WANTON (14 page)

He was proving a point, or perhaps there was no point. Perhaps there was just sensation and ecstasy. Perhaps it was no more complicated than that.

He eased her down and came down on top of her. His body was pressed to hers all the way down, and he should have felt heavy, but he didn’t. He felt wonderful, and she felt vibrant and alive as she never had prior.

He was massaging her all over, her arms and shoulders, then—shocking her very much—her breasts. It was an outrageous liberty, and she should have stopped him, but the caresses were so riveting she couldn’t order him to desist.

There wasn’t much space to maneuver on the narrow sofa but, somehow, he’d shifted her so he could loosen her bodice and slip his crafty fingers under the fabric. He grabbed a nipple and pinched it quite hard, and the gesture was so enthralling that she gasped and moaned and tried to wrench away, but he wouldn’t release her.

“Has Blair ever touched you like this?” he demanded.

“No, never. No one ever has.”

“No one had better in the future either,” he said like a threat. “Only me—from now on.”

He nibbled down her neck, her chest, and before she knew what he intended, her breasts were bared, and he dipped down and sucked a nipple into his mouth.

It was sinful and dissolute, and she recognized that it was, but again, she couldn’t make him halt. Each flick of his tongue brought new heights of elation, and if she’d had any presence of mind at all, she’d have been alarmed by how quickly the episode was escalating. But she was far beyond rational thought.

Her hand was on his neck, urging him to feast. They appeared to be racing toward a mutual goal, her body eagerly hurtling down the trail he was blazing.

He was tugging at the hem of her gown, drawing it up until her thighs were exposed. He continued to suckle her nipple, while down below, he stroked her between her legs, a finger gliding into her womanly sheath. She hadn’t imagined a man would touch a woman in the spot, hadn’t realized that it would be so natural, so splendid.

She instinctively grasped what would transpire next. A surge of exhilarating heat coursed through her, the likes of which she’d never previously experienced. She seemed to shatter, and she cried out as she spiraled to an elusive apex.

After an eternity had passed, she reached it and floated down. Gradually, she remembered that she was lying in his arms, mostly undressed, while he glared down at her, looking very smug.

“What was that?” she asked when she could speak.

“Sexual desire.”

“Can it occur more than once?”

“Absolutely.”

“Am I still a...a...”

She’d never uttered the word
virgin
in her life, and she wasn’t about to utter it now.

“Yes, Miss Hubbard, you’re chaste as the day is long.”

“How did you make that happen?”

“It was easy.” He smirked. “
You
are easy. I figured you probably would be.”

“What a horrid thing to say.”

“I just call it like I see it.”

“You’re the one who blustered in here and removed most of my clothes.”

“I couldn’t have managed it if you weren’t a slattern at heart.”

“A slattern!”

She wasn’t sure why they were quarreling. Apparently, he was as angry as he’d been when he’d first entered, their burst of passion calming her but having had no effect on him at all.

He was bristling with the need to insult her, to hurt her. As for herself, she was simply confused, disheveled, and overwhelmed, and she wished he’d go away so she could relax and catch her breath.

She didn’t think the encounter was supposed to grow bitter. She thought it should be different than it was. Happier maybe, with some cozy snuggling. Not brooding. Not critical and snappish.

He slid away from her and stood. She wanted to stand too, but couldn’t bestir herself. Her limbs were rubbery, her legs weak, and she was positive if she rose to her feet, they’d fall out from under her. She stayed where she was, lazily sprawled like the slattern he’d accused her of being.

“Stop following me around the city,” he seethed. “Stop showing up at the parties I attend. Stop trying to entice me, for whatever your game, you won’t succeed.”

“You’re so vain,” she huffed. “As if I’d chase you around London. I have better things to do with my time.”

“You’re returning to Sidwell Manor tomorrow. I’ll be by at ten in the morning to fetch you.”

She scoffed. “Don’t boss me, Mr. Drake.”

“But you require bossing, Miss Hubbard. I’ve just proven that you have no ability to restrain yourself, so I will remove you from the temptations of town.”

“You’re not my nanny.”

“I am. I’ve appointed myself.” He whipped away and went to the door. “Ten o’clock, Miss Hubbard. Be ready.”

