by Diana Quincy
She replaced her foil, seeming unaffected by what had just passed between them. But when she turned around, he glimpsed—through that white shirt of hers—that the tips of her bountiful breasts had hardened.
Following his gaze, she looked down and then shrugged. “I am still a woman after all, and you are a most attractive gentleman.”
Laurie inhaled sharply and his prick roared to attention. But she just smiled and sauntered out of the room with those hips swinging, once again treating him to a spectacular view of her backside.
This time, he did not avert his eyes.
…
“God in heaven, Kat.” Toby stared at her. “Where is your hair?”
Kat fingered the short golden curls framing her face, feeling lighter than she had in years now that Fanny had chopped off the thick mane the others girls in her set had long envied. Which Edward had so admired. Only she thought of him as Rand now. Edward, her Edward, was dead.
“I needed a fresh start,” she said, determined to put Rand out of her mind. “What do you think?”
Toby’s forehead shifted upward. “Has Sin seen it yet?”
“Seen what?” Laurie asked coming around the corner, his eyes widening when he caught sight of Kat. “Oh my.”
For the first time, she experienced second thoughts about her impulsive decision to chop off her hair. “Do you like it?”
“Of course I do.” Laurie wiped away his expression of surprise. “It’s enchanting.”
Relief flowed through her. “I’m relieved you approve.”
“I like everything about you, you know that,” he said.
Bea, Lexie, and Peter Lawson, who’d walked up behind Laurie, came to an abrupt halt.
Bea’s eyes went round. “Your hair!”
“I think it is divine.” Laurie brought Kat’s hand to his lips. Warmth filled her at his gallant defense of her.
Lexie gave her an assessing look. “Only Kat would be so daring to stay in the first stare of fashion.”
“Wait until your mother sees it,” Bea said.
Kat tightened her hold on Laurie’s hand. “As long as Lord Sinclair is pleased, that is all that matters.”
Toby rolled his eyes. “The two of you are aware that love in marriage is just not done.”
Laurie placed Kat’s hand on his arm, keeping his own hand over it. “Then I suppose Kat and I will have to resign ourselves to being unfashionable. Shall we?” They made their way into the parlor for the afternoon tea and games arranged by Aunt Winifred. A cool relentless rain would keep them from outdoor pursuits.
“Steel yourself, darling,” Laurie said as a footman drew open the door for them to enter. She did, but against Rand, not against reactions to her new hairstyle. She hadn’t seen him since the debacle in the solarium two nights ago.
Not that she’d hidden from him. It was Rand who had not appeared at all yesterday. Despite the misery wracking her body and the heavy headache throbbing at her temples, she was determined to continue with the normal activities. She refused to give Rand the satisfaction of knowing how much damage he’d done. He’d almost destroyed her once, but never again. This time, she wouldn’t allow despair to consume her. Edward and the dream of him were long dead. What she’d witnessed in the solarium proved that beyond any doubt.
She’d wasted far too much time pining over Edward Stanhope. Now, she meant to move forward with her life, giving Laurie the full attention he deserved. Few men were as decent as her betrothed. Breaking with him would have been the biggest mistake of her life. Thank goodness she’d learned the truth about Rand before it was too late.
Exclamations of surprise met their appearance in the parlor. With her shoulders back and chin up, Kat played her incomparable role to the hilt, easily accepting compliments about her hair, laughing and smiling, flirting and tossing about witticisms with her set.
All the while, she pretended not to feel the wrenching ache of loss deep in her belly, or to notice the dark eyes following her. Rand had finally reappeared, standing in a corner against the wall with Elena and Peter Fawson. Peter seemed intent on charming the Spanish woman, who gave the appearance of being amused by his efforts. Nursing a drink, Rand appeared to pay little attention to either of them.
Thunder clapped outside, drawing gasps from those closest to the windows. People took turns at the pianoforte, some partnering together, while others in the chamber gathered around to join the singing.
