Secrets of a Gentleman Escort Read online

  The room did not disappoint. It looked out on to the back veranda and the staff had set it to perfection. Of course, they thought it was a business dinner to discuss the library, but they still wanted their home to look its best. And it did. The rose shades of summer twilight filtered through the panes of the French doors, bathing the cream walls in dusky hues, but it was the table in the room’s centre that drew all eyes. Two tall white tapers stood like sentinels in their silver-candlestick holders atop pristine white linen, flames flickering an invitation. A bowl of yellow roses from the garden sat between them on the round table. In complement to the yellow roses, her favorite Wedgwood pattern of blue flowers was laid out in two place settings with slim goblets and silver. Cold champagne rested in a chilled bucket.

  Two footmen seated them and Plumsby removed the covers, presenting the meal, but that would be all the service she required. She’d already made it clear to Plumsby they meant to dine casually, serving themselves from the dishes on the table. Plumsby had protested, but she’d argued all the fuss for one guest was hardly worth it. Since that guest was a ‘librarian’ there to do a job, Plumsby had eventually conceded the point.

  ‘Shall I?’ Nicholas reached for the bottle of champagne, uncorking it in a deft movement with the merest of pops. He poured the glasses and turned his attention to the chicken, applying the same dexterity to carving that he had to champagne. Effortlessly, he filled their plates with roasted chicken and salad greens. Gentleman born or not, he was skilled in the art of the dining room, offering her the best of everything the table had to offer. It made him all the more intriguing, all the more mysterious. What sort of man kept the company of Chiswick House, dined with the manners of a well-heeled peer and found himself at a socially retiring woman’s table under these circumstances? Goodness knew with looks and manners like his he would have been welcome anywhere.

  ‘A toast, Annorah.’ He raised his flute. ‘To summer evenings and new friendships.’

  Their glasses touched in a satisfying chime of crystal against crystal. She sipped and let the cold liquid run down her throat. She loved champagne and could certainly afford to drink it every night, but it seemed a sin to drink alone—although in retrospect it seemed a very small sin compared to the one she’d commit tonight. She groped for something to say. Perhaps she should have spent as much time thinking of conversational topics as she had selecting a dress. She’d never learn anything about him at this rate. She had to try. Annorah settled on the one topic that came to mind.

  ‘Are you an aficionado of gardens, then?’

  ‘I’m an aficionado of many beautiful things, gardens among them.’ His hand slid idly up and down the stem of his goblet. On another man she might not have noticed the gesture. With him, she could hardly pull her eyes away.

  ‘What else do you admire?’

  He smiled. ‘I admire you, Annorah.’

  She looked down at her plate, flushing. She hadn’t blushed this much in years. Perhaps her social skills were more out of shape than she’d thought. ‘You are not required to say such things. Besides, you hardly know me well enough to come to any sort of conclusion.’

  ‘Do you think I don’t mean it? I assure you, I do. I’ve spent the afternoon being treated to this lovely home and I beg to differ with your assessment. An estate is often a reflection of its owner. You can tell a lot about a person by the state of his or her surroundings. I sense there is a story in you, Annorah, and I would love to hear it. How is it that you’ve come to be here?’

  She met his gaze with a sharp look over her champagne. ‘Is that the polite way of asking how I’ve reached the august age of thirty-two alone?’

  Nicholas laughed and leaned back in his chair. ‘What a prickly creature you are! Are you always this cynical? Since we’ve sat down to dine you’ve accused me of being insincere with my flattery and when I have sincerely enquired as to your history, you believe me rude. You present me with quite the conundrum.’

  Oh, lord, she had. He was right. She’d been so worried about playing the decent hostess and at the first opportunity she’d performed poorly. She studied her half-eaten meal, gathering her thoughts. ‘I must apologise. I have little experience at this.’

