Love's Promise (28 page)

She studied him, digesting the statement as if it was the silliest thing she’d ever heard.

She chuckled, but sadly. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I feel sorry for her.”

“Why would you?”

“Because she’ll never know what it’s like to be cherished by you.”

“I told you it’s not a love match. She’d never expect it to be.”

“So let me ask you something else: Have you been having carnal relations with her—while you’ve been having them with me?”

“No. We would never dally before the...ah...the...”

He stumbled to a halt, and he deemed it an indicator of the level of his distress that he’d spoken without reflection. He didn’t intend to imply that he respected Rebecca more than Fanny, or that Rebecca’s virginity was more valuable than Fanny’s.

Fanny finished the terrible response for him. “You would never make love with her before the wedding, because you would never dishonor her?”

There was no reply that was appropriate, and anyway, the damage was done.

A look of grief came in her eye as if—with the admission—he’d killed something fine and rare.

He forced himself away from the door, and he went over to kneel in front of her.

“Fanny, my dearest, darling Fanny, please forgive me.”

“I don’t think I can.” Her voice showed no emotion.

“I love you,” he said. The declaration was wrenched from the core of his being, but she merely snorted with disgust.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean, Michael. You insult me when you do.”

“I do love you!” he insisted. “I love you so much, I’m dying with it.”

“But it’s too late, and it really doesn’t matter.”

“I didn’t want this to happen. I didn’t want to hurt you. I had to marry, and I picked Rebecca, but then, I met you and...and...how could I not love you?”

She placed her palm on his cheek, appearing very wise, and it seemed that she was about to say something profound, but Peggy knocked and peeked in.

“Master Thomas is asking for you, Miss Fanny. Will you see him?”

“Yes, Peggy, inform him that I’ll be down shortly. And would you fetch Lord Henley’s hat and coat. He’s having supper at Henley Hall.”

“Very good, Miss.”

“He’ll spend the night there, then he’s needed in London, so he’ll be away for a time. Have his horse saddled, would you?”

“Certainly.”

“He’ll be down in the foyer in a few minutes.”

Peggy slithered off, and Fanny used the interruption to scoot away. For a moment, she was standing, and he was still on his knees, like a beggar, like a supplicant.

He held out his hand.

“Don’t do this, Fanny.”

She linked their fingers and helped him to his feet. “You can’t stay here. You have to talk to her.”

He pulled her into a hug, squeezing so tightly that he was surprised he didn’t crack her ribs.

“Promise me that you’ll remain here until we can figure out a new location for you. I have to be assured that you’re safe and well.”

“Oh, Michael...”

“Swear it to me!”

“Yes, yes,” she sighed. “I’ll remain here until I hear from you.”

She tried to twist out of his grasp, but he wouldn’t release her, and she physically pried his fingers away. He reached for her again, and she moved across the room, the bed a barrier between them.

“Go,” she murmured. “Lady Rebecca is waiting for you.”

His mind reeled. Could he leave her? Could he walk away? Was he mad? When she was his entire world, and Rebecca was nothing at all, why would he do as the two women were demanding? What was wrong with him?

Though it was absurd and illogical, he’d been raised with the guiding tenet that class and station were all important. To expect him to believe otherwise, to behave in a different way, was like expecting him to believe the sky was red or the ocean yellow.

Duty and obligation defined his existence. He had to have Rebecca’s money, had to save as many of his family’s holdings as he could. It was his responsibility, the only road he could see, the only path he could follow, and he couldn’t change into someone he wasn’t. He couldn’t toss off his betrothal and selfishly grab for what he craved.

He spun and left while he still had the fortitude to go.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“May I speak with Mr. Sinclair?”

“And you are...?”

Phillip’s butler stared at Anne with such disdain that she nearly turned and fled. She was a single woman, unaccompanied, knocking on the door of a bachelor. It was late afternoon, the sun setting, evening about to arrive. To say that her visit was unusual would be putting it mildly.
Shocking
was a better word.

