Read Online Seize the Fire by Laura Kinsale - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Laura Kinsale
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deepened his caress, taking her chin and pulling her toward him for a kiss, thinking sourly that it was about what he might have expected, that the old man would dangle all that money and then shackle him to a worn-out whore. Capital joke.
Except that Julia was not precisely worn out yet. She pressed up against him, writhing gently beneath his hands. When he finally had to come up for air, she leaned back in his arms, her eyes half closed. "Damn you," she whispered. "Damn you for a beautiful lying bastard."
He couldn't see damning himself for that, since it was clearly an advantage with the likes of Julia Plumb. If he wouldn't hit her, it was just as well the evil hussy lusted after him. So he gave her a squeeze and tried to kiss her again.
She pulled away, though, and stood breathing unsteadily. "Enough of that," she said, with a little proud toss of her head. "I want to talk."
But she had a look in her eyes that suggested if he chose to override her, he needn't expect to meet serious resistance. To put her in mind of who'd come spooning around whom in the first place, he cut her dead; let her stand there ogling him, with her lips parted and her breasts heaving, until he reckoned she must have realized how fatuous she looked. Then he said in lazy mockery, "Oh, God, Juli—don't. How can I stand it when you tease me like that?"
Her mouth snapped shut. Color surged into her face. "I wasn't—" she said, and then, "You beast. I don't have to take this from you."
He watched her face, the little quivers of emotion and stress that flitted across it. "Why not?" he asked softly. "What do I owe you, Julia?"
It took her a moment to get her old dry curling smile back. "You don't owe me anything. But you'll give me some respect, ducky, I swear an' you will—you'll come when I call an' go when I tell you, and you'll smile about it, you will."
He took note of the way the Cockney crept in: she was rattled, all right—but not as rattled as he. That belligerent self-assurance gave him the willies. It belonged on bucko first mates and sargeants of marines, not aging East End jades. He frowned down at her, and for an instant she looked just slightly intimidated, but the arrogance surged back and she turned away with a proud sweep.
"The money is in trust," she said calmly. "You are the only beneficiary. Your father's solicitor is the only trustee." She lifted her head and looked over her shoulder at him. "You touch nothing yourself. The trustee dispenses all funds at his discretion. He has but one obligation, and one only—"
His jaw stiffened. She held the moment as if she were a painted tart in a Covent Garden melodrama.
"—to act solely and unquestioningly under the direction—under the 'whim,' as the will stated it—of a single person."
Sheridan took a step forward. He stopped. She smiled up at him in dry triumph.
"Myself."
"It is the grandest thing," squeaked Mrs. What's-'Er-Name, clasping plump hands and gazing at Sheridan like a cow in milk. "Everyone will be green, Mrs. Plumb, they absolutely will. It's just the peak of good fortune that I thought to call this morning."
Right-ho , Sheridan thought. The peak .
She picked up her cup and took an excited slurp of tea. Sheridan wished heartily for a brandy. He looked around Julia's tastefully furnished drawing room in despair, finding nothing more promising than a delicate little sewing caddy opened to reveal the glint of scissors and a pile of gaily colored floss.
"You must tell me everything, Captain Drake—but no, I should call you sir , I'm sure—Sir Drake—but that's not right, is it? Why, you see what bumpkins we are here-abouts—I haven't the least notion how you should properly be addressed!"
"'Sheridan' will do, ma'am," he said. He didn't wish her to exert herself. Might fall dead of an overtaxed brain.
"And how wonderfully condescending! But I mustn't be so familiar. Sir Sheridan it is, of course. Start at the beginning, Sir Sheridan. How did you come to
Except that Julia was not precisely worn out yet. She pressed up against him, writhing gently beneath his hands. When he finally had to come up for air, she leaned back in his arms, her eyes half closed. "Damn you," she whispered. "Damn you for a beautiful lying bastard."
He couldn't see damning himself for that, since it was clearly an advantage with the likes of Julia Plumb. If he wouldn't hit her, it was just as well the evil hussy lusted after him. So he gave her a squeeze and tried to kiss her again.
She pulled away, though, and stood breathing unsteadily. "Enough of that," she said, with a little proud toss of her head. "I want to talk."
But she had a look in her eyes that suggested if he chose to override her, he needn't expect to meet serious resistance. To put her in mind of who'd come spooning around whom in the first place, he cut her dead; let her stand there ogling him, with her lips parted and her breasts heaving, until he reckoned she must have realized how fatuous she looked. Then he said in lazy mockery, "Oh, God, Juli—don't. How can I stand it when you tease me like that?"
Her mouth snapped shut. Color surged into her face. "I wasn't—" she said, and then, "You beast. I don't have to take this from you."
He watched her face, the little quivers of emotion and stress that flitted across it. "Why not?" he asked softly. "What do I owe you, Julia?"
It took her a moment to get her old dry curling smile back. "You don't owe me anything. But you'll give me some respect, ducky, I swear an' you will—you'll come when I call an' go when I tell you, and you'll smile about it, you will."
He took note of the way the Cockney crept in: she was rattled, all right—but not as rattled as he. That belligerent self-assurance gave him the willies. It belonged on bucko first mates and sargeants of marines, not aging East End jades. He frowned down at her, and for an instant she looked just slightly intimidated, but the arrogance surged back and she turned away with a proud sweep.
"The money is in trust," she said calmly. "You are the only beneficiary. Your father's solicitor is the only trustee." She lifted her head and looked over her shoulder at him. "You touch nothing yourself. The trustee dispenses all funds at his discretion. He has but one obligation, and one only—"
His jaw stiffened. She held the moment as if she were a painted tart in a Covent Garden melodrama.
"—to act solely and unquestioningly under the direction—under the 'whim,' as the will stated it—of a single person."
Sheridan took a step forward. He stopped. She smiled up at him in dry triumph.
"Myself."
"It is the grandest thing," squeaked Mrs. What's-'Er-Name, clasping plump hands and gazing at Sheridan like a cow in milk. "Everyone will be green, Mrs. Plumb, they absolutely will. It's just the peak of good fortune that I thought to call this morning."
Right-ho , Sheridan thought. The peak .
She picked up her cup and took an excited slurp of tea. Sheridan wished heartily for a brandy. He looked around Julia's tastefully furnished drawing room in despair, finding nothing more promising than a delicate little sewing caddy opened to reveal the glint of scissors and a pile of gaily colored floss.
"You must tell me everything, Captain Drake—but no, I should call you sir , I'm sure—Sir Drake—but that's not right, is it? Why, you see what bumpkins we are here-abouts—I haven't the least notion how you should properly be addressed!"
"'Sheridan' will do, ma'am," he said. He didn't wish her to exert herself. Might fall dead of an overtaxed brain.
"And how wonderfully condescending! But I mustn't be so familiar. Sir Sheridan it is, of course. Start at the beginning, Sir Sheridan. How did you come to
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