One Wicked Wish Page 18

  Imogen considered Stella’s response with a thoughtful frown. “Now you say that, it doesn’t.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Stella asked.

  “You never mentioned it, so I assumed you didn’t want to talk about it.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “So I’ve discovered.” She lifted her gaze. “But would you want to marry any of them?”

  “I don’t know.” Stella spread her hands. “It might be preferable to living at Hamble Park as a despised charity case.”

  Imogen stiffened. “I never treat you like that.”

  She did, although from carelessness rather than spite. Imogen assumed that Stella existed for her convenience. While the girl was without doubt fond of her, she didn’t allow Stella much agency.

  But what was the use of saying anything? “You’ve always been very kind.”

  Painful knowledge descended until Imogen looked so dismayed that Stella wanted to hug her. “Oh, no, I do treat you like that. I didn’t even think. I’m so sorry. When you came to the house, Papa said you were to serve me and I was too selfish to realize how you must feel.”

  “You were only a little girl.” Stella managed a smile. “You’re always much nicer to me than my uncle is.”

  “That’s not saying much, though, is it?” Imogen’s distress didn’t ease. “I treat you as though you exist for my purposes alone.”

  “It’s not that bad. You don’t need to wear sackcloth and ashes.”

  But Imogen still stewed on her sins. “I should have noticed that you haven’t been yourself since we arrived. Since the Lumsden ball, in fact. I should have seen that Halston was no more interested in courting me than he was in sprouting wings and flying to St. Petersburg. I’m sure that’s why he came to meet me in the Lumsdens’ garden in the first place. He thought he could use me to get to you.”

  Stella didn’t reply. What could she say? Imogen was right.

  Imogen was still thinking. “He’s gone to an awful lot of fuss over you. Yet you’re not his usual style at all.”

  “Imogen Ridley, how do you know about his usual style? I know everyone says he’s a rake, but I hoped that you remained innocent of the finer details.”

  Imogen’s glance was unimpressed. “I know because people in London do nothing but gossip. And Lord Halston is always doing things that make people want to talk about him.”

  Stella had a queasy feeling that was true. It was just another confirmation that so far, she’d been lucky to escape notice as Halston’s newest inamorata. Hiding an affair back in London would be impossible.

  Imogen’s expression grew solemn. “I’d never imagined that you’d fall under his spell, though. You’ve always been so sensible and self-assured. I suppose you must love him.”

  The frail net of illusion that had kept Stella’s world in one piece disintegrated. Since that heartbreaking conversation on their first night together, she and Gray hadn’t mentioned love. They’d certainly never mentioned love in connection with the voracious hunger that drew them together.

  But of course she loved him. She’d fallen so fast and so headlong in love with him that now she feared she’d never break free.

  After so long trapping the words inside her, it was almost a relief to say them aloud. Her voice was husky as she responded. “Yes, I love him.”

  “So are you going to stay with him?” Imogen’s eyes were searching and full of an understanding that hadn’t been there a month ago.

  To Stella’s surprise, she saw no condemnation. She’d broken every rule of their society, yet Imogen seemed to accept that she’d had no choice. Her cousin had become a stranger.

  “No, the affair is over once we go back to Town.” Her voice was leaden with sorrow – and determination. So much had changed since she first went to Gray’s bed, yet in essentials, nothing had changed. She wasn’t made to be a man’s doxy.

  Imogen made a distressed sound and rose to her feet. “Stella, you can’t mean that.”

  “I have to mean it. He’d like the liaison to go on, but I’m not seeking a career as Lord Halston’s mistress. Our association finishes the day after tomorrow.”

  Imogen fell to her knees in front of her and caught her hands. “But if you love him, how will you survive?”

  Stella’s fingers curled around her cousin’s. Another change. It was more usual for Imogen to draw strength from her. “People don’t die of a broken heart.”

  Imogen’s expression didn’t ease. “Not physically perhaps. Does he love you?”

