Joseph Stratford practised the words of his proposal quietly to himself in the silence of the library. If he meant to do the deed he had best do it tonight, while there were guests to celebrate it. It was a culmination of sorts—a final proof to his investors of the confidence that the Clairemonts placed in him. It was another step in his entry into society.
In all ways it was an excellent choice. He had selected Anne with clinical precision, just as he had the household decorations. There was no question that she was a beauty, and her manners and breeding were impeccable. Though her father might be cold and abrupt to him, Anne paid just the correct amount of interest, making it clear without seeming inappropriately eager that when he chose to offer the answer would be yes.
His heart was not engaged, of course. Neither was hers. That was for the best. If he sought affection elsewhere she would likely be more relieved than upset. Though he would make every effort to see her happy, as he had promised Bob, he would expend nothing more to try to win a love that was not likely to appear. And if she sought comfort with another? As long as the first son looked like him, what right did he have to care?
He thought of the brief and unpleasant scene he had witnessed a few moments ago: Breton and Barbara standing awkwardly under the kissing bough. That had been his plan when he’d invited her. She should find someone who valued her, and he could think of no better choice than Bob.
But Joseph did not find his success nearly as enjoyable as the one dance he’d shared with her, or the heroic feeling of rescuing her from her hiding place in the portrait gallery. If he was not careful he’d destroy plans that had been months in the making in trying to interpret a few mysterious dreams and appease spirits that were entirely the makings of his own overtired brain. If he was lucky, the girl was even now getting on well with Breton, and he would never have to think of her again.
Anne was her superior in every way, he reminded himself firmly. Barbara’s face was as far from patrician as one could imagine. To call her complexion ruddy was unfair, but it had a healthy glow about it—as though she partook freely of the northern air. She was not short, nor stout, though she appeared stunted next to the tall and slender Anne. In all ways she seemed less refined, less delicate, less of a lady.
And his body did not seem to mind that a bit. While Anne might be as lovely as a china doll, china dolls were made to be admired more than touched. They were expensive things, to be cherished, set upon a shelf and forgotten.
Other toys were meant to be played with. When he looked at Barbara Lampett, oh, how he wished for playtime. She made him think of Christmas morning, with gifts waiting to be unwrapped, games to be won, and nights full of pleasant surprises. The likelihood that she would spend her adult life as a spinster caring for her mad father seemed vastly unfair. He wondered yet again what the truth was in her disgrace and banishment from local society. If there was a stain already on her character, perhaps in time …
The door opened suddenly, and he was face to face with his intended. ‘Anne,’ he said dumbly, taking a moment to wipe his mind clear of its recent speculation.
‘Joseph.’ She seemed to need a moment’s composure as well. He pretended not to notice the deep breath she took, and the fading flush on her cheeks. ‘I am sorry. I did not mean to disturb you.’
‘It is quite all right. I meant to seek you out just now. If you have a moment … ?’
‘Of course.’
Now that the time was upon him, he was unsure what the correct emotion was to suit it. Whatever was expected, he was sure that he was not feeling it. There was no tingle of nerves, no pleasant sense of anticipation, no triumph and no relief. He was certainly not feeling the desire he might wish for as she stepped into the room, closing the door behind her and leaving them alone together for the first time in their acquaintance.
She was totally composed again, staring at him with a pleasant, neutral smile, waiting for him to speak. He wondered if he should begin with some inane comment like, I suppose you wonder why I’ve asked you here.
But they both knew damn well the reason. To pretend there was doubt as to the question and its inevitable answer was an annoying ceremony that he could not quite manage.
So he waited until the click of the door latch no longer echoed in the still air of the room, took the few steps to her side, went down on one knee and said, ‘Miss Anne Clairemont, would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’
The words, though they were only a formality, were surprisingly hard to say.
‘Thank you. I would be honoured in return.’ It was good that he had not expected her to go into raptures. Her expression had not changed one iota from the one she had worn in the ballroom.
He rose. ‘I have no ring to offer at this time. After Christmas I will take you to London, where you may choose something suitable that is to your taste.’ It would save her being embarrassed at his lack of style, should he choose incorrectly.
‘That will not be necessary,’ she said, with the same unfailing smile. ‘I am sure Mother will have something appropriate in her jewel case.’
Apparently when he had purchased the house and its contents he had purchased the bride and her ring as well. He stifled a sudden and totally inappropriate desire to laugh.
‘Very well, then. Let us meet in the ballroom at—’ he checked his watch ‘—midnight exactly, to make the announcement. Until then … ‘ They had almost three quarters of an hour. If he was wise, he would use the time to get to know his bride in a way that was more physical than social.
