Where the hell was Justin?
She couldn’t remain here in the country indefinitely. She had her son to raise, one new client to serve and an appointment with her Turk man for her monthly hot wax depilation!
She donned her new Chinese silk wrapper from the armoire and tied it loosely over her matching negligee. Succumbing to her need for something lovely to bring here, she’d spent far too much money on the two items. But then, she knew she was as much a fool to her own desires for fashion as Henry had been to the horse races.
“Could not appear before Justin in something old, could I?” she taunted herself as she took the stairs down and made for the gardens. True, she was not attired for a sojourn, but the curving boxwoods invited her to try the maze. The smell of spring in the air created an ethereal bouquet that filled her head with sensuous longings for a flirtation with virile male company. Justin’s to be exact. Even if he hated her.
Did he?
Sitting on a stone bench, she stared at the sliver of bright moon in the velvet May sky and recalled his strong, warm arms around her as they sailed around Gibraltar on his ship ten years ago. He had been so chivalrous, never claiming any part of her except her lips, but vowing that he would claim much more. One day. Soon.
That never happened, of course. Her father had been adamant. Angry. Violently so.
She winced, recalling the terrible scene once Justin had brought her to her home in London and revealed how he had saved her from the French. No matter that Justin had been honorable and never touched her. No matter that the French captain had. Manhandling her, spanking her, binding her to a bed, he had been rough, crude, insulting her about her nationality and “the need to teach any Englishman a lesson about arrogance.”
The arrival of Justin’s clipper ship, his command to fire the six cannon he had on board and surprise all hands on the
Cyr
, had been her saving grace. Justin had rescued her before the Frenchman had taken her maidenhead. But her father had not seen things that way. Instead, he had punished her severely, locking her away in her rooms for over a month. Then he’d married her off to Henry Varney. That was the beginning and the end of her naïveté, her belief in a happy future for herself. Never resurrected until her son, charming, fat little Henry, was born four years ago. And now that Justin had entered her life again, she rejected any hope she may have had to enjoy his company socially. That had died that Sunday two weeks ago in her parlor when he had shown her what he had become.
A man out for revenge.
“That is why I am here,” she whispered to the moon.
“Then tell
me
why.”
She jumped up at the sound. Vibrant, deep and rough, the timbre of his bass voice swept down to her stomach like a hot knife. She spun and found him.
In the shadows, one foot before the other, Justin Belmont stood framed like a dark angel between the pillars of two large shrubs. She could see he wore his shirt open at the collar, dark trousers and a long dark dressing gown. She could not, however, detect his expression, but then, she needn’t. His tone told her he was as indifferent to her as he had been during their meeting in her drawing room.
“We know why I am here.”
Moving into the moonlight, he pursed his lips and gave her a once over with languid eyes. “Do we?”
Wrapping her silk robe closer, she scowled at him.
He strode forward to stand before her and arch one dark insulting brow. “I have no idea. Enlighten me.”
“You know full well. A condition of our business agreement demanded by you is that you will try each of the candidates. Here. For twenty-four hours.”
“And you adhere to your clients’ wishes.”
“I do.” She focused her eyes on his throat and scolded herself for her failure to thwart him. “Always.”
His smile was so thin she compared it to a sneer. “How accommodating of you.”
“It’s how I have pleased my clients.”
“How you’ve made so much money.”
She froze.
Not so much as you think
.
“Just so.”
“Why do you need to earn so much? Hmm?” He slowly walked around her. “I understand you have more than ten-thousand-a year income.”
To hear him speak the lie she told her friends, she put on a haughty air. “Such things are not discussed among polite society.”
“I am not polite, Lady Varney. Nor am I society. I am a bastard.” He faced her once more, his uncommon eyes brilliant in the scarce light. “I inherit my uncle’s title and estates only because there is no other heir born legitimately. But we digress. Tell me why you are in the business of finding wives for men.”
He was not entitled to her full disclosure. What she gained from her contracts with her male clients was the stuff of her very existence now. Her fantasies. Her need for a ravishing lover came to her only in her imaginings of how her clients’ had learned to love each other. “I understand human nature. I can easily see through a man to his natural self.”
“And what do most men want in a wife?”
A wanton
.
“Someone congenial. Demure. From good stock.”
“Good in bed?” he challenged with lightning in his eyes.
Someone they can train. Then, tame.
Or forget.
“Not necessarily.”
“More’s the pity.”
