Satisfaction Read online

  Was that enough?

  And would it be enough that she would finally have a way to investigate all the secrets of Waybury House? Especially the ones Hugo had buried himself in the country to protect and hide? The ones involving her father and the long-gone-missing diamonds?

  Maybe it was enough. Maybe she hadn't failed, if Hugo was interested enough to hint at marriage. And Lujan was glowering. Maybe she hadn't failed in that regard, either: Lujan knew.

  Good.

  No, bad—BAD to even consider playing Lujan against his father. Against Kyger. Against her own better judgment.

  Women in love were sorry doormats, she thought mordantly, as she made her way back into the vicarage parlor. Just waiting for someone to wipe their feet on them.

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  But she wasn't a doormat, she wasn't a dirty girl. She'd done everything she could for Olivia, and she'd foolishly allowed herself to nurture warm feelings for a man who consumed dirty girls like scones—one taste and then toss it away.

  That was all anyone in their right mind had to know about Lujan Galliard. Except she wasn't in her right mind, and she was as overwhelmed with grief over Olivia's death as if she were a member of the family.

  A night away from Waybury would be a very good thing. Emily would be with her and she could talk it out and get her thinking straight.

  But it would also be a night that Hugo would continue to hope that she would see the sense of his plan.

  She wished he wouldn't.

  But—did it make sense? She could have been his daughter in another life. And Olivia had treated her almost like she was, anyway. She could not look at him as other than someone who could have been her father.

  And he was so much older than she.

  No, this was a plan that did not make sense.

  But there he'd be tonight, thinking that she would consider his words in a favorable light. And Kyger would be there, thinking that in spite of the circumstances, she'd really rather not leave.

  And Lujan would just be .. . irritated.

  And maybe that was a good thing, too.

  ******************

  Why shouldn't she?

  The question haunted Jancie as she tossed and turned in the spare bedroom at the vicarage.

  The vicar's wife had been kind. She had put no pressure on her to be social beyond the necessities after the funeral. She had shown her to the room, which was comfortable, serviceable, and she had provided some soup and tea. And then she had left her alone.

  Jancie wasn't sure she wanted to be alone. She couldn't sleep. She couldn't think. She wasn't hungry. Emily's presence was no solace.

  Hugo's proposal had turned her world upside down. And it wasn't that Hugo's interest was wholly unexpected—it was just that she hadn't thought he would ever say anything.

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  And so unbelievably, indecently, soon.

  It tipped her world; it was the last thing she had expected. She had thought to be leaving for London within the week, without having answered any of the questions that had plagued her father for the past thirty years.

  There were no answers. Hugo had had much better luck than Edmund, and maybe that was the simplest explanation. And that the money that sustained his gentlemanly life had truly been inherited by Olivia and had nothing to do with a secret cache of diamonds he might have stolen all those years ago.

  She had to believe that. There was nothing else.

  Mrow. Emily, curled up on her stomach.

  "Thank you, Emily. Let me amend that to 'nothing I've ever been able to find in my two years of trying to discover something.' "

  Ow.

  "Yes, I have been distracted."

  Damn. The last six months .. .

  And now, Hugo—

  Why shouldn't I?

  She blew out a hard breath and Emily shifted as her muscles contracted.

  Mrowww.

  "Yes, I know you'd like a permanent home. I'd like a permanent home—but—as Hugo's wife?"

  And all that entailed besides? Her hands turned cold at the thought of Hugo touching her the way Lujan had touched her, kissing her, stroking her, murmuring arousing words in her ear ...

  Coming to her, naked, hot, pulsing with a man's needs ... oh God . . . no—

  But—

  Still-She wouldn't ever have to leave here.

  Answers could still be discovered.

  She would have her own home, her own life.

  She would have Lujan . ..

  .. . sometimes—

  Her chest constricted. She had fallen too far if she were think-

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  ing of accepting a proposal in order to stay close to a reformed libertine who might well have been living a lie all these months.

  No, she had been living the lie, presenting herself as a willing companion when actually she'd come to spy on them.

  She was an inept spy, too, and she hadn't been much of a companion—to Olivia—in the past few months. Lujan had usurped her time, had filled her hours, had made her want things that weren't possible—with him.

  But they are possible ivith Hugo .. .

  She couldn't sleep.

  How could she marry the father of the man she really wanted?

  She could .. . she only had to think of him as a suitor, a man of substance. A man who wanted her.

  Then it became an answer, a plan.

  Women did it all the time. Married men for stability and status in exchange for sex and solace. There would be children, there would be other satisfactions. And if she were honest with herself, she would admit she would never have another offer like this.

  Maybe she had no other choice. Maybe she wasn't thinking clearly—but as far as she could tell, there were no just impediments.

  So . . . Why shouldn't she?

  Chapter Six

  Why shouldn't she?

  The question kept Lujan awake all night, the unexpected shock of his overhearing Hugo's declaration reverberating through him like a bell.

