Lady Be Bad (28 page)

“A fortune hunter,” James said slowly.
“That’s a lowering thought.”

“I should think so. Now, it’s your turn.
What would you do if suddenly you discovered that I married you
because of, oh say, your title?”

He smiled wryly. “Not my fortune?”

“It seems unfair to present a scenario you
can’t identify with. We’ll adhere to something you understand.”

“Ouch. Aiming for something vital, my
dear?”

“Do you object?”

James shrugged, a smirk still playing about
his mouth. “Marrying me for my title, eh? Hardly a novel idea. Men
of rank have been fielding such proposals since forever. It
wouldn’t surprise me at all.”

“Even if,” she swallowed over a lump in her
throat, “I had made you believe that I had married you for another
reason?”

He glanced away, and Amanda attributed his
sudden unease to a guilty conscience. It was as she had thought.
James had married her out of necessity, nothing more.

“You are ending the game?” she said with
false brightness. “Seems it’s only amusing when I’m the one who
feels uncomfortable.”

His gaze shot back to hers, his blue eyes
narrowing, taking her measure. “We’re not going to get through this
thing easily, are we?”

Unable to maintain the pretense any longer,
Amanda wanted to cry. She wanted to lean her head on his shoulder
and weep her pain and beg him to ease her misery. But how could she
take comfort from him when he was the source of that pain? the very
reason this much awaited trip was now a journey into an uncertain
and frightening future.

She made a small sound, a pitiful mewling
that escaped her unintentionally, and shifted away from him to look
out the window. The landscape blurred through her tears, colors
washing together like paints on a palette. She was embarrassed to
have revealed so much. With a monumental effort she stemmed the
flow, slowly gaining control of herself.

The carriage rocked and James joined her on
her seat.

She turned to him, alarmed. “What are you
doing?” she asked shrilly.

“Manda,” he said, his voice dropping
intimately as he moved his hip next to hers and placed his arm
around her shoulders. “Talk to me.”

James was so close, his face next to hers,
warm breath dusting her cheek, intense blue eyes boring into hers.
She could smell his crisp linen and the enticing masculine scent of
shaving soap. His hand curled around her neck, his thumb slipping
into her hair. A longing so intense took hold of her, for a moment
she could only stare at him, lips parting in wonder.

His gaze dropped to her mouth.

It was a tentative kiss, contact that was
almost no contact at all, back and forth softly with just a hint of
his tongue. Something inside her melted and, despite her
reservations, she did not pull away.

Emboldened, James deepened the kiss, easing
her back on the seat as he did so, gripping her hair gently. She
could feel his fingers massaging her scalp, and her entire body
instantly pebbled with goose flesh.

He eased his other hand beneath the jacket
of her traveling gown, feeling his way slowly.

“Stays,” he murmured hotly. “Damn them!”

His voice sounded far away, but vaguely she
agreed with him. Damn them, indeed.

He grasped her breast, rolling the soft
flesh beneath his palm, stimulating the tip until she could feel it
pucker. His breathing intensified, and he moved his mouth to her
jaw and down her throat.

Amanda’s contribution to the exercise was
passive, too overcome by a sensual lethargy that crept over her
limbs but left every cell in her body tense with expectation. She
was back on her feather bed on the night of her wedding,
experiencing sensations completely and enticingly new to her,
flushed with excitement and the joy of being held by someone she
loved, someone who loved her…

Pain like acid rained on her senses, all the
more agonizing because she was aroused. She wanted him to make love
to her even now, even though he had fooled her, most likely was
fooling her again. How quickly he had seduced her, brought her to
the point of capitulating. Now whom was she fooling? To the point
of begging was more accurate.

A sob caught in her throat and she rolled
away from him, falling to the floor of the carriage. Her crinoline
popped up exposing her drawers.

“What the hell did you do that for?” James
gasped, his eyes bright with lust.

He reached for her, but Amanda scrambled off
the floor and onto the seat across from him.

“I’ll not do it, do you hear?” she cried,
pulling at her skirt.

