Pleasure Me (17 page)

“And yet he didn’t divorce her,” Garrick said with a thoughtful frown. “Is it possible your father still loved your mother in spite of what he believed?”

It was a question she’d often asked herself. She knew her father was a proud man, and the idea that his wife had betrayed him was something he would find impossible to forgive. She met Garrick’s curious gaze.

“It’s possible he still loved her, but I think revenge might have been his real reason. He knew my mother would be free to marry if he divorced her. It would be the final humiliation for him. In his mind, his wife would have cuckolded him twice.”

“Yet the possibility exists that he loved her in spite of what he believed was the truth,” he said, and she contemplated the suggestion for a moment. What Garrick suggested couldn’t be true. She shook her head.

“After that terrible fight with my father, my mother’s health declined over the next eight years. I’m convinced she gave up the will to live. When she was dying, I went to my father at her request. She wanted to see him one last time.” Her voice choked on the last few words.

“He refused.” Garrick uttered a small noise of appalled anger.

“Yes. The bastard told me she could rot in hell, and ordered me out of his house and said he never wanted to see me again. My mother died a few days later still calling his name.” This time she didn’t bother to hide her bitterness. “I tried to find work, but I had no skills. The one job I did manage to find as a downstairs maid ended a week later when the mistress of the house caught her husband trying to kiss me. She refused to give me a reference and finding work became impossible. Then, three weeks after I buried my mother, the Viscount Chippenham paid me a visit. He’d seen me visit my father, and had apparently become enamored with me. He offered me a home in exchange for . . . in exchange for me in his bed. There are many things one will do when one is hungry, particularly when one has nowhere left to turn. Without hope of gainful employment and my mother’s stipend gone, there was nothing to fall back on, so I accepted his offer.”

“The bastard,” Garrick growled.

“On that we both agree, my father had a wife who adored him—”

“I’m not talking about the marquess and his wretched behavior. I’m talking about Chippenham and how he took advantage of your situation.” The heated words made her look at him in surprise.

“Perhaps—but if he hadn’t, I could have just as easily ended up in a brothel simply to feed myself. Being Chippenham’s mistress was infinitely preferable to the life I might have led.” She rolled her shoulders in a small shrug as she saw Garrick frown. “Since my father never divorced my mother, I chose to make good use of my title. It gave me an air of respectability so many of the other professional beauties enjoyed.
And
it infuriated my father.”

She allowed herself a tight smile as she recalled the first time she’d stumbled into her father’s presence at an event Chippenham had taken her to. He’d pulled her aside away from anyone’s hearing to demand she stop using her title. She’d taken great pleasure in pointing out that because he’d never divorced her mother, she was for all intents and purposes his daughter. Her words had only made him more livid as he’d accepted the truth of what she’d said.

That had been the moment she’d realized he would never openly acknowledge her, any more than he would denounce her as an imposter. To denounce her meant not only proceedings in a court of law, but public opinion as well. She was certain her father never concerned himself with public opinion. If he’d cared, he would never have discarded her mother so cruelly. But they both knew that if he acknowledged her or the courts declared her his child, it would change everything. And
that
would be the ultimate humiliation for him. Acknowledging a child he believed wasn’t his own. It was why she’d never been afraid to use her title, despite the lifestyle she’d led.

“You risked a great deal standing up to Halethorpe.” His comment made her shake her head.

“I had nothing to lose. Any legal action might have forced him to recognize me as his daughter. He’d never risk admitting that my mother had told him the truth. Either he couldn’t bear the guilt of it or the idea of being wrong is even more uncomfortable for him.”

Reclined in his chair, Garrick studied her over the top of his steepled fingers. The sympathetic look on his face made her shiver. She closed her eyes against his intense gaze. What in heaven’s name had possessed her to share her story with him? She didn’t need his pity, or anyone else’s for that matter. She’d made a life for herself despite her father’s rejection. It might not be the life her mother had envisioned for her, but it was better than the alternatives.

