Third Son's a Charm

by Shana Galen

  But he would not ruin her for marriage. He could give her what she wanted and leave her a virgin.

  Reluctantly, he left her breasts to move lower. He would have liked to strip her bare and kiss her stomach and her hips, but his knowledge of women’s clothing was somewhat limited. The more he removed, the more he would have to help her put on again. And so he knelt on the floor, pulling her round buttocks to the edge of the bed so he could push her legs wider. She didn’t object, but she sat, her breasts tempting him with their pert tips.

  He lowered his head, kissing the inside of her thigh near her knee. He could feel her shiver.

  “Oh, that is nice,” she said. Before the next twenty minutes had passed she would think what he did much more than nice. Meeting her gaze, he trailed his mouth higher, closer to her sex. Her eyes widened with shock and also with pleasure. Her breasts rose and fell as her breath came quick, and he could smell her need now that he was close to her sheath.

  And then it was just a matter of turning his head and teasing the pink of her sex with his lips. “Oh yes,” she whispered, her hands clenching the coverlet. Without him having to ask, she spread her legs wider, and he could see the slick sheen of moisture. He touched his tongue to her center, tasting her. She was sweet and tangy, and he lapped at her eagerly. He didn’t bother with gentleness now. He was not by nature a gentle man, though he could be so when he chose. But now he pushed her legs as wide as he could and lashed at her with his tongue. He traced her intimately, delving inside her to touch the heat of her, then flicking at that hard little pebble.

  She fell back when he did that, catching herself on her elbows and pushing against his mouth. He gripped her hips to hold her where he wanted, then flicked at the nub until she was making those kitten-like sounds again. And then, because he did not want her to come too soon, he pulled back, teasing her lightly again.

  She kept up a steady stream of gibberish, most of which he could not understand but the gist of which was she did not want him to stop. She had her hands on her breasts now, her fingers massaging the distended nipples, and Ewan had to look away or else he would have lost control completely. Instead, he focused on bringing her to the brink of pleasure and then withdrawing, back to the brink and withdrawing again.

  She was cursing him before long, begging him, trembling so violently he had to hold her down.

  She gasped. “Ewan, please.”

  It was his name that did it. He could have continued his sweet torture, but her use of his given name felled him. Quite suddenly, his hands closed on her hips and he yanked her body against his mouth. He sucked and kissed until she shattered against him. Her body bucked and writhed, and he lapped at her until she cried for no more.

  Finally, Ewan released her, catching her boneless form before she could slide to the floor. He deposited her on the bed again and bent to kiss her bare shoulder and the curve of her breast. Her arms came around him then, and she pulled him close, holding him. She stroked his back and his hair and laid her cheek against his chest. Ewan couldn’t remember the last time anyone had treated him with so much tenderness.

  He wanted to wrap his arms around her as well, but they seemed rooted at his side. She pulled back slightly, her green eyes so large and dark they dominated her face. She traced his cheek with one finger, then kissed it and his temple and his eyelid. “You are so beautiful,” she said.

  Women had called him many things—before, during, and after lovemaking—but no one had ever called him beautiful.

  “Women are beautiful,” he said.

  “You are beautiful in a different way—in the cut of your jaw and the width of your brow and the straightness of your nose. And your lips.” She smiled a secretive smile. “I did not know your lips were to be my favorite part of you.”

  “You don’t know all of my parts,” he said.

  She laughed. “See, you make me laugh with your wit.”

  This was not the first time she’d complimented his mind, but it was the first time Ewan realized he had said something clever. She pulled him close again, and in her arms he did not feel like the big brute. He felt cherished and loved and…as though he belonged.

  Gone was the fury of a few nights ago. She didn’t love Francis. She didn’t want him. She wanted Ewan, had given herself to him and him alone.

  “I never want to leave here,” she said. “I love the feel of you against me.”

  He liked holding her in his arms, but he couldn’t forget she was the daughter of a duke, and that duke was his employer. “You must leave here. Did you come alone?”

  “No.” She sat and pushed her long, dark hair out of her face. Her bodice still hung open, and Ewan longed to divest her of all her clothing and lay her naked on his bed.

  “My maid is with me. I left her downstairs.”

  Ewan wiped a hand over his eyes. He would have chastised her for coming alone, but it was almost as bad that she’d brought a witness to her foolishness. Or perhaps he should say their foolishness.

  “I will escort you both home. I must speak with your father.”

  Her hands, which had been busy tying her chemise closed again, stilled. “Speak to my father? You mean to tell him what happened?”

  He nodded.

  “Here? Between us? Your mouth… You cannot tell him that!”

  “I intend to offer for your hand.”

  “Why?” She all but shouted the word before jumping off his bed and straightening her skirts. She couldn’t right the bodice of her gown without his help, but she managed to yank it up over her bosom.

  “If word of this”—he gestured to the room—“gets out, your reputation will be ruined and your family thrown into scandal.” He did up his trousers and looked about for a shirt.

  “It won’t get out.”