Another thunderclap boomed, so loud it seemed to shake the room. Some of the guests murmured a little nervously. Then Kat noticed Toby, standing by the window, looking even whiter than usual. Something about his posture, his complete stillness, alarmed her.
She approached him and laid a hand on his arm. “Toby?” He ignored her, standing frozen in place, his eyes unseeing. “Toby?”
“I’ll see to him.” Rand’s voice was curt. She looked up into his face, but his gaze remained intent on Toby. “Hobart, it’s Rand.” He placed an arm around Toby and guided him away from the window.
She followed. “What is wrong with him?”
“For God’s sake,” Rand hissed as they made for the door. “Don’t make a scene.”
Kat broke from them and went to the center of the room. Diverting an audience was something she did quite well. “Who’s for charades?” she called gaily to others in the room. “Laurie, dear, won’t you come and partner with me?”
After a lively game that lasted well over an hour, Kat slipped away and headed for her guest chamber. As Bea and Toby’s cousin, she’d been assigned a bed in the family corridor, which was in a separate wing from the other guests. Approaching her chamber, sounds of distress emanated from farther down the hall.
“Don’t touch them,” Toby cried in an agonized voice. “Leave them alone, you vultures!”
Her heart accelerating, she hurried toward the sound, intent on offering her help. The door to Toby’s chamber stood slightly ajar. When she looked inside, she saw Rand kneeling beside Toby, who sat with his hands over his ears, rocking back and forth in a rhythmic motion.
“Hobart, it’s Rand. Look at me.”
Toby shook his head, rocking faster. “Tell them to get away. Get away!”
“I will, Tobias. Rest assured. I will make them go away.” Rand spoke in a gentle tone tinged with weariness, deep grooves lined his forehead.
Another man she didn’t recognize stepped forward. “Here it is, my lord.”
Rand took a cup from the man. “Thank you, Burgess.” From the look of his attire, the man was a valet.
Rand offered the glass up to Toby’s lips. “You must drink this now, Hobart. It will allow you to rest.”
Toby stopped rocking in an abrupt motion. “Is that an order, sir?”
“That is a command, soldier,” Rand said in an uncompromising voice she supposed he used with his troops. Toby allowed Rand to bring the cup to his lips and he drank fully. Rand helped him to his feet and assisted him to his bed. “There now, you rest. You’ll be right as rain in the morning.” Rand pulled the counterpane over Toby, who seemed to be falling asleep.
Feeling as though she’d intruded on something intimate, Kat backed away from the open door, just as Rand stepped out into the corridor.
He came to an abrupt halt, and his stern expression hardened when he saw her. “What are you doing here?”
Kat’s cheeks heated. “I heard my cousin call out. Is he all right?”
Rand’s uncompromising dark eyes bored into her. “He will be fine as long as you forget what you saw here.”
Nodding, she hurried back to her chamber with a tight throat. Once inside, she fell back against the closed door and exhaled. Tears welled in her eyes. Bea had never been specific about how the war had ruined Toby. She swiped a tear from her cheek. After what she’d witnessed today, she now had a pretty good idea.
…
Passing the open library door, Laurie heard a throaty laugh he would recognize anywhere.
“What do you say?” a man’s voice said in an
inviting tone. Peter Fawson. “You won’t be sorry.” He knew he should keep on walking and leave them to their business, but he halted at the door and peered in.
Elena stood by the book stacks with an open volume in her hand. Peter stood next to her, with one hand propped up against the bookshelf over her shoulder. “I am not interested in boys,” she said in a tone that seemed equal parts boredom and amusement.
Peter edged closer to her. “I’m all man, I assure you.”
Elena appeared nonplussed. “Thank you, but no.”
He placed a hand on Elena’s bosom and she closed the book in her hands with a snap. “If you know what is good for you, senor, you will remove your hand now.”
Instead he placed the other hand on her bosom as well. “I want to see how your gorgeous dugs bounce when you ride me.”
Clenching his teeth, Laurie pushed the door open. “Am I interrupting?”
Peter, the lout, didn’t bother to turn around or to remove his hands. “This is a private matter, Sin.”
