Page 4 of Submitting to the Widow
She avoided his angry glare and turned to pick up Amelie from the edge of the sofa. She rubbed the soft, inky fur beneath her fluffy cat’s chin and waited for the calming purrs to start. “Are you afraid I won’t understand, or are you more afraid I won’t forgive you enough to return the pages you want back so desperately?”
“All right,” he said, moving as fast as a lethal jungle creature, and leaning over her forcefully. “That’s quite enough.”
He was so close to her face, she could catch a whiff of peppermint, overlaid with balsam and sandalwood. She was sure Amelie would reach up and swat him away, but the perverse feline seemed as mesmerized as she by this angry male who’d invaded their bower. Jane waved away Raj who moved toward them as if to defend her.
Mr. Forsythe’s gray-green eyes burned with intensity, and she had the unsettling feeling he could read her thoughts. Lying to this man would have to be an intricate dance of half-truths.
“Milady, I’m afraid you see before you a damnably poor excuse for a gentleman. I enjoyed the sexual exploits of my youth immensely. And I’m sure I’m not going to shock you with that revelation, since you must have read most if not all of my journal entries by now.”
She waited a few long moments to answer until she’d regained control of the trembling that ranged all the way from her hands to her quim.
Finally, she worked up her nerve. “I’m actually quite enjoying your journal pages. I’d rather not give them up just now.” A dark look briefly shadowed his face, and the air between them crackled with energy.
The man who’d invaded her dreams and whose name she’d shouted out whilst pleasuring herself just that morning stood stiffly in front of her, clenching and unclenching his fists. “Lady Trevellyn, I order you to cease baiting me. We both know what you’re up to. Name your price.”
* * *
Stephen’s emotions,so carefully controlled before the bench, not to mention the cricket field, roiled beneath his stiffly starched shirt. Who did this spoiled woman think she was? How many men had quaked in his presence in the courtroom? What in the hell was this frivolous, sensual creature thinking?
“If you plan to keep those pages and blackmail me, then you obviously do not know with whom you’re dealing.”
She patiently picked up her equally spoiled puss and leaned over, settling the yowling animal on the Turkey carpet beneath her feet. Stephen longed to soothe those graceful, bare feet with his hands and suckle those long, elegant toes one by one in his mouth.
His hopes sank. He’d been reduced to the untenable bargaining position of standing before the woman, her cat, and her strange servant with a raging cockstand pressing against his fine woolen trousers. Which would explain the complete lack of inspiration currently circling his blood-deprived brain.
She faced him abruptly after cosseting her pet and interrupted his inner turmoil. “I have a proposition for you.” She didn’t honor his blackmail accusation with even a token protest. And to add insult to injury, the insolent woman deliberately focused her gaze on the evidence of his body’s eagerness to do her bidding, despite his harsh words.
She so startled him, a bit of blood raced away from his nether regions to enable cogent thought again. Not having had to negotiate with a woman since his childhood in the presence of his difficult mother, her words left him a bit unbalanced.
“I’m listening,” he said quietly, afraid to shatter the brittle balance he sensed growing between them.
“We both have a problem. You need to recover your journal pages, which if made public, might ruin your chances of credibility before the bar. Yes?”
Stephen gave her a curt nod in assent.
“And I yearn to experience the world of sensual pleasures to which I’ve been entitled since birth.” She gave him a sorrowful look before continuing. “The world of sensual pleasures you so eloquently described in your journal pages.”
When he gave her a puzzled look, she forged on. Jane explained she’d been born into a remote Indian province where ancient palaces were full of statues celebrating the joy of sensual union. And, she added, with a downcast look, she’d spent much of her early life training at the feet of a master in the linguistics of the many dialects of her native land, the better to research ancient manuscripts stored at the temples.
Which explained, Stephen reflected wryly, all the untidy piles of books and papers on every available surface throughout not only the manor but the conservatory. Even if he were lack-witted enough to try to creep back and steal his journal pages, he wouldn’t know where to look first.
“I’ve decided you’re the perfect man to help me research the many ways of seeking spiritual union through, um, mutual physical gratification.”
The effect of her blunt assertion jarred him to action. Stephen admitted his physical appetites were immense, but he’d damned well better be the aggressor, not some upstart, demanding woman from India.
* * *
“What are you saying?Have you lost your mind?” Stephen Forsythe’s face took on the irresistible look of thundering rage Jane had already come to crave. She realized the man’s anger did seem to be directed at her, but the passion behind the rage…that passion was what every part of her body yearned for, leaned toward, like the blooms of one of her insatiable flowers.
Of course, the blood red dahlias blazing in the center of her conservatory and shouting out their need for pollination were naughty little sybarites. She kept a row of venting windows cranked outward on warm days to encourage bees and butterflies to sample her eager conservatory residents’ nectars.
She, of course, maintained more control, which she’d need to outlast Mr. Forsythe’s outbursts.
Jane sucked in a deep breath and waited for his latest tantrum to subside. Out of the corner of her eye, she was pleased to notice the effect on said angry gentleman of the rise and fall of her breasts with every huff of breath.
“Please call your manservant, milady.” His voice turned curt and devoid of emotion.
Jane’s eyes widened. “Why?” Had she pushed him too far?