She knew he’d been heading here, that his logic had been aimed at just that thought, but she shook her head, pulling away. “This is different,” she said.
“Why?” he challenged, refusing to move away from her.
“Because I know better. I know the way I feel is—”
“What? Wrong? But how do you know this?” He took a step forward, pursuing her. “It is merely different.”
She hesitated, shaken by what he said. And just like that, she was once again in her quandary. Was this the slide to hell? Or was this no more than…what? Another way of life?
No, she decided abruptly. “I have lived more than twenty years. I know my own feelings.”
“So you know what it is like to give birth?”
She looked up, startled by his abrupt tone. “Of course not.”
“And you know the pain of struggling from day to day for food and shelter to no avail. To watch everything slip away no matter what you do?”
She shook her head. Until her father’s death, they had lived comfortably enough. And even afterward,
there had still been adequate food and clothing. Simply no income.
“Then how do you know this?”
She didn’t. And yet…
Again he pursued her, stepping closer until she had to tilt her head up to look at him. “You know nothing, Lynette. Not yet. It is all still too new.”
She spun away from him, trying to gain some distance, rubbing her temples as she fought to comprehend her feelings, her thoughts, her mind. “You are confusing me.”
This time he did not follow, not physically. But his voice did. “Of course I am confusing you. I am teaching you, and part of learning is confusion.”
“No!” She was stepping away from him, but abruptly he closed the distance between them, grabbing hold of her arm to spin her around so she looked directly into his dark eyes.
“No what, Lynette? No, you are not confused?”
She stared at him. His eyes were impossibly intense, his expression fierce as he pressed her backward. She landed softly against the wall, and she did not doubt for one moment that if she tried to escape him, she would learn how very strong he could be.
“I am…I…” She lifted her hands helplessly. “I don’t know,” she whispered.
“Yes.” He leaned in closer, pressing the entire length of his body against her. “That’s right,” he continued as he ducked his head, inhaling deeply. “You don’t know. But I do.” Then he pulled back the tiniest bit. “Trust me, Lynette. There is so much more to learn.”
Then it happened. She did not know how it occurred, but it happened in an instant. Moments before she had been sure of her course, ready to brave the consequences so long as she lived a moral and upright life. And then, abruptly, her body betrayed her.
She liked the feel of Adrian, hard and lean, as he pressed against her.
Though she no longer wore the earbobs, his mouth was so close to her that his breath teased the skin of her neck. And this time, with only her shift on, she seemed to feel his every exhalation as a physical caress.
It was wonderful.
“Trust me,” he whispered again.
Then he did touch her. Not her face, nor her neck, but he skimmed his hands up her sides, beginning at her waist and rising up until he clasped both her breasts in his hands.
She was shocked by the sudden assault. Not because it was painful. On the contrary, even without knowing it before, she had wanted this. She had wanted to feel his hands molding her flesh. She was shocked by her own reactions.
She moaned. The sound was surprising. Horrifying. And so deliciously wanton that she was stunned.
“Trust me,” he whispered again as his hands began to move. And she had no thoughts left to analyze. Her breasts were being stroked, rubbed, moved in such wonderful ways.
“This is not sinful, Lynette. This is merely pleasurable. A slow walk on a summer day. A sweet dessert after a bitter meal. This is joy. Do you feel it?”
Her eyes slipped closed and her head tilted backward. If it were not for the wall behind her, she would have tumbled to the floor.
“Do you feel it?” he repeated. And then he touched her nipples.
She cried out at his stroke. She felt as if she had been waiting oh so long for him to squeeze just there. To twist just like that. To bite…
To bite!
Her eyes flew open, but that was the only protest she made. Looking down, she saw his bowed head, and what she felt was his mouth. He was kissing her. He was kissing her breasts through her shift. The fabric was moist from his mouth, and it clung to her as he nibbled along the curve of her left breast. Down. Around. And then back up.
To her nipple.
He bit it, ever so slightly, but enough to make her knees buckle beneath her.
Blessedly, he was prepared. He caught her easily, lifting her up before carrying her to her bed. He lay her down gently, and she mourned the loss, even for a moment, of his touch. His kiss. But other sensations were intruding. She felt a tightening lower down. A heat. A moisture.
“I feel different,” she whispered. “So…”
“You are perfect,” he answered. Though his hand continued to stroke her breast, his mouth was at her ear, once again speaking to her, whispering to her, seducing her. “If there is shame in this, it is mine,” he said. “Do you hear me, Lynette? The shame is mine.”
