by Suzi Love
Georgie’s eyes were as round as full moons and she was panting more than breathing. Her hands were wringing each other out harder than his laundress did with the sheets. Despite enduring a despicable marriage, this brave young lady retained an air of purity. On the other hand, her sisters gave him identical furious looks that dared him to question them further.
Carina clasped Georgie’s hands and stilled their compulsive movements. “Seeing that man doesn’t mean anything. He visited the park, like we did.”
Lucy slipped her hand down beside her skirt and laid it alongside Georgie’s knee, probably hoping that she could stop her sister jiggling her leg before Max noticed. “Carina’s correct. That man was nobody. Don’t worry about him.”
Max scowled at the conniving pair and let them see his disapproval. Their blatant coercion to stop Georgie from revealing more, implied that some larger crisis loomed. Carina and Lucy now treated him to identical blank stares, informing him louder than with words that they weren’t going to share their knowledge. Georgie sat in rigid misery after her two keepers halted her repetitive movements.
Yet her jaw sawed, back and forth, until Max couldn’t watch her self-torment any longer. “Perhaps one day soon you’ll confide in me about whatever is bothering you.”
“Oh, yes, I will, Max, yes, I will.” Georgie sighed and to their utter surprise, she kissed Max on the cheek.
He touched the spot for a long moment. “Thank you. I’m honored that you feel safe in my presence.”
Lucy moaned, clasped her hands in a dramatic pose and said, “Oh, my goodness. That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever witnessed.” Carina frowned, as if puzzled that her sister had spontaneously kissed a man. Lucy added, “You’re the only man I’ve seen Georgie kiss of her own accord since our father died.”
The carriage pulled up before Woods House and they went through the ritual of alighting and entering the house. The younger girls climbed the steps to the upper level, but Max held Carina’s arm and delayed her until they were alone. He dismissed the lingering butler with a nod and led her down the hall to her sitting room. Without awaiting permission, he closed the doors and spun to face her.
“Our arrangement shall commence this evening at my cottage, and I’ll not be put off this time.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you but we’re engaged for the evening and I must chaperone my sisters. It’s likely we’ll not be home until the early hours, after the third or fourth ball.”
“Your constant excuses are ridiculous.” Max shook her arm.
She tugged out of his hold and rubbed at the spot, and he was filled with guilt. Surely he hadn’t gripped her tightly enough to hurt? His anger deflated fast than a breath of wind could blow away a child’s soap bubbles.
“Need I remind you that your sisters received these invitations due to my sponsorship? I can easily withdraw my patronage and free up your time.”
Carina gave a tinkle of laughter, the sound false and grating. “Oh, but haven’t you heard? I’m now the bosom confidant of your betrothed. Alice asked me to teach her the best way to deal with a duke who intimidates her. Thwarting me and my plans might force me to warn Alice of your plans for your marriage. Let me see if I have the correct order.”
She held up a finger to indicate the first number.
“One. Purchase a virginal brood mare, following the rules dictated years ago by your bloodline obsessed grandfather. Tell me, have you inspected Alice’s teeth or measured the span of her hips? You’d inspect a new mare that way, wouldn’t you?”
By the glint in her eyes, Carina knew her arrow had struck home. The color of her eyes darkened with her emotions, ranging from ocean green to emerald to deepest jade.
She ticked off the next number, her gloved fingers again waving in front of his face. “Two. Impregnate said mare through a restricted number of intimate encounters, and as fast as possible.” Another finger lifted. “Three. Put her out to pasture in the country until she delivers your heir and the spare. Or do Meacham rules allow only one child in each generation?”
Max screwed his eyes closed, not wanting her to see his agony. She’d no idea how painful the subject of children was, and no knowledge of the things he’d discovered in his grandfather’s papers. Despite Augustus’s rules, he’d clung to the hope that one day he could break tradition and fill his lonely house with children. Robust, happy children, a mix of male and female, who’d grow up free and who’d breathe life back into their dying clan.