“If you actually have the gall to come by here, you will find an empty house. I’ll go nowhere with you.”

“You can’t thwart me,” he firmly, stoically said. “Not in this.”

He stormed out, and she collapsed onto the couch, practically drunk with sensation. She was all raw on the inside, her feminine parts—down to the smallest pore—tingling and impatient for more of what he’d just revealed to her.

She shook her head with dismay. No doubt this was a sampling of the marital behavior expected of a bride in the bedchamber. If so, marital duty couldn’t be all that bad. At that moment, if he walked back in, she’d agree to begin again without even being asked.

She had no idea how long she tarried but, eventually, footsteps rushed in her direction. Hastily, she tugged at her skirt and bodice so she’d be more presentable.

Barbara swept in, took in Amelia’s disordered state, and whooped with delight.

“My goodness! What happened to you, Amelia?”

“I believe Mr. Drake likes me a tad more than he’s let on. Either that, or I’m his worst enemy.”

“Mr. Drake doesn’t know what he wants, and he certainly hasn’t a clue what he needs.”

“I suspect that’s true.”

“Things are going swimmingly, Amelia. Wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes, I think we might be on the right track.”

They grinned a conspirator’s grin, and Barbara poured them both a brandy so they could toast their success. At least, Amelia was telling herself it was a success. Where Mr. Drake was concerned, it was impossible to guess.

CHAPTER NINE

“How did you know you should marry Rose?”

“I didn’t. She grew on me, and I gradually figured it out.”

Lucas snorted at James’s reply.

James Talbot was Lucas’s only real friend. They’d met in boarding school as young boys, and their close relationship had never waned. As adolescents, having barely finished their educations, they’d joined the army and had spent a decade fighting for the Crown.

It was to have been a maturation process for them. They’d both been scalawags, especially Lucas, and despite Lord Sidwell’s high position in the world, Lucas had had to join the army or be jailed for his duel.

The army had mellowed James, had tempered his rough edges as everyone had hoped, but it hadn’t had much of an effect on Lucas. He was as incorrigible as ever and probably always would be.

He couldn’t figure out what he was doing. He’d been so aggravated in London that he’d desperately needed to see James, so he’d traveled to James’s home of Summerfield. Whenever Lucas was having difficulty, it was James’s company he sought. He’d made a fool of himself yet again with Amelia Hubbard, so he’d decided it would be best if he left the city. After their sexual dalliance—he still couldn’t understand how it had happened—he had gone to Mrs. Middleton’s the next morning, as he’d promised he would, to forcibly remove Miss Hubbard to Sidwell Manor.

Of course, as Miss Hubbard had warned, she and Mrs. Middleton had fled to parts unknown, with the servants claiming they’d departed and hadn’t provided any information as to when they’d be back.

Lucas had dawdled on Mrs. Middleton’s stoop, feeling stupid and furious, and it had dawned on him that he was an idiot. For some reason, Miss Hubbard drove him to ridiculous behavior. Why did he let her?

If there was a facet to his existence about which he was very clear, it was that he acted for his own benefit. He was never swayed by the needs or wishes of others. He looked at his own interests, his own needs, then forged ahead.

There was no explanation for his obsession with Miss Hubbard. Then and there, he’d realized he had to leave London, riding off so rapidly that he’d scarcely stopped long enough to pack a bag.

In many ways, Summerfield was a second home for Lucas, and if he liked, he could stay forever. He didn’t have to ever return to London and see Miss Hubbard staring at him with those shrewd green eyes of hers. He shuddered just from thinking about them.

The lengthy trip had led him through lush countryside, the fields overflowing with crops, the warm summer days a peaceful idyll where he’d had plenty of time to ponder.

He had to make some plans for himself. He’d been out of the army for three months and was half mad with boredom. Before journeying to England, he’d assumed he would simply resume his previous routine of loafing and lounging, but his regular diversions didn’t entertain him anymore. Apparently, the army had altered him a bit more than he knew because some of his prior pursuits seemed silly—as did people such as Nanette who annoyed him with their childishness and whims.

