Pleasure Me (13 page)

“You’re as cynical as Don Alfonso,” he said with a chuckle.

“More a pragmatist I think, but you don’t disagree that I’m right.”

“No, I don’t disagree.” He laughed again at the complacent look on her lovely features. “The opera would never have been produced if a woman had written it.”

“But you’ve evaded the original point of the conversation. Do you think a woman’s heart is more easily swayed than a man’s?”

“I lose, no matter what my answer. If I agree with you, I betray my fellow brethren, and yet if I disagree, you will be annoyed with me, something I have no wish to see happen.”

“A diplomatic answer, which makes me think you believe a woman’s heart is more fickle than a man’s.”

The look she sent him made him laugh again. She was annoyed with him for disagreeing, but her expression said she wouldn’t hold the fact against him. She was a good sport, and he liked her all the more for it. He also liked the fact that she could make him laugh.

“But you’re not completely sure, are you?” he said with a smile.

“I’m not sure
what
to think where you’re concerned.” She studied him for a long moment before her gaze narrowed to one of assessment, and he stiffened. “Why didn’t you bid on Crawley Hall?”

He grimaced at the question. It was an unexpected shot out of the blue. He’d known the topic would arise eventually, just not quite this soon. He should have prepared a reason before this. He’d not known her long, but he’d already seen how independent she was. Somehow he didn’t think she’d be pleased if he told her he’d not bid on the property simply because he’d not had the heart to take it from her.

While there had been other properties just as suitable, Crawley Hall had been the better bargain. If she were to discover that he’d passed over the Hall simply because of her, he was certain she wouldn’t be happy with him. She’d see it as an attempt to gain her favor. Wasn’t it? He clenched his teeth at the thought.

“Well?” Her clipped tone indicated her impatience and perhaps a note of dismay.

“The property didn’t have enough land to suit my needs.” A lie, but a necessary one if he wanted to ensure she didn’t refuse to see him in the future. And despite the fact that it went against his better judgment he wanted to see her often.

“I see.” She drew in a deep breath and released it. The sound was one of relief, but it was the note of disappointment he heard that startled him.

“You sound relieved.”

“I am. I thought you might . . .”

“What? Refrain from bidding because I offered to buy you Crawley Hall?”

“Yes.” She nodded and met his gaze steadily.

“Yet you accepted the gifts I sent earlier.”

“That isn’t the same thing. You sent the paperweight and brooch as means of an apology, and the only reason I didn’t send them back to the jewelers is because you arrived and persuaded me not to.”

Her fingers reached up to touch the diamond encrusted tulip she wore at the vee of her bodice. The movement caused her arm to brush across her breast, and she drew in a sharp, silent breath of awareness. Ever since Garrick’s kiss, she’d been on fire.

Every part of her body ached with a need she’d not experienced in years. The desire assaulting her was stronger than anything she’d ever felt for a man. It made her long for him to kiss her one more time. He’d made her feel young and alive again. But the way he’d pushed her aside had been more devastating than she cared to admit, although his explanation had taken the sting out of his rejection.

His refusal to push his advantage had been an honorable one. She was the one who’d laid out the terms of their relationship, and he wouldn’t step across the line she’d drawn between them. But she was certain he wanted to. She’d seen the way his hands had been trembling moments ago. If she’d not been aware of his attraction to her before, his reaction just now would have spoken volumes.

No man she’d ever been with had demonstrated the kind of steely self-control Garrick had displayed. She could only imagine the explosion of passion that would have occurred if he’d not obeyed the limits she’d set. What would he say once they reached her town house if she suggested he come inside to enjoy a brandy? Her heart slammed into her breast with a vicious thud. Now
she
was being ridiculous.

She was far too old to be seducing a man so much younger than her.
Only a few years
. She tried to ignore the tempting thought. Would it be so bad to allow herself the pleasure of his touch simply because he was younger than her?
No.
That wasn’t what frightened her. Somehow she was certain Marston’s breaking with her would seem trivial in comparison to the end of any relationship she had with Garrick. And it would eventually end whether he grew tired of her or sought to marry.