“Ah, I see by your reaction that I guessed correctly. Does Alice know that after delivering a son, her days of intimacy with her husband will be finished?”
He cleared his throat. “There are ways to ensure that no more babies are conceived.”
“And, of course, having employed so many bed companions over the years, you’d know all the ways needed to safe-guard the family from diluting the line with more offspring. You’d have always been wary of some lower class and therefore unworthy woman bearing a duke’s child. Bastard or not, that child would earn her a lot of money. What methods do you plan on using with me? Withdrawal?” She shook her head. “Far too precarious for someone who likes to control the odds and eliminate every risk.”
He moved towards the door, but she strode across the room and blocked his retreat, placing her bare hand on his chest. Her fingers were so close to his throat that he’d no choice but to halt and listen.
If he jerked away, he might hurt her again. If she was a cold-blooded killer, he might become her second victim, though he didn’t believe she meant him harm, not physically at least. Though she did enjoy tearing metaphorical strips off his hide. He imagined her nails raking trails down his back and over his bare skin, while he stretched like a cat across a bed mussed from their last vigorous bout of lovemaking.
Now, the warmth of her palm through his clothing disturbed him more than her verbal blistering of his skin. “...Don’t rush off. I’m enjoying this little tête á tête.” She put a finger to her lips and the warmth in his upper regions were matched with a rush of heat to his groin. “Now, where was I?” Her lips pursed and he longed to cover them with his own, to rub against their softness and wallow in their texture and temperature.
When the tip of her tongue touched the end of her finger, every thought fled, except for how he could encourage her to use that tongue on his finger, lips, and body. He suspected that in the hard clutch of sexual desire, Lady Dorchester would prove as valiant an adversary as elsewhere. He’d toss her onto his bed, smother her verbal assaults with his mouth, subdue her with his questing fingers until she was pliant and malleable and begging him to never stop.
In his imagination, she grasp for supremacy by rolling him beneath her and then riding him long and hard, as hard as the stallion needed to cover that virginal brood mare she talked about. Hell! Did Alice consider herself his brood mare, nothing more; or was Carina about to disclose that information to Alice?
All the more reason why Carina needed to join him at Brent Street. If their standoff continued for another fraught week, his desire to have her in his bed would goad him into doing something unimaginable. The unbending Stirkton that the ton knew would look foolish when he went down on bended knee and begged a lady to come to him.
“Ah, yes. I was saying that your skeptical nature would make you mistrustful of a woman’s promises. You’d not trust one of your paid companions to prepare themselves by taking herbal preventatives, and because you trust me even less, I imagine you’ll insist on witnessing first-hand the use of preventatives.”
She paced the room and touched furniture, trailing her fingers across a cluster of exquisite glazed figurines, obvious signs of how wealthy she’d become after the Earl passed. Trust a lady who possibly murdered her husband? Not likely. He’d not put himself into any situation where she chose life or death, for him or for her.
“The obvious choice for you is French letters.”
He dipped his head in acknowledgement and edged away. It was bad enou
gh that the scent of roses drove him mad, but the heated aroma of arousal emanating from her body made his senses spin, and it was Carina’s temper and heightened emotions that had set them both off. Her arousal would saturate the air once he brought her to a fevered pitch of longing, and her scent would fill him while he prolonged her quivering and held off peaking until he too was ready to climax. The best perfume came with the cream that women excreted from their secret cavities during sex, and he loved the smell and sight of her flooded thighs when a woman’s muscles and body clenched during prolonged orgasm.
That aroma when a woman reached her sexual heights was what compelled a man to crawl back between her white thighs, time and time again. Add to that mix the salty tincture of a man’s seed and it was the epitome of—
“Max, did you hear me? Do you intend using French letters for our encounters?”
He gave her an icy glare, first to cool his own ardor, and secondly to dampen the fire in her glowing green gaze. More than one mistress had said his ice-blue stares could freeze the River Thames and he often used them as a weapon.
