Pleasure Me (8 page)

“It . . . it denotes an intimacy that doesn’t exist between us.”

“There are various forms of intimacy, Ruth. Could we not at least be friends?”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

“Because there are a couple of years difference between us?” He saw her flinch at the question. The devil take it, he would have to remember how sensitive she was about her age.

“
No
, of course not.” The tone of her voice told him the age difference between them was precisely the reason why she’d refused his offer of friendship.

“And if I bought Crawley Hall for you? Would that change the way you feel?”

Bloody hell, had he lost his mind? This was the largest place he’d found in months that would house more children, while allowing for the expansion he knew would be needed in the future. And here he was offering it up to her on a silver platter. He frowned as she glared at him.

“A generous offer, my lord, but I must refuse. I’m not ashamed of how I make my living, but I am not so desperate as to sell myself off to the first man who comes calling after another breaks with me.”

With a scornful nod, she spun away from him and left him to stare after her with what he could only define as intense remorse. A feeling he didn’t like at all. Not only had he jeopardized his own plans where she was concerned, he’d proven her right. His inexperience in securing the services of a mistress was more than evident and only served to emphasize his youth all the more.

Irritated by his lack of finesse, he clenched his teeth in self-disgust. He’d insulted her. It wasn’t his habit to insult people he liked. And he definitely liked Ruth. He grunted with anger. There was definitely a protocol involved in these types of matters, but in his ignorance, he’d blundered badly.

Worse, his treatment of her, whether intentional or not, differed little from the contempt Marston had shown her. The sound of the hothouse door slamming shut jerked him out of his stupor, and he ran after her. As he stepped out into the snow, he saw her making her way quickly, yet cautiously, down the slight hill toward the garden. He easily caught up with her before she could reach the barren rose trellis.

“Ruth . . . I’m an ass.”

“Of that I have no doubt,” she bit out viciously.

He touched her elbow only to have her yank herself free of his grip to continue toward the garden. She’d only taken two steps when her feet went out from under her. Her soft cry made him leap forward, and he caught her in his arms as she fell. The scent of her swept over him as a soft shoulder pressed into his chest. He’d never realized a woman could smell so delicious all in one breath. The sound of her ragged breathing stirred something deep inside him.

It was a predatory response on his part. He knew it wasn’t the fall that had affected her breathing, and it excited him. A tremor shook her body, which only heightened the sensation. Desire barreled its way through him as he glanced down to see his fingers splayed against her stomach, mere inches from the lush fullness of her breasts.

An image of her naked, her nipples stiff and begging to be licked, flashed through his head. Almost immediately, his cock swelled in his pants. Christ Jesus, the woman was temptation personified. Her head was slightly turned away from him, exposing a delectable neck he wanted to nibble on. Without thinking, he bent his head toward her, his mouth barely brushing across her skin.

Her sharp gasp made him jerk his head up. Where the hell was the control he’d always managed to maintain with other women and the desire they’d aroused in him? He’d already erred with her twice and had no wish to repeat his mistake. He immediately pulled back and helped her straighten upright. The minute she pulled away from him, his body protested with a strength that tightened every muscle in his body. A stark hunger gripped his insides as he noted the slight flutter on the side of her neck. He crushed his urge to reach out and drag his finger across the spot. Instead, he took a step back from her.

“I made a mistake.”

“More than one,” she snapped.

“Perhaps we might start over.”

His gaze met her wary one as he watched her mulling his suggestion over. Her violet eyes darkened suddenly, and a composed mask settled over her features.

“I see no point in doing so, my lord. I have no wish to enter into a new liaison with any man. Particularly one who thinks gaining access to my bed is little more than a simple monetary transaction. I’m not ashamed of the way I make my living, but I offer a great deal more than the ordinary whore you mistake me for. Even Marston, for all his faults, knew that much.”

