Pleasure Me (12 page)

In the past, he’d always found the right excuse to avoid the ultimate intimacy of the bedroom. More importantly, he’d deliberately chosen women whose vanity was such that they would never admit their failure to warm his bed. But Ruth’s kiss had been beyond anything he’d ever experienced in his life.

And the way his body ached. It was crying out for something he’d never had before, and he wanted it badly. The problem was he couldn’t have her. The sudden realization that his hands were trembling made him quickly fold his arms against his chest.

If he gave in to this raw, base desire, he’d only end up either earning her pity or her amusement the moment he stood naked in front of her. Her pity would be difficult to bear, but her laughter would be excruciating. Never again would he allow himself to experience the vicious humiliation Bertha and his uncle had heaped on him.

He cleared his throat and continued to stare out the window, uncertain of what to say. The silence in the carriage was a heavy weight bearing down on him as he struggled to find words that would protect his secret and reassure her that she was desirable. And the look he’d seen on her face told him she was questioning her worth as a woman.

The urge to pull her back into his arms and reassure her that she was the most desirable woman he’d ever met plowed through him. The thought made him break out in a cold sweat. A mistake like that would cost him dearly. He ruthlessly crushed the desire still bubbling close to the surface, desperately fighting to compose himself enough to look at her.

“My apologies,” he croaked. The strangled sound passing his lips said he was far from being in control of his senses.

“It’s unnecessary.” The cool note in her voice made him jerk his head toward her. She was staring out the window with a serene expression on her face, but the tension in her was almost a tactile sensation.

“It is. I lost my head.” The moment he said the words, he knew exactly how to heal the breach between them. “You made it clear you weren’t interested in a liaison, and I betrayed your trust by allowing myself to lose control. I’m sorry.”

“As I recall, I didn’t protest,” she said with a throb of emotion in her quiet voice. “Your pride was injured, and it was natural for you to feel compelled to demonstrate you weren’t anything like Wycombe suggested.”

“No.”
He glared at her, barely holding himself in place to keep from pulling her toward him to show her just how wrong she was. “I kissed you because I wanted to. You’re the most desirable woman I’ve ever met. If you could see yourself as I see you, you’d understand why my body is torturing me right now.”

He suppressed the groan of dismay rising up in his throat. He’d gone stark raving mad to admit such a thing to her. What if she were to change her mind where he was concerned? What would he do if she decided to seduce him? He’d be damned for sure. The uncertainty in her eyes reflected her struggle to determine whether or not he was telling the truth. She turned her head away from him.

“Wycombe is a bully, and while it was unnecessary, I appreciate your coming to my defense,” Ruth said quietly.

It was a silent acceptance of his apology, yet left their relationship unchanged. A part of him cried out a vehement protest, while the rest of him breathed a sigh of relief. He ran his damp palms along the top of his trousers in an attempt to make his body relax. He grimaced as he accepted that none of what had just transpired between them would have happened if he’d not allowed Wycombe to provoke him.

“It wouldn’t have been necessary if I’d simply walked away instead of confronting him. He thrives on conflict.”

“A conflict which he would have escalated even if you had walked away. You might dislike the man, but he detests you. It was obvious he wanted to do what he could to humiliate you.” The unspoken question in her voice brought back the unpleasant memories of what life had been like after his father had killed himself.

“Wycombe and I have been enemies for a long time.”

“A woman?”

The curiosity in her question made him wince at the irony of it. Garrick could see where the man had formed an opinion about his sexual preferences. The earl’s incessant bullying at school had started because the headmaster had taken an interest in Garrick. Wycombe had been on bad terms with the academician and became outraged that a mere baron was favored over him. It made sense that the earl had formed his opinion of Garrick a long time ago. He shook his head.

“No. Wycombe thought I was receiving preferential treatment from the headmaster. It made the only refuge I had rather unpleasant.”

“Refuge?”

The quiet invitation in her voice said her question was simply an offer to listen. He hesitated. How much did he really want to share? He looked away from her sympathetic gaze to stare out at the dark street.

“My mother left my father for another man when I was fifteen years old. Shortly afterwards, I found my father dead in his study. He’d taken his own life.”

“Dear God,” Ruth gasped with horror.

Garrick clenched his jaw as he recalled those first moments when he’d found his father’s body. The panic when he’d tried to wake his father then the fear when he’d seen the blood. But it was the anger he remembered most. He’d been furious with his father for taking his life. He had left Garrick and his siblings in the hands of a man who would have drowned the lot of them if he’d thought he could get away with it.

“Did your mother come back when she learned of your father’s death?”

“No,” he said in a clipped tone. “She left my siblings and me in the care of my father’s brother.”

“Then you had someone who cared for you.”

“
Cared
for us?” Disgust lanced through him as he recalled those first few days when his uncle had arrived at the hall. “The bastard hated us. He took great satisfaction in pointing out to all of us that neither of our parents had wanted us or they wouldn’t have left us the way they did.”

“Surely not,” Ruth said quietly. “What reason would he have to despise you?”

“We stood in his way. The estate my father left was quite sizeable, and my uncle was deep in debt until he took over the management of the family’s holdings. By the time I came of age, the man had gone through a sizeable portion of the estate.”

“It must have been very difficult for you to watch him go through your inheritance.”

“Not nearly as bad as it was to watch him look at my sister the way he did,” he rasped softly.

“Dear lord, he didn’t—”

“No. He never got the chance after I caught him attempting to enter her bedroom one night.”

He didn’t elaborate on how close he’d come to killing his uncle the night he’d caught the man about to enter Lily’s bedroom. It was the first time his uncle had shown any other emotion for him except hate. That night the man had been afraid.

“And your sister? Did she know about your uncle’s . . . fascination with her?” There was a note of disgust in Ruth’s voice that said she found his uncle’s behavior just as abhorrent as he did.