After slipping out of her father’s house, she’d walked and walked, then hired a hackney, and she’d told herself that she’d been wandering aimlessly, but apparently, she’d had a destination in mind all along.

“I am Lady Anne Wainwright.” She matched him in haughtiness and tone. When his brows raised in astonishment, she added softly, “Tell him that Anne is here. Tell him I’d like to talk to him—if he has a moment.”

“Please come in, Lady Anne.”

He was gracious and competent, showing her to a parlor and pouring her a glass of wine, then he left to locate Phillip.

She’d never been in his home before, and she used the opportunity to assess her surroundings, to decide what they revealed about her host. The residence was quiet and comfortable, with plush, but masculine furnishings, dark paneling, and maroon drapes.

She finished her wine and poured herself some more, then snooped through the papers on his writing desk.

Thank you for last night
, she read on a piece of flowery stationary.
When can we do it again? Soon, I hope?

She wondered which of his paramours had sent it, what he’d done to warrant such effusive praise. No doubt he had satisfied lovers all over the city, with women everywhere tittering about his prowess.

The realization made her angry, and for once, she didn’t pretend she wasn’t jealous. She was furious as the dickens, and she was curious over how they goaded him to such heights of carnal misbehavior. Would she be lucky enough to do the same? Surely, she must possess some instinctive glimmer of feminine wiles that would guide her.

After a lengthy wait, the butler appeared with the news that Phillip would see her, but she was disconcerted to find herself being escorted upstairs to the master suite. He held the door for her, and though she hesitated, she stepped inside.

Phillip was lounged in a chair by the fire, sipping a brandy and watching her enter. He was barely dressed, clad in a pair of loose-fitting trousers and naught else, and she imagined it was the type of pants a sultan might wear while entertaining his harem. As a bow to modesty, he’d pulled on a silk robe, but he hadn’t tied the belt. The lapels were open, exposing all of his chest, which was covered with a thick matting of hair.

At the sight of so much male flesh, butterflies tickled her belly.

“Lady Anne,” he started, “this is a surprise.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“What?”

“Don’t call me
Lady
Anne.”

“May I hope it’s because you don’t intend to act like one?”

“I don’t know what I
intend.”

“I must inform you that I’m not in the habit of inviting women up to my bedchamber unless I believe something interesting will occur after they arrive.” His rude gaze meandered down her torso. “I hate to fuss with virgins, so if you plan to stay, I suggest you accept the possibility that you won’t be one when you leave.”

He was being deliberately surly, and she wanted to snap at him, but if she did, they’d descend to their regular pattern: He’d tease her, she’d over-react, he’d become churlish, and she’d stomp out in a huff.

“Stop baiting me,” she said. “For years, you’ve urged me to do something scandalous, and I have. I’m here, when I haven’t the faintest idea why I am. My knees are knocking so hard that I’m afraid I’m about to fall down.”

A corner of his beautiful mouth lifted in a smile. He extended his hand. “Come to me.” She couldn’t move, and he coaxed, “It’s all right, Anne. Come here.”

The tender note in his voice pierced through what remained of her wall of reserve. She stumbled over, and he linked their fingers and drew her onto his lap. Her bottom was balanced on his thigh, and he tugged her forward so that her bosom was flattened to his chest, her nose buried at his nape. He was warm and large, and he smelled so good.

He kissed her cheek, her temple.

“What is it?” he inquired. “What’s wrong?”

“Everything. Nothing.”

“That sounds bad.”

“It is.”

He chuckled and offered her his brandy.

“Drink this. You’ll feel better.”

She enjoyed an occasional brandy—it was a secret vice—and she was glad that he wasn’t going to coddle her. In a single gulp, she tossed down the contents, then held out the glass.

“May I have another?”

“Of course.”

The decanter was on a table next to him. He grabbed it and filled to the rim. She gulped it down, too, then snuggled herself to him again.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like a third?” he queried. “I’d be happy to get you drunk and take advantage of you.”

“You don’t have to get me drunk.”

“Really? You’re prepared to sacrifice yourself sober?”

