by Amy Sandas
Uneasiness crept through her. Of course, she had. It was what she did.
She shifted in an attempt to rise, but his arms tightened around her, holding her in place. She stilled.
“It’s not always that way,” he said finally. “In fact, it’s never been that for me...before today. But you’ve just described my experience with you perfectly.”
“How do I know that’s not something you say to everyone you’ve just bedded?”
In a smooth movement, he rolled her over onto her back. One of his strong thighs settled between her legs as he loomed over her. “I am many things, tesoro mio—a hedonistic cad, an unrepentant rake, a casual manipulator. But I’ve never lied to you and I never will.”
Desdemona slid her hands up and down his back. Lifting a brow, she asked lightly, “How do I know you are not lying to me right now? I believe it was not long ago that we established I should trust you least of all.”
His gaze swept over her face and his jaw tightened, then he offered a silky smile. “So we did. It seems there may be no recourse but to prove my words another way,” he suggested, curling his hand behind her knee to lift her leg up around his hip. Then he rocked his hips until his growing erection met her core.
She arched beneath him, tilting her hips to better receive him as a sudden flush of desire heated her blood. “We can do this again so soon?” she asked in curiosity, though she could feel already it was so.
His laugh was low and soft against the side of her neck. “It’s one of my most highly appreciated gifts.”
She gasped and gripped hard to his buttocks when his mouth closed over the tip of one breast, but she managed to recover her voice enough for one more question. “And how will this prove your honesty?”
“I have no idea, but I figure it’s worth a try,” he murmured thickly as he entered her in a single gliding thrust.
Chapter Eleven
Leander struggled to maintain his usual social façade as he watched Desdemona across the dinner table.
He recalled every second of the time he’d spent making love to her, down to the tiniest detail of how she tasted, how she moved, how she sighed and moaned and clutched at his hair. He’d revisited the memories over and over after leaving her apartments when she insisted she needed to get back to her work.
His experience with her had left him questioning everything he knew of himself. Yet, as he watched her now, he could not understand how she could appear so utterly unfazed by the events when he’d been torn down to rumble and rebuilt from scratch.
She listened to the inane conversation with her usual level of casual interest and slightly removed observation. She responded to the usual quips and witticisms with the same cleverness and unique perspective she always displayed. She smiled at Rutledge’s oily flattery and didn’t seem at all bothered by the way he intently occupied her time.
And she barely glanced Leander’s way at all.
If not for the exceedingly brief moment when he’d managed to catch her eye just as she’d first arrived, he might have thought she didn’t even know he was there. It bothered him. And he did not appreciate being bothered. Especially when he couldn’t figure out exactly why he felt that way in the first place.
As he watched Rutledge lean just a bit too close to her while they engaged in a game of chess in the drawing room after dinner, Leander almost started across the room to intervene.
Before he could do so, he happened to catch sight of Isabelle watching him intently. The look in her eye was not a pleasant one. Forcefully shoving aside his concerns about Desdemona, he waited as his stepsister made her way to his side.
Taking the glass of champagne that he’d forgotten he was holding from his hand, she lifted it to her lips for a long sip. Her sharp gaze held his over the rim of the flute. After lowering the glass, she licked her lips and gave him a smile that made his skin itch.
“You like her. Don’t you?” she asked in a deceptively casual tone.
Leander wasn’t fooled. Flares of warning shot through him. Any attempt at denial would likely backfire, convincing her even more of whatever it was she suspected.
Lifting a brow, he replied as dismissively as he could manage, “You know my taste.”
She laughed, a husky earthy sound, and her gaze brightened. “Your taste, dear brother, appears to include anything on two legs. And even that has been brought into question on occasion.”
In the past, when he’d been young and hotheaded, her words might have triggered a burst of temper. She’d always known how to prod him where he was most vulnerable. He could be grateful to her, he supposed, for forcing him to learn how to shield his true emotions. The days when she could manipulate him were long over.
Smiling slowly, he leaned closer to her and whispered, “And you hate that you are the one and only exception, don’t you, carina?”
Her eyes narrowed dangerously and a flush heated her neck and chest before she gathered herself back under control. A glint of wrath flickered in her gaze even though she forced a smile to her lips. “I don’t know what hold you’ve exerted over the girl, but Rutledge has decided he wants her and he will not be deterred despite her refusal,” she noted confidently.
Leander remained calm despite the whirl of questions in his mind.
She’d refused Rutledge? When had he made an offer?
“One way or another, he will make the girl his bride. And then this wind-blown estate and the wealth of ore it sits upon will be in my hands, where it belongs.” Isabelle smiled and lifted her hand to draw her index finger along Leander’s jaw. As if unable to help herself, she dropped her gaze in a longing glance at his mouth.
It was all he could do not to lean away from her touch.
“Just be a good boy, Leander, and stay out of my way,” she whispered before tipping the last of the champagne past her lips. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I must rouse my husband. He’ll want to see what happens next.”
A blast of icy cold infused Leander’s bloodstream and he shot a swift gaze back toward the chessboard.
Desdemona was no longer there.