“Correct again. French letters control the number of Meachams conceived in a generation and create less mess, which is a concession to you and one you should appreciate.”
“And I sincerely thank you for taking steps to reduce the messiness involved in our forthcoming intimacy.”
“Sarcasm is not called for. I’m merely highlighting the benefits to you of having a bed-partner who is experienced and forward thinking.”
“Bloody hell! A bed partner? If this is the only side of you that Alice has experienced, no wonder she thinks you a cold fish.”
“I’ve certainly never discussed such crude matters with Alice because, unlike you, she remains an innocent.”
Her hand went to her hips and he could almost see steam pouring from her ears. “Exactly what I’ve tried to tell you. If you threaten me, or try to interfere in my life as you did by questioning Georgie earlier, I will disclose the subjects of our little chats to Alice. She may be so dismayed that she decries your betrothal, perhaps in front of the entire haute ton. Wouldn’t that cause embarrassment for a self-righteous, priggish Meacham?”
Max drew back from her before he released his temper. He’d never touched a woman with anger and he’d not start now, no matter how much she provoked him. Arranged sexual encounters from his youth had left him with enough mental scars and, from Bill’s discoveries, meeting him may have scarred some of the women. Although, that was debatable, as those women had sold their bodies in some way or another before he’d met them.
“Why do you taunt me? Do you want to see me lose control?”
She shrugged. “You take yourself too seriously, so I endeavor to ruffle your feathers and make you forget your dukishness and act like other men.”
“I’m not a bird and I’m not other men.”
“Or because I’m the only person who dares.”
“Madame, are you never serious?”
At his harsh tone, her eyes clouded and her body stiffened. “On the contrary. I’ve spent the majority of my life weighed down by somber thoughts and considered deeds and, even now, I’m under constant duress. Trying to provide for my sisters and to protect them.”
“Protect them from what?”
But once again, she wouldn’t answer. He wished Carina would soften towards him, even the smallest bit. She hadn’t given an inch in their war and, unlike Georgie, she denied him her trust. The latter was the most painful. Her eyes closed and he imagined what it would feel like if, when she reopened them, her thinking would have changed and she’d beg him to protect her and her family.
After a firm shake of her bouncing locks, she lifted her skirt the requisite half-inch above the floor and glided towards the door without looking at him. He followed her passage with his eyes as she tripped up towards the stairs and left him standing by himself and feeling bereft. The aged butler had earlier disappeared and no other servants were in evidence, yet within seconds the old man appeared around the corner.
“I’m waiting to secure the doors for the afternoon, if you don’t mind. Her ladyship likes everything locked up tight while they take their afternoon rest. Strange thing, I always think, but Lady Dorchester is very particular about keys and bolts and what-have-you. Her ladyship is adamant that I then retire to my quarters for an hour before the rush of the evening, with all their comings and goings.”
Max didn’t know whether to be amused or outraged at the servant’s insolence, but good manners defeated the urge to issue a strong reprimand. His own staff wouldn’t dare address him in this uncouth fashion, nor would they lock the doors so the household could take an afternoon rest. Carina not only tolerated the old man’s over-familiar ways, but encouraged his liberties.
Another glaring difference was that Stirkton House employed dozens of servants, so doorkeepers were always on hand. Carina was a wealthy widow running a large household in elitist Lawnton Place and yet she employed a skeleton staff.
With his long stride, he reached the door long before the older man who dragged his feet behind him. Rather than walking straight out he paused, wanting to make sure the servant was capable of securing the house. These women were too well-grounded to succumb to flights of fancy over a man watching them; something more sinister was unfolding.
“So Lady Dorchester fears intruders?”
“Yes, Your Grace. My lady worries about intruders. Of course, after the last scare with the broken library window, one can appreciate that the ladies are frightened.”
“You had a break-in? When?”
