The Groom's Gamble Read online

  His tongue was potent, thrusting and stroking. She dueled as best she could, but in this she was the weaker one. He dominated her. He touched every part of her, and she felt owned by him. With one kiss, she surrendered and was not ashamed to do so.

  He was his lordship, and she had watched him and loved him from her first day in his house.

  The kiss lasted forever, deeper and more penetrating than she had thought possible. And when he finally broke away, he trailed kisses along her cheek and jaw, then down the side of her neck. He tasted her, swirling his tongue, nipping with his teeth, and then pressing kisses along the curve of her body. Her breath came in quick pants even as she pushed her hands to his chest, feeling his breadth and strength as she’d only done in her dreams.

  Was his heart pounding as hard as hers?

  He had pressed her back so that she was trapped between his body in front and her desk behind. And as he arched her backwards, she felt the hot press of his cock at her groin. Even through the barrier of their clothing, she knew what she felt, especially as he ground rhythmically against her.

  His hands shifted, finding her breasts. He shaped them through her clothing, his fingers finding her nipples with a touch that was too soft, too little. She moaned, the sound coming from deep within. She pressed her hips toward him, meeting his thrust without willing it. He was there, and she was a woman who needed a man. A person who wanted it. He shifted, his hands fumbling at her neckline as he tried to undo the tiny buttons down the front of her gown. Her head was thrown back, her body braced on her desk as he worked. She knew nothing but the pulse of his hips and the sweet loosening of her gown. First one button, then two. By the time he reached four, her skin seemed too tight for her body.

  But at five buttons loosened, she remembered her scars.

  “No!” she cried, abruptly grabbing his hands and pulling them back.

  “Caroline,” he groaned as his lower body ground against hers.

  Then a knock at the door.

  It took a second before she realized it was a real knock, not the pounding of her heart.

  “Mrs. Lyncott?”

  Jenny, the apprentice housekeeper. Caroline met his lordship’s horrified gaze, knowing that he realized the problem as well. Though his reputation would remain secure—many an earl dabbled with the staff—hers would be irrevocably damaged. At least, as far as housekeepers went. No one knew how damaged she really was.

  “Mrs. Lyncott?” Jenny again, her voice stronger.

  “Oh goodness!” Caroline cried. “Jenny, I’m sorry. I fell asleep. Oh my. Would you mind waiting as I put myself back together?”

  “Of course. And no wonder with all the work you’ve been doing lately.”

  Then there was silence as the girl obviously waited. There was no telltale sound of her footsteps retreating. And if Caroline opened the door, there was no way to avoid showing his lordship standing there plain as day. He obviously understood the problem because he eased back, his face pale. And while she quickly buttoned her gown, he offered a brush for her hair.

  “Oh dear,” she cried for Jenny’s sake. “I’ve been doing the menus but don’t know if there are any onions left.”

  “Three, Mrs. Lyncott. I looked this morning.”

  Of course, she had. Damned girl was going to be an excellent housekeeper.

  “And eggs,” Caroline rapidly improvised. “We’ll need more eggs. And would you ask Cook about the bread? His lordship thought it tasted a little off this morning.”

  Gregory shook his head to say that he absolutely had not thought such a thing. She glared, and he gave in with a shrug.

  Meanwhile, outside the door, Jenny had not left. “I’ll check after—”

  “Could you go now, please? I’ll gather these things and meet you and Cook downstairs in a minute. Please, Jenny, I’m… I’m feeling at sixes and sevens and need a minute to myself.”

  “Of course, Mrs. Lyncott. I understand. We’ll wait for you in the kitchen.”

  And then—hallelujah—the sound of retreating steps. They waited in taut silence. Caroline actually counted the girl’s steps as she headed for the stairs. Of course, any other staff member might come here. She had to get his lordship out of her room immediately. But they couldn’t do anything until they were sure that Jenny was truly gone.

