With a sigh, Eleanor set her glass upon a side table and surged to her feet, pacing the room. It was like a bloody museum. Pure perfection, not a thing out of place. She picked up a porcelain dog from the fireplace mantel. There was no warmth… no… love… no family. It reminded her only too much of her own home. She didn’t want to be reminded of home… not here and especially not now.
Yet the sickening feeling that she was going to get caught wouldn’t go away. Perhaps Graham, her ever-knowing butler, would appear at the door and shout “ah-ha!” The thought was disconcerting, to say the least. The urge to run overwhelmed her. No one need ever know that she had visited. Yes, she could leave. Return home and forget this madness.
The door opened. Too late. Eleanor spun around, her heart leaping into her throat. The small porcelain dog fell from her hands, bouncing across the carpet, but she was barely aware. The man who stood in the doorway wasn’t exactly what she’d been expecting. But then she wasn’t sure what, exactly, she’d been expecting.
“My lady.” He smiled kindly and bowed low.
A gentleman, then? Why did that thought only add to her unease? Eleanor backed up a step, thankful the fire was not burning, for her skirts would have been singed black. He shut the door behind him. She felt utterly trapped.
Yes, she’d wanted someone gentle, but she hadn’t expected a man who spoke with a refined accent and dressed like a lord. It was sacrilegious in some way. When he started toward her, she dropped to the ground, scooping up the porcelain pup merely to have something to do. Tall, sinewy, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist enhanced by his black jacket and silver waistcoat, he had a lovely form, she could admit. In fact, years ago as an innocent she would have found his wavy light brown hair and brilliant eyes quite handsome. Eleanor surged to her feet, dog in hand.
A few steps away he paused, as if not to overwhelm her. A rush of heat fluttered in her chest. She clutched the porcelain dog to her bosom. This was James. The James who would kiss her… touch her… a stranger. She could admit he had kind eyes, warm eyes of a rich green much like the moss that used to grow in the forest near her aunt’s country home. Moss she’d pretended was a bed for the fairies that lived amongst the trees. A time long, long ago when she’d still been innocent.
He reached out and took her hand, carefully uncurling her fingers and taking the dog from her grip. And she allowed him, allowed him to touch her because she was too stunned to stop him. He replaced the piece, then slowly brought her hand forward. The entire world slowed as he bowed low, pressing his warm lips to the back of her bare hand. A shiver of awareness washed over her, a tingle that swept from her hand all the way up her arm. She jerked away, determined to retain control of her emotions.
Although he obviously practiced like one, he did not in the least look like a whore. Just like that, nervousness gave way to curiosity. There was no predatory gleam in his green eyes. No… no animalistic desire in his smile. No wicked curl in his soft brown hair. He looked… kind. Almost… boyish. Yes, she had wanted kind, but not a lad!
“How old are you, exactly?” she blurted out.
He smiled, a charming smile that produced a shallow dimple on either side of his mouth. “Almost twenty-seven years of age, my lady.”
Lord, she was older than him by a good six years. She flushed, feeling highly uncomfortable. What was she doing here? It was mad. Disastrous, and it was becoming more insane with every moment she remained. She needed to leave before this went any further, before she completely ruined her reputation. She started toward the chair where she’d left her gloves. The room tilted. She felt odd. Slightly dizzy, as if the world spun.
Helpless, she lifted her head and met his gaze. For one brief moment everything fell away, crumbling into nothingness, and it was just the two of them. No worries. No rules. No fear. As if her body was no longer her own, she took a step closer to the man, drawn by his very essence.
“Are you ready?” he asked, his voice smooth and calm.
“I should…” She wanted to say yes, she realized with a start. She wanted to slip her hand into his and follow him to his bedchamber, to let him touch her, kiss her, and that frightened her more than she wanted to admit. She gave a quick jerk of her head. “No, I’m not… sure.”
“Let me make you sure.” He gave her a kind smile as he took her bare hand and led her toward the chair where she’d been sitting earlier. The feel of his skin on hers sent her heart hammering. Fingers wrapped around fingers, palm to palm, it was much too intimate.
