A Question for Harry

by Angeline Fortin

  Such a weak command wasn’t going to stop him. Aylesbury closed the distance between them until her every breath and heartbeat fluttered against him. Caressing her cheek lightly but insistently, he forced her to meet his gaze. “Look at me, Fiona.”

  Fiona turned her head, tearing her gaze away from the dark emotion in his eyes.

  “Fiona,” he commanded insistently, turning her face back to his. “How can you ignore this? Deny this?”

  Fiona’s chin trembled as she stared up at him with wide eyes. “How could you?” she whispered painfully.

  It wasn’t that night she spoke of but nights long past. Nights she didn’t understand. Nights for which she would listen to no explanation. A time would come when she might, if only he could win her trust once more. Tenderly he brushed his thumb over her lips; he whispered the words that were more of an answer than she might ever know. “I cannot. Not any longer.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  From the diary of Lady Fiona MacKintosh – March 1893

  Something happened this morning…

  No, it is too humiliating to bear repeating.

  Even on paper.

  Fiona didn’t acquiesce but neither did she protest when his lips met hers. It was like ascending to heaven but Harry was no angel. He was the devil, tormenting her senses as his lips played over hers. Brushing. Coaxing. Urging her to play along.

  She tried to resist him, she truly did. But resistance and mental resolve were about as useful then as they had ever been when Harry was so close. Lifting her hands to his shoulders, she lifted herself to her toes and hesitantly kissed him back.

  “Fiona,” he murmured his encouragement against her lips, his hands trailing over her arms and around her waist pulling her closer.

  He kissed her again, crushing her breasts against his hard chest, leaving Fiona no choice but to wrap her arms around his broad shoulders. With a low moan of approval, he parted her lips with his so that his tongue could explore, chafing against hers. Head spinning deliciously, Fiona surrendered her better judgment and met him kiss for kiss. Entangling her fingers in his hair, she clasped him to her and even tilting her head to the side to deepen the kiss.

  Within seconds – so quickly, too quickly – the ever-present spark between them ignited into flame. Her heart was pounding as desire coursed like a lit fuse through her limbs and pooled at her core when he rocked his hips against her. The hard length of him noticeable even through the many layers of her skirts, enflaming her even more. Aching for him, for something she couldn’t identify, Fiona was taken by the need to alternately squeeze her thighs together to stifle the throbbing that was building between them, and part them farther, to feel him against her.

  Surrendering to the latter impulse, she arched against him just as he cupped her bottom and lifted her against him, turning until her back was against the wall. Lifting her leg around his hip, Aylesbury pressed into her. A ragged moan escaped her hoarsely but was answered by a guttural appreciation from Aylesbury.

  “Oh, Harry,” she sighed, defenseless against the wave of hunger that was overwhelming her. She wanted him. Wanted his body flush against hers, between her thighs driving away the desperation he had roused in her.

  She always had.

  And he seemed to know it. Harry slipped a hand between them, cupping his hand over the juncture between her legs and curling his fingers through her skirts. Electricity shot through Fiona, almost painful in its pleasure. “Oh God, Harry!” she gasped, bowing against his hand helplessly. She’d never felt anything like it, never imagined being wound so tightly. Couldn’t conceive what would follow.

  Whatever it was, she had to have it. Her body demanded it. “Please,” she panted against his lips. “Harry, please.”

  Fiona felt him gathering her skirts up one side. Then his palm was hot against her bare thigh, his fingers tangling in the curls at the apex of her thighs and finding the well of her desire with unerring accuracy before dipping into the heated pool. Flinching against the contact, Fiona cried out, pained and tormented.

  “Shh, darling,” he whispered huskily before parting his lips and pressing his hot mouth against her neck.

  But Fiona couldn’t remain silent as his deft fingers circled and teased, winding her tighter than she had ever thought possible. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she hung on for dear life, her every muscle quivering weakly as the fever raged through her veins. His fingers probed then entered her and Fiona cried out. And again as his thumb continued that torturous rotation.

