The Delicate Matter of Lady Blayne (Intimate Secrets Book 1) Read online

  Did that give him ownership over her life forever?

  Torment churned within her.

  Dr. Meeker cleared his throat, drawing her attention back to his placid, distinguished features. “Yes, indeed, you are tired.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “I shall go and instruct Mrs. Tibbs to administer more medication straightaway.”

  Sunny nodded.

  What good would it do to fight this dictate? If she refused the medication, they would force it on her. She watched him gather his things back into his black bag and exit her chamber.

  Relief made her so weak that she sagged against the coverlet.

  No treatments today.

  * * * *

  Stripped down to his shirt and trousers, James sat on his bed in his old chamber. There had been no point to making Aunt Frances vacate the baron and baroness’ chambers. He certainly didn’t plan on spending much time here, anytime soon. She could occupy the suite until he brought home a bride. He sighed. That would have to be soon. Sometime within the next two years.

  His head throbbed, reminding him of the need for self-medication. He took the half-full bottle of whisky from where it was wedged between his knees and put it to his lips and tilted it back, taking a swig. Finally, he put the bottle on his night table then lay back on the bed, waiting for the liquor to quiet the searing pain between his temples.

  He closed his eyes, willing sleep to claim him.

  A myriad of images flooded his mind, each appearing then going on its way to free space for the next, until one came with such vivid details, such clear edges.

  Too clear, too sharp.

  He took a deep breath and willed it away. But he could see, as well as though he’d gone back in time, his last day in this chamber as a boy.

  The servants had been packing his things.

  Aunt Frances had turned her stern expression upon him, her gray eyes like ice as she reminded him for the thousandth time that he must excel at his studies, his appearance must be perfection…

  “And for God’s sake, do not forget all your elocution lessons! Don’t shame me by going about spouting gibberish like a savage little Scot,” she said.

  His mother, who had sat on his bed, sobbing softly into her handkerchief, looked up, her pale blue eyes red-rimmed. “Oh, Jamie love, you will forget all about me! I know you will!”

  He hadn’t known what to say. Her rising hysteria had put a hard, cold knot in his stomach. It was difficult enough to face going away to school in what amounted to a foreign land.

  She spread her arms wide. “Oh, Jamie, come here and show me you will no’ forget me!”

  He had stared at her, frozen. His heart pounding against his rib cage like thunderous horse hooves on paving stones.

  Aunt Frances gave him a sharp nudge in the side. “What an unnatural son. Go to your mother.”

  His knees unlocked and he managed to approach his mother, to take her outstretched hands into his own, feeling their iciness. “I won’t forget you, Mother.”

  Three months later, she had left Landbrae, wedding the too newly widowed Earl of Fisher and going to live with him at his estate in the Highlands. Six months later, she presented him with a healthy son.

  Aunt Frances had been livid, writing a scathing letter to James, letting him know that Sorcha Blayne had been disowned. He was not to contact his mother. Ever.

  He’d learnt then the importance of reputation. The other students had attacked him mercilessly over the matter, calling his mother a Gaelic whore. Certain masters had set him impossible standards and exacting punishments. He’d borne it all and met those standards as best he could, and suffered the punishments without complaint. What else could he do but work hard to rebuild a new reputation all his own?

  * * * *

  Sunny reclined on her bed, and she was just beginning to float.

  This was the only time they allowed her any peace. When she’d been given an extra dose of opiates.

  Mrs. Tibbs always indulged in wine when she believed Sunny was incapacitated, and slept in the trundle in Sunny’s dressing chamber. But Sunny had learnt to fight the drug-induced slumber. To gain extra moments of freedom. Alone. She waited for the relief to overcome her. But tonight she remained agitated.

  I am broken…just broken now!

  Satisfaction sang in her blood at how she had flung the words at Dr. Meeker. She was a bad patient. Hopelessly wicked. He was wasting his time and effort on her.