“I think not, Lawson.” Something heated in Laurie’s gut. “The lady is unwilling. Remove your hands from her person or I will remove them for you.”
Peter turned to face him with an incredulous expression. “You would fight me over this strumpet?”
“Insult her again and I will call you out.”
Elena’s brow shot up in amusement. “He’s a boy.” She waved a dismissive hand in the air. “He should be sent to bed without supper, not called out on a field of honor.”
Laurie’s hard stare didn’t waver from the other man. “Apologize, Lawson, and then make your farewell.”
Lawson flushed. “Very well. My most profound apologies, ma’am.”
“Now leave,” Laurie said.
Lawson flashed him a disbelieving look that slowly twisted into comprehension. “I see how it is. You want her for yourself.”
“Don’t be absurd.”
Peter sauntered to the door and paused. “I wonder what Lady Kat would have to say about that, Sin.”
Once Peter was gone, Elena asked, “Is that true?”
“Is what true?”
“That you want me for yourself.”
Laurie cheek’s burned. “Pay him no mind. He is a rude lout with no manners.”
“At least he is not afraid to go after what he wants.”
Laurie’s chest heated. “The man mauled you. Are you suggesting that you wanted it?”
Her eyes glittered in a way that made his temperature soar. “No, I don’t want that boy.”
“What do you want?” he asked sharply.
“I suspect the same as you, vizconde.” Her somnolent gaze held his. “Only I am not afraid to admit it.”
He walked over to her in quick strides. “What is it that you think I want?”
“They call you Laurie,” she said in that husky voice of hers. “That is a woman’s name, no?”
He shocked himself by shoving her up against the book stack with his body, pressing himself against her. The woman made him crazy. He desired her. He wanted to do unspeakable things with her. To her. Acts he would never even contemplate with Kat. “They also call me Sin.”
She chuckled low and throaty, and shocked him by wedging her hand between their bodies, brushing cunning fingers against his sex. His prick leaped at her touch, hard and full, throbbing with need. She cupped him fully, her ebony eyes intent on his. “Tell me, vizconde, what do you know of sin?”
“You really are a shameless hussy.” He breathed hard, fighting the urge to touch her while praying her fingers would not stop their brazen exploration.
She stroked the length of him. “Perhaps you should teach me a lesson, no?”
He finally forced himself to grab hold of her hand to halt her indecent exploration. “Stop,” he ground out, his breath coming in short, hard spurts, his body raging with lust.
Her dark eyes taunted him. “Tell me, vizconde, will you punish me for my bad behavior?”
Raw lust, hot and uncontrolled, swamped him. He grabbed her hands in one of his and forced them above her head. Fire sparked in her gaze so he jerked her hands higher. She closed her eyes and licked her lips, a shudder going through her. He lost any last bits of gentlemanly restraint. “Perhaps I know just what you want, madam.”
He grabbed her around the waist with his free hand, abruptly turning her toward the shelves, her hands still hiked above her head. He gyrated into her, shocked at how good her softness felt against him. Dropping her hands, he lifted her skirts in a frenzy, baring a smooth caramel bottom. All he could think of now was being inside of her. Still clutching her bottom to his hips he pulled her back away from the book stack to bend her over. She went willingly, planting her hands against the shelves for leverage.
“Sí vizconde, sí,” she cried softly.
He couldn’t see or hear anything beyond the pounding in his ears and groin. He unfastened his breeches and freed himself, driving into her from behind with a single strong stroke. She was wet and moaned her pleasure when he entered her. He pounded into her as hard as he could. She felt damned good, slick and tight, her femininity caressing him as he shoved himself in and out of her, banging her like she was the lowest of whores.
“Is this how you want it?” he gasped, stroking into her with an urgency he had never known before. His hands clutched her bare, rounded bottom, a smooth bronze that rocked as he drove into her. The sight of it drove him even madder.
