Skin on skin now, as his hands smoothed over her bare bottom and down her thighs. The driving pulse so near his hands made her squirm. He responded with one sure, devastating touch.
“I think this is why you came here today.” Another touch defeated her and she cried out. “Was it, Leona?”
Too far gone to think or argue, too desperate to care, she nodded.
He caressed more purposefully, until she thought she would weep. She gasped when she felt the pressure that she waited for. Then he was in her, filling her so completely that she trembled around him.
He withdrew slowly, then entered again. “You will cry for me again, darling. You will admit that you want me as much as I want you.”
She cried for him. He made sure that she could not stop herself. He took her slowly, deliberately, so her need would just grow. Finally she lost all control. Her sounds would have rung off the walls if she did not smother them in the cushion.
Her submissive position gave his drive a primitive edge. Her bottom, round and raised and erotic, framed by the froth of her petticoat, rocked a little higher whenever he withdrew.
He watched himself enter her and his senses reeled from the way she surrounded and held him. It was too perfect, almost unendurable.
She climaxed first. Her wetness flowed and she tightened around him and she clawed at the cushion. A throaty cry accompanied her beautiful convulsion.
He grasped her hips and thrust harder, losing himself, relinquishing the restraint he had forced on himself. Darkness absorbed him until he knew only sublime sensation and a tightening force and the shuddering of a woman still frenzied even in her fulfillment.
He felt her peak again while his own climax burst in his head and loins. Her soft deep moans spoke in his head when the cataclysm tore sanity to shreds.
He floated in limbo for an exquisite time before his head cleared. When it mostly had, he opened his eyes. His hands gripped the armrest on either side of her hips while he found himself.
He fixed her garments and his own. When he lifted her she sagged limp in his arms. He settled them both on the sofa.
He did not hurry into conversation. In truth she had not come to him for pleasure, no matter what he had forced her to say. He did not expect to like the reason that she had come.
“You have need of a favor, I believe,” he finally said.
“Do I?” she muttered against his coat. She nodded, as if remembering now. “I need an introduction.”
“To whom?”
“To Lord Denningham.”
“Why do you want to meet him? He is not a trader. He isn't much of anything besides a lord.”
She stretched for her reticule, which had been discarded on the floor. She pulled it open and removed a piece of paper. “This was in The Times after my father died. Lord Denningham paid the writer to compose it.”
The death notice was brief, but alluded to the cause of death in a way that implied opium addiction. Leona would be incensed by that.
“Denningham had nothing to do with this. You are aiming at the wrong man. I know him very well, since we were both boys. If he were in any way complicit in anything even slightly secret, I would know.”
“Mr. Nichols told me Lord Denningham paid him when I spoke with him this afternoon. So whatever you know about Lord Denningham, it is incomplete.”
Hardly. There were no hidden corners at all in Denningham's soul, let alone dark ones. “Mr. Nichols lied to you. If you confronted him about this, he would want to be free of you and your accusations. He could have chosen any name. He could have chosen mine.”
She glanced sharply at him. He realized the notion had entered her mind. She was not completely sure about him yet. That was part of the conundrum waiting to occupy him again, once his present contentment passed.
“I will not know if he lied unless I meet Lord Denningham, will I? Are you going to help me, or must I find another way?”
He imagined the other ways. All of them promised embarrassment to Denningham and notoriety to Leona. “I will speak with him first. I am sure that he will be happy to see you. When he does you will understand immediately what I mean about how impossible this accusation is.”
She leaned close to him. Their noses almost touched. “Will you do it soon? Or will you put it off, so I continue to be within arm's reach of your scandalous designs for me?”
She was within reach now. He smoothed his hand over her breast so she would not think to move away. Her eyes darkened and desire rose in her.
He was reaching for her dress's fastenings when a commotion distracted him. Somewhere, not far away, loud thumps and thuds shook the house.
Leona stiffened. “What is that?”
A woman's voice punctuated the thuds. Furious yells sounded in the hallway. Anxiety and indignation flowed through the walls.
“That,” he said, “is Aunt Hen.”
He doubted the servants would stand against Hen if she made such a scene. Seeing Leona naked again would have to wait.
He went and unlatched the doors, then moved himself to a chair. Mumbles and shouts got louder. The drawing room doors flew open. Henrietta stood there in high dudgeon, with Caroline cowering in her wake.
“I was locked in!”
“That is terrible,” he said. “No doubt a servant accidentally threw the bolt, or a loose nail made it slide.”
“You were supposed to join us in the library,” she accused. “I was told to wait for you there.”
“Which you have not done, I see.”
“Did you expect me to wait for hours? If I had, I would have perished in that locked room if the house caught fire.”
“I was delayed because Miss Montgomery came to call. You remember Miss Montgomery, don't you, Caroline?”
Caroline greeted Leona with a curtsy. Aunt Hen cast a suspicious look and all but sniffed the air. Then abruptly she turned her full attention on Christian.
