It boded ill for Anne; it boded ill for herself.
"I spoke to Anne a while ago," Sarah told him. "She's discussed matters with your brother. He claims that if she weds him, he will let me remain on the property for as long as I wish."
"Did he?" Merrick was completely noncommittal.
"Is he a man of his word?"
"Occasionally."
She snorted. "You're an obnoxious tease, and I have no idea why I'm talking to you."
"What would you have me say?"
"I want you to enlighten me as to what will happen in the morning."
"How would I know? I'm not a fortune-teller."
"Will your brother keep his promise?"
"Will your sister do as he's demanded and wed him?"
"How would I know?" Sarah tossed back, and he was the one who snorted.
"Now who's being a tease?"
She was peering out across the garden, while he was still studying the house. He turned toward her, and it was the strangest impression, but suddenly she felt a powerful urge to fall into his arms and cast caution to the wind.
He felt it, too, the sense of connection flowing between them, and she could perceive his shocked awareness. She was no sheltered virgin like Anne, and she recognized what was occurring. He desired her, and the realization made her heart pound.
A dangerous and blazing need swept through her, and she was desperate to be touched by him, which stunned her to the marrow of her bones.
Her prior scandalous behavior had proven that she was possessed of a weak moral constitution and, given the slightest encouragement, she would do any reprehensible thing. She'd once been a virtual cauldron of smoldering lust, and she continually battled the scurrilous impulses. Yet a man had merely smiled at her again, and she was eager to leap to iniquity.
What was wrong with her? Had she no honor? No strength of will?
"What would it be worth to you," he asked, "to have Jamie's oath that you could remain at Gladstone?"
"Why? Could you get him to promise and mean it?"
"If I wanted to. If the price was right."
"That's the most sordid proposition any man's ever made to me."
"It was horrid, wasn't it?"
"I'm going to pretend that you had too much brandy after supper."
"It's more likely that I'm too exhausted to be circumspect." He scrutinized her, his interested gaze roving down her torso. "I notice that I didn't drive you into a maidenly swoon."
"I'm a bit beyond swooning."
"I'm glad to hear it. I can't abide a timid woman."
He shifted, narrowing the distance between them as she hadn't dared. She could feel his heat, could smell his skin.
"Are you ever lonely, Miss Carstairs?" "No," she lied.
"Well, I'm lonely—every minute of every day. And I'll be here for weeks, maybe months."
It was the very worst thing he could have said to her. She rippled with anticipation, already conjuring how they could arrange a few trysts.
"Good night, Mr. Merrick."
"Call me Jack."
He leaned in and kissed her, and at the feel of him, so warm and solid and masculine, her knees buckled. Instantly, he caught her and dragged her to him, her body wedged between his thighs, a hand fisted in her hair.
He was hard for her, his phallus igniting a flash fire of wanton desire she'd never been able to control. For a mad, wild moment, she joined in the fray, kissing him back with all the passion an unloved, untended spinster could exhibit.
She pulled and scratched and clawed. But as he reached for her breast, as he fondled the soft mound, she yanked away with a moan of anguish.
"I can't do this," she wailed. "I can't. Not again. Not ever again."
She whirled away and hurried into the house.
Jamie was awakened by the outer door to his suite being opened. As a female tiptoed toward him, he suffered a brief glimmer of hope that it might be Anne.
When he'd agreed to wed her, he'd scarcely considered what sort of person she'd be. He didn't plan to tarry at Gladstone, so the wife he'd leave behind had mattered very little. It could have been Anne or anyone.
But now that he'd met her, he was intrigued, thinking about her when he oughtn't, and stupidly anxious for her to consent of her own accord.
He knew her stride, though, and it wasn't her sneaking in. He'd left a candle burning, so he could see perfectly well that it was Ophelia.
Her fabulous blond hair was down and brushed out, the golden locks hanging to her waist. She was dressed in a slinky red negligee that outlined every lush curve and valley, and she'd reddened her lips to match her garment. The cosmetic enhancement made her look like a whore, but a very, very sexy one.
"Hello, Ophelia."