“Ruth, did you hear me?”

“I’m sorry. You were saying?” She met his gaze with a blank look. She’d been so deep in thought she’d not heard a word Garrick had said.

“I said, that since I was able to persuade you to keep my gift, I should have no trouble convincing you to take that drive with me that I mentioned to Wycombe.”

“I’m sorry, but I already have an engagement.”

“Supper then.” His mouth tightened as if her refusal displeased him. She frowned. Supper invitations could mean so many things. It could be in the company of a few select friends or something much more intimate—dangerous. The way she was feeling at this point in time, she wasn’t prepared to risk having an intimate meal with him.

“It will be a busy day for me tomorrow, so you’ll forgive me if I decline your offer.” At her answer, he jerked forward then immediately reclined back in his seat.

“Very well. Perhaps later this week.”

“I’d like that.”

She meant it. She did want to see him again. It might be a foolish thing to do, but he was a pleasant companion, someone she enjoyed talking with. There was great freedom in not having to cater to a man’s needs for a change. In fact, he seemed more than eager to indulge her every desire. Her mouth went dry at the thought. Deep down inside she knew exactly what she wanted from him, and she knew better than to express that need.

The Berline rocked to a halt, and Garrick immediately exited the vehicle then turned to assist her out of the carriage. She hesitated to take his hand, but when her gaze met his, the challenge in his dark eyes made her slip her fingers in his palm. Seconds later, she was on the stoop of her town house. As the front door opened, she smiled at Garrick, who stood beside her on the expansive top step.

“Good night,” he murmured as he raised her hand to his mouth.

The heat of his touch penetrated the silk of her evening glove and sent a flush of warmth across her skin until it sank into every one of her pores. She trembled slightly at the sensation, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm. His gaze narrowed at her, and she was certain he could tell how affected she was by his touch.

Desire flared in his eyes, but he didn’t say a word. He simply turned away and returned to his carriage as she entered the house. As Simmons closed the front door behind her and took her wrap, Ruth closed her eyes for a brief moment. She had a problem on her hands in the form of the Baron Stratfield, and she wasn’t exactly sure what to do about it.

Ruth used her forearm to rub the damp heat off her brow then returned her attention to the dishes in the orphanage’s large porcelain sink. The warmth of the kitchen was pleasant when one wasn’t exerting herself. She’d long ago removed her jacket and hung it on the coatrack in the mudroom.

The shirtwaist and skirt she wore now were serviceable and infinitely cooler than what she’d been wearing two days ago when she arrived at St. Agnes’s to find the orphanage’s cook, Mrs. Beardsley, looking pale and fragile. Ruth had immediately ordered the usually hale and hearty woman to bed and sent one of the older boys to fetch the doctor.

Sarah, the kitchen maid, had taken responsibility for preparing the meals, while Ruth did what she could to help, including washing dishes. Plunging her hands back into the sudsy water, Ruth scrubbed a plate, rinsed it in the adjoining sink, then set the dish onto a wooden rack to dry. Through the window over the sink, she looked out on the small garden where several students were receiving a botany lesson from Reverend Shelton, who volunteered one day a week at the orphanage.

It was a beautiful day. There was a hint of spring in the air and the cloudless sky reminded her of Crawley Hall and its wide-open spaces where the children would grow healthy and strong. The sky’s vivid blue color reminded her of a different hue—the intense blue of Garrick’s eyes.

She dropped her gaze back to the dish in her hand and resumed scrubbing. Despite her best effort to push the memory of Garrick out of her head, her skin grew hot as she remembered the way he’d kissed her in the carriage three nights ago. It wasn’t the first time she’d thought about the way his mouth had caressed hers. In fact, she’d recalled that kiss many times.

The memory of his touch was most vivid in the early morning hours with her body crying out for him—aching for him with a strength that alarmed her. It was one of the reasons she’d stayed here at the orphanage for the past two nights. Simmons had sent word that Garrick had called twice the day after they went to the opera and three times yesterday.