“Thank heavens you are dressed. We don't have much time. What a disaster if he had come and you were in that robe and we were locked in the library.…” She fretted while she paced into the room and inspected it. She called for a servant and told him to remove the tray with Leona's refreshments.
She eyed Leona again. Her gaze paused on one slightly skewed sleeve.
“If who had come, Aunt Hen? Are we expecting a visit from your very dear friend, M'sieur Lacroix?”
Mention of her lover made her blush. She snapped her attention away from Leona. “Someone else entirely. Caroline's admirer. I told you last night at supper. Do you never hear me?”
Not if he could help it. He vaguely remembered Hen chattering on, exuding anxiety, while he turned the conundrum over in his head.
Leona grabbed her reticule. “I must take my leave. It was a pleasure to see you, Lady Wallingford.”
Christian stepped to the door so Leona would have to pass closely while she left. There was much to say, but with Hen's dramatic intrusion all of that would have to wait now.
“It was good of you to visit. I hope to see you again very soon, Miss Montgomery.”
“Thank you for agreeing to look into that matter for me, Lord Easterbrook.”
She made good her escape. He was not to be so fortunate. Hen turned and nailed him with a glare. “I would think that with Caroline in the house that you would.…would.….”
“Would behave as well as you do, Aunt Hen?” He trusted she did not want a row about their modes of indiscretion regarding their lovers with her daughter standing here.
She recovered admirably. “I think that you would want the best for her future. I hope that you will not do anything odd when he comes.”
“I have a finite amount of oddness. If I waste it on him, I would not have enough left for you. To ensure I do not squander it, I will retire to my chambers now.”
“You cannot do that! You must stay down here where I can be sure you are available. Good heavens, a fine thing it would be if a man came to ask for permission to propose to Caroline an
d you sent down one of those rude notes saying you are not in the mood for callers. Most people at least pretend they are not at home, but you make the insult explicit. Do that today and we will never see him again and her future will be ruined all due to your fault.”
Within her rambling scold he heard only one enlightening word. Propose. He looked at Caroline. She blushed.
“Henrietta, I would like to speak with Caroline before he comes.” Whoever the hell he was.
“I assure you that he is perfectly presentable and well thought of. He may not have a title, but with over nine thousand a year he is an excellent catch.”
“All the same, I require privacy with Caroline. Perhaps you would wait in the library.”
“The library! I should say not. The locks are enchanted.”
“Then outside this door.” He took her arm and escorted her thence.
Her vexation turned to desperation as he pushed her through the doorway. “You must not ruin this, Easterbrook. She is already in her second season. For once, please, just pretend you are like other men and conduct the formalities without any of your eccentric elaborations. If you scare him off I will never—”
He closed the door on her hysteria. He faced his cousin. “Caroline, when he comes, do you want me to give permission?”
“Yes, I think that I do.”
“You think? It is as I feared. You will accept the first proposal just because the world says you must marry, and because you want to get away from.…well, away from current company.”
To his surprise she stretched up and kissed his cheek. “You are much like Hayden. Not nearly as stern as you appear. Do not fear that I will marry only to get away from Mama. I only said I think because I am a little frightened and my heart is jumping every which way. He is very good, and treats me with great care. And he knows about last summer and does not think the worse of me for it.”
She referred to a different he and a different pursuit with less honorable motives, an experience that broke her young heart when her male cousins interfered.
She frowned a little. “Would you prefer if we wait for Hayden? Mama thought to strike while the iron is hot, as she put it. With Hayden occupied with the child and Alexia, we thought you would not mind. But if you dislike the idea, I can tell him to wait.”
He had not been the best cousin. He was an indifferent guardian at best. He was out of his depths in these domestic matters, but he could probably execute the duty better than most men if he chose to.
“Do you love him, Caroline?”
She looked at him as if he were a charming, quaint cottage. “Mama says any woman can love a man with nine thousand a year.”
“I expect most can find a way.” Only love, whatever incited it, was not really enough. “Do you want him as a lover?”
She turned very red. She glanced to the door, as if expecting her mother to sail through it to decry the scandalous question.
“It does matter, you know,” he said. “Indelicate though the question may be, it is one that should be considered by girls when they face this decision. Since I am sure your mother did not bother to ask, I must.”
She lowered her eyes. “I think so, yes.”
He did not need her response. The echo of a stirring spoke in her more clearly than any words.
“I will be in the library. Send him to me. If I conclude that he deserves your love, he will have my permission to propose.”
He opened the door. Aunt Hen almost fell into his arms from where she had bent her ear to the keyhole. He stepped around her, to go and wait for whoever he was.
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
The full moon cast a beautiful light in Leona's bedchamber. She could see well enough to read if she wanted to.
That might be wise. It would be better to occupy her mind with another's words than to lie abed like this, half dreaming and half awake, plagued by images and thoughts that would not allow her to rest.