He leaned forwards and she closed her eyes, preparing herself to be kissed. He reminded himself to be gentle, though there was hardly a need. She did not seem frightened of him. Their lips met.
She was warm and pliable, and with a small amount of pressure her lips opened and she responded. It was clear that she knew what was expected of her, but she did not behave like a strumpet so much as a woman reconciled to the prospect of intimacy with a stranger. He had the sudden horrible feeling that now the words had been spoken she would permit whatever he might dare, greeting it with the same polite and placid smile.
To say that it was like kissing a statue was unfair. It was more like being a statue. Though he could feel the pressure and taste her tongue against his, it was little different from the walks with his ghosts had been, when he had been near the action but not really a part of it.
He broke the kiss. ‘Until then I will allow you to refresh yourself. Now, if you will excuse me … ?’ He gave a brief bow and left her.
He was not fleeing the room, he told himself firmly. Merely returning with alacrity to the ballroom—to see to his other guests, prepare the musicians for the announcement and await his fiancée so that he could take her hand and make the biggest mistake of his life.
She would smile demurely, like the wooden poppet she was. She would colour with the faint blush of excitement that he assumed she was even now painting on her face in the ladies’ retiring room. And he would smile, to prove himself aware of his good fortune, and accept the hearty congratulations that he would receive and the endless toasts drunk in their honour.
The very idea made him want to choke.
From the moment that he had kissed her—really kissed her, hoping to feel something of their impending life together—he had known it was a mistake. But by then the words were already spoken and it was too late to call them back.
In an act of supreme cowardice he swerved as he passed the little alcove in the hall, and ducked behind the curtain. He could not hide for ever. But even five minutes of privacy would be a welcome thing.
‘Joseph!’ Her voice was a hissing whisper that stirred his blood.
He turned in the tight, confining space and found Barbara Lampett hiding there as well. He put his hands to her waist, drawing her close, and though his mind roiled his body forgot that there was anything or anyone outside of this small niche and responded.
‘Miss Barbara Lampett. Hiding again? And now, I assume, we are playing sardines?’
‘Nothing of the sort,’ she snapped.
‘Then apparently you do not know what you are playing at,’ he said suddenly, jerking her body until it rested against his, and relishing the feeling of being once again in control. Then he took her mouth, because he could not stand to be without her for another moment. She responded as he’d known she would, massaging his tongue with her own, urging him on. The taste of her sent the life rushing back into his body, and a joy so reckless that he knew it must be dangerous. He pulled away.
‘Release me and exit from here immediately, or I swear I shall scream.’
Her words were the correct ones for any offended maiden. They had to be said, if only to be ignored. But as she spoke she made no struggle to escape him. Nor was there any fear in her voice. Instead she gripped his arms and leaned into him.
‘Scream, then,’ he said, half wishing she would. It would solve many of his problems. Anne would surely hear of it, and his engagement would be over before it had begun. But it seemed whatever indiscretion she had taken part in six years ago had left her devoid of outrage, and he was damned glad of the fact.
She took a deep breath, and for a moment he almost thought she might make good on her threat. Then she sighed, as though defeated. ‘Just once, will you not do the proper thing? Why must you make this so difficult?’
‘Perhaps it is because I do not wish to let you go,’ he replied.
‘And I lack the strength to resist you.’
‘I doubt that very much,’ he whispered, touching her lips with his. ‘You are stronger than you know. Strong enough to break my will.’ Then he brought his mouth back down to hers to give her the kisses he should have given another. And he felt her burst into flame again.
She took a breath, and he took it away again, letting the smell and the taste of her soak in, until it became a part of him to his very bones. His future might be as cold as a northern winter, but if he could have nothing else he would have a woman like this to remember. He thrust his tongue deep into her mouth and she raked it with her teeth, biting almost hard enough to draw blood, pushing her breasts eagerly against his waistcoat and swaying to excite herself.
He broke the kiss and pushed her away, stroking his fingers once down the front of her gown, making her tremble. ‘I suppose you will now offer me some needless objections about how things must be between us,’ he told her, making a half-hearted offer to let her leave.
And leave she should—rushing from the little alcove after giving him a sharp word and a slap for his insolence. He deserved nothing less for behaving in a way that was everything despicable, everything he despised about himself and other men who would abuse their power over those in their debt.
But as he said it he reached around her and his fingers tightened on her bottom, flexed and then tightened again. She was round and lush, and he could imagine the feel of her naked flesh, cradling her in his lap as he pushed into her. His body gave a jump of desire in response.
