Miss Foster’s Folly (19 page)

But she’d eluded them all, and now the manor grew more and more distant behind her as she grew closer to the village. Hatless, gloveless, and without luggage except for the beaded bag she’d managed to grab, she held her head high as she continued her march toward freedom.

She emerged into the sunlight and did her best to shield her face with her hand. She wouldn’t appear too persuasive as a woman of the world with a sunburn, or worse, freckles. She wouldn’t have any trouble convincing anyone now that she was an experienced lover, though. Derrington had given her all the experience she needed and more. He’d served his purpose well, and someday she’d look back fondly on their time together. Perhaps they could even be friends once he’d gotten over his obsession with marrying her.

In the meantime, she’d sample the men of other countries and cultures. She’d hear passion in other languages. As skilled as Derrington was, he was still English. He couldn’t possibly compete with the French or the ultimate—Italian men.

Past a bend in the road, she spotted the village in the distance. The church steeple dominated the collection of buildings, and the inn where they’d stopped on their way to the manor stood not far away. She paused as the images of that night came back to her. Waking up with her head on Derrington’s shoulder. Gazing out of the carriage at the small houses, some with candles in the windows. Admiring the sign that read “Derrington Arms.”

The place had enchanted her then. Everything had enchanted her, especially the man himself. She’d waited so long to share that most intimate act with him, and every cell of her body had hummed with excitement as she’d neared her goal. And yet, even her most heated fantasies had paled in comparison to reality.

Despite her good intentions to move ever forward, she sighed and stood where she was—in the middle of a road partway between a manor house and a town in England she hadn’t known existed until a few months ago. So far from home. So far from where she’d hoped to end up. And yet, so close to the man who knew her body better than she did herself.

Enough. He’d lied to get her here, no matter how much he denied it. He’d treated her like a silly little girl who didn’t know her own mind. He’d sidetracked her from her goal. From now on, she’d take control of her own destiny, and she wouldn’t look back.

She resumed her trek toward the village. Someone there would have a carriage she could hire to take her to the train station. The inn must receive travelers all the time. The owner, Mr. Quinn, could arrange her transportation, and she’d soon leave this isolated, if lovely, bit of English geography far behind.

As she entered the village, she spotted a few of the local people on the road or in front of their houses. To a person, they smiled but kept their distance, even stepping away from her. One boy ran into a house and re-emerged with a pair of women. One clucked her tongue, and the other gazed at Juliet with what looked like pity.

Such odd behavior. Were all English villagers this eccentric? She smiled back and kept going. She passed modest but pretty houses and then entered the rural equivalent of a business center. A pastry shop, a blacksmith, and up ahead the Derrington Arms. In the light of day, it appeared smaller than it had the first time she’d visited, but it welcomed her, anyway.

A bell rang overhead as she stepped inside. Momentarily blinded, she paused to let her eyes adjust to the dim light. At this time in the afternoon, it was busy with townsfolk enjoying tea and laborers digging into heartier meals. The room fell silent, and a spoon clattered onto a plate. Within a second or two, every pair of eyes was trained on her.

She lifted her hand in a greeting. “Hello.”

No one answered. They all sat staring at her, except for a portly woman behind the bar—the proprietress?—who grabbed a young serving girl by the shoulders and pushed her from the room. The owner, Mr. Quinn, snapped his mouth shut and then covered his surprise with a wide but insincere smile. “Well, there you are, then.”

“Here I am.”

He hurried out from behind the bar, grin firmly in place. “Does the marquis know you’re here, miss?”

“No, why should he?”

“I’m sure he’d want to know.” Quinn cleared his throat. “That is, he’s a kind man, Lord Derrington. Cream of the crop, he is.”

“That’s an excellent reference, but I’m familiar with his character, thank you.”

“Well, then, why don’t I send someone to tell him you’ve arrived safely,” Mr. Quinn said.

“I’ll go.” A young man from a group of farmers stood up.