“Why not? We’ve put this off for two days.
We are married, Amanda. I want to make love to my wife.”

“I don’t feel like your wife.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” he
barked.

Amanda felt like wringing her hands. Instead
she clasped them tightly in her lap. All she wanted was to fling
herself back into his arms and a let him ease the burning ache that
his lovemaking had started. But what was she to do with the ache in
her heart? If she gave in to him now, she would never forgive
herself. Her pride, what little there was left of it, was all she
had.

“I feel used and soiled because of it.”

“Used?” He sounded incredulous. “Have I
treated you with less than respect?”

“Respect is only a part of it, can’t you see
that?”

“What are you talking about? I know you’re
angry with me—”

“If only it were as simple as anger,” she
whispered.

That stopped him. “Then what are we to do?”
he asked at last.

“I need time…”

“The longer we wait the more difficult it
will be.”

Amanda lifted one shoulder irritably. “It’s
difficult for me right now.”

“How much time do you need?” Was that
frustration in his voice?

“I don’t know. Until I feel better about all
this.”

For a long while he merely watched her and,
as the moments ticked by, her heart began to thump erratically. He
was angry, that much she sensed.

“A marriage is a contract,” he said. “And
the marriage bed is part of that contract. I am fair to have
certain expectations.”

“Since when did fair begin to matter?” Only
when it pertained to him, it seemed. Now she was angry, also.

“I want children, Amanda.”

Amanda averted her gaze, annoyed that the
mention of children made her blush. She wanted to tell him that she
didn’t give a fig what he wanted, but that was not entirely true.
She did care, and they did have a contract. Strange how an
impersonal business agreement could have such intimate
conditions.

“I was not speaking of forever, James. I
simply wanted to come to terms with this union, to align my
expectations to reality, before…”

James leaned back against the squabs, his
expression turning mulish. “So we are to put our lives on hold
until you decide to decide?”

She had hoped it wouldn’t come to this, that
he wouldn’t push her when she wasn’t ready. So be it. She would
dredge up her little plan and see if her cooperation was worth the
price.

“Since you are adamant, waiting won’t be
necessary. However, ah—” Amanda stumbled, the words like lead in
her throat now that it was time to say them “—I’ll not be
participating in any…significant way.”

“Are you saying what I think you are
saying?” he bit out.

“There’s only so much of me you can demand,
James. You can’t make me respond. The contract says I have to warm
your bed, but it doesn’t say I have to like it.”

“Is that so?” James said cynically. “Seems
to me you were responding only minutes ago and liking it just
fine.”

Amanda felt the blood surge to her face. “It
won’t happen again, I promise.”

“What is the matter with you, woman? I’d be
a fool to agree to such nonsense.”

“Those are the terms for my
cooperation.”

“And if I don’t agree?”

“Then perhaps it would be best if I went
home and ended this farce before there is no turning back.”

Even as she spoke, Amanda feared his answer,
whether he said yes or no. Yes meant he cared for her not at all,
and no meant he had too much to lose—financially speaking. She held
her breath as he digested her ultimatum.

“We are not giving up so easily, Amanda,” he
said darkly. “I am not a shirker and, I suspect, neither are you.
To quit before we’ve even begun seems cowardly at best.”

The air she was holding whooshed from her
mouth in a gust of relief—and misery. It
was
the money. But
as long as he took her with him, she had hope. Hope that one day he
would love her, hope that he would not regret being saddled with a
wife not of his own choosing. Perhaps he might even forget to be
ashamed of her pedigree.

“I’ve decided not to press you,” James
continued.

“Thank you. I—”

“But—” he put up his hand to stem her
gratitude “—I reserve the right to change my mind.”

“Pardon?”

“Your ‘I need time’ pronouncement is rather
open-ended. Doesn’t give me much to work with, makes no promises.
So…” he prolonged the agony of waiting, his gaze now hard and
inscrutable, “I propose to take this thing a day at a time. If
tomorrow I decide to accept your offer, you will of course oblige
me, correct? No feminine hysterics or reneging?”