He slid his fingers around to touch her where she was hot and wet. Beneath him, he heard her crying with pleasure. She shuddered and convulsed, her peak coming hard and fast. He quickened his pace, exploding into her with a release that left him shaken and spent. His body curved over hers while he caught his breath and regained his senses, their labored breathing the only sound in the room. The warmth of her body and her spicy woman’s scent, intermixed with the earthy smell of recent coupling, engulfed him.
Good lord! What had just happened? He forced himself to withdraw from her, and something akin to regret sluiced through him at the loss of her womanly softness and heat.
“Dios mio,” she whispered, standing up to lean against the bookshelves as though she had no strength left.
“I apologize.” He stepped away from her, fastening his breeches. Remorse, shame, and guilt slammed into him all at once. “That should not have happened.”
Her dark eyes fixed on him. “You do not owe me an apology, vizconde. We didn’t do anything I didn’t desire.”
“It won’t happen again.”
“That is a pity.” She shook out her skirts. “We could enjoy each other a great deal, I think.”
He had to get away from her and this abomination he had just allowed to happen. He was betrothed to Kat and had just betrayed her in the worst possible way. But as he hurried down the corridor it wasn’t Kat he thought of. But rather of Elena’s soft, warm bottom moving back against him, of her ready response and slick heat. He’d never experienced anything like it—the passion, the desperation, the unparalleled physical pleasure.
God help him, but he already wanted more.
Chapter Eight
The following morning when Rand went to check on Toby, he found him with his mother and a gentleman of middle years with untamed salt-and-pepper side whiskers, who Mrs. Hobart introduced as Doctor Drummond. Rand didn’t recognize the doctor, yet the name struck him as familiar.
He turned to Toby, who sat on the edge of his bed, still in the rumpled clothing he’d worn to sleep last evening. “How do you fare this morning?”
“Rand.” Toby regarded him with bleary eyes. “Come to join the cavalry?”
“Beg pardon?”
“The doctor here wants to dissect my brain in hopes of locating the faulty valve.”
“Nonsense. Doctor Drummond is my cousin.” Mrs. Hobart’s mouth firmed. “He is showing familial concern for Tobias.”
“And I assure you, I only dissect the dead,” Drummond said with some humor.
Drummond
. The reason the name sounded familiar clicked. “You’re Will’s Doctor Drummond. He attends your dissections to gain a better understanding of the human form.”
The doctor blinked at him. “You are acquainted with the artist?”
“Very much so. He is my brother.”
Drummond regarded him with some confusion. “Yet you are not the Marquess of Camryn.”
“No, the marquess is my elder brother.”
“He is the Earl of Randolph,” Mrs. Hobart interjected, “and was recently awarded a peerage on account of his brilliant service in the war.”
“Indeed, we have all heard of Randolph, the great war hero.” Drummond’s eyes were watchful. “You served with Tobias?”
“He was my commanding officer,” Toby said. “Have a care, Rand, the sawbones will want to start dissecting your brain as well as mine.”
“Tobias!” his mother exclaimed. “You forget your manners. Doctor Drummond is family and can be relied upon to be discreet about your…discomfort.”
Hobart lifted an amused brow in Rand’s direction. “My discomfort.”
“Nostalgia is a common reaction to the traumas of war,” Drummond said. “The purpose of my research is to determine why that is.”
Toby pushed up from the bed. “Well, go experiment on someone else. I need to see to my toilet.”
Satisfied that Toby seemed sufficiently recovered from last evening’s incident, Rand followed Mrs. Hobart and the doctor out of the chamber. Toby’s mother excused herself and Rand accompanied the doctor to the dining room for breakfast.
“Did you see many instances of nostalgia, my lord?” Drummond inquired.
“I’ve seen my men in various degrees of upset.” The muscles across the back of Rand’s shoulders clenched. “I cannot say whether it qualifies as nostalgia.”
“The condition seems to affect some more than others. I’m interested to know why that is.”
Rand stiffened. “If you are suggesting Hobart is a coward, you could not be more wrong. He served with all distinction in the battle arena.”
Drummond put his hand to his chest. “You misunderstand me, my lord. I do not believe lack of courage is the cause of nostalgia.”