She looked down her body to the little writing table not far from the foot of her bed. The quill pen stood at attention, casting a large feather shadow on the wall. Near it, prominently visible in the way it reflected that moonlight, lay her last letter for Minerva's Banquet.
She had been remiss in her duty. Easterbrook had distracted her badly, and now she had no great revelations to report. Fate had handed her this opportunity to expose the men who quietly profited from opium smugglers, and she had squandered it. Her lessons about the opium trade would have less impact now. They would be remote and abstract problems.
Composing this final letter had been difficult. When she had completed it, she felt as though she had written “The End” on her visit here. She should complete her family's business, and go home.
Easterbrook did not want that yet. Their love affair was still new and fresh. When his attention had turned to some other woman and he no longer wanted to ravish Leona Montgomery on sight—only then would he be agreeable to her embarking for China. Probably very agreeable.
She opened her eyes and watched the pattern of shadows on the wall. She endured a moment of cruel realism. Her heart hurt from the truth of it.
Would he insult her by giving her jewels, the way he obviously had done with that woman in the park? That necklace must have cost a fortune. One could probably buy a good-sized ship with the money it cost.
A woman knew exactly what could and could not be if she had an affair with a man like Easterbrook. There could be a degree of romantic dissembling. One might lose oneself in the excitement. Ultimately, however, a love affair that would end with a necklace was his intention from the start.
She had been weak with him, especially in his drawing room yesterday. The carnality of the encounter had shocked her once she left that house. However, even in her amazement, an arousal had begun again while she remembered it.
The absence of remorse was another point she pondered tonight. A fallen woman should have at least a little regret, or some anger at her seducer. She could not bring herself to feel either way. She had spent seven years wondering what might have been. Now she knew.
She tried to push images of him out of her head, because they only produced an odd mixture of emotions. Excitement to be certain. A tad of perplexity, because there was still much about him, in him, that she did not comprehend. Sorrow colored all the other reactions, however. Clouds of nostalgia waited on the edges of her heart, ready to drench her.
That pending sorrow would only increase with every encounter. She should explain to him, in a letter if necessary, why it would be unwise for her to allow this affair to continue. If she did that, the rest of her missions might be expedited. He would no longer put off helping her due to his desire to have her nearby for a while.
The feather beckoned. Now would be a good time, while the truth kept girlish flutters at bay. She would write to him and—
Her chamber door opened abruptly. A ghost suddenly appeared. Not a ghost. Isabella. Her long hair flowed and her white nightdress hung in diaphanous pleats.
“You must come,” she whispered with urgency. “He is hurt and someone is here and I do not know what to do.”
“Who is hurt?”
“Mr. Miller. You come now. I do not know what to do!”
Leona jumped out of bed. She grabbed a shawl and hurried after Isabella.
“What do you mean someone is here? Stay with me. Do not go on your own!”
“Hurry. I will show you.” Isabella flew down the stairs.
Leona's bare feet hardly felt the carpet beneath them as she rushed to keep up. Panic beat in her chest and she did not try to be quiet. If someone had intruded, she trusted that knowing the whole house had been roused would urge him to flee.
“Here he is.” Isabella stopped at the doorway of the library.
Leona drew up beside her. A chilled breeze billowed the drapes at one window, allowing enough light to see Mr. Miller's form on the floor. Deeper darkness outlined his head and formed a blotch on the back of his blond hair.
Isabella tended to the lamp, then ran away. As soon as she returned with a basin of water, Leona knelt beside Mr. Miller. She pressed a damp compress to the wound on his head where someone had hit him hard.
She glanced around the chamber again. A drawer of the desk stood open. She got up and ran over and saw that the few pounds she tucked there were gone.
Then she saw the object on the floor.
Its wrapped base stuck out from beneath one of the drapes. She pulled the fabric back and lifted a crudely formed torch about a foot and a half long. The straw was damp along most of its length, but not at its end. Charred edges indicated it had been lit.
The intruder must have used this to see what he was about. She knew a moment of paralyzing relief that it had gone out when he dropped it in his escape, before it set the drapes on fire.
A muffled groan broke into her attention. She dropped the torch on the hearthstone and went to Mr. Miller again. “Do not move, please. You are badly hurt and help is on the way.”
She gently pressed the damp rag to the wound. He nodded subtly and closed his eyes again.
Easterbrook arrived with three footmen. As he strode up the stairs to the library, he ordered his servants to search the house and property.
Leona had never been so relieved to see anyone in her life. He joined her by Mr. Miller's side and examined the wound with amazingly gentle hands.
“Are you awake, Miller? If so I am going to sit you up against this chair here.”
Mr. Miller proved both awake and angry. He allowed his lord to help him to sit, then scowled at the blood pooled five inches from his legs.
“I'd noticed that window could be reached from the small tree in the garden my first night here. I did not expect a thief to attack me if I found he'd taken advantage of it, though.”
Easterbrook turned to Leona with a question in his eyes.
The Sins of Lord Easterbrook Page 16
