Cavendish Brothers 02 - To Enchant an Icy Earl

by Catherine Gayle

  It sent a thrill of awareness up her spine to know that she’d had the courage to do such a thing. Another one raced along after it as she realized that her boldness had garnered positive results.

  Miranda and Penny would never let her hear the end of it.

  Then Lord Fordingham met Calista’s eyes and he bowed low to her, never removing his gaze from her person. “Miss Bartlett.” His eyes were dark, foreboding almost, though she couldn’t quite make out their color beneath his sandy hair and black beaver hat. His straight nose and square jaw matched his outward demeanor—hard and unyielding.

  Was he so unflappable in every aspect of his life?

  As he straightened, she allowed herself to examine him more closely than she had when he’d been across the room. Then she immediately thought that perhaps she shouldn’t have done so. There was nothing even slightly gentle about this man. His broad chest and immense height bespoke the same power revealed in every level, measured word from his mouth.

  They stood there for a few moments, staring at one another, until a rather flustered Louisa pushed a stray blonde hair over her ear and tucked it away. She looked at Calista as though for guidance, but what sort of guidance could she give? Louisa was the chaperone in this situation, not the other way around.

  A moment later, Louisa mumbled, “My lord, if you would care to take Miss Bartlett for a turn about the room, I suppose that would be acceptable.” She did not seem overly pleased with herself, or with Calista, for this sequence of events.

  Her suggestion seemed to startle them both back to the present. Or at least it startled Calista. Lord Fordingham did not appear to be discomposed in the least. Could anything take him by surprise?

  He held out his arm to her. “Yes. Come with me.”

  Again, it was issued as an order and not a question. Lord Fordingham must be a man very used to being obeyed. That wasn’t altogether surprising, considering he was an earl. But Papa had never been so cold or callous. Nor had Calista’s eldest brother, Simeon, before his unexpected passing. They had both been good men who’d treated everyone fairly and with a great deal of care.

  Devlin, who was now the unforeseen head of the family, had his moments of extreme exasperation, which seemed to be growing in frequency of late…but those were due more to his frustrations with Calista and her sisters.

  He had been the spare, after all—not the heir. None of this should have been placed upon his shoulders, and yet it suddenly all had been.

  Calista brushed those thoughts aside and placed her hand in the crook of Fordingham’s arm. She’d barely wrapped her head around what she was doing before he’d taken off, confidently directing her along beside him with his quiet authority.

  They walked at a leisurely pace, moving amongst the revelers however he saw fit. More than once, Calista thought they were sure to bump straight into a random lady or gentleman, and yet just before they arrived, the obstacles moved out of the way. It was like the parting of the Red Sea, the way the people shifted out of their path, and all Lord Fordingham need do was exist to cause such an occurrence. Every eye in the room remained trained upon the pair of them, and goose flesh traveled along her spine from their curiosity.

  They’d made a quarter-turn of the elaborate drawing room in charged silence when he placed his hand softly yet securely over hers as though locking her into place at his side. How could such a simple touch seem so possessive, so confidently certain? Her pulse kicked through her veins, racing at such a rapid pace she feared she might trip over her own feet from the sensation.

  As they turned the corner, still neither had said a word since leaving Louisa. Calista’s youngest sister Penelope caught her eye as they drew near where she was speaking with a group of young ladies. There was a clear question in Penny’s eyes, but Calista gave a very slight shake of her head. She couldn’t very well explain what she was doing when she didn’t rightfully understand it herself.

  Fordingham led her on, past Penny, past the line of gawkers whose heads swiveled as they moved, past a row of tables and chairs, until they stood next to the wall. They were still in view of anyone in the room, so it could hardly be considered inappropriate for them to be together as such, but the shadows cast by the candlelight left them in near seclusion.

  Then he stopped.

  That was when Calista’s pulse increased to a roar in her head, to a gallop through her veins. He turned to face her, staring down into her eyes with arctic intensity.

  “Now you’ll tell me why you’ve arranged this.”

  Those stunning, blue eyes widened even further than they already had been. Miss Bartlett’s lips parted, and the breath she took lifted her chest before she slowly let it exhale. He breathed in the sweet scent of her orgeat as it wafted over to him.

  None of these signs of her reaction to him were surprising. He’d always had a certain effect upon people, as though he were terribly intimidating, or perhaps even frightening to some, like Lady Marston. He didn’t intend to scare people generally, and yet it had never bothered him that he did. Never before now, at least. Fordingham was not so certain he wished for Miss Bartlett to be afraid of him.

  But what did take him by surprise were the words that rushed forth from her mouth, despite her obvious discomfiture at his behavior.

  “I would like for you to court me, my lord.”

  Court her? Fordingham was certain he must have misheard her.

  No proper young lady, and certainly not a young lady who appeared to be a vision from a dream, an angel who’d somehow fallen into his path after being whisked straight from the depths of the Greek Sea, wanted him to court her. Young ladies such as that wanted nothing to do with him and often ran back to their mamas if he so much as stepped foot within their general vicinity.

  They did not seek him out and beg him to seek an introduction.

