Cheryl Holt (5 page)

“You’re right.” She gestured toward the stairs, finding it amazing that they could converse casually as though nothing unusual were occurring. “Shall we go up?”

“After you,” he responded politely.

She ascended to the drawing room and, even though he was behind her, she was aware of every single thing about him. The way he smelled. The way he moved. Where he was concerned, she had developed an extra sense that made her cognizant of him in a manner she’d never been with another person.

Once inside the parlor, he shut and locked the door behind them, and she wasn’t certain if she was frightened or reassured. Due to the traits she’d ascertained about his character, it had never occurred to her to be afraid of him, and now they were totally alone. At the sound of his laying his mysterious pouch on the table, she located the fortitude necessary to confront him. She turned.

“Your name,” he said, without preamble, “is Abigail Weston.”

She gasped. Her knees suddenly weak, she collapsed against the sofa. “How did you know?”

“Your half-brother”—he continued without answering her question—“is Jerald Weston, Earl of Marbleton. You had the same father; different mothers. You are twenty-five years old. You have never been married, although you were once engaged for a short time when you were seventeen. Your fiancé died of the influenza shortly after your betrothal was announced. As far as anyone can determine, you’ve never had another beau. Your mother died when you were eighteen, and since that time, you have remained in the country, efficiently finishing the raising of your younger sibling, Caroline.”

“Oh, my. . . .” She pressed the tips of her fingers against her mouth, feeling as though she might be ill all over the rented carpeting.

“Caroline is now seventeen. The two of you have come to London and are staying with the earl at his Town house, where you will chaperone and supervise her during her presentation at court and her debut. It is expected that she will be one of the belles of the coming Season, and that she will become engaged in the months ahead. Under your guidance, she is expected to make a grand match due to her familial connections, attractiveness, friendly manner, and large dowry.” Casually, he walked to the sideboard and poured himself a brandy. Taking a prolonged sip of the amber liquid, he watched her over the rim of the glass and asked, “Have I left anything out?”

“Oh, dear Lord . . .” she murmured, at a loss as to how to proceed. She had no background for enduring this type of confrontation or for dealing with this kind of man, and she should have known better than to think she could enter his domain, yet exit unscathed. Complete mortification flowed through her entire being.

She had to get out of there! Immediately! She needed to scurry back to her safe, secure world, where she knew the day-to-day routines, the rules and strictures by which she was to live. Not daring a glance in his direction, she rose to leave.

“Sit!” he ordered calmly but forcefully, and because she
had spent a lifetime obeying male dictates, she did as he commanded, perching against the edge of the sofa like a trapped animal awaiting the opportunity to flee.

He let the silence linger until it became so unpleasant that she was afraid she might embarrass herself by screaming in frustration. Her eyes remained fixed on the floor, but she could sense his gaze like a tangible object, sweeping across her, assessing her defeated form, her sagging spirit. How she wished she could simply vanish into thin air! That the floor would open and swallow her whole!

When she could no longer tolerate the quiet, she queried, “How did you detect my identity?”

“You’re an eminent personage. My brother recognized you as soon as you entered our establishment.”

His words stung like a betrayal and hit like a blow. She flinched. How stupid she had been, believing herself clever, unknown, covert! How he must have laughed when she’d departed his office!

A disturbing possibility arose. “What will you do with the information you have gathered?”

“Nothing,” he responded firmly, the simple word making her yearn for the necessary bravado to look him in the eye, but she honestly could not bear it. “I gave you my vow that our meeting would remain private, and so it shall.”

“Then why . . .” Her question trailed off.

“Because I am a cautious man who likes to establish all the facts before making a decision, and after uncovering your prominent rank I have spent many agonizing hours trying to figure out the actual purpose behind your request. I must confess that your intention eludes me.” He took another sip of the brandy. “So tell me, Lady Abigail, what is the true reason you have asked me here?”