He scooted to a sitting position, propping the pillows against the massive headboard. Her interest piqued as she saw his bare chest and realized he'd be naked under the covers.
"Hello, Jamie," she said in a throaty, lusty way. "You don't mind if I call you Jamie, do you?"
"Not at all."
He remembered how cozy she was with Percy. He didn't trust Percy, and he trusted her even less. Had she come to shoot him? To stab him? To poison him?
"It's rather late, Ophelia. What can I do for you?"
"I've been in my room, trying to answer that very same question. What can you do for me?"
She sauntered over, her intentions clear, and he struggled to unravel her scheme. She and Percy were thirty years old, as Jamie was himself. By all accounts, she was a spinster who'd never had a single suitor, but from how she was advancing on him, she was no virgin.
How many lovers had she had? Who had they been?
She perched a hip on the mattress, a palm braced on either side of his lap. The front of her nightgown was loose, and he could see to her navel.
In a practiced move, she licked her bottom Up, by the simple gesture guaranteeing many courtesan's tricks. He was disgusted to find himself pondering how far he'd let her go before he stopped her. And he would stop her.
His standards regarding women were very low. He had no moral qualms, belonged to no church, worshiped no God, but he wasn't about to fornicate with his sister. It was a deed more depraved than he cared to attempt.
"When you initially arrived," she started, "you were throwing around marriage proposals." "Yes, I was."
"You can't seriously mean to wed Anne."
He shrugged. "She's the best choice. Sarah Carstairs is too sad, and you're too old."
"I'm the same age as you," she bristled.
"Every man likes a young, innocent bride. You know that."
"But Anne!"
"What about her? She's sweet; she's biddable. She'll be ideal."
"She's a timid rabbit! You'll eat her alive. You need a wife who possesses your same zest for life."
"And you presume that would be you."
"Of course it would be me. Have you forgotten"—she laid a hand on his belly and rubbed in slow circles— "that your roving eye landed on me first?"
"No, I haven't, but you're my sister."
"So? Affinity be damned. You're lord and master here now. You can make your own rules."
"That's my plan."
"I could be your countess," she purred. "I'd be so good at it. You'd never want for anything." "Wouldn't I?"
"No. I swear it to you." She was spectacular, oozing sexual promise and coaxing him to misbehave. "I know what you want, Jamie. I know what you need."
"Do you?"
"Oh yes."
"I'm very selfish. Whoever becomes my countess, she'll have to please me however I demand. I never permit a woman to refuse me."
"I'm sure you don't. That's why / should be by your side."
"Anne is so pretty and so amiable. I'm not certain I can be dissuaded."
"You'll let me try to change your mind, won't you?"
She crawled across his lap and tugged at the straps on her negligee.
Anne gave up trying to sleep and kicked off the tangled blankets. She was hot and sweaty, careening between despair and excitement. She was on fire with strange yearnings she didn't understand.
She slid to the floor and went to the window to stare out. The night was rapidly passing, and in a few hours she'd marry Jamieson Merrick. Or not.
"Oh, what should I do?" she wailed to the stars, but they had no answer.
If she accepted, Sarah would be safe forever. Anne would be a countess and as much in charge of her destiny as any female ever was.
What woman wouldn't kill for such a chance? Was she crazy to dither and debate?
She'd heard horrid stories about Lord Gladstone, but they weren't true. He could be domineering, but he was also smart and shrewd and kind and funny. He had a wry sense of humor and a wicked wit that she enjoyed very much. He was unique in every way, a handsome, dynamic, and brave individual who could be hers if she dared make him her own.
She didn't know the secrets of wifely duty, but it was clear that he grasped what was necessary. He'd ignited a spark that had her craving what he'd provide as her husband. Would it be so bad to revel in the pleasure he'd lavish on her?
"Safe forever," she murmured. "Sarah and I... safe forever." She closed her eyes and rested her forehead on the cool glass of the window. "Oh, how can I do anything else?"
With her decision rendered, she was eager to inform him right away, and she wondered if he was still awake. She tiptoed into the corridor and raced down the stairs.