  He leaned forwards again, this time capturing her hand where it lay on the tablecloth. ‘No apology necessary. I find conundrums refreshing.’ He winked. ‘Have some more champagne. It will help and perhaps we’ll try again.’ He was tracing sensual circles in the palm of her hand that were both relaxing and stimulating.

  No man had ever touched her as he did or so often. She’d been intimately aware of him since his arrival: the casual touch of her hand on his sleeve, the feel of his hand at her back, all of it legitimate. Gentlemen touched ladies like that all the time. She’d been touched like that, but not with these results, not with a pleasant warmth spreading through her, a tingling heat filling her belly and lower. Oh, no, most certainly never like this.

  ‘Now, Annorah, tell me your story. I want to know how you’ve come to be the queen of all this.’ He poured more champagne with his free hand.

  ‘I grew up here and I never left, not for long anyway.’ She took a sip from her glass. He was right—the champagne did help. She hardly ever talked about her family. It had been a good family once, but it had fallen due to time and circumstance, leaving her with a legacy that was about to end soon, a situation she was rather loath to recollect, a potent reminder that she was about to lose all this unless she sold her soul in marriage to a man she didn’t love.

  ‘Why?’ He coaxed with his voice, with his touch, with the sincerity of his gaze. Even the room conspired against her, the candlelight creating intimacy in the deepening darkness.

  ‘Because it was home, and the people I loved were here. Hartshaven hasn’t always been an empty house.’ She had not meant to talk of herself or to reveal so much that couldn’t possibly matter, that had no bearing on the job he’d come to do. But once started, she couldn’t help herself.

  The stories fed upon themselves, encouraged by Nicholas’s laughter and the occasional nod of his head. She told him of her family: her grandfather and grandmother, her parents, her cousins who had come to visit in the summers. She did not tell him of her aunt. Her aunt had no place in happy stories.

  Those summers had stories of their own: days of roaming the meadows, fishing in streams and endless games of hide and seek in the gardens. The memories leapt to life as she talked. Merry ghosts of the past peopled her stories: the laughter of her cousins shrieking as they ran through the gardens; the patience of her grandfather teaching them to fish in the cold river. Everything was alive again—messy and vivid, and she was alive with it, no longer sitting at dinner with a stranger, but with a man who’d become a friend in a very short time; a friend she didn’t know much about, but a friend none the less.

  ‘What happened?’ Nicholas poured the last of the champagne. Dear heavens had they drunk so much already or had they been at the table that long?

  ‘What always happens. We grew up and time moved on.’ The merry ghosts she’d conjured receded. The candles burned low. ‘I would give anything to have it all back. What about you? How have you arrived at this point?’ The question was bold. That was the champagne talking, but it had been talking all night.

  ‘I think the future holds infinite promise.’ Nicholas drained his glass and set it aside with a sense of finality. He rose and held out his hand to her. ‘Come with me.’

  Annorah set her glass down slowly, all her thoughts coalescing around his words and what they meant. This was it! He would lead her upstairs and bed her. She rose and took his hand somewhat woodenly. Now that the moment was upon her, the impending act suddenly seemed an empty conclusion to the fullness of their conversation and the friend was a stranger once again, the spell broken.

  Chapter Four

  He was losing her. The intimate magic of
champagne and candlelight had not enthralled her enough to let go of her reservations. It wasn’t that he had misjudged their effects, but rather the power of them. They hadn’t lasted very long. Already, Nick could see the magic strings starting to come undone, leaving her free to revisit her doubts, her choice in inviting him here. He had thought to take her upstairs, now he opted for the terrace, fresh air and starlight.

  She fanned her cheeks with her hand and gave a little laugh once they were outside. ‘I fear I’ve broken one of the cardinal rules of socialising.’

  Nicholas gave her a slow smile, enjoying the flush of her cheeks. ‘What rule is that?’

  ‘The one where I’m supposed to let the man do all the talking. More to the point, I’m supposed to let him talk about himself through skilfully questioning him and drawing him out. It’s the first rule a débutante learns. If a girl can’t flirt, at least she can listen.’