“It doesn’t matter now.” She rose on unsteady legs. “I shall take my leave, and I hope—actually, I beg of you—that if you ever encounter me again, you will have the decency to pretend we have never met.”

In a quick, graceful move, rather like an advancing predator, he stepped in front of her, blocking her way to the
door. “Has your thirst for carnal advice suddenly disappeared?”

“I find that it has,” she admitted. “Now, if you will excuse me . . .” She tried to slide around him, but he shifted with her, and she couldn’t pass.

“I do
not
excuse you,” he asserted. “I am perfectly willing to instruct you. All you need do is answer my question: What is the reasoning behind your inquiry?”

He inappropriately rested a hand on her waist, and she recoiled from the heat of his unexpected touch. Her skittishness caused him to chuckle, which made her furious. More forcefully, she repeated, “It doesn’t matter now.”

“It does to me.”

The solemnity of his statement provided her with the strength she needed to meet his gaze. “Why would it?”

“Discovering your elevated status has only served to increase my sense of how important this quest is to you. That a woman in your position would seek out a man like me . . . that you would ask me for sexual counsel . . . Your behavior shows me that you are serious and resolute and in need of my help. I am, therefore, glad to give it to you. But you
must
answer my question.”

She hesitated, not certain what to do. He seemed sincere. What could it hurt to confide in him? As he had previously pointed out, if they commenced down this road, there would be no secrets between them. Surely she could divulge a bit of the truth.

Utterly perplexed, she sighed. “Oh, I don’t know what’s best.”

Appreciating the depth of her confusion, he leaned down to the folder he’d laid on the table when he first entered. He ran his hand over the soft cover, stroking it as one might lovingly pet a favorite animal. “I am ready to begin your first lesson,” he said. “Surely that’s what you still want, what brought you here.” His fingers were hypnotic, massaging the leather. “Share your rationale with me, and the knowledge shall be yours.”

Because he would not let her reach the door, she turned
the other way, walking to the window and looking out at the gray day, the busy street. The glass felt cool against her palm as she mulled her situation.

What could it hurt?
The question played over and over in her mind. She’d come this far. What could it hurt?

“Tell me,” he coaxed from across the room. “I will not betray your trust. I swear it on my mother’s life.”

The very idea, that he would invoke his mother during this debacle, sent her defenses crumbling. Apparently he had a different view of his mother’s character than that shared by the rest of the world, making his pledge sound dramatic and unquestionable. She couldn’t discredit it. Besides, she rationalized, the damage was done. If he wished to blackmail her in some fashion, he already had the details with which to ruin her life. She had to rely on him. What other choice was there?

“You are correct,” she said, still staring outside, “that my sister, Caroline, is in the City for her come-out. And yes, I fully expect that she will have a grand debut and that we will find her a wonderful husband. That is why I have come to you.”

“Because she is marrying?”

“Because I am her sister, but also her friend.” Gathering all her courage, she faced him. “She looks to me for guidance in this matter of selecting a husband, and already she has been asking me questions.”

“About what?” he prodded gently.

“About men and their wives. What they do when they are alone together. How it will be.” He accepted her explanation so calmly and readily that she was greatly encouraged. “I find myself completely in the dark about how to advise her.”

“No one has taken the time to enlighten you?”

“I suppose I could tell her what my mother told me.” She blushed bright red, which she was quite certain was going to be her perpetual state while she was in his company.

“And what is that?”

She couldn’t believe that she was about to address such an indiscreet topic, but on observing nothing but curiosity and understanding in his eyes, she pressed ahead. “Mother said that my husband would inflict himself upon me in a foul and disgusting manner.”

“Oh, for pity’s sake—” He bit off a curse.

“She explained that my
wifely
experience would be painful and humiliating, but that it was my duty to suffer through any indignity to which my spouse would like to subject me. Let’s see . . . what else?” She tapped a finger against her lip, remembering every detail of that horrid conversation. “Oh, yes . . . that his revolting attentions would occur with regular frequency, and I would need to mentally compose myself during the months preceding my marriage so that I did not overly embarrass myself—or him—on my wedding night.”

