Love's Promise (20 page)

As was typical since he’d brought Fanny to the country, he hadn’t been thinking clearly. It was impossible for Thomas’s servants to be lodged with him. The servants’ quarters were small and in use by the current staff, and if Michael tried to squeeze in others, there’d be chaos and bickering.

Plus, he couldn’t have all these people watching him with Fanny. His employees understood the disreputable purpose for which he utilized the residence, and they’d been specifically chosen because they were discreet and nonjudgmental about his affairs.

These newcomers would look askance at his introducing Thomas to such a seedy environment. They would fume and gossip, when he didn’t want any stories getting back to London.

He went to the lead footman and ordered him to escort the group to Henley Hall where they would spend the night, then return to Wainwright Manor.

After much repacking, grumbling, and questions, they boarded the carriages and departed.

As they rumbled out of sight, he breathed a sigh of relief, as if he’d dodged a bullet, and it occurred to him that it hadn’t actually been the servants’ presence that had bothered him.

If he’d wished it, he could have made room for them, but the reality was that Michael was desperate to be alone with Fanny and Thomas. Buried deep in his heart was a smoldering need to carry on like a normal family with them.

He’d never experienced such a thing prior, had never lived through it himself, and to his amazement, it was something he was determined to sample once in his life. The craving made no sense, but was real and potent and couldn’t be ignored.

Grinning with anticipation, he hurried inside, knowing they were waiting for him and feeling as if he was truly coming home for the very first time.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Fanny blew out the candle and tiptoed away from Thomas’s room. He’d been asleep for over an hour, but she couldn’t force herself away from him. She’d been terrified she’d glance over and find that it had all been a dream and he wasn’t really there.

Lord Henley was waiting for her at the end of the hall, standing in the doorway to the master suite. He’d made himself comfortable, had shed his coat and cravat, had rolled back his sleeves. He looked handsome and indolent and dangerous, and despite how she’d planned to ignore him, her pulse sped.

He’d spent the day with them, and the transition had been so easy. It seemed as if she’d always lived with him and Thomas, and his kindness unnerved her as his temper and arrogance never could.

She kept coming until they were toe to toe. He was in a strange mood and couldn’t take his eyes off her, and it was a heady sensation, being the focus of all that male attention. She didn’t know how to deflect it and wasn’t sure she wanted to.

“Is he finally asleep?” he asked.

“Yes. He was so excited to be here. I didn’t think he’d ever nod off.”

“I like watching you with him. I like seeing the two of you together.”

“I like being with him. Thank you for bringing him to me.”

He slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her to him, their bodies connecting as he kissed her.

She wouldn’t pretend that she hated being kissed by him, for she didn’t hate it. Her problem was that she enjoyed it too much, but he was too experienced for her, and she couldn’t deal with the feelings he ignited.

He continued on, and she allowed the embrace until she was breathless and her knees weak, then she glided away and skirted past him into the bedchamber. She hurried through the suite to the dressing room, but he followed, stalking after her as a hungry hawk would a mouse.

While she wanted to order him out, she wasn’t certain he would go, or that she had the right to demand his departure. The house was his, and she was staying in it at his behest, and it would take some time to figure out exactly where the lines were drawn as to his authority and her actual place.

His passions were running hot, and she had to cool them. Conversation was the best way to distract him, and it was the first chance she’d had to pose the question that had been eating at her all day.

“Why didn’t you tell me about his inheritance?”

He shrugged. “I couldn’t reveal it to you, but keep it from your sister, and I wasn’t about to apprise her of his fortune. I didn’t trust her.”

“Who is the money from?”

“His father, my brother, John.”

“He passed away?”

“Yes. Nine months ago.”

“Yet you never mentioned it.”

He shrugged again. “I didn’t see how it could make any difference if you knew or not.”

At the inane reply, she rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Were the two of you close?”

“Yes, we were.”

“What are the will’s provisions regarding Thomas?”

“He’s John’s heir.”

A prickly silence ensued. He didn’t supply any further details, his expression indicating that he wouldn’t discuss his brother or the terms of the bequest, and she yearned to shake him until his teeth rattled. Would it kill him to confide in her? Just once?

He’d erected a firm barrier that prevented her from discovering much about his private life, even though she was very curious. She’d like to probe for details, but she was sure he wouldn’t provide them, and it gave him an undue advantage. He knew absolutely everything about her while she knew practically nothing about him.

He approached and gestured to the stool in front of the dressing table.

“Sit down.”

“Why?”

“I want to take down your hair.”

She frowned and thought about complaining, but didn’t. Like a puppet on a string, she obeyed.

He stood behind her, so dark and brooding, and as she studied his reflection in the mirror, she was unable to look away. Slowly, he extracted the combs and pins, removing them one at a time, relishing the chore. Soon, the lengthy tresses tumbled free, and he riffled his fingers through them, then he grabbed the brush and tugged it down.

She relaxed against him, liking this side of him, feeling very wanton but not caring. Gradually, he was luring her into his web again. Would she allow herself to be trapped?

Eventually, he tossed the brush onto the table, and he bent down and nibbled at her nape. Goosebumps cascaded down her arms.

“I love your hair,” he murmured.

“Don’t change the subject.”

“Who’s changing the subject? I’m talking about how beautiful you are.”

“Thomas said that he is very rich now.”

“He is.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means he’s very rich.”

He glanced up, their gazes locking in the mirror.

“If your brother was so generous at his death, why didn’t he show any interest in Thomas when he was still alive?”

