Starling

by Virginia Taylor

  He’d made a basic mistake about Starling. No matter that he wanted her more than he’d wanted any other woman, she’d deceived him. For a while, he’d wavered between picking her up by the scruff of her neck and throwing her naked into the street or ripping off her clothes and ravishing her until she begged for mercy. Both gained him sexual satisfaction, and each would avenge the loss of his pride. He gave a sour laugh. Even now he could think of little more than having her, a gutter-bred woman who had laughed in his face—not openly, but by sneaking out to pleasure his gardener.

  His head throbbed, fit to burst. The only way to gain the upper hand was to withhold her money. Because the servants knew about her behavior, that should be reason enough to refuse to pay her. Unfortunately, what the servants knew had no bearing on the case. He’d hired Starling to fool his sister, and she’d done the job so easily that Alasdair should have suspected from the start that he was dealing with a very clever woman.

  All was not lost, however. He had achieved his aim with Lavender and could have a well-born wife with the right connections as soon as he wished. With this in mind, he remained scrupulously polite to Starling during dinner and after, when he accepted Lavender’s challenge for a game of billiards.

  The single game they played seemed to take longer than the creation of the world. By the time he finally escaped to the sitting room, the others had gone up to bed. He wished he’d been with them because he knew Paul and Mary wanted to leave early in the morning. Although he meant to tell Starling he knew the truth about her sluttish behavior, he didn’t find her in her room. Noting the folded nightgown on the pillow and the lamp she had lit, he punched the doorframe with frustration. What a great nodcock he’d been and how blind. She’d only wanted this single bedroom so that she could be free to visit Derry whenever she chose.

  With his jaw clenched hard enough to make his teeth ache, he walked over to the window, not expecting to see anything but the night shadows. A figure outside moved across the lawn in the direction of the stables. His chest tight, he strode into the hallway.

  “Oh, there you are, Alasdair,” Mary said, sounding relieved. “I’ve been knocking on your door for ages. I couldn’t believe you’d be asleep yet. I wanted to speak to Starling. Do you know where she is?”

  “I do,” he replied grimly. He tried to push past Mary.

  She smiled. “Relax, my dear. I don’t want her for the whole night, but I have to say more than a quick goodbye to her. It might be six months before I see her again. I want to thank her for her hospitality and for being married to my favorite brother.”

  “No need.”

  “You men.” She patted him on the cheek. “You don’t have the slightest idea of the work that goes into running a house or entertaining guests as demanding as some of us have been. She’s such a lovely woman, and I’m so proud of you for choosing her.”

  “You don’t know a thing about her. Not a thing. She’s fooled you from the start.”

  “Don’t tell me you’ve had another fight? Really, Alasdair. You should—”

  “I can’t discuss this now. First I have to—oh, what does it matter?” He opened the door of his bedroom. “I can confront her anytime. Come in, Mary. It’s time I confessed the whole truth to you, unpalatable as it is.”

  Before she could sit on the settee, he said, “She’s a whore.” He tightened his face, feeling the heat of his words sear his throat.

  “I beg your pardon,” Mary said stiffly. “No matter how cross with her you are, I won’t allow you to—”

  “I found her working in my shop, but she’d come there from the Star Inn. You don’t know it, but the lowlife of Adelaide does. I wanted to use her to stop your matchmaking. I had no idea you’d have Lavender with you, no idea. From the start, my plan backfired. And now the little tart is out there rutting with the gardener behind the stables.”

  Mary’s mouth opened and shut. Her eyes widened but not a word did she say about her brother’s language. “Are you sure?” She seated herself. Her fingers pleated her skirt, but her face stayed turned toward Alasdair’s.

  He twisted his expression into a grimace. “I agreed to pay her to pretend to be my wife. No one could know more about her than I do after sharing a bed with her for two weeks.”

  Mary stood. “Was I supposed to find this amusing? I don’t, you know. Perhaps your ‘friend’ fooled me and perhaps she hurt me, but you’ve done more than that. I don’t think that I can forgive you, Alasdair. Paying a woman for this sort of service,” she said, waving her hand at his bed, “makes me feel ill. No wonder she had so many disdainful things to say about men who use whores. I can’t blame her for any of this, can I? It’s you. Excuse me.” With a hand over her eyes, she pushed past him.

  “Mary,” he began, but she made a sound of fury, which stopped him.

  “Don’t speak to me, please. Somehow my sense of humor has completely deserted me.” Very carefully, she shut his bedroom door.

  He gazed unseeingly at the window, neither reprimanded nor embarrassed. He could only picture Starling with Derry, lying under him with her legs around his hips, encouraging him by her soft whispers. He thumped his fist on the mantel, making one of his Meissen pieces leap. “Lying bitch,” he said in a snarl to the porcelain goddess as he grabbed her by the waist and dashed her and her horn of plenty into the fireplace.