  Nicholas threw back his head and laughed up into the night sky. Her candour was absolutely refreshing in the most surprising of ways. ‘Hardly! I enjoyed your stories. I think this is one of the most enjoyable evenings I’ve had in years.’

  ‘Isn’t it, though?’ The sharp stab of cynicism brought Nick up short. She was watching him, her moss-green eyes narrowed in contemplation. The entire spell had come unravelled. He would have to weave a new one now from whole cloth.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Nick feigned a quizzical look, although he knew very well what she was asking. If she was going to be so bold, she’d have to own to it.

  ‘You know what I mean. Dinner, the stories—it was all meant to draw me out. I think it was very clever of you to use a simple débutante’s trick against me.’

  She was far smarter than his usual client or else far less pliant. This was going to be a challenge. She had all but accused him of feeding her a generic line. Nick reached for her hand, tracing idle circles on the back of it. ‘Trick is a harsh word, Annorah. What makes you so sure it was a ploy rather than the truth? You’re a very enjoyable woman to be with.’

  It was true. He’d liked watching her come alive as she told her stories, as she talked of her childhood. It was a childhood not unlike his own and he glimpsed wildness in her as she spoke. It was a wildness well contained and it made him wonder what had happened to see such a commodity so carefully fenced and penned. He wondered, too, what it would be like to see that commodity unleashed, the fences down.

  ‘I’m a very suspicious woman to be with,’ she rephrased. ‘Especially when it comes to someone taking an instant liking to me.’

  That someone being male, Nick would wager. There was hurt behind her words. Omitted parts of the story told over dinner were starting to emerge. ‘Some people have a natural affinity for one another, do you doubt it?’

  Annorah gave him a look that practically shouted her opinion on the subject. ‘Some, perhaps. Not all. Not most.’

  She was challenging a lot of his assumptions tonight. He’d not expected his country conquest to be a prickly, worldly, beauty. He’d expected this to be easy. He could see it was not going to be that way. For a while at dinner she’d forgotten all that. He could make her forget again, but he was going to have to work for it.

  Nick raised her hand to his lips and took a deductive stab in the dark. ‘I’m not a fortune hunter, Annorah. I’m safe and you’re safe with me. I’m not most.’

  She shook her head. ‘I invited you here to fill my head with flattery that I knew would be false from the start. You might be worse, I think—’

  ‘Then don’t think,’ Nick interrupted swiftly. Her thoughts were not headed in a direction conducive to romance. He cupped her cheek, running a gentle thumb down the line of her jaw. ‘You didn’t bring me here to think. You brought me here for pleasure.’ He began to intersperse his words with kisses, starting at her jaw and moving to the slim column of her throat. ‘There’s no shame in pleasure, Annorah, no dishonour in desiring it. Pleasure is a human enough condition.’ His mouth was at the base of her throat, his lips over the pulse beat. She was starting to melt again. He caressed her with words, with kisses, feeling her body come alive as he intended.

  He took her mouth then in a decadent dance of a kiss. Slow and savouring, his lips were in no hurry to leave hers and there was languorous exploration; there was tasting and teasing, duelling and heat. He brought her against him, letting her feel the planes of his body, hard and sure through his clothes. The press of his hand at her back urged her closer, coaxing her to meld into him, convincing her this was heaven and earth all in one.

  Nick knew the moment he had compliance. Her arms went about his neck, she arched her head back and he murmured against her exposed throat. He asked once more, in husky tones redolent with desire, ‘Come with me.’

  This time she came. He was careful to maintain contact, careful to keep her hand surrounded by the warm, comforting grip of his. It should have worked and it did up to a point. It worked all the way up the stairs, down the hall to the third door on the right, which he knew to be her room, and then it stopped working. For her at least.