  His lordship broke first, his expression almost haggard as he looked at her. “I have no excuse, Caroline. My behavior—”

  She pressed her hand to his mouth, silencing his words. She had no mind to understand what had passed between them or the changes that had allowed her to do it willingly. Part of her gloried in the knowledge that she was alive again. For a few wonderful moments when he had been touching her, she had felt everything. Without distance, without second thoughts or doubt, she had lived it all.

  “You cannot know how deeply you have affected me, my lord. I do not regret a second of it.” At least, not yet. “But you know it cannot happen again.”

  “Of course. I understand.”

  “Do you?” She didn’t. If it weren’t for the scars on her chest, she would right now be planning a midnight assignation. But the idea that he would see her scars, that he would ask about them and she would be forced to lie, was too much to bear. She couldn’t lie to him. And she couldn’t reveal how fallen she was. So rather than voice any of that, she ran to a different lie.

  “What just happened… it was wonderful, my lord. So… wonderful. But I am worth more than that. And even if I could somehow manage it, I would never risk my position here on such a…” Wonderful happening? Miracle in her mundane life? Of course, she would. But then she would have to explain her scars. “On such a whim,” she whispered.

  “I know you are,” he finally said. “I do not know how I can make up for how I have just abused you.”

  He reached for her, and she drew away. She wanted his touch, but she knew if she allowed even the smallest caress, she would fall completely. She would risk everything to no point whatsoever.

  She pulled back, and his hand dropped away. In the end, he executed a formal bow. “You are a virtuous woman, Mrs. Lyncott, and I am unworthy of your service.”

  He referred to her position in his house, her presence as his housekeeper and his sister’s companion. But in her heart, she heard different words, spoken with scorn and accompanied by laughter: whore, tart, and words that were much worse.

  “I am not a whore,” she whispered at those voices in her memory. She said it to remind herself that she had not fallen as far as they thought. But he heard her, and his body recoiled with shock.

  “I never said—”

  She cursed. A single word, clearly spoken, for all that it was in an undertone. This time he didn’t recoil, but his brows went up in surprise.

  “I am sorry, my lord. Those words were not for you. Just an ugly memory.”

  He froze, his expression darkening in anger. “Who—”

  “No, my lord! Not here, not now. Not ever! Now go, before someone else comes.” With that, she pulled open her bedroom door, glanced down the hallway to see that it was clear, and then all but shoved him out. He went easily, but his expression was still dark, and his eyes blazed with suppressed questions. She ignored them—and him—as she spun back to her room to pin her hair. A moment later, she heard his steps as he went quickly down the stairs.

  She exhaled in relief and regret, then allowed herself a moment’s short whimsy. Looking in her mirror, she saw that her hair was askew and her cheeks flushed. She looked like a woman emerging from a lover’s bed, and she gave herself a rueful smile. If only that were possible. If only one night when she was sixteen hadn’t destroyed her future as surely as it destroyed the flesh across her breasts.

  “Enough of that,” she ordered herself, though the words were choked on a sob. “He called you beautiful. That is enough.”

  It worked. Her
spine straightened, and her mind shifted to the practical tasks of her day. She managed for seven more hours. Seven hours of endless work until she crept up the stairs that night. Her mental discipline crumbled on the second-floor landing. Her mind went from rigidly controlled to whispering secret thoughts.

  Twenty steps to his lordship’s bedroom. Four more to his bed. Perhaps he wouldn’t notice her scars in the dark. Perhaps she wouldn’t even take off her dress. Perhaps…

  She took one step in his direction but then stopped. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. She’d spent the last seven hours returning to her life as a woman watching the dance rather than engaging in it. She would not return to living for a man who would never be hers. Besides, a man could feel scars in the dark, even if he couldn’t see them.

  Five

  Gregory stared into the cold grate in his bedroom. Night after night he had sat here, not even bothering to take the three steps to his bed. He sat here and thought about Caroline—about climbing the stairs to her bedroom, or better yet, carrying her down to his.