  But would he ever listen?

  No!

  She hugged herself. She was still floating. Or was it flying? She didn’t like this sensation. She hated the opiates. But nothing else would calm her. Dr. Meeker said they were absolutely necessary, along with the other.

  The treatment tomorrow would be terrible, but there were hours between then and now.

  The clock chimed. The sound seemed abnormally loud and she started.

  Seven chimes rang. Her heart took forever to slow its beat.

  How long until she recovered? Not just from tomorrow’s “treatment,” but how long until she recovered her former sanity?

  When would they allow her to take her widow’s portion and take possession of the little dowager house on the Landbrae estate? Or maybe she would purchase a cozy townhouse in…Or perhaps she would even travel to Mayfair and live there in modest comfort. Quietly.

  In privacy.

  A sudden sense of desperation crashed over her. Tears streamed from her eyes and she sobbed until her belly ached from the intensity.

  No, I can’t keep doing this!

  I have to be good…to be safe.

  But I earned this punishment; I am a terrible, terrible, terrible person!

  But I can’t bear my just punishment. I have to get away.

  I have to be safe!

  She recalled seeing James that afternoon in the garden.

  “Sunny?” James had spoken so softy, caressing her fingers. “You can trust me. I will protect you. You can tell me anything.”

  Warmth had filled her. He was so strong, and she felt she could trust him. She’d felt safe, so safe there with him.

  “Anything, Sunny.”

  James had always seemed so serious, so self-assured. Even when he’d been set on seducing her in the garden, he’d done it with a methodical seriousness. He was like a Rock of Gibraltar a woman could cling to in time of crisis. That had been a great part of his appeal to her when she had been eighteen. Yet admitting that seemed disloyal to Freddy.

  But it was the truth.

  It had been more than James’ self-assurance. He was so smart. Smart from reading books. Clever from life experience. Always observing. She believed one could ask him anything and he would know the answer. The answer to all life’s difficulties.

  And those answers wouldn’t be platitudes like—she took a deep breath…Oh, God forgive her!—no, there wouldn’t be any of Freddy’s blithe platitudes. Nor would there be any of Papa’s rigid rules. No, James would simply state the truth.

  She licked her lips and swallowed against the dryness in her mouth. James. She craved his strength. She needed his razor-sharp acumen to help her make some decisions in her life.

  She needed his help to make a break from Dr. Meeker.

  Oh, God!

  She placed a hand to her chest, attempting to still her leaping heart.

  Dare she leave Dr. Meeker’s care? Wouldn’t it be the most ungrateful thing she’d ever done?

  Or would it be the wisest?

  Could she survive without Meeker? Surely she would dissolve into total debauchery without his influence.

  Yet sometimes, she secretly believed with all her heart, that she could find the way back to sanity on her own. Indeed, that she must find it on her own. In her own way.

  Oh, but she just couldn’t be sure!

  But James would know. He could be trusted to give her the truth.

  Maybe James could take Dr. Meeker’s place.

  Why, he could become her guardian in every sense.

 
; She imagined for a moment what that would be like, to be taken in hand by James. It would feel so safe, right?

  Of course it would.

  Yet, in the time since she had rejected his proposal and wed Freddy, James had stayed away from Scotland. So much time had passed since he had come home to England from the war, and yet he had still stayed away, keeping busy in Mayfair. He seemed to have forgotten altogether that he had a home and an estate in Scotland.

  Because of her?

  Sunny’s heart beat faster. Had he dreaded the prospect of seeing her that much?

  Clearly, he no longer cared for her as he had before. Of course not. She had rejected him. But he was also a very important man with responsibilities. He didn’t have the time to attend to her. Not like she needed.

  Yet, he had cared for her once. At least enough to have proposed. Maybe she could make him care for her again, as deeply as he once had. Care for her in the way a man cared for a woman.

