What the Groom Wants (4 page)

He touched her chin, slowly drawing her to look at him.

“Do you have a place to stay?”

“Not yet,” she whispered.

His hand was cool on her skin, and she shivered.

“You know I have a place open for you two. Don’t let your fear of me put your mother on the street.”

She wanted to say she wasn’t afraid, but it was patently untrue. She wanted to say she had friends and places to turn to other than him, but she didn’t—not for a place to live. Not on such short notice. Meanwhile, he continued speaking, his voice low and mesmerizing.

“You are right to be afraid of me. I am a dangerous man. I have killed men and women without a second thought. But I want you, my Wendy. And when your brother was a fool in my club, I seized on the opportunity to pull you to my side.”

So it was true. He had used Bernard to get to her. “I am nothing,” she whispered.

“You are a very great deal. Smart, beautiful, and talented. Better yet, you have a practical nature. You see the shadows and don’t judge those who are caught in them.” He tugged her toward him, and she found herself powerless to resist.

“I don’t judge them. But you are the one who creates those shadows,” she said, her voice tight with disdain.

He arched a brow. “You don’t seriously believe me to be that powerful. I am merely a man. And one who wants you very much.”

Her breath caught. Never had she allowed herself to be this near him. Tight enough to smell the mint of his breath above the harsher scents of tobacco and wine. Close enough to feel goose bumps prickle her skin as her knees grew weak and her nipples pulled tight.

“Look deeper into me, Wendy. See me for the man I am, not the image I project to survive.”

“No,” she whispered. Or she thought she did. She wasn’t sure, as it wasn’t a loud word. It certainly had no power to stop him as he closed the distance between them.

He took her mouth, slanting across the lips that he’d already prepared with his thumb. She trembled in his arms as his tongue slipped between her teeth. She was a woman unfamiliar with kisses. In truth, she’d rarely felt a man’s touch, and that was usually her brothers’ rough hugs. To have two such kisses in one day confused her. To be held in the arms of a man who terrified her was in equal parts horrifying and exhilarating. He wasn’t hurting her, and yet his arms tightened around her, and his mouth took control. She had little choice but to obey the orders of his body.

He taught her what to do with her tongue, growling in approval when she began to thrust and parry with him. She felt him shift so that she was pressed backward against the railing, while his body pushed at her from the front. She felt the hard planes beneath his clothing. And she knew enough to be startled by the thick swell against her groin, especially as he pushed it against her in a frighteningly explicit rhythm.

It was that movement that pushed her from arousal into alarm. She tried to break away, but she was trapped. The railing bit into her back, and there was no compromise from Damon in the front. In fact, when she pushed at his chest, he seemed to grow more powerful, more dominating. His mouth slanted harder across hers. His tongue pushed in with more frenzy. And below—sweet heaven—below he was big and aggressive.

Rubbing her up and down with his thick cock, his desire drew a whimper from her. She was trapped, and all her struggles inflamed him. Her senses swirled, her fists beat him, but she might as well have been pounding at stone. It didn’t end until he pulled away. Until he eased back enough that she could twist her face away. But his body was still pressed so tight against hers that she could feel his heart pounding in his chest.

“No,” she said. This time her voice was louder and stronger.

“Come to my room,” he whispered, his own breath short. “I will treat you as a queen.”

Her back seriously hurt, arched as she was halfway over empty space. She pushed at his chest, and this time he grudgingly eased back.

“I am not a high flyer,” she said. She could not bear to look at him.

“Did I ask to pay you?” he said, the humor in his voice making her cheeks heat. “What I meant—”

“I know what you meant,” she said as she pushed harder. He did not move. “The answer is no.”

He trailed his thumb along her cheek, and she turned away from the touch. He leaned forward to whisper into her ear. “I had not thought you a coward. Why do you run, Wendy? I will make all your dreams come true.”

She snorted, her spine straightening as much as he allowed. “You know nothing of my dreams.”

“Really? Shall I prove you wrong? You dream of a safe home for yourself and your mother. I offer you that at fair terms. You wish for a man to appreciate your talents and your intelligence. I do, Wendy. And you wish to know what other women know.” He raised his hand and boldly tweaked her nipple. She would have slapped him no matter who he was, but he stepped out of her reach.

She bit her lip, feeling her mind swirl in darkening circles. Her body was aroused—she knew that much—but her heart beat like a terrified rabbit. This man was a demon, and her mind churned in confusion. She didn’t want to dance—in the most carnal way—with this devil. She didn’t! There had to be another way out.