Without giving him a chance to respond, she turned away and proceeded to make her way to the house. He stood there watching her walk away, her back ramrod straight with what he was certain could only be indignation. The idea that she’d placed him on a rung lower than Marston made him stiffen with anger. He wasn’t sure if his irritation was rooted in self-disgust or if it was the fact that Ruth didn’t like him. Either way, it was best that he stayed away from her, and the idea he’d even thought of asking her to be his mistress in name only was laughable. Unfortunately, he was far from amused.

Ruth frowned as she struggled to focus her attention on the book she held. For the third time, she reread the paragraph on the page before closing the book with a noise of disgust. It had been a week since her visit to Crawley Hall, and she didn’t like the way she jumped every time the front doorbell rang.

There was no reason for Lord Stratfield—Garrick—to call on her. No reason except his obvious attraction to her. An attraction that she couldn’t deny feeling, too. Or at least in the darkness of her bedroom she couldn’t. Her heart skipped a beat at the memory of the dream she’d had last night. Images of Garrick pleasuring every inch of her with his mouth until she screamed out his name and her body convulsed in one orgasm after another.

She quickly stood up and dropped her book onto the side table next to the chair. The leather-bound volume cracked loudly against the walnut surface. Crossing the room to the window, she pushed aside the curtains to look out on the busy street. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so confused about what she wanted or so lost as to what to do.

The sun was brilliant, and for a change the sky wasn’t cloudy with smoke from chimneys spewing out the residue of heat-producing coal. It was a perfect day for a ride in the park, and yet it was the last thing she wanted to do. The heat of the sun penetrated the glass and warmed her face as she closed her eyes for a long moment.

Why couldn’t she shake this listlessness? She opened her eyes as she let the curtains fall back into place. Her life wasn’t over simply because Marston had ended their liaison. There were the children to look after. She bit down on her lip. Although she hadn’t heard back from Smythe about Crawley Hall, she was certain the offer she’d made yesterday wasn’t high enough. She would have to search for another property soon. St. Agnes’s was bursting at the seams.

The doorbell jangled in the front hall, and her heart skipped a beat. Had Garrick—she brushed the thought aside before it could even take hold in her head. Simmons quietly entered the salon.

“Yes, Simmons?”

“A note from Mr. Smythe, my lady.” Simmons offered her an envelope, which Ruth accepted with resignation.

“Thank you.”

She stared down at the envelope then released a sigh of annoyance. There was little use in putting off opening the bloody thing when she already knew what it said. With a vicious tug, she tore the envelope as she yanked the letter out. Quickly unfolding the paper, she skimmed the words on the page, her body growing rigid as she read the message then read it again.

Crawley Hall was hers.

Stunned, she stared at the letter and the words saying her offer had been accepted. She closed her eyes in a brief prayer of gratitude. Dazed, she stared at the letter’s content with disbelief as she tried to comprehend the fact that the Hall was hers. Had her offer actually been higher than Garrick’s? Her eyes scanned the contents again for the line she’d skimmed over the first time. As she was the only bidder on the property, the owners had decided to accept her offer rather than wait for another buyer.

The only bidder on the property.

Garrick hadn’t bid on the property? If so, why not? She was certain he’d wanted the Hall. She frowned, uncertain whether to feel elation that Crawley Hall was hers or irritation at the notion that Garrick might have been feeling magnanimous by not bidding. There was no doubt in her mind that he’d wanted the Hall almost as badly as she had. With a sharp exhalation, she shrugged slightly. It didn’t matter why he’d failed to make an offer. The Hall was hers. The front door rang again, and tension immediately tugged at her muscles. She wasn’t expecting any callers. Perhaps Garrick had come by to accept her gratitude for not bidding against her. She dismissed the idea as being ridiculous. A moment later, Simmons entered with a medium-sized box.

“A delivery for you, my lady.”

“Was there a card?”

“No, my lady. A boy made the delivery.” At the butler’s reply, she nodded her head.

“Thank you.”