  “I doubt it. He’s not someone who deals in love.”

  “Oh, Stella…”

  Stella frowned, as she struggled not to break down. “Can we…can we talk about something else?”

  Compassion filled Imogen’s eyes as they rested on her face. Stella was sure that she failed to hide how leaving Gray was going to destroy her.

  At least Imogen cooperated with Stella’s request about changing the subject. “So tell me how you managed to appear like magic, when you didn’t come through the door.” She paused. “I can’t picture you flitting along the corridors, wearing nothing but that very fetching nightie.”

  Stella, who despite her best efforts wasn’t far off crying, gave a choked gasp of laughter. “Isn’t it spectacular? Far and away the nicest piece of clothing I’ve ever owned. What a pity that nobody but you and Gray will get the chance to admire it.”

  “You look wonderful in it. That color is just right.”

  “Perhaps I should wear it to the Tierney ball.”

  The ball took place late next week and was one of the highlights of the season. Stella bit back a whimper as she realized that she’d spend the night sitting with the duennas and watching Imogen dazzle the company. Worse, she’d watch Gray from a distance with the knowledge that she’d never again lie in his arms.

  How could she bear it? Yet she must.

  “I’d love that,” Imogen said. “The old tabbies would never call you dull again.”

  Except that dull was the effect she aimed for. Stella must go on doing her best to avoid notice or she’d attract her uncle’s criticism. During these last few days, there had been so many joys. One of the greatest was that with Gray, she didn’t have to pretend to be anyone but her real self.

  She’d spent ten years feeling like a steel cage constricted her chest. At Prestwick Place, she could breathe free at last.

  Enduring the restrictions of life in London once more would be insupportable.

  “There’s a secret passage that leads from this room to Gray’s.”

  Imogen’s eyes widened and for a moment, she returned to being the girl Stella thought she knew, a creature of sudden enthusiasms and vivid imagination. “How exciting. Show me.”

  “You must never tell anyone, promise me.”

  “I promise.” Imogen was already on her feet and examining the paneling. “I can’t see anything.”

  Stella rose and crossed to demonstrate the mechanism. When the door opened, Imogen stared down into the darkness with open-mouthed astonishment.

  “So this is why Lord Halston gave you this luxurious room. It was nothing to do with being near me at all.”

  Stella closed the door, worried that the sound of their voices might travel. “It leads behind the bedrooms on this floor, then a staircase goes up to the earl’s apartments.”

  “It’s like a fairy tale.”

  “I’m no princess,” she said with a hint of irritation.

  Imogen smiled. “You can be Cinderella instead.”

  “Don’t romanticize this, Imogen. I’m just one more of Lord Halston’s women. He’ll have forgotten me by next week.”

  Would he forget her so fast? Before their affair started, she’d expected nothing else. But sometimes looking deep into his eyes as his body claimed hers, she didn’t know where she ended and he started. She caught sight of something that told her he, too, felt the bond that drew them together. “In this particular story, I won’t be marrying the handsome p
rince.”

  Imogen turned and caught her hand. “He is handsome, though, isn’t he? I vow the first time we danced together, I couldn’t put two words together.”

  “Never,” Stella said with mock amazement. Imogen had always been a chatterbox.

  Imogen’s gaze grew intent. Once that mightn’t have worried Stella too much, but now she feared that her cousin saw the devastation beneath her thin veneer of composure.

  “You know, you mightn’t be Cinderella,” Imogen said thoughtfully. “But I’ll wager Mamma’s pearls that you’re behind the rumor that Prestwick Place has rats.”

  Chapter 17

  In the huge ceremonial bed where he’d been born, Halston cuddled a drowsy, naked Stella and gazed down into her face. Despite his current contentment, a twinge of guilt pricked him. All night, he’d used her without mercy. Violet shadows marked the delicate skin beneath her eyes. Her lips were bruised and full after a storm of passionate kisses.