He refilled his glass, silently pondering her astonishing statement, eventually shaking his head in derision. “I never cease to be amazed by the women of your station, Lady Abigail.”

“Neither do I, Mr. Stevens.”

They shared a keen look that broke the tension. Tentatively, she stepped toward the couch and balanced herself on the seat, taking overly long in adjusting her skirts. “Recently, a friend of Caroline’s was married,” she stated. “She’s a year older than my sister and made her debut last Season, but apparently she was totally unprepared for what her marital duties would entail. Being unwed ourselves, we were not allowed to visit with her, but rumor has it that she was so stunned by what happened on her wedding night that she has been under a physician’s care ever since. She has retired to the country.”

“Yes, I had heard the same rumor.”

“Is there no sordid transpiration about which you don’t know?” she asked, smiling.

“I make it my business to be aware of the affairs of my customers,” he replied, shrugging.

“I can see where that might be helpful to a man in your
position.” She fiddled with her skirts, once again letting the silence linger on, until she mastered the daring to confess her greatest wish. “I want Caroline to find joy, Mr. Stevens.” She let her gaze settle on his astute, sapphire eyes, needing him to understand how vital was her objective. “My sister is a wonderful girl, and she should marry for love, and be happy and fulfilled through her choice of a spouse. When she comes to me with questions, I pray that I will be able to give her the proper answers, and the tools with which to flourish at the more private side of her wedded condition.”

“I think you are being very wise.”

“You do?” She was pleased and startled.

“Yes.”

She was so elated to have his approval that she felt as if all her bones had suddenly turned liquid. “Do you think it is possible for a woman like Caroline to enjoy what will unfold in her marriage bed?”

“I’m certain of it.”

“I had always suspected as much”—she nearly slid to the floor, her relief was so tremendous—“despite what I have heard over the years. Will you teach me the details so I may share the information with her when the time is right?”

“Of course, I will,” he responded without equivocation, “but upon one condition.”

Her heart sank. Would he now speak of blackmail? Of terms? “What is it?”

“I will go to great lengths to ensure no one discovers that we have met. However”—he sipped his drink pensively—“should our liaison be exposed, it will cause quite a scandal.”

“I’m aware of that fact.”

“If the worst should happen, I will make no move to save your reputation. I will fight no duels in your honor. I will not marry you. I will do nothing.”

“I understand.” She nodded firmly. “I am a woman full
grown. As this has all been at my instigation, I would expect no reparations from you.”

“Then we are agreed?”

“We are agreed,” she repeated, standing, and he towered over her so closely that she could have reached out and laid her palms on his broad chest. She liked having him here, liked being shamefully alone with him, liked smelling him and seeing the way he caressed her with his eyes. They roved brazenly, across her face, her breasts, her stomach. She should have been uneasy with his bold regard, but she wasn’t. There was approval in his assessment that made her feel feminine and beautiful.

“Do you own this house?” he asked.

“No. I have only let it so we would have a location to carry out our discussions.”

“How long is your lease?”

“Six months.”

His brow rose, and he laughed, a full, rich sound that made her pulse accelerate. “Were you anticipating need of protracted tutoring, or were you thinking you might prove a slow pupil?”

“It was the shortest lease I could negotiate.” She smiled in return, being forward and flirtatious. In his company, new behaviors were popping up every second!

A dimple creased his cheek, making him look like the devil himself come to call. “All right, then. I propose that we meet twice a week. Monday and Thursday afternoons. For the next month.”

“Eight times.” She sighed, thinking that
eight
times was not very many! There was definitely a part of her character she had never recognized before, because she craved this bit of stealthy adventure, this notorious secret to keep between the two of them. Mostly she relished being so improperly sequestered with him, but despite what she had done so far, it went against her nature to act immodestly, so she couldn’t propose a longer tryst.