“No, please.” Juliet held out her arms toward him. “Don’t trouble yourself.”

“No trouble, miss.” The man plopped his cap on his head and took a half step toward the door.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” she said. “Please, sit down and enjoy your meal.”

The man glanced toward the exit with a hint of longing and then sat down again.

“Now, then.” She turned to the owner and gave him a smile as dishonest as his own. “We needn’t send anyone to the manor.”

“If you say so, miss,” Mister Quinn replied.

“Thank you.” She leaned toward him to speak privately. “To tell you the truth, I’d rather Lord Derrington not know I’ve…that is…I’m here.”

“Really?” The man tsked a few times. “Your own cousin shouldn’t know where you are?”

“He’s not my cousin,” she said.

“Not a close cousin, to be sure.”

What was the man talking about? “I’m not related to him at all.”

“Oh, dear.” He tsked a few more times. “He said you’d say that.”

“He discussed me with you?”

“I wouldn’t say discussed really.” The man pulled a towel from the apron tied around his waist and wrung it between his hands. “We had a word here and there. Hardly anything worth mentioning.”

“When?” she asked.

“That night he brought you here. ’Twas so long ago and late at night.”

Ah yes. Derrington had pulled the innkeeper aside to order their food, but more had passed between them than that. They’d put their heads together in conversation, casting quick glances at her from time to time. She hadn’t thought anything of it, but she’d been so tired and eager to get to the manor so he’d finally make love to her. She should have paid attention. The man had a purpose for everything he did, and usually a devious one.

She put her hands on her hips. “What did he tell you?”

“Why, nothing.” The proprietor’s smile was back. It hadn’t become any more convincing.

“Mr. Quinn, I understand your loyalty to the marquis, but I must tell you, he’s been holding me against my will.”

The man’s eyes grew wide. “Oh, dear.”

“I don’t want to alarm you, but whatever Lord Derrington has told you about me is a lie.”

He stood as though someone had nailed his feet to the floor, but his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

“I’m no relative of the marquis’s. I’m Miss Juliet Foster of New York, and I need your help to get away from the man who’s been keeping me at Derrington Manor.”

“Foster, you say.”

“Juliet Foster.”

Mr. Quinn cleared his throat loudly, and another man appeared at his side. He wore a respectable, if somewhat threadbare, suit of clothes and held a small book in his hands.

“
Scuzateme, signorina. Mi chiamo Nigel Bedford, e sono teacher di languages
. I want to…” He flipped through his book for a moment. “…help.”

“What is he doing?” she demanded.

Mr. Quinn placed a hand on her arm. “It’s Italian, miss. He thought you’d find it soothing.”

“I like Italian as much as anyone,” she said. “But wouldn’t it be easier to speak English?”

“We just want to make you feel comfortable,” Mr. Quinn said. “Don’t we?”

A soft murmur of agreement filled the room. What in hell was going on here?

“We thought the sound of your native language might soothe you,” Mr. Quinn said.

“My native language is English. American English, as I’m sure you can tell from my accent,” she said.

“You’ve spent some time there,” he answered. “Not a very happy time. I understand.”

She stared at him. He was speaking English, and the words fell in the correct order to make sentences. But when she put the whole together, it didn’t make any sense. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He pulled a chair out from one of the tables. “Sit down, please.”

“I don’t want to sit down.”

“Please?” he repeated. “As a favor to me.”

“Oh, all right.” She took the seat he offered and scanned the room. The rest of the occupants looked on expectantly, as if they thought she might do something interesting and they didn’t want to miss a moment.

Mr. Quinn pulled out another chair and sat close enough to her that their knees almost touched. “Now, you mustn’t be ashamed.”

“Ashamed of what?”

“Some of us get these little afflictions through no fault of our own.”

She stared into his soft brown eyes and found honest concern there. Only, what did he have to be concerned about?

“I have an aunt, you see,” he went on. “That is, we all have aunts, don’t we? Or most of us, anyway. Common things, aunts.”