With that little encouragement, she pulled him close again, and he felt another tremble as her body gave an answering surge.
He buried his face in her hair. ‘No objections, then. Very good.’ He forced her back with him, further into the darkness of the alcove and of his own soul.
He could hear the faint murmuring of couples in the refreshment room and a low moan from his partner, her quickening of breath and the shift of her gown against his coat. ‘Someone might hear us,’ she whispered.
He touched a finger to her lips. ‘Then we will be careful.’ He bent to kiss the slope of her breast, then tugged gently at the neckline of her gown, pushing the lace out of the way and probing beneath it to where her chemise had been tucked low and her breasts forced high to the top of her stays. At last his fingers found a nipple and coaxed it upwards to rest just outside her dress, so that he could latch upon it with a sigh.
She should be fighting for her virtue, or at least pretending to resist. He should be racked with guilt at his easy betrayal of Anne. But it felt so good to touch, and to feel a response. This was no mannequin but a living, breathing woman. The sort that a man could make a future with, have a house full of life and love and children.
She gave another gasp at the sudden shock of delight when his teeth closed upon the tip of her breast, and he swirled his tongue as he nipped and sucked. It was tender and sweet, and along with lust he felt the power of bringing her to life. And the bitterness of knowing that he had no right to this—that he was stealing it for his own pleasure, just as the villagers accused him of stealing their livelihoods.
‘Tell me to stop,’ he said, into her skin. For a moment he did, and looked up at her, admiring the fine line of her chin and cheekbones, for her head was thrown back as she panted in excitement.
‘No.’ She gasped, her face twisted as though it was agony to feel what he was making her feel. ‘I want more.’
‘I thought you did. When I saw you at the factory that first day I knew.’ Even then her energy, her passion and her anger had shown, in that dull crowd, like a jewel in dross.
She deserved more than this little village could offer her. She needed someone who could match her heat for heat. ‘I want more as well. I want everything. I want to give you that as well. Everything you ever dreamt of. Let me set you free.’ He dropped his head to her breast again.
He could feel that the intensity of his words frightened her. For a moment she seemed almost frozen by them, her frame stiff and rigid, neither welcoming nor resisting. But as he sucked rhythmically upon her he drew a greater response with each pull. Her hands rose to his shoulders, clutching, and then digging in with the sort of hard, painful, rhythmic massage that he might have expected from a cat that didn’t know the power of its own claws. He cupped his hands beneath her breasts, holding them to his face before smoothing his fingers down over her skirts, outlining hips and thighs, and reaching behind one of her knees to urge her foot up on the bench beside him.
And she allowed him to do it. Her legs fell open to his touch. Her raised knee pressed encouragingly into his side as he stepped between them. His hand hovered at the fastenings of his trousers for only a moment before rejecting his own pleasure. There was not time, and this was not the place. She deserved more than a selfish coupling against a wall in a common passageway.
He pressed his lips to her ear and whispered, ‘Relax for me. Trust me. Let me touch you.’
His hand went to her ankle, then slid up the silk of her stocking and higher, to the silk of her skin. He was teasing her gently, with playful strokes, between her legs, and he felt her surprised intake of breath cut short in an effort to keep quiet. Then he kissed her, and delved his fingers into the wonderfully warm, wet softness at their apex, circling and then pressing, pushing against the opening and then into it, gently, and then with more force. He deepened into a slow slide and thrust that matched the rhythm of his mouth.
She stifled her cry of surprise inside their kiss. There were people passing in the hall, barely feet from where they were. Discovery was inevitable if she could not keep silent, and she knew it.
He did not care. It would mean ruin for both of them. Anne and her family would leave in shame. The schemes he had built, largely from air, would collapse around him, leaving him with nothing but the woman in his arms.
But that would be more than enough. More than he deserved. He withdrew his hand and dropped to his knees before her, pleasuring her body with his mouth, first coaxing and then demanding a response from her. The harder she fought to keep silent, the more he teased, sucking the petals of her into his mouth and nursing upon them as he had at her breast. She bucked her hips against his tongue until he trapped them with his hands, held them still and had his way with her as her fingers twined in his hair, holding him close. Her trembling increased and he reached up again and gave a single hard thrust of his fingers. Her world unravelled, leaving her body throbbing and shaking, totally in his control.
He relaxed, letting his head loll against her thigh, planting gentle kisses on the skin above her garter as he fought for mastery of his own body.