“Yes,” he ground out with restrained fury as he looked out the carriage window. “I didn’t know it at the time, but the bastard had caught her alone several times, but she’d always managed to elude him. I’m not sure she would have escaped him that night if I’d not stopped him.”

“Providence has a way of saving those we love.” At her quiet observation, he allowed himself a small smile of bitter satisfaction.

“When I came of age a few months later, I had the servants drag the bastard out of bed shortly after midnight and throw him from the house.”

“I would have done the same thing.”

Ruth’s quiet statement made him look directly at her, and the empathy in her expression made him realize he’d not shared this much of his past with anyone except his siblings. And even they didn’t know everything. He winced at the memory of standing naked in front of Bertha just as his uncle burst into the room. The echo of their laughter was a sound he’d never forgotten, and the humiliation of that moment still stung like a razor cutting into his skin.

“I find it hard to believe you capable of such an act,” he said as he met her compassionate gaze.

“I can think of several instances where I would have been happy to have done something similar to those who’ve hurt my loved ones.” She looked away from him to stare out the window. “What happened to your uncle?”

“He receives an annual stipend to stay away from my family.” Garrick’s mouth tightened with anger.

The annual income had been attractive enough to entice Beresford to comply, but he’d included the threat of complete financial ruin if the man refused. Garrick had made it clear that there would be no contact with him or his siblings, and that any family secrets divulged would bring a fiery hell storm down on the man’s head.

“A generous gesture on your part. It shows you are the better man.”

“It was a necessary evil,” he ground out between clenched teeth. More like self-preservation. For the first year, he’d lived with the fear that the bastard would still find a way to reveal his shameful deformity. “Fortunately, my uncle’s need for money and a position on the fringes of Society has helped ensure he doesn’t contact my family.”

Over the years, it had become clear that Beresford found his lifestyle far more attractive than any desire to bring humiliation down on Garrick’s head. While the fear never went away, each passing year made him less uneasy that his uncle would betray his secret. A deception he’d perfected with the reputation he’d so painstakingly crafted for himself. The entire house of cards would tumble if just one woman confessed she’d never actually been in Garrick’s bed.

It was why he’d taken Mary as a mistress in name only. The thought made him wince in self-disgust. Deep inside he’d known Mary’s interests weren’t the only thing that had driven him to propose their agreement. It had sustained the image he’d wanted to project for more than two years, but now Mary was in America with her new husband, along with Davy. His heart clenched at the thought of his godson. He missed the boy.

“It sounds as though he doesn’t move in the same social circle as your family. That must surely make it easier for you.” Her observation made him grunt in agreement.

“While there are the occasional encounters at the larger venues, it’s something my family and I have learned to adapt to,” he said tightly.

He hated those rare moments when he came face-to-face with Beresford in public. Despite the fact that his uncle had abided by their agreement, he was always on edge whenever the man was near. The sight of him always managed to bring back that humiliating night.

It drove his fear that the bastard would blurt out his secret, telling everyone that he was only half a man. He could only hope Beresford, like the rest of the Set, had been deceived into thinking Garrick’s reputation with the ladies was more than an elaborate ruse.

He caught the compassionate look in Ruth’s eyes and glanced away from her. She was far too easy to talk to, and he’d told her far too much about himself. The thought did little to brighten his mood. Perhaps the easiest thing to do would be to keep their conversation on a less personal footing. Hopefully it would keep him from touching her again. Eager to change the subject, he forced a smile to his lips.

“Did you enjoy the opera tonight?”

“The music was wonderful,” she said with a smile. “Mozart is always a delight for the ears even if the story depicted women in a less than flattering light.”

“An interesting observation.” The past drifted away as he frowned at her statement. “My impression was that
Così fan tutte
was about the nature of love, fidelity, and betrayal.”

“It is, but at the expense of all women.”

“So you disagree that women’s hearts are fickle.” He thought of his mother and the way she’d left her family so easily.

“I think a woman’s heart is no less likely to be fickle than a man’s.” Moonlight streaming through the carriage window illuminated the lovely curve of Ruth’s shoulder. He crushed the need threatening his consciousness as she shrugged slightly. “My objection is to Don Alfonso’s use of deceit to prove the women were unfaithful.”

“Betrayals are always about deceit.”

“
But
, without Don Alfonso’s guidance, there’s no guarantee the two women would have betrayed their lovers, because the two men would not have wooed them in disguise.”

“And yet the women
did
succumb to temptation.”

“Yes, but only when their lovers proved equally deceitful. The men chose to let Don Alfonso manipulate them into betraying the trust of their lovers.”

“Interesting,” he said with a smile. He was beginning to enjoy their debate on the morals of the opera. “You’re portraying the Don as the villain in the piece.”

“Isn’t he? Don Alfonso manipulated everyone until he achieved the result he wanted. He needed to prove his belief that
all
women are untrustworthy. But all he proved was that somewhere in his past a woman had betrayed him.”

“But it still doesn’t absolve the women of their own betrayal.”

“Nor does it pardon the men for deceiving their sweethearts.”

“Which doesn’t change the fact that in the end, temptation won out.”

He grinned as he met her look of exasperation. It was clear to him that Ruth didn’t like losing. Her eyes narrowed as if she could read his mind. Suddenly, a mischievous look crossed her face and she smiled back at him. How in the hell could the woman think herself old when she looked the way she did right now? The effect she had on him was like a kick in the gut.

“The only reason temptation won out was because Don Alfonso resorted to trickery, and without that there wouldn’t have been an opera.” Her observation made him laugh out loud.

“Agreed.”

“And I’m sure you’ll agree that if a
woman
had written the same opera to point out that men are equally unfaithful, it would never have seen the stage.”