“What are you talking about?”

He brushed her hand with his fingertips. “The aunt, well, she’s right as rain most of the time, but she has her spells. Takes to wandering, Lord only knows where, but she always comes back just fine.”

“I’m not wandering, Mr. Quinn.”

He inclined his head toward her and raised a knowing brow.

“I’m escaping,” she said.

“Wouldn’t you like a nice meal before you go?” he said. “You won’t get far on an empty stomach.”

“What I would
like
is a carriage to take me the hell away from here before the marquis catches up with me.”

“Now, miss, you mustn’t upset yourself.”

“I’m not upset.” She took a few breaths. “I just want to leave.”

The proprietress approached the table, set a small glass with amber liquid in it on the table, and went away again.

“A little sherry to calm your nerves,” Quinn offered.

“My nerves are fine, as is my mind,” she said. “I’m not sure I can say the same for yours.”

“Ah-ha, good one. Still, it’s very good sherry.”

She glared at it out of narrowed eyes. “How do I know you haven’t put something in it?”

He picked up the glass, took a sip and held the glass out to her. “Excellent sherry.”

Oh, well, she might as well drink it. She accepted it and drained it in one swallow then put it on the table. “All right. Shall we talk business?”

She opened her bag, found the wad of bills she’d allotted to get help with her escape, and set them onto the table next to the empty glass. Mr. Quinn stared at the pile but made no move to pick it up. “What’s this, then?”

“I want a carriage to take me to the train station. That’ll cost something, and I’ll reimburse you for your trouble.”

“That’s a lot of money, miss.”

“I have plenty more in London and even more than that in New York. I have an ocean of money, and if you help me get to where I want to go, you can have an inlet of your own.”

“Well, now. No one’s offered me anything like that before.”

“I’m serious,” she said. “Help me, and you can have all this and more.”

Suddenly, he seemed to forget his poor aunt’s affliction and her delicate nerves. The attempts to soothe her with Italian faded from memory, and the offer of a meal for her journey followed right after. She’d dealt with money and its effects on people her entire life. Easy cash was working its opiate magic on the man as she watched. She sighed inwardly. Maybe some day someone would react a little less predictably.

“Do we have a deal, Mr. Quinn?” she asked.

“All this to split between the carriage driver and me?”

“Any way you choose to divide it up.”

“I wouldn’t like to look a gift horse in the mouth, would I?” he said.

“Wise decision.”

He scooped up the bills and stuffed them into a pocket of his apron. “You’ll need to wait upstairs in one of the rooms while I arrange things.”

“Why?”

“The marquis might come looking for you. We wouldn’t want him to find you.”

“Good thinking.”

“Go on up, miss. First door on your left.”

“Thank you.” She rose and crossed the room. Heads turned as every eye followed her. Who knew what they thought, but who cared? In an hour or less, she’d be gone from this place, and David Winslow would become no more than a series of heated memories.

She almost stumbled on the first step, but she steadied herself, lifted her chin, and climbed the stairs.

“Up here, your lordship.”

Derrington followed Rufus Quinn up the narrow stairs from the pub to the inn’s guestrooms. The wood creaked as they went, but if Miss Juliet Foster heard the noise, she’d only think it was someone else coming to her rescue. Thank heaven he’d had the foresight to feed the villagers with the fiction of his deranged cousin.

“We thought there might be a row when you confronted her,” Quinn said. “We hoped to avoid embarrassment for you both.”

“Good thinking. Sparks will definitely fly.”

“Poor thing came all that way from the manor on foot.” Quinn clucked his tongue. “Must be desperate.”

“No more desperate than I was when I found her missing.”

They paused at the top of the stairs. Quinn reached into his pocket and pulled out a tidy bundle of bank notes. He offered them to Derrington. “She gave me this to hire a carriage to take her to the train.”

“Keep them.”