It might have been cowardly, but seeing him meant testing her fragile control over the desire he’d ignited inside her. God help her if he tried to kiss her again. She wasn’t sure she’d have the strength to resist. The scent of him still tantalized her senses. He’d smelled of cognac and a hint of sweet tobacco.

Even now she could still feel the strength of his hand on the back of her neck. The way it had gently, yet firmly, pulled her toward him. His kiss had been the touch of a man who was well skilled in pleasuring a woman, and yet there had been something different—unexpected—about the caress.

He’d explored her mouth with a slight touch of uncertainty. Almost as if he wasn’t sure of himself. It had only made his kiss that much more arousing. She swallowed hard at the sudden rush of heat between her legs. His touch had made her feel like a girl again. It was a dangerous sensation when she knew her age was a barrier between them that was impenetrable.

Nevertheless, that fact didn’t stop her body from begging for the satisfaction of his touch. She’d resorted to pleasuring herself, but had failed to gratify the craving her body demanded. It was a taste she was certain only Garrick could assuage, but allowing herself to even think about the possibilities was a terrible mistake.

If only she were younger. She pulled her hand out of the dishwater and stared at it. Although red and chafed from the harsh soap, the skin still looked firm and supple with only a few fine lines across the back of her hand. A quiet gasp jerked her out of her thoughts.

“Oh, my lady, it’s not right, you washing dishes, you being a lady and all. Let me do it for you.” Annie, one of the older girls who’d been at the home for more than a year, joined her at the sink.

“I don’t think a little dishwater will hurt me, Annie. Mrs. Beardsley should be able to resume her duties by tomorrow, which means things will go back to normal.”

“Well, it’s just not befitting I’m saying, it ain’t.”

“Nonsense. As a girl, I washed my fair share of dirty dishes.” She laughed as Annie eyed her with skepticism. “You need to go help Emmie with the little ones.”

“I still think you should let me do the dishes, my lady.” The stubborn expression on the girl’s face made Ruth shake her head in gentle rebuke.

“We all have a job to do, Annie. Yours is to help Emmie. Go on now.”

Her expression still one of reluctance, the child frowned and turned away to do as she was told. As the girl headed out of the kitchen, Ruth heard her mutter something under her breath. She stifled a laugh at Annie’s obvious disgust. She looked back at the dirty dishes beside the sink and sighed.

When she’d told Annie that she’d washed dishes before, it had been the truth. Her childhood had not been the luxurious one the children all thought she’d enjoyed. Far from it. In fact, if not for the small annual stipend her mother had received from her maternal grandmother, things could have been much worse.

Despite the hardship that accompanied the lack of funds, there had always been love and laughter in the small two-room cottage they’d lived in. Her mother had done her best to see to it that Ruth had the benefit of an education by teaching her all she knew. When Ruth was little, she’d learned how to do needlepoint for the threadbare chairs they used and for their bed linens.

Her mother had insisted she learn to speak French and Italian fluently, and often demanded they converse only in one language or another to hone her skill at speaking both. Then there had been the daily lessons. There had been no money for books, so her mother had borrowed them from the local rectory. Her mother had made learning fun, and she’d spent many a happy hour working hard to please her.

“Good God.”

The deep baritone exclamation made her jump with surprise, and the piece of crockery in her hand splashed back into the dishwater. She turned her head and saw Carter Millstadt, a member of St. Agnes’s Home’s board of directors, standing just inside the kitchen doorway with an appalled expression on his face.

“Mr. Millstadt,” she said in bewilderment. “This is a surprise. I’ve not forgotten an appointment, have I?”

“No, not at all, my dear lady. Where is Mrs. Beardsley? And why the devil are you washing dishes?” The note of deep dismay in his voice made her smile.

“I’m afraid she’s been under the weather for the last three days. The doctor says she should be fit for duty tomorrow.”

Ruth reached for a dishtowel as a woman followed the board member into the large kitchen. Quickly smoothing the front of her skirt, she smiled at the man as if his finding her washing dishes was an everyday occurrence. Her aplomb only seemed to distress him further.