Chapter Twelve
“What can you tell me about Squire Dorchester?”
Claire paused in the act of lifting a forkful of buttered eggs to her mouth and stared at her husband. They were alone at the breakfast table, being the only two members of the household that rose before noon, even after returning home very late from the previous evening’s ball.
“Squire Dorchester?” Claire slowly set down her fork, and the uneaten eggs slid unceremoniously back onto her plate. “There is a gentleman by that name who lives back home.”
“So I’ve gathered.” Lord Fairhurst signaled the footman for a refill of coffee, then complained the brew was not hot enough.
Claire let out a small sigh of relief, pleased to have Jasper distracted from the topic of Squire Dorchester. But he turned toward her the moment the footman left to fetch a fresh pot of coffee, and she realized with dismay that Lord Fairhurst was waiting until the servant was out of earshot before continuing.
“I had a most unpleasant encounter with Dorchester last night at the ball.”
“I had no idea he was in Town.” Claire shifted uneasily in her chair. “I have known him for many years. For some odd reason, the squire seems to have taken a liking to me. When I was younger, he even briefly attempted to court me. But my heart was already pledged to Henry, and I refused any attention Dorchester tried to pay me.”
“Did that anger him?”
“I never got that impression.” She paused and considered her words for a moment. “There was always a bevy of women who demonstrated a marked interest in him. He is the richest man in the county, as well as a handsome, well-turned out gentleman. My lack of regard should have been barely noticed. There were numerous other women who were flattered if he cast an eye in their direction.”
“But not you?”
Claire shook her head. “I have always felt uneasy around him, though in truth I can offer no concrete explanation for the feeling. Many people, including my own parents, think the squire is someone to be admired. After Henry died, they harbored great hopes that I would make a match with Dorchester, but I knew that would never happen.”
“Because of my brother?”
“In part. Though their acquaintance was brief, Jay was the only person who shared my aversion to Dorchester. I believe one of the reasons he asked me to be his wife was to protect me from the squire.”
Lord Fairhurst leaned forward. Concern filled his eyes. “Protect you? Did something happen? Were you harmed or threatened?”
“Oh, no.” Claire’s heart turned over. His caring attitude warmed her, soothing her insecurities over his usual formality and distance. “Jay developed an intense dislike for the squire. He advised me to remain cautious and alert whenever Dorchester was around and to never allow myself to be alone with him.”
Claire glanced at her husband. There was a frown forming in his eyes.
“I wish you had told me this earlier.”
She smiled, trying to soften his ire. “I hardly saw the need. The squire is of no importance in my life.”
“That is not how he sees it.”
Startled, Claire widened her eyes. “How do you know that?”
After a discreet glance toward the footman who had entered the dining room carrying a fresh pot of coffee, Jasper returned his gaze to Claire’s. “He made a point of telling me of your long acquaintance last night.”
She opened her eyes even wider. “He did?”
“Yes. His attitude was both possessive and belligerent. He was quite annoyed when I did not recall his name, and he tried to instigate a fight.”
Claire took a deep breath and silently lectured herself not to overreact. “He must have thought you were Jay.”
“Obviously. Fortunately, the squire was too far in his cups to be observant of the differences between me and my brother.” Lord Fairhurst fingered the newspaper that had been brought to him earlier. He always read it while enjoying a solitary breakfast, but in deference to Claire joining him this morning, it had remained neatly folded and untouched. “My ignorance put me at a disadvantage last night, and I was planning on avoiding that in the future; hence my questions.”
“I am so sorry. I never thought to warn you.” Claire dropped the rest of her uneaten toast onto her plate, next to her now cold eggs. “I had heard that the squire made occasional trips to Town, but I never dreamt our paths would cross. I am very surprised to learn that he was at the duke’s ball last night. Quite frankly, I never knew he had connections in such exclusive circles.”
Jasper’s mouth twisted into a grimace. “His appearance last night is something of a mystery. I consulted with my sister, since she organized the affair, and confirmed that Dorchester was not among the invited guests. He must have come to the ball as someone’s escort.”
“That seems logical. He would be an excellent choice for the role, since he is such a handsome and well-turned out gentleman.”
