Trust Me (25 page)

“I am not lording
anything over you. I am simply telling you that I will not tolerate your
continued disrespect towards her.”

“Or what shall you
do? Challenge me to duel?” She laughed softly.

“I shall instruct her
to give you a cut direct.”

“That little mouse
would never have the courage to give anyone a cut direct.”

“She would if I
instructed her to, make no mistake about that, Maria. Do not test me.”

Maria stared at him
for a moment, blinking. Then she seemed to shake herself and she smiled. “As I
said, this is all about sympathy. Male sympathy for a helpless, mewling kitten.
Well, my eyes are not blinded by sentimental male protectiveness. She’s a pedant
who would rather live in her head than face the real world.” She turned her
gaze towards where Anne stood with Saxby. “Look at her with young Saxby. They
are so alike. She belongs with a man like that. Someone who can understand her
dull, narrow little world.”

“She just needs
time.”

She raised a brow.
“Do you know what I think? I think the accident did unhinge her—”

A sharp pain stabbed
through his guts. “Shut your damned mouth.”

“You can’t bear the
truth.”

“You don’t know a
thing about my wife.” He re-crossed his arms over his chest and forced his
expression to become neutral.

They sat in silence
for several moments.

“I know you didn’t
want this. Not truly. You let your sympathy get away with you and you made a
wholly emotional decision. That’s done. But you’re going to become weary of
this marriage.”

“Enough, Maria.” His
head was beginning to ache. He longed for nothing more than to fetch Anne from
her circle of admirers and go home.

The crack of Maria’s
fan sounded again. Wisps of cool air blew on the side of his face. Presumably
inspired by the earlier musical entertainment, a blonde adolescent girl sat at
the piano and began to sing a gay country song. Her off-key voice began to
grate on his ears.

“I’d like to know
when you will come to call.” Maria whispered the question. She’d leaned in so
close to him, her wine-scented breath engulfed him.

“As soon as may be
arranged, be certain of it.” He laughed, but the sound echoed coldly in his
ears.

“I don’t like when
you laugh at me in that tone. You can be cruel too, you know.”

“Suffice it to say, I
don’t think Anne will be comfortable visiting at your home any time soon.”

“I didn’t mean you
and Lady Ruel.” She ran her tongue over her upper lip, a slow, sensual sweep, and
placed her hand over her pearls where they lay against the twin swells of her
breasts above her bodice. “I meant, when will
you
come to call?”

“Never.”

Her mouth twitched.
“Never?”

“Never, Maria.”

Wry humour lit her
pale eyes. “Oh, so you shall play the steadfast husband from here on?”

He could understand
her scepticism. When they had been negotiating the terms under which he would
consider taking Maria as his wife, the marriage that would have gained her a
title and given him an heir, he’d been most adamant that he would retain his
carnal freedom.

He fixed her with a
steely gaze. “I shall be a steadfast husband, to her.”

Her smile, halfway
formed, froze. She blinked several times then let the smile spread. A hard,
cruel slanting of her sensual mouth. “Ah, yes, I see. You will both cling to
the romanticized image of your love. The early part of it, when you were
isolated at that rustic cottage Kean told me about. You were her brave
protector and she was your shy, biddable little damsel. You are such a fool.

“You’ll want to
memorialise that love. You’ll want not only the obligatory two sons but at
least one daughter. Someone upon which to lavish your mutual love.” Her voice
dripped with scorn on the last word. “It shall occupy the two of you for some
time. You will be united in the effort and you shall sigh over her every belch
and backache as your sweet wife increases. But after that, then what?”

He took a deep
breath. “I grow weary of this conversation.”

“Weariness? Oh yes,
you’ll need to accustom yourself to it. The married life can become so tedious.
It gets so dreary in the country. While her lovely little nose is buried in her
beloved books, you’re going to grow bored.”

“I’ll find a pastime,
like all country gentlemen do.”

Maria chuckled, the
sound cold and tinny. “Farming? Breeding sheep?”

“Something like
that.”

“What if
she
becomes bored? What if she wants her
freedom, as many wives do once they have presented their lord with two sons? I
ask again, will you stand back and play the tolerant husband?”

“This discussion is
premature.”

She raised her brows.
“Is it?” She nodded almost imperceptibly in Anne’s direction. “Saxby courts her
already.”

