The Major's Faux Fiancee (18 page)

“Whatever happens between us…” she began, whilst fervently hoping everything that could happen,
did
. “You are officially a free man.”

He stepped back, frowning. “What do you mean?”

She bit her lip. “Did you bring the betrothal contract, as I requested?”

He gestured toward one of the tea tables. “It’s over there.”

The table he’d indicated was laden with roses and Queen Anne’s lace.

She peered up at him shyly. “You brought flowers?”

He lifted a shoulder. “It’s your birthday. All those roses were cluttering up my garden rather awfully, so I thought—”

She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “Do you even have a garden?”

He widened his eyes, the very picture of innocence. “Not anymore. Everything I had is over there on your tea table.”

Her lips quirked. “That was very thoughtful. The flowers are lovely. I do thank you for digging up your garden for me.”

“It’ll grow back.” He waved a careless hand. “Try not to have another birthday until next year.”

Until next year
.

Daphne’s smile fell. No more teasing. Next year, the months they’d shared together would only be a memory. It was past time to let him know.

“The bank finalized my inheritance.” Her voice was low and surprisingly calm, given the turbulence she felt inside. Once Bartholomew realized he need not playact any longer, there would be no reason to stay… except for her.

“Your finances are in order?” His eyes were shuttered, his face unreadable. “Then it is a very happy birthday, indeed.”

She nodded. Or meant to. She’d achieved precisely what she’d hoped for. So why did she feel torn in two directions at once?

“I am much relieved,” she said. “My portion is what I thought it would be. Not enough to rub shoulders with high society, of course, but more than enough to meet my simple needs.”

“Congratulations. You can finally tell that pirate cousin of yours to shove off.” He reached inside the breast of his tailcoat and removed a tightly rolled document. “I presume that’s why you asked me to bring this?”

“Yes. This morning, I received…” Suddenly realizing her hands were empty, her gaze darted about the parlor until she spied a corner of parchment protruding from beneath one of the chairs. The betrothal contract must have fluttered from her fingers during their heated kiss. She knelt to retrieve the fallen document and handed it to Bartholomew. “My father’s servants managed to liberate Captain Steele’s copy. I thought we might toss them into the fire together.”

Bartholomew didn’t exhale with relief at the end of their charade, nor did he laugh merrily at the servants’ ingenuity or the arrogant pirate’s certain disgruntlement once he discovered he hadn’t been as clever as he’d thought. Instead, Bartholomew simply handed back the captain’s copy and motioned toward the hearth. “After you.”

She gave a determined smile and strode up to the low iron grate. Lazy orange flames licked upward from a jumble of charred logs, warming her cheeks and fingers with their heat. She held the corner of the contract up over the grate, where it would be sure to fall into the flames. The lowest corner of the parchment instantly began to brown from the heat.

“Ready?”

In a single breath, Bartholomew was next to her, holding his own copy of the contract above the flames. Because it had been rolled, the edges curved inward, but it too would tumble directly into the fire.

He gave a sharp nod. “Ready.”

“To freedom,” she whispered, and released the parchment.

Bartholomew met her eyes as he let go of his copy. “To Daphne.”

The fire crackled and snapped as it hungrily consumed the new offerings. In seconds, both documents had browned, burned, and scattered as ash.

“It’s truly over. All of it.” She turned to smile up at him. “Thank you for coming to my rescue.”

He sketched a bow. “I am ever your servant.”

“If there is ever anything I can do for you…” Her voice trailed off. She cursed her awkwardness. That was not what she’d meant. She’d invited him in the hopes he would stay for a seduction and instead, she’d made it sound like good-bye. “The worst part about ending our sham relationship is that we no longer have any reason to—”

“No,” he interrupted, his blue eyes intense. “The
best
part about ending a sham relationship is that you’ll know for certain that what I’m about to do is because I wish to, and not for any other motive.”

Hope filled her. “What are you about to do?”