  But he had resisted. He respected her too much to do such a thing. He would not destroy her reputation, nor would he abuse her trust. She wanted to preserve her virtue. The least he could do was honor her choice.

  But having once tasted her, resisting her had been hell. For five days and five nights, he’d watched her prepare for the Season, seeing her laugh with his sister or ease some difficulty with the staff. He knew she wanted him. He would catch her looking at him, longing in her eyes. Just as she would sometimes catch him.

  They never moved toward one another. And every time he prepared to take a step, she turned away. It was as if she could read the intention and rushed to avoid it.

  Tomorrow would be the first ball of the Season. The day would be spent in preparations, then Anne had invited a few friends for a light dinner. It was there that Caroline would first be introduced as his sister’s companion. After that would be three parties, the last of which was a ball. And that was just tomorrow’s schedule.

  He didn’t know if he could do it. He had promised his sister that he would look for a wife. He had meant the words when he said them, but the idea of charming a bevy of fresh-faced girls made him queasy. How could he speak to them when his thoughts were completely consumed with Caroline?

  ***

  “And this is Mrs. Lyncott, great granddaughter of the Duke of Bucklynde and my sister’s companion this Season. Mrs. Lyncott, may I introduce you to Lord Metzger?”

  Gregory all but ground his teeth when the lecherous Lord Metzger bowed over Caroline’s hand. He was a relatively young man, still handsome, though his body tended toward fat. And his eyes dropped unerringly to Caroline’s trim figure and ample breasts.

  Caroline did as she had done for the last two dozen or more introductions. She smiled like the lady of quality she was, curtsied with deference, and then turned the conversation toward Lady Anne. In short, she was acting as a companion ought, and in such a way, he kept his temper. Because, frankly, he feared for his sanity if she showed the least interest in any of the popinjays preening before her and his sister. As it was, he nearly growled at every man who scrawled his name on Caroline’s dance card.

  Meanwhile, his sister would not stop throwing young girls at him. “Gregory, have you met my dear friend from school? This is Mrs. Kimberly Stanton and her younger sister, Miss Diane Harker. Diane, this is my brother, Lord Hartfell.”

  He bowed over the wisp of a girl, his eyes glazing over at her elfin beauty. “I am delighted, Miss Harker. Would it be possible to claim a dance?”

  And so it went. Introductions, polite talk, and dancing. He never once got to claim Caroline’s hand. Not for a waltz, a country dance, or even a trip to the lemonade bowl. She remained by Anne’s side, dancing when appropriate, sitting quietly when not. It was all very proper and all perfectly boring.

  He could not stop himself from watching her. He was aware of her every second of the evening. He knew the shift of her hair in the candlelight, the tilt of her lips as she smiled, even the musical sound of her rare laughter. She was dressed conservatively with a high fichu and matronly gown in light russet. And no one there was more alluring than she.

  By the end of the first set, he was nearly insane with jealousy. By the end of the midnight supper, he’d been surly to at least three of his friends. But it wasn’t until the carriage ride home—with her knees pressed against his—that his will broke. He didn’t care about his promise to his sister, about Caroline’s reputation, about any restrictions polite society put on behavior. He wanted her, and he would not stop until he found a way to make her his.

  Fortunately, he had the perfect plan.

  ***

  Caroline was tired, but a simmering happiness kept her mind jumping when by all rights she ought to collapse in bed. She had gone to a ball! And not just a ball, but a dinner, a musical, and a gathering as well. She had worn a new dress made by her friend Wendy. She’d been an elegant woman handed out of a carriage and a beautiful creature led onto the dance floor. Men had bowed over her hand, flirted, and pressed an advantage or two.

  She had rebuffed them, of course. She had learned quickly how to handle inappropriate actions after the incident when she was sixteen. So even those unacceptable gentlemen could not put a damper on her enjoyment of the night. She had loved every second.

