by Lavinia Kent
She blushed. She could feel the heat rise up her chest and knew her cheeks must be redder than ever. The realization only made her blush harder. She could perform fellatio at the opera with little embarrassment, but let James give her that look and she turned redder than a beet.
“Here, let me help you.” His large hands reached into her dress and gave her corset a good pull, almost lifting her off the ground. Then he started to tuck—well, tuck and stroke—her breasts as he resettled them into her gown, his thumbs giving her nipples a last fondle.
When her cheeks heated this time, it was not from embarrassment. She looked down at herself as his long fingers finally pulled away from her heated flesh. “That is better, but I fear the lace will never be quite the same. My modiste would be mortified if she saw what I’ve done to her wonderful creation.”
“I am afraid your hair is a little lopsided also. I’d try to fix it but I fear I’d only make it worse.”
“Well, I suppose it can’t be helped. I’ll try to make it to the retiring room without being seen and then perhaps I can find a maid to help right it. I can make up some story for what happened to it.”
She sat back on her knees and wondered what her skirts would be like when she stood. The floors were well swept, but the silk had definitely not been made for kneeling.
At least that was what she tried to think about. In truth, her whole mind was filled with the James and the conversation she knew they must have. Things had changed and there was no way to pretend they had not.
She didn’t quite know what that meant, but talking with him was the only way to find out. There could be only honesty between them.
“I’d best be going. I know this aria and there is not much left.” She kissed his kneecap, wishing she could reach his mouth, and he reached out one finger and stroked her lips. She kissed it, too.
She eased back slowly until she was once again against the wall and then slowly rose, keeping herself well hidden by the curtain. It was time to make her escape. Should she return or wait for him in her carriage? It was hard to decide which was more intriguing, sitting beside him, knowing what had just happened or the fast thrill of being alone in the carriage.
Before she could decide, before she could even move, there was a sudden swish, and the curtains thrust open. “Well, my dear cousin, I am glad to have caught you before you left. I do hope I am not interrupting your enjoyment.”
Linnette wanted to sink through the floor as Mr. Swatts strode into the box. How had he known? She settled for stepping back into the curtain, drawing it about her, not caring what the rest of the audience might think of the sudden billow of the fabric.
“No, not at all I was getting ready to leave myself.” James stood as if to draw attention from her—and it seemed remarkably effective. Mr. Swatts did not even glance in her direction, his gaze only for James.
“I shall only delay you for a moment. I had planned to call on you at the hotel this afternoon, but I was informed that you had left.”
“Yes, I am moving into my house in Mayfair.”
He was? James had failed to mention that little tidbit to her, although admittedly she had not given him much time for discussion.
Mr. Swatts stepped further into the box, his attention still fully on James. “I should perhaps call on you there tomorrow, but I find the matter rather urgent. I am in need of twenty thousand pounds.”
“And?” James’s tone was remarkably even.
“And I think you should give it to me.” Mr. Swatts took another step, swinging his walking stick.
James took a step forward, ascending the single step leading to the back of the box, bringing his height well over that of his cousin. “And why should I do that?”
“It would just be easier for all of us. I would hate to raise any challenge for the title. It would take years and might benefit neither of us.”
Jaime stopped. “On what basis would you do that? I believe a thorough search was made before I was granted the title, before the trustees approved me. There is no question that it would go to you.”
“That is only if you are who you claim.”
“What?” James looked completely baffled and Linnette could only mirror the feeling.
“I’ve come across some men who were with you—or should I say with James Sharpeton—in Canada. They claim Mr. Sharpeton died of a bayonet thrust to his thigh in a battle near Niagara Falls. It seems unlikely, therefore, that you are Mr. Sharpeton.”
Linnette thought of the long scar that marked James’s upper thigh and hip. He’d never talked about it. Had it truly almost killed him? It was true there had been rumors of his death. She shuddered at the thought.
“I can assure you I am not dead,” was James’s only answer.
“And therefore, you cannot be Mr. Sharpeton. Do you think I have not noted that nobody in Town remembers you?”
“And why should they? I was so far removed from all this that I’d hardly been to London. I was a vicar’s stepson, not some lordling. There is no reason that anybody would have noticed me before I inherited the title.”
“My point exactly. It makes it very easy for you to pretend.”
“And the duchess? She knew me in the past.”
“And has every reason to pretend to know you now. In fact, I believe she was behind the scheme. The whole world knows that she has enjoyed handling the estate. Why should she not pretend her lover was the lost duke? And after that recent cartoon, the whole of society will believe you are lovers—everyone knows that she is not picky about who she takes to her bed.”
What nerve! She’d been very picky, indeed. Swatts was just upset that she had refused him—and the rest of it was nonsense. She almost stepped forward to tell him so herself, when she saw James’s hand form into a hard fist, every muscle of his arm tensed.
She waited.
And watched as he slowly relaxed the hand. When he spoke, it was with slow precision. “And she just happened to send me to Canada to be found?”
“I believe you were found in Boston. And perhaps you were there for your own reasons.”