If she had a more devious, more salaciously personal reason for returning to the master suite, she wasn't about to admit it. Perhaps—just perhaps—he might deign to rollick with her again, and if he suggested a dalliance, she wouldn't complain.
The door to his room was ajar, and she pushed it open and entered.
"Lord Gladstone?" she whispered. When she received no reply, she called more loudly, "Jamie?"
There was a candle lit in his bedchamber, and bold as brass, she marched over and peeked in, but the sight that greeted her was so shocking she couldn't comprehend what she was seeing.
"Ophelia?" she said, the name thick on her tongue.
Her cousin glanced over and chuckled as if she and Lord Gladstone had shared a joke; then she raised up so that her naked breasts were fully visible. Gladstone was naked, too, their nude flesh pressed together. Even the most sheltered of virgins could figure out what was transpiring.
"Anne, what are you doing here?" Ophelia smiled a sultry, malicious smile, intended to humiliate and wound. "Isn't it a little late to be roaming the halls?"
"Ophelia?" she naively repeated.
She was very hurt, very angry, and a surge of potent jealousy rushed through vein and pore. Her accusing gaze shifted to Lord Gladstone, letting him witness how he'd betrayed her, how he'd broken her heart.
"Dammit!" he cursed.
Anne whipped away and fled.
Five
“Where is your sister?" "I don't have any idea." Jamie glared at Sarah Carstairs, as the clock chimed the half hour, taunting him with how many minutes it had ticked past eleven.
Jack's boots pounded down the hall, and shortly he entered the parlor where the family was assembled for the ceremony.
"Well?" Jamie asked.
"She's gone. I questioned the maids and had them search her bedchamber. They say a satchel and some of her clothes are gone, too."
"Did she leave a note?"
"If she did, it wasn't in her room."
"Was she observed sneaking out?"
"One of the grooms believes he saw her, about seven o'clock this morning, walking down the road to the village."
Jamie's expression became lethal, and he focused it on Sarah Carstairs.
"I repeat: Where is your sister?"
"It sounds as if she left," Miss Carstairs replied, calm as you please.
"What was her destination?" "I haven't a clue."
Her pretty green eyes were guileless, open wide, brimming with candor, but she was absolutely lying.
He towered over her, but she wasn't intimidated, which made him even more irate. He couldn't abide obstinate females.
"Can the two of you actually presume to best me?" he hissed. "Have you any notion of what I can do to you? To her?"
"I'm not afraid of you."
He was humored by her bravado, but it was so pitifully misplaced. Here on his estate, he could behave in any foul manner he chose, and no one would gainsay him.
"You have managed to incur my wrath. I haven't the slightest concern over you or why you would deem it appropriate to intervene in my personal affairs, but pray tell, why would she dare defy me?"
"In light of your monstrous ego, I'm sure this will come as a huge shock, but she doesn't care to have you as her husband. She wasn't overly impressed by the company you keep."
Her gaze drifted to Ophelia, letting Jamie know that Anne had informed her of the debacle in his bedchamber. Under Sarah's hot scrutiny, Ophelia preened, looking smug, as if she and Jamie had intentionally set out to hurt Anne, which had been the furthest thing from his mind.
Who could have predicted that Anne would return in the middle of the night? What had she wanted? Why had she done it?
She'd seen him with Ophelia! They'd been mostly naked, and though Jamie hadn't planned on any serious mischief, and would never have dabbled with Ophelia in any way that mattered, it had appeared as if they were about to engage in a sordid session of incestuous sex.
Was it any wonder Anne had fled? Considering what she'd witnessed, what woman would have stayed?
Percy stepped forward, determined to butt his nose into the mess. "Jamie, I'm so sorry about this. I counselled her to accept the match. I can't imagine what she was thinking."
"Can't you?" Jamie sharply retorted.
"I've advised her that I can no longer support her. She understood the enormous boon you'd extended."
"Obviously, she failed to grasp a few of the finer points." He spun to Sarah Carstairs. "Pack your bags and get out of my house."
There was a stunned inhalation of breath from everyone, but no one was brave enough to speak against his harsh command, save for his brother.
"Jamie!" Jack chided, a hint of warning in his voice.