Chapter 16
Richard heard the pain in the little boy’s voice. He’d almost forgotten that Stephen was with them in the boat. All that had mattered was Meriel Shelby, and her suspicions and her many temptations.
Stephen was all that should matter.
He saw the wide, dismayed look in Meriel’s eyes, even as he turned to drag the boy into his lap. It was the first time he’d allowed himself to hold his nephew. Stephen squirmed and giggled.
“Now, young man,” Richard said in a deep voice, “you’re throwing accusations at us. We weren’t fighting, we were having a spirited discussion. Should I toss you overboard?”
He dangled one of Stephen’s feet over the edge, and the boy laughed aloud.
“Father! You’re teasing me!”
Meriel leaned toward them and looked Stephen in the eye. “My lord, I’m sorry we upset you. We were being too serious and forgot this was supposed to be an afternoon of fun.”
“Then keep rowing,” Stephen said. “We need to reach the far side!”
Richard obliged his nephew, rowing even harder, so the little boy laughed with glee. Meriel put a hand on the boat to steady herself, but otherwise she kept the umbrella over her head and stared out across the water, away from Richard.
And he looked his fill. His muscles ached, he was sweating, but that only made him think of other ways he wanted to ache. They involved a bed—and Meriel.
He could still feel her delicate waist when he’d lifted her to reach the arrow; he hadn’t wanted to let her go, but the process of doing so was a pleasurable torture, with her sliding down against him. Now his feet were beneath her skirts, where the rest of him wanted to be.
He was fast forgetting that this could be only a pretend seduction. Her every response—reluctant, innocent, yet obviously aroused—inflamed him more every hour of each day.
Her room was above his; she slept so close. He imagined using that private staircase to reach her. Who would know?
But although she might desire him, she was taunting him, too. She had very deliberately brought up his own life story to distract him. Was that because Charles’s careless comments about the inheritance had intrigued her? Or was she truly suspicious of the “duke”?
He didn’t know how much longer he could continue his attempts to seduce her, not without driving her away.
And then he’d have to choose another maid.
He told himself that they were very willing—it was he who balked at the thought of sex with his female staff, especially when he was lying about his identity.
How much longer would Cecil be away? And was his illness getting worse? Cecil had refused to allow Richard to contact him. Only if there was a true emergency could Richard send a letter to Cecil’s solicitor in London, and it would be forwarded. And who knew how long that would take.
But Charles had done nothing overly suspicious at the dinner party, beyond asking about Stephen and trying to ingratiate himself with the governess. Maybe Cecil was imagining plots where there weren’t any.
~oOo~
When Meriel went to bed, she found a tiny box on her pillow. She knew who it was from, and she opened it angrily. A diamond pendant winked at her by candlelight, and she gaped at it.
He wasn’t going to stop, she realized. He was going to push and push until he forced her to leave Stephen. She couldn’t let that happen. Somehow she had to make him understand that it was cruel to take advantage of servants—or to do so merely to prove one was really the duke.
Beyond thinking rationally, she threw on her dressing gown, clutched the diamond bribe in her fist, and walked down the corridor to the private staircase leading to the master suite below.
She hurried down the stairs and knocked firmly before she could change her mind. When she heard nothing, she knocked again, then leaned her ear against the wooden door. She heard a faint call to come in.
She flung open the door and it cracked against the wall, making her jump. She didn’t see the Imposter Duke anywhere.
“Where are you?” she demanded, walking into the room. It was elegant, with massive old furniture and a carved ceiling. Were naked sculptures of women holding up the mantel?
She stalked past an open door, then came to a halt when candlelight caught her eye.
Mr. O’Neill was lying in a sunken tub, water up to his neck.
She was too far away to see anything beneath the water.
Moisture glistened on his face, and through his slicked back hair.
Surely she must be gaping at the erotic, sensual image he formed.
“Care to join me?” he asked. “There’s plenty of room.”
She gasped and stepped out of the doorway, putting her back against the wall and struggling to remember what she had even meant to say. Luckily, she still had the box clutched in her hand. “We need to talk. Come out of there at once.”
“Very well.”
She heard a lot of splashing and closed her eyes. It didn’t stop her imagination from racing away with her.
