by Liz Carlyle
“Tiresome!” he said on a harsh laugh.
“Edward, don’t laugh,” she said. “I won’t share you, by the way. I’m not … desperate. That’s part of what I’m saying. If there can be nothing more, can’t there at least be commitment and … and pleasure?”
He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. “Is that all you want me to give you, Kate?” he asked. “Pleasure? You sell yourself short, love.”
“I want you,” she said. “Heaven help me, but I just want—”
He cut her off with another kiss, this one far less tender, the stubble of his beard raking her skin as he dragged his mouth hungrily over hers. His embrace was almost ruthless, his tongue plunging deep, his arm drifted lower until his hand cupped her buttock and lifted her carnally against him.
Through the wool of his trousers, Kate could feel the thick ridge of his manhood hardening against her pelvis. He thrust into her mouth again, tangling his tongue with hers, his thumb hooking her robe and tugging it off her shoulders.
“Pleasure, Kate,” he murmured, his mouth skimming down until thwarted by the lace collar at her throat. “Oh, love. I can give you that.”
His other hand, she realized feverishly, was working loose the long row of buttons down the front of her gown as his lips skated back up, lingering at the soft spot just beneath her ear, his tongue lightly teasing. Her heart raced, anticipating what was to come. What only he could give her.
The lace fell away from her throat, and the gown gaped. Edward dragged it open, a stitch ripping. He cupped one breast, lifting it high until the cool air touched her nipple. He bent his head, nuzzling and then suckling.
“Edward,” she whispered. In response, he drew her breast into the warmth of his mouth, his teeth sharp and hard on her nipple.
“Oh!” she gasped, the sensation seizing her breath.
He bit again, then sucked hard, sending that dark hunger spiraling through her. All the way into her belly, down and down like some sensual ribbon twisting greedily at her core.
Her breath was already coming fast in the gloom. “Edward, I want—I want—”
“You already said,” he murmured against her mouth. “Hush, and let me give it to you.”
Suddenly, he lifted her off her feet and turned, setting her back against the door. Between them, his hand fumbled at his trousers. Fleetingly, Kate considered pointing out the bed in the shadows. The notion skittered away. Impatient, she hitched one leg instinctively over his hip, hiking up her nightgown as she wrapped her hands around his neck.
On a sound of pleasure, Edward forced his hand between them, dragging the fabric up over her belly.
He touched her intimately then, his fingers stroking between her folds until Kate trembled, and felt her flesh begin to slicken with need.
“Oh, Kate,” he rasped, “So sweet, love. So silken.”
He held her now with nothing save the strength of his arm beneath her bare hips and the weight of her back pressed to the door. “Please, Edward,” she whispered.
“Please what?” he murmured, lifting her just an inch. With the other hand, he pushed his length through her slick folds, working her. Taunting her a little, perhaps, with the promise of what he could give her.
“Inside me,” she whimpered. “Please.”
“Is that what you want, Kate?” His voice was rough. “Say it, love.”
“Yes. Yes.” She tried to nod, swallowing hard, the world beyond forgotten as he teased her with his hard, velvety shaft. “I want it,” she said. “You know—oh, Edward—oh.”
His free hand found her leg, hooking her knee higher, opening her fully. Balancing her weight, he lifted her a few inches. On a rough, agonizing groan, Edward slipped his thick shaft into her silken wetness just an inch.
“Umm,” she said, her passage tightening involuntarily. This was raw and carnal; not beautiful, no, but deeply erotic. And deeply addictive, she feared.
She worked her hips just an inch. “Edward, please,” she softly whimpered. “I need—just—oh!”
He gave another agonizing sound, something torn from deep in his chest, then he thrust up hard, plunging his length deep. “Oh. God. Kate.” The words were little more than rasps.
A swift madness came upon them then. He pushed again, roughly and hungrily, stroking her in at the right angle. Kate cried out at the delicious sensation. Covering her lips with his, he thrust again.
“Oh.” She moaned the word into his mouth.
He set a furious rhythm, driving her higher, his hips powerful, his arm beneath her buttocks holding her to him. “Yes,” she said again. “Like … oh, oh.” She could feel herself spiraling out of control. Into his control, dangerously tempting.
