Reid: A Regency Rockstars Book

by Cottman, Sasha

  “It is possible not to touch alcohol and still survive,” replied Reid.

  The look of horror on Callum’s face told him that his friend thought otherwise.

  “My singing teacher tells me it is bad for the vocal cords, so I am following her . . . his instructions.”

  He was relieved that Callum was still too mortified over his earlier statement to register Reid’s inadvertent slip of the tongue. He could just imagine how well it would go down if he were to reveal that he was operating under instructions from a woman.

  “It’s a disgrace. I tell you, it’s that sister of yours who is having a bad influence on you. She even had the servants go through my wardrobe and remove my private collection of bottles yesterday,” said Callum.

  Eliza had been right in clearing out his room. All that alcohol in the one place was a fire hazard.

  “It is done, and I will not take her to task over it. Now, where the devil is Owen?” replied Reid.

  The fourth member of the group had missed supper the previous evening and been late for rehearsal this morning. Something was brewing in his life, but he was keeping it a secret from them all.

  “Here he is,” said Callum.

  A red-faced Owen appeared through the crowded gathering and made his way over to them.

  “Where have you been?” asked Reid.

  Owen shrugged. “None of your business. Sorry about being late.”

  When he didn’t offer anything further, Reid decided it was best to let it lay. They were all living in one another’s pockets at the moment, and any privacy had to be respected if they were going to make it through to the end of the summer without a huge blowup. Of the four of them, Owen had the most even of tempers. Reid wanted to keep him in reserve for the eventual fight over the piano tuner’s daughter, which he knew was brewing between Callum and Kendal.

  They were like women when it came to be letting a tiff run on. Actually, they were worse. Women at least had the good sense to know when an argument had run its course. Callum and Kendal could keep up a spat for days, long past when they could honestly remember how the disagreement had first arisen.

  At least this evening the Italians had not made an appearance. Kendal’s spies would no doubt be reporting back on their whereabouts before the night was over. Reid was just glad to be spared the indignity of yet another night of having to listen to the musical greatness that was Marco Calvino.

  The party guests took their seats and the Noble Lords made ready for their next performance. Following a piece by Vivaldi—which Kendal, Callum, and Owen played with such sweet perfection that Reid saw several guests wipe tears away—it was his turn to sing.

  The lessons with Lavinia were beginning to bear fruit. Reid’s sense of confidence grew daily. He knew he should have kept to the version of the song which they had rehearsed, but as he began to sing, he decided to take a chance. At the peak of the aria, right at the very end, he lifted the pitch of his voice and sang in the range of a tenor.

  It was only a matter of four words, but the power he felt swelling up within him had his heart racing. He caught the look of surprise on the faces of several members of the audience at the change in key but beamed with pride when they broke into a round of appreciative applause.

  I wish you were here, Lavinia.

  For the rest of their performance, Reid stuck firmly to the rehearsed versions of the songs. The filthy look which Kendal shot his way after the minor change to the end of the first song gave him clear warning that he should not push his luck.

  At the end of the evening, having accepted the gracious farewells from their host, a now familiar routine settled. Callum went in search of a bottle of gin, after which he headed out into the night, only to return back to Windmill Street well after dawn. Owen sought the nearest and prettiest of the available women to whom he was now paying the closest of attention. Kendal bitched about something to do with their performance before also finding himself some willing female who would fawn all over him. Which left Reid.

  Standing with the first glass of whisky he had touched in a number of days; he surveyed the room. There were enough sly glances being sent his way for him to know he could have his pick of at least half a dozen women. When it came to be winning back the women of the ton, it was clear that the Noble Lords were making headway.

  He studied his whisky, content not to return the smiles of the dark-haired beauty who he knew was still staring at him from across the room. Only a matter of weeks ago, he would have quickly put the failsafe Follett Plan into action and been accompanying her out the door to spend the rest of the night in her bed.

  Now he found his priorities had shifted. He still hungered to take the Italians on, but the prize for him personally was much greater. He was determined to show London that Lord Reid Follett had what it took to beat Marco Calvino.

  He was still musing over the success of the evening when Kendal appeared at his shoulder. “Did you ever allow a man under your command to countermand your orders?”

  Reid scowled. What a ridiculous question. No one ever changed an order after it had been given to them. “No. Orders are to be obeyed,”

  Kendal nodded. “I thought so. Because if that is the case, then why the bloody hell did you decide to change the end of the first song? We play as we rehearse.”

  “But I thought . . .”

  Before Reid had a chance to continue, Kendal began to repeatedly stab his finger into Reid’s chest. “You. Do. Not. Make. Changes. Ever. This is music, not anarchy. I cannot play if you are going to indulge in this madness,” he snapped.

  While he had finally stopped poking Reid in the chest, Kendal’s hand remained outstretched—shaking. His breath was ragged, and his long hair had fallen forward, partially hiding his face.

  What Reid had thought of as a moment of spontaneous joy, Kendal had obviously seen as an outright challenge to his musical genius. In his haste to try his luck as a tenor, Reid had crossed an immutable line, releasing Kendal’s manic anger. The musical maven lifted his head, and grabbing a fistful of his hair, held it back from his face. The velvet ribbon was gone, along with his good humor.