“So you have mentioned. More than once.”
Jasper’s expression was placid, but a fire glittered in his eyes. If she did not know better, Claire would think Lord Fairhurst was jealous. They sat in silence for a minute as the footman cleared their dirty dishes from the table.
When the servant retreated to a respectable distance, Claire spoke. “Since we have no notion of how long he plans to be in Town, I think we must assume there is a good chance we will encounter Dorchester again.”
“I fear you are right.” Jasper regarded her with steady, unsmiling eyes. “If he somehow discovered the truth about our marriage, would he use the information to cause us trouble?”
“Nothing would delight him more.” The thought caused a cold shiver to run down Claire’s spine. “The squire is highly regarded in our small community, yet I have often questioned his true character. I have no specific proof, but I believe he is a man capable of great malice.”
“Then we must guard our privacy and hope the squire has other interests to occupy his mind.” Lord Fairhurst wiped the corners of his mouth with his linen napkin before tossing it onto the table. “My brother has always had good instincts about people. ’Tis obvious he thought the squire was trouble, and after meeting him I must concur. I therefore second Jason’s advice and request that you avoid Dorchester, and if you are forced into his company, make certain you are never alone with him.”
Though it seemed like an excessive precaution, Claire nodded her head in agreement. She truly had no particular liking for the squire and was more than happy to agree to avoid his company.
“There is one other thing,” Claire said as Lord Fairhurst stood, clearly intending to leave.
A muscle tightened in his jaw, but he sat down, this time in the chair closest to Claire. “Yes?”
“This is probably not worth mentioning; however, you said earlier that you wanted to know as much as possible about the squire.”
“I do.”
Claire fingered the handle of her delicate china coffee cup. “Jay told me he believed the squire was very impressed by the aristocracy and their titles. I did not give the matter much thought, but after discovering that it was you and not Jay who held the rank of viscount, I formed a theory about why Jay might have used your name and title when he married me.”
“To impress Dorchester?”
“Or intimidate him.” Claire pitched her voice very low, so only Lord Fairhurst could hear. “Since Jay and I had always planned to live apart, he might have believed the title of Lady Fairhurst would elevate my status in our small community enough to protect me from the advances of any unseemly gentleman, like the squire.”
“Men like that tend to take whatever they want, regardless of a woman’s situation.” Lord Fairhurst’s face remained concerned. “What are your plans for today?”
Claire blinked at the sudden change of topic. “I agreed to accompany your mother to Bond Street this afternoon.” She dipped her chin and smiled. “Though I promise I will refrain from purchasing anything.”
He stared at her with indignation. “I understand that you need an entirely new wardrobe befitting your new station. Though I applaud fiscal responsibility, I would not wish to deny you the pleasure of shopping.”
“Your generosity is most appreciated, but I can assure you that my maid will be unable to stuff another article of clothing into my wardrobe. ’Tis fairly bursting with more garments than I can ever hope to wear.”
His eyebrow went up suspiciously, and Claire realized that after living with his mother’s extravagance for so many years, it was difficult for the viscount to understand a woman refusing the opportunity to indulge herself.
“You have my permission to buy anything that strikes your fancy; however, there is one thing I must insist upon when you leave this house,” Lord Fairhurst said. “You will be careful.”
It was a statement, not a question, and his tone made it clear that he expected to be obeyed. Meeting his eyes, Claire graciously inclined her head. “I expect you to also be on your guard. After all, Dorchester approached you, not me, last evening.”
Lord Fairhurst’s eyes seemed to darken at her words. Claire was unsure if that meant he was pleased or angry by her comments, but soon realized she did not care. With Dorchester in Town, it was important that the viscount remain vigilant. She would be remiss in her duties as his wife if she did not remind him of that fact.
“I can handle myself,” he declared with a superior air.
“I know,” she replied. “Though I would prefer that you were not put in the position of having to defend yourself, verbally or physically.”
The very notion of Lord Fairhurst coming to harm turned her blood cold. He was close enough to touch, and Claire found she could not resist the opportunity. She raised a hand and gently, tentatively laid her fingers along his cheek. “I hope you have a pleasant day, my lord. I look forward to hearing about it when I see you tonight.”
