One Wicked Wish Page 8

  Imogen laughed again. She was in a notably good mood. She’d been in a notably good mood since she’d been introduced to Lord Halston a week ago.

  As Stella studied her cousin, with her bright eyes and rosy cheeks and air of barely suppressed excitement, disquiet pricked her. Was Imogen hoping that this house party might produce a proposal from Halston? He’d stated that he had no interest in Imogen, and Stella believed him. But she didn’t want her cousin’s feelings hurt either.

  Imogen had never shown much interest in the male sex, beyond their ability to shift mounds of dirt or chop down trees. It would be a pity if her first romantic stirrings ended in tears.

  “It was only two lakes, and one wasn’t much more than a pond.” Imogen gestured toward the window. “You haven’t looked yet. I would think a woman who loves the countryside as much as you do would be beside herself to get out of London for a few days. But you’ve had your nose in a book the whole way.”

  “How do you know? You’ve been asleep for the last three hours.”

  “Have you looked outside?”

  With a long-suffering sigh, Stella glanced out the window, then couldn’t contain a gasp of admiration. Imogen was right. The approach to Prestwick Place was magnificent indeed.

  They’d come through the estate gates twenty minutes ago and driven through a forest. Now the vista opened up to reveal an idyllic landscape of marble temples and silvery lakes and lush parkland, scattered with the groves that so took Imogen’s fancy.

  It was perfect. More perfect than Hamble Park, which despite Imogen’s best efforts, included too many disparate elements to make a satisfying whole.

  Stella was already too close to being smitten with Prestwick Place’s owner. She refused to fall in love with his house as well. Especially as she had no chance at all of ever becoming its chatelaine.

  In fairy tales, the handsome prince might rescue Cinderella from her servitude and whisk her away to a happy ending as his princess. In real life, rakes took poor girls to their beds then tossed them out to survive as best they could, once they’d served their purpose.

  Stella couldn’t even resent Lord Halston for what he offered her. He’d been honest about his expectations. He made no promises beyond short-term pleasure. She wasn’t a candidate to become his countess, and they both knew it.

  But as her wondering gaze took in the approach to the gracious old Jacobean house in its lush valley, she couldn’t help wishing that she was an eligible lady who might one day take charge of this impressive property.

  “Didn’t I tell you?” Imogen asked.

  Stella leaned back and battled to stifle her powerful and unacceptable reaction to Halston’s beautiful home. She was a temporary denizen in this particular Eden, just as she was a temporary denizen in his life. If she ever let herself forget that, she was in trouble. “You did.”

  “I wonder if Lord Halston will introduce me to his head gardener.”

  For a moment, a nonplussed Stella regarded her cousin. This last week, Imogen had acted like every other society miss, interested in what she wore and keen to attend the next in the endless round of social engagements. “Imogen, I doubt you’ll have time for that. You’re one of the guests, and manners require you to stay with the other visitors.”

  “Don’t be so starchy, Stella. Lord Halston told me that things are free and easy here at Prestwick Place and he just wants me to enjoy myself.”

  “Which doesn’t mean you can spend all day talking compost and drainage with the outdoor staff.”

  Imogen shrugged and turned her attention back to the superb view. “Not all day.”

  With that, Stella had to be satisfied.

  ***

  When they arrived, Stella braced for her first sight of Halston. Since that astonishing carriage ride through London when he kissed her into a daze, she’d seen him at a distance at two balls and the Wetherby musicale. In a crowded room, hiding her interest was difficult enough. In his house, among this select gathering, she’d have to be even more careful than usual.

  But the butler who greeted them said that his lordship was occupied with urgent business and he’d see his visitors at dinner. The other guests had already arrived and retired to their rooms to recover from the journey.

  According to Imogen, Halston had invited about twenty people to stay. Stella couldn’t help but find the pains he’d taken to bring her here without arousing any curiosity flattering. Even her first love hadn’t gone to such lengths to get her alone. But then, the rules of courtship in Naples were looser than they were in London. At least when it came to a young man pursuing a poverty-stricken foreigner.