  “It might, and I won’t allow your reputation to be tarnished.” A clean shirt hung on a peg near the door, and he pulled it over his head.

  She stared at him as though two heads had come through the neck hole rather than one. “So this is a matter of honor?”

  “Your honor.”

  “My father will not agree, you know that, don’t you?”

  He did. He should have felt relieved knowing that he was in no real danger of being leg-shackled, but the thought seemed to bring him a twinge of pain.

  “He will dismiss you and then marry me to the first man on his list of potential sons-in-law.”

  “He has a list?”

  “I don’t know.” She waved a hand, pacing his room. The room was only about fifteen steps across, and he was already dizzy watching her. “But he certainly won’t allow me to choose.”

  “And you want to marry Francis.”

  She stopped. “No.” She looked at him, and for a moment he thought she might say she wanted to marry him. Instead, she began pacing again. “I don’t know who I want to marry. Perhaps no one, but I think I should be allowed to choose or at least have some say. This is not the fourteenth century. It’s 1816, for God’s sake. I—”

  “Lorraine.”

  She swung around to look at him.

  “This is the last time. Do you understand?”

  “You won’t go to my father?”

  He didn’t have to. He hadn’t ruined her—not completely, at any rate. She was still a virgin. But he did not think he could resist taking her, if she came to him again. Now that he knew the taste of her, knew the way she moaned when she found pleasure, knew how she looked without all of those clothes—or without some of them—he would not be able to stop. He would not want to stop.

  “This is the end. No more kisses. No more meetings alone.”

  “But your father’s estate—”

  “Is not as valuable as your reputation.” He’d been a fool to ever agree to those late nights in the library, but she seemed to have that effect on him. He lost what few wits he possessed w
hen she was nearby.

  “Then I must tell you now or I might not have another opportunity.”

  “Tell me what?” His entire body tensed. God knew what the woman would reveal next.

  “I have solved the earl’s financial problems.”

  Ewan could only stare at her.

  “I know you don’t believe me,” she said quickly, her hands gesturing wildly as they tended to do when she was excited, “but I’ve had time to think, and the mortgage is only for the house, not the land.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t follow.”

  “The mortgage on the land in Yorkshire. It’s only for the house and the furnishings and the rents from the tenants.”

  “And what good is the land without the house and the rents?”

  “Don’t you remember the survey I read?”

  She had read him numerous surveys.

  “Er…”

  “The man wrote there was evidence of lead and iron in the area. If his suppositions prove correct, do you know what that means?”

  Ewan nodded. “It means you’re a bloody genius,” he said, grabbing her and lifting her triumphantly in the air. “It means we’re rich!”

  She laughed. “Yes!” Then she gave him a serious look. “If the minerals are found in the land. You should tell your father to have more surveyors sent immediately.”

  “I will. I…thank you, Lorraine. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it myself.”

  “You would have,” she said. Of course she thought so. She always seemed to have faith in him. Then she looked down. “If I agree to keep my distance from you—not to come back here—then you will not resign your position?”

  It took him a moment to register the change in topics.

  “I will still see you at balls and the like?” She lifted her gaze, her eyes all but pleading. Why should she look at him that way? It was almost as though she cared about him.

  “I won’t resign, provided you promise no more elopements.”

  “I promise. I shall write to Francis and inform him that my affections have changed. Then he will also be free to engage his heart elsewhere.”

  For that’s what she would do. She had to marry, and he would follow her to event after event, watching while she fell in love with another man.

  “That seems the sensible thing to do.”

  “Really?” She blinked as though surprised. “I seem rarely to do the sensible thing.”

  He made a circular gesture with one finger. “I’ll fasten your dress and see you and your maid home. We can tell your father we met by chance as you were returning from…”

  “Bond Street.”

  He growled in frustration as he began to fasten the tiny hooks and eyes. His fingers were far too large for the task and he fumbled. The act took so long, he had time enough to become aware of her scent again and the heat of her body where his fingers grazed the skin of her bare shoulders.

  She must have become aware of him too, for she looked over her shoulder at him, her green eyes large and dark. “Are you certain we can never meet alone again?” she murmured.

  “Very certain.”

  “That is the sensible course of action.”

  He made a sound of assent. Goddamn little hooks. Were they meant to induce frustration or merely make a man mad with his own ineptitude?

  “The problem is I don’t feel very sensible.” She sighed. “I still want to kiss you.”

  His hands stilled on the little hooks.

  “I still want to touch you.”

  Women had said far more erotic phrases to him, but he’d never felt the stab of arousal in his belly the way he did hearing it from her. “No.” He choked the word out.

  She turned and tilted her head up to look at him. “But perhaps we might kiss—just one last time?”

  He abandoned the bloody fastenings and swiped the veil and fichu from the bed, shoving them into her hands. “Put those on. You are returning home. Now.” He stomped to the door. Let her maid worry about doing her back up. He couldn’t play bodyguard and lady’s maid.

  “Fine.” She stuck the veil on her head and sighed. “What about a coat?”

  He’d almost forgotten. He’d all but forgotten footwear as well. The woman addled his brain. He pulled a coat on and shoved his feet into boots, then gestured her out of his chamber.

