Cheryl Holt (9 page)

She wrapped her arms around him, anchoring him to her, as he stuck his tongue into her mouth! The move both astonished and delighted her. He tasted like the wine they’d been drinking, and she reveled in the novel sensation. Harold’s kisses had been a wet, sloppy affair, usually initiated when he was very foxed, while Charles’s were all passion, hunger, craving. It was everything about which she’d ever fantasized, and he swept her away on a rising tide of carnality she’d never previously experienced.

Without her being aware, he’d released the top buttons of her dress. The bodice was loose, and he slithered his fingers under her corset and chemise so that he was fondling her bare breast. He massaged it, stroked and petted it, in a fashion she’d never imagined, until she was writhing with agony and wishing he’d desist. It was so stimulating that it hurt.

He abandoned her mouth, and traveled down her neck, dropping to her cleavage, when astoundingly, he tugged on
her gown, exposing her bosom. Bold as brass, he sucked on her nipple, his teeth nipping and biting at it.

The exploit stirred a fever in her blood. She wanted . . . wanted . . . she couldn’t describe what, but she was wild and reckless, ready to commit any incautious act without regard to the consequences.

Much too rapidly, he was inching up her skirt, raising it past her knee. Soon, her privates would be revealed, and she knew what would come next. He’d unfasten his trousers, and impale her with his masculine rod.

Was she prepared to fornicate with him? Fully clothed, with scarcely a word being exchanged between them?

Her circumspection was clouded by a combination of the liquor, the isolation, and their odd situation, and she was about to order him to stop, when he reached the vee between her thighs.

She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but it wasn’t the tender, nimble rasping he’d instigated. He was hardly touching her, brushing so lightly that the palpation was a petty torture. Her torso responded, her hips flexing, striving to enhance the pressure. Her reaction embarrassed her. In her old age, had she become promiscuous? Wanton?

His fingers dipped inside her sheath, plunging in, stretching and widening her, and his manipulations felt so spectacular! An itch she hadn’t known needed scratching! She was slippery, saturated, her loins weeping, and she was abashed at being so out of control. She thrust in a furious rhythm, grappling toward an elusive goal that remained beyond her.

Was this desire?

Augmenting the tension, he tightened his lips on her nipple, as his thumb flicked out and jabbed at a sensitive nub she’d never noticed. She hurdled over a cliff of pleasure. Blinded by the exhilaration, she flew through the air, and she cried out. Loudly! He muffled the sound by capturing her mouth in another torrid kiss.

She was soaring, ascending, the delectation never seeming to end, then gradually, the tumult waned, and she floated to earth. With great trepidation, she peeked about, terrified that her blindness might be permanent, and she was relieved to note that it wasn’t!

As she reassembled, it occurred to her that she’d had an orgasm. Her very first! She was stunned. Harold had claimed she was frigid, that she’d driven him to other women because she was such a cold fish.

Not having any frame of reference to refute his charges, and being too mortified to discuss them with anyone, she’d believed every insult he’d spewed.

He’d been wrong!

A glow started, a tiny spark that grew and grew, until she was warmed all over by the glorious discovery. She wanted to shout the news to the heavens, to giggle with glee, to clap her hands in merriment.

Charles pulled away, courteously lifting her bodice and lowering her hem.

“Is that what you needed, lass?” he asked. “Are ya feeling better?”

Generally, his Scottish brogue was barely distinguishable, but now, it was distinct and clear, emphasizing their differences, and she wondered if he wasn’t doing it on purpose.

He sat up, straightened his apparel, then cool as a cucumber, he stood. Was he leaving?

She wasn’t certain what she wanted, but she’d supposed they might at least chat or snuggle. With more than a bit of longing, she recognized that she’d always wanted to cuddle with a man, but his actions and detachment made their behavior seem so impersonal, so tawdry.

“Where are you going?” she managed. She was sprawled on the mattress. Her hair had fallen, her tresses flowing across the pillow, and her cheeks were flushed from exertion
and excitement. She had to look worse than a demimonde courtesan.

“I thought I’d try flirting with the tavern girls. If I’m lucky, I’ll talk one of them into a tumble.” He rubbed his phallus, pressing at his obtrusive erection. “I find I could use a spot of fun myself.”

It was the cruelest remark anyone had ever uttered in her presence, and she was crushed. She and Charles weren’t friends exactly, but he was habitually cordial and polite, and she’d foolishly, romantically presumed that the moment had been as splendid for him as it had been for her.

She was devastated. Could he really stroll out, bound for the taproom and the strumpets who worked there?

While she didn’t aspire to much vanity, she had her pride, and she wasn’t about to let him see how deeply he’d wounded her.

“Don’t let me keep you.”

Acknowledging her dismissal, he nodded. “Good night, Lady Eleanor. Be sure to lock up behind me.”

With that curt farewell, he strutted out, departing so swiftly that it was as if he’d never been there, at all.

As the silence settled around her, she propped up on her elbow and peered at the door. Ultimately, she forced herself out of bed and turned the key in the lock. Her knees were weak, her body trembling, and she staggered over and flopped down on the mattress, rolling to her back and gazing up at a crack in the ceiling.

Oh, how would she ever face him in the morning!

Humiliated, ashamed, confused, more forlorn than she’d ever been, she cried herself to sleep.