  To Stella’s surprise, when the maid showed her to her room, she wasn’t sleeping in the dressing room or next to the nurseries. She was yet to sleep in the servants’ quarters when Imogen stayed with friends or extended family, but her lowly status was always clear.

  “Are you sure this room is for me?” She stepped aside as two footmen brought in her shabby luggage, which looked very out of place amidst this Renaissance splendor. The high ceiling was gilded with suns and moons and the Maddox crest, a rather disgruntled-looking unicorn in gold chains. A four-poster bed hung with brocade curtains dominated the room, which was paneled in oak and decorated with paintings of mythological subjects and two huge, ornate mirrors.

  “Yes, miss. His lordship arranged for you to be next to Lady Imogen.” Behind the maid, the footmen carried her bags through a door that seemed to lead to a dressing room for her exclusive use. “Her ladyship’s dressing room is next to yours, although the connecting door is jammed at present. Her bedroom is the one along from that. Shall I unpack for you?”

  “No.” Troubled, Stella collapsed onto a tapestry-upholstered window seat. The lavish room offered a fine view of the three lakes that so aroused Imogen’s envy. “No, thank you.”

  The girl curtsied. “Very good, Miss Faulkner. George will bring you some refreshments. There’s hot water in the dressing room if you’d like to wash. Or we could arrange a bath.”

  A bath? What a luxury. “No, thank you, but some tea would be welcome.”

  “Very good, miss.”

  Feeling overwhelmed, Stella watched the servants leave, then wide-eyed she surveyed her surroundings. Never had she experienced such opulence. It felt wrong on so many levels, although her automatic panic that people would guess that Halston intended to visit her here had subsided. She was well below the notice of the other guests. Nobody other than Imogen was likely to set foot in this richly decorated apartment that was so inappropriate for a humble companion.

  As if summoned by the thought, her cousin appeared in the doorway. “This is lovely, Stella.”

  She raised her head. Imogen still wore her travel dress, although she’d taken off her pelisse and bonnet. Her excitement was even more apparent than it had been in the carriage.

  “I think there’s been a mistake.”

  Imogen shook her head. “I gather it’s the only room where you can be near me. Nancy is sleeping in my dressing room.”

  “It doesn’t feel right.”

  “Oh, you drive me mad sometimes,” she sighed, coming in uninvited and plopping herself down on a gilded sofa. Why should she wait for an invitation? Stella was her minion, after all. “You’re almost wallowing in being poor. Your life doesn’t have to be sackcloth and ashes. You should let yourself have fun now and again.”

  A memory of forbidden kisses flashed through Stella’s mind. If only Imogen knew. “But a room like this just makes everything else more painful.” She shook her head and struggled to muster a smile. “I’m being ungracious. If the house is so crowded that a mere companion gets to sleep in these glorious surroundings, how can I complain?”

  Imogen’s nod was approving. “That’s the spirit.”

  “Is your room nice?”

  “Palatial. And about a mile square. You’ll have to come and see it later.”

  “Later?”

  “Yes, Harriet wants me to have tea
with her. She sent a message when she saw us arrive.”

  Imogen’s best friend, the Lumsdens’ second-oldest daughter, also attended the house party, along with her parents. That was one of the reasons that Lord Deerforth had been willing to send Imogen away under Stella’s sole supervision. “Shall I come?”

  “Why don’t you enjoy a little time to yourself? You’ve been running after me every minute of the day since we got to London. I’ve noticed this last week that you’ve been tired and distracted. You can have a nap. I’m hoping this will be a little holiday for you.”

  “That’s very nice of you.” Moments like these explained how Stella had managed to endure ten years with the Ridleys. Imogen was often kind, when she didn’t have to be. “I’m sorry if I’ve let the side down.”

  A careless hand waved away the apology. “As if you’d do that. But you’ve been a little less…present these last few days. A stay in the country should do you good.”