  To speak so disrespectfully soon. To speak at all, on the heels of Olivia's untimely death. The lecher ought to be in mourning a year at least instead of thinking about filling his bed with sleek, young, fertile flesh.

  Why the hell should he care?

  He hadn't thought he cared. That he had only stayed on at Waybury for his mother's sake.

  But maybe there was something about the companion.

  Except that, curse her soul, the butter-wouldn't-melt-on-her-soul little whore had cleverly seduced his unsuspecting father at the same time she was succumbing to his kisses and melting in his arms, and somehow she had pried this oblique proposal out of Hugo, and was now pretending to consider it.

  Ha. She probably would've jumped on it like a frog if they hadn't been at a funeral.

  Jesus. What a scheming little trull.

  Just what he'd thought when she came here. She justified all

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  his suspicions. After all, it had never been quite clear what use his family could possibly have for the indigent daughter of his father's worst enemy. Hugo could have hired anyone as a companion for Olivia, but no, he had to have this pound of flesh. He'd paid for the chit's education and he was the kind of man who made certain every debt was repaid in kind, no matter how long it took.

  Well, he was paying for it now, because the companion had been using them in turn, trolling them both, hedging her bets so there was no way she could lose.

  God, that made him furious.

  She'd been so pliant in his arms. So willing, giving. Soft. Innocent. He'd been lured by that innocence; his head had been turned, just a little, by her unexpected beauty, her spirit, and the gift of her virginity, even as he was fully aware how dangerous it was to have such attractive female flesh in a houseful of men.

  Still, the companion was his—Lujan was as certain of that as all his years of experience could make him, and no matter how many times Kyger had tried to pre
vent it, he had always won her back to him. He had begun to think she was starting to fall in love with him, and that had distracted him, too.

  And so, he had lost all focus as his mother lay dying.

  Well, he had it back now, sharp as a saber. Perfectly clear. The companion would not marry his father if he could help it, would not marry and give Hugo more sons to usurp his birthright, and cut him out.

  And in turn, he would not allow Hugo the satisfaction of disinheriting him by marriage so he couldn't squander every cent of his legacy, as Hugo fully expected him to do.

  What was to be his was going to be his, as it had been—father to son—since time immemorial. So he had only one recourse: to prevent this marriage somehow. The companion would not get a ha'penny of Hugo's money or the respectability of being his wife—even if he had to kill Hugo as a last resort.

  What???

  The thought was so shocking he bolted upright.

  God, what was wrong with him?

  Why not kill the companion, come to that. . . ?

  Holy shit—

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  Or marry her.

  What?

  Marry her?

  He felt the tension ease out of his soul. Ha. Of course. Marry her. His tension eased somewhat, it was so laughable. Give her exactly what she had been after all along? After she had proven she was just like every other predatory woman: ever an elusive virgin, and capitulating to pleasure before all that long.

  He should have known what she was doing, seen through her from the start. That was what sobriety did to you—made you believe the impossible.

  But everything was clear as a bell now: he would get his father out of her clutches and make it clear she would get no satisfaction from him. He wasn't going to marry anyone. No encumbrances, no heirs, no responsibility. Not for him.

  He was wed to the coffers of money that he would expend on every secret pleasure in the future.

  But—if you married her ...

  Don't even think about it. She's hardly your social equal, anyway. Just make sure that Hugo never proposes outright. Just. . . keep her busy and get her away from here as soon as possible.

  She wanted to go to London. To book passage for India. Perfect. Take her there. Make sure she walks up that gangplank and disappears forever.

  There. That was the answer. Satisfactory for everyone.

  When she left, she'd be as good as dead anyway, and remembered no more.

  But there would always be the possibility she'd come back, or her father would turn up on the doorstep—or make demands. They'd never be certain, never be secure. Hugo had secrets, Hugo was still wary of his former partner. And Hugo could still remarry.

  Jesus.

  There was no end to the complications because of the companion. Before the companion, everything had been so simple. Life had been one long, lovely dive into the hedonistic pleasure of the moment.

  Now he had to worry about getting rid of the companion, Hugo becoming interested in still another fertile, young body

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  after she left, the loss of his birthright, his too-righteous, do-gooder brother who would be only too happy to take over his legacy if he drowned in his drink, and some doddering old former partner making impossible demands for reparation in the future.

  God, he needed a drink.

  No, he needed a plan. Something that would circumvent all these potential disasters.

  Some of the potential disasters. He couldn't think of everything.

  Which led him right back to why the companion shouldn't accept his father's proposal. If she were half as smart as he thought, of course, she would. She would have every advantage, very little inconvenience, and nothing to lose.

  A win on every side for her.

  And should she ever conceive—

  Inconceivable. Hugo wouldn't—

  No, Hugo would, damn his corrupt and immoral soul. . .

  And he and Kyger would be out on the streets faster than a whore achieved orgasm.

  But if he married her . . .

  . .. don't even whisper the thought—

  But IF— ...NO...