  How he’d miss those kisses. He’d never been a man particularly given to kissing, but if he was dying, he’d swear that a kiss from Stella could bring him back to life.

  With a choked little murmur, she curled closer. Her arm stretched over his chest and one leg splayed across his. Even in sleep, she tried to get as near to him as she could.

  He dropped a kiss on her disheveled head. Her leonine hair snaked around them in glorious disarray. A picture flashed through his mind of his fist making a rope of it, as he thrust into her from behind. The night had been replete with sexual pleasure. Every night with her had proven that the famous libertine hadn’t known the meaning of ecstasy before he took this unlikely mistress.

  That damned blackbird and its gang of ruffians had been caterwauling for a good hour. Fragile dawn light crept into the chamber, lending a gold tinge to Stella’s warm olive skin. He’d never again admire a porcelain-white complexion.

  How she’d hate succumbing to sleep. If he’d used her all night, she’d been just as desperate to cram a wealth of sensation into their last hours together.

  They’d avoided mentioning that if the original arrangement held, this was indeed their final night. Since she’d appeared out of the passage – she hadn’t waited for him to fetch her – they hadn’t talked much at all. Although every touch, every kiss, every fuck had conveyed a universe of meaning.

  With Stella, everything carried meaning. If she really intended to finish with him today, how could he retreat to his former shallow existence?

  The world was a different place when he held Stella in his arms. Halston was far from ready to end a liaison that provided such unprecedented joy.

  But what did Stella want? They hadn’t discussed the future. Since she’d rejected his offer to become his mistress, he’d done his best to ensnare her in such pleasure that she couldn’t face walking away.

  Had he succeeded? The devil alone knew. That rakish sophisticate, the Earl of Halston, didn’t have a clue how she’d respond when he offered her carte blanche once again.

  Oh, she liked him all right. She wanted him. And by God, her situation with that skinflint bastard Lord Deerforth made Halston want to smash his fist into the pompous boor’s self-satisfied face. An interval of luxury as Halston’s petite amie, with a secure income for the rest of her life, should appeal to her if she had any sense. If he’d offered the same arrangement to any of his previous mistresses, they’d have leaped at the chance like the hungry trout in his three famous lakes leaped to a well-tied fly.

  But Stella wasn’t like his previous mistresses. He’d come to realize that she wasn’t like anyone else at all.

  Which was why he must convince her that abandoning him was a pudding-headed decision, unworthy of the intelligent woman he knew her to be.

  God help him.

  A faint frown drew her tawny brows together, and her grip on him tightened. She twisted her head a few inches and placed a kiss over his heart. The heart that beat with endless longing for her.

  Her sleep had been troubled. Their parting preyed on her mind, he guessed.

  On a raspy sigh, she raised heavy eyelids over misty golden eyes. The joy in her expression when she saw him made him feel like a king.

  Then dismay clouded her gaze. “The sun’s come up, Gray. I have to go. I’m surprised the maid hasn’t arrived to fix the fire.”

  “I told the staff that everyone wanted to sleep in this morning. The maids will do the fires while my guests have breakfast.”

  Stella sagged against him and touched his cheek with a brief tenderness that reverberated through him like a struck gong. “You’re still thinking of my reputation. Thank you.”

  He rose against the pillows and drew her up with him. “I’m not thinking of your reputation, my girl. I’m thinking that this way I get another couple of hours with you.”

  “Silly me.” Wry humor gleamed in her eyes. She rested her head on his shoulder and spoke with fond irony. “I mistook what a selfish libertine you are.”

  That made him kiss her, despite the sad truth that before he met Stella, selfish libertine had been an accurate description of the heartless Earl of Halston.

  Her hand trailed down his body to his dick. He muffled a protest against her lips and caught her. Stopping her from touching him made every masculine impulse shriek.

  She stiffened and drew away, her expression wary. “It’s our last chance, Gray.”

  The plea in her eyes almost overturned his purpose. But he fought back his impulse to sin and stuck to his plan.