“Kate, Kate,” he chanted. “Come to me, love. Oh, darling. So needy.”
“Yes,” she whimpered one last time. The need had welled up fast, like water against a dam, the heat pooling deep and heavy as he pumped in and out of her. Edward buried his face against her neck, sucking at her flesh and he thrust and thrust again.
Kate’s skin felt alive, shivering everywhere he touched. Already she was coming apart, shattering to pieces, lost to reason and the world around her. Then Edward shifted his angle, pushed his hard flesh all the way into her, and she felt her whole body begin to shake.
Kate crested a wave of passion that was otherworldly, coming in a rush of sensation that flooded through her in great, shuddering spasms. She could feel Edward pumping furiously into her. And then he cried out, a deep, guttural sound. His head went back, the tendons of his neck cording hard, his golden hair falling like a mane behind him.
He jerked, and jerked again, his shaft throbbing inside her. Then, on one last groan, he stilled, gasping. After a long moment, he let his forehead come to rest against hers.
“Oh, God,” he groaned. “Yes.”
“Yes?” she whispered.
“Yes, Kate, to anything,” he rasped. “Anything. You enslave me.”
For a moment Kate toyed with a daring, dangerous question. Then good judgment came creeping back, and along with it the realization that in that moment, to ask it would have been deeply unfair.
And a terrible mistake.
On a sound of pure exhaustion, she let the leg over his hipbone slide back to the floor. Ever the gentleman, Edward let her slide down his length, then restored her nightgown to some semblance of order, his hair falling forward to shadow his beautiful face.
She threaded one hand lazily through his hair. “You need a haircut,” she murmured.
He laughed. “My God, madam, you know how to keep a man in his place,” he said.
“I’m sorry.” Arms still twined behind his neck, Kate kissed him. “I’m no good at this—this knowing the right things to say. There seem no words, really.”
His smile flashed in the gloom. “You’re perfect, Kate.”
She looked past him. “There is a bed in that corner,” she suggested. “A very small one.”
“Now she tells me,” he muttered.
Then he picked her up, sliding an arm beneath her knees, and carried her to it.
“There is indeed, though not much of one,” he said, settling her gently on it.
Kate scooted all the way against the wall, leaving just enough room for Edward to tuck alongside her. After prying off his shoes, he did so.
“Close quarters,” he murmured, brushing his lips down her throat. “Ah, Kate.”
“Yes?” she whispered.
His head lifted, his gaze softening to hers. “It has been a long time since I made love like a raw lad,” he said. “Lord, up against a door with my clothes still on! I can only plead too much brandy, and too much …”
“Too much what?” she pressed.
“Desire.” He looked away. “Merciful heaven, Kate, but I burn for you.”
Impulsively, she kissed his forehead. “So will you consider my question, Edward?” she said.
“About … an arrangement?” he said.
“Yes,” she said, t
oying with the button on his shirt. “About that.”
He was quiet for a long, awful moment. Then, “Kate,” he finally said, “we may have to have more than an arrangement. What we did just now … love, I was not careful. I know better. And yet—”
“We will not think of that,” she interjected, kissing him again. “Just answer my question, Edward. Don’t … leave me hanging. It hurts.”
“Yes,” he rasped. “Blast it, Kate, you’re a damned fool to take up with me. But yes. Whatever you want, yes.”
She settled herself against him, burying her face against his throat. He smelled enticing; of soap and sweat and of himself, that wonderful mingling of sandalwood and leather and his own musky essence. He smelled of strength and comfort—or what Kate had always imagined they would smell like.
Teasingly, she slipped another button free and stroked her tongue along his collarbone. “Umm,” he murmured. “Keep on, minx, if you think this bed can hold us.”
“I doubt it,” she said on a choked laugh.
“Kate?” He kissed the top of her head. “Why are we in the valet’s room?”
“Because he retired to Lyme Regis,” said Kate, “when Grandpapa died. And Mamma took my bed tonight.”
“Good Lord,” he said. “Why on earth?”
Just then, however, there was a faint bump from outside the room.
Edward sat bolt upright, cursing under his breath.
“Wait,” she murmured, grabbing his arm.