He curled the left
corner of his mouth. “Yes, I too have eyes, Maria. It doesn’t follow that she
will return his interest.”

“But what if she does
want him? Will you allow her that liberty? Will you be a fashionable,
reasonable husband?” Her gaze twinkled with amusement.

He narrowed his eyes.
“You’re bitter.”

“Me?” She placed her
hand to her collarbone. “Bitter?”

“And jealous.” He
stood. “Good evening, Maria.”

She stared up at him
steadily. “I have known you a very long time, my Earl of Ruel.”

Her eyes accused him.

His collar began to
feel a tad too tight. “So you have.”

“You may delude
yourself but you cannot delude me. You cannot be happy with some shy, skittish
little chit who spends her time hiding away with her dusty books. At least, not
for long. You can’t give her what she really needs. Nor can she give satisfy
you in return.” The cynical twist of her mouth drove her words in as if with a
knife’s point. “Wait and see.”

He compressed his
lips then turned and walked away to collect his wife.

Her eyes widened as
he approached. She looked oddly guilty.

His guts twisted a
bit. What need she feel guilt over?

Was there already
something more between her and Saxby?

But oh, that was a
very uncharitable thought. She’d never given him any reason to suspect her of
being a true wanton, lacking honour, willing to make an unwitting cuckold of a
husband.

At least not yet.

The traitorous,
unwelcome thought made him feel disloyal. Well, but he hadn’t expected her to
come to life so easily with another man. He hadn’t expected another man to help
her overcome her shyness better than he could. He did resent it. Even if that man
was her cousin.

He leant close. “Say
your farewells. We’re leaving.”

“Yes, of course.”

Her breath smelled
faintly of claret.

Ah, well that
answered two questions.

That was why she’d
become so animated.

And it was the reason
for the guilt.

He breathed a slow,
steady sigh.

Relief. His mouth
quirked up, in mocking amusement at just how much relief had suddenly come over
him at those two realizations.

Saxby did not possess
any special influence over Anne.

But she’d disobeyed
him. God, he wasn’t in any state of mind to deal with disobedience. Though her
eyes were clear, alert. She’d not drunk to excess. That eased his
disappointment in her lapse a bit. Maybe he was being too rigid on the issue of
her enjoying a glass of wine. Yes, ladies shouldn’t drink to excess, they ought
to drink ladylike punch. But she was a countess and the daughter of a duke. She
could get away with a little more decadence than some minor baronet’s wife.

He decided to take no
notice of her claret breath. He just wanted to get her out of here.

He wanted to have her
alone.

Chapter Twelve

Anne sat with her
eyes closed, trying to imagine she were anywhere else than in a dimly lit
carriage. At the sound of Jon’s deep voice, outside, Anne jumped.

She would have to
admit to having drunk the wine.

He would be so
disappointed in her behaviour. He would be hurt.

Guilt weighed heavily
upon her. The wine. Had the relaxation it brought really been worth the price
of feeling that she’d betrayed Jon’s trust?

Lord Fenn’s
high-pitched, nasal voice carried on the wind. He and Jon were discussing the
details of some huge wager. Horses. Carriages. Their voices became fainter and
fainter as they moved away from the vehicle.

Her heart gave a pang
of alarm then began to thump in earnest. She placed her hand over it.

How ridiculous of her
to be afraid.

She was fine.
Everything was fine. They were simply parked on a Mayfair street.

The carriage creaked
and rocked.

Tingling sparks of
apprehension crawled over her scalp. She caught her breath and gripped the
seat.

It was just the
driver and the coachman. Moving about in their seats.

“You are never to
leave Lady Ruel alone in the carriage!”

The sound of the
passion in Jon’s voice, of the sharp tone he took with the coachmen.

The coachman mumbled
something.

“No excuses. You were
told before.”

The door to the
carriage opened. She opened her eyes. Jon stood directly outside the door.

She reached and
touched his arm.

He turned to her, his
eyes blazing.

“Jon, please.”

His expression eased.
He leant inside and caressed her cheek.

She pressed into his
touch. “No harm was done.”

“Wasn’t it?” He
frowned. “I forgot. I shouldn’t have left you alone.”

She put her hand on
his. “No harm was done.” She forced a wide smile. “I scarcely thought of it.”

His expression
lightened. Then he abruptly dropped his hand, moved away from her and faced the
coachmen. “We shall discuss your negligence tomorrow.”