Above him, his lover turned her head and laid her cheek against the stone wall, as though trying to cool the heat in her blood. But her hands still played in his hair and stroked his temples, and her legs were still spread wide in welcome. She breathed slowly, deeply, in and out, waiting for him to accept the final gift she could offer.
In the silence he felt reality pressing against him, as it had when he’d come here to hide. He had thought only yesterday
that he knew what he wanted. Wealth, power, respect, success. A moment ago he had been willing to risk it all—playing games with a woman who had been a stranger to him a week ago.
He reached with one hand to disentangle himself from her arms, and rose to his feet. But for a moment his other hand remained just where it was, fingers buried deep within her clenching body, to remind her who was controlling and who controlled, who was possessed and who possessed.
As though to confirm the truth, her body tightened on his fingers.
His gave an answering lurch of pleasure, even while he tried to regret what had happened. Then he withdrew his hand and stared silently into her eyes, which glittered in the darkness. He could not trust himself to speak. He dared not offer words of comfort or love. But neither could he dismiss her.
She read what she wished to into that silence and pulled away from him, as far into the corner of the little space as she could. She gave a snap of her skirt, to let it drop back into place, and straightened her bodice—which was in sore disarray and barely covering her luscious body.
‘You are despicable. You know that, don’t you?’ she whispered, making sure that her voice was cold and controlled, even if it was the only part of her that was. ‘You were trying to make me cry out just when the risk would have been greatest. You wanted discovery.’
‘And you love me for it,’ he said. ‘The risk excited you. You climaxed. No harm was done. If I was as bad as you claim, I’d have taken the same pleasure. I could, even now, take the step that you could not retreat from, and you would go to whatever cold marriage bed fate has planned for you thinking not of your husband but of me.’ It was an idle threat.
For he would be damned before he’d let another man touch her from this night on.
‘You flatter yourself, Mr Stratford.’ She raised her chin, arrogant even in confusion.
‘Frequently,’ he admitted. ‘But I am honest about it. I was born low, and not graced with connections or education. I would never call myself a handsome man. But I am the cleverest man in the room, and rich as Croesus. And I know that you want me.’
‘That is quite different from loving you,’ she said.
‘Perhaps. But not for you. It is all of a thing to you. For you could not love a man without wanting him, and you would never want a man that you did not love. At least a little,’ he qualified, allowing her some pride.
‘We have barely met, and yet you think you know me well.’
‘I think I do,’ he said. ‘And I like what I know. I wish to know more of you. Come to my room tonight.’ There would be no more ghosts with her at his side, and no fears of a cold and passionless future.
She shook her head and turned her face from his. ‘After this shameful incident there is little left for you to learn of me. You must allow me to keep some secrets for myself, Mr Stratford. Now, if you will ascertain that we are alone so that I may exit, I will go to the retiring room. And you, sir, should return to your fiancée. While she will be too polite to notice your absence, I suspect that you will find others in the community less forgiving of it.’ She pushed past him, not bothering to check the emptiness of the hall, and ran.
He sank to the bench behind him, frustrated and confused. What the devil was he doing? Her set-down stung, but he had no right to complain of it. Even if there was a secret in her past that tainted her virtue, it gave him no right to treat her like an experienced London widow. He had been planning, just now, to set her up and keep her for his pleasure, forgetting who she was and who her father was. To take a mistress while taking a wife was not unheard of. But he could not have picked a worse one than Barbara Lampett.
He was lucky that she had not raised a cry that would end his hopes with Anne. Or burst into tears and aroused some guilt in him for the way he had treated her, forcing him to cry off and offer properly. Even if he had sought, in a careless moment, to ruin himself, he had no right to do it at her expense. To finish by demanding entrance to her bed proved he was as uncouth and deserving of scorn as she seemed to think him. He was a base, simple creature, who answered with an enthusiastic affirmative to any temptation that called to him, and he had demanded that she be the same.
But even then she had not rejected him. She had merely refused to confirm the truth. While he suspected that Anne would be just as content to be a widow as a bride, Barbara could not keep her body from responding to his—though she clearly wished to.
She deserved better. And he deserved exactly what he was getting: a big house, a successful business and a wife who neither loved nor wanted him. It should have been enough. More than enough. It was certainly more than he had expected out of life. He had no right to complain.
He felt the desire in him dying, and realised that Barbara had been wrong on that first day. It could not be coal in his veins, for coal was never this cold. He stood, straightened his coat and brushed the dust from the knees of his breeches. Then he drew back the curtain enough to let in a ray of light by which he could check his watch. There was still a quarter of an hour left before midnight. If he applied himself in that time, he suspected he could get quite drunk and still be in the ballroom before the clock chimed twelve.