As Simmons left the salon, she stared down at the jeweler’s box the servant had given her. Despite the lack of a card, she was certain it was from Garrick. Anticipation made her throat tighten in its effort to rush through her. She squashed the sensation immediately. Determined to remain detached, she slowly opened the box.

The name Garrard was imprinted on the white linen interior of the lid. It had been a long time since a suitor had sent her jewels from the Crown Jeweler. There were two smaller boxes inside, and the first one she opened contained a crystal paperweight in the form of a jackass. She laughed softly. Not only did Lord Stratfield have a sense of humor, he could laugh at himself as well.

She set aside the paperweight to open the second box. Nestled in the silk-lined interior was a delicate tulip made of small diamonds. She smiled. A paperweight that said he believed he’d behaved like an ass and a white tulip brooch that represented a request for forgiveness.

But had he really said or done anything terrible? He’d insulted her, and yet she didn’t believe he’d meant to do so. If anything he’d been quite complimentary, and in a manner that had made her feel young again. And his comment that she could pleasure a man with a simple stroke of her hand had stirred a dangerous excitement in her. Her skin grew warm as she remembered his provocative words. It
had
been a scandalous observation, but it had made her feel desired. She suddenly realized it was a sensation she’d not experienced for a very long time. Her fingertips trailed across the cool metal and precious stones.

It was obvious the man was apologizing. She just didn’t know whether she wanted to encourage him. And keeping the brooch, as lovely as it was, would do just that. Accepting his gift would indicate she’d forgiven his clumsy attempt to gain entry into her bed. She sighed. Garrick Stratfield’s attentions were flattering, but the gap in their ages made her hesitant to allow him to court her.

She had no doubt he would make her feel young again. At least until that moment when he left her for a woman his own age, someone younger than her. It would be devastating. Even more so than when Marston, or Grenville before him, had parted with her. She looked down at the brooch again.

It was clearly worth a substantial amount of money. But what would she gain if she accepted his gift? She’d be signaling that she would accept him as a suitor, and a liaison with him was certain to be short-lived with a painful ending. Still, he’d offered to buy Crawley Hall for her, which meant he was not without funds. Could she really afford to say no? If he were older—she bit down on her lip. It was impractical not to accept his gift, and she would no doubt come to regret it, but something told her she’d regret it even more if she accepted Garrick’s gift.

She returned the paperweight and brooch to the box, snapping it closed. Quickly crossing the floor, she sat down at the secretary to pen a brief note of refusal to accompany the jewelry back to the merchant. Just as she rang for Simmons, the front doorbell sounded again. She frowned as she slipped her note into an envelope. What now? Surely the man hadn’t sent another present. A quiet knock echoed in the parlor, and she stood up at the same moment that Simmons opened the door.

“Lord Stratfield, my lady.”

Caught by surprise, the note she’d written to the jeweler fell from her hand onto the desk as she stared in amazement at the sight of Garrick entering the room. She rarely was at a loss for words, but his unexpected appearance made her feel like an awkward, ungainly girl again. Her fingertips pressing hard against the cherry desktop of the secretary, she struggled to regain her equilibrium. He was just one man. She was more than capable of handling him as she had so many others. The lie incited mocking laughter in the back of her head. She silenced it with the iron will she’d developed at the age of seventeen. When one was hungry, one could endure almost anything for a meal.

“Lord Stratfield, this is a surprise.” Her fingers toyed nervously with the lace at the base of her throat at the frown on his face. She should never have agreed to call him by his first name. When she realized she was still fingering the lace, she immediately dropped her hand to her side.

“I see you received my gift.” His gaze dropped pointedly to the jeweler’s box on her desk then returned to her face.

“Yes.” She glanced away from him. “I just finished writing a note to accompany its return to the jeweler’s.”

“It’s not to your liking?”

“On the contrary, the paperweight is quite amusing, and the brooch is beautiful, but—”

“Then there’s no reason not to keep them.”

“Lord Strat—” She saw his frown grow darker and relented. “Garrick. While your gift is generous, I cannot accept.”