Amazing. Only think how it would be if his flesh were inside her—
No, don't think about it. It's unwise, and you know it.
Releasing her hand so she could continue her caresses without his help, he eyed her closely. "Your lover must have been a very…dull fellow. Didn't he even have you do
this
to him?"
She avoided his gaze. "Just tell me what
you
like. Am I pleasing you?"
"You're driving me insane." When she tightened her grip, he moaned low in his throat. "Yes, like that. Ah, sweetheart, that feels like heaven."
"Except reckless," she said.
"Definitely reckless." He caught her chin with one hand. "Thank God."
Then he kissed her, his tongue mimicking the thrusts of his shaft into her fist as his other hand fondled her breast. The quivering between her legs started all over again, startling her with how easily he could rouse it.
She did seem to be rousing
him
fairly easily, since he was soon panting against her mouth. He dropped his hand to grip hers again, urging her to stroke faster. "Ah, sweet Madeline, so practical…so naughty…you make me want— "
He broke off, fumbling for the soiled handkerchief he'd shoved in his pocket, then wrapping it around their joined hands. "God, I'm there…yes…yes!"
With a hoarse cry, he spent himself into the handkerchief, his hand squeezing hers to halt her motions. Wondering what he'd meant by "you make me want" and what exactly she made him want, she stared down at their hands. It fascinated her to feel every jerk of his penis, every spurt of his seed.
She'd never done anything so intimate. Who'd have guessed it could be so beautiful, even without completing the seduction? When he bent his head to hers and brushed a kiss to her forehead, she felt a sudden urge to cry, for what could never be, what they could never share.
Because now she knew the truth— if she ever allowed him to take her innocence, she would give her heart to him, too. And a rakehell was a terrible guardian for a woman's heart.
Even a heart as practical as hers.
Chapter Thirteen
Dear Charlotte,
You are quite mad. Do you really think Norcourt and Lady Tarley can behave around impressionable young girls? What does Miss Prescott think of your plan?
Your cousin,
Michael
A
nthony came slowly to his senses, drifting down from his heady release to find Madeline drawing back her hand. Once again, she'd brought out the beast in him, keeping him from doing what he should.
He wanted to be angry, but he couldn't regret a moment of it. Besides, she looked so awkward and uncomfortable that he only wanted to reassure her.
"Are you all right?" He wiped her fingers with the dry part of the handkerchief.
"Fine." But she refused to look at him as she straightened her clothing.
"Do you regret tarrying with me?" he probed.
"No, of course not," she murmured. Before he could even smile at that response, she added, "Since I've met your terms, we can go on with our bargain."
A sudden flood of anger took him by surprise. "Is that all this meant to you? A way to get your party?"
"What did it mean to
you
?" she countered with a little lift of her chin.
The question arrested him. His anger made no sense— he'd had his pleasure, so why did it matter how she felt about what they'd done?
He didn't know why— it just did. He stared at her vulnerable expression, and he wanted…more. For the first time, he wanted more. But he wasn't about to tell her. She'd already taken enough advantage of his strange obsession with her.
Besides, how could he explain he'd never met a woman like her? Never even dallied with one? She'd think him a fool if he revealed he'd fought all his life to avoid any affair that could lead to more, any affair that could end badly, leaving both parties scarred.
He certainly couldn't tell her that the more time he spent with her, the deeper he sank into the very thing he'd always avoided. And that he couldn't for the life of him figure out why. Or how to stop it.
"This was unlike anything I've ever experienced," he finally admitted.
She blinked, then frowned. "I have trouble believing that no woman has ever pleasured you in such a manner."
"That's not what I meant." He lifted his clean hand to stroke her cheek, noticing the sheen of unshed tears in her eyes. So this
had
affected her, even if she wouldn't admit it. "I only meant that you…have a way of taking a man out of himself, making him forget things he shouldn't."
Like the flaws in his character. Or the fact that he shouldn't dally with the one woman who'd agreed to help him with Tessa's situation.
A small sigh whiffed from her lips. "Then we're alike in that. You take me out of myself, too." She stared at him wide-eyed. "And I didn't even know I wanted to escape myself."
He suddenly got the sense he was on the verge of discovering something important about her. If he dared to probe further. If he dared to let this become…
No, that was unwise. Instead, he reverted to the comfortable role of practiced seducer.
"That's understandable." Dropping his hand from her cheek, he began to button up his clothes. "If done right, 'swiving' does have a tendency to take one out of oneself." The words sounded hollow even to his own ears.
"If you say so." Though her tone matched his for nonchalance, the trembling in her hands as she finished setting her clothes to rights showed he'd wounded her by becoming the consummate rakehell once more.
Yet he pressed on. "Trust me, it will be even better on Saturday."
She stiffened. "I haven't said I will share your bed."
"No, but you will."
Her eyes were round and solemn as she stared at him. "We'll see."
He let her tell herself she would avoid any further entanglement. They both knew it was a lie. A woman could return to celibacy if her first experience with a man was bad, which was undoubtedly what had happened to her before. But let that woman once experience the full glory of her sensuality, and she would never deny it to herself again.
For proof of that, he had only to look at every widow he'd ever seduced— no matter how much they missed their husbands, they missed being bedded more. If they didn't, it was only because their husbands had bedded them badly.
Or so he'd been telling himself for the past ten years. Better to believe that than to think that women only came to him because they were lonely. And because his need to assuage his own loneliness was as plain to them as letters on a page.