“Jasper,” he replied. His eyes grew warm as he stared at her. “When we are in private, I want you to call me by my name. I like hearing it fall from your lips.”
“Jasper,” she repeated in a throaty, flirting voice, feeling his gaze sear her from head to toe. She glanced about for an instant, pleased to discover the servants had all left the dining room. Boldly, she drew a teasing finger down his lean cheek. “Is your name the only thing that comes to mind when you contemplate my lips? For shame, Jasper.”
He did not show even a flicker of surprise, but the little smile that played along his lips let her know he knew exactly what she was doing. Without further comment, he leaned forward, pressing his lips to hers.
Though his kiss was now familiar, it still had the power to tempt her. The pressure increased and Claire felt herself beginning to melt against him. She curled her arms around his neck and moved as close as she could, frustrated that she was hampered by the section of dining table that stood between them.
He started teasing her with his tongue, making her body burn to be pressed against his. As he deepened the kiss, it gave her a glimmer of hope, not that he was falling in love with her; she was not confident enough to dream that could be happening. But here at least was hope that he wanted her.
Claire was conscience of a warmth rising from within her. Her senses began to swim as she gave herself over to the sheer delight of the experience. She liked Jasper’s kisses. Very much. They were not too wet or sloppy, too forceful or hard. They were tantalizing and beguiling and made every bone in her body feel weak.
Finally, Jasper drew back. Claire was joyful to see that he was looking at her with distinct hunger. It made her heart sing.
“Until tonight,” he whispered.
Claire sat alone at the table after Jasper left, pink faced and slightly breathless. It had been, without question, one of the most thrilling ends to breakfast she had ever experienced, and she wanted to bask in the glow for as long as possible.
Her mind had felt clouded when she first arrived in the dining room this morning. Last night she had been unable to sleep, made restless by her own expectation that Jasper would come to her room, even if just to sleep.
When he did not appear, she was forced to come to grips with her feelings and admit that she wanted him to come, needed him to come. She had believed that in the conservatory at the duke’s ball they had formed a meaningful bond, but was suddenly unsure if that was the truth or merely her deepest wish.
It had been an act of love for her, and she had hoped at least an act of pleasure for Jasper. Yet, he hardly seemed as if anything had changed between them when she entered the dining room earlier. It was the first time they had been alone since leaving the conservatory last night, and Claire’s heart had plummeted when her husband greeted her with his usual stiff formality and politeness.
But their conversation had taken an interesting twist that highlighted Jasper’s concern for her and, more importantly, had ended with a passionate kiss—several kisses, actually.
Those kisses had left her feeling edgy—and hopeful. She wanted more. More kisses, certainly. Together with the pleasure they promised, she also wanted a future that was more than wistful dreams.
“We are not receiving callers this morning, Squire,” Rebecca announced. “My father and sister are both away from home.”
Richard lowered his eyes, hiding the gleam of excitement he could not yet control. “How unfortunate. Will they be gone long?”
“For several hours.”
Richard’s pulse leaped in anticipation. She thought she was playing the coquette, making herself unavailable to him, and thus heightening his interest. Yet, Richard reasoned that if Rebecca truly meant to deny him an audience, she would have sent a servant to impart the news. Instead, she had come herself to inform him that she was alone.
What amazing good fortune. After hearing some fascinating gossip earlier this morning, he had been racking his brain trying to devise a way to get her alone. But now any additional plotting was unnecessary. This perfect, unexpected opportunity had arisen, and the squire had no intention of wasting it.
“I require only a few moments of your time, Miss Manning.” He flashed his most enticing smile, and then lowered his voice to a caressing whisper. “Surely you can spare a minute or two for a dear friend?”
Her tongue darted out, and she licked her lower lip in nervous hesitation. Calmly, Richard waited. He knew she had been strictly brought up; the rules of decorum and propriety had been drummed into her head at an early age. But he had been working his wiles on her for several weeks, and the cracks in her discipline were starting to show.
A more prudent, cautious woman would turn and walk away, but Rebecca was sufficiently intrigued to hesitate. It would not take much more to push her into abandoning good sense.