“But, sir, it’s a lot of money, and I won’t be hiring a carriage.”

“You’ve earned it, nevertheless.”

Quinn returned the notes to his pocket. “’Twas a good thing you warned us about her, my lord. She was very persuasive.”

“The nature of her illness, I’m afraid.” He heaved the sigh of the long-suffering relative.

“She was waving money around, and she doesn’t hardly know us.” Quinn leaned toward him. “Very dangerous, sir.”

“You see what I have to endure.”

“You’re a saint, my lord, I do swear it.”

A saint? Derrington cleared his throat to keep from laughing. Hardly. He’d have to think up some explanation when his lunatic cousin became his marchioness—a miracle cure, perhaps. But that could wait for later.

“Where is she?” he asked.

“First room on the left. We didn’t lock her in as she seemed quiet enough.”

“Thank you.” Derrington clapped the man on the shoulder. “Would you have someone care for my horse? I rode the beast rather hard getting here.”

“Of course, my lord. It’ll be waiting for you when you’re ready to leave.” With that, the innkeeper turned and went down the stairs, leaving Derrington to face a tower of female fury on his own. Ah well, he’d have to bite the bullet, beard the lioness in her den, and any number of other clichés. It should prove interesting.

He went to the door Quinn had indicated, opened it quickly, and stepped inside.

She was sitting at a table with nothing but a small bag in her lap. When she heard him enter, she stood. Her expression went from a welcome to astonishment to rage in the space of two heartbeats.

“You,” she said from between clenched teeth.

He closed the door behind him and rested against it. “Of course. Who did you expect?”

“That man said he’d get me a carriage.” She raised her hand in an angry gesture. “I paid him good money to do it.”

“He tried to return it to me. I told him to keep it.”

“Why would he return my money to you?”

“Because you’re my insane cousin from Italy, that’s why.”

Her eyes went wide, and her face turned an alarming shade of red. “So, that’s what all that nonsense was about.”

“A little fantasy I made up in case you decided to bolt.”

“You told them I was crazy!” she shouted.

“I did.” No point denying it. “And I warned them that you might show up claiming to be an American heiress.”

Her jaw dropped and stayed there for a moment before she shut her mouth with an audible click of her teeth. “I didn’t think even you could be that devious.”

“I did those good people a disservice, but your money will make up for it.”

Her hands went to her hips. “You did
them
a disservice?”

“I don’t make it my habit to lie to people.”

She sputtered. There wasn’t any other word for the noises that came out of her mouth. “You arrogant, insufferable, hypocritical bastard. You lied to me to get me here.”

“We’ve been all through that.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I misled you, but I did not lie.”

“And now you’re holding me against my will.”

“For your own good,” he said. “I won’t have you gadding about Europe, giving sexual favors to any man who comes along.”

If he’d thought she seemed astonished before, she appeared utterly stricken now. She actually weaved backward a bit before she caught herself. “How did you find out about that?”

“You don’t deny you’d planned an erotic walking tour of the Continent.”

“That’s my business.” Her eyes narrowed. “So, there
was
someone listening to that conversation with Millie. I’ll rip you to shreds, I swear it.”

“I didn’t hear you, but Blandings did, and a good thing, too. Do you know how much danger you could have put yourself in?”

“That’s none of your damned business,” she said. “You’re not my father.”

“True, but I am the man who’s going to put you over my knee and give your bum a jolly good reddening.”

Good Lord, where had that come from? Yes, he’d said that before, but he’d only meant it as an expression of frustration with her outrageous behavior. This time he meant it. He would paddle her, and he would watch her glorious arse turn a lovely shade of pink. His cock swelled at the prospects, now fully engorged, as the air between them grew thick with erotic possibilities.

“You wouldn’t,” she said in a voice gone suddenly husky. Her cheeks flushed, and her full, ripe lips parted. Arousal, not anger.

“Turn around.”

“Why?”

“Do as I say, or I’ll spank you so hard you won’t be able to sit for a week.”