“Well, I…y-yes, of course,” she managed
after a moment. “As long as you are satisfied with, uh…”

“Your lack of participation? Certainly. It
is understood.”

“Good,” she stated nervously. The situation
was getting out of control—her control—although she would be a fool
to believe she’d ever had any.

“Just so we understand the rules.” Casually
he glanced at his hand, studying his nails as if they were
discussing nothing more profound than tomorrow night’s supper.
“
My
participation is not to be—shall we say—impeded in any
way?”

For the life of her Amanda did not know how
to respond. It was one thing to talk intimacies while doing
intimate things, but sitting across from one another in a moving
carriage while they clinically negotiated the terms of their
lovemaking had taken on a bizarre quality.

“I’m not certain what you mean.” Her speech
was breathless now and high-pitched.

James settled back more deeply against the
cushions, still watching her. His lazy attitude continued
unabated.

“Lovemaking entails more than…the basic
act,” he said. “There is the need to enhance the mood. For a man
this is particularly important.”

“I-it is?”

“Most definitely. That requires kissing and
touching—not for your sake, you understand—but for mine.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, indeed, I don’t want to feel that I
must hold back. Are we in agreement on this?”

“I see no reason why not,” she blustered. “I
won’t be the one affected.”

A strange smile played around his mouth.
“No, you won’t be the one affected.”

“You say that as if you don’t believe
me.”

“Oh, I believe you, but it occurs to me that
we perhaps should take this by degrees.”

Truly appalled, she said, “Now, what are you
talking about?”

“Just a kiss here, a touch there, nothing
that requires a finish, if you understand my meaning. We can work
up to it. That should reduce the pressure on you.”

Certainly, as if she were not feeling the
pressure at this very moment, his husky words like an aphrodisiac,
working on her senses. Amanda was warm under her jacket, sweating
she would admit, if ladies admitted that they sweated. She wished
she could take the jacket off, but taking anything off right now
seemed ill-advised.

“You think you are very clever, don’t you?”
she said. “By degrees—are you certain you can live with that?”

James waved a nonchalant hand. “Gives me the
opportunity to decide if I really want to pursue…well, you know,
given the conditions you’ve stipulated.”

“You think me unfair?”

“I think you unwise, Amanda.”

A crash of thunder overhead saved her from
having to answer. The rain that had been threatening for most of
the day burst from the sky in an angry deluge. Wind buffeted the
carriage, rocking the vehicle violently. A steak of lightening lit
up the landscape, and another loud crash filled the air around
them.

James pounded on the roof. Moments later the
driver pulled over and stopped, the carriage lurching when he jump
to the ground. James opened the door, hanging tightly to the handle
as the wind tried to wrench it from his grasp.

The driver was soaked—and demoralized by the
looks of him. “M’lord?” he shouted, rain flowing off his lips and
down the front of his slicker.

“We can’t travel in this weather, Benton.
We’ll be stuck in mud in no time if we do. First inn you see we
have to stop.”

“Yes, m’lord.”

Once again James and she were alone in the
carriage, but it was dark due to the storm, and all she could see
was the fuzzy outline of his body, the glint of an eye, the flash
of his teeth. The temperature had dropped dramatically, and Amanda
was now glad for the warmth of her jacket.

“Are you frightened?” he asked.

“Not by a little rain, I’m not.”

“I see.” And perhaps he did.

They rode in silence after that, just as
they had begun their trip. Shortly thereafter they pulled into the
yard of an inn and, to their relief, the feel of cobbled stones
beneath the wheels of the carriage instead of dirt quickly turning
to mud. James negotiated the downpour, making the arrangements then
he came for her.

Her husband, now soaked himself, helped her
into the inn and up a rickety flight of stairs. Her skirt was wet
several inches above the hem, making it heavy and dangerously
clumsy. He escorted her into a small chamber—a bed, a rocking
chair, and a night table—just as Benton arrived with their luggage.
Only then did the import of those bags strike her. As the door
closed behind the servant, she turned on James.