  Stella hoped that she wasn’t blushing. To her relief, her tea tray arrived at that moment, saving her from having to come up with some explanation for her distraction. And not the real one. She knew exactly what caused her to neglect her duties. Or rather who.

  “I hope so. Balls aren’t half as much fun when one is the observer as they are when one is beguiling London with one’s charm.”

  Imogen giggled. “You have your own charm, you know.”

  If she did, it would forever remain a secret from society. She rose and wandered across to the table. Not only was there a pot of tea, but sandwiches and cakes. It had been a long time since they’d stopped for lunch at one of the big coaching inns. Stella’s stomach gave a rumble that proved she was a peasant and no princess.

  She stripped off her gloves and picked up a chicken sandwich without stopping to remove her pelisse. “In that case, seeing you have other fish to fry, I’ll have my tea and see you before dinner.”

  The footman finished setting up the tea and bowed before he left. As Stella ate her sandwich and then another one, Imogen almost skipped out of the room. She really was in alt about this visit.

  Stella stared after her cousin with growing consternation. Was Imogen persuading herself into a penchant for Halston? She hoped to heaven not.

  Once the door closed, she gave a heavy sigh. She subsided onto a delicate mahogany chair to nibble one of the exquisite little cakes and drink her tea. Why did everything have to be so infernally complicated?

  The hot fragrant liquid was like heaven. She closed her eyes and felt some of the tension leach out of her. Solitude was so rare, these moments felt like a gift. Perhaps Imogen was right, and she shouldn’t talk herself out of enjoying her stay at Prestwick Place. After all, this was as close to being a kept woman as she was ever likely to come.

  “Do you like your room?”

  Shock made her hand tremble until her tea splashed into her saucer. She surged to her feet and whirled to face the intruder. “Halston!”

  Chapter 7

  Halston smiled to have the woman he wanted above all others here in his home. For once, front and center in a setting that befitted her.

  Now if only he could get Stella out of that hideous green traveling ensemble that was far too young for her and designed for a curvy little poppet like her cousin. And when he said get her out of it, he wasn’t just thinking about the sensual possibilities.

  “Welcome to Prestwick Place, Stella.”

  He’d hoped to surprise her. If her wide-eyed astonishment was any indication, he’d succeeded. “How on earth did you get in here? Have you been hiding the whole time?”

  With a low laugh, he leaned a shoulder against one of the barley sugar columns that rose from the base of the bed to hold up the elaborate canopy. “Grant me a little dignity, please.”

  “You didn’t come through the door.” She set the cup and saucer on the table. “Did you come in through the dressing room?”

  She was regaining her composure. He’d make sure that didn’t last, by George.

  He was surprised himself at quite what enormous pleasure he got from seeing her at Prestwick Place. “Don’t be a silly widgeon. That wouldn’t be very discreet.”

  “No, it wouldn’t.” Her exasperated look pleased him, too.

  Halston loved that neither his title nor his rakish reputation overawed her. From the first, Stella had seen him as the man he was, without the deceiving glamour gossip lent him. Only with her did he realize what a burden it was always to play a role.

  He indicated the paneling in a shadowy corner beside the bed. “I chose this room because a hidden passage leads to the earl’s apartments.”

  “I didn’t hear anything.”

  He smiled. “I spent ages yesterday oiling the door so it doesn’t creak. See what lengths you’ve driven me to?”

  She frowned. “So you can pop into my room whenever you feel the urge?”

  “Only at your invitation.”

  Her eyes narrowed on him. “I didn’t invite you this time.”

  He shrugged. “I must have misheard you.”

  She burst into laughter. “To the devil with you, Halston, you’re an impudent beast.”

  He straightened. “I am at that.”

  “I suppose the passage was a priest’s hole. The house is old enough.”

  Sardonic humor curled his lips. “I suspect that a previous earl built it so he could visit his mistress.”

  “Now you’re using it to visit your mistress.”

  “Do you mind?” She didn’t sound as if she did.