“Nonetheless, standing up to your father took a lot of courage,” he argued. “Your mother would be proud of you.”

The sudden image of her mother’s face flashed through her head, and the dull ache that had been pressing on her heart sharpened. What would her life have been like if her mother had been able to convince her father of the truth? It was a useless question to ask. Her father had abandoned her just as he had her mother, and nothing she did could change that. But accepting the truth didn’t make the pain go away.

On the verge of tears, she closed her eyes and turned her face away from Garrick in an attempt to regain her composure. It had been years since she cried over her father’s abandonment. The man had made his choice, forcing her to make hers. That was the one thing she would never be able to forgive her father for.

He’d thrown his own flesh and blood to the wolves, and she hated him for it. Tears pressed against her eyelids as she swallowed hard. A soft rustle of movement echoed in the vicinity of where Garrick was sitting, but she couldn’t look at him. He’d be able to tell she was about to cry, and she didn’t want his pity.

Strong arms lifted her up out of her chair as Garrick sat back down with her cradled in his lap. The last time she’d been this close to him, he’d kissed her. Bemused by his behavior, she swallowed her tears and stared up at him in bewilderment.

“You look like you need a strong shoulder to cry on,” he said in a gruff voice. “So use mine.”

It was one of the kindest things a man had ever done for her, and like a dam breaking, tears rolled down her cheeks. She cried softly while Garrick held her in his arms with the quiet strength of an oak tree. When her sobs faded, she lay exhausted against him with her head on his shoulder. A crisp white handkerchief appeared out of nowhere, and she took the linen from him to blow her nose.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out with embarrassment, unable to look up at him.

“For what? Feeling hurt and betrayed because your father abandoned first your mother and then you?” There was a fierceness to his words that showed how contemptible he thought the marquess was. “It’s the real reason why you started St. Agnes’s. You wanted to give children what your father refused to give you. A safe harbor.”

His arms tightened around her just a bit, which reinforced his strength and the protection his embrace offered. It made her relax wearily against him. The fact that he’d seen a side of her she’d never shared with any other man alarmed her, but as she tried to think of something to say, her thoughts all ran together like a stampede of wild animals racing away from danger. She was too tired to think straight and form a plan to distance herself from him.

She yawned, and the earth suddenly shifted as Garrick stood up with her still in his arms and carried her toward the bed. She immediately stiffened, her heartbeat accelerating at a furious pace.

“You need to sleep. You’re exhausted.”

He didn’t look at her, but there were fine lines of tension at the corners of his mouth. The softness of the mattress welcomed her weary body, and as his arms slid out from underneath her, the wrapper she wore fell open to reveal one of her breasts.

The exposed nipple immediately hardened the moment he sucked in a sharp breath. It was the sound of desire, and it made her blood run hot. She fought hard not to look at him, but failed. The desire darkening his expression made her mouth go dry as he sank down onto the bed beside her.

How in God’s name had she gotten herself into this situation? Blue eyes dark with a fierce hunger, he lightly traced the line of her bared shoulder then downward. The touch pulled a shudder from her then sent fire streaking through her veins to warm every inch of her. This was trouble of the first order. She wouldn’t be able to refuse him if he were to push his advantage. Refuse him? She was praying he wouldn’t stop touching her.

“You have no idea how breathtaking you are, do you?” The roughly spoken words were soft, almost as if he were thinking out loud as he studied her as if she were a precious piece of art.

“Garrick . . . I . . .” She whimpered as his hand cupped her breast and he ran his thumb across her nipple.

“I want to know every inch of you,” he rasped.

With almost a slow precision, he lowered his head and took her nipple into his hot mouth. The heat of the touch sent her arching upward against him as she released a soft cry of pleasure. Dear Lord, she knew this was a mistake, but at the moment she didn’t care. The time for repenting could come later.