  His body was surprisingly primed for what should lie ahead. There would be no need for his usual ‘assists’, as he liked to call them. It was no small matter to call up stimulation at a whim. But tonight it had been easy, the only thing that had been, in fact. From the moment he’d seen her in the delectable lavender chiffon with its high waist and low-cut bodice gathered beneath her breasts with ribbons designed to maximise the effects of its cleavage, he’d had no problems in that regard. The gown fit her curves to perfection as had the candlelight, although she had not flaunted it as one of his London women would have.

  He reached for the door handle, ready to usher her inside and follow, but she stalled him, her hand covering his, her eyes honest and perhaps a little sad when they met his. ‘I’m sorry, Nicholas. I don’t think I can tonight.’

  He smiled softly and placed a kiss on her cheek. ‘Perhaps I could convince you. A massage by candlelight, perhaps? We have all night, we can go slowly.’ It would be a delight to linger with her, no fears of angry husbands bursting through the doors.

  ‘No,’ she said more firmly, stepping away from him to establish distance. ‘You’re a very attractive man, Nicholas D’Arcy, but you are still something of a stranger. I think anything else we do tonight would be nothing more than a mistake. I, for one, would rather wait and hope for better.’

  She turned the knob and slipped inside, leaving him alone in the hall uncomfortably aroused and wondering how was he going to turn off what she had so unwittingly turned on. When he’d contemplated this evening earlier in his chambers and laid his strategy, he’d never envisioned he’d be spending it with only his own hand.

  But here he was, aroused both physically and mentally. Nicholas undressed, not bothering with nightclothes or a light. With any luck he’d find relief and then sleep shortly afterwards. He lay down on the bed and took himself in a loose fist, running his hand the length of his cock in long fluid motions, starting slow and then increasing his speed as his need grew. It didn’t take long. He hadn’t thought it would and he did feel a measure of relief when it was over, but only a measure. He reached for a towel and waited for sleep to follow.

  His mind would not cooperate. There in the darkness, his brain was alive with thoughts, darting here and there on tangents and considerations, all of them on the same subject: Miss Annorah Price-Ellis. Had she gone to bed unsatisfied as well? Even now was she rethinking her choice? She had not been immune to him. Had she gone to bed, too, forced to find her own satisfaction? Now that would be a perverse irony indeed, to have them both just doors away, pleasuring themselves instead of each other. It would have Channing and the boys in stitches if they knew. He would never live it down.

  Neither would he live down her comments in the hall. A mistake? She would wait and hope for better? Those were two things a woman never th
ought about sex with him. Nick fluffed his pillow and rolled to his side in search of a more conducive position for sleep. But it turned out to only be conducive to further examining the wonder that had struck him earlier. What had happened to tamp down her wildness?

  He felt a surprising affinity for Annorah Price-Ellis. Her stories had struck a chord of memory in him. He, too, had such memories of country summers full of laughter and play. He, too, had felt their glaring absence when they’d come to an end. More than that, those stories offered him insight to her. He’d seen the reckless flame of her youth come back to her as she told those stories, a flame that was all but extinguished now. In that way they were alike as well.

  She thought her life was over, that nothing would ever happen to her again. Life had occurred and the best days were behind her. The reasons for that conclusion were unclear. She had been careful to hold a little something back tonight even with his prodding. He understood, too, that she’d created a safe harbour inside that reality. There was comfort for her in knowing what to expect.

  He knew that particular comfort. It was something of a shock to discover that beneath a surface of differences, he and Miss Price-Ellis shared a fundamental similarity. When he’d come to London and taken Channing’s offer to help with the agency, he’d known he was giving up certain hopes and expectations.

  Channing did not ask him to give up those expectations. There was no official relinquishing, but he knew how society worked. Once he was committed as an escort, he’d have his own niche, but he’d never truly belong. He’d never be marriage material. What decent woman would want a man such as him for a husband? That meant no family of his own, something he’d taken for granted right up until the day his father died. Now, he had a brother, two sisters and a mother counting on him. There’d been no question of setting aside his dreams to support them through whatever means possible.