“Kate, the last thing you need is to be caught in bed with me—especially with Upshaw so near.”
“It was just a servant,” she said, “in the corridor.”
But Edward got up and locked the door all the same.
The sound, however, came again—louder, and followed by a drunken giggle.
He sat down on the edge of the bed, one eyebrow crooked. “Servants?” he said doubtfully.
“That’s Lady Julia.” Frowning, Kate wriggled past and got up to retrieve her wrapper. “She was drinking downstairs with Sir Francis when Mamma and I came up.”
This time there was a trill of laughter, but farther down the passageway.
“Well, she sounds sotted now,” said Edward darkly.
“And apt to wake Uncle Upshaw,” Kate muttered, throwing on her robe. “Wait here.”
Unlocking the door, she went out and through the parlor to the main door. Cracking it, she peeked out to see Lady Julia entangled in a passionate embrace with Sir Francis, who had pressed her up against Kate’s bedroom door while somehow managing to hold a lamp aloft.
“No, no, Francis!” tittered Julia, pointing drunkenly over his shoulder. “It’s not. It’s two more doors.”
“Julia, my love, mind the lamp.” Eyes hooded, Sir Francis kissed her. “I think I know which door is yours.”
Kate had stepped out to scold them when, out of the blue, Sir Francis slipped a hand behind Julia, gave the knob a violent twist, and sent her tumbling backward into the room.
Suddenly, all hell broke loose. From Kate’s bedroom came a bloodcurdling scream, almost theatrical in its pitch. Another, more hysterical scream followed, along with a string of blistering curses.
Kate rushed into the gloom of the passageway, slamming into Upshaw, who came barreling from across the way, his nightcap hanging over one eye. “What in the name of all blazes?” he bellowed.
“I’m sorry, sir,” said Kate. “Lady Julia’s a bit tipsy.”
But Upshaw had marched across the hall, only to freeze upon Kate’s threshold.
“Aurélie Wentworth!” he bellowed. “What in God’s name?”
Kate pushed past him and into a scene of farcical mayhem. Lord Reginald Hoke was sitting up, bare-chested, in Kate’s bed. Tucked beside him, Aurélie was propped almost comically on her elbows, a shock of curly black hair over one shoulder, her nightgown hanging loose off the other. Lady Julia was buckled over with giggles, while Sir Francis, still holding his lamp aloft, looked dark as a thunderhead.
“Zut alors!” Aurélie was scrambling upright. “Reggie, mon amour, we are caught out!”
“Damn you, Reggie!” Sir Francis shook his empty fist at the bed. “Is this your idea of a joke?”
“Sir, you will keep a civil tongue, and get out!” bellowed Upshaw. “And you, madam”—here he stabbed a censorious finger at Julia—“you are drunk!”
Julia managed to straighten up, and stab a finger back at him. “And you, sir, are a p-pompous pr-pr-prig!” she said, bursting again into giggles.
“Eh bien, Reggie,” said Aurélie, patting his bare back. “It was bound to happen.”
But Upshaw bore down on them like a frigate under sail. “Aurélie, for God’s sake, have you no shame?” he boomed from the foot of the bed. “That man is half your age!”
“Vraiment, Archie, I am mortified!” said Aurélie. “Mortified, I tell you. But still, he is not quite half my age! Reginald, mon coeur, must we surrender our dread secret once and for all?”
But Reggie had crawled from the bed, clad only in his drawers, and was backing away as if Aurélie were a snake, horror writ plain across his face. “What dread secret?” he uttered, snatching up clothes from the floor. “What the devil, Francis! What have you done to me, damn you?”
“I did what you paid me to do, you fatuous fool,” Sir Francis gritted, seizing Julia’s arm and dragging her out.
“Dear God!” Upshaw had clapped a hand over his eyes. “I do not believe this.”
“Ça alors, Archie,” said Aurélie, doing up her buttons. “You know I am incorrigible. But please, I beg you! I shall break with Reggie at once. Just do not force him to wed me. He’s too young—and alas, much too poor.”
“Marry you?” Reggie jerked upright, his arms filled with clothes. “Are you mad?”