  “I’m sorry. I got a little carried away at the end of the song. It was only four words and the audience seemed to like it.”

  Kendal’s eyes flashed with blinding rage. Reid took a step back, realizing he had seriously underestimated the depth of Kendal’s fury.

  “Like? The audience liked you. Hmm.”

  Reid waited, fearing that whatever he said or did, apart from outright killing himself, would not satisfy Kendal. A bead of sweat slowly trickled down his face, but he remained still and let it slide.

  With a shuddering breath, Kendal drew close, his eyes cold. “Never let me hear you use the word like and music in the same sentence ever again.”

  He stepped away and Reid watched as the mask of madness slipped from Kendal’s face. As another party guest greeted Kendal, a stunned Reid saw his friend turn and give them a warm, happy smile.

  “I hope you enjoyed the concert. We do play to bring pleasure,” said Kendal.

  Reid considered his earlier discussion with Callum and decided that perhaps Eliza had been too hasty in removing the gin stash. After the encounter with Kendal, having a steady supply of liquor in his own bedroom might not be such a bad idea after all.

  If this was Kendal’s response to a minor key change, Reid could only imagine what was going to happen when he announced that he was going to sing a full song as a tenor.

  He downed the rest of his whisky and went in search of another one, muttering, “I am dealing with a fucking madman.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  For someone who had been ready to take to the streets and fight Marco for first crack at the women of the ton, Reid now found himself having gone for more than two weeks without seeking out a bed partner.

  As he walked over to Craven Street a few days later en route to his morning singing lesson, he was lost in thought as to how quickly things h
ad changed. His primary motive for setting up the Noble Lords had been in order to get laid, yet here he was, regularly rejecting the overtures of willing women.

  He still burned with sexual need, but only one woman now held his interest in that particular sphere. Still, when it came to Lavinia, Reid was all at sea as to how he could progress matters with her.

  Climbing the creaky wooden steps to Lavinia’s apartment, he pushed the problem to the back of his mind. If he was going to show Kendal and the others that he had what it took to make it as a tenor, he had to nail every single lesson.

  He was startled when the door of her apartment swung open just as he was about to reach for the batted door knocker. Lavinia stood in the doorway.

  “Good morning, Reid.” She greeted him with such a welcoming smile that Reid found himself blinking hard. He half turned, expecting to see an assailant standing behind him wielding a club, so certain was he that he had been struck with something large and blunt.

  He looked back to Lavinia, and a second blow landed.

  Her beautiful face, set with a pair of emerald eyes, and framed by soft chocolate tresses which kissed her cheeks, left him stunned.

  She held his gaze, then shyly turned away. “Sorry, I haven’t had time to put my hair up this morning. Do come in.”

  Reid followed her into the apartment. He should have said good morning to her, but his lips remained open on a slight ‘O.’

  In a near stupor, he took off his hat, coat, and jacket. He missed the hook completely when attempting to hang his jacket, then stood for a moment, staring at the floor before finally stirring and picking it up.

  “Jonathan went with Mrs. Dean early this morning, so we can get started soon,” said Lavinia.

  He mutely nodded.

  She studied him for a minute. A look of concern appeared on her face. “Are you yourself this morning, Reid? You seem a little distracted.”

  Distracted? More like dazed, numb, or whatever word it was that could describe a man who had just been clubbed over the head but was still standing upright and conscious. “Good.” That was about the extent of his vocabulary right at that second.

  “I shall just go and put my hair up. I won’t be a moment.” Her words finally roused his brain from the thick fog of lust which had descended at the sight of her.

  “No. You don’t need to do that. Just leave it.” He put a finger to his lips, grateful that his mouth and brain had decided to reengage and work with one another again.

  She shrugged, then turned to the music stand.

  While Lavinia flicked over the pages of the music book, Reid stared at the curve of her hips and flexed his fingers. It was as if his body had been content to slowly awaken to her over the past few weeks, but as of this morning, it had run out of patience. Lust, hard and searing, hit him in the loins.

  There was nothing he could do to stop it.

  * * *

  Lavinia had sensed something was off with Reid from the moment she opened the door. Now, the evidence of his problem was pointed directly at her.

  Without his jacket, there was no disguising the erection which jutted inside his trousers. She took comfort from the fact that he had the decency to look shamefaced about it. He refused to meet her gaze.

  “Perhaps I should go and fix my hair after all. Give you a minute to prepare yourself for our lesson,” she offered.

  Without waiting for his reply, she headed to her bedroom. After closing the door behind her, she stood staring at it, her chest rising and falling as she drew in several deep breaths.

  “What now?” she whispered.

  This was not how she had thought her morning would begin. Reid had captured her eye from that very first lesson, but until today, she had mostly been able to keep lustful thoughts of him under control during their lessons. Now he was standing in her house with a hard-on that threatened to punch a hole in his trousers.

  She was tempted to go to him. She had wondered many times what he would look like naked. A man such as Reid would not refuse a willing woman. And he clearly desired her.

  “Don’t be a fool, Lavinia. Only heartache can come from this,” she muttered.