“This.” He hauled her against him and covered her mouth with his.

Elated, she wrapped her arms about his neck as she kissed him back, letting him feel with every lick, every nibble, every kiss just how much she wanted him, too.

She loved him even more for this, although she knew better than to say so and risk him walking away. They’d made each other no promises. Their betrothal contract was nothing more than a smudge of ash.

But even though their paths would diverge on the morrow, this was no idle coupling. She would love him passionately with her heart, her mind, and her body, just as she would if he were her husband. Hers to have and to hold. Hers to keep. If only for tonight.

She ripped his cravat from his neck. He unbuttoned her gown without breaking their kiss. His fingers were tender, his mouth urgent. Cool air whispered down her spine as he unlaced her stays and tossed them aside.

When his fingertips grazed her hardened nipples through the thin layer of linen, she shivered at the delicious sensation.

His mouth broke from hers. “Daphne. Are you certain?”

“I want it all,” she murmured against his lips, pushing her gown and chemise off her shoulders so that they puddled onto the floor, baring her body before him. “I want
you
.”

He swung her into his arms and over to the chaise longue, where he lay down beside her and slanted his mouth over hers.

She drank him in greedily. The chill on her flesh from the exposed air evaporated the moment his warm hand splayed against her ribs. Her breasts seemed to swell in anticipation of his touch, every inch of her body alive and tingling with expectation. Her heart swelled. She hadn’t been waiting to make love. She’d been waiting for
him
.

When at last he cupped her breast, she knew she was lost. As his fingers rolled across the peak of her nipple, toying, teasing, an answering tension surged between her legs, a sharp yearning unlike anything she had ever imagined.

He lowered his mouth to her breast and slid his fingers down her stomach to the cleft between her legs. Pleasure shot through her.

Her head fell back against the pillows, her eyelids fluttering in bliss at the twin sensations. She arched her breast into his mouth, let her thighs fall open to give him greater access. Longing stabbed through her as his fingertips stroked and dipped, teasing her with hints of the ecstasy to come.

As much as she wanted this—wanted
him
—a growing part of her desperately wished that it
could
be forever. That he could truly be hers.

“Bartholomew…” she whispered.

He slid two fingers inside her and conscious thought vanished. The pad of his thumb swirled against her slick nub as his fingers surged within her. She could barely breathe at the onslaught of sensation.

Her legs began to tremble as the pressure built to a crescendo, then burst in waves of pleasure. She grasped his hair with both hands, clutching his mouth to her breast as her inner muscles contracted around his fingers with delicious abandon.

When at last the tremors ceased, he slid his fingers from between her legs and covered her mouth with fevered kisses. Her heart warmed. This was only the beginning.

“Make love to me.” She tugged impatiently at the shoulders of his tailcoat, suddenly cognizant that she was completely nude and he was completely clothed. She yearned to feel the heat of his flesh against hers. Two bodies, two souls, with nothing between them. She reached for the buttons of his tailcoat. “Bartholomew, make love to me.”

He lifted his hips up off the chaise and slid his hand between their bodies. Rather than unbutton his waistcoat, however, he simply unfastened the fall of his breeches. As he settled his hips atop hers, the hard length of his shaft fell perfectly against the wet heat between her legs.

She frowned and tried to prop herself up on her elbows. “What are you doing?”

He tugged her lower lip between his teeth and smiled. “Making love to you. Just like you asked.”

She shook her head with frustration. “
Not
like I asked. I want you to make
love
to me.”

“Happily.” He reached between them and guided his shaft toward her core.

This was it. This was all he was willing to share. As close as he was willing to get. Disappointment flooded her, erasing all the pleasure of the moments before and leaving her with nothing but a great, yawning emptiness.

This wasn’t making love. This was him, fully clothed, already planning to leave her. Just like he left everyone. Just like everyone always left her.

Not anymore.

The evening of her birthday, Daphne descended from a hackney carriage as though she were pushing through molasses.