“And my stepfather and sister? Do you think they do not remember me?” James stayed in place, but Linnette could see his thighs tense with anger.
“And why have you not visited them? It does seem strange that you return after eight years abroad and there is no contact.”
“I intend to visit as soon as matters of the estate are cleared up. And my stepfather is old and does not like to travel and so he has not come to London—but I assure you he will, if needed.”
“And what will that prove? Doveshire holds the living at the vicarage and I believe it has just been granted to your sister’s husband. I think they have plenty of reason not to want things changed. And I can assure you I would change things if I were granted the title—for both them and the dear dowager duchess. I think it really is best for us all if you just give me the money.”
Linnette waited for James to say something, to threaten Mr. Swatts, to punch him, to scream—she didn’t know what she expected, but something. Instead he stood as if frozen, holding himself back, only the clenching and unclenching of his fist betraying emotion.
Mr. Swatts seemed equally confused by the lack of reply. “So will you give me the money?”
James’s chest swelled as he pulled in a deep breath. “Why do you need it?”
“What does that matter? Either you pay or I’ll ruin both you and that tramp who thinks she is better than us all. I’ll put her and then you in your places.”
That was too much. She watched James coil like a spring, violence ready to be unleashed. He started to step forward, both hands now ready at his sides, but before he could reply another voice, a very feminine voice, burst into the discussion.
“This is all balderdash.” Annabelle stepped forward. “Of course, he is who he says he is. Half his regiment was there to see him off. And they were distinctly calling him by name. My husband, the Marquess of Tattingstong, was there
as well and can swear to it. Do you really think he thought to bribe a full company in Boston as part of his disguise? And as for the dowager duchess, if you ever speak ill of my friend again I’ll see you driven from Town. You, sir,” Annabelle turned to Mr. Swatts, “are a fool. And, I believe, a cheat.”
Mr. Swatts turned as red as Linnette’s dress. He thumped his stick up and down twice, his face flushed. A few words that no lady should know spewed from his lips. He stepped toward Annabelle, stick raised—and then he took another look at James, saw the gleam in his eyes, saw James begin to raise a fist, and stepped back, hurriedly. “I’ll speak to you later. This is not over,” he said to James, then turned and strode from the box.
“Well, that was easier than I expected,” James said as he leaned against the wall, his body relaxing, but a vein in his neck still pulsing. “Although somehow I doubt we have seen the last of him—and I actually hope that there is another encounter, one not at the opera. Perhaps a dark alley.”
Annabelle ignored his final comment. “It is all rather silly. Of course, you are the duke. I don’t know why people are always looking for elaborate plots. I always find life rather straightforward.” Annabelle smiled slightly and turned to stare over at Linnette, still hiding in the curtains. “And I believe your pearls are under that seat—not lost in the drapery.” She pointed to the chair that James had been sitting in. “They are what you are looking for, are they not?”
Linnette could only blush—again. She’d turned more shades of red this night than in all of her twenty-six years. She stepped forward, hoping not too many saw her magical appearance, and then walked back toward the pearls, which truly were lying beneath the chair. “Yes, of course, that’s what I was looking for—what I came back for.”
“I thought it must be.” Annabelle’s smile told a very different story than her words. “I thought I’d seen you leave, but your coach is still waiting—and I could not find you in the retiring room. I was going to talk to you about our discussion yesterday, and your earlier adventures at the park, but this does not seem like the time. Perhaps you can call on me tomorrow.” She nodded to James and swept from the box.
“Well, my head is in a muddle. I am not sure whether I am coming or going. How can so much happen in so few hours?” Linnette asked as she checked the fastener on her pearls and then slipped them into her reticule. Her skirts really were hopeless, a complete wrinkled mess—and she was not even going to think about her hair.
James reached out to take her arm. “And what did happen in the park today? Somehow that bit of news became lost in everything else.”
“That is what you want to talk about? All this happens and you want to talk about the park?”
No, he didn’t want to talk about the park, but in truth, his mind was also a muddle and he didn’t know what he was thinking beyond that he wanted to grab Linnette, get her alone in a carriage, and then figure it all out.
“You have ignited my curiosity. So, yes, tell me about the park.”
She was still for a moment and then smiled that mischievous smile that drew him in every time. “I jumped in the lake—but that’s not the story you’ll hear from anybody else. And that’s all I am saying here. I think we’d best escape or we’ll be caught in the crowd at the end. If Annabelle saw my carriage, then it must be near the front.”
“You what? The lake?”
“You heard me. Now come.” She spun, her skirts flaring, and strode through the curtain. This time she did not return.
He followed, resisting the urge to whistle. It was an evening of highs and lows, but he had every expectation that it was going to end on a high—and the highs had been extremely high. He was still in awe at what Linnette had done—at the opera!
How did she move so fast? She was down the stairs and around the corner and he was still trailing in her wake. He had the sudden realization he’d be trailing in her wake for the rest of his days.
He hurried down the stairs after her. Rounding the corner he caught sight of her swaying hips and decided following her might not be so bad—the view was certainly fine.
