by Amelia Grey
“I’m not sure I’m at all comfortable with the way you are staring at me, my lord.”
“I was trying to merge the soft, compassionate lady you are now with the bold and magnificent lady who had the command of everyone in the ballroom last night.”
Her breaths became shallow and short. “It wasn’t my intention to make our conversation so public. I meant for only you to hear me.”
“I heard you, and every man there was wishing he was in my shoes and had the opportunity I have.”
She was caught under the sensual spell he was casting over her and wondering how she was going to break free. “What do you mean?” she asked quietly. “That’s ridiculous. No man wants to be told he can’t drink, swear, gamble, or indulge in other manly pursuits. Most of all you.”
He moved closer to her and lowered his head toward hers. “No, but every man saw and felt your raw, determined passion. It’s in a man’s nature to be drawn to that, to want to seize it for their own and possess it.”
Brina felt a flush rising in her cheeks. “You talk nonsense at times, my lord. You should pay calls on other ladies and not be so fixated on me.”
His gaze swept up and down her face, lingering on her lips for a few seconds before capturing her eyes again. “You are the one I want. I knew it the moment I saw you walking down the street with the girls marching behind you.”
Perhaps the earl had already read the romantic poets. His intense gaze, his genuine expression of wanting her were beguiling, and she had to somehow fight them.
His eyes narrowed and he leaned toward her. “Tell me, Mrs. Feld, did you read the scandal sheets this morning?”
“Heavens, no,” she answered, looking past him and over the spacious park. “I couldn’t bring myself to read them. I don’t want to know what they are saying about me. I heard enough whispers last night.”
“They were kind to you. The one I read had only high praise for you and your ultimatums. Though it was clear the author of the gossip column had not a hope in hel—heaven that you or my family could change me and make me worthy of the title earl.”
She didn’t know why, but her gaze fell to the sensuous curve of his lips and she imagined them on hers again.
“Do you think you can change?” she asked.
In the blink of an eye, he caught her shoulders in his hands, pulled her up to him, closed his eyes, and pressed his lips against hers.
Brina expected the same wild, short kiss he’d given her in Paris. Instead, his lips landed softly on hers with infinite care. They were warm, pliant with merely a hint of delicate pressure. The back and forth movement was a light, feathery teasing sensation that caused her abdomen to tighten in response to the gentleness of his caress.
For a fleeting second, she thought to make a feeble attempt to resist him, but the mindless pleasure of being held so tightly and kissed again—and so thoroughly, it put a stop to the idea almost instantly. With little effort, his mouth gently coaxed her lips apart and the kiss continued with a sweetness she wouldn’t have thought possible from this man who had wagered at a club for her hand. Any notion of the kiss not continuing faded as quickly as resistance had, and in its place was the very selfish thought that after so long, she deserved this tender embrace.
There was really no other choice. Brina wanted to accept and join in the pleasure he was giving. She didn’t want to deny herself these few brief moments in his arms, even though at the back of her mind she knew they were standing under a tree in a park where anyone could happen by, see them, and blab to the world.
Not even that mattered. This moment with this man was worth the chance of getting caught, being disgraced.
There had always been an inexplicable, unrelenting attraction between them since the moment they’d met, and right now it was sizzling hot.
Her lips parted farther, a sigh of wanting escaped as passion flared brightly inside her. The sheer intensity of how fast a deep longing for more filled her, almost overwhelmed her. Without forethought, her hands flattened against his hard chest and skimmed up the buttons on his waistcoat to grasp the warmth of his neck and pull him closer.
His fingers squeezed on her shoulders, digging into the soft flesh beneath her clothing. He held on to her possessively, as if she were something too precious to let go. In response, her fingers meshed into the length of his black hair, holding his head, and clinging to him as if he were her nourishment. The kiss deepened, their tongues met, played, and sought. The taste and thrill of his mouth on hers was exciting.