  Yet she wanted nothing more than to throw caution to the wind and offer him everything, including her heart.

  The door opened and Reid stood at the entrance to her bedroom.

  She took a step toward him, then halted. Her sense of self-preservation battled with her aching need for him to hold her. She was so lonely, so empty. And she wanted him to fill that emotional well.

  “Reid,” she murmured.

  In an instant, he had crossed the floor and drawn her into his arms. Their gazes met. There was a momentary hesitation on his part, but when she grabbed a hold of the front of his waistcoat and pulled him to her, he growled, “Lavinia.”

  His fingers speared through her hair.

  And then he kissed her.

  A knee-trembling kiss that had her holding on tight to his waistcoat in order to remain upright. Her eyes closed as his tongue swept into her mouth. This was heaven.

  Reid’s touch was nothing like she had imagined it would be; he was a delight. She had thought him a man who would be all hard kisses and staking of claims, but he was surprisingly tender. The softness of his lips . . . it was everything she craved. He made her feel like a woman again.

  He nipped playfully at her bottom lip before deepening the kiss. A frisson of heat raced to her loins.

  Their tongues danced in an almost reverent encounter—touching then retreating and waiting for the other to respond, playfully teasing one another.

  He guided her toward the bed and sat her down. Dropping to his knees he began to lift her skirts. A ray of sanity broke through the cloud of her passion. Placing a hand on his, she pushed him away. “I cannot risk it.”

  She had only ever lain with one other man, and that had been within the sanctity and protection of marriage. Much as she ached to have Reid inside her, she dared not indulge.

  “I know, and I would never put you in such peril. But there are other ways to slake our lust.” His hand traced a tantalizing trail up her inner thigh. When his thumb touched the folds of her sex, he paused. “Let me pleasure you, Lavinia. If at any time you wish me to stop, you only have to say the word.”

  She should have said no. She knew she should have, but aching need spoke louder than reason. Too many lonely nights had left her bereft of the touch that only a man —this man— could give to her.

  When Reid slipped his thumb inside her wet heat and began to stroke, she lay back on the bed and surrendered to him. He rose over her and kissed her once more.

  “This is what you need, isn’t it?” he murmured.

  He had her right where he wanted her. She could only pray he kept his word and didn’t ask her to yield herself fully to him. A mew of disappointment slipped from her lips as Reid removed his fingers from her sex and climbed off the bed. But if she thought he was done with her; she was quickly set straight on that notion.

  He knelt on the floor once more and pulled her to the edge of the bed. With her skirts lifted, she was bare to his gaze.

  “I’ve been wanting to taste you forever.” His head disappeared from sight and her world was rocked as his tongue touched the tip of her clitoris. He delved deep into her, lavishing pleasure on her body with every long stroke. Lavinia’s fingers frantically clutched at Reid, seeking anything to grasp onto and anchor her in the wild storm of their shared passion.

  A strong arm reached out and pushed her onto the bed. “Lie back. You are not going anywhere until I have brought you to climax,” he commanded.

  He teased and tortured her sensitive bud, nipping it with his teeth and sending shocks of pleasure through her body. Oral sex had rarely been on offer with her husband, but here, Reid showed her an almost unquenchable thirst for it. A masterful talent.

  She came hard. Her eyes clenched tight, her fingers gripping the bedclothes in her fisted hands.

  When she finally drifted ba
ck to earth, Reid was sitting on his haunches, a satisfied grin on his face. Doubly conceited blackguard; he knew how good he was at this.

  Lavinia climbed off the bed and crossed to the nearby washstand. She soaked a flannel in the water and handed it to him.

  He washed the traces of her from his face. “I just knew you would taste divine.”

  She met his gaze and gave him a sultry smile. “And I always sensed you would be accomplished with your tongue.”

  Her hand brushed over the top of his trousers; she gave his erection a gentle squeeze. Good. He was still rock-hard.

  “Now let me see what sort of vocal range you have.” She flicked open the top button of his trousers and slipped a hand inside before taking a firm hold of him. Reid shuddered as Lavinia began to stroke. His eyes closed and his Adam’s apple lifted as he swallowed deep. Just touching him was pure heaven.

  It was her turn to take control of the encounter. “Tell me what you need, Reid,” she whispered.

  “I need . . .”

  She chuckled softly. Two could play this game. “You need to come. Is that it? Tell me, Reid. I have to hear you say it.”

  “Please, Lavinia. I need to come.”

  “Well then.” Dropping to her knees, she pulled his trousers down and freed his erection. A sigh of appreciation at the sight of his engorged cock escaped her lips. Was it any wonder many women were connoisseurs of male flesh when there were men as well-endowed as Reid Follett?

  Taking him in hand, she ran her tongue along the length of him, smiling when he groaned. His fingers settled gently on the top of her head as she took him into her mouth, their hold on her hair tightening when she sucked. Slowly, meticulously, she worked his hard flesh with her tongue and lips. His deep growls gave her all the cues she needed to bring him to the edge.

  She slowly brought him toward his climax, stopping every so often to tease him and make him beg for her to continue.

  When he whispered a tortured, “Please, Lavinia”, she knew he was ready.