  His talented fingers thrust deeply inside of her, curling, and Fiona erupted with a strangled scream that Harry muffled as his mouth returned to hers. Moaning then humming against his lips as the stars burst then cascaded, Fiona stilled against his hand, gasping as his fingers left her and his palm skimmed across her thigh once more. Flexing his hips, the thick length of his still rampant arousal thrust against the liquid heat of her core and Fiona gasped with him.

  Trembled at hearing the groan of agony that escaped him as he ground against her once more. “Harry?” she questioned tentatively, running her fingers through his hair.

  “I cannot,” he said shakily. “God help me but I want to.”

  “I do too.” Fiona fingers stilled, her rational thought must have done the same to say such a thing. Shaking his head with a husky chuckle, Harry parted her lips with his in a languid kiss but contrary to his words, his hand slid up her thigh once more. With a squeeze on her bottom, his fingers again slipped between her thighs and Fiona jumped at the light caress.

  A light knock sounded at the door and Fiona involuntarily clenched her thighs around his hand. Quickly enough, Harry drew away allowing her skirts to fall in place and he turned to the fireplace just as the door opened.

  “Tea, my lord. My lady,” his butler, Pembrooke, said calmly carrying the tea tray in himself and setting it at a small table near the window.

  The rattle of the china was nothing compared to Fiona’s jangled nerves as she fought the mortification that heated her cheeks. Such perfect timing in his knock, just when silence had fallen, just when her disconcertingly vocal cries of enthusiasm had stopped! There was no saying how long Pembrooke had been out there. What he had heard while he waited.

  Fighting the urge to bury her face at the humiliation, Fiona looked to Harry for help only to find no help at all. Rather than looking the unruffled marquis as she expected him to in the presence of his servants, Harry was watching her hotly through heavily hooded eyes. Hunger clearly stamped on his features.

  Hunger for her. Fiona quaked at the thought.

  “I have a carriage waiting for you as soon as you are finished, my lady,” the butler said respectfully. “At your convenience.”

  “I’m ready now, I think,” she said shakily. “I shouldn’t tarry in case my family has already gone on.”

  Pembrooke nodded and went to the door, holding it for her with a bow.

  Casting a quick look at Harry, Fiona scurried to the door like a hunted fox but with his long strides aiding his pursuit, Aylesbury caught her by the arm. “Fiona … Blast it, you will not marry Carron now, will you?”

  Fiona was shaking her head in denial, then nodding. Her truest desires at war within. “The earl’s nephew, his heir,” she clarified, absently. “But …” She couldn’t say yes, settling instead for, “I am content with my choice.”

  It had become her mantra. Unlike her anger, it hadn’t failed her.

  Aylesbury’s eyes widened before they narrowed. “I think you should reconsider.”

  “Why?” she asked, daring him to say anything of their ardent exchange in front of his butler. “So that I might marry you instead?”

  His blue eyes flared but his reply was not the adamant affirmation she had expected. “Or any other besides him. Whatever façade Ramsay might have presented to you, it is not his true nature, I promise you.”

  “Yet another voice in the choir,” Fiona muttered under her breath. “What is it about him that no one l
ikes?”

  “Other than the fact that he is a cheating, mean-spirited, fortune hunter?”

  Fiona gasped. “Well, of course you would say spiteful, cruel things about him.”

  “I say nothing that isn’t true,” Aylesbury countered. “Ask around. Anyone would say the same thing. It’s a well-known fact that old Ramsay is planning on remarrying for the sole purpose of producing a son to bypass your Lord Ramsay as his heir. He fears having his legacy gambled away with the rest of Ramsay’s small fortune.”

  Could that be true? Fiona shook her head. “You must be mistaken. If that were true, Francis would have certainly said something.”

  “I’m surprised he did not.”

  Chapter Twenty

  From the diary of Lady Fiona MacKintosh – Apr 1893

  I read in one of the Ladies’ Journals that men are often attracted to women who are hard to get. As I’ve exhausted my limited knowledge on the subject and Moira’s books will not bear usefulness until I succeed, I suppose I have no choice but to give it a try.

  “Allow me, my lady,” Hobbes said, holding her frock coat so that Fiona could slip her arms in. While it was cut in the simple, smooth lines she preferred with the wide cuff of the modest leg-o-mutton sleeve ending just above her elbows, the femininity of the pink and yellow rose print and dangling greenery against the ecru silk moire background somehow suited her mood that day.