 5 

Anne stood on the stoop, trying to be gracious, but privately gnashing her teeth. Even on her best days, her neighbor, Willie McGee, was difficult to tolerate, but with how harried her life had recently become, she hadn’t any patience to abide his swaggering and braggadocio. She needed a polite way to get him moving, but he was regaling her with details of his latest criminal conquest, and he wouldn’t shut up.

He was fascinated by law enforcement, by transgressions and felons, and he fancied himself as a sort of unofficial petty magistrate, a rural Bow Street runner, who was the sole barrier between peace and anarchy in the Bristol area.

Though he owned the adjacent property, and earned a stable income from farming, his passion was the pursuit of lawbreakers. He was forever chasing after culprits, seizing them, and delivering them to various judicial entities. In the pasture behind his house, he’d even built a small gaol, where he incarcerated offenders prior to transporting them.

Citizens purchased his assistance for a fee, and he provided a beneficial service for those who hadn’t the resources or time to prosecute wrongdoers themselves. Still, rumor had it that he employed unscrupulous methods, that he could
be bribed to manufacture evidence, that he wasn’t beyond charging an individual on false facts if the money offered was sufficient.

She didn’t believe the chatter, mostly because he seemed harmless, more boast than substance. He liked to impress with his narratives of valor and danger, but how many of them were actually true was open to debate.

At age forty-one, he wasn’t maturing very gracefully. He was bald, his skin swarthy and pockmarked, and he didn’t bathe much, which was nauseating when she was so fussy about individual hygiene.

He stunk, and his clothes needed a thorough laundering.

He was short, not much taller than herself, but his shoulders were broad, his arms and thighs beefy, and he was very strong, so he appeared much larger than he was. A bachelor, who lived with his shy, spinster sister, Prudence, he was an odd duck, with peculiar hobbies and a quirky character.

When Lady Eleanor had first dumped Stephen in her lap, Anne had deemed Willie the perfect choice to convey Stephen to Bristol Manor. He had a large wagon, with an enclosed bed that he used to convey outlaws, and Stephen could have reclined in the back for the journey, so she’d sent him a note, asking him to visit, but now, with how events had untangled, she rued contacting him.

“I’m sorry I bothered you, Willie,” she said, eager for him to go. “I had a client who needed a ride, but he—that is,
she
—found another carriage.”

Willie was no fool, and he noticed the slip of speech. “Oh, Anne, don’t tell me you’ve considered having a man on the premises.”

“I’d never do anything that idiotic,” she lied.

“Good. This is a conservative community, and you need to maintain your reputation. It’s bad enough that you’re operating this place by yourself.”

“What do you mean?”

“People talk, Anne. And what they say about you isn’t always kind.”

A master at innuendo and insinuation, he was constantly hinting that he’d been apprised of the
real
story, the secrets to which others weren’t privy, and she refused to react. Very likely, no one had uttered two words about her, and she wouldn’t give him any fodder for the gossip mill. Besides, by passing herself off as a widow, she quelled speculation about her independent conduct.

“I’ll keep your advice in mind,” she blandly agreed.

Puffing up, he stuck out his chest, convinced that he’d made an important point. “Have you reflected on the discussion we had last week?”

Had she! She could barely repress a shudder. “I told you, Willie: I’m flattered that you think so highly of me, but I’m not interested in being wooed.” He scowled so she added, “My decision has nothing to do with you personally. I’m simply satisfied with my situation, and I have no desire to marry again. It would be cruel of me to lead you on.”

“But it’s not natural for a female to be so self-reliant. So self-supporting. You need a husband’s guiding influence.”

Several scathing remarks were on the tip of her tongue, but she kept them stuffed inside. If she’d had any fond feelings for him—which she didn’t—his condescending attitude would have drowned them.

Calming herself, she inhaled a slow breath, held it, let it out. “Thank you for being concerned about my welfare. You’re a dear soul to worry. I appreciate it.”

Intent on hurrying him along, she sauntered down the walk to his gig. He had to join her or be left standing by himself in the doorway. Prudence was waiting in the passenger seat, quiet and meek as usual, but she was perusing the grounds as though she yearned for the temerity to hop down and stroll about. Willie wouldn’t let her explore or venture inside.

The few occasions Anne had invited her, Prudence had declined, and Anne was certain that Prudence would be incurring her brother’s wrath if she violated his dictates. Just once, though, Anne wished Prudence would show a little backbone, but then, Prudence had to suffer Willie round-the-clock. It was probably easier to remain tractable.

After another irritating exchange regarding Anne’s autonomy, the McGees were off, and she lingered in the drive, relieved to see them go. With mixed emotions, she returned to the house. Due to Stephen’s taking up residence, her affairs were in chaos, but how could one man instigate such upheaval?

She had him swimming three times a day, which disrupted her schedule, and everyone else’s. His privacy and her reputation were paramount, so she’d postponed appointments with her ailing invalids, and she’d had to rebuff many wealthy customers, because she couldn’t have Stephen crossing paths with any of them.

Camilla Warren, and her unruly friends, had endeavored to cajole admittance, but Kate had sent them packing to Bath, where they had spread tales of their inhospitable welcome, which had induced flagrant conjecturing as to the reasons.

Rumors abounded that she had an illustrious guest on the premises, the identity varying from an ill Italian countess, to a vacationing American heiress, to the Queen herself. Kate had been to the village, and she’d been peppered with questions from merchants who were wondering if there was anything special they could furnish to make Her Majesty’s stay more enjoyable.