She moved restlessly on the bed. “But I know better.”
“You know nothing!” he exclaimed. With a sudden surge, he lifted himself off her. Grasping the top of her shift with both hands, he ripped it down to her navel. The movement was forceful, powerful, but again, she was not frightened. And as she lay on her bed, her naked breasts bared before him, she knew only hunger, a need that had never before touched her soul.
This was desire. Sinful or not, she wanted it.
And with that thought came another certainty: She could not leave this house. No matter if her soul existed in torment for the rest of eternity, she would remain here.
With him.
Because when he touched her, she could refuse him nothing.
The cool air stoked her heated flesh, and she felt her nipples tighten. It wasn’t painful. It was achy and tingly and wondrous all at once.
She opened her eyes, looking at Adrian’s fierce expression, seeing his gaze linger, hover, even stroke her naked breasts. But he did not touch her. She wanted him to. She wanted, hoped, desired his hands on her body, but he seemed frozen, suspended above her as he looked and looked and looked.
And all the while her breath came in quick, panting gasps.
“You know nothing,” he whispered again. Then he lowered his hands—not to her but to his sides.
She arched, thrusting shamelessly forward, wanting him to taste her again, to do everything and more than he had before. But he did not. He pulled away, stumbling slightly as he gained his feet.
“I want you to read the Bible, Lynette.”
Her breath caught, and she lifted slightly off the bed as she looked at him.
“The Song of Solomon. Do not speak to me again until you do so.”
And with that he quit the room.
Good God, she was perfect! Beautiful. Responsive. Intelligent. He wanted her so badly, it had taken every ounce of willpower he possessed to leave her room. If Adrian had so much as touched her again, the Devil himself could not have stopped him from taking her.
How was he going to finish her training? How was he ever going to give her to another man? He did not know. And yet how could he not? His estates, his heritage, his very future depended upon it.
He could not have her. Yet he had never wanted a woman more.
He looked hungrily at the door between them. He should have told her to block it. He shook his head, laughing slightly at the ridiculousness of it all. With all his other girls, he’d had to force them to unbar the door. With Lynette, he wished she would lock it.
No man was this strong.
With a resigned sigh, he closed his eyes, forcibly replacing
the image of her upthrust breasts with green, healthy shoots of wheat on his land. He pictured strong homes, new plows, livestock that his part of the marriage settlement would buy. He filled his mind with these things. And when that did not work, he went downstairs to his library to review his ledgers and their pitiful sums.
When he still found himself looking upward, seeing the rosy flush of her skin as he imagined her opening for him, he cursed himself and stormed out of the house.
It was not hard to avoid her the next day. That had always been his plan. She had been introduced into society; the hook had been baited. Now he needed to see how many fish took a nibble.
He spent the day strolling through fashionable gentlemen’s clubs, unsurprised when scores of young men begged for an introduction to Lynette. Thankfully, more than a few older gentlemen also made discreet inquiries. Even his dear old friend, Thomas, Earl of Songshire, casually mentioned an interest in furthering his acquaintance with Lynette.
In short, she was every bit the smashing success he had hoped for and required.
But what stunned Adrian was how difficult each little request, each spark of interest, each casual mention of her name was for him. He was mature enough to recognize the emotion. True, it had been some time since he had last experienced it, but for all his other faults, stupidity was not one of them.
He was jealous. Green-eyed, clenched-gut, fist-gripping jealous.
One of these men, one lucky old fool, would be
able to buy Lynette, and experience her glorious abandon every night of his life until she exhausted him into the grave. One of these old, doddering fools would die with ecstasy on his lips.
And that man would not be Adrian.
True, he’d felt a stirring of jealousy with all his girls. Every bridegroom who enjoyed the fruits of Adrian’s labors was the object of envy. But he had always contented himself with the money he made. The money that lessened the burden of debt that had crippled him for so many years. The money that rebuilt his lands, that restored his family honor, that would at last restore his own faith in the world.
Sex and ecstasy were one thing; lands that grew green and supported generations with honor and pride…that was something else entirely.
Perhaps he was getting too old for this game. Perhaps he was merely tired of the struggle. Or perhaps, he thought ruefully, Lynette was extraordinary.
Whatever the reason, it did not change the facts. He felt a sharp bite of pain every time a new suitor presented himself, but that did not deter him. With every suitor, he swallowed the ache, smiled, and scheduled opportunities for Lynette to further her acquaintance with all eligible bachelors.