Richard was glad he was wearing his newest garments, a costly outfit of formidable elegance. His morning coat was dark brown, his breeches ivory, and the waistcoat was pattered with ivory and brown stripes. His black Hessian boots were polished to a high gleam, and his white cravat was starched and simply tied.
He struck a pose in the Mannings’ front foyer and allowed Rebecca to examine him thoroughly, confident he looked like the epitome of a London buck. After assessing his physical attributes, her eyes anxiously scanned his features, as though she were searching for some sign of his mood. Richard kept his expression pleasant and open.
“We can retire to the library,” she finally decided. “For a few brief moments.”
Richard bowed his head in acceptance. Swallowing his smirk of triumph, he followed her at a respectful distance, doubly pleased to note there were no footman standing guard in this area of the house.
The scent of leather bindings and stale smoke assaulted his nostrils the moment they entered the room. Tall, narrow windows let in a surprising amount of light, and the golden glow contrasted sharply with the austere gray carpet. Books lined three of the walls, reaching nearly to the top of the twelve-foot ceiling. The neatly stacked volumes were aligned so precisely, it seemed obvious that they had never been removed from the shelves.
Richard walked past Rebecca and positioned himself in the center of the room, facing the south windows, with his back toward her. “Close the door behind you and lock it.”
“Why?”
“I do not want any of your servants interrupting our discussion.”
He modulated his voice just enough to align her suspicions and peak her curiosity. Fearful his eyes might reveal his true intent, he held his position facing away from her until he heard the door shoved closed and the lock click into place.
Only then did he turn and face her.
“Why are you here, Squire?” Rebecca asked, setting her shoulders mutinously. “What do you want?”
“Answers.”
“About what?”
“Your past.”
He felt a spurt of triumph as a stricken look crossed her face.
“My past? Whatever do you mean?”
Determined to call her bluff, he inched closer. “I discovered something most interesting while I was examining the horseflesh at Tattersall’s earlier this morning.”
“Concerning me?” Rebecca interrupted. “How vulgar for you to have been a party to such a discussion.”
“Oh, I can assure you, only the finest of gentlemen participated in the conversation,” he insisted.
She pulled in a startled breath. “Gentlemen? Are you saying there were several men discussing me?”
“At least five, and all showed considerable interest.” He laughed at her obvious discomfort. “Naturally, I intended to put an immediate stop to the conversation the second your name was mentioned, but, alas, the discussion turned far too enlightening.”
“I am certain I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Truly?” He smiled, not at all fooled by her grand show of indifference. “Well, you can imagine my surprise when I learned that you were expected to announce your betrothal to Lord Fairhurst sometime this Season, but then he suddenly produced a wife, and talk of your union was quickly relegated to the gossipmongers.”
Rebecca’s muscles tensed, but somehow she managed to favor him with an icy stare. “Are you jealous?”
“Hardly.”
“No matter. My involvement with Lord Fairhurst is over and is certainly no concern of yours,” Rebecca stated in a crisp, clipped voice.
“You are wrong. Anything regarding Lord Fairhurst interests me.”
Color filled her cheeks. “What?”
He laughed, amused at her shocked expression. “I came to London in search of Fairhurst, and his bride. And on my second night in Town I stumbled across you, his former beloved, escaping the scrutiny of a ball by hiding out in the garden. Is it coincidence that brought us together? Or fate?”
“Purely bad luck, Squire.”
“I think it was fate. Yet you tried to cheat me of it when you claimed to know nothing of Fairhurst.” He dropped his voice to a lower pitch in an attempt to hide his growing ire. “Explain yourself.”
“I do not need to explain anything, sir. Especially to you.”
“I beg to differ.” He held his smile in place, but Richard’s hold on his temper was slipping. Rebecca must have sensed his escalating mood, because suddenly she lunged for the door. But Richard had already anticipated her flight.
He bounded after her, managing to intercept her before she escaped. Grabbing her by the waist, he lifted her and carried her across the room, setting her atop the desk. He trapped her legs between his thighs.
Wildly, she flayed her arms, beating at his chest with her closed fists. “Release me at once!”