Brina forgot everything but his touch until slowly he raised his head and looked down into her eyes with a penetrating gaze that left her dizzy.
On a ragged breath with a raspy voice, he whispered, “I don’t know if I can change, Mrs. Feld. What do you think?”
For reasons she had no desire to contemplate, she couldn’t answer. After their kisses, she wasn’t sure she wanted him to change. She had no doubts about not wanting to marry him, but his kisses—yes. She could quite happily endure every one.
Chapter 10
Zane walked through the front door of the earl’s home shedding his outer clothing and stopped suddenly.
What was he thinking? It was his home now. He was the earl. Not his uncle, nor his uncle’s son, nor his older cousin. But him. They were all gone.
Damnation!
Why had all three of them been riding in the same carriage together that day anyway? Why hadn’t someone inspected the damned bridge over the canyon since there’d been weeks of torrential rain? Didn’t they know he was ill-prepared to take over for them?
He wasn’t supposed to be the earl.
Zane rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. He needed a drink.
Huffing another silent curse of frustration, he felt something, reached into his pocket, and pulled out the book of poetry Mrs. Feld had given him. He scoffed a laugh and wondered if she would take him to task if she knew he was swearing like the devil in his thoughts.
Probably.
He laid the book on the side table but then picked it up. The corners were worn. She’d read it often. Maybe he’d give it a try. After all, he had pursued her in an ungentlemanly manner. Consciously, maybe even willfully. She hadn’t deserved it, but he wasn’t sorry he had done it.
In return she’d given as good as she got.
She was uncommonly headstrong for someone who had the look of a fragile night fairy with her glistening blond hair, big bright eyes, and fair, delicate-looking skin.
He hadn’t planned to kiss her in the park, but it was a damned good thing he’d thought to exempt kissing. She’d been particular with the rules set forth. Her passion had been just as strong when in his arms as it had been when she laid out her demands for acceptance of his proposal. He had no doubt that she would claim victory if he so much as sniffed a brandy, and that strength challenged him to be stronger. That passion inside her was what drew him. He’d sensed it that night in the chateau, and ever since he’d wanted to taste her lips once more.
For the better part of half an hour during the afternoon, he’d watched her be composed and measured in everything she said at the park. Her beautiful lips smiling at him, her graceful hands had laid clasped in repose on her lap. She’d been the personification of everything he’d heard about her. Kissing her had awakened an aching need inside him that he still carried.
After dropping his great coat, hat, and gloves onto a chair in the entryway, he slid his scarf from around his neck and gathered the center of it into his hands to press into his face. The flowery scent of her perfume had held in the wool, teasing him with her fragrance.
He inhaled again, deeper, letting the memory of her in his arms wash slowly through him. It had an eager, rousing effect on him.
Thoughts of her sparkling eyes, the wind grabbing at strands of her hair and blowing it across her soft cheeks drifted pleasantly through his mind before suddenly he remembered how still she’d become when he mentioned her husband.
His que
stion had surprised her.
It had surprised Zane too.
There was no reason to ask about him other than it had suddenly crossed his mind she might be thinking about him when she mentioned the chocolate. Plenty of men and women added a dash of brandy in the sweet liquid. Evidently, she hadn’t been thinking of her husband. That pleased Zane, but he wondered if she always looked as if she was barely holding back tears when she spoke of him, or if it was only that Zane so unexpectedly asked about him. That couldn’t have been easy for her, yet she’d handled his surprising question well.
The tragedy of becoming a widow must have changed her to some degree. He wondered what she was like before that happened. She hadn’t been ready to talk about Mr. Feld with him. Without her doing that, he couldn’t get an idea of how deep her wounds of loss were now that time had passed. He wanted to know, even though he was very sure of one thing—it made no difference to him. It was to her credit that five years after Mr. Feld’s death, she still was moved by talking about him. That she had great respect for him was evident. That was one more thing to admire about her.