“The last one was a week ago, but that was the third this month. Probably some scoundrel trying to sneak inside the house, thinking to steal the silver.”
“Has anything been stolen?”
“No, not with our two guarding at night and during the afternoon’s rest. The doors are locked, so no-one can enter and be frightened by the Scottish lads.”
He hated the idea of two guards in a house full of women, and he didn’t want to ask himself why thinking of two men watching over her aggravated him so much. Caring so fiercely about people he barely knew wasn’t habitual because he’d grown up more or less alone, so dealing with his instinctive reactions was difficult. Like wearing another man’s coat and having the breath squeezed out of you each time you moved.
“Who are these Scottish lads?” His vain hope that the butler hadn’t noticed his resentment of the mysterious pair was squashed by the man’s low gurgle of laughter.
“Oh, you’ve no need to show that unseemly shade of green, Your Grace. The Scottish lads are no more than two brutish lumps of dogs, Scottish wolf hounds that’ve been with Lady Dorchester for many years. The lads would lay down their lives to protect her ladyship.”
Max heaved a relieved sigh, and ignored the butler when he chortled even harder.
“I’ve never seen a man look more relieved because the two Scottish lads sharing her ladyship’s house are of the four-legged variety, rather than two-legged males.”
Once more, Max was shocked by the butler’s levity, yet he couldn’t deny his relief that it wasn’t two strapping Scottish men living in Carina’s house. Two over-protective dogs was a blessing, not a cause for jealousy. He shook his head. A servant had given the Duke of Stirkton orders, hustled him out a door and then laughed at him. His grandfather turn roll over in his grave.
After a word of thanks to the butler, who deserved dismissal rather than gratitude, Max stepped on to the front porch and paused. The metallic clink and slide of bolts locking into place behind him reassured him and he walked down to the footpath with a new spring in his step. His booted foot had barely touched the ground when a movement to the left of the servant’s lower-level entrance caught his eye. Habitually on alert on London streets for thugs and thieves, Max reached down and slipped a sleek blade from its holster inside his boot.
His footman, standing by his coach, spotted the shadowy figure and gave chase. “Hoi, you there,
what’re you about?”
Max ran after the pair, but they were too late to catch the man, who disappeared down an alleyway that was too dark and too narrow to be safe. The footman bent double, hands to his knees, and tried to catch his breath.
“Did you get a look at his face?”
“No, Your Grace. He ˈad on a big scarf, so I couldn’t get a look at ˈis mug.”
“Damn! I wonder if he knew me and didn’t want to be recognized.”
“By ˈis clothing I’d say ˈe was a gent. Quality trousers under that great coat, fine fabric like yours. And when ˈe ran, ˈis boots looked like them ones you ride a ˈorse with, Your Grace. Hessians.”
Max looked at him in surprise. This man had been in his employ a long time but, even so, he’d not known that his staff noticed his clothing and his boots. He then surprised himself by recalling the footman’s name.
“Thomas, thank you for your efforts. Now, I have a job for you. Follow Lady Dorchester everywhere she goes, and I shall set two more men to watch this house, night and day. Something is going on here, something sinister. And we need to discover who is threatening them before one of the ladies is harmed.”
He sent Thomas to the far side of the street where his footman could watch without being seen. For himself, Max was reluctant to climb into his coach and leave. A feeling of impending doom hung like a black cloud over the house and he, who placed no faith in the mystical or magical, knew fate had destined him to save these ladies, no matter the cost.
He was Stirkton, a soon-to-be-married duke with no time for fanciful nonsense or playing knight in shining armor to damsels in distress. No time for pacing like a besotted suitor outside a house in a bustling thoroughfare, where his emblazoned coach might be seen and gossiped about by the ton.
Turning to face the bolted door of Woods House, he swore, using a nasty low class oath favored at seamen’s inns. The people passing by this exclusive London address stared at him when he snarled and threw his hands up in the air like a madman.