She should be happy.

She clutched her documents to her chest and stared up at Katherine’s elegant town house. At the second story room Daphne no longer required. It was over. She could leave right now if she wanted and never return to London again. She should be
thrilled
.

Her lady’s maid alighted from the hack. “Everything all right, ma’am?”

Esther
. Daphne shot a despairing glance at her maid. What was she meant to do about Esther?

With simple living and an eye on her budget, Daphne’s small portion was enough to provide for her and perhaps a maid-of-all-work as a companion.

No lady’s maid—not even a kind, unpretentious lady’s maid accustomed to no more fine living than what might be found in a simple vicarage—would wish to trade the slow, pleasant country life for the wretched, grueling drudgery of an overburdened, underpaid maid-of-all-work.

Even less likely was the idea any maid would wish to be dragged through the poorest, most far-flung corners of England. Daphne’s itinerary was not for the faint of heart. Failing farms. Teeming rookeries. Dangerous mines. It was not for Esther.

Once Daphne became an independent, unchaperoned crusader, she would no longer have the option of avoiding high society. She’d be
obligated
to avoid them. With a reputation that tattered, the only lord or lady who wouldn’t give her the cut direct without a second thought was Katherine.

And, perhaps… Bartholomew.

Daphne let out a slow breath. The silver lining to losing one’s reputation was that there was no longer any need to go to heroic measures to protect it. In fact, she rather appreciated the freedom her classlessness brought. If Bartholomew wished to kiss her, here she was.

For now.

“Everything’s fine,” she assured her maid, before forcing her feet up the walk to Katherine’s front door.

Whether or not everything was fine remained to be seen. The only certainty was that everything was changing.

Daphne handed off her coat and gloves to the butler and started up the stairs. Perhaps she should stay a few days before leaving. One couldn’t sack a cherished servant out of the blue.

She would also love to put her head together with Lady Amelia Sheffield one last time before the viscountess could no longer associate with Daphne publicly.

She frowned. There were plenty of black clouds to go with the silver lining of freedom.

Now that she finally had an army—and a lieutenant—she could do battle with more than her pen and writing desk. Lady Amelia didn’t seem the sort to require in-person instruction. She had already shouldered a fair chunk of Daphne’s letter writing, and had created teams of volunteers and detailed journals for each of her campaigns.

When Daphne reached her guest chamber, she rang for a tea tray and a hot bath. This might be one of the last times in her life to have such luxuries at her fingertips, and it was difficult not to wish to make the most of them while she still could.

The butler had informed her that Katherine had taken her aunt to the theatre and left instructions for Daphne to join them, but after the stress of so many weeks spent agonizing over whether she’d celebrate her birthday a free woman, Daphne wanted little more than to relax in the hot water and enjoy an evening away from crowds. Away from pretending.

An evening of being herself, without need to impress or playact or mind her tongue sounded just like heaven.

Once she was clean and dressed, she gave Esther the rest of the evening off. Daphne needed to sit down at her escritoire and decide what could be done for her maid. A task much easier without the maid in question staring at her from across the room.

Daphne affixed her reading spectacles to her nose and began to create a list of what Esther might need.

Passage back to Maidstone, of course. If Esther wished to return to Kent. London might well offer more and better opportunities for an experienced maid. Daphne nodded. She’d write several letters of recommendation. It might be difficult for the post to locate her as she traveled, so the best thing to do was provide Esther with a good quantity up front, as well as a month’s wages in case there was any delay securing employment.

The vicarage servants had been few in number, but they were loyal and kind, and in most cases had been with the family since before Daphne was born. Now that Captain Steele had inherited the cottage, heaven only knew what would become of them. Perhaps she should send letters of recommendation for the entire staff, just in case they found themselves in need of a way out.

Presuming Captain Steele didn’t intercept her recommendations and toss them straight into the fire.

A knock sounded upon her chamber door.