“I agree,” she said perhaps too quickly. She glanced down at her folded hands, then up at him, the memory of her soulless union washing over her cold body. “More marriages would be blissful if the arts of love were fully employed.”
He stepped closer. “How true. So then you do not think me odd for requiring—shall we call it—an audition?”
Daring
.
“Forthright.”
“Your first candidate for me did not last the afternoon.”
A thrill rippled up Kitty’s spine at knowledge of that failure. Kitty set her chin, attempting a nonchalance that was false. “Maribella confided in me afterward.” She was thrilled at the woman’s reticence. Indeed, Kitty knew Maribella to lack a spine. An imagination, too. How would a woman like that make love? With the candles doused. Her clothes on, too, probably!
His gaze narrowed, a sudden small vulnerability to his expression. “She came to you?”
“No. She wrote me a letter of apology for her decision to leave here early.”
Oddly, he appeared relieved. “She did not give you a reason?”
Kitty shook her head. “I think she was embarrassed.”
“Embarrassed to be here?” he pressed her.
“Of course. Alone with a man she barely knew. In his hideaway.”
“It is the estate’s wedding cottage,” he clarified with set jaw.
“How sweet,” Kitty murmured, titillated at the romantic notion of a solitary love nest. But she sobered, knowing Justin intended to seduce others here. “She was frightened.”
“She is a puritan.”
Kitty stared at him. “She had a happy marriage so I do doubt she—”
“Even knows what seduction is.” He sidled closer, observing her every breath with a predator’s ease. “She refused even to let me kiss her.”
Oh, wonderful!
Appalled at her own joy, Kitty cleared her throat. “Well, if that is all—”
“She would not come anywhere near the cottage.”
Kitty’s heart did not lift. It soared.
How silly you are to rejoice at that.
“How far will you come?” he asked in such a dulcet tone that she barely heard him.
“I am here, Justin,” she managed in such a raw voice she hated herself for the desire it showed. “Here to fulfill the terms of our business arrangement.”
“Is that the only reason you are here?”
To make ribald memories to keep me sated at night in my bedroom.
“To be honest,” she whispered, “no. But the reason is rather…risqué, and I am not used to sharing my innermost secrets with anyone.”
“Once long ago, you shared them with me.”
She nodded. “As you say, that was long ago. And we are older. Changed.”
“More protective of yourself now, I see then.”
“I am.”
“I still must know your motives,” he demanded.
“How can they be so important to you?” she evaded him.
“After all these years, Kitty, how can they not be vital?”
“Very well. What if I tell you before I leave?”
With a look she could term no other than remorse swimming in his eyes, he said, “Promise me that.”
“I do.”
“No prevarications from this moment on,” he insisted.
She nodded, trying for a gravity of purpose her gaily-tripping heart belied. “So be it.”
He put out his hand. “Then come kiss me to seal the deal.”
“No, I—can’t.” Afraid to appear silly and unsophisticated, she sucked in a breath. “When we were on your ship, you never touched me.”
“Except to kiss you. But you know why you are here.” His gaze dropped to her clinging clothes. “Come now. This kiss, of necessity, will be very different from those youthful ones.”
She swallowed audibly and stood her ground. “You will be disappointed.”
“I was not in your drawing room two weeks ago. I doubt I will be now.”
She inhaled, looked at the moon. “I am not what you assume.”
“Which is what?”
“Knowledgeable about men and relations.”
“You mean sex.”
“Yes. Simply because I was married is no reason to believe that I am capable of having any kind of…of…”
He flowed closer and in the luminous light, his raven looks resurrected her dreams of him all those lonely nights she had yearned for him. But now he was flesh and blood. Within reach. Warm. Vibrant. Masculine. Hers. “I know of what you are capable, Kitty. I saw it in you then. I see it now.”
“Why must
I
kiss
you
? Why must I be the aggressor?”
“Because what we do here—
all
of what we do here—will be because you want it.”
That touched her tender heart and made her bite her lower lip. Tears threatened her composure and that outlandish joy she could not show him.
“I will not hurt you, Kitty. Never that.”
How could he know she wanted that declaration above all else? Had he made inquiries about Henry’s and her relationship?
No. No. Who knew of that horror, but Maggie? No one.
That left her with the only answer she could give him, “I do trust you.”
The corners of his mouth lifted gently. “Well, then, Lady Varney, allow me.”
He sank his fingers up into her hair and flowed nearer. His nose slid along hers, his mouth brushed hers. His arms came around her, and he ravished her lips.