A Woman of Choice

by Kris Tualla

  Rickard’s lips met Sydney’s in a languorous, sensual kiss that melted her insides like butter left in the hot sun. Then they moved down the trail laid out before them: throat, neck, collarbone, cleavage. Sydney hummed a sigh as his tongue tickled her skin, and she contemplated what she might do if he pressed his suit more aggressively. But to Rickard’s great credit, he straightened and leaned back.

  “Would you care for some fruit punch? Or perhaps tea?” His eyelids drooped and his voice was delightfully husky-sounding.

  Sydney gripped the wrought iron vines that formed the arms of the bench, relieved but not a little disappointed. “Tea, please. Strong tea. Black. Thank you, Rickard.”

  He stood, kissed the top of her head and returned to the house.

   

  Nicolas stood at the other end of the garden and watched everything that took place between Rickard and Sydney from the shadows. The longer he watched, the angrier he became, though he refused to think about precisely why that was.

  Lily came up behind him and startled him out of his discontented contemplation.

  “A girl might begin to believe she was forgotten,” she said with a pout. “Why are you out here all alone?”

  He looked down at her. “I felt the need for air.”

  Lily walked a slow circle around Nicolas, trailing her fingers along his waist. “Nicolas, do you find me repulsive?”

  Nicolas made a face. “No, Lily, of course not!”

  “Dare I hope that you might find me attractive?”

  “You know—and well—how beautiful you are.” Irritation defined his tone. “What game are you playing, now?”

  Lily blinked rapidly and her lower lip trembled.

  “Game? You call my feelings for you a game? How could you be so mean to me, Nicolas?” Lily presented her back to him, her face turned in profile. “All I want, all I’ve ever wanted, is to have the chance to make you happy.”

  She paused a beat. “The way Lara did.”

  That carefully aimed arrow struck true and Nicolas deflated with the hit. The woman in front of him was the same age as, and looked so much like, his beloved Lara when she lived, that he found it impossible to stay angry with her.

  He gripped Lily’s shoulder and turned her to him. “I’m sorry, Lily. I’m just not myself at the moment.”

  “Why, Nick? What’s bothering you?” Lily leaned closer, looking up at him with full, inviting lips.

  At that moment, Rickard re-emerged from the house carrying a cup. The movement diverted Lily’s attention to her brother until he joined Sydney, sitting on the bench across the way. Then she rounded on Nicolas.

  “Her? Her! Is that it?” Lily shrieked. Her delicate fists thumped Nicolas’s chest without effect. “How could you do this to me?”

  “Lily, I—”

  “What do you know about her anyway? She says she doesn’t remember a thing, but how do you know for certain? No one around here has ever heard of such a thing before!”

  Lily warmed to her argument. Her voice grew louder and higher in pitch. “Perchance she’s hiding something! Perhaps she’s in trouble with the law!”

  Nicolas put up his hands to quiet Lily as she spewed loud possibilities; it didn’t sway her.

  “Perhaps she stole something! Perhaps she killed somebody!” Lily rested one fist on her hip and jabbed Nicolas’s chest with a stiff finger. “Perhaps she’s a prostitute and a customer got too rough! Perhaps he dumped her in the creek afterward to hide the evidence! Did you ever think of that?”

  Nicolas snorted his disdain for all of those possibilities, though he truly had no argument against them. “Lily—”

  She began to cry in earnest, wiping tears with a lace-gloved fist. “Here I am, Nicolas Reidar Hansen, right in front of you! You’ve known me all my life. You know my whole family. You married my sister, may her soul rest in peace.” Lily sniffed loudly. “There are no questions about who I am or what I’ve done!”

  Seeing his wife’s apparition so distraught broke Nicolas. He opened his arms and Lily fell against him. She hugged him tightly and stifled her sobs in the folds of his linen shirt. Nicolas didn’t speak; he was rapidly sinking in quicksand and he didn’t trust any of his emotions to be real.

  He patted Lily’s back and mumbled nonsensical phrases in a soothing monotone while his mind battled his heart. He knew she was Lily, not Lara, and his emotional response to her was a reflection of his love for her dead sister. But the quicksand was deftly swallowing the difference. He had to find a way out of it.