Daphne rose and discovered one of the footmen in the corridor with the afternoon post. She thanked him and carried the small pile to her escritoire. As expected, the mail was addressed to various aliases, in response to one cause or another.

All except one.

Frowning, she broke the drop of wax. A folded document tumbled onto the desk.

A document she recognized.

With shaking fingers, she unfolded the parchment.
Her betrothal contract
. She gasped and hugged the cursed document to her pounding heart. One of the servants must have managed to smuggle it from her father’s study.

A laugh burbled in Daphne’s throat. It would never have occurred to a pirate who trusted no one that most of the household knew the combination to her father’s safe!

For a servant to have risked discovery, however, meant that Captain Steele must have already left on his next pirating adventure after all. Which meant Daphne could happily send off multiple letters of recommendation to everyone on staff. They had taken care of her since she was a child, and they hadn’t stopped doing so just because her father was no longer their employer.

But first—!

She leapt up from the escritoire and strode toward the hearth, intent on ripping the contract into shreds and feeding each scrap to the crackling fire.

No.
She paused just as her fingers made the first tear. This was a moment that deserved to be shared.

And it wasn’t the only copy of the contract.

She hurried back to the escritoire and dashed off a quick summons for Bartholomew, telling him everything was fine—better than fine!—and to please present himself and his copy of the contract at his earliest convenience. She rang for a footman to deliver the letter.

As soon as the note was gone, a thought occurred to her. Captain Steele hadn’t just lost his hold over Daphne. She’d lost hers over Bartholomew. As soon as they destroyed both copies of the contract, he would no longer need to fear Captain Steele dragging him into prison. Bartholomew would be free to walk away.

Unless she gave him a reason to stay the night.

Now that she was an independent woman, what did she intend to do with her newfound freedom? Even if marriage wasn’t in her future, there was only one way she wanted to spend the present evening: in Bartholomew’s arms.

She turned to the closest looking-glass. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement, her eyes bright and shining. Her simple day dress wasn’t precisely the sort of gown one wore when plotting a seduction, but she’d already let Esther go for the evening and…

Daphne’s blush deepened.
Yes
. This was absolutely a seduction. She was free from the machinations of Captain Steele, free from Society’s prim dictates, free to live her life where and how she chose. She couldn’t think of anything more fitting than for her first act as a free woman to be making love to a man she cherished.

And would likely never see again.

She glanced down at the journal she used to plan her schedule. By this time next week, she planned to be in South Tyneside. From there to Leeds, then on to Shrewsbury.

Daphne doubted she’d ever return to Mayfair or Hyde Park. There were too many people who needed too much help elsewhere in the country. There were plenty of worthy causes in the London rookeries as well. However, those dirty streets weren’t where one stumbled across rakish childhood friends. Once she embarked on this adventure, she’d never be welcomed back.

She inhaled a slow, shaky breath. Whatever was going to happen, needed to happen tonight. The stars were aligned as well as they would ever be. If Bartholomew didn’t get her message, or was tied up with other engagements until later in the week… then it wasn’t meant to be.

Of course, now that she’d
sent
the invitation, her stomach was tangled in knots. She removed her spectacles and rubbed her face. So much could still go wrong. What if he didn’t receive it until the morrow? What if he did receive it—along with a more salacious offer from that beautiful widow with the long, seductive glances? What if he arrived, only to chuckle in amusement when she revealed her intent to seduce him?

What if he didn’t want her, not in that way?

Her heart skittered in trepidation. He’d been a rake for the past decade, while she’d remained good old
Laughy Daffy
, the forgettable vicar’s daughter from the country. He’d kissed her, but that was all. Rakes were scarcely renowned for their restraint. If he’d had any inclination to seduce her, surely he would have already done so. Wasn’t that omission clear enough? Did she really need to force him to reject her to her face?