“If I decide to partake, I… I should not like to run into anyone in the halls,” she said as she settled on the chair.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “We do not partake in the halls.”
She flushed; he smiled.
“I apologize. I understand that you’re a tad nervous.” He settled in the chair next to hers. “But Lady Lavender provides the highest of discretion. She staggers the appointments so that you will not run into any other client.”
“I see.” For one long moment they merely stared at each other. Her heart hammered madly in her chest, so hard she thought for sure it would break free, run out the front door, and race back to London without her. Ridiculous. She was a grown woman; he was practically a child. Why was she so bloody nervous near him? The heat that had come on so quickly earlier returned. She couldn’t breathe.
“Are you well?” Suddenly he was beside her, kneeling by her chair, his palm pressed to her thigh as if he was truly concerned.
When she didn’t respond, just stared at his bold touch, he reached forward and undid the strings of her bonnet. She was too weak to care. What was wrong with her? She thrived on controlling her emotions. She never showed weakness. Ever! Yet here she was acting like a virginal debutante.
James lifted her bonnet, setting it on the side table. No longer hidden, she waited for his reaction. His warm gaze ran over her face, taking in every detail from her slim nose to her full lips and large blue eyes. He did not change his expression, did not wax poetically about her beauty, nor did he gasp in wonder as men had done in the past. “Would you like a drink?”
She nodded, thankful he did not spout any romantic nonsense; she wouldn’t be able to stand the falseness of it all. As a young girl, she’d been flattered by the attention men had given her. Now it merely annoyed. James stood and moved to the sidebar. Eleanor released the air she hadn’t realized she held. Lord, they were in Lady Lavender’s study; anyone could come in at any moment. So why didn’t she leave while she could?
He moved back toward her and held out the glass. When she didn’t reach for it, he leaned forward and settled the drink against her palm, their fingertips brushing. Heat shimmered through her body. Yes, he was attractive, but she knew it was the suspense of his touch that was truly making her nervous.
“Drink,” he demanded kindly.
Eleanor swallowed an unladylike gulp of the brandy. The liquid lit fire to her throat. She gasped, shoving the drink back into this hand. Fortunately he didn’t laugh, merely set the drink on Lady Lavender’s desk.
“Are you sure, my lady?” He looked so bloody sincere she wanted to laugh, or perhaps she wanted to cry. “Are you sure you want this?”
She took in a deep breath. She’d come here; her reputation was most likely already ruined. She was tired of being a coward, damn it all. “Yes, I’m sure.”
He smiled, a kind smile that for some reason set her at ease, and she suddenly found herself smiling back. Her smile fell as he took her hands and pulled her to her feet. She tried not to stiffen, yet her body now had a mind of its own. And so she stared at his neck, at the pulse thumping in a steady beat. For a brief, insane moment she wondered what it would be like to kiss that spot. Slowly her gaze traveled over his chin to his lips. She wanted to taste his mouth. Wanted to breathe deeply his musky scent. She wanted honesty, no pretense. She wanted… him.
He reached forward, resting his hand near the crown of her hair. “May I?”
She gave a
quick nod, wondering if she would have agreed to anything at the moment. Gently, he pulled the pins from her locks and let the strands tumble down around her shoulders, whispering across her back.
“Beautiful,” he said softly, placing the pins in her hat.
She flushed, oddly uncomfortable under his sincere gaze. She didn’t take compliments well. Never had, for she had heard too many insincere words of love to take them seriously. He didn’t seem to mind her lack of response, merely drew a lock of hair through his fingers. She hated the color. Hated that the golden blonde had drawn the attention of more than one man. Hated that when she was young, the bucks would stammer over her, trip over themselves to give her a compliment. The difference was they’d never looked at her as sincerely as James.
She shifted, unsure what to do, looking everywhere but at him. It was a ruse, and he was a fine actor, for she had to remind herself that she was paying him for his kindness. For all she knew, he beat puppies when he was not whoring. And she was alone with him. Utterly alone with a man not related, a stranger.