Her fingers threaded through his dark silky hair as his tongue swirled around the peak of her breast. The seductive touch sent a shudder through her as his mouth teased and tempted. It had been such a long time since a man had ignited this kind of fire in her. The desire spiraling through her made her ache with need, and she longed for him to taste every part of her, particularly the sensitive spot between her legs. The image of him using his tongue to bring her to a climax was a delicious thought, and she pushed her bottom up off the bed in a silent cry for him to explore her sex.

The moment his mouth released her, she wanted to whimper with disappointment at the loss of pleasure. An instant later, he captured her lips in a hard, passionate kiss. She welcomed his caress, her arms wrapping around his neck to pull him down to her. He responded by pushing aside the other half of her thin robe and thrumming her nipples with his thumbs.

The touch was exquisite torture. She wanted him now—this instant. The difference in their ages she could face in the morning. Right now, the only thing she craved was the heat of his touch. Desire spread its cloak over every inch of her, pushing her toward a peak that promised a fiery completion. It dragged her forward until she was beyond thought of anything but the need for his touch.

Caught up in the strength of her desire, she responded to his kiss fervently. Her fingers wrapped around the lapels of his coat to push the garment off his shoulders. She wanted to feel his hard, muscular body pressed into hers. It had been such a long time since her blood had burned so feverishly.

A dark growl rumbled out of his chest at her efforts, and he suddenly jerked away from her in an explosive movement. Stunned, she stared at his back, her body screaming in protest as he walked away from the bed. The fierce sting of his retreat lashed through her as she slowly comprehended the fact that the satisfaction she craved was not going to be assuaged.

The powerful ache inside her slowly ebbed, replaced by a sickening dread that made her stomach churn. The stark silence in the room didn’t ease her apprehension as he had yet to turn and face her. Fear slithered through her. She didn’t know what to do. Had she offended him with the uninhibited demonstration of her desire?

There were men who preferred to be in control in the bedroom, but Garrick had never struck her as that type. She pulled her wrapper closed as she got out of bed. The rigid line of his body revealed his tension, and she took a hesitant step toward him.

“Garrick—”

“I can’t do this, Ruth.”

The words were like pieces of ice that hit her skin and spread their chill all over her body. He didn’t want her. With a mental shake of her head, she denied the thought. She knew the touch of a man eager to bed her, and Garrick had wanted her just as much tonight as he had that night in the carriage. He’d refused her then because he hadn’t wanted to jeopardize their friendship.

That had to be why he’d rejected her just now. Deep in the recesses of her mind, a mocking voice told her something different. She refused to consider the alternative reason for the way he’d pulled away from her. She took another tentative step toward him.

“If it’s our agreement that we be friends only—”

“No,” he rasped. “It’s the difference in our . . . our years of experience.”

A lightning strike could not have hurt more.
Years of experience.
He was saying the age difference between them was too great. She’d been right all along. He thought her too old. A woman past her prime with nothing to offer a man in the bedroom. Her gaze met his, and she vaguely wondered at the frustration darkening his eyes. A part of her wanted to demand an explanation from him, but derisive laughter floated through her head. It was all too clear why he’d rejected her. She turned and walked woodenly toward the bedroom door and opened it.

“Please leave.”

“Ruth, I need to explain—”

“I don’t want an explanation. I just want you gone,” she said flatly as she stared at the wall.

The violent noise he made broke through the numbness settling into her to make her jump, but she didn’t look at him. She couldn’t. The pain slashing through her made it impossible to do so, a pain that was quickly outweighing the humiliation she was feeling. With a vicious oath he bolted from the room as if he had suddenly been saved from making a terrible mistake. She closed the door behind him then turned the key in the lock. Not that it was necessary. She knew he wouldn’t be back—ever.

The thought made her entire body feel as if someone had bludgeoned her. She stumbled her way toward the bed, where she fell onto the mattress and curled up into herself. A deep, penetrating ache assaulted every inch of her. Age wasn’t just a mental state. It was physical, too, and she’d never felt so physically and emotionally worn-out.