He no longer found it amusing to gamble away money he didn’t have, then hide from creditors who hounded him wherever he went. He was sick of everything—his life, his habits, himself—but he had no idea what kind of person he’d like to be instead. If he wasn’t a sloth and an ingrate, what sort of fellow would he be?

“When you proposed to Rose,” Lucas asked, “what was her answer?”

“She said she wouldn’t marry me if I was the last man on Earth.”

“Her sharp tongue is like a dagger.”

“She riles easily too,” James admitted.

“How did you change her mind?”

“I wore her down with my magnificent charm.”

Lucas scoffed. “I’ve known you for two decades, and I can truthfully say that you have no charm.”

“I’m more handsome than you.”

“In your dreams, maybe.”

They were on the rear verandah, watching the sunset and drinking the whiskey they enjoyed too much. Rose was visiting the neighbors, so she was unaware that Lucas had arrived.

The Scottish border was just ten miles away, and because of a certain bun growing in Rose’s oven, she and James had sneaked over for a quick wedding. But Rose had insisted on a formal ceremony too, with all the trappings expected for the new master and mistress of Summerfield. So James’s official nuptials were still pending, with the happy couple having to wait for the banns to be called at the local church for four weeks in a row.

“This place looks better already—with you in charge,” Lucas said.

“You’re right about that.”

“Even the air seems cleaner.”

“I’m doing my best.”

“It’s definitely working.”

Lucas held out his glass, and they shared a toast. It was grand to finally see James getting some of what he deserved. James’s grandfather, Stanley Oswald, owned Summerfield, but he’d suffered an apoplexy and his health was swiftly failing. Soon the entire, glorious estate would belong to James. He’d be rich and settled—with a beautiful, smart wife by his side.

Lucas had never imagined James would have so much, and in Lucas’s more sour moments, he wanted to begrudge James his recent good fortune, but he simply couldn’t. He was very, very glad for his old friend. He just didn’t understand how James’s path had taken him—in a matter of weeks—from being a wild, dedicated bachelor to a landed, wealthy husband.

It defied description, and if it could happen to James, could it happen to Lucas? The very notion was terrifying to contemplate.

Lucas couldn’t move beyond the fact that Rose and Miss Hubbard had both been employed at Miss Peabody’s school. He felt that there was magic afoot, and if he wasn’t careful he’d succumb to it. He wasn’t normally superstitious, but he wondered if there might be a wise woman in the village who could sell him a protection charm. He was that disturbed by events.

“My father betrothed me again,” he confessed.

“I heard that he had. What is wrong with him? Why can’t he stop pestering you?”

“He’s being totally absurd about it. By all accounts, his own marriage was a disaster, yet he thinks every other man should endure the same fate.”

“Who is it this time? Anybody I know?”

“Actually, she was a teacher at that school where Rose was teaching. They’re friends.”

James frowned. “She was at Miss Peabody’s school?”

“Yes.”

“That is so strange.”

“I agree.”

“I mean, what are the odds? You don’t suppose your father and Stanley were scheming on us, do you? Were they trying to shackle us in one fell swoop?”

“I haven’t asked how either engagement came about, but there is only one of us on this verandah who’s marrying—and it isn’t me.”

“So you refused the match?”

“Abso—bloody—lutely. I will never wed, and even if I went mad and considered it, I’d never have a girl Lord Sidwell selected for me.”

James clinked their glasses together again. “I’m delighted that you were able to resist the matrimonial noose. Now that I’m a husband, I have to live vicariously through you. You can’t become decent or respectable. If I’m to survive my boring, wedded state, I’ll need to listen to your decadent stories occasionally.”

“Trust me. There will be plenty of them in the future.”

But as Lucas uttered the vow, he shivered, as if the declaration was a huge lie, as if the universe was laughing at him.

Visions of Miss Hubbard were lodged in his head, and he couldn’t dislodge them. He kept remembering how alluring she’d been, sprawled on that blasted fainting couch. He was lucky Mrs. Middleton hadn’t burst in and demanded a wedding on Miss Hubbard’s behalf.

She had him that discombobulated and was the reason he was hiding at Summerfield and might never return to London.

“Rose will be home for supper,” James said.

“Oh, goody. Is she liking me any better these days?”