  He wanted a drink.

  He needed a drink; strong brandy and lots of it.

   

  Sydney sat in silent shock as she and Rickard overheard Lily’s strident speculations.

  “I’m sorry, Sydney,” Rickard said after they were gone. “Lily didn’t mean all that.”

  Sydney raised her chin and looked down her nose at him. “Yes, Rickard, she did. The question is: do you share her thoughts?”

  Rickard slid off the bench onto one knee in front of Sydney. “I pledge this to you, Sydney of Cheltenham. I will uphold the rectitude of your name…” He shrugged at that, one side of his mouth curling. “Against any who would try to besmirch it. Even my baby sister. Or perhaps, especially my baby sister.”

  Sydney intended to remain aloof but Rickard’s antics were too endearing. And he looked so handsome in the lamp light. And he smelled so good. And he brought her tea. She reached out one hand and tapped him ceremoniously on each shoulder. “Arise, Sir Rickard the Sibling Slayer. Save me from besmirchers!”

  Rickard stood and pulled Sydney up beside him. He kissed her parted lips very, very well. His tongue twisted around hers and invited a response which she willingly gave. Her head was already spinning, but now she felt she was floating. Unearthed. He pressed the length of his body along hers, and she felt his strength and his dangerous sensual charisma.

  When the kiss ended, he rested his forehead against hers while she caught her breath. And remembered where she was.

  “Shall we dine, milady?”

  “Lead on, gallant knight,” she whispered.

  Sydney was determined not to think about Lily. She lost herself in the food, the dancing and the wine, relishing a wide variety in all areas. Though Rickard tried to monopolize her, she accepted other dance partners. And she watched Nicolas.

  He moved with unexpected grace for such a big man. Sydney closed her eyes and imagined it was his hand on the small of her back. She saw his dark blue eyes smiling down at her and she smiled in response, encouraging partners who assumed her smile was for them. Though she waited between musical pieces until the last moment, Nicolas was the one man in the room who didn’t ask her to dance.

  She couldn’t help but notice, though, how heavily he drank. It didn’t seem to affect him as much as she thought it would. Still, she noticed a bobbled step now and then, and an unfocused gaze when his attention went unclaimed.

  On the other hand, Sydney was undoubtedly feeling the effects of the wine. But she didn’t care. Tonight, Nicolas or no, lost memory or no, she pretended that everything in her life was perfect.

  She accepted another glass of cabernet from Rickard and gulped it down before leaning into his strong, protective arms and allowing herself to be swept onto the dance floor for the last cotillion that night.

  Riding home in the landau, Rickard sat close to Sydney. His thigh pressed along hers, his booted heel wedged between her feet. He leaned a little forward so that his shoulder pushed back against hers, and his arm brushed her breast with every jostle of the ride.

  Rickard’s casual possession of her was intoxicating, and Sydney was already quite far down that particular path. She closed her eyes and leaned into him, breathing the very male mixture of cologne, brandy and cigars. She smiled.

  Chapter Twelve

  Nicolas sat across from Sydney, glaring at her, keenly sensible of Rickard’s flirtation. He knew well Rickard’s history with women and he was mad as helve
te that his charms seemed to be working on Sydney. He wanted to wring both their idiotic necks.

  Nicolas felt like Sydney belonged to him. It required every scrap of his precarious self-control to keep from reaching across the carriage and pulling her into his own lap. But Lily sat close and silent beside him; her hand grasping his arm the inescapable weight that held him down.

  Nicolas considered Lily, then. Her half-open lips demanded his ministrations and her hand dropped from his arm to his lap. Startled by her boldness, he felt the heat of her palm and responded immediately. He shifted in his seat to adjust his suddenly uncomfortable breeches. Then he closed his eyes and kissed her, taking his time about it.

  But he was imagining a red dress and dark hair.

  The carriage slowed to a stop in front of the Atherton manor. When the door opened, Nicolas lumbered out and offered his hand to Lily. He helped her down and walked her to the front door. There, she turned to face him and leaned against him, slipping her hands under his frock coat and waistcoat.