She swallowed, and her bosom rose and fell under her dress. After a moment, she did as he’d instructed, giving him her back.

He let out a shaky breath. Until that moment, he’d had no way of knowing if she’d consent to a paddling. He would never have forced such a thing, but oh, how his body craved it. He’d never lifted a hand to a woman, and he’d never do anything to hurt her, but if she consented…Oh, if she consented…

She stood, waiting for him. Obediently. Who would have imagined that? He went to her and began to unfasten the hooks of her dress. “You were a very bad girl to run away from me.”

“I was.” The words came out softly, like a whisper on a breeze.

“I don’t like to punish you, but I must.” He kept working on her dress, but his fingers trembled and fumbled their work. “If you do everything I say exactly when I say it, I may go easy on you.”

“Please.” A gasp this time, much like the way she’d beg for more and harder just before she came.

He finished with the hooks finally and pushed the dress down and over her arms until it fell to the floor around her feet. “Step out of that and put it on the bed.”

She did that, too. Now, she wore nothing but frilly small clothes.

“Take off the corset cover, and put that on the bed, too.”

She obeyed and turned to face him. He could order her to strip completely naked, but the corset pushed her breasts up and exaggerated the plumpness of her hips. A considerate lover wouldn’t want her restricted like that, but right now, his aching rod claimed all his consideration.

He grabbed the chair from beside the table, set it in the center of the room, and sat. “Now, take off your drawers, but leave everything else on.”

She bit her lower lip in the most provocative way imaginable. She knew what that did to him, so it wasn’t an expression of doubt or fear but an exercise of her feminine power over him. They both wanted this, as the erratic rise and fall of her breasts clearly showed.

She bent slowly and gathered up her petticoat, giving him a view of her stockings and garters. Then, her thighs and her hips. She slid her hands into the waistband of her drawers and pushed them down, giving him the briefest glimpses of the curling hairs over her sex, before she’d pushed the fabric to her ankles. She deftly removed her feet from the tangle of cloth and kicked it aside.

“You should have put that with your other clothes,” he said. “You’ll take a few extra lashes of my palm for that.”

“Yes, sir.”

Remarkable. A few minutes earlier, she’d glared at him, full of fire and fury. She’d probably go right back to wanting to flay him alive the moment after the glow from her orgasm had died down. Right now, she pretended to obey his every command. It made a heady combination, as if he could have two women at once, each with a lush body hungry for his touch.

He patted his knee. “Come here and bend yourself over my lap.”

She walked toward him, her eyes downcast. When she reached him, he helped her to lower herself, placing her hands against the floor to hold her head up while her arse rested across his thighs.

Too many damned layers of cloth hid her from his view—petticoat and chemise—but after some work, he had them gathered up in his fist and spread them across her back.

He gazed at her buttocks, and a groan of appreciation escaped from his chest. Soft, firm, round. Strawberries-and-cream skin. The woman had the most beautiful buttocks in the entire Empire and the United States combined. He savored them with his palm. “What a shame to have to strike these, but you must learn your lesson.”

“Don’t hit me, please. I’ll be good.” The breathless quality of her voice said the exact opposite. Besides, if Juliet Foster didn’t want to do something, she simply didn’t do it. She’d spit in your eye and tell you to go to hell before she’d submit to anything she didn’t like.

“It pains me to have to do this.” He brought his hand up and then slapped her soundly with it.

She let out a little yip of surprise and then an ahhh of approval.

He smacked her again on the other buttock. “It’s for your own good.”

“Please, sir. Don’t do that anymore. It hurts.”

Again, the exact opposite of what she truly wanted. He brought his palm down on her a few more times. Her skin started to color, just a slight flush. A delicious pink. In his mind’s eye, he could picture her, bent and spread open for him as he entered her from behind, the livid color of his cock darker than her flesh.