  They most certainly did not request that he court them—not under any circumstances he could imagine.

  When he was still staring at the delightful blush coloring her cheeks after several moments without responding in any way, she averted her eyes from him. “You must think me fast. I apologize.”

  “No,” Fordingham rushed to say. Before he knew what had come over him, he was reaching out his hand and tilting her chin upward so that he could yet again see her eyes. He could happily get lost in them…a rather disconcerting thought. There were quite few things in this world that he would do happily.

  She did meet his eyes again, staring up at him so he felt as though she’d revealed her every thought to him by doing so. She meant what she’d said. He believed it with an utter certainty due to the sincerity in her gaze.

  He wanted to tell her there was no reason she should apologize. He ought to say that he could never think of her as fast or loose, or anything other than absolutely perfect. A small voice in the back of his mind wished to reveal that he’d never been so completely flummoxed by another living soul as he was by her at this precise moment in time.

  There were a thousand things he could and should say, and yet the words which came out of his mouth were far from anything he should ever have said to any young lady, least of all the one who’d caused him to rethink everything he’d ever known about the world, all in mere moments of their meeting. “You will join me for supper tomorrow at Fordingham House.”

  An outraged gasp sounded directly behind him. “She most certainly will not! You will not tell my sister what she is to do, and you absolutely will not take her to your home, you rotten scoundrel.”

  Fordingham dropped his hand, quickly securing it to the other behind his back as he spun around to face the accusatory voice—a voice which belonged to a dark-haired, smaller version of Miss Bartlett. This smaller Miss Bartlett held both hands planted firmly upon her hips and bore a scowl fit to shame the devil himself.

  He’d lost his mind. That was the only excuse for what he’d done.

  The Earl of Fordingham did not defile innocents. He did not ruin young ladies’ reputations. Never
would he, as a confirmed bachelor, ask an unmarried lady to his home, let alone demand her presence there.

  But he also most certainly did not cower before chits who tried to tell him what he could and could not do.

  Granted, he and Miss Bartlett did not currently present the picture of innocence they ought to, with his hand having been on her chin as though in a caress. No, not as though. It had been a caress. Fordingham couldn’t remember ever having caressed anyone or anything before in his life. And he wanted to do it again. Wanted it desperately, as a matter of fact. He wanted it more than he knew how to manage.

  “Calista, what on earth do you think you’re doing?” the younger beauty hissed, interrupting him from his disturbing line of thought. She kept her eyes trained upon her sister, never touching his person with her scandalized gaze.

  His Miss Bartlett—and when had he begun to think of her in such a way?—appeared devastated, with her eyes dropping to stare at the floor as though in defeat. “Miranda, not now,” she uttered.

  “Not now?” the sister repeated. “Do you even realize who you’re with?”

  Though the sisters had kept their voices low, the threesome was beginning to attract a crowd of onlookers in the darkened corner Fordingham had chosen for their private discussion. Of course, said discussion was only meant to be for two, not for three. It was inevitable that they’d attract unwanted attention.

  To his recollection, this was the first time in his life a girl hardly out of the schoolroom had imposed herself into his conversation without his express permission or invitation.

  He couldn’t allow this to continue. It might set a precedent.

  “Miss Bartlett knows very well who she is with,” he interrupted drolly. “One might wonder, however, if you recognize who I am, or that you’ve now insulted a peer of the realm. A good evening to you, miss.”

  She huffed indignantly, but Fordingham ignored her. He took the elder Miss Bartlett by the elbow and guided her along, leaving the younger behind without a backward glance.

  “I know perfectly well who you are, my lord, and I promise you’ve not heard the last from me,” she said to their retreating backs. When Fordingham neither slowed nor allowed Miss Bartlett to pause, she called out, “Calista, please think about what you’re doing.”

  Think.

  He couldn’t allow Miss Bartlett to do that. If she took the time to think, if she realized what she was doing, surely she would turn away and never look back, just as everyone else he’d ever cared about had done throughout his entire life.

  So rather than allow her time to recognize the folly of her actions, Fordingham kept Miss Bartlett walking until they’d left the main drawing room where all of the guests were congregating. He pressed on, even rushing his pace until she was struggling for steady breaths as her shorter legs raced to match his stride.

  One of Godfrey’s footmen tried to speak to him when he made for a doorway leading to God only knew where, but Fordingham leveled him with a stare and the servant opened the door without so much as a squeak of protest.

  It led to a dimly lit corridor with sconces lining the walls between gilt-framed portraits of the long-dead previous Lords and Ladies Godfrey. He did not hear the click of the door closing behind him, so Fordingham pressed on until they reached the other end of the long hallway, the opposite end of the house…until they reached privacy.

  When he finally came to a stop, he well and truly turned the final corner into madness. He pulled Miss Bartlett around to face him, cupped her face between both his hands, and kissed her like his life depended upon it.

  For as quickly as his life had upended itself, that might not be such a drastic stretch of the truth.

  Despite his rather lackluster objections to the contrary, there wasn’t a doubt in Calista’s mind that Lord Fordingham thought her fast. And at the moment, she might agree with him.