“I haven’t any idea. He never mentioned Thomas to me. Not once.”

“Did you know my sister? Were you aware of their affair?”

“I had never heard of your sister, and I hadn’t met her until I came to the country. We only learned about Thomas when the will was read after John’s funeral.”

“Who has he named to be Thomas’s guardian?”

“Me.”

“And you’re in charge of his money, too?”

“Every penny until he is twenty-one.”

They continued to stare, and her mind whirred. No wonder they’d wrested Thomas away from her and Camilla. No wonder they hadn’t disclosed the facts.

If Camilla had had an inkling of the size of Thomas’s fortune, she’d have demanded a bigger payoff. If Fanny had had any notion of the true extent of the windfall, she’d have understood that the Wainwrights would want custody of Thomas, and she’d have taken him and vanished.

She spun on the stool and peered up at him.

“You can tell me what’s happening,” she said. “You don’t have to keep secrets from me.”

“I know.”

“I would never hurt or betray you, and I will always try to do what’s best for Thomas.”

“I know that, too.”

He assessed her, appearing to be on the verge of a great confession, but he often looked as if there was something nagging at him, or something he was dying to confide, and he could never spit it out.

Instead, he did what he usually did, what seemed more natural for him.

He kissed her again, his fingers twined in her hair, as he pulled her up off the stool and into his arms. His tongue was in her mouth, his hands roving everywhere, and quickly, she was overwhelmed. Her pulse was pounding, her breasts aching. She longed for him to touch her nipples, and it embarrassed her to realize how susceptible she was to base conduct.

Camilla had claimed that if Fanny ever had the chance to experience passion, she’d comport herself no better than any other woman. Fanny had laughed at the prospect, deeming it absurd, but clearly, Camilla had been correct, for when Henley started in, Fanny couldn’t resist.

She moaned with dismay and tried to draw away, but he wouldn’t release her.

“You are so wicked,” she said.

“I don’t deny it.”

“You make me forget myself.”

“I’m glad.”

“It’s very late,” she scolded, “and I’m exhausted. I have to get ready for bed, so you need to leave.”

“May I join you?”

“No, you may not.”

He grinned. “You can’t blame me for asking, can you?”

“You are incorrigible.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Would you go? Please? And on your way out, send Peggy to help me before she retires.”

When she’d resided with her sister, she’d had clothes that fastened in the front and were easy to put on and take off. The new items he’d purchased for her were the height of London fashion. Every garment had hooks and laces that were impossible to maneuver without a maid.

“I ordered her to bed ages ago,” he said.

“Then how will I disrobe?”

He raised a naughty brow. “I will assist you.”

“You most certainly will not.”

“I most certainly will. Turn around.”

She glared at him, but Michael ignored her, gripping her waist and spinning her so that her back was to him. He unbuttoned her dress, the bodice slack against her chest, and she clutched it to her bosom.

For some reason, her scandalous condition—with her hair down and half-clad—seemed more intimate than the evening he’d ripped off her nightgown and seen her naked. There was a delicious sense of expectation in the air, as if any decadent thing might occur.

She peeked over her shoulder, and his ardor flared, just a spark away from blazing like an inferno. She must have noted something hazardous in his gaze, for she trembled and nervously licked her tongue across her bottom lip.

The guileless gesture nearly destroyed his control.

“I want you,” he said, “and I’m tired of pretending that I don’t.”

“We’re not animals. We can curb our worst impulses.”

“Why should we?”

“Lord Henley...”

“Call me Michael.”

He swept her into his arms and carried her to the other room, and though she squirmed and complained, he tossed her onto the bed and came down on top of her.

He couldn’t continue to disregard the needs she induced, and she wasn’t immune to him either. When there were trapped together in such close quarters, it was pointless to avoid the inevitable.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“What I should have done days ago, what I should have been doing all along.”

“We can’t be lovers.”

“Of course we can. We share a blatant attraction, and it’s ridiculous to behave as if it doesn’t exist.”

He began kissing her, as he had out in the hall, knowing it was the one thing she wouldn’t protest. She enjoyed kissing, didn’t see the harm, and always forgot how swiftly it led to more. Shortly, she was participating with a fervor that matched his own. As he petted and caressed, so did she. As his torso dropped between her legs, her thighs widened to welcome him. As his loins flexed in anticipation, hers met his stroke for stroke.

Shoving at the fabric of her dress, he nibbled to her bosom, to her breast. He toyed with her nipples, sucking them, pinching them, until she was moaning and straining for more, and he slid his hand under her skirt, then up and up, to his destination. She was wet, open for him, and he slipped two fingers into her sheath, fondling her, preparing her for what was to come.

He undid the buttons on his trousers and tugged them down. The exhilaration was so thrilling, unlike anything he’d encountered prior. With no delay or finesse, he thrust inside.

He was so excited to copulate with her, and he wished his peculiar fascination would wane, yet the more he indulged, the more he craved. She was like a dangerous drug, like opium tempting the worst addict. He couldn’t resist.

Much too quickly, his desire peaked, and he couldn’t hold back, but neither could she.

As she tensed, as her inner muscles clenched around him, he felt her let go, and he let go, too. His orgasm was potent and powerful, and it went on and on until, finally, the pleasure crested, and the slow glide to the end commenced.

He savored a last thrust, then he withdrew and stretched out beside her. They were silent, pensive, and as he spooned himself to her, he noticed how perfectly they fit together. He draped a lazy arm over her waist.

“Are you smiling?” he eventually inquired.