Chapter 55
Chapter Fifty-Five
Once the carriage stopped outside the Manor, Haven nearly flew from it in a rush to be alone. Unable to sit still on the journey back from Hughgate, she replayed her conversation, or rather bitch fight, with Divinia in her head.
“You aren’t right for him, not worthy of him....”
Was she worthy of anyone?
Her mother, her stepfather, her own husband?
Sorrow pierced her heart and lungs, leaving her breathless and chilled to the bone.
Pulling the pins from her hair in frustrated movements, she sobbed as the memories flooded over her, replaying Divinia’s words in her mind.
“I offer him everything he deserves, and nothing he would be ashamed of.”
As she poured poison over Haven’s heart, Divinia’s perfect smile was ice, her eyes glistening with hatred and calculation.
“Goddammit,” she ground out, pacing from one end of the rug to the other. “Why does she have to be right? Why did Perez bring me here, why did I have to meet Logan, why did he have to be everything I wanted?” Her voice caught on a sob. “Why did have to be a duke?”
She stopped in her tracks, buried her face in her hands, and fought back a well of tears.
Logan was a broken man, one whose past shaped him into the man she knew.
A man she could love. Something between them was doing everything in its power to defy them, bringing them together in hot sex and moments of life-altering vulnerability.
No doubt Perez, and the bitch goddess Ahmi, were pushing all the right buttons, but she refused to believe all she’d experienced and felt for Logan was the product of unearthly meddling.
Sighing, she began pacing again, her footfalls a strangely calming rhythm.
Yes, she could love and maybe even build a life with Logan the man, but he was also a duke.
She wasn’t dumb or na?ve. Even though people in the Regency romance novels married for love, those things didn’t happen in real life.
He didn’t love her, anyway. Dukes married women with class, with generations of blue blood, and the money and country manors that went with it.
Dukes married women who could glide on air, who tinkled when they laughed, and didn’t blurt out curse words when playing chess.
Dukes like Logan married women who could.
..elevate his standing in society, bring him power, connections, and a legacy. ...
Again Divinia’s words rang true. Haven couldn’t offer him what a duke needed.
But she could offer the man her heart.
“So what,” she snapped. “I’m not going to marry him. We’re only having a little bit of amazing sex before I go home. No promises made, no words of love spoken. No souls mating. No hearts breaking....”
The words sounded hallow and unconvincing.
She had to leave, take the watch and her meager belongings, and hit the road.
She had no idea where she’d go, or what she’d do once she got there, but she couldn’t stay in the manor any longer or she’d fall so hard she’d never put the pieces back together once their affair ended—and it would end.
Once he found his duchess, she’d be nothing more than a piece of ass sitting around, waiting for a ducal booty call.
She couldn’t do it.
She was better than someone’s mistress, even Logan’s.
She didn’t have what it took to be a duchess, but she deserved her own happy ending.
She deserved a life of blessings, and laughter, and love.
Once she left, her heart would remain at Caspire Manor, but she could build a life elsewhere.
At least until she found a way back to 2025.
She hadn’t given up on getting home yet, so why was she pondering the possibility of making a life and a living in 1817? Why did the very idea of leaving Logan and going home stab at her like a knitting needle straight through her temple?
She pinched her eyes closed against the image.
She shook her head and sighed.
No, she had to leave. He couldn’t be with her.
As much as she wanted, desperately, for him to share her love, to seek to be with her above all else, she knew it wouldn’t happen.
As a duke, he had a legacy on his shoulders, and she was a divorced stripper with a potty mouth and a gym bag filled with shiny, useless, not-yet-invented toys.
Suddenly, hope thrilled through her.
Her toys!
She grinned devilishly. She ran to the armoire, grabbed the gym bag from behind the borrowed dresses, and rummaged through it frantically.
“Yes! Here it is.” Holding her breath, she pushed the power button on her Bluetooth speaker, praying it still had a charge. When it blinked on and indicated it was ready to pair, she whooped in excitement.
Logan had responsibilities to uphold and duties to fulfill by siring a gaggle of blue-blood babies on some Ton bimbo, but she sure in the hell wasn’t going to leave before she showed him what she could offer him—and how there’d be no one like her then or ever.
As she set about planning her seduction, she knew when she stood before him and moved her body in an erotic show of sensuality and desire, she would leave more than her clothes on the floor.
She would lay it all bare. No matter how much she cared about him, no matter if she wanted him to have the option to choose her over his title, when the night ended, so would her time at Caspire Manor.
But she couldn’t leave without letting him know how she truly felt, even if the words never left her mouth.
Taking a deep breath to fortify her mind for the night ahead, she made a mental list of what she’d need to transform from imposter lady to real diva.
Pulling her cellphone from where she’d hidden it under her pillow, she slid her finger along the touchscreen, scrolling through a few of her more popular downloaded playlists looking for a song that would help her say everything she wanted to say without uttering a word.
Her body and the song would speak for her.
After twenty minutes of looking and listening, she decided on Madonna’s Frozen as the perfect choice. The beats were haunting, and the lyrics were the love letter she didn’t have the balls to write.
Tapping her foot, Haven stood within the shadows of Logan’s room, hours later, waiting for him to arrive, for the seduction to commence, for their last night together to begin.
