Kendal

by Sasha Cottman

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The hour or so he had spent with Mercy placed Kendal in a mood which he couldn’t quite put his finger on. There was an obvious sense of sexual needs finally having been met when it came to her, but there was also something else. He fidgeted in his seat all the way home to Follett House.

  As soon as he set foot in the front door, he headed into the ballroom; his fingers itched to touch the piano.

  He picked up a fresh sheet of music manuscript and placed it on top of the lid, then closed his eyes. Colors and various shades of light danced before him. His brain soon turned those images into sounds, and slowly a melody formed.

  Opening his eyes, Kendal searched for a pencil, hurriedly jotting down musical notes on the piece of paper. He worked feverishly getting his creative thoughts out of his mind and into the real world.

  By the end of an hour, he had three full sheets of music composed. He stood back and studied them.

  “That is incredible. I haven’t written that much in almost a year.”

  Scooping up the papers, he sat at the piano and began to play his new composition. It was good. Better than anything he had created in a long time. The music flowed through him.

  “Whose music is that? It is outstanding.”

  He stopped playing and turned as Owen came to a halt a few feet away. His fellow Noble Lord was smiling.

  Kendal chuckled. “Mine. Can you believe it? I have actually written a piece of music that I am proud of. I am in amazement at this.”

  “So, your muse has returned. What do you think has caused that?” asked Owen.

  Kendal paused at his words. What had been the catalyst for his long-lost musical spirit to finally come back to him? The obvious answer came to mind. Mercy.

  No. Really? Was the effect she had on him that powerful? The evidence which sat before him on the top of the piano indicated it was so—not that he was going to tell Owen anything of the sort.

  He shrugged. “Who can tell how one’s muse is likely to move? All I know is that I am not going to question it. I have waited nearly a whole bloody year to write something that was not complete rubbish, and now I am going to sit at the piano and play until my fingers bleed.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  In his early days of seducing women, Kendal had kept score. It was something all young men of his social class did; it went hand in hand with bragging about the size of one’s cock. He had enough friends whose nicknames were Long John and Footlong to know much of it was merely empty boasting. But he had long ago stopped counting the number of women he had bedded.

  Sex had always been a pleasurable pursuit. The Noble Lords had been formed to win their way back into the beds of the wicked women of London society, and, if the number of come-hither smiles the four friends were now garnering at every performance was any indicator, they were succeeding.

  But from the first time that he and Mercy had kissed, Kendal had found himself uninterested in the offers that were flooding his way or boasting about his sexual exploits. It was still good to be taking some of the attention away from their Italian rivals. Owen, to his credit, had managed to steal one young matron out of the hands of Antonio Calvino, something which all the Noble Lords had taken great pleasure in.

  With his heart spoken for, Kendal now found his affections for Mercy seeping into the other aspects of his life. When he played the piano, it was for her. Even while he sat in the glittering ballrooms and elegant drawing rooms of London, playing for the social elite, he thought of Mercy.

  When he rose in the morning, he made Nigel hurry through the process of getting him dressed and ready. He was eager to head downstairs and be waiting for Mercy when she set foot through the door. If it wasn’t for the awkward questions it would have raised, he’d have waited for her in the rear laneway. Anything to be able to steal an extra early morning kiss or two from her.

  This morning as she walked into the ballroom, he held up a sheet of music and waved it triumphantly in the air. “I wrote something. Come and hear it!”

  Mercy set her bag down. She held out her hand, fingers waggling, and he hurried over, bowing as he presented her with the manuscript.

  Kendal bounced on the balls of his feet, full of excitement. “What do you think?” he pressed.

  She smiled at him. “I think you need to play this, and right this instant.”

  It took Kendal three attempts to get the music sheet on the top of the keyboard. He sucked in a long, slow breath, trying to steady his racing heart. When Mercy sat on the piano stool next to him, she pointed at his hands. They were shaking.

  She turned and gave the closed ballroom door a glance, before leaning in and offering him her mouth. Ignoring the music sheet as it slipped off the piano and onto the floor, Kendal cupped her face in his hands and settled his lips over hers.

  This was the best part of his day. The moment when it was just the two of them. When no one and nothing else mattered. He inhaled deeply, catching the warmth of her scent. Mercy didn’t wear perfume; instead, her skin hinted at olive-oil-infused soap, subtle and thoroughly seductive.

  He began to deepen the kiss, seeking to set her blood on fire. His hand touched her skirt and began to pull on the fabric. Higher and higher, the hem of her gown rose.

  Mercy drew back from the kiss. “We shouldn’t. I don’t have much time here today. My father needs me to go to James Street and work on a piano.”

  Her words struck him like a punch in the guts. Her father had no business sending her to other homes—to places where other unscrupulous male nobles and gentlemen could be lying in wait, ready to lure her into their embrace, to touch her.

  “I don’t like that you visit other homes,” he said.

  She frowned at him. “That’s what I do. I go to people’s houses and tune their pianos. I also play at the tavern most nights. You can’t have a problem with how I earn my living.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, and then it dawned on him. He was jealous—resentful of other people taking any of Mercy’s precious time.