“Not until I am ready.” He caught her hands and manacled them together behind her back with one of his own. Her awkward position caused her chest to thrust forward. Unable to resist, Richard reached out with his free hand and cupped her breast.
Rebecca screamed.
“You’ve been holding out on me,” he snarled. “Dallying with noblemen, secret engagements, pretending to be the grand little lady. I bet you aren’t even a virgin anymore.”
“How dare you say such a thing!”
She began to struggle anew, and Richard laughed. His excitement grew. Lord, she was such a little spitfire. He was mad enough to exaggerate his claims and took delight in how his words tormented and humiliated her.
“Afraid?” His voice was edged with mockery. “You should be. ’Tis very foolish to lie to me. It makes me very angry. And now you will learn the penalty for duping me.”
He curved her over his arm and kissed her, assaulting her mouth, demanding a response. When she refused to open her lips, he sunk his teeth into her lower lip until she cried out.
Richard’s tongue thrust rhythmically into the depths of Rebecca’s mouth and her struggles slowed, then ceased. She opened her mouth wider, and he greedily plundered her softness. With a strangled cry of passion, Rebecca took a handful of his jacket in her fists and held on, pressing herself closer.
Richard could feel her breasts, full and warm, crushing against his chest. Grasping her wrist, he slid her hand down between them to rub the bulge in his breeches.
Tearing his mouth from hers, he breathed hotly into her ear. “See how I can make you feel? How I can give pleasure and withhold pleasure on a whim?”
Rebecca shuddered, then slowly withdrew her hand. Sliding off the desk, she struggled to regulate her breathing. Then she drew further back, taking several long steps away from him. “And I can do the same to you, sir,” she declared with a smirk of triumph.
Her arrogance challenged him. How dare she consider herself his equal? Or far worse, his superior?
Richard’s cold, penetrating glare bore into Rebecca as he stalked toward her. “I am not yours, Madame; however, I have just proven to both of us that I can take you whenever the mood strikes me.”
“I make my own choices,” Rebecca stated in a raw voice, flinching as Richard drew near.
He enjoyed seeing her fear. The more her lips trembled, the harder and stiffer his cock grew. “I can have you whenever I wish,” he declared, curling his mouth into a twisted sneer. “And I can discard you just as easily.”
“I am a lady,” Rebecca retorted. Her voice was strong, but she averted her gaze and began to slowly inch toward the door.
His arm snaked out and grasped her wrist. He felt Rebecca recoil instinctively, which caused him to tug harder. His grip tightened further, and she whimpered, releasing trembling sobs from the back of her throat as he pulled her into an unyielding embrace.
He ran one hand down the length of her torso, lingering on her full breasts. “You are no lady, Madame. You are my whore.”
Richard felt her cringe in his arms. Gleefully, he continued. “I have every right to take you, to use you, to do whatever I wish with you because I know you will come back for more. Every time.”
“I will not!”
The scent of her fear, mingled with sexual excitement, filled his nostrils. He was a man who had perfected the art of torment, and this was precisely the kind of situation that drove his depraved appetite into high gear.
Deciding he simply must have her, Richard swung Rebecca off her feet and deposited her on the floor. He pushed her so that she was lying facedown on the rug, with his knee centered squarely in the small of her back.
Talons of passion clutched at him. Roughly grasping her hips, Richard lifted Rebecca to her knees, arranging her limbs until she was bent over at the perfect angle. With a groan of mounting excitement, he moved closer, then tossed her skirts up over her head.
Her body was now brazenly presented for his attention. He attacked her flesh like a man starving for food, stroking, kneading, grasping. When the fabric of her petticoats heeded his progress, Richard tore at them, smiling with pleasure upon hearing the violent sound as they ripped apart.
With one hand, Richard opened the fall of his breeches and poised behind her. He noticed her fingers clenched in the thick strands of the carpet as she tried to stay balanced. When her breathing grew shallow, Richard knew she realized his intent.
The lush globes of her breasts had fallen out of her low-cut bodice. They swayed to and fro, too tempting to resist. Greedily, Richard reached forward and pinched one luscious peak. Rebecca yelped in surprise and tried to twist away. Richard smiled, then pinched the other nipple even harder.