He swung up into the
carriage and pulled the door closed behind him with a slam. He settled into the
seat beside her and turned up the lantern then rapped on the forward wall. The
horses began to move, the wheels to roll. They rode in silence. Edginess roiled
off him in waves.

“Jon?”

He looked down at
her, his eyes hooded, revealing nothing. He cupped her chin in his hand. His
touch wasn’t gentle. She winced at the unexpected roughness. What was on his
mind? “Jon?”

Jon couldn’t tear his
gaze from Anne’s plump bosom swelling over her bodice. “God, you are so
lovely.”

His statement came
out sounding almost like an accusation. But he couldn’t help it.

“Jon, I have to tell
you.”

The claret. She was
worried about that. He didn’t want to bother with that now. “Shh…”

“But I need to—“

He brought his mouth
down on hers. To silence her confession because it was inconvenient to his
current motives. He should be grateful she wanted to be confessional. But what
about one day when she had something far more serious to confess?

What if she decided
to start keeping secrets from him?

A heavy feeling sank from
his chest through his guts. He could picture it.

His innocent Nan, no
longer naïve, no longer shy. Fashionable in her black gown and diamonds. Sought
after by many.

Wasn’t that what he
had wanted?

Yes, but…

He lifted his head
and let his gaze devour her raven hair, dark honey complexion and burgundy-red
lips.

Possessiveness, a
rush of feeling like he’d never known, came over him.

What nonsense. She
was his wife. Of course he possessed her. Completely.

However, had that
ever mattered to any Mayfair gentleman?

Had it ever mattered
to him?

No, it hadn’t. In
fact, he would have done exactly as Saxby was doing. Being friendly. Earning
her trust and affection. Laying the foundation for a future seduction.

The thought struck
through him with dreadful realization.

Even marriage
couldn’t tie her to him. Not completely.

If Anne ever left
him—

No. He wouldn’t let
her.

He bent down and put
his mouth to hers. Taking. Crushing.

He grasped the
neckline of her gown and tugged, hard. The sound of tearing cloth filled the
interior. She gave a small gasp and clutched at his hands.

“Never mind. You
shall have another.” He pushed her stays down. Her teats popped free and filled
his hands. Lush, heavy, unbearably soft yet firm youthful flesh. The rapid rise
and fall of her chest pressed their tips into his palms. Stiffening. He
squeezed her softness.

He pressed her back
to the seat cushions. She fell back, limp within his arms. He put his mouth to
her breast, suckled on her, nipped at her.

She entwined her
fingers into his hair.

He wanted to seize
her wrists and hold her hands over her head. Forbid her to touch him. To hold
her down until she begged him to take her. Until she let him do anything he
willed.

But her skin was all
salty sweetness on his tongue. Intoxicating. He couldn’t stop licking the hard,
pebble-like nipples.

God. He would never
get enough of her.

The carriage slowed.

With a soft snarl, he
let her go.

She stared up at him,
panting, wide-eyed, her pupils so large her eyes looked black.

Christ, he could
smell her arousal.

The coachmen’s boots
sounded outside the door. Their voices sounded low. He didn’t want them looking
at her. Or coming anywhere near her.

He jerked the edges
of her pelisse together, cradled her to his chest then pulled the hood over her
face.

****

Standing by the fire
in their sitting room, Anne watched Jon as he stared at the window. He was once
again withdrawn. He seemed pensive.

She took a sip of
claret. Her throat was so tight she could barely swallow.

What had she done?

 
“Toby is certainly delayed this night.” Her
voice sounded almost hoarse.

“I told him not to
wait up.” He took another drink. “I told your nervous Nellie the same.”

Anne’s gown lay
across the divan and she stood there, feeling foolish in the ruined satin
shift.

“Come here.”

His harsh tone made
her heart thud and her mouth went dry. Yet a thrill surged through her. She
stared at him, unable to move.

He turned. Firelight
accentuated the rugged lines of his long, narrow nose and strong jaw. “I am not
fond of repeating myself.”

Her legs unlocked and
she approached him slowly.

His expression
remained hard. Stern.

Excitement pounded in
her blood.

He grasped the torn
edges of the shift and wrenched them. The tearing sound echoed, seeming
unnaturally loud.

He pushed the
remnants of her shift off her shoulders. Followed by her petticoats. And her
stays. He fixed his attention down at her body.

