Welcome to Gaia! ::

As far as distractions went, Nathaniel mused as he stepped through his front door which his butler, Ainsley, had opened upon his return into the lighted foyer, getting the first good look at the woman in his arms, he could have done much worse. Despite her bedraggled appearance and the bruise spreading across one cheek, she was beautiful with fair skin, a heart shaped face and cupid-bow lips. Lips that were currently parted around her slow, even breaths. Lips that looked entirely too enticing. Even her hair was magnificent despite being soaking wet and plastered to the sides of her face. Free from it’s pins as it was, her light brown tresses were longer than was currently fashionable, curls starting to emerge as it began to dry. He wondered what it would look like spread across his pillow as he made her scream in pleasure.

If only she would open her eyes, lift those long lashes that fanned against her cheeks, so he could see what color they were...

His body began to stir at the same moment Ainsley cleared his throat reminding Nathaniel that he was standing in a growing puddle in his foyer, fantasizing about a sick woman, for Christ’s sake! What the hell was wrong with him? It hadn’t been that long since he’d had a woman, had it? With a silent curse, he headed for the stairs. “Wake one of the stable boys to care for the horses.”

“My lord?” his butler queried curiously, but he didn’t pause, taking the steps two at a time. Distance that was what he needed. Get the chit upstairs and he could pass her off to one of the maids, not that any were likely to be awake at this late hour. With that thought in his head, he paused at the door to his bedroom only now realizing where his feet had been taking him. Maybe he had been too long without a woman in his bed. When had he ended things with his mistress?

Lady Weston, a young widow who possessed too great a fortune and entirely too much free time, had suited Nathaniel for a time. He had found her attractive enough with her dark eyes and raven hair. The fact that she had a body most men dreamed of hadn’t hurt. Besides, she hadn’t been with him for his money, more than happy to spend her late husbands, and other than the occasional bauble to protect his place in her bedroom, he had never spent so much as a guinea on her.

Veronica, he had thought, understood what their arrangement was about— sex. But as with many women of her class, she had lusted after his title.

Nathaniel had been about to put an end to it, having long grown tired of her, when his mother’s illness had taken a turn for the worse. Distraught, he had sought oblivion in whatever form he could and Veronica’s lush body had been convenient. He knew he was leading her on, giving her false hope, using her, but he hadn’t cared. She was there and while they were in bed together he forgot about his problems. It had been, if not ideal, acceptable. Or so he'd thought.

Breathing hard and spent, Nathaniel rolled away from Veronica, needing to put distance between them, and sat on the edge of her luxurious four poster bed. Completely sure of her appeal and confident with her nudity, she raised her arms above her head, stretching amid the rumpled sheets like a cat awakening from a nap. He didn’t even glance at her as he stood to retrieve his clothes.

Rolling onto her stomach, she tracked every move of his nude form with heavy lidded eyes. “Where are you going, lover?” She asked in that husky voice he had once found arousing. “Come back to bed.”

“I told you I couldn’t stay long.”

“Oh yes. Your mother.” She paused before adding, “She’s still not feeling well?”

He felt his ire p***k at her blasé tone. Not trusting his voice and wanting to get away as quickly as possible, he shook his head as he buttoned his shirt, tucking it into his trousers.

“Oh.” There was a note in her voice he wasn’t sure if he liked and he glanced over his shoulder at her. Her head was tilted in a way he was sure she thought was coquettish while she played with strands of her dark hair and blinked her eyes at him, the picture of girlish innocence. He was tempted to tell her to try it on someone who hadn’t been between her thighs, but reached for his boots instead.

“Nathaniel?”

He simply grunted in response, wondering how he had put up with this woman for so long.

“Are you going to marry me before she dies or after you are done mourning?”

Nathaniel went completely still, not even breathing, wondering if he had heard her right. Something inside him went cold as he slowly raised his head to look over at her. Veronica, unaware of his mood, stood from the bed, retrieved her dressing gown and sat at her dressing table as if she had asked him about nothing more than the weather.

“I beg your pardon?” He wanted to applaud himself for how calm his voice sounded.

“I know it will look a trifle odd if we got married now,” she continued as he approached her on silent, stocking feet, like a predator closing in on his prey, “and I’m sure people would be talking about it for months, but they’d surely get over it. Of course, I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to wait and have a long engage—”

She broke off with a gasp, as he roughly pulled her from her seat by the elbow. “Nathaniel!”

“Stop. Talking.” He bit off each word between clenched teeth as he glared at her. She must have noticed the danger she was in for she actually listened for once, trembling in his grip. “Let me make one thing very clear. Are you listening to me?” He waited for her to nod before he continued speaking. “I would not marry you if you were the last woman on earth.”