Panic coursed through her. Heaven help her, she should never have sent that letter. With any luck, Bartholomew wouldn’t be at home to receive it. Or perhaps he’d send a note of apology, and come round some other time, when they wouldn’t be so
alone
, and the circumstances so ripe for—

“Miss?” Outside Daphne’s open door, a footman consulted a pristine calling card. “Major Bartholomew Blackpool is here. Are you receiving callers, or shall I send him away?”

“
No
,” she said, too quickly. Her cheeks flushed. “I should like to see him. Is he in the parlor?”

The footman bowed. “He is indeed. Shall I order tea?”

She hesitated for only a moment. “No, thank you. I’ve important matters to discuss with Major Blackpool, and it will be best if we are not disturbed.”

The footman nodded crisply and took his leave.

Daphne snatched the stolen copy of the betrothal contract from atop her escritoire and strode out of her chamber.

At least she had a pretext. Regardless of Bartholomew’s interest in her physically, he would be just as relieved as she was that she no longer required a guardian’s care or a fake fiancé. She swallowed. In fact, he might be delighted to learn he could now resume his previous habits and need not concern himself with vagabond crusader Daphne Vaughan again once he left these premises.

The thought of Bartholomew returning to the infamous rake he’d once been…

Parchment crinkled as Daphne’s trembling fingers curled into a fist.

She halted outside the parlor to try and regulate her breathing. They were independent souls. If he wished to lie with every debutante from Exeter to Newcastle, that was his business. Just as choosing to devote herself to improving the lives of the less fortunate was hers. She held no claim to his time or his heart. He wasn’t here to sign a contract, but to burn one.

There could be no future beyond tonight. No sense ruining it with jealousy over liaisons he hadn’t yet had. She took a deep breath and stepped into the parlor.

At the sound of her footsteps, he spun to face her. His brow was knit with concern, but his warm blue eyes were filled with something deeper. Not the cool perusal of a disinterested rake, but the hungry fire of a wolf that had just been hand-delivered a succulent lamb.

Her heart thundered as she latched the door behind her, but she could not keep a self-satisfied smile from curving her lips.

The heat in his gaze indicated tonight’s seduction would be decidedly mutual.

“I received your note.” His fingertips touched his chest as if her letter were inside his waistcoat pocket, tucked safely against his heart. “You said to come at once.”

“And so you did.” There was a knowing edge to her voice that she barely recognized, a deliberate swing to her hips as she closed the distance between them. Being the object of his undivided attention emboldened her.

Without taking her eyes from his, she flattened her hand against his chest and slid her fingers beneath the lapel of his tailcoat. His heart thundered against her palm as her fingertips brushed the telltale edge of folded parchment.

“I missed you.” He clapped his hand over his chest, trapping her fingers between layers of silk and linen that she held no right to touch.

Layers she intended to remove, piece by piece.

He lifted her chin with his free hand, then slid his fingers into her hair to cup the back of her head as he crushed his lips to hers.

She gasped, and he swept his tongue inside her mouth, teasing her in such a way that her entire body trembled with desire and want. She clutched the hard muscle of his upper arm and met him kiss for kiss.

When he finally lifted his mouth from hers, the corner of his beautiful mouth twitched with arrogant satisfaction. He well knew how potently he affected her. She might have felt powerful before, but she was putty in his arms. There was no hiding the fact that she was his for the taking. He suckled her lower lip into his mouth.

Breathless, she pressed herself even closer.

He bit her lower lip gently before releasing it and licking the spot his teeth had grazed.

“Is this why you summoned me?” he asked, without lifting his mouth from hers.

She suckled his lower lip the way he’d suckled hers, then bit it slightly harder before touching her tongue to his. “Not the
only
reason.”

The wicked promise in his eyes nearly melted her chemise right off her body. “I watched you lock the door. If there is anything you wish to discuss, tell me now before we have no more use for words.”

As tempting as it was to forgo words completely, ’twas even more important that he know he no longer ran the risk of having to marry her.