“I’m going to my table now,” she said as she pushed off the railing with shaking arms. He didn’t let her go far. She was still caged by his body, but he allowed her to straighten to her full height. Over his shoulder, she caught the sight of his guards standing there with blank faces. She knew that at a single nod from Damon, they would gut her like a fish. “Damon, you’ve had your fun,” she said. “Let me go.”

“Where will you go tomorrow? Where will your mother sleep?”

She closed her eyes. She didn’t know! And she had no time to figure it out.

He finally bit out a curse. “One month free rent, Wendy. I offer that to no one else. And my men will move everything tomorrow.” He touched her chin, his fingers pinching tight as he pulled her to look at him. “Do not play the fool, Wendy. You know, if you refuse me now, I will be angry, and things will go worse for you.”

Chilling words, and she felt the blood drain from her face. “And you wonder why I fear you?” she rasped.

“I never expected anything less,” he said. “Shall I tell you a secret? You like the fear. It makes your heart race and your skin tingle. It draws you to me as surely as—”

“A moth to flame?”

He smiled. “I was going to say, a woman who knows a man who can satisfy her.” He folded his arms. “You are saving your virginity for what? One of those gentlemen?” He gestured disdainfully at the gamblers on the floor. “They are not worthy of you. An altar boy who will bring you posies and kiss you chastely on the cheek?” He rolled his eyes. “He will bore you and then betray you by cutting his association the minute he learns of what you did here.”

“I have done nothing but deal cards.”

He flashed a feral smile. “That is not what I will say.”

She felt her cheeks heat. It was true, and she had known what he was doing when they’d walked up here.

Meanwhile, he shifted to look laconically over the floor. “I believe I shall rent the flat to—”

“I will take it,” she pushed out. What choice did she have, really? “For a month. Free of rent.” She swallowed. “With my thanks.”

He sketched a mocking bow. “But of course. My men will be at your home first thing in the morning to help you move.” Then he waved a negligent hand at her. “You may go back to your table now.”

She left, but her steps were slow and her mind whirled much too fast. What had she done?

Radley was whistling as he crossed into the area where he’d grown up. He was blocks away from his mother’s rooms, but home was as much about the neighborhood as the place where he slept. He noted the small differences as he moved. One building had been painted. Another looked to have been scorched by a fire, but still stood. The biggest differences were in the people. It had been nearly eighteen months since he’d been here last. That was a long time for the neighborhood children who seemed to have grown like weeds. And they were all running toward him as if he had a treat.

He did, of course, but not on him. They would have to wait until tomorrow for his surprise.

“It’s Mr. Lyncott! ’E’s here!”

“Mr. Lyncott! We’ve been waiting ever so long!”

“Mr. Lyncott! Bet you’re surprised, ain’t ya? Ain’t ya? Imagine, you a nob!”

Everything was spoken in a screaming rush, the children bouncing and running while women and a few men popped out of their doors.

“Mr. Lyncott! Welcome home.”

“Couldn’t have been for a nicer gent. Don’t you forget us—”

“Don’t forget me!”

“You remember, don’t you? How I helped with—”

On and on it went, until he was rather dizzy. Certainly, the neighborhood always welcomed him home. They liked his tales of foreign lands, and all longed to see what new treasure he’d brought. But this was unusual, even for him. Old men he hadn’t seen in years were struggling from their seats to come see him. To shake his hand and bid him to remember them.

And that was nothing compared to the women smiling warmly, showing off their assets in a way that made him blush. What was going on?

“I’m not a captain yet,” he said, answering one child’s question. “Still just a first mate.”

“No, you ain’t! Not anymore!” said one of the ladies with a throaty laugh.

There was more talk. Something about being a duke, but he laughed that off. Neighborhood gossip was notorious for getting things wrong, and no amount of denial or correction would change what people believed.

So he laughed and waved them off, promising to show them all his new treasure later. Then he mounted the steps to his mother’s lodging. Given the trail of people, all jabbering at once, he shouldn’t have been able to hear Sadie. But the gin sot who kept her eye on everything that happened in the building wouldn’t let him pass through the front door without adding her particular form of address.

“Welcome ’ome, Radley. Just off the ship?”

He acknowledged her politely enough, not because he wanted to encourage the connection, but because it wouldn’t do to antagonize her. It would make his mother’s life all the harder.

“Just home, so if you’ll excuse me. My mama—”

Sadie touched him on the arm, her expression lascivious as she squeezed his biceps. “I always been good to you. Looking out after your mama and all. Don’t you forget me, you hear?” Her expression darkened. “’Course I know things too. Things that you don’t want spread about.”

Radley frowned, startled by her veiled threat. What secrets did he have? And why did she think anyone would care?