When he slapped her again, she squirmed, and her hip rubbed against his pelvis, stroking his stiff member through his pants. “You did that on purpose, you naughty thing. I’ll have to hit you harder.”

“Please, no, sir,” she whimpered. “I can’t hold still when you hit me. It’s too much.”

“But you shall.” He swatted her again, one sharp blow to each buttock, and now, she writhed, signaling her mounting excitement. Each time she bumped against his cock, he gritted his teeth for control. The more he spanked her, the more she moved, the more she rubbed him, until both of them neared the limits of their control.

The sounds of his palm hitting her flesh and her answering cries filled his ears as he kept spanking her. Now, her legs parted, giving him a view of the lips between them. Swollen and pouting, they begged for his touch, so he stroked them slowly, brushing back and forth.

She went rigid, arching her back. “Not there. Please. Don’t touch me there.”

“Wicked little cunny. See how wet it is.” He plunged a finger inside her, removed it, and added a second. Her nectar spilled into his hand as he probed her.

“I’ll swoon,” she cried. “No more. I can’t bear it.”

“Take your punishment.” He pulled his fingers from her sheath and rubbed the moisture over her bud. Already hard, it was easy to find, so he made circular motions over the tip.

She’d stopped talking in words, and instead communicated in moans and gasps of pleasure. She couldn’t take much more without spending, but the devil in him kept him dipping into her wet folds and spreading the cream onto her pearl.

In the end, he had to stop before he spilled his lust into his trousers. He helped her off him and rose, supporting her with his arm. “Bend over the table. Quick.”

She nodded, and he helped her there. She rested her upper body on the surface and clutched the sides. It took only an instant to pull her clothing up and spread it over her, exposing her nether parts. Unbuttoning his pants was another matter. His fingers seemed to do nothing more than rub against his hardness. Finally, after supreme effort, he had his pants open and could reach in to free his cock. Then, he took his position between her parted legs and drove himself home.

She cried out when he entered her and then stuffed a knuckle into her mouth to stifle her voice. He’d have to do something like that to stop from roaring with each thrust. Her moisture bathed his rod as he thrust, burying himself inside her wetness.

Every time with this woman offered new delights. And this…this…was so bloody good. Already, his balls felt tight, and the climax coiled at the base of his spine. His hips moved on their own, making savage movements that slammed his cock into her. He wouldn’t last, wouldn’t last, wouldn’t last.

Desperate to feel her come, he pulled her against him and bent to encircle her with his arms. He had to push aside numerous layers of fabric before he could burrow his fingers into the hairs over her pussy. When he’d managed, he parted the lips and found her pearl. Rubbing her furiously, he continued thrusting into her sex until he thought he’d die if he couldn’t come now!

She saved him, as she always did. Even muffled, her cries rose to the ceiling as her spasms started. Deep inside her and then traveling the length of his cock. He joined her, his cock erupting as his essence shot out of him to mingle with her juices. For a moment, he lost consciousness of everything but her sex and how it gripped his as they spent together. Pleasure so intense, it bordered on pain. Joy beyond endurance. Too sweet to be denied.

In the end, he rested himself on top of her and breathed in the scent of her hair. As his member softened inside her, he could only moan into her ear.

“I’m still going to kill you, you know,” she whispered.

“I don’t doubt it. You’re likely to frig me to death.”

“On the other hand, I may keep you for a while.” She sighed happily. “You are good for some things.”

“Wench.” He kissed her earlobe. “Come back to the manor with me.”

“All right.”

***

Juliet’s rear still felt warm from the contact with Derrington’s hand. Impossible, as he hadn’t hit her hard at all. The feeling was more like an afterglow from the intense pleasure of his love-slaps, alternating with his delicious attentions to her sex. Now, she sat astride his horse with the man himself snug behind her. Not a cushioned carriage seat, but a saddle. Worse, she’d had to spread her legs around the animal’s back, bringing all of her sensitive parts into contact with firm leather. This was going to be a very long ride back to the manor.