stared up at him, the idea of them being together for the rest of their lives making her heart squeeze in unexpected yearning. “What brought this on?” She wanted to hear him say it. She wanted to hear him say that he was as madly fond of her as she was of him.

“Watching you tonight made me realize something.”

“It did? What?”

“That I hated whenever you left the room. That I hated when you weren’t looking at me. That I hated not being able to touch you in public.” He finished buttoning his trousers and adjusted his coat. “I think it time I announce I’m thoroughly smitten.”

She bit back a lopsided grin. “You are?”

“I am.” He grabbed her hand and unlocked the door with his other hand, throwing it open. “I’m talking smitten enough to have children.”

She excitedly trotted after him as he hurried them out into the corridor. She lowered her voice. “How many children do you want?”

“As many as you are willing to give,” he tossed back, swinging her toward the staircase. He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Now head downstairs. I’ll join you in few minutes so we’re not too obvious.”

She turned toward him and captured his gaze in the dim, candlelit corridor. “I adore you.”

Stepping toward her, he grabbed her waist hard and jerked her toward himself, startling her. He bent his head and set his forehead against hers. “And I adore you, too.”

She almost melted in his arms. “You do?”

“I do.” He traced his lips against her forehead. “I adore the way you make me feel.”

Marvelously content, she nuzzled herself against his chest for a moment, then unlatched his arms and thumbed toward the stairs. “I should probably go. Heaven only knows what the entire room is thinking.”

He set a hand to the back of his neck and eyed her. “My asking you to make this permanent isn’t going to change anything between us, is it?”

She smiled. “I won’t let it.”

He dropped his hand. “Good.”

Sashaying toward the staircase, she purposefully swayed her hips as best she could for him and tossed over her shoulder, “All that said, don’t think you can buy out this investor by tossing words of adoration. You still have a title to win.”