Do not allow Lord Rendlen to touch more than your hand.
M
Lynette stared at the morning’s missive. She had grown used to the curt instructions, but this one seemed more irritating than typical. Perhaps it was because of their encounter last night. He had left so
abruptly, once again issuing orders without explanation.
“You know nothing,”
he had said. But he never explained. He never taught her.
“Trust me,”
he had whispered. And when she had, opening herself up to his gaze, to his touch, he had abandoned her without warning. She had lain on her bed in a daze, unable to believe he was simply gone.
Then she had heard his footsteps go down the stairs. That was when she finally realized he was gone. She would get no more information from him, no more…experiences that night. And the shock of that realization had torn through her system like a storm.
How dare he! How could he, when she still lay on her bed quivering from a hunger she did not understand?
But he had. He had known what he was doing to her and exactly how to do it so that she became putty in his hands, a puppet to do as he willed.
So, as she’d pulled the tattered remnants of her shift across her breasts, she’d sworn that this would not happen again. He would not disappear like that again. The baroness had often spoken of the power a woman’s body wielded over men. Of the ability to keep them in thrall, endlessly fascinated, entertained, and enmeshed.
She would learn that power. She would weave her net about Adrian. Then he would be incapable of leaving her. He would stay with her and do whatever she wished. Answer any questions she asked. Be whatever she wanted.
But first she had to learn more. She had to discover
the secrets the baroness hinted at. She had to learn them and use them.
Looking up from Adrian’s curt missive, Lynette smiled as the baroness stomped into the kitchen. Lynette glanced at a nearby clock. Goodness, for the first time since Lynette had arrived at the Marlock home, the older woman had risen late. Apparently, long hours at the opera house did not improve the woman’s temperament.
“Good morning, Baroness. Are you feeling well?”
“Harumph!” was the lady’s response. She sat down and reached for the tea.
Lynette eyed her, mulling over everything that had gone between them in the last week. From their first meeting in St. James’s, to the joyful moments of their friendship, through the hateful session with Dr. Smythe, she reviewed it all.
There was much that she had trouble forgiving, but in the clear light of day Lynette realized that the baroness was as much a victim here as she was. Perhaps more so, since Lynette would eventually escape. She would marry some old codger, then years later, become blessedly free.
But the baroness had not married well. And though she was now a widow, she was trapped here, training young girls who quickly came to hate her, and wholly dependent upon the viscount for her livelihood. There was no escape for the baroness. No eventual freedom. Her only value was in what she could teach the viscount’s girls. In fact, all she did, every action she performed, was strictly regulated by her nephew.
He was the one to blame for what went on in this strange household, not the baroness.
Well, then, Lynette thought with sudden resolve, if the baroness was as trapped as Lynette, it behooved them to pool their knowledge and skills. She did not yet know what she could offer the baroness, but she did know what the woman could teach her.
As for how Lynette would engineer their mutual freedom, Lynette did not yet know. But she would learn. Then the viscount would be in for a surprise. Lynette would hold the power. And together with the baroness, she would make changes.
Setting down her teacup, Lynette turned to the baroness. Her expression was congenial, coaxing, but her resolve was firm. “Baroness…” she began.
The woman looked up, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“I need to learn.”
The baroness snorted indelicately into her tea. “Of course you do.”
Lynette shook her head. “No. I need to learn how to trap a man.” She shifted forward, gripping the table in her earnestness. “I need to learn how to trap the viscount.”
She waited, her breath held for the baroness’s reaction. She knew there would be one. Resistance, certainly. But, hopefully, a certain gleam of conspiracy, of shared goals, of hope for a better future. She did not expect what came next.
The baroness stared at her a moment, then abruptly burst into laughter. It wasn’t a gleeful sound. Indeed, it wasn’t even a happy sound. The lady’s laughter was loud, harsh, and angry. It left Lynette stunned. But as the bitter humor continued to echo in the small kitchen, Lynette pulled herself out of her shock.
“Baroness,” she said again.
The woman raised her hand, stopping Lynette from speaking. “Oh, pray do not try to explain. I thought it would take longer. You being a clergyman’s brat, after all. But it seems you are no more immune than the others.” She cackled again. “In fact, you have fallen faster than all the rest.”
Lynette straightened painfully in her chair. “I beg your pardon, Baroness, but I don’t understand.”
“Of course you don’t. Not fully.” She leaned forward, her face harsh in the morning light. “Shall I explain? You have fallen in love with him. With the viscount.”
Lynette reared backward. “I have not!”