  Only one thing had marred the evening, and he wasn’t a thing at all. He was his lordship, looking incredibly handsome with black coat and white cravat. His shoulders were broad, his expression intelligent, and he had spent the evening dancing with a bevy of fresh debutantes.

  She’d known that it was going to happen. Lady Anne had told her about the bargain she’d struck with her brother. Both were marriage-minded this Season. But it was excruciatingly difficult to watch him do the pretty with every lovely girl in the room. Every lovely girl, except, of course, herself.

  It made her heart ache, and for the thousandth time, she paused on the landing near his bedroom. A few steps, and she could be in his arms. A simple “yes” would have her in his bed.

  Then she did as she had every night for the past week. She touched her fingers to her scars. Even through the fabric of her dress, she knew they were there. She couldn’t tell him how they’d happened. She couldn’t expose herself like that. Not when he was the man of her dreams, the hero who had saved her life and respected her choices. That was the hardest: knowing that his goodness of character kept them apart.

  He was a good man, and she was not a good woman. Therefore, they would remain apart.

  She sighed and climbed the stairs to her bedroom. The other servants would be long abed by now, asleep because their day started early. At least she was given a reprieve. As a companion instead of a housekeeper, she was allowed aristocratic hours. Tomorrow, at least, she could sleep in a bit.

  Heaven!

  She pushed opened her bedroom door and stepped inside. Shutting the door behind her, she leaned back and closed her eyes. For just a moment, here and now, she would pretend that she was with his lordship. She would imagine coming home to his bed and pulling off her dress to reveal the most perfect body. His eyes would light with hunger, and he would touch her reverently. The way he had stroked her cheek nearly a week ago. The way she had relived that scene every night since then.

  She longed for it now with an ache that burned in her heart. Then she felt it. A stroke across her cheek, wet, and yet trailing fire.

  “Don’t cry, Caroline,” he said, his voice a bare whisper.

  Those words were real and not imagined. The touch was human and… Her eyes flew open to find him standing before her, tall and broad, and impossibly tender as he stroked her skin as she remembered.

  She gasped in surprise but not fear. And when he brushed his fingers across her lips, it was all she could do not to throw herself into his arms. He was here in her bedroom, wearing only s
hirtsleeves and pants. On this night when she had seen him dance with so many women, she had no power to resist. She wanted him for her own, so she allowed his touch. More than allowed it, she reveled in it.

  “My lord,” she whispered.

  “Gregory. Please, Caroline, say my name.” Then he pressed closer, his heat and his caress branding her. “More than that, please say yes.”

  “You don’t know what I am,” she whispered. Fallen. Tainted. Used. All those words had been flung at her until she had escaped to a job where no one looked into her past.

  “You’re the woman I want.” He was closer now, his body caging her against the door, his breath skating across the skin at her neck. He pressed his lips to her flesh, and she shivered at the slight scrape of his teeth. “The woman I need.”

  She looked at him, her knees weak but her decision strong. She wanted to embrace life again. With him. For whatever time she could. “No questions, Gregory. Not a one. Don’t ask, and we can do whatever you like, however you want. Just… don’t ask.”

  He drew back enough to look her in the eye. She watched his nostrils flare and hunger burn in his expression. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he rasped.

  She smiled. “You won’t. If you don’t ask.”

  He touched her face, then he stroked from her neck to cradle her jaw. He held her there, his eyes searching. She saw the question in them, but even more, she saw the worry. He worried about her, and that touched her as nothing else. So she kissed him. She pressed herself against his body and put her lips to his. Just before she connected, she paused long enough to whisper one word.

  “Yes.”

  It was all that he needed. He took her mouth with a power that thrilled her. His tongue thrust inside, his body pressed her against the wall, and his hands pushed into her hair, scattering pins every which way.

  She was no less fervent. Finally, she could touch him as she’d longed to do. He’d discarded his cravat, so she unbuttoned his shirt as quickly as her shaking fingers would allow. And all the while they kissed, his tongue plundering her mouth, her own coiling with his.