“Now wait just one moment, you upstart!” Upshaw ordered, dropping his hand.
Out in the passageway, Lady Julia sounded near tears with laughter. Sir Francis was trying to quiet her.
Reggie stopped halfway to the door and turned back, a black, patently evil gaze trailing over Aurélie and Kate as he drew a tremulous breath. “By God, I know not how the two of you brought this about,” he gritted, “but someone is going to pay, and dearly. Do you hear me?”
Kate finally gathered her wits enough to speak. “Reggie,” she managed, “what were you doing in my bedchamber? Do you care to explain it?”
Rage shuddered through him. “Get out of my way, Upshaw.”
Reggie’s gaze was one of such unmitigated evil, Upshaw actually stepped aside.
But then, from beyond the corridor, there came a deep, languid voice. “Gads, Reggie!” said Edward. “Not really the done thing, cavorting about in one’s drawers. Frightens the horses, you know. We could hear the din upstairs.”
Kate peeked out to see Reggie jerk to a halt. “Go to hell, Quartermaine!” he gritted, shaking with rage. “I see your hand in this. Well, you shall never have her! Never. You may have taken my house, but by God, that’s where it ends!”
Aurélie had hopped from the bed and was yanking on a wrapper. Shaken, Kate turned to Upshaw, and laid a hand on his arm. “Have a care, Uncle; this isn’t what it looks,” she quietly warned him. “Go back to bed and let me deal with it.”
“Young lady, I will tell you—”
“Uncle, please,” she said firmly. “This is my house. Go back to bed and we shall speak of it in the morning.”
Upshaw’s jowls quivered with indignation. “Then I hope, Katherine, that you know what you’re doing!”
Kate hoped so, too. She also hoped her mother had not entirely lost her mind.
Her knees were shaking, she realized. She had dodged one scandal, only to find herself embroiled, potentially, in a worse one with her mother. Still, never had she dreamt Reggie could be so cruel.
And had his wicked trick succeeded … dear heaven! No one could force Kate to do anything, it was true. But even her title could not protect her from that sort of scandal, or the resultin
g censure.
A little sick at the stomach, she followed Upshaw out to see Edward loitering in the dimly lit passageway, his arms crossed. The Comte de Macey stood beside him, still in his evening clothes, his expression wary. Everyone else had vanished.
Without sparing either a word, Upshaw went back into his bedchamber and slammed the door shut.
“Well, that was interesting,” said Edward.
“Bonsoir, Mr. Quartermaine!” said Aurélie, coming out behind Kate. “What extraordinary hearing you have!”
“Yes, it’s often been remarked,” said Edward calmly.
“Oh, mon Dieu, de Macey!” she said, seeing him in the shadows. “Did we wake you, too?”
“No, I was coming up the stairs, my pet, when I heard you scream,” he said a little drolly. “It was worthy of the Opéra-Comique. Are you cheating on me again?”
“Yes, mon coeur, with a much younger man,” said Aurélie. “Edward, I trust we did not disturb your rest too thoroughly?”
“I shall survive it,” he said.
“So shall I,” said Aurélie, “if someone will fetch me a brandy.”
“I suppose we are beyond any pretense or formality now,” Kate grumbled, starting off down the passageway. “Besides, I could use a drink myself.”
She went back into her parlor, and the three of them trailed in after her. Edward had apparently carried in her lamp and turned it up, softly lighting the room. Kate went straight to the sideboard and extracted Anstruther’s Scotch whisky, deciding that French fortification was simply not up to the task.
De Macey followed her, and seeing Kate’s hands shaking, took down the glasses with a soothing noise, and began to pour. Aurélie draped herself over the divan, and winked at Edward.
“How cozy this is!” she declared. “All of us here together in our dishabille, almost like a family.”
“I am entirely dressed, my pet,” said de Macey, pressing a whisky into her hand.
Aurélie took a sip, and wrinkled her nose in horror. “Ma foi, this is Anstruther’s rot!”
“Just drink it, Aurélie,” said Kate grimly, sitting down opposite her mother. “Now, kindly explain what just happened.”
“Mon Dieu, I was caught in bed with my young lover!” said Aurélie, batting her inky lashes. “Is it not obvious?”