“But I must warn you,” he continued. “I have no clothes in here.”
“Stop!” she cried. Frantically, she looked around the room. “Where are your clothes—I’ll toss them to you.”
“I already have a towel. It’ll be enough for now.”
“No!”
She ran past the washroom, headed for the staircase. This had been a terrible idea. She should have confronted him in the morning. Just as she reached the stairs, she heard him advancing behind her. He grabbed a handful of her dressing gown, stopping her on the first step.
“So why did you come to see me?” he asked.
“Release me!” she said without turning around.
“Not until you tell me what prompted your unexpected but well-timed visit.”
She tossed a tiny box over her shoulder. It hit something—his naked chest?—and bounced to the ground. She thought he retrieved it, but he kept his hold on her.
“Ah, you came to tell me how much you appreciated my gift.”
“Appreciated—” she began in an appalled voice.
She slapped at his hand. He released her, and she spun to face him, keeping her gaze on his face.
Moisture spiked eyelashes that framed black, indecipherable eyes.
He looked down her body, and she knew he realized she was wearing her nightclothes.
She should be frightened, but she was too angry for that.
“You gave me diamonds!” she cried.
His mouth turned up in a grin. “Lovely, aren’t they?”
“You gave your governess a diamond necklace! Do you know how that looks?”
“Exactly how I mean it to look.”
He fully intended to keep up this seduction!
“You are insufferable!” She pointed a finger at him. “I don’t want your diamonds, or your carpets and chairs. I don’t want boat rides where I have to fend off your rude advances in front of a child. I want to do my work without any interference from you!”
“That won’t happen,” he said, his voice low and rough. He picked up a curl of her hair and rubbed it between his fingers. “I can’t help myself. You are far too lovely to resist.”
“Choose a willing woman, for I shall never be one. And while you’re at it, stop giving diamonds that aren’t yours!”
Momentarily shocked and dismayed by what she’d revealed, she realized that it was too late to take back the words. Squaring her shoulders, she glared at him.
“Not mine?” he said softly. “Why would you say that?”
“They must be for your future wife.” She knew she was a terrible liar, and she couldn’t meet his skeptical gaze.
But that left her staring at his chest, still wet from the bath.
Scattered hair could not conceal the lean, well-defined muscles.
His abdomen rippled downward, and she followed the path laid out for her with a feeling of fate she didn’t bother to fight.
The towel was tucked around his waist, and she thought it might reveal more than it hid.
His bare feet seemed like the last indecent straw.
How could she think about his nearly naked body, when she’d just clearly told him that she knew the truth!
She tried to escape up the stairs again, but he caught her arm and pulled her inside the room, firmly shutting the door.
The double doors on the far side of the room might as well have been on the far side of the mansion.
“Don’t bother trying to run,” he said, “because I can reach them first. Why don’t you say what you’ve been keeping inside?”
“Why don’t you?” she countered, pulling away from him and crossing her arms over her chest.
“This is not a game of dare, Meriel.”
“You’re the one who’s treating this like a game! How could you do this to Stephen?”
“You mean my son?” he said quietly.
“He’s your nephew!”
The silence between them stretched taut as they stared at each other.
He came toward her, his stride still elegant, still so graceful. How had she not seen from the beginning that he wasn’t the duke? That he wasn’t that silly, arrogant childish man? Richard O’Neill was an adult—dangerous and unknown.
“Why do you say that?” he asked.
“Oh, please, do you need me to explain everything to you? You are Richard O’Neill. What have you done with your brother?”
There, it was out in the open, and the relief of not trying to couch her words was great. But she’d unmasked him; how desperate was he? And what would he do to keep her silent?
To her surprise, he turned away from her and ran his hands through his wet hair, then rested one hand on the back of his desk chair. In a low, tired voice, he said, “Cecil is fine…I think.”
She stilled. “What do you mean ‘you think’?”
“He was in recovery from consumption when he demanded I submit to this insane masquerade.”
She was still closer to the door—she could make it into the corridor before he could catch her. But what would that do for her? She’d just have to leave Thanet Court and never return, making Stephen even more vulnerable. And now her curiosity was far too great not to want the whole story.
“The duke asked you to portray him?” She took a step closer so that she could keep her voice soft.