Her carriage pulled up just as he exited the hall. How did she manage that? He’d taken a hack to avoid the tangle of coaches and everyone else seemed to wait for hours and she merely had to smile and her horses swept up. He would have asked her secret, but he had a feeling she’d just smile and shrug. She never had realized just how special she was.
Waving the groom away, he helped her into the carriage and followed after.
“We’re alone.” She said the words before the door was even closed.
“It’s a sad state of affairs when the first thing that makes me think is that we can talk,” he answered, his gaze dropping to her lips. They were red and slightly swollen, and despite his words he could not resist bending forward to lay the kiss he’d been longing for all evening upon them.
It was soft and sweet, connection rather than passion.
And then the flames flickered and grew, lips that had brushed now pressed, tongues began to taste and dance. He pushed Linnette back onto the bench seat, his hands circling her waist and holding her still. He plundered her mouth, his lips tight against her, his tongue circling her sweet, moist mouth.
For a moment it was perfect—and then her hands pressed hard against his chest. Her breath came in heavy pants, the heat prickling the hairs on his neck. “No, we really must talk first.”
“Must we?”
She moved into a sitting position, slipping away from him. “Yes. You were right early this morning and I am right now. When we talk, it may bring anger, but afterwards—even if it takes hours to settle about me—I do feel closer to you.”
“I am not feeling angry.”
“No, I can tell.” She let her eyes shift to his lap.
“Don’t do that if you want to talk.”
“Why didn’t you pummel Mr. Swatts out of the box, if not off the balcony? I have never heard such nonsense.”
James let out a long sigh. “It will sound silly—and in truth I did want to put the man’s teeth down his throat. And when he spoke of you, I was ready to pummel him through the floor. I am not sure that he would still be living if Annabelle had not arrived.” And he rather wished Annabelle had not arrived. His fists were still itching to make contact with Swatts’s face.
“That I understand, but I am still not sure why you held back.” She slid a little closer and laid a hand upon his shoulder. Passion flickered again, but he did his best to ignore it.
“I was hoping to slay a dragon.”
“What?” She looked as if she had not the slightest idea of what he was talking about.
“When I asked how you could prove I was a man you could trust, rely on, you told me to slay a dragon. I was hoping Mr. Swatts would be it.”
“He’s more of a snake than a dragon.”
“And one without sharp fangs.” James placed his hand over hers, engulfing it. “It sounds odd to say that I was hoping he really would present some threat. You had indicated that you feared I had returned for the title and not for you. I was seeking a way to prove that you were what I really wanted, that I would give up anything—even the title for you. I was hoping there would be a real battle. I was actually disappointed when Annabelle came in. It did ruin any potential for me to act a man. Although I fear Mr. Swatts could still create a stink if he wanted. People do like a good scandal. They don’t always care about the truth of the matter. I would be tempted to pay the man simply to go away, but that would only make things look worse. And I have no faith he’d stay away. I’d hate to have him after me until the end of my days. Do you think a good thrashing would keep him quiet?” Did he sound too hopeful?
“We’ll have to see about the thrashing. I am in general opposed to violence, but the man does ask for it. And you are right about the scandal. I think everybody will be watching us for months trying to decide the truth of the cartoon.”
“I have a plan for that.”
“You do?�
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“Yes, but it will hold for a bit.”
Linnette settled back in her seat but kept her hand on his shoulder, snug in his grasp. “Would you really have given up the title for me? Am I really more important?”
CHAPTER TEN
James’s whole body went still beneath her touch. Linnette could see the deep thoughts swirling behind his eyes, but his words were simple. “I don’t know,” he said.
It was not the answer she wanted. She didn’t pull her hand away, but it stopped its gentle stroke and caress.
And then he continued. “I am not sure that I prove I am a man to be relied on if I desert my responsibilities. If it were just the title, I would give it up—even to Swatts—in a moment. I don’t think I will ever feel comfortable being a duke. I would even give the money away. I might not have had faith I could take care of you when I was twenty, but now I have every confidence in my own abilities. But, I do not know if I can let down all those who depend on me—and not just my father and sister. I cannot believe that Swatts would care for my tenants or for whether the fields were plowed or fallow.”
It was her turn to sigh. “I must confess you are right about Swatts. Before you were found—when he still hoped to be the heir—he presented several ideas to me and they were all about turning a profit quickly. He had no care for the future.”
“So the answer truly is that I don’t know if I would give that up, even for you. I fear I might if there were actually a choice.” He turned his whole body toward her. “I cannot live without you Linnette. You are like opium in my blood, the slightest taste gives me endless cravings. And not just for the sex, but for you. I would wish to be with you even if all I could do was breathe the same air.”
“That does not sound healthy at all—but I do know the feeling.”
“Do you feel it too?”
His words forced her to answer, ready or not. “Yes, I feel it. I am no longer sure that I can be without you. It seems strange after two weeks that I should feel this way and I do worry that it is just the passion. Can I really be in love again after eight years?”