He also knew Mrs. Feld wasn’t indifferent to his touch. It was who she was today that had him caught in her unintended snare. How could he not be drawn to a lady who had stayed respectful of her husband’s memory, wanted to teach girls the beautiful art of painting, and helped nuns take care of unfortunate people?
Zane closed his eyes, letting the memory of her fill him again. His mind drifted back to their kiss and the feel and taste of her cool, enticing lips beneath his. Her hands had moved with hunger up his chest before they settled in womanly comfort around his neck. Their lingering kiss in the park had proven what he’d known since Paris and she had to believe now as well. She was as attracted to him as he was to her. So, to her question he never answered, hell, no. He didn’t want to stop being bad. He wanted to tumble her onto the bed and press—
Multiple footfalls and the familiar tapping of Uncle Hector’s cane sounded down the corridor. Zane looked up to see his uncles Syl and Hector coming toward him at a jaunty pace.
“There you are,” Uncle Sylvester called. “Finally home, I see.”
“How did it go?” Hector asked in a jovial tone as he stopped in front of Zane and leaned on his cane.
“Was she cordial?” Sylvester echoed with an enthusiasm he didn’t try to keep hidden either.
Zane blinked. “What are you—were you two waiting here for me to return?”
“Of course,” Uncle Syl replied. “You didn’t expect us to leave, did you?”
Zane’s eyes narrowed and he frowned. “Yes, I did.”
These two men were unbelievable. Their counsel with the family and helping him learn the affairs of his estates were appreciated. He really did need their help with those things, but sometimes they were a bit overwhelming. He didn’t need them playing the role of nursemaid.
Sylvester pressed his hands down the sides of his coat and took a proud stance. “How would we find out how your afternoon went if we’d gone home?”
“You wouldn’t,” Zane argued.
“That’s what we thought, so considered it best we stay in case there was anything we could help with.”
“Tell us all about it,” Uncle Hector encouraged.
“No,” Zane said in a rather forceful tone. “I have no intentions of sharing anything of my afternoon with Mrs. Feld with you two or anyone else.”
His uncles glanced at each other as if they were facing a grave situation they didn’t know how to handle before centering their attention back to their nephew.
“I take it that means it didn’t go well.” Hector emphasized his words with a sudden hard rap of his cane to the floor.
It went very well, Zane thought, but felt no inclination to satisfy these two ninny grumps.
“He probably didn’t watch his language as closely as he should have,” Uncle Syl offered. “Ladies don’t like to be spoken to in an ungentlemanly manner.”
“That’s difficult for most of us on occasion,” Hector supplied. “But we learn to do it.”
“I suppose it will take time,” his brother mumbled quietly as if he didn’t want Zane to hear him. “We may be expecting too much, too soon.”
“Did she at least enjoy the ride in the new curricle your uncle had built last winter?”
That caught Zane’s interest. “The earl has a new carriage?”
“Yes,” Uncle Syl informed him. “Quite a pricey one from what I heard. I’m not sure he had it out more than a time or two before the winter weather took a turn for the worse.”
“Why haven’t you told me about this before now?”
Hector and Sylvester looked at each other. It appeared neither of them had thought to mention what was by all accounts considered a younger man’s transportation and something Zane would want to know about.
“We’ve had more important matters to discuss with you than a sporting carriage,” Syl argued.
Zane would make sure to take it out for a jaunt first thing tomorrow morning—before his uncles arrived.
“This afternoon with Mrs. Feld is in the past,” Hector continued in a disappointed tone. “Nothing to do about that now. Best to move forward and do better. What dinner party will the two of you be attending tonight?”
“What do you mean?” Zane questioned.
“It’s the Season, my lord,” Uncle Syl said in an irritated tone where Hector left off. “There are several parties in Mayfair and other places about Town. Didn’t you arrange to meet with Mrs. Feld at one of them—at a certain time?”
“No.” Tonight hadn’t crossed his mind. He’d been too busy taking pleasure in the afternoon. Their conversation, their kiss, and the way his kiss had caused her cheeks to flush as she melted against his chest.