  Nicolas lifted her delicate face in his hands and kissed her hard. He slid one hand around her back and down to her hip. He pulled her into him as the urgency of his arousal besieged them both.

  Lily pulled away from the kiss. “Nick, no.”

  Nicolas let go as though she burned him. He swayed in front of her with alcohol, jealousy and arousal screaming through his veins in equal portions.

  “I’ll not be toyed with, Lily,” he growled. “Remember that!”

  Seething, he turned and marched back to the landau. Throwing the door open, Nicolas bounded in and dropped heavily on his seat. Rickard broke away from their kiss. He pushed Sydney upright, away from his lap.

  “Goodnight, Milady.” Rickard kissed her hand and backed out of the carriage.

  Both Nicolas and Sydney were silent on the ride to the Hansen manor. Nicolas stared out of the landau and nurtured his indignation. When they arrived at his home, he climbed out, helped Sydney down, then whirled and thundered into the house.

  In his study, with frock coat and waistcoat successfully wrestled to the floor, Nicolas jerked open the top drawer of his desk. He grabbed the pewter flask and cursed under his breath as he uncapped it. He swallowed one healthy gulp before Sydney caught up to him.

  He turned to her, vexed curiosity sloshing out of him. “Yes?”

  Sydney drew a deep breath and grasped the doorjamb. “I’m leaving.”

  Nicolas froze, flask halfway to his lips. “What? When?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  That made no sense. The flask lowered. “Where’ll you go?”

  She shrugged and didn’t look at him.

  “Why?” Nicolas did not feel particularly well-spoken at that moment.

  Sydney swayed forward and gripped the back of a chair. “I’m in your way. Yours and Lily’s. It’s best if I get out.”

  “Mine and Lily’s?” Nicolas repeated. He shook his head. Preposterous.

  “I did not stutter,” she enunciated.

  He snorted. “Mine and Lily’s! Gud forbanner det!”

  Nicolas downed another unneeded swig of brandy. “Hva i Guds navn makes you believe that has anything to do with you?” He was not aware he mixed languages.

  “My presence here makes it difficult for you to be with her…” Sydney’s voice trailed off. She blinked slowly.

  Nicolas thrust the silver flask at Sydney to punctuate his words, baptizing the rug with alcohol.

  “I’ll be with whomever I wish! And your presence won’t stop me!” he bellowed, knowing it was a complete lie. Good God but he sounded like an ass.

  Then another possibility crossed his mind and pierced his heart. The blow jolted him.

  “Is it Rick?” Nicolas demanded. “Are you saying this so you can run off to be with Rick?”

  “What!”

  “Is that it?” Nicolas sloshed more brandy from the flask as he waved it at her. “Rickard?”

  “I, as well, can be with whom I want!” she shouted.

  “And you want to be with Rickard, is that it?” Nicolas slammed the flask on the desk with a clang of metal and a splash of amber liquid. “I saw how he said his goodnight to you in the landau! Indeed I did! Gud forbanner det all til helvete!”

  “And I saw how you wished to say your goodnight to Lily!” Sydney glanced pointedly at Nicolas’s groin.

  They glared at each other with jaws jutted and fists clenched. Nicolas’s tone was intentionally icy. “If you want Rick, go to him. I’ll not stop you.”

  Sydney’s lower lip began to quiver and Nicolas noticed even through the brandy haze. He frowned, puzzled at her response.

  “And then you can have Lily.” Sydney voice was oddly pinched. “That’s what you want.”

  That was the end for Nicolas.

  The lock was breached.

  The explosion came.

  “Damn it all to hell, Sydney!” he roared in English for her benefit. “Blasted, bloody hell!”

  Nicolas began to pace back and forth, wall to wall in his study. His refuge felt like a cage. “Gud forbanner det! Skitt!” He stopped in front of her, towering over her. “Helvetet med det! I don’t want Lily!”

  Sydney held onto the chair and didn’t cower as he expected her to. Instead she tilted her chin even higher in overt challenge. “Truly? That’s most assuredly not how it appears!”

  “Why i Guds navn would I be interested in a silly, conceited little girl?” Nicolas was so angry he was shaking. His arms waved wildly around Sydney and his voice expanded, filling the room. “I’m not looking for someone! I don’t need anyone!”