He disentangled himself from her clutches smoothly, irritated when he feared that her sharp claws would rip his coat. He saved the fabric—barely—then didn’t even bother bowing as he headed up the stairs. Then he frowned when he realized that Sadie had followed him. She was slower on the steps than he was, but at his look, she flashed him a grin. Then she tugged her neckline lower.

He winced at the woman’s sorry state. Certainly, he’d availed himself of many a whore back when he’d first started sailing. But that had never been his first choice. Strong drink was his vice, not women, and only when he was on liberty.

He turned away to knock loudly on his mother’s door. “Mama? It’s me, Radley. Home from—”

His mother hauled open the door. She was standing there in a new gown, her hair pulled into a neat coiffure. And when she saw him, she burst into tears. He blinked, rather startled, then immediately dropped his satchel to enfold her in a warm hug.

“There, there, I’m home. I’m safe.”

Her response was unintelligible as she gasped and shuddered. He held her tightly, his gaze taking in the new silver tea set at the same moment he noticed two gentlemen setting aside their cups as they pushed to their feet.

Radley’s brows drew together, furious that these two men—whoever they were—had upset his mother.

“What has happened here?” he demanded in his most authoritative voice. It was a tone designed to carry over a violent storm at sea, and it made the two men jolt.

And then as one, they bowed deeply before him.

He stared, confused by such an obsequious reaction, especially as his mother controlled her sobs. She stepped back, wiping her eyes and shaking her head.

“No, no. I’m all right,” she gasped. “I just so h-h-happy.” She gave him a trembling smile. “You’re home!”

He nodded, his gaze still on the two gentlemen. They had the look of solicitors, one old and the other barely controlling his excitement as he shifted from foot to foot. Radley’s gaze moved to his mother’s beaming face, and his disquiet grew. Were these the solicitors who had left their card with his employer? And where did his mother get the money for a new dress, a silver tea set, and…

His eyes narrowed. Fresh flowers? In a vase on the table? They had never had fresh flowers. It was too big an expense!

“Mother,” he said slowly.

“It has finally happened,” she said as she wiped her eyes. “You’re a duke, Radley! We… I’m… Oh darling, you’ve inherited the title just as I always knew you would.”

He stared at her, his mind stuttering at her words. His first thought was that the toll of near poverty had finally gotten the better of her. Her mind had broken, and these men were here to take her to Bedlam.

That was his first thought. The rest of him couldn’t help but replay the many words he’d heard while walking here. Whether or not it was true, the neighborhood certainly thought he’d stepped into something huge. But it couldn’t possibly be that he’d inherited the title. He was ninth or tenth in line for the dukedom.

More likely was that the old duke had finally died, and the next one was doing his best to reconnect to the lost branch of the family. That would mean reaching out to his mother in Radley’s absence.

“Don’t worry,” he said softly to his mother. “I’m home now. I’ll sort it all out.”

“But there’s nothing to sort,” his mother cried happily. “You’re the new duke!”

He smiled, hating that she kept saying that. It couldn’t be true.

“Mother,” he said gently, “Miss Drew and her mother will be staying here tomorrow. They have had some difficulty with their rooms and—”

“What? What!” She drew herself to her full height, and with the new coiffure, she nearly made it to his chin.

He smiled as he squeezed her arms. “I know it is sudden, but they are having a problem, and they need a place to stay. So I said they could stay in my room—”

“But they cannot!”

His lips tightened, and he took as strong a tone as he dared with his mother, especially while the two men stood barely three feet away. “They can, and they will. I have promised them. It will not be for long, and you can—”

“No!” she cried. “You are a duke now, Radley! There are appearances to be maintained. Your generosity does you credit, but we simply cannot—”

“Mother,” he said, coldly cutting her off. He had intended to inform her as soon as possible, not to discuss it openly in front of strangers. He’d expected his quiet mama to simply acquiesce. Between the clamor outside and his mother’s odd words, Radley felt his world shifting on its axis. “We will discuss this at a later time. Right now, I should like to meet these gentlemen.”

She huffed, clearly disliking what he’d said, but her good manners stopped her from arguing further. Instead, she turned to the gentlemen in question.

“Radley, I’d like to present you with your solicitors. Mr. Pelley and his grandson, Mr. Pelley. They are from the firm of Chase and Pelley. They have been advising the Duke of Bucklynde for generations. And now, they are here to help you.”

Both men executed a deep bow, but Radley simply frowned at them. He didn’t dare speak. He was beginning to think that his mother’s delusion might not be a delusion. But that couldn’t be. This was a fantasy of hers. It had to be. All his life, his mother had cherished the dream that one day they would be pulled back into the ducal fold. She had made no secret of her hopes, of the distant connection between them and the Duke of Bucklynde, and she had made Radley’s life hell with the constant keeping up of appearances for something that would never happen.