  Downstairs, he waited patiently by the exit while Lady Lorraine and her maid visited the lady’s retiring room. When the lady emerged, she looked all fastened up again, and the veil was perched neatly on her tidy coiffure.

  Immediately, he wanted to take all the clothing off again. He stuck his hands in his pockets and followed Lady Lorraine and her maid at a distance until they were back in respectable territory. Then he escorted them to the house and upon being told he was not needed until later that night, promptly left for his club to eat and have a drink.

  Several drinks.

  Over the next two days, Ewan held on to his resolve, barely. It helped that Lady Lorraine did not attempt to corner him alone. It did not help that she seemed to wear the most revealing gowns she owned and tended to watch him, rather than her partner, at every ball. Ewan spent hours watching her dance and mentally undressing her. Then he’d dress her again, tell himself he must stop, and start all over again. As though she knew what he was thinking, each time their gazes met—and it seemed to be every few moments—her cheeks would color pink, and he knew exactly what she was thinking because he was thinking the same thing.

  But she upheld her part of the bargain, and there were no more instances of her attempting to see Francis Mostyn alone or to communicate with him. Her mother and father were overjoyed that she had put aside what they called her childish infatuation, and even more men were introduced to her. If the evenings at Society gatherings were long, the nights were endless. He did not sleep well, if at all. His dreams were full of her.

  The days he spent on his father’s business. He hired surveyors to go to Yorkshire and survey the land. He gathered funds to pay them and instructed them to report back to him. He wanted proof of a solution before he brought it to his father.

  Several nights later the duke informed Ewan the family would stay in for a night and he was not needed. Ewan went straight to his club, and waving away Porter’s offer of dinner, ensconced himself in the reading room and demanded a bottle of brandy. He didn’t particularly like brandy, but it put him to sleep and he had no intention of tossing and turning, fantasizing about Lady Lorraine.

  Ewan had drunk only two glasses when Beaumont took the seat opposite him. Several of Draven’s Survivors had stopped in the club, but all of them had taken one look at Ewan and walked the other way. Not Rafe Beaumont.

  Rafe motioned to Porter for a glass and poured a measure of Ewan’s brandy in it.

  “I didn’t say I wanted to share,” Ewan all but growled.

  “I’ve always said your manners are atrocious. But I will not allow you to celebrate alone.”

  Ewan sipped the brandy and stared at him.

  “Aren’t you celebrating? After all, you did it.” Rafe raised his glass in a toast.

  “Did what?”

  “Avenged yourself on your cousin.”

  Ewan stared at the brandy bottle, wondering if he’d drunk more than he thought. “Never touched him.”

  “Yes, but the news is all over Town that Lady Lorraine returns his letters and will not see him when he calls.”

  Ewan hadn’t heard any of this.

  “He’s fighting mad and blames you.”

  Ewan grinned at the thought of his cousin inconvenienced for once. Not that Ewan had much to do with it. He may have sped up the inevitable, but the lady had made her own decision.

  Rafe sipped again. “Of course the man can’t do like every other reasonable man and drink himself under the table, start a fight, and mo
ve on the next morning. He’s told anyone who will listen that he only wanted the lady for her dowry. Painted her father out to be as rich as Croesus.”

  “We all knew that already.”

  “Yes, but all that talk of money is rather vulgar. I would think your father might take him in hand.”

  Ewan rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the tightness there building.

  “At any rate, I hadn’t realized the Duke of Ridlington had that much blunt. No wonder he wanted a bodyguard for her.” Rafe’s brandy was all but gone. “I suppose he will marry her off, and then you will be back at Langley’s, knocking together heads.”

  “I like knocking together heads.”

  “And that’s precisely why I wanted you in my troop,” said a voice from the door of the reading room. Ewan glanced up and Rafe, whose back was to the door, turned. Both men jumped to their feet as Lieutenant Colonel Draven entered.

  “Be at ease,” he said, waving them back down. “I’m no longer your commanding officer, thank God.”

  “Join us for a drink, sir,” Rafe said, pulling out the third chair at the table in invitation. Manners, Rafe mouthed to Ewan.

  “I will.” He eyed Ewan. “That is if Mr. Mostyn doesn’t mind sharing.”

  Ewan realized he had pulled the brandy bottle close to his chest, and now he set it back on the table. “It’s all yours, sir.”

  Draven took a seat and glanced about the room. He was not a particularly tall man, but he had a barrel chest and wild red hair and a commanding voice that Ewan had heard sent more than one prime minister scurrying. Draven was in his late forties, but he was still as fit as any of the men who had served under him. He might have been tasked with giving the orders, but he’d shown on more than one occasion that he was willing to do anything he ordered his men to do.

  He poured three fingers of brandy, then leaned on the table, giving Ewan a measured look. “I’ve been thinking about you, Mostyn.”

  Ewan sat up straighter, although his back was already ramrod straight. Even if he hadn’t had the utmost respect for Draven, no one slouched in the man’s presence.