Neither was Lord Rutledge.
His heart lurched against his ribs as he scanned the room only to confirm what he already knew. They’d both left.
Fury and fear rolled through him as he stalked to the door, ignoring the curious looks he triggered with his passing. His body was tense, his hands fisted at his sides, his pulse throbbed at his temples. He needed to get to her.
He should have protected her from the start. She didn’t deserve any of this. She didn’t deserve to be loved by a such a selfish hedonist who had only ever been loyal to his own pleasures.
Stepping into the empty hall, he was forced to pause.
With a shock, he realized he was not thinking of Rutledge but of himself.
Leander loved her. He was in love with Desdemona.
The shocking rightness of the revelation nearly stopped his heart. But his fear kicked it back into a reckless pace.
Where could they be? Why the hell would she go off with Rutledge in the first place?
She wouldn’t. Of course she wouldn’t.
She was far too smart to be lured by the heavy-handed lord. Which meant she’d left on her own, heading up to her rooms as she did every night. And Rutledge had followed her.
Leander took off at a run up the stairs to the second landing, then rushed through the marble statuary toward the portrait gallery. The double doors were wide open and he could see Rutledge and Desdemona in the center of the long room. The man had one arm locked around her waist while his other hand grasped tightly to the shoulder of her gown.
Before Leander could reach them, the tearing sound of her bodice giving way was immediately followed by Rutledge’s heavy grunt of pain as he dropped to his knees with both hands cupping his groin.
Desdemona’s expression was calm yet fierce as she pinned Rutledge to the floor with her glare. “You will leave these premises immediately, Lord Rutledge. I wish to never s
ee your face again. Do you understand?”
“Bloody hell, woman,” Rutledge gasped. “You nearly twisted my balls off.”
Leander, proud at how effectively Desdemona had claimed the upper hand yet still shaken to the core by his fear, came to stand beside her to add in a dark command, “Do as she says.”
“Or what, Vittori?” Rutledge coughed as he slowly found his feet. “I have to say it’s quite amusing to see you defending an innocent.”
“Lord Rutledge will not be going anywhere,” Isabelle declared as she gracefully crossed the gallery with her husband in tow.
Taking in the scene with a bleary gaze, Lyndon staggered to a stop. “What’s going on here?” he slurred. Seeming to finally notice the torn state of Desdemona’s gown, he swung his gaze to Leander. “Have you dared to assault my sister, Vittori?” he shouted as he staggered forward with his face turning a mottled red.
Before Leander could reply, Desdemona stepped forward. “Lord Rutledge was the offender and he is leaving. Now,” she stated firmly.
“No, he is not,” Isabelle interjected in a tight voice before she managed to force a softer tone. “You’ve been compromised, my dear. In order to salvage your reputation, you must wed.”
“I will do no such thing.”
Leander almost smiled at Desdemona’s unbending reply.
“What’s this?” Lyndon asked with a shake of his head. “Who is getting married?”
“Your sister must marry Lord Rutledge,” Isabelle explained, coming up to her husband to grasp his arm. “We shall obtain a special license and have the deed done as soon as possible. You can see how it is necessary in order to protect the girl from these...unfortunate circumstances.”
Rutledge managed to recover himself enough to offer a shallow bow. “It would be my pleasure to take the girl in hand,” he said.
The look of violence in the man’s eyes as he glanced over Desdemona had Leander stepping toward him. “If you touch her, I swear—”
“Enough of this nonsense,” Lyndon interrupted. He pressed the heels of his hands to his temples as if still trying to make sense of the situation. His wavering gaze finally settled on his sister. “Do you wish to marry Rutledge, Des?”
“No. I’d like him to leave as I’ve said several times now.”
“Then that settles it,” he said in exasperation. “Rutledge, go pack your things.”
The lord straightened and cast a dismissive look toward everyone in the room. “The chit is not worth this trouble.” He strode from the room with as much arrogance as he could muster with his obviously stilted gait.
“You are not understanding the situation, darling,” Isabelle cooed in her husband’s ear. “Your sister must marry. If not Rutledge, then marry her to Leander. She seems smitten enough with him,” she sneered, losing her amicable veneer. “I don’t give a damn.”
The viscount looked at his wife in confusion. “Why? Why must she marry, Isabelle? You’ve been pressing that idea into my head at every opportunity. Why is it so damned important to you?”
“I just think it’s time for the girl to move on to a life and a home of her own. She cannot possibly wish to rusticate here forever, darling.”
Lyndon’s eyes narrowed harshly. “That’s it, isn’t?” he asked. “You want her out of Bilberry Hall. Why?” A flicker of clarity crossed his face. “You want the estate, don’t you?”
A pout formed on Isabelle’s lips as she rubbed her palm over Lyndon’s chest in a soothing caress. “I just don’t see why she should claim all the profits for something that rightfully belongs to us. To you, my darling. You let the girl have too much authority over this estate. It’s simply not right.”
The viscount stared at his wife with a dumbfounded expression, then burst into laughter that had him nearly doubling over.