  Halston studied the face that haunted his dreams and prayed with a fervor he hadn’t mustered since he was a lonely child that he could convince Stella to take a chance on him. “It doesn’t have to be.”

  Something that looked like terror flared in her eyes, turned them glassy. “Yes, it does,” she said in a shaky voice.

  Stella pushed away and scrambled out of the bed. When she glanced around the room, he realized that she was looking for the gold nightdress.

  When she couldn’t find it, she scooped his heavy velvet robe from the floor and put that on. It was so big, it swamped her, but any urge he felt to smile died when she drew herself up to her full height and glared at him.

  She’d never looked more like a queen. Or more certain of her own mind. This wasn’t a woman about to fling herself into her lover’s arms and offer herself up to months of illicit bliss.

  It seemed the Almighty had ignored the sinner’s prayer. Halston couldn’t blame Him. He’d been a stranger to the Lord for too long to expect any special favors now.

  With or without divine help, Halston wasn’t giving up. He straightened against the headboard and met her glower with an uncompromising stare of his own. “Do you want to leave me?”

  Bewilderment descended on her. He supposed that she’d expected to counter the practical arguments he’d already made for why she should become his mistress.

  “That’s not fair.”

  “Why?”

  Her slender throat moved as she swallowed. One hand crept up to clutch the rich red fabric to her collarbone, always a sign of distress. Halston felt the sting of compunction, because he was the person upsetting her. But it wasn’t enough to make him retreat.

  This was too important.

  He had to make her see that they were meant to stay together. He’d never had a lover to rival her. He never would. The prospect of sending her back to her stultifying existence as Imogen Ridley’s dogsbody made him feel physically ill.

  “You know I don’t want to leave you.”

  “Well…”

  She rushed on in case he took that as a sign of weakening. “But what I want doesn’t matter. It hasn’t mattered since I came to England. It didn’t matter much before that, if truth be told.”

  Temper had him rolling out of the bed and standing over her. “It’s the only thing that should bloody matter. You have one life, Stella. Do you want to sacrifice it to people who don’t give a rat’s arse about you?”

  She lifted her chin and flashed
him a look that threatened to burn him to ash. “I don’t live for my own pleasure with no care for who I hurt along the way. I’m not the noble Earl of Halston.”

  The words struck deep, drew blood. He’d reached for her, but now he pulled back. “You sound as if you despise me.”

  Her exquisite face seemed made of ice, even as she shook her head. “I could never despise you, Gray. But you’re free in a way that few other people are.”

  His sigh verged toward a groan. He turned away, battling a premonition of impending defeat. He’d always admired her strength, but right now he had a queasy feeling that her strength would help her prevail.

  And they’d both pay the price.

  “You could be free, too.”

  She shook her head. “No, I’d be the woman you pay to sleep with you. You know what that turns me into.”

  “The woman I desire above all others.”

  Her smile was the saddest thing he’d ever seen. “A woman who is just like all the others.”

  “You wouldn’t be.” With an urgent gesture, he reached out to clasp her arm. She was trembling and not far from tears. “You aren’t.”

  “I’m not like all the others because I said no.” Her voice was tired in a way he’d never heard it. “Let’s not part on an argument, Gray. These past five days have been so wonderful. The best of my entire life. Don’t spoil them with a fight.”

  His heart flipped over as he surveyed her, taking in her bravery and her resolve and, yes, her misery. Because she didn’t want this to be the end any more than he did. That made granting her heartfelt request even more difficult.

  “I feel as if we’ve hardly begun.”

  Stella must have heard the reluctant concession in his voice, because he felt her tension ease. When she responded, she sounded a fraction less desolate. “Perhaps it’s best for us to finish before I develop the urge to shoot you.”

  Her small attempt at a joke prompted a perfunctory smile. Their separation tore him to pieces. He didn’t feel much like laughing. “If you say you’ll stay, I’ll damn well let you shoot me. I’ll even load the bloody pistol.”