  But what if you can make him care for you? What about when you are strong enough to fly on your own? And he doesn’t want to let you go? Men can be possessive. What then?

  She placed her hands over her ears and bent her head down.

  I don’t know! I need him now. I cannot think past that now.

  That was selfish. It was weak.

  But she was tired. Tired from spending a lifetime being good. She didn’t have anything left inside to give anyone. Not one speck of goodness.

  Yet, maybe she was being too shortsighted. If it turned out that he wanted her longer than she needed to recover, perhaps she could be strong then. Perhaps she could be a good mistress to him.

  Never his wife.

  She couldn’t take the guilt of a man’s disappointment in her. Not again. And even more distressing, Dr. Meeker had made plain that her hysteria affected much more than just her emotional state. It also affected her womb. It gave her horribly painful courses. It would also prevent her from conceiving a child.

  But what if James had a misguided sense of honor about that? Duty and honor and strength, these were the principles that made him the man he was.

  Well, she’d make him understand just how unsuitable a wife she would be.

  If you cannot be good, then at you can be honest.

  Yes, that was the answer. She would make it clear from the start, exactly who and what she was and that she understood and would hold no blame against him.

  But first things first, how to make him care for her? To want her for a mistress in the short term.

  He was her choice. Her first decision based on true choice in years.

  The prospect filled her with excitement. And hope.

  Her eyes had grown so heavy and her mouth was getting drier by the moment. The laudanum was taking effect more quickly now. She closed her eyes.

  ****

  Sunny stood by James’ bed, listening to the distant chime of the clock in the vestibule.

  One single chime.

  Soft snores issued from between his parted, sensual lips. Despite the late hour, he still wore a shirt and trousers. His collar lay open.

  She picked up the hem of her nightdress and pulled it up, over her head, then tossed it aside. Cool air made gooseflesh erupt all over her. Tightened her nipples. She shivered then noticed a bottle on the night table. She picked it up and sniffed it. Whisky.

  She hated whisky. But her mouth and throat were so hellishly dry. She put the bottle to her lips and took a drink, coughing and sputtering then shuddering as the burn of liquor spread through her. The fire was thrilling. Stimulating. Forbidden to her. She took another drink. And another. When the bottle was drained, she replaced it on the night table. The bottle teetered and she caught it. The chamber seemed to tilt and turn.

  She closed her eyes and licked her lips, waiting for the giddiness to ease. But it wasn’t passing too quickly, so she sat on his bed. Though the bed rocked, he made no sign that he’d noticed.

  She considered the way he lay in the bed, as though he had flung himself there. She frowned. What cause had he to drink himself to sleep? Was he troubled by something?

  What could possibly affect a Rock of Gibraltar that much?

  He groaned softly in his sleep.

  She smoothed the hair off his forehead, lingering a moment over the surprisingly silky texture of the inky black strands.

  She slid her hand down the crisp linen shirt, down to the bare, hard flatness of his abdomen.

  Chapter Four

  Once again, James moaned in his sleep. Sunny lay beside him and leaned close to his face. He snored softly between slightly parted lips and the scent of whisky and musky male sweat overwhelmed her.

  She placed her mouth on his. His lips were soft yet firm. She pressed her lips to his more passionately. The lack of response sent a wave of frustration through her. She slid her hand down the cool linen of his shirt, down to where the shirt ended. The warmth of his flesh, the hardness of his muscled stomach, the line of coarse hair, it all set her pulses pounding.

  She slid her hand further down, down, down, edging beneath the waistband of his trousers, searching until her fingers met the coarser, prickling hair and then the smooth warmth of his cock.

  She caught her breath.

  His erection swelled against her hand, making things very confined beneath his fall.

  He groaned.

  She did her best to stroke him in the limited space.

  He groaned louder, harsher, rolling towards her. He grasped her hair, and the brush of his fingers sent tingling chills down the back of her neck. His hold tightened and he held her head in his grip.