Uncle Hector’s cane made another sharp click on the floor. His gray, full eyebrows seemed to grow together tightly right before Zane’s eyes. “Then how will you know where she will be and at what time, so you can be there as well? If you are going to pursue her, my lord, you must pursue her.”
Tension started in the back of Zane’s neck.
Sylvester made a motion with his hands as if to calm the more excitable Hector. “Don’t get too riled about this. It’s easy enough to remedy. He can send over a note to her and ask where she plans to be at half past nine and meet her there.”
“It’s a bit late in the day for that. She may not answer him now that he didn’t ask her at the proper time.”
“No, no. It’s not.” Uncle Syl looked at Zane. “I know about these things. I’ll help you compose the note. I’m quite eloquent on occasions like this.”
This was maddening. Uncle Syl had never married. How could he know what to say to a lady? The only thing Zane wanted to do was pour himself a glass of claret, relax by the warm, crackling fire in his book room, and reminisce on the afternoon with Mrs. Feld. Thinking about her was certainly much more pleasant than listening to his uncles blather or reflect on their priorities.
Making the circle of parties during the Season wasn’t something Zane had ever cared to do. Which was why he’d never spent much time doing it. He didn’t see the sense of playing this game with Mrs. Feld. She was a widow after all. Not an innocent maiden who always had to be guarded. If he wanted to see her, why couldn’t he just go to her house and spend an evening with her?
Because of rules, manners, and Society’s strict code of acceptable behavior. Blast them all.
His uncles continued to look at him, waiting for a response. “I will figure out something for later in the week.”
“Later?” Hector exclaimed as his chin bobbed and the cane tapped. “You have four weeks to win her hand, and you are talking about later?”
“I will pursue Mrs. Feld in my own way, Uncles. I need no instructions or rules from either of you on that. She has already given me enough to follow. Now, have Fulton get your coats and go home. We are through for the day.”
“Yes, yes, we’re going,” Uncle Syl sai
d, once again giving his brother the signal to be calmer. “Before we do, I wanted to tell you that a friend of yours, Mr. Robins, dropped by to see you.”
“Harry was here? Did you entertain one of my guests?”
“No, not at all. Naturally, when we heard someone at the door, we came out of the book room, thinking it might be you. At that point, we had to speak to him, but he decided not to wait when he found out we were already waiting.”
That was best, Zane thought. Harry wasn’t the kind of man who would find favor with his uncles. Nor them with him.
“He was kind enough to tell us what he wanted.”
Zane couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Did you ask him?”
“Not exactly,” Syl said, his brow rising.
“What someone wants with me and why they come to my door is none of your business,” Zane said in a tone that would have let an ordinary man know he had stepped over the line. He couldn’t be sure these two would understand.
“Oh, we couldn’t agree more,” Uncle Syl agreed with so much pride, his chest puffed. “But we are happy he relayed to us that the bets at White’s are up tenfold today.”
“But unfortunately, not in your favor it seems,” Uncle Hector added. “Hardly anyone thinks you will win Mrs. Feld’s hand. We expected that but are pleased everyone wants a stake in the outcome of your wager.”
Zane shook his head. Not only did he have to deal with these two, it seemed as if he’d become both an earl and a saint almost overnight. If not for Mrs. Feld’s requirements, he’d be swearing like a drunken idiot and downing all the liquor he could get his hands on.
Out of the corner of his eye, Zane saw movement down the hallway. “Fulton,” he called. “My uncles are leaving. Get their coats.”
“Yes, yes, of course, we’re on our way,” Uncle Sylvester remarked, pulling down on the lapels of his stylish tweed coat. “We have things to do. But one more thing before we go. Did you consider whether you’ll grant your cousin Pelroy the right to build a home on the south end of Blacknight? He only wants a small cottage by the stream that runs through that hollow.”