  His hands held her head captive as thoroughly as his fevered kisses captured her heart. He had seemed so controlled, so subdued even when he ought to have been angered by Miranda. Calista had had no idea that his restraint concealed such unbridled passion.

  With his tongue, he traced the seam of her lips. Then he pressed inside her mouth and tilted her head to the side for less-restricted access, kissing her in a way she’d never been kissed before. Indeed, she’d never even imagined Lord Ellis kissing her in such a way. Fordingham’s tongue stroked hers and his solid body pressed against hers, each hard plane angling into her softer curves. His heat raced through her body and settled at her fluttering stomach. He let out a growl, feral and animalistic, as again and again he drank from her, stroked his tongue against hers, filled her with his sandalwood scent and rich, port taste and wild, maddened energy.

  A shuddering need to draw closer to him assaulted her, and she moved in, grasping each of his wrists in her hands so that she would not fall over from the waves of unfamiliar sensation coursing through her body.

  She finally took a breath when he separated from her momentarily. Her breath turned to a gasp of shock when he settled his lips over the throbbing pulse in her neck, nibbling ever so lightly against her flesh. He dropped the grip which had imprisoned her head, moving his hands down to wrap around her back, drawing her ever closer to the inferno that was the hard muscle of his body.

  Tongue and teeth and lips slithered over her neck, then up higher to suckle and nibble on the lobe of her ear. She felt like she was floating from the assault on her senses, like she’d lost the tiny sliver of reality she’d been grasping and would never find it again, so she wrapped her arms behind his neck and held on for dear life.

  When his tongue flicked out and slid against the flesh just behind her ear, her world felt as though it had shattered, splintered, broken into thousands of tiny pieces that, when put back together again, would form something new and exciting and different.

  Calista let out a moan, low and ragged. He pressed against her, driving her back against the wall while he continued to ravish her with his mouth. An ache settled in her most private areas, something she couldn’t explain. She didn’t want to explain it. She just wanted to relieve it. Pushing up on her tiptoes, Calista slid the length of her body against him, reveling in the raw power that dripped from his every pore.

  Then Lord Fordingham abruptly pulled away from her, holding her out at arm’s length while she tried to settle her mind on what was happening. She was gasping for breath, trembling and tingling and filled with an unknown heat—and he was calm and cool again, as distant and unfathomable as he’d seemed earlier from across the room.

  Pressing her eyes closed, she willed her head to stop spinning long enough that she could sort out what had just happened.

  She was a wanton. There could be no other explanation for what she’d just allowed. Yet, for some reason, she didn’t regret it in the least.

  What would Miranda say if she could see her now?

  “Can you stand on your own?” he asked dryly.

  Somehow, she doubted those would be the first words from Miranda’s mouth upon witnessing such a thing.

  His tone was aloof. Inaccessible. One would never know he’d just been involved in an illicit, passionate embrace. What an odd question for him to ask. Since her trembles had yet to subside and she didn’t yet trust her voice, Calista merely nodded.

  He dropped his hands and took two steps away from her, as though placing distance between them couldn’t happen quickly enough. Only then did she understand why he would have asked her if she could stand. The floor seemed to spin before coming back into focus, and she reached out a hand to steady herself along the wall.

  “Straighten yourself,” he commanded brusquely. Before the words had even fully left his lips, he was smoothing his hands over his coat, his cravat, making certain no one would ever be able to tell what he’d been doing.

  What they’d been doing.

  Calista looked down at her gown. It was a bit mussed, but nothing too disastrous. She tugged at her bodice and skirts, pulling
the fabric back into its appropriate position. When she thought she was settled properly, she looked up to find Lord Fordingham scowling at her.

  “Your hair,” he said quietly with an unfeeling shake of his head.

  Oh. Yes. He’d had his hands fisted in her hair, holding her captive while he did as he would. Surely he’d ruined the arrangement Nettie had spent so much time in perfecting.

  With hasty movements, Calista resituated her hair as well as she could without the aid of a mirror or a maid. When she finished, he gave her a cursory glance and a curt nod.

  Before she knew what was happening, Lord Fordingham had taken her hand, tucked it firmly in the crook of his arm again, and was leading her back into the drawing room filled with people…including her family.

  She ought to stop him. She ought to beg him not to tell Louisa or Miranda or Penelope, and especially not Devlin, anything that had happened. She ought to apologize for behaving in such a manner and promise it would never happen again.

  But she did none of those things.

  Calista walked alongside Lord Fordingham, ignoring the whispers and gawking glances of those they passed by, all the way until he stopped before her brother and sister-in-law.

  “Marston,” he said impassively and with no preamble. “You should be aware that I am courting Miss Bartlett. She will be attending supper at Fordingham House tomorrow. My brother and his wife will be present to chaperone.”

  Devlin’s jaw twitched, yet there was a decided glint of satisfaction in his eye. Louisa, however, looked horrified, with a hint of panic in the pinched, whitened set of her lips.

  The realization that Fordingham was yet again doing as she’d asked of him had not fully settled on Calista’s mind when he made his next pronouncement.

  “I’ll be asking for her hand within the week. Draw up the marriage contract.”