A swooning sensation
made her feel she might pitch forward into him at any moment. She scarcely
dared take a breath. Wetness slid down between her thighs in a steady flow.

Several moments
passed. He was still staring at her.

She stood there,
bared and vulnerable.

The fire popped.

She jumped and her
heart went racing.

She laughed, her
breath hitching as she did. She looked up at Jon and, summoning all her
courage, chanced a timid smile.

He didn’t smile back.

“Go into my chamber
and use the necessary. Then lie on my bed. Face down.”

Her giddiness made
the chamber seem to spin. Her breath began coming so quickly she could only nod
jerkily.

“In case you are
wondering, Nan, I am definitely going to use my crop tonight.”

Her mouth dried even
as heated arousal radiated up from her belly to tighten her nipples and down to
tingle her toes. A delicious mix of arousal and fear.

“This is not punishment.
This is about my possession of you and your submission to me.”

“I have to tell you—”

“About the claret?”

“You know?”

“I could smell it on
your breath.”

“Oh…”

“However, that is not
important now. We’ll discuss it later.”

“But—”

“Go on Nan, take
yourself to bed. Yours.” He reached out and stroked her hair briefly. “Or
mine.”

There it was. Her
chance for escape.

Yet she turned and on
shaking legs walked the distance from the sitting chamber to his bedchamber.

****

Anne lay on Jon’s bed
for what seemed like hours, until her ears strained for the sound of his
approach.

The sound of his
footfalls. She could almost weep with the relief.

He ran a hand over
her hair, from her crown down to between her shoulder blades. “Waiting so
patiently. That’s my good girl.” He moved down her back then rested his hand on
her buttocks. “Doing all right?”

Anticipation choked
her ability to speak. Her throat was parchment-dry. “Yes,” she croaked.

He touched her head.
Silken softness fell over her face, over her eyes.

She made a soft,
gasping sound.

“Don’t fight me,
Nan.”

She went limp,
accepting this as inevitable. He adored blindfolding her. She found it
uncomfortable, it put her off balance.

“What do you need to
say, should you want to stop and seek your own bed?”

“Sapphire.”

“Excellent.” His
voice sounded thicker with excitement. “Do you need me to restrain you, Nan?”

“Yes, I think so.”
Her own voice was breathless. Did her words surprise her? Not really. Not now.

Lying in his chamber,
upon his bed, having accepted the blindfold, she was transformed.

A willing submissive,
there to do whatever he wanted.

His footfalls
sounded, briefly. Then he returned. He took her hands, brought them together
and wound a separate length of silk rope about them. He took a long time, tugging
on the ties. Then he fastened them to the spires of the headboard.

“Pull them.”

His deep voice
startled her. She hadn’t even realized that she had gone into herself again.
She felt slightly floaty, a little disorientated but she tugged against the ties.

Not too tight. Firm.

She was helpless.

Vulnerable to him.

Fluttery sensations
blossomed within her stomach. The floaty sensation increased.

She lay feeling the
bed rock as he moved upon it. He took her ankle and wrapped a length of silk
rope about it and then her other, tying her legs together.

Her heart thundered
in her ears.

She waited.

And waited.

All the while, she
could feel his eyes upon her. Burning into her flesh.

He touched the small
of her back and traced a fingertip down her spine, slowly moving until he
reached the cleft of her buttocks. He glided his broad hand over her cheeks.
“You have the most gorgeous arse.”

Something brushed her
left buttock. A soft, smooth caress, tracing down her spine. Gooseflesh erupted
along her skin in its wake.

She caught her
breath.

He slid the crop
along the crack of her buttocks. “Who owns you, wench?”

“You do.”

“Who was that,
wench?”

“Jonathon Lloyd.”

He slid the tip of
the crop deeper, teasing at the entrance to her sex. Wetness flooded from her.
“Who owns this?”

“Jonathon Lloyd.”

“No, tell me.”

“J-jonathon Lloyd
owns—” She swallowed against the dryness in her throat. “—my cunt.”

He probed deeper with
the crop until he touched her erect, throbbing nub.

“Ask me to mark you.”

Her throat was dry with
apprehension, anticipation. She swallowed several times, quickly. “M-mark me.”

He teased and teased
her. Carnal excitement tingled through her, swelling her intimate folds. The
wetness continued to gush from her, arousing her even more. She writhed, arching
backwards, trying to make greater contact with his invading crop.