  For discussion's sake, if—if he were to marry her—which took a long, hard moment to imagine—if he were to marry her . . . if he didn't factor in social considerations—if. . .

  —it could—he thought with a flash of illumination—solve several problems with one master stroke—

  —at the least, he would take her away from Hugo, and he would provide himself with the potential for an heir. He would secure his inheritance and cut out Kyger, which would give him leave to whore around all he desired because everyone would know he was married, so the pressure to make any choices would be over.

  —and . . . marrying the companion would not only cover all those prime points but—her presence at Waybury would keep her mysterious father-partner at bay and out of sight forever.

  Hmmm. Not a bad payoff for a ceremony and a song.

  And the only other thing he had to worry about was Hugo flying off and finding some sweet, young thing who was willing to

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  spread her legs for the price of a ring, and he could keep that under control by fucking whatever prime pieces Hugo trotted out as well.

  Not a bad preventive measure, come to that...

  . . . because, after all was said and done, his fastidious father wouldn't want used goods. He wouldn't want to be uncertain of the paternity of any child he might have fathered . ..

  . .. and that would solve the problem of an unwanted half-brother inheriting anything in years to come . ..

  By God—there was a way around everything, an answer to every problem, and in this case, the answers were all expedient for him, even if he had to marry a destitute little nobody to achieve the results.

  Nice to be in that position.

  So to speak.

  The end justified the means, after all, and his mother had already started to make a Cinderella out of a sow's ear, anyway, so outwardly, the companion was no different from any other of the bluehlood whores prowling the marriage mart.

  And after all, she was the daughter of a gentleman—or at least as much a gentleman as his own father had been before he came into all that money. So he could forgo that requirement, given all that.

  And that took care of that problem. It took care of almost every problem, this brainstorm of his to marry the companion, and it wouldn't be all that difficult to accomplish.

  Well, he was a practical man. He was ready to take action. And the more he thought about marrying the companion to forestall Hugo, the more he liked the added recompense of having a body of his own at Waybury to fuck whenever he was there.

  The meltingly innocent little companion, waiting, eager, writhing, yearning ... It made such sense, he wondered why he hadn't installed a naked body in residence long before this.

  And not only that, he didn't have to wait to make his proposal to the companion. He was ready now. He had only to say the word, and he'd cut out Hugo and be rooting between her legs by tomorrow noon.

  * * *

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  Why shouldn't she?

  By morning, Jancie was still wide awake, her eyes puffed from tears she had shed over Olivia.

  And she still had no answers. There was no right answer. There were just advantages, too many to count and too few to resist.

  How could she resist them? Did she even want to?

  Mrroww, Emily said. Can you be happy with that old man?

  Did it matter if she were not happy? She stroked Emily's head and Emily slanted a golden look up at her.

  Was anyone happy, really?

  And apart from the unseemly haste of Hugo's proposition— that she stay, that something more was in the offing after a proper mourning period was observed—there was truly no reason for her not to consider it.

  It was the answer to everything.

  Ow, Emily agreed.

  Exactly—it
was as simple as making comparisons. Marry Hugo and bury the dirty girl, have money to spare, manage a beautiful home, have servants, nice clothes, find out the truth about what happened at Kaamberoo, have a child, perhaps, sometime in the future. Lujan, whenever he might choose to appear . . .

  It was the sticking point. Lujan.

  Or—leave Waybury, leave Lujan, say good-bye forever to Kyger. And then have the adventure of your life. Go to India, be with Father, die an old maid. Never find out Hugo's secrets.

  The scales were tilting.

  She levered herself out of the bed and padded to the window. She was on the second floor of the rectory in a comfortably situated bedroom that overlooked the church grounds and the turnpike beyond.

  Not too far down that road was Waybury. And Lujan. Was he tossing and turning in his bed as restlessly as she?

  She didn't think so. Lujan didn't lose sleep over anything. She hadn't slept a wink. Because her decision would have as much to do with her father's expectations as her own desires. She was eighteen years old; did she really want to commit herself to a man almost three times her age? Let his old hands touch her young

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  flesh, feel his old, flaccid body pump his seed into her young, fertile one?

  Other women did. No small consolation, that. Women sold their bodies and souls for such a man, such a home, such a luxurious life. And all they needed to do was provide an heir.

  But Hugo had his heirs, so what could he possibly want of her? The obvious was not so obvious. Besides, there were dirty girls to be had anywhere, and barring that, there were widows and women his own age available for his needs.

  He didn't need her. The her that represented youth, vigor, fertility, and sons. He was long past that, anyway.

  But she needed Lujan. Would she marry Hugo just to make him jealous, to make him desire what he had willingly relinquished?

  Mrrroww . .. Emily, emphatic now, and utterly correct. She was no femme fatale. She was not one who inspired great passion in anyone. She knew she was too young, too inexperienced, too kitchen-wise, and too unused to the ways of the drawing room— and utterly confounded by the likes of Lujan and his vast sexual experience.