He swore under his breath. That was ridiculous. He bedded women because he required release for his unruly urges, because he wanted to get through the dark nights. Not because he was lonely.
And he wanted Madeline for the same reason. He did, damn it!
Madeline headed for the door, but he caught her arm. "Do you swear to give me my answers Saturday night?"
"Yes. After the party. Now I must go."
Reluctantly he released her, watching as she slipped out of the garden pavilion. He waited a few moments, then walked out to perform a quick survey of the area. Satisfied that no one was nearby, he headed for the house.
When he entered the manor, Madeline was seated at the luncheon relating a story of how she'd gone to look for Lady Tarley near the carriages, not realizing that the countess was somewhere else. Judging from Mrs. Harris's reaction, the headmistress and Madeline had agreed beforehand on what tale to tell.
So it was his turn. He feigned surprise at learning they'd been looking for him. He explained he'd gone for a stroll around Godwin's small lagoon. Though Mrs. Harris eyed him closely, and the girls whispered together, they seemed to accept his tale. There
was
a brief moment when Kitty looked as if she might contradict him out of pique, but his cold stare stifled whatever trouble she thought to cause.
Thankfully, they boarded the carriages a short while later and headed back to the school. This time, the two girls didn't seem to mind that he was inordinately quiet as they chattered about what they'd seen. Only Mrs. Harris noticed, casting him a few searching glances though she said nothing.
Once at their destination, he took his leave and headed back to London. It was later than he'd expected to be, and he had some unsavory business to discuss with his solicitor before he could meet with Stoneville as planned.
As Anthony strode into his solicitor's, pausing to hand his hat to the clerk in the outer office, Mr. Joseph Baines rose from behind his desk in the inner office. "My lord. To what do we owe this unexpected pleasure?"
The family solicitor had never been fond of Anthony, a feeling that was entirely mutual. But Anthony could live with that as long as he was sure the man deserved the trust that Wallace and Father had placed in him.
Anthony waited until Mr. Baines closed the door and resumed his seat before he spoke. "I thought you should know I've dismissed the steward at Norcourt Hall."
Disapproval was plainly etched in the solicitor's overly powdered face. "Dismissed him?"
"Yes." Anthony sat down and propped his ankle on his knee. He drew out two folded sheets of paper and unfolded them on the desk. "This is only a sample of his shenanigans with the books. It took me but a few hours to discover how much money he'd been secreting away by underpaying the staff." He watched Baines's face carefully. "It's no wonder we've had trouble keeping footmen in our employ. And the butler was near to giving notice when he learned that his salary was actually supposed to be higher."
The shock that spread over Baines's features didn't appear feigned, nor was there a trace of guilt in his face. Perhaps the man hadn't been part of the steward's deception. Anthony had hoped not.
Baines skimmed the paper, then said in a hushed voice, "My lord, I had no idea. He came highly recommended, and I drew up the contracts with the assumption— "
"I'm sure that's true. But I thought you should be made aware of his character."
"Certainly, sir." He stiffened, then folded his hands on his desk. "I shall, of course, resign my position at once. I am the one who hired him, and consequently, I am the one responsible for this travesty."
For half a second, Anthony was tempted to accept the man's resignation. But the fact that he'd proffered it absolved him of any misconduct. And the truth was, the solicitor had a keen legal mind and the ambition necessary to benefit from it. His personal dislike of Anthony might be annoying, but it would never keep him from performing his duties to the greatest of his ability. Anthony admired him for that alone.
"I'm afraid I shall have to refuse your resignation, Mr. Baines. I don't hold you at fault in this matter. I merely thought you should be apprised of it."
"Thank you, sir. I shall try to be worthy of your faith in me."
His palpable relief took Anthony by surprise. Perhaps Mr. Baines wasn't entirely opposed to being the Norcourt solicitor after all. "Now then," Anthony went on, "I'll need you to find a replacement for the steward as soon as possible." A thought suddenly occurred to him. "Also, have you heard of any talented cooks who might be looking for a new position?"
Mr. Baines jerked his head up. "Surely the cook at Norcourt Hall has not left, as well."
"No. I'm asking on behalf of an acquaintance of mine. A Mrs. Harris."
The man's chilly manner returned. "A widow, I take it?"
"Yes, but not the merry kind." To his surprise, he rather enjoyed defying his solicitor's bad expectations of him. "She runs the girls' school that has agreed to enroll Miss Dalton." Or would agree, if he had anything to say about it. "Perhaps you've heard of it? Mrs. Harris's School for Young Ladies?"
Baines nodded as if in a daze. So much evidence of responsibility on Anthony's part was obviously more than he could take. "You said no school would consider enrolling her until you gain guardianship."
"It turns out I was wrong."
For the first time since Anthony had met him, there was a glint of respect in Baines's eye. "The Harris school is excellent, very prestigious," Baines said. "If you have secured your niece a place there, it will help your cause enormously. Especially with the change in your situation."
"What change?" Foreboding settled in his belly.
"I wasn't going to discuss it with you until I confirmed the rumor, but my sources say the court is already leaning toward giving guardianship to your uncle."
"What! But the barrister hasn't even had a chance to plead my case."
"As I told you before, they'll be considering more than the mere facts of your fortune or rank. According to statements submitted by Lord Tarley— "
"What has the Earl of Tarley got to do with this?" Anthony said hoarsely.