  The narrowed lapels of the frock coat framed a deep V down to the two jeweled frogs that clasped at the narrowest part of her waist, leaving Fiona’s white silk blouse and tight, corset-style ecru satin vest beneath partially revealed. Below the frog closures the thigh-length frock coat parted again in a mirrored V to show off the front panel of her ecru lace skirt. The skirt was hemmed with a wide lace ruffle with an underskirt of mossy green, brushed cotton peaking from beneath the scalloped hem.

  At her neck Fiona wore a cameo broach that had been her mother’s. From the bottom of it, yellow diamonds and peridot dangled from a series of delicate chains.

  The entire ensemble was uncommonly feminine considering Fiona’s usual tastes, for once displaying outwardly what was normally hidden beneath, but Fiona was feeling uncommonly girlish that day. Nearly giddy, in fact, as she accepted her hat from Hobbes and turned to pin it on. The satin dome was surrounded by pale pink gathered gauze with silk roses to match her frock coat and surrounded by a starched lace brim.

  Her ivory gloves with embroidered trim came next. Fiona pulled the fingers into place with a merry whistle and reached for the matching parasol.

  Through the open door, a lovely breeze beckoned her to enjoy the late spring day. Their waiting line of broughams sat with their tops down in anticipation of the fine weather and her brothers laughing in tandem to the birdsong drifting on the breeze.

  “There you are, my lady,” Hobbes continued, handing it over. “You look as fresh as a summer morning.”

  Fiona beamed at the butler ignoring the blush she knew must be adding a rosy hue to her cheeks. “Thank you, Hobbes. That is so sweet!”

  Hobbes winced and added more gravely. “I hope you enjoy the spectacle.”

  “You don’t approve, Hobbes?” she asked with a grin. “Is it the unsavory crowds or the foreign displays that you find unseemly?” The entire family was going to the opening of the Empire of India Exhibit on the grounds of the Earl’s Court.

  “All of it, my lady.”

  “What doesn’t he approve of?” Ilona asked, joining Fiona in the foyer. Hobbes turned away and snapped his fingers to call up Ilona’s accessories.

  Fiona grinned, sure that she had seen the old man’s ears redden. “I believe that Hobbes considers our outing to be inappropriate.”

  “Really?” Ilona asked with wide-eyed innocence as Hobbes returned with all the accessories to match her light ivory linen and tape lace dress. “It’s a cultural exhibit, you know, Hobbes?”

  “It is a carnival, madam.”

  The two women traded a laugh. “Have you been then, Hobbes, that you know this for certain?” Fiona asked playfully.

  “I know everything, my lady.”

  “Everything?” she teased, but Hobbes only lifted a brow, and in that moment, she would almost have sworn that he did know everything. It was impossible, of course, but Fiona felt her blush recommence anyway. “Don’t feel as if you need to wait on me, Ilona. My new maid forgot to bring down my reticule. I’ll be out in a moment.”

  “I don’t mind at all,” Ilona told her, lowering her voice as Hobbes stepped away to await their other sisters-in-law who had yet to appear. “I’m glad to see you in such a fine mood. I wager I know the reason for it.”

  Fiona’s cheeks burned yet again. “I’ll wager you do not.”

  “Oh, is it not Lord Aylesbury then? There is a fire in your eyes when you look at him,” Ilona pointed out. “The same fire that lacking with Lord Ramsay.”

  “Please, Ilona,” Fiona begged. “How can you think I care for Lord Aylesbury at all when I invited Lord Harrowby to join us today?”

  Admittedly, Fiona had considered Aylesbury first, but their undeniably rapturous encounter had left her feeling more vulnerable than usual. While she liked Lord Temple very much, she had instead asked Harrowby to attend her. Though she didn’t know him well, Fiona gathered that she was less likely to wound the feelings of such a resolved bachelor and rake if her interest wasn’t engaged.

  “Yes, you did. Why is that?”

  “Oh no, please do not say another word!”

  “He looks at you the same way, you know,” Ilona added. “All that wonderful heat and desire. That is how a man should look at a woman. There, I said it and I will speak no more of it.”