She whimpered in distress and tried to crawl to the door, but he held her firmly in place. “Relax, my little bitch. I’ll soon have you panting and screaming with bliss.”
Reaching down with one hand, he spread the delicate lips that guarded her womanhood. Rebecca flinched, let out a strangled cry, and redoubled her efforts to escape.
“I usually prefer my women on their backs with their legs in the air,” he grunted. “But you are special enough to take this way.”
“Don’t!”
Kneeling, the squire positioned himself to enter her squirming body. Rebecca continued to struggle and whimper and her actions drove him out of his mind with savage lust.
She hissed in pain as he started to push inside, then let out a sharp scream when he made his first full thrust. Her body, tight and dry, struggled to accommodate him. It fired Richard’s blood to know she could barely take his hard length.
“Stop,” she sobbed brokenly. “You are hurting me.”
Her agony, coupled with the slight burning sensation surrounding his cock, was sheer bliss. Richard lunged forward again as hard as he could, and Rebecca squirmed beneath his savage thrusts. Her frantic movements and whimpers of pain brought his excitement to a frenzied pitch.
“Had enough,” he cried, gripping her buttocks and driving into her.
She groaned. He smiled.
Though tormenting Rebecca was bringing him deep pleasure, Richard knew he could not push her too far. In order to maintain his control over her, it would be necessary to bind her to him completely. And that could not be accomplished with pain.
Deciding it was necessary to begin the next phase of Rebecca’s initiation, Richard slowed his thrusts, reluctantly leaned forward, and placed a tender kiss on her neck. Her body tensed further, almost in shock, but he repeated the gesture over and over until she was trembling each time he flicked his tongue on the sensitive skin.
He murmured sweet, tender words like a witless, love-hungry fool, nearly choking as he whispered each ridiculous, flowery phrase. Yet his continued efforts soon brought a subtle change in Rebecca. With almost dispassionate skill, he caressed and teased her body until she began to match his mating rhythm. Just as he had planned and calculated, her fear had turned to passion, her pain to pleasure, and her cries now echoed with desire and need.
Rebecca’s muscles stretched and tensed. She began panting and groaning, surging back against him, willingly impaling herself on his hardness. Her feminine passage was slick and hot, instead of rough and dry. Richard drove himself deeper and deeper until he could feel her body start shaking and realized with amazement that she was about to climax.
The tension inside him coiled as his own release beckoned, hardening his body as he thrust harder, faster, more powerfully. With a strangled cry he gave one last, deep surge against her lush, curved bottom and spilled his seed inside her.
Just as his shuddering ended, Richard felt her body convulsing around him. He held himself completely still, waiting impatiently for the pulsing to subside, for the strangled groan that sounded from deep in her throat to end.
Frustrated that he had to appease her desire, feeling alone and empty, Richard roughly pulled himself out. Rebecca let out a cry of distress; then with a pitiful moan, she collapsed completely on the carpet and rolled onto her side.
The ribbons that had fastened her hair were dangling over her face, the top half of her gown was pulled obscenely low, and the shreds of her petticoats clung to her legs.
Her eyes were heavy with shock and weariness, her cheeks were flushed, and her mouth was trembling. He waited for her reaction, uncertain if she would attack him, break down in hysteria, or crawl away.
Richard leaned back on his haunches and began to fasten the top buttons of his breeches. His breath was still coming in hard gasps. The air was thick with the fragrance of lust and violence.
Once he had put himself to rights, he looked again at the woman sprawled on the carpet. Her legs had fallen apart, and he saw a dark smear of blood on the white skin of her upper thighs.
“Not bad for a virgin,” he remarked with a chuckle. “Though I expect you will improve over time.”
With a deep sigh, Rebecca rolled onto her back. Her red lips opened slightly, her white teeth glistened, and her eyes fluttered open. There was something about her eyes that was remarkably different. They seemed to burn into his flesh. Cautiously, Richard pulled away.
Then, remarkably, her legs parted in blatant invitation. She gave him a pleading look, stirring her hips in a provocative manner. “If I am to improve, then I need to practice. Will you try again, sir? I find that I am not yet satisfied with our morning’s activity.”