“Of course, you have. They all do.” Then the baroness folded her arms across her chest and regarded Lynette with clear contempt. “Well, it won’t fadge. He hasn’t a heart, you know. And certainly not one for his girls.”
“Of course he does,” snapped Lynette, unsure why she was defending the man.
But the baroness continued, her tone becoming more conversational by the second. “It makes sense, really. A man with a heart would find it hard to marry off a young girl to a wheezing old coot. A man with a heart would respond to tears and sobs and pleas.” She pinned Lynette with a fierce gaze. “But not him. He hasn’t had a true feeling since his parents died and I…” She cut off her words.
Lynette could not allow her to stop. She sensed a secret here. In fact, she had sensed some hidden truth between the viscount and his aunt from the moment she had first seen them together. But there had been too much happening, too much to absorb for her to push further.
No more. Now she felt as if her life depended upon the baroness’s finishing her sentence. “You what?” she prodded.
The baroness stood and walked to the pantry. “It does not matter.”
“On the contrary,” pursued Lynette. “I believe it does.” She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “Do you not see that this is unwholesome?”
The older woman spun away from the shelves of foodstuffs, the pain clear on her aging face. “Of course it is unwholesome!” she exploded. “We are throwing young girls to the wolves! What could be more unwholesome than that?”
The words sent a chill down Lynette’s spine, but she pushed the feeling aside. “I do not mean your…occupation,” she said. “I mean the way he treats you. The way he treats everyone.” She flicked her finger contemptuously at his pristine missive. “One sentence. Eleven words and a single letter rather than a signature.” She leaned forward. “He gives commands as if we were his servants.”
The baroness grabbed a small loaf of hard bread, breaking it in half with barely contained vengeance. “We
are
his servants,” she snapped.
“Perhaps I am. Dunwort certainly. But you? You are his aunt. You deserve some respect.”
“Deserve!” exploded the baroness, her expression torn between hysterical laughter and bellowing anger. “I deserve exactly what I am getting, my girl, and don’t you forget it!” Then she threw the bread down on the table, spared one more glare at Lynette, and stomped out of the kitchen.
Lynette sat for a moment, stunned into silence. But not for long. Soon she slipped out of her chair and ran
out of the kitchen. She knew exactly where the baroness was headed. Knew exactly what she needed to do.
She barely made it in time.
The baroness was in her upper parlor, pouring herself a stiff glass of brandy. Lynette arrived just in time to grab the decanter and whisk it away, holding it tightly to her chest.
“Give that back!” the older woman shouted.
“No,” responded Lynette fiercely. She knew she had to be careful. She had once before come between a drunk and his liquor, and had been lucky to escape with just a dark purple bruise across her cheek. But unless she missed her guess, she was faster and stronger than the baroness. Reaching behind the older woman, Lynette took hold of the tray of liquor bottles. With a hefty shove, she toppled it onto the floor, breaking more than half the containers. Then she rushed forward, slipping between the baroness and the few remaining bottles.
“What are you doing?”
Lynette squared her shoulders. “I will not let you drink until you explain.”
“He will kill you for this!” the baroness exploded.
“Why do you feel you deserve such abominable treatment? Why?”
“Give me that bottle, girl. And get to your room!” The baroness tried to appear firm, but Lynette could see the wild panic in her eyes.
“No.” She said the word firmly, her demeanor calm, but inside her heart raced. “Why do you deserve such treatment?”
The baroness clamped her lips shut, clearly furious. But her eyes were not on Lynette. They were on the
bottle in Lynette’s hand and the intact decanters behind her.
Lynette shifted slightly, making her voice more coaxing. “Only tell me what I wish to know and I shall give you the brandy.” She hated bargaining like this, using the woman’s weakness against her, but she had no choice. If she was to have any hope of success, of changing this household into something better, she had to know the truth. “What did you do to him?”
“Nothing!” The word came out in a hateful burst of loathing and self-disgust. “His parents were dead. He was a child. And I did nothing!”
Lynette stopped, shocked to the core. Could it be true? Could this woman have abandoned an orphaned boy? She stared at the baroness, watching in horror as the woman seemed to fold into herself, slipping slowly to the floor as she sobbed out her misery.
“I tried. By God, I tried. I begged. I pleaded. I even climbed onto a horse in the dead of night. I told him I would take in the boy no matter what he said. But he followed me. He found me and he beat me and he locked me in the bedroom.” The baroness took a great, hiccupping gasp. “He never let me out.”