He was a sailor, soon to be captain of his own ship. The fantasy that he would someday take a place among the aristocracy was ridiculous at best. And yet, here stood Mr. Pelley and Pelley, and his disquiet grew.

“Sirs, as you might imagine, this is all rather confusing.”

The elder Pelley bowed deeply. “We’ve been anxious for your return, your grace.”

Radley winced at “your grace” but allowed the man to continue without comment.

“I only heard an hour ago that your ship had finally arrived. Assuming that you would come first to visit your mother, we decided to meet you here. I’m afraid the estate has been neglected in this time of crisis, and there are decisions that need to be made as soon as possible.”

He looked at the man, gauging his sincerity and sanity. He judged them both adequate, but the idea was still too preposterous to accept. He knew he was rapidly losing the war against denial, but he clung tenaciously to it.

His mother had always put on airs, and his sister had ended up suffering for it. He had tolerated her insistence on seeing him educated as a gentleman, and for a little while he had allowed his mother’s dreams to infect him. As a boy, he’d fantasized about some unlikely event that would confer the duke’s honors on him. When his sister had become a victim of a heinous crime, in part brought on by his mother’s fixation on their connection to the dukedom, it had taken Radley from boyhood to adulthood virtually overnight. He had chosen a profession and set aside his secret hope, a little regretfully, but with relief too. And now, here were two men and his mother telling him that all his boyhood wishes had come true.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand how this could be.”

The elder Pelley bowed again—really, that was getting rather irritating—then gestured to his grandson. “If we might be permitted to explain.”

At a pointed look at the younger Mr. Pelley, the boy—who looked barely into his twenties—gasped and grabbed a satchel. He pulled out a stack of papers, which appeared to have an elaborate family tree upon it. He spread it on the table in front of the settee, then both Pelleys looked at Radley.

It took a minute for Radley to realize that they hadn’t yet sat down because they were waiting for him. His mother, of course, had discreetly withdrawn to the kitchen. That was, after all, what a dowager countess would do, right? Which left the three men standing, while the Duke of Bucklynde’s genealogy fairly screamed at Radley from the table.

“Very well,” he said, giving in to the inevitable. He settled on the nearest chair, his knees feeling incredibly weak, and then waited in all appearance of calm. In truth, his heart was pounding and his thoughts whirled more than a storm at sea.

The next few minutes passed in a numb fog. The younger Mr. Pelley ran through a long commentary about every male on the ducal tree. He pointed at the parchment as he went, indicating birth and death dates, dwelling in detail on how each man died. In truth, the tale was relatively simple. Smallpox wiped out everyone of significance. Apparently, it had begun as a couple of cases, but spread rapidly. The eldest duke had been one of the first to succumb, and sadly, the cause of everyone else’s infection. All the men had stood vigil at the duke’s sickbed. Then, one by one, they had contracted the disease.

The youngest heir to die had been a boy barely into his teens. The women weren’t mentioned by Mr. Pelley, but Radley saw the dates of each death written in a cold script as well.

Then he counted the remaining females: four, not including his own sister and mother. Four women struggling to hold together a semblance of a life when everything—and everyone—around them had died. He shuddered at the thought.

“I see you are looking at the female names,” said the elder Mr. Pelley. “I should like to draw your attention to this one in particular: Lady Eleanor. She’s a beautiful woman, trained since birth to be a proper wife, and she is your distant cousin, so there will be no concerns on that account.”

Radley frowned, not understanding what the man was saying. What concerns? Why?

“If I may, your grace,” inserted the younger Mr. Pelley. “What my grandfather is trying delicately to suggest is that there are a great many duties required of a new duke, but the most important one at the moment…” He cleared his throat then blushed a fiery red.

“The most important,” picked up his grandfather, “is a continuation of the line. My grandson and I can take care of the most pressing matters of the estate. We’ve already hired a new steward and are sorting through the requirements of the land, finding new tenants, and clearing out the last of the sick or dying.”

“Clearing them out?” echoed Radley, his voice dropping to a deceptively quiet tone. He knew just what kind of panic sickness could create. He’d stopped sailors from throwing the ill overboard out of fear that the disease would spread.

“Er, yes, your grace. We’re moving them to a hospital and… um… burning the homes. You must understand that this illness is—”

Radley waved him into silence. This was more than he could process, but he was not going to allow fear to rule even from this distant location. “Wall off the homes for the moment. Do not burn them until after we learn of their owners’ fates.”

The younger man cleared his throat. “Begging your pardon, your grace, but
you
are the owner. You can—”

“Not of their crockery, not of their clothing or their mementoes.” He rubbed a hand over his face. Bloody hell, this was too much. “Wait to find out if the people survive!”