“Yes.”

He laughed and shifted away, a finger under her chin so she had to look at him.

“Oh, my darling, Anne, what is it? What’s happened? If you would seek me out like this, it must be quite a tragedy.”

She dithered and debated, then blurted out, “Would you make love to me?”

He stared blankly, as if he hadn’t heard her correctly.

“Say something,” she begged, embarrassed. “It’s what I want, but I’m clueless as to how I convince you to agree. What must I do so we can start? Just tell me, and I’ll do it.”

“Make love?” He seemed to be testing the words on his tongue. “You want to make love with
me
? You want to give
me
your virginity?”

“Yes.”

“Right here? Right now?”

“Yes.”

“I suppose we could do that, but first, you must explain yourself. Why
me?
Why now?”

“I don’t know,” she truthfully replied.

“Well, your response certainly makes me feel special.” He chuckled again, greatly humored by her. “Are you fighting with the Duke? Is that what’s brought this on?”

“I’m always fighting with the Duke.”

“Then...why?”

The restless yearnings that plagued her were difficult to describe. She wanted ecstasy and excitement, companionship and contentment. She wanted to feel as if she mattered.

“Sometimes,” she haltingly said, “you look at me, and it seems as if you see the person I could be—instead of the person I am.” For some idiotic reason, tears flooded her eyes. “I have to find out if I can become that person you see.”

“And if I consent to copulating with you, what will I receive in return?”

“What do you want in return?”

“There’s a question for the ages: What do I want? My price might be more than you’re willing to pay.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure. You’d be surprised at what this is worth to me.”

“Have you any notion of what transpires between a man and a woman? Do you know what you’re really proposing?”

“I have a general idea.”

“It’s very physical.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“We’d lie down on my bed. We’d remove all our clothes, and I’d touch you all over.”

At the prospect, her stomach somersaulted with anticipation, her breasts seeming to swell and harden. Her body understood what was required, even if her mind did not.

“Would you show me how it can be? Would you teach me what to do?”

“I could, but I’m not positive I should. I doubt if you’d like it.”

She could have protested that he dabbled with every woman in town, except for herself, but she couldn’t raise the complaint without sounding possessive and shrewish. Since females were constantly throwing themselves at him, the sexual act had to be pleasurable. Why else would they solicit him so frequently?

Her friends often tittered about amour, and it appeared to be the male of the duo who made all the difference. Those wives who enjoyed fornication were usually the ones who’d married experienced rakes, and she was certain that Phillip would fit into the category of lovers who knew exactly how to proceed.

He poured another brandy, and he sipped at it, pondering her request, weighing the pros and cons.

“If I say yes,” he finally murmured, “you have to promise that you’ll never be sorry. No matter if you hate it, no matter what happens later on, you won’t regret asking, and you won’t blame me for agreeing.” He paused and kissed her cheek again. “If you were miserable afterward, I couldn’t bear it.”

She kissed him on the mouth. “I’ll never be sorry.”

Studying her, he searched for vacillation or trepidation, and she calmly met his stare, wanting him to witness her resolve, and she succeeded.

He eased her to her feet, then stood, too.

“Come.”

He took her hand and led her to the adjoining room where his bed was located. A single candle glowed on the nightstand, and his evening clothes were folded across the end of the mattress.

“Were you going out?” she queried.

“Yes, but it seems my plans have been altered.”

He didn’t say
what
those plans might have been, or who he might have seen, and she didn’t inquire, for she didn’t wish to know which London doxy would be disappointed when he failed to arrive.

He scooped up the clothes and dropped them on a chair, then he drew back the blankets. Suddenly, she was alarmed, her maidenly fears surging, and he noted her anxiety.

“Are you still sure? We don’t have to do it. We can stop this instant, and I’ll drive you home, with no harm done.”

“I don’t want that.”

“But you need to realize,” he gently said, “that once we lie down together, I won’t let you change your mind.”

She gazed up at him, thinking he was so magnificent, so perfect for her. Why had it taken her forever to notice?