  “Do you play Salieri in those other homes?” It was a ridiculous question, but the thought that other men might get to hear her play what he now considered to be their special piece of music suddenly had a burning rage flaring up inside of him. She could play Mozart for others, but not Salieri.

  Her frown turned to a look of puzzled worry. “Sometimes.”

  Kendal shook his head. “Never. Do you hear me? You never play Salieri for anyone but me. I won’t stand for it.”

  Mercy shuffled along on the seat, creating distance between them. There was a hardness about her that Kendal had only glimpsed once before—when he had accused her of stealing his manuscripts. The outrage in her eyes that morning had given him pause, but it had also stirred his longing and lust for her.

  “Lord Grant, outside of this room, you don’t have the right to tell me where and what music I can play. You pay me to tune this piano—nothing more. Anything beyond our business arrangement is purely at my discretion.”

  “Fuck,” he muttered. He had crossed a line, made claims on her that he was not entitled to, and she had called him out on it.

  It was obvious to him now. While he had managed to convince himself that they were bound together by music and mutual affection, Mercy didn’t see it that way. To her, he was still a man who lived in a different world, and who had absolutely no appreciation for what her life was really like.

  “You are right. I don’t have that claim over you. Forgive me. I wish I did. So instead of me making pompous demands, Mercy, I am asking you to keep Salieri just for us. To have his music as something for you and me to share,” he said.

  Mercy reached out her hand and a relieved Kendal took it. He wasn’t used to fighting with women. He had never had a relationship like this before and every moment they spent together he was forging new ground in his understanding of the fairer sex.

  “Alright, I shall keep Salieri for us. You have a greater appreciation of his
music than other people do anyway. Now are you going to play this new piece for me?” she replied.

  Kendal glanced at the paper lying on the floor, and for a moment he thought to pick it up.

  But the music could wait. He wanted her.

  “Not today. I will work on it again later then you can hear it tomorrow. If your time here this morning is limited, there are other more important things for us to do.” He tugged on her skirt and Mercy nodded. She slid back next to him on the seat, opening her legs as Kendal lifted the hem of her gown.

  “Put your hands on the space above the keyboard,” he said. Mercy did as he asked, gasping as Kendal slipped his thumb inside her wet heat and began to stroke. Her face as he pleasured her was glorious. He kissed her flushed cheek and whispered, “While you are in this room, who do you belong to?”

  His cock went hard as she whispered, “I belong to you, Kendal.”

  He ran the tip of his finger around her sensitive nib, then slipped two fingers deep inside her. Mercy leaned forward and steadied her hands against the piano as Kendal thrust harder and faster. She whimpered and he sensed she was close to her climax.

  “What do you want, Mercy?”

  “I want to come. Kendal, please.”

  “Give me your mouth,” he said.

  Their lips met and he claimed her with a scorching kiss. Her sex pulsed around his fingers as he brought Mercy to her orgasm. He then released her mouth and their foreheads gently touched as Kendal slowly stroked Mercy through the last of her climax. Listening to her soft sighs of contentment as she slowly returned to the mortal plane had his erection pressing hard against the placket of his trousers.

  Pleasuring this woman was a wonderful turn-on, only made even more fabulous when Mercy pulled back, licked her lips, and reached for his buttons. As his cock sprung free and into her hand, she began to stroke the length of him.

  “Now it’s your turn.”

  She bent her head and took him into her mouth.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  They were both playing with fire but if things went wrong, she was the one who would get burned. As she set foot into the ballroom at Follett House several days later, Mercy told herself that she was a fool to continue having sex with Kendal.

  The fact that she had arrived via the servants’ stairs should have been enough to convince her that she and Kendal were from different worlds and they had no future. Every day that their affair continued, they risked being discovered.

  They had to stop.

  That was the sensible side of her, one which was constantly being overruled by her heart. Every day when she finally got to Follett House, she and Kendal would rush into one another’s arms and share passionate, stolen kisses.

  This morning was no different. Within minutes of her arrival, he had her backed into an out-of-the-way corner of the ballroom and their mouths were fused together in a heated embrace. As they kissed, Kendal made fast work of Mercy’s buttons, slipping his hand inside her gown, and kneading her breasts. Her last coherent words before he pulled open the front of her dress and bent to take her nipple into his mouth was to ask, “Is the door locked?”

  He gave a hum of confirmation, then drew back on her nipple, making her moan. Mercy lay her head against the wall and let Kendal have his way.

  Her skirts were lifted and bunched about her waist as he dropped to his knees in front of her. His lips kissed the soft folds of her entrance before he delved deep with his tongue. Two hard strokes with his fingers were soon followed by him tracing the outline of her clit before he lashed at her sex with his mouth once more.

  His musical abilities shone through; he was all steady rhythm and constant tempo, building and creating heat and need within her. He thrust his thumb into her core and slowly began to fuck her with it. Every stroke sent shivers through her body.

  “Kendal, please,” she begged.

