Julia Justiss - From Waif To Gentleman's Wife

Twisting her hands together, her face averted, she continued in a low voice, ‘With little money and no references, I could think of nothing else to do but come here to Greville. Encountering delays at every turn, by the time I reached Blenhem Hill my resources were exhausted. So … I walked from Hazelwick. And now you know the whole.’

Her cheeks still rosy, she lowered her eyes and studied her hands, as if she couldn’t bear to look at him and perhaps see censure in his eyes.

If it was a performance, it was masterful. She appeared every inch a wronged and virtuous lady. Except … except for those plump, bite-me lips and those lush, fondle-me breasts.

Even if her story were true, Ned felt a stir of sympathy for Lord Masters. Here was a tasty morsel to dangle in front of a rake.

Only a bit, however, for he considered a man who preyed upon women, particularly a woman dependent upon him, to be beneath contempt.

Had Lord Masters preyed upon Mrs Merrill? Or was this gentlewoman with the body of a temptress a temptress indeed? Either way, what was he to do about her?

If she had been dismissed for wantonness, he could understand her deciding to throw herself on her brother’s mercy until some more promising pigeon came along. Her shock at discovering Anders was no longer at Blenhem was genuine enough that Ned felt certain her sudden appearance had not been part of some devious scheme devised by the two of them.

If she were in fact Greville Anders’s sister, and it appeared she was, then she was also cousin to Lord Englemere. Though she appeared despairing of her future, Ned knew that Nicky would never turn away a connection of his—and warm-hearted Sarah would probably delight in helping her settle somewhere.

But he couldn’t in good conscience send on to them a woman who might be a doxy.

How could he tell for sure?

At the moment, she was entirely dependent on him. Suddenly a means to test her veracity occurred to him—a scheme that revived his lustful thoughts with a guilty zing of excitement.

With her brother beyond reach and only Ned at hand, if her morals were less than they should be, she would probably, with only a token protest, be amenable to accepting an arrangement that would be profitable for her and pleasurable for them both.

Not that he really intended to make her his mistress, but if he made advances that she accepted, he would know not to burden Nicky with responsibility for her welfare.

In such a case, a plump purse with coach fare to London and enough to live on until she found herself a new protector would be sufficient to fulfil whatever obligations Nicky might owe her.

She still sat, silent and head bowed, as if in deep contemplation. As he gazed at her loveliness, his body protested against the decision not to avail himself of her charms, should she respond to his lures.

Impatiently he dismissed that weakness. Upon occasion he’d taken his ease with ladies of the profession, but he’d never set up a mistress, being neither venal enough to corrupt an innocent, rich enough to tempt the discriminating palate of a courtesan or willing to settle for a woman of broad experience. Though he didn’t insist on planting his seed in virgin soil, neither did he wish to farm for any length of time what had previously been common ground.

Indeed, he’d always hoped—although as yet that desire had not come to fruition—that eventually he might permanently sate all his carnal desires in a wife’s embrace. Though after his most recent foray into the briar-filled field of courtship, he intended to stick to husbandry of the agricultural sort for the foreseeable future!

Even so, he had to shut his ears to the wheedling argument that said if she were of easy virtue, there was no harm in taking her for a quick tumble before he sent her on her way.

Since Mrs Merrill was obviously still lost in thought about her future, he might as well make a move immediately and determine it for them both. Another guilty little thrill zipped through him, settling into a hardness in his loins.

But how did one lead a lady astray? He’d never in his life played the rake and wasn’t sure he could pull off the role. Though fortunately for his purpose, he had no need to feign his desire for her.

When he did advance, would she offer him her lips—or slap his face?

If she studied her hands long enough, perhaps this whole nightmare would go away. Too exhausted last night to do more than gobble down some soup and fall into the bed to which the distinctly disapproving housekeeper had led her, Joanna had awakened rested and buoyed by a sense of optimism that somehow, things would work out for the best.

Having just related to Mr Greaves the whole tawdry tale of how she’d come to appear on his doorstep, however, brought back to mind just how deplorable her situation was.

Did he even believe her? Arriving as she had, she could hardly blame him if, like the innkeeper in Hazelwick, he thought her a woman of loose morals, her protestations of innocence in the matter of Lord Masters entirely false.

Still, though he’d been understandably annoyed when she stormed into his room last night, dripping mud all over his Turkey carpet, he’d nonetheless treated her as if she were in fact Greville’s sister, entitled to the respect due a gentlewoman.

Except … she had caught him inspecting her, a gleam of appreciation in his eyes. Oddly enough, despite her recent experience, knowing he found her attractive had not made her uncomfortable or uneasy. Unlike Lord Master’s slack-jawed ogling, Mr Greaves’s heated yet respectful scrutiny had sent a little tingle of anticipation through her, reminding her as it had of the desire she’d read in Thomas’s expression while they’d been courting.

Mr Greaves was worthy of appreciative glances himself. She’d been too distressed last night to fully notice, but this morning at breakfast she’d been immediately struck by what a tall, broad-shouldered figure of a man he was. Though emanating an aura of power and authority—useful qualities in an estate agent, she presumed—he didn’t seem overbearing or arrogant. His manners were impeccable; he’d waited until she’d taken her seat, her plate filled, before beginning on his own meal, watching to make sure her coffee cup was kept full.

Even Papa had not been that solicitous.

A little smile played at her lips. He was certainly handsomer than Papa! Thick, wavy dark hair, one lock of which insisted on curling over his brow no matter how many times he raked it back with his fingers. Honey-brown eyes that watched her intently as he listened. A noble nose and those finely chiseled lips …

She had a sudden vision of that mouth slanted over hers and a heated bolt of sensation sizzled through her.

Goodness! she thought, shocked and suddenly overwarm. She’d not experienced such a powerful physical response since leaving Thomas in India. Were Mr Greaves privy to her thoughts just now, he’d believe her wanton for sure.

Clutching her fingers more tightly together, she put her mind back to trying to decide what to do next. Oh, that she might throw herself on Mr Greaves’s mercy, lay her problem at his feet and appeal for his help in coming up with a solution to her dilemma!

But, of course, that was impossible. He was merely a kind but chance-met stranger who happened to be inhabiting the house Greville had vacated.

Why had Greville been summarily discharged? she wondered suddenly. The manor house, she’d noticed since rising this morning, was beautifully managed, the servants skilled and respectful, the house itself gleaming with polish and paint, furniture and curtains well made and of fine quality. By Mr Greaves’s own account, he was but recently come to Blenhem Hill, so its excellent condition must be attributed to Greville’s management.