He let go of her as if touching her was something he found vile, uncaring when she stumbled. Taking a deep breath, he went on in a calmer voice. “This is over. Do not approach me in public, do not even look at me again, or I will not be held responsible for what I do.”

Turning away from her to collect his boots, coat and waistcoat, he walked out of her bedroom, down the stairs, pausing only long enough to don the rest of his clothes before he left her townhouse, not bothering to glance back.

He had felt a slight pang of regret for his harsh words, but he was not a man given to apologies. It had been the only way to sever ties with Veronica, at any rate. She had been widowed young, married even younger, the only daughter of a wealthy aristocrat and as such, somewhat spoiled, feeling entitled to anything she wanted. He could not completely fault her for her short-comings, however.

He firmly believed children were a product of their upbringing and many members of the ton felt their offspring were best left in the nursery, occasionally to be paraded about and, for the most part, ignored, their affection bought, rather than earned.

Nathaniel rarely ventured out into Society, only going to the occasional route during the Season because it made his mother happy, but on the one occasion his path had crossed with Veronica’s after that night, she had studiously dismissed him. Her cut had not gone unnoticed by the gossip mongers. Their relationship, while not flagrant, had not been a complete secret. It was not easy to keep secrets when one was a member of the aristocracy, but as long as one was discreet, one could do as one pleased when they possessed money and influence.

The abrupt end to their affair had caused a stir, none the less, and it did not take long for the whispers to reach his ears. Veronica had been out to save face, spreading rumors that she had been the one to toss him over. Not about to correct their misconceptions, Nathaniel had simply ignored it like he did everything else.

That had been almost two months ago and he hadn’t thought of, let alone touched, a woman in all that time. And now here he was lusting after a stranger. For all he knew, she could be a thief or a prostitute. She didn’t look like either of those things, but appearances could be deceiving.

Shaking his head in disgust at his thoughts, he managed to open his door without relinquishing his hold on her. Avoiding even a glance at the large bed, for fear his libido would run rampant again, he told him self the only reason he was in this room and not one of the many unoccupied guest rooms was because none of them were prepared and his was the only one with a fire in the grate.

Placing her in a chair, after removing her wet pelisse, he was surprised to note the garment had kept the rest of her clothing relatively dry. Crossing to his dressing room, he removed his greatcoat and changed into fresh trousers and a clean shirt. His valet would no doubt have apoplexy when he saw the state of his clothes, but he rarely paid any heed to Haynsworth’s prattling anyway. The man was prone to dramatics.

Exiting his dressing room, he walked back to where he had left the unconscious woman. Gazing down at her, he realized the smart thing to do would be to ring for a maid as had been his intention before he had seen her face. Watching her now, the firelight burnishing her skin, a wave of lust hit him so hard he had to clench his fists to keep from reaching for her. Walk away.

But, damn it, he didn’t want to. The need to touch her, to run his hands over the curves her gown only hinted at, to taste her lips that so beguiled him, was almost overwhelming. It was absurd. He could not understand the feelings she stirred in him when she wasn’t even conscious. Never in his life had he felt this kind of attraction to a woman.

He had felt lust before, but never anything this strong. It was all-consuming, almost primal, this need he felt to possess her. For a man who prided himself on his self-control, this was unacceptable. Try as he might to explain it away due to the stress he was under or his lack of female companionship, a part of him knew it was something else. What was it about this woman that affected him so?

Just then a soft moan drew his attention back to the subject of his musings as she began to stir. Her lashes fluttered against her cheeks and as they lifted, he realized he had been holding his breath, when it left him in a rush. Her eyes, like the rest of her, were mesmerizing, a shade of grayish blue, like a winter sky in the first rays of the morning sun.

Nathaniel scowled at his own thoughts. Now he was waxing poetic about her eyes? What next, a sonnet about her hair?

She blinked her eyes slightly unfocused as she glanced around the room. “Where am I?”

“Somewhere safe.” He hoped. With how he was feeling, he was as likely to ravish her as to protect her.

Tilting her head back to look at him, she said, “It's warm in here.”

“No, sweetheart,” he replied, the gentleness in his voice surprising him as he helped her to her feet, “that’s just the fever talking.”

“Fever?” Her brow puckered, but she offered no resistance as he led her over to his bed. A massive four-poster with forest green draperies, he’d had it custom made to fit his tall frame. Gritting his teeth as she swayed and her breasts brushed his arm, he maneuvered her until she was once again seated.

It was a novel experience, this. In all of his thirty-three years he had never brought a woman to his room. As he bent to one knee before her, a wry smile touched his lips. The first woman to ever sleep in my bed and I will not be sleeping with her. The irony of the situation did not escape him.