  They were in a ballroom in the middle of the day; any moment now, someone could come knocking on the door. One of the household staff may even use a spare key to enter the space, but Mercy was mindless to everything but her aching need to have Kendal inside her.

  He got to his feet, flicked open the placket of his trousers, and after freeing his erection, pushed hard and deep into her body. While Kendal held her up against the wall, Mercy lifted her legs and wrapped them around his waist. She was wide open to him, allowing him to take her fully. And he did.

  Kendal fucked Mercy with all the skill of a master musician. She was caught up in his private concerto of lust—a piece of music which kept building higher and higher until it reached a crescendo where her world shattered around her in a blinding light. Sparkles shone in her mind and it was all she could do just to hold on.

  He thrust into her, long and unforgiving. He pulled out to the point of release, then slammed back into Mercy. She bit down on her bottom lip. She had never been taken this hard before, never been so claimed by a man.

  “You have to pull out, Kendal. You can’t come inside me,” she begged.

  “Just give me a second,” he pleaded. He pumped into her twice more, then with a groan, he withdrew from her body. Mercy fell to her knees and, taking his cock into her mouth, sucked him until he cried out and came.

  The sound of their ragged breaths was the only thing to be heard in the room. The scent of sex hung heavy in the air.

  Kendal lifted Mercy to her feet and brushed a kiss on her lips. “I will never get enough of you. I love you, Mercy,” he whispered.

  She stilled at his words. He loved her. What was she to say to that? Love between them was nothing more than a fantasy—an impossible dream in the face of their respective realities. But she couldn’t muster the words to tell him they could never make a future together so soon after having had him deep inside her, after they had just made love.

  Mercy smoothed her skirts and moved to one side. “I had better take a look at those dampeners again.”

  “Did you hear me? I love you,” he replied.

  I love you. “Kiss me,” she said, coming back to him.

  If their lips were locked together, then she would not be able to say those stupid and dangerous words. Remaining silent was the only way she could deny it.

  By refusing to accept the depth of her love for Kendal, Mercy continued to tell herself that there was a faint glimmer of hope that when this affair was over, she might still have a shred of her heart left intact.

  Their mouths met and he kissed her with such heartbreaking tenderness that she finally had to pull out of his embrace. Tears slid down her cheeks as she turned and walked away. “You might think yourself in love with me, Kendal, but even you know that it will never be enough to overcome all that stands between us.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “If you ask me, both this proposed charity concert and Reid’s singing lessons are an overindulgent waste of time,” said Lord Grant, leaning back in his chair on the terrace at Banfield House. He and Kendal were sharing another of their post-family supper discussions, five nights after his friend had revealed the truth about his singing teacher, Lavinia Jones.

  Kendal sat silent; he wasn’t going to try and argue the toss with his father. The duke was, as expected, not the least impressed with hearing the news that the Noble Lords were going to perform at the Sans Pareil theatre. Nor that Reid was undertaking the challenging task of changing his singing range from a baritone to a tenor.

  “It is for charity—Waterloo war widows and orphans,” ventured Kendal.

  His father fixed him with a hard look, then huffed. “Alright, put me down for some tickets. And I shall speak to my steward about making a sizeable donation. Is that enough effort on my part?”

  Kendal nodded. “Most generous. As always, you are a wonderful and caring man.”

  Lord Grant snorted. “Now I know you are blowing smoke up my arse, lad. Speaking of smoke, what do you think of the tawny-port-tipped cigars?”

  Kendal drew back on his cigar, then held the smoke in his mouth. The
taste of butterscotch, caramel, and toffee touched his taste buds. He blew the smoke out, quietly pleased with himself when it formed a near-perfect ring. “Nice, very sweet. It’s an interesting contrast to the one Callum gave me to smoke the other day.”

  His father picked up his brandy and took a sip. His silence spoke volumes as to his true opinion of Callum’s cannabis cigars. Kendal rarely smoked them, but on the odd occasion when he felt the need to get buzzed, he did indulge.

  “And what about your other piece of work?” asked Lord Grant.

  Kendal stared at his own brandy glass, but left it sitting on the table. The other piece of work, of course, being his selection of a wife. “It’s coming along; slowly, but there is a potential candidate.”

  His father leapt forward in his chair, startling Kendal.

  “Really? That is excellent news—the best thing I have heard all week. When do we get to meet this prospective bride? Your mother and sister should host an at-home as soon as possible for the young lady and her female relatives.”

  Oh, shit. He’s calling my bluff. And when did my own father ever say the words ‘at home’ in a sentence before in his life?

  He scrambled for a sensible response, then recalled something Lady Eliza had said a few days earlier when Reid pressed her on the subject of finding a spouse. He casually replied, “It is early days. And these things need to be allowed to bud naturally.”

  Lord Grant sighed. “So, you haven’t found a suitable chit yet? That’s what you are really telling me.”

  The depth of disappointment in his father’s voice took Kendal by surprise. He really was being seen as the savior of his family. “I have met someone. But things are at a delicate stage between us. You agreed to give me the choice about whom I marry. Please trust me to protect my heart and take the time to make the right decision.”