Letting loose a deep sigh, she threw her head back and closed her eyes, willing the butterflies in her stomach to stop nibbling at her innards. She would need all the guts she could muster to keep from running to her room, and hiding like a scared little rabbit.
Goddammit! She wasn’t a rabbit. She was a fucking tigress, ready to pounce.
Tick tock.
Tick tock.
She rubbed the back of her neck, and swallowed to wet the inside of her dry throat.
He would be finished with his meal and taking his after dinner drink in his study. Blissfully ignorant, Logan was probably sitting there wondering why she hadn’t come down to dinner, worrying if she was sick, or tired, or devising some kind of torture for his ego.
She smiled.
She kind of was.
Warmth filled her belly at the promise of excitement.
She hoped sending a footman with a note didn’t arouse suspicions; then again, the whole house probably already knew their master was sleeping with a common Colonial.
She didn’t care. This wasn’t about anyone but her and Logan, and she was damn well going to enjoy every last bit of time she had left with him.
The latch on the door clicked, and her heart pounded.
Sweat beading along her brow threatened to spill over her carefully made-up face.
Praying to whatever goddess or spirit watching, she placed one bare foot in front of the other, and made her way toward the man who’d quickly become her everything.
Logan closed the door to his room, hesitating in the darkness, suddenly breathless.
Haven’s note told him she’d be waiting for him after the dinner hour.
Though he wanted to sprint up the stairs two at a time immediately after parting ways with his aunt in the dining room, he waited another hour in his study, anguishing over why she’d missed dinner, and what she could possibly be doing in his room.
Gulping down a lump of anticipation, he stepped into the shadowy interior, his chest tight with anticipation. He raised a confused brow at the scene before him. Though this room was typically ablaze with candlelight, only five flickered into the space.
His mouth twitched.
What was she up to?
She’d placed each of the first four candles in different corners of the massive room.
While this did nothing to dispel the darkness, it created an intimate mood.
She’d placed the fifth candle on the table near his chest of drawers.
The light lit an area in the middle of the room where a single straight back chair sat out of place.
It was upholstered in crimson and crafted from dark wood.
The chair faced one of the larger wing-backed ones that usually sat facing the fireplace.
It had been turned to face the straight-backed chair.
Curious.
Though he dearly wanted to know her plans, he was more interested in where she might be. Her note said she would be here.
His hands trembled, and his heart thudded against his ribcage.
Anticipation heated his blood.
Taking a deep breath, he stepped further into the room. “Haven,” he coaxed. “Are you here?”
Before he could finish exhaling on the last word, motion from the darkened area beside his bed caught his attention. Though her face was cloaked in darkness, he knew it was her. T
he way she moved gave her away.
She stepped from the cold shadows into the warm light of a nearby candle, and his heart stopped in his chest.
She stole his breath and every thought from his head.
Her jade green eyes were ringed with shimmering silver paint, and the very irises burned with unchecked desire. Her full lips were painted with deep red rouge and were pulled back into a cock-teasing grin. Her loose raven black hair fell in midnight waves of sexy disarray.
Forcing his gaze to leave the tantalizing eroticism of her face, he surveyed her incredibly shocking costume. He recognized the peasant skirt; she’d worn it the first night they’d met—but she’d taken a pair of shears to it; it was much shorter than it had been.
A lifetime ago.
The edge rode high on her thighs, showing every inch of luscious, well-formed legs, concealing little more than the color of her thong.
The temperature in the room spiked.
Tugging at his collar, he took his fill. He thought his intense and slow inspection would have her fidgeting and blushing, but she stood still, watching him devour her with his gaze. Everything about this woman made him hot. Lust flamed through his body as though he’d consumed blasting powder.
The short skirt hugged her perfectly rounded curves like sex made of fabric, but the top she wore could only be described as death by desire.
She’d taken a common black silk corset, removed the lace from the edges, and wrapped herself in it.
The corset didn’t just emphasize the curve of her hips and the narrowness of her waist, it also cupped each of her deliciously full breasts, heaving them upward where they could tease and incite sexual agony.
He swallowed. “Haven, you look amazing.”
Moving to step closer to her, to touch her, to place his mouth along the skin of her neck, he groaned when she placed a firm palm against his chest, stopping him in his tracks.
Without saying a word, she directed him to the large wing-backed chair, indicating he should sit.
He did, placing his forearms along the arms, his fingers digging furrows into the fine upholstery. His eager hands wanted to touch the bounty, but she kept her distance.
Curious, and sexy as hell.
She moved to a table she’d positioned near the single straight-backed chair. She fiddled with something for a few seconds and turned back to him, giving a smile that was a dash of shy vixen, and a spoonful of she-devil.
She took the chair opposite, and transformed—everything in her demeanor shifted.
Haven wasn’t just the woman who’d stolen the breath from his lungs; she was a goddess, a temptress from his most lurid fantasies.
A soft hum began to flow through the room, and she sat back, placed her hands on the arms of the chair, crossed her bare legs at the knees, closed her eyes, and cast her face to the ceiling.
What the hell?
He lifted a brow, and leaned closer, trying to read the expression on her upturned face.
When he’d entered the room, the chairs were a puzzle. Now he understood. She’d created a stage. A stage on which she would perform.
For him.
Dear God, he didn’t know what she had planned, but he hoped he survived the night.