  “That I’m here to share your bed? No. Although perhaps you should knock on the wall or something before you come through.”

  “As you wish. Shall I lock the door to outside?”

  “No, if Imogen finds it locked, she’ll ask too many questions. She’s off having tea with Harriet Comerford. That should keep her occupied for at least an hour. Probably two.” Stella studied him with a critical eye. “You’re not wearing your sling.”

  He glanced at his wounded arm. “It was a damned nuisance.”

  “Does it still hurt?”

  “Getting into this coat had its moments.” He paused. “But when I’m naked, I should have no difficulty.”

  A faint flush marked her cheekbones. “I think my difficulties might start when you’re naked.”

  “I hope so.”

  She made a helpless gesture. “They said that you were busy with important business.”

  His smile widened. “I am.”

  She understood straightaway. How Halston loved that quicksilver intelligence. “Oh.”

  “Perhaps it’s time to start negotiations.”

  She looked wary. “Now?”

  “A small taste, at least.” His smile faded, and he let her see the hunger that had gripped him since their last meeting. “These previous few days have been torture, seeing you and not being able to touch you.”

  She took a step forward. “I tried so hard not to stare at you as if you’re the center of my world.”

  He covered the distance between them and swept her into his arms, ignoring the pull on his healing scar. His mouth crashed down on hers. Their conversation, as so often, had been prickly and full of wry humor. This kiss was as serious as life and death and burned with the desire that had eaten him up since he’d last held her.

  Immediate heat flared. With a soft growl of enjoyment, she kissed him back, using her tongue. Her hands raked through his hair as she held him close.

  She gave another of those beguiling little murmurs and sucked his tongue into her mouth. It was the most carnal thing he could remember in a lifetime of carnal encounters.

  He swung her toward the bed, setting off another twinge in his shoulder, and pushed her down onto the mattress. Kneeling over her, he met her gaze in the shadows. Her eyes were large and dark, the color of old brandy, and her bosom rose against the jacket of her traveling ensemble.

  “Let’s see what’s under this horror of a coat,” he said roughly, unfastening the r
ow of plain buttons down the front.

  She gave a splutter of laughter. “You never like what I wear.”

  “Do you?”

  “Not much.”

  Halston pushed aside the edges of the pelisse and started work on the second set of buttons doing up her frock. As he uncovered her down to the edge of her plain white shift, his heart slammed against his ribs in a way it hadn’t in years, even when he’d undressed the most celebrated courtesans.

  He kissed each inch of olive skin that he revealed, relishing her rich female fragrance with its tinge of salt. He hadn’t even given her time to wash after her journey. He was such a barbarian. But he’d been watching for her arrival, the way he’d once watched in vain for his mother to visit him at Eton.

  Nor was Stella a passive partner in this gathering tempest of desire. She shifted under his kisses, releasing intriguing little sighs that rose to a hoarse cry when he kissed her neck. Her hands danced across his shoulders and arms. Somewhere in all that frenzy of caresses, she wriggled out of her pelisse and untied his neckcloth. When she stroked his bare chest under his loose white shirt, he shuddered in response.

  Halston lifted his head from her bosom and kissed her again with all the fierce need rising inside him. Still kissing her, he seized her skirts and pulled them higher. She was more delectable than honey, hotter than flame.

  “Halston, we’re not safe.” Shaking hands pushed him away. “Imogen could come back.”

  She was right. They weren’t safe. “Damn Imogen,” he almost snarled, rising on his elbows. “I want you.”

  He knew that he couldn’t take Stella now. He’d never planned to. But once he touched her, every good intention fled. Over these last days, he’d starved for her. Seeing her across a crowded ballroom had only deepened his relentless craving.

  She summoned a wry smile. “I want you, too. But you know that. I can’t hide it.”

  He frowned, as he gazed down into her striking features. Passion lent her face a softness that turned her into the loveliest woman he’d ever seen. “Don’t hide who you are. Never hide who you are. Not from me.”