  Dull pain spread over her scalp and gooseflesh erupted along her nape, down her back. The sensation made her nipples harden and ache. She arched her back, pressing against his chest. The crisp linen of his shirt abraded her tight peaks. He pressed his lips to hers more firmly, definitely changing the balance of power between them.

  She was no longer kissing him; he was kissing her.

  Intense, delicious pressure.

  He slid his hands down her back.

  His touch sent waves of shivering pleasure through her. She writhed and the crisp linen of his shirt stimulated her nipples, sending sparks of fire shooting down deep into her belly. He slid his hands down to cup her buttocks, holding her writhing body still. Pressing her to his erection.

  He was huge and so hard.

  “Wench,” he muttered.

  Did he think she was a tavern wench? Is that what pleased him?

  He thrust his hips, grinding his throbbing heat against her aching nub. She was growing wetter and wetter, dampening the skin between her thighs.

  He kissed her more intensely, the taste of whisky and carnal fire on his tongue as he stroked it against hers, sweeps of wet, sensual velvet. The stubble on his cheek scraped hers. She thrust her tongue back against his. He gripped her hair harder and deepened the kiss, in his ardor sucking away her breath.

  She put her hands to his chest and pushed.

  He lifted his mouth.

  “James…,” she said breathlessly. Inside she was tingling, her blood thrumming. She gulped for air, still tasting the exquisite, fiery elixir of his kiss and wanting more. His whole body went stiff.

  “Sunny?” His voice rang with disbelief.

  He pulled away.

  “No, no…” She grasped his shoulders and tugged with all her might to bring him back.

  He propelled her from his body and spun her to face away from him so fast that her stomach lurched and the chamber seemed to spin. She gasped, trying to catch her breath, to regain her bearings. His cock pressed against the softness of her buttocks, rock hard and pulsing heat. She arched backwards, pressing herself against that glorious erection.

  He shoved her further away from him…

  His hands were like bands of iron, holding her wrists.

  She tried to turn in his arms but he held her fast.

  “Hold…still.” His words came between heavy pants.

 
She struggled all the harder but, truth told, she relished in his restraint.

  It made her feel safe.

  Odd, the restraints Dr. Meeker used when administering treatments never made her feel safe. They were a torment to her.

  Confusion made her feel dizzy once more, and dry-mouthed fear tingled to life within her. The urge to flee sent her into an erratic beat and she wrenched her arms, trying now with desperation to free herself. She kicked backwards and shrieked a curse at him.

  He seemed to freeze for a moment. Had she shocked him?

  She kicked and pulled harder. One of her wrists came free, her arm flying free. She turned, halfway, and on instinct, let her hand continue flying. It made sharp stinging contact with his chest where his shirt gaped open.

  His grip tightened on her remaining arm. Fear-fueled rage energized her. She reached for his face, clawing him.

  His curse burnt her ears.

  Something made contact with her buttock. The sound echoed sharply in the room. Shock hit her, made her freeze. In the next moment, a fiery sting spread over her bottom.

  Rage overtook her fear, so strong, she screamed with it and kicked her legs and beat at his chest with her fists.

  She cursed him roundly, demanding that he let her leave. Now.

  He laid several more spanks on her posterior. Several very sharp spanks. Stinging pain spread over her buttocks.

  She whimpered, stunned into stillness for the moment.

  Still holding one wrist, he rolled her onto her back and flung a leg over hers, locking her into place.

  She tried to resist him again but she was growing tired, her struggling becoming more like flailing.

  And the maddening thing was, he simply watched her.

  Watched her fight, watched her grow weaker.

  Eventually, she went limp in his arms. Exhausted.

  “What the devil, Sunny?”

  “Let me go!”

  “You want to go?” he asked, as though she hadn’t just spoken clear English.

  “Yes, you-you-you…coxcomb!”

  He regarded her seriously. “I don’t think I should let you go. At least not quite yet.”