He moved back, leaning against Lady Lavender’s desk. “You still seem unsure.”
“I am.” She flushed. “I’ve never done something like this, of course. Am I to merely sit here while you wax poetically about my hair?”
The corners of his lips twitched. “Has no one ever given you compliments?”
She crossed her arms over her chest, feeling oddly vulnerable. “Actually, many times.” Long, long ago. “And I found it as annoying then as I do now.”
He did not seem offended, as she had hoped. Instead, he reached out and drew his finger down the side of her face. Her pulse raced. When he stepped closer, looming over her, Eleanor’s gut tightened in a way she’d never experienced, wasn’t sure she appreciated. Yes, she’d felt the thrill of attraction, but never this heated, this intense. He wore a spicy aftershave that reminded her of the woods in summer. Of stables and the countryside. It was not the exotic scent of India that most men of the ton wore. No, this was more… natural, and damn it all, she liked it. She liked him.
“Might I kiss you?” he asked.
Startled by the bold question, she met his gaze. It was the moment that would change her entire life, if she so dared. If she was smart, she’d leave. If she was smart, she’d push him away. If she was smart, she’d remind herself of what she had to lose. Apparently she was far, far from smart. “Yes.”
He didn’t hesitate, but cupped the back of her head, his warm fingers sliding into her hair. His body didn’t touch hers, but his lips did. They brushed softly against hers. A gentle kiss, a pleasant kiss that she rather liked. Yes, she could live with this kiss. She wouldn’t mind this kiss.
“Yes?” he whispered, his mouth warm against hers.
“Yes.”
His fingers tightened in her hair and he pulled gently until her head tilted back, and then he was kissing her again. He kissed her with the greatest of care… the gentlest pressure, the softest flick of his velvet tongue. A shiver of unease and desire whispered over her. A feeling she’d never experienced before. His firm lips molded to hers again and again. For fear of falling, she wrapped her arms around his neck.
Her breasts felt heavy, her nipples hardening in an embarrassing way as her breasts crushed to his chest, yet she didn’t care. He caught her groan with his mouth. When his tongue delved between her lips, the ache in her belly spread lower. He didn’t crush her to him, demanding more. No, he merely kissed her, yet she knew he wasn’t entirely immune for she could feel the hard swell of his cock pressed to her skirt.
His warm hands slid around her hips, spanning her narrow waist. But as his grip moved toward her arse, reality came crashing down. Her eyes opened. Dear God, what was she thinking? She shoved her hands into his chest and pushed back, stumbling away from him. Her breath came out in harsh pants she did not recognize as her own, the sound of lust.
“I’m sorry.” Tears burned her eyes as she smoothed down her skirts, finding fascination with the fern pattern upon her gown. What had she done? Her body no longer felt her own, her soul tarnished. She had the oddest feeling the world would know what she had done the moment she stepped foot into London. She’d be branded a sinner, a cheat, a liar.
“What is it?” He started to reach for her, obviously concerned. He seemed genuinely startled by her unease.
She stepped back, shaking her head. He couldn’t touch her because it was wrong, but mostly because she feared if he brought her close, she wouldn’t want him to let go. “I just… I can’t. I’m sorry.”
“Why?” James asked, grabbing her hand. His fingers were warm, strong, as they wrapped around her cold palm. So very much larger than she, he could prevent her from leaving if he wished. She jerked away and snatched up her bonnet and gloves.
“Because.” She started toward the door. “If my husband ever uncovers the truth, he will not only kill me, but you as well.”
Without another word, without further explanation, Eleanor tore open the door and fled, vowing never to return to Lady Lavender’s den of sin again.
Chapter 2
“She left without partaking?”
“Yes.” James relaxed into the chair across from Ophelia’s desk. The very chair where Mrs. Richards had sat only hours ago. He scratched his jaw thoughtfully, wondering over her true name. She was a beautiful woman, there was no doubt, and he’d been stunned for a brief moment when he’d taken off her bonnet and gotten a good look at her features. But her beauty was forgotten when he’d looked into her eyes… brilliant blue eyes full of fear and sadness and a resolute determination he knew only too well.