  Fiona groaned inwardly. “You’d be the only one. Go to your husband! Colin looks so very lonely without you.”

  Both ladies turned and looked out the door where all the MacKintosh men were talking and laughing with an occasional backslap between them. “He does appear heartbroken, doesn’t he? Poor dear.” Ilona grinned at her husband with open adoration. As if he could feel her gaze, Colin’s eyes drifted to hers and held before he winked roguishly.

  Colin jerked his head, indicating that Ilona should come to him but Ilona only shook her head with a sassy smile and waved him off.

  “For Heaven’s sake, Ilona! Go to him!” Fiona cried. “You know you want to.”

  “I shall always want to,” Ilona agreed with a blissful sigh. “But if I surrendered to that inclination each time it struck me, I would simply have no life outside my own home and nary a friend left in the world besides him.”

  That sounded just divine to Fiona though she refrained from saying so.

  From the corner of her eye, Fiona saw another man join her brothers. “That must be Harrow-” No, that was black hair curling beneath that black derby, not blonde. “What is he doing here? I invited Harrowby to join me.”

  She shot a fierce look at Ilona who merely shrugged with a sunny smile.

  “Let me guess,” Fiona said, scowling at Hobbes. “The post was somehow misplaced? I am going to have to personally telephone my requests from here on out, aren’t I?”

  “Don’t be angry with Hobbes,” Ilona said. “It was my idea. I’m a foolish romantic and just wanted you to be as happy as I am. Especially today.”

  Fiona raised a brow at her sister-in-law. “Why especially today?”

  “Oh Fiona! Shall I tell you a secret?” Ilona looked ready to burst no matter what her reply. “If I do, you must be happy for me! Truly happy!”

  Unable to resist the joy that was radiating from Ilona, Fiona was already smiling. “What is it?”

  “It has happened,” Ilona whispered with barely contained excitement. “Oh, Fiona! I am finally to have a baby of my own!”

  “Really?” Fiona gasped, grasping both of Ilona’s hands excitedly. “Are you certain? Oh, Ilona! Oh, I am so very glad for you!” she cried and embraced Ilona only to have her sister-in-law shush her with a merry grin.

  “No
w you mustn’t tell anyone,” Ilona reminded as they parted. “I haven’t told anyone yet.”

  “Not even Colin? Oh, but you must. He’ll be over the moon.”

  “As am I, but I did want to be sure before I said anything. Don’t worry, I’m certain he suspects. But there! Have I given you something to be happy for, my darling friend?” Ilona asked with a broad smile. “I simply must have your happiness right now.”

  “I am. Oh, I am so very happy for you,” Fiona rushed to assure her, telling herself that the tightening in her chest and the burning behind her eyes was the result only of her overwhelming joy.

  “Blossom! Come along already!” Connor called. “We want to be off!”

  “There’s not a lick of patience among them,” Abby complained, leading the rest of the ladies down the stairs. There was a rush of activity in the foyer as footmen and maids brought in hats, gloves, and parasols for Abby, Eve, Moira, and Kitty.

  Chatting merrily amongst themselves, one and all ignored the impatient calls from the street. Coline came dashing down the stairs calling apologies as she hurriedly gathered her things from Hobbes and herded Fiona and Ilona out the door.

  The men all turned, the married men casting loving smiles on their wives while the younger, unmarried lads nodded and leapt impatiently into the last of the four carriages lined up and waiting at the curb.

  Aylesbury swept off his hat with a bow and wide smile that set Fiona’s heart racing and a blush warming her cheeks. It was almost too much to bear, facing him again after he had wrung such impassioned cries from her.

  No doubt, he would be unforgivably smug, triumphant.

  Glancing back over her shoulder for some assistance from Hobbes, the butler only nodded his approval and closed the door. It was a bloody conspiracy.

  She was extraordinarily exquisite, Aylesbury thought as Fiona inched her way hesitantly to the carriage. Only a smile on her face would have made her any more tempting. From the way she was eyeing him so warily, she hadn’t known that he’d been invited for the day. It was a lowering thought as he had hoped she would have given up her reservations about him after their love play the previous night.