  He moved back a step and jerked his hands through his hair. “Skitt!”

  Sydney looked angry enough to claw his face. She tightened her grip on the back of the chair, her whitened knuckles nearly breaking out of her skin. Her jaw clenched. Her bosom quivered. She didn’t speak.

  “I don’t want another wife! But if I did, I’d want a strong woman! A capable woman! An intelligent woman!” Nicolas hollered as he leaned toward Sydney again. One stiff finger escaped his proffered fist. “Fully grown, beyond all the games! Skitt! Do you believe that sounds like Lily? Well? Do you?”

  Sydney flinched at the enraged power displayed just inches from her. Nicolas noticed and retreated. He raked his hands through his hair again; frustration consumed him. Why was she so forbannet confusing?

  In his mind he saw Sydney prancing around in those blasted breeches, her arse clearly on display. He saw her dark brown hair hanging loose to her waist before she braided it in the morning. He saw her smile, heard her laugh. He looked into her gray-green eyes.

  He knew what he wanted and was absolutely terrified to say it.

  Trying to both avoid and force the issue, he repeated the question, “Do you wish to be with Rickard?”

  Infuriating woman that she was, Sydney turned the question around. “Are you truly claiming you don’t wish to be with Lily?”

  Nicolas stepped around the chair and grabbed Sydney by the shoulders. His fingers dug into her arms. He stared into her eyes, jaw clenched, lips pursed until he could force the words out.

  “No, Sydney! I don’t wish to be with Lily!” Nicolas pushed the strangled words past his aggravation. He hated that she was making him say it. Couldn't she see? Didn't she know?

  “I want—no. I don’t want,” he faltered and willed her to read his mind.

  Sydney’s expression was a cross between fear and confusion. Her eyes speared his and held them.

  “What I mean is, I desire—” Nicolas stopped and took a deep breath. His mouth hung open. It was his last opportunity to turn back. Powerless to do so, he was swept forward by the breach.

  “—to be with you.”

  “Wh-what?” Sydney’s knees buckled and Nicolas held her up. “Me?”

  “Yes, Gudshjelp meg.” Nicolas’s anger fell away with the confession. He was an open wound, desperate for healing. “I want you, Sydney.”

  Nicolas bent his head to hers. H
er face lifted to meet him.

  The kiss distilled his world to a pair of hungry lips, and it was a larger world than he could have imagined. He had no idea how long it lasted, but it was an eternity just the same. Sydney wrapped her arms around him. She pressed her body against his and released possibilities that engulfed him.

  Nicolas dropped to the carpet in front of the fireplace and pulled Sydney down next to him. His bulk dwarfed her, but he disappeared inside her embrace. His hands scooped her breasts from her dress and he lowered his mouth to cover one, then the other. Sydney wound her fingers through Nicolas’s loose hair to hold his head. She moaned softly. It sounded like heaven.

  Sydney raised Nicolas’s lips to hers once again. As he slid his palm under her skirt, Sydney opened to allow him access.

  “Oh, Sydney, Gudshjelp meg…” Nicolas breathed when his fingers found her. Sydney whimpered and arched her back. Her fingers plucked at his sleeves.

  Nicolas rose on one elbow. Pausing in the remnant of firelight, the question was clear; his need and desire stood between them, straining against his breeches. In urgent answer, Sydney tugged at the front of her skirt, lifting it out of his way. Nicolas knelt between her legs, his shaking hands worked at unfastening his flies. Sydney reached up to help, and then she guided him, iron-hard, into her.

  Nicolas filled Sydney completely with his first tentative push and he felt a quake of response radiate through her body. She lifted her hips, asking for more.

  He did not need to be asked again.

  Cautious at first, Nicolas soon gave himself over to the inexorable joy of joining with this particular woman. Sydney squirmed under him, meeting his movements with her own. Her breathing came in short gasps culminating in a cry as her body stiffened against his and her fingernails dug through his shirt. Nicolas let himself go then. A guttural grunt rumbled through his chest and left his body in a long, satisfied groan. He collapsed on top of her and held her in a hazy fog of bliss. For several minutes, their mingled panted breaths were all he could hear.