“Do you agree?” Ophelia said.
James jerked his gaze to her. “I’m sorry?”
She sighed impatiently, realizing he hadn’t been paying attention. James grinned sheepishly, but she didn’t return his smile. She’d changed in the years since Alex had left. Changed, even in the past few months, and not for the better. He worried about her, although he knew she’d merely brush aside his concern if he spoke aloud. But she couldn’t hide the fact that she’d gotten thinner, didn’t smile as often, and rarely slept. She seemed desperate for something he didn’t understand, and he was no longer sure what she wanted.
He didn’t blame Alex in the least for leaving, yet he did think the man could have done it in a more compassionate manner. He had no doubt Ophelia felt betrayed by their parting, for it had been far from pleasant. As cold and calculating as she was, women always tended to take things personally. Still, he’d understood Alex’s frustration with the woman.
Yes, Lady Lavender was a tyrant at times. Yes, she was manipulative, even demanding. But James owed her his life. He owed her the life of his sister and mother. If she hadn’t found him in that prison, he would have hanged, his family would have starved. For those reasons he would be forever loyal to the brothel owner, even if Alex hadn’t been.
She stood and paced to the windows that overlooked those rolling fields of lavender. She’d paced a lot in the last few months. “It happens often… women lose their nerve.” She turned, the pale lavender day dress she wore swirling around her trim ankles. “It doesn’t matter that men are intimate with whomever they wish, often betraying their marriage vows and wives. For some reason women think they must take the moral high road.”
He didn’t miss the bitterness in her voice, a bitterness that hardened her tone much more often lately. He wasn’t sure how to react to this new Ophelia. He’d always thought of her as more of a male friend than female. Cold, calculating, a veritable law unto herself.
She never asked how he fared, didn’t care to know what was in his heart, which was fine by him. No, he escorted her to the occasional gaming hell, escorted her when she went riding, and even when she’d gone hunting last summer. Often, she had him take dinner in her chambers, where they’d make pleasant enough conversation. But they were friendly up to a point, never discussing anything personal. Honestly, he’d never really cared what she thought. Now
he regretted treating her like a man. He had a feeling she was succumbing to her demons, whatever they might be, and he hadn’t a clue how to help her.
“How fares Gideon?” he asked, mostly to change the subject.
She waved her hand through the air in a dismissive manner. “You know what he’s like… the man is as unbendable as steel.” She released a harsh laugh. “Refuses to submit.”
Submit? He had to bite his tongue. Submit? The word irritated him for some reason. She’d never implied before that she owned them. But her words made it seem as if they were almost… slaves. He shifted, suddenly uneasy as a handful of memories came rushing back. Memories he’d brushed aside all too often in the past.
“I understand,” Alex had said over two years ago. “I understand why you feel loyalty toward the woman, but James, think on it. You, Gideon, and I, brought here together by blackmail.”
James had bristled at the comment, always loyal to Ophelia. “Not blackmail.”
Alex released a harsh laugh. “She told you if you didn’t do as she said, your family would starve to death.”
“And she was right, we would have. No one gets anything for free, Alex. She expected me to work.” He smiled, a smile that he hadn’t quite felt. “There are worse ways to make a living, you know.”
“Indeed,” Alex had whispered, but James knew he hadn’t agreed.
Alex had grown up in luxury, while James had spent most of his time in the rookeries, where loyalty was the only bloody thing a person had to his name. If you were disloyal to your mates, you might as well slit your own throat, for you were as good as dead.
“Perhaps I’ll send Wavers to escort him home,” Ophelia said thoughtfully.
He doubted Gideon would appreciate an escort. He despised commands of any kind. Alex and Gideon had never accepted or trusted their new lot in life. They had continually watched Ophelia with a mixture of distrust and hatred that James hadn’t exactly understood.