Desdemona stepped forward then, her focus centered on Isabelle. “I’d wondered at the cause of your sudden interest,” she said thoughtfully. “I suppose I should have guessed, but I am glad to have the truth of it finally. You will all be leaving Bilberry Hall this evening. Everyone. I never want any of you back here again.”
Isabelle’s eyes widened comically before they narrowed in intense anger. “You overstep, my dear. You have no say in the matter.”
Leander took a step forward to place himself in front of Desdemona. He’d never seen Isabelle so furious. She was unpredictable on her best days. He wouldn’t put anything past her in her current state.
Lyndon gasped a breath, fighting to get his laughter under control. “That’s the beauty of this whole debacle. She’s the only one who does have a say. It’s her bloody house.”
“Only because you’re too weak to take control of it,” Isabelle snapped.
“No, my dear wife, because it’s hers,” he replied with grin. “It’s always been hers. Inherited from our mother, just as she inherited it from hers. Bilberry House and the entire estate passes down from mother to daughter. It has no connection to my inheritance whatsoever.”
That revelation stunned Isabelle silent. Leander would have taken the time to enjoy the anomaly, but when he glanced back at Desdemona, he realized she was gone.
With his heart rising in his throat, he rushed from the gallery and up the spiral steps to her apartment. Striding from one room to the next, he realized quickly that she wasn’t there. The night moorland winds rattled the windows of her private study, and with a dull ache behind his sternum, he knew where she’d gone.
He descended the steps two at a time and strode out into the night. Despite the wind and the darkness and the fact that he had no idea where he was going, he had to follow her.
He needed to explain to her...
What? That he hadn’t known Isabelle’s plot, when he had? That he should have done more to protect her from his stepsister’s machinations, when he probably should have focused on protecting her from himself?
He was not innocent of the manipulations against her.
He needed to find her—to beg her forgiveness and confess...
Everything. His hopeless love for her. And his utter unworthiness.
As he crossed the dark gardens in long, frantic strides, he heard low keening howls coming from the stables.
Her wolfhounds. They must have caught her scent on the wind and were not too happy with being left behind.
Leander changed direction. If he had any hope of finding Desdemona on the moonlit moors, he’d need some help.
Chapter Twelve
Desdemona stood still on top of the rise.
Looking out over the wild, untamed landscape usually brought her peace. It often restored her spirit when it was low and revived her sense of self when she felt lost.
Tonight, it failed to have its usual effect.
Despite the buffeting winds, she felt heated inside. Her heart thumped swiftly in an attempt to keep pace with her racing breath. Her hands trembled and tears burned in her eyes.
And for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out the source of her distress.
She hadn’t trusted the viscountess from the start, so the woman’s greed and manipulations did not shock Desdemona. They only justified her wary uncertainty of her sister-in-law’s attention.
And she’d already come to terms with her disappointment regarding John. He’d never been particularly attentive, so Desdemona’s expectations for a heartfelt reunion had never been very high.
As for Lord Rutledge and the others...Desdemona had no doubt she’d never see them again once they departed through her front gates. She felt no great loss for it. She was not the type of person to require a wealth of friends with which to while away the hours when she could be doing something productive instead.
It would be nice, however—no, more than nice—to have at least one person who enjoyed talking with her. A person whose presence warmed her and invigorated her. A person who learned of her odd interests and awkward tendencies and still thought her fascinating.
Count Vittori had somehow smoothed his hands
over the basics of what made her who she was. He’d learned the shape of her, the color, the scent...
But there was so much he still didn’t know about her.
So much she didn’t know about him.
And once he left Bilberry Hall, she’d never see him again.
Some force inside her chest squeezed tight around her heart. Desdemona gasped a breath, pushing it hard into her lungs past a sob that came out of nowhere. Emotion overwhelmed her, blocking out all else until she acknowledged its source.
She didn’t want Leander to leave.
Though she had no idea how much he’d known of Lady Lyndon’s plot, he had followed tonight with the intention of saving her. His fury over Rutledge’s actions had been genuine and his desire to protect her had been very real.
But how could she trust that his actions had not been more manipulations?
A gust of wind rushed past her, followed by the sound of a familiar rhythm of movement through the grass. She anticipated the approach of her hounds a moment before she saw them.
Jack and Simon came bounding to her side. Each of them gave a quick sniff in greeting.
“How did you two get out?” she asked. After a few quick circles, the hounds went running back the way they’d come.
Desdemona turned to follow them. And stopped.
Leander walked up the hill toward her—like a dark specter moving gracefully through the moonlight in his black evening wear and stark white cravat.
Her heart thundered and her breath was stolen from her lips as she awaited his arrival.
He hadn’t left. He was still here, coming for her.
When he reached the top of the rise, he paused a full arm’s length away. His gaze—intent and focused on her—reflected the moon and the stars with a silvery light, holding her enthralled as she waited for him to declare his purpose in following her.
And as she stared at him under the glow of the moon, with the wind whipping her skirts and loosening the pins from her hair, she realized that the unsettled feeling inside her had dissipated. Now that he was here, she felt calmed and certain. She felt on the edge of something. Something terrifying and beautiful, but right.