  He swung on his heel, slammed out of his room, and strode outside to Derry’s little room off the stables, certain he could force Starling to return with him and very certain that he could kill her if she refused. On this last night, when she opened her legs, he would be between them, he or no one. As he passed Derry’s small window, he glanced in...and stood, transfixed.

  Tableau-like, two figures faced each other by Derry’s cot, Derry tall and implacable with his arms crossed and a female with a beseeching hand on his forearm. Alasdair couldn’t mistake either the blond hair or the lilac wrap. Although she had her back turned, he knew he saw Lavender.

  Now in the appalling position of eavesdropper rather than righteous employer, he froze. “But you can’t prefer her to me,” Lavender said, sounding not only shocked but also annoyed.

  Alasdair’s breathing halted. Any man would rather have Starling than Lavender, given an equal position in the world. His mind tangled and he flattened himself against the wall, determined to hear every word.

  “Told you a hundred times I love her. Can’t imagine why you think I’d lie. Decided last night that I don’t want to be like you, and got my reward today. Ellen came to me and told me she loved me. She told me she’d marry me. I didn’t have to make one promise neither, but I wouldn’t be unfaithful, not now.”

  “Don’t be stupid. She won’t know.”

  “Reckon you’re sick. The only thing that gives you pleasure is makin’ people do what they don’t want to do. You don’t even like ruttin’. Don’t know why you do it when you get no pleasure out of it. Mebbe one day you’ll fall in love and—”

  “You great uncultured lout,” Lavender said in a tone just below a shriek. “You are nothing to me. I love Alasdair, and I have since the moment I met him. You don’t measure up to him in any way, and I can tell you now that tool of yours doesn’t compare with his.”

  Suddenly the door was wrenched open. Caught, Alasdair pushed away from the wall. He cleared his throat and glanced into Lavender’s wide, frightened eyes. He drew a deep breath. “Perhaps you would like my escort back to the house?” he said in a voice of absolute calm.

  She held his gaze for a moment. “Derry is arranging some camellia cuttings for me.” Suddenly her eyes filled with tears, and she covered her face with both palms. “You heard, didn’t you?”

  “Nothing unflattering.” Alasdair gathered her into his arms. “Shh. None of this matters.” Not only could Alasdair hear how ridiculous his soothing was following the scene he had overheard, but he also could feel a helpless smile splitting his face.

  Starling had not betrayed him
.

  “It does, it does.” Lavender sobbed onto his neck.

  Derry appeared in the doorway. When he said nothing, Alasdair nodded his head in greeting. “Good evening. I believe that congratulations are in order. I don’t want to lose Ellen, but I think she’ll be happy with you.”

  He grinned and patted Lavender’s back, unable to credit that the woman he’d craved for the past six years clung to him while he could only think about Starling, a determined, loyal wretch who had now been vindicated.

  Derry stared open-mouthed.

  Relief making his insides shake, Alasdair steered Lavender in the direction of his house. Starling had told the truth.

  While Lavender sniffed forlornly, he patted her back. “You’ll grow ugly, my dear, if you don’t stop this.”

  “I slept with Derry.” She stood, dabbing beneath her pale blue, tear-drenched eyes.

  Her beauty could no longer melt him, not now that he could admit she lacked humor and wit. “There, there,” he said, adjusting her shawl to cover her shoulders.

  “I wanted you, but since I couldn’t have you, I had him, and it’s all such a hollow sham.”

  With a thump, reality hit him. His marriage was a hollow sham. Starling was not now, and never could be, his priority. He nodded, knowing his needless game had caused this transgression of Lavender’s. “I understand. We all need love of some sort.”

  “Six years ago you ruined me. You showed me the pleasures of the flesh, and now I can’t manage without. Until I met you I was an innocent.”

  “But I wanted to marry you. You refused to have me then.”

  “Not I. I wanted you. I begged my father to let me marry you, but he wanted Richard’s money.”

  “If you’d waited just a year, I would have had money enough to impress your father.”

  “Papa wouldn’t let me wait for you.” She clung to him. “I love you. Does that mean nothing?”

  “Of course not.”

  “I know I made dreadful choices, but what could I do? You’re not available, and if I can’t have you, I don’t have anything. I know you’ll never forgive me for this.” She glanced up at him, staring into his eyes until he dropped his gaze.

  His damnable deception had caused Lavender’s misbehavior. If, on the first day she had arrived, he had said that Starling was an actress and revealed why he had hired her, none of this would have happened. Lavender wouldn’t have gone to Derry, and he wouldn’t be standing here relieved she, rather than Starling, had.

  He had to accept his punishment. “I promised I’d take care of you.” Heaving a sigh, he set her back on the path to the house. “I meant it.”

  He walked her to the door of her room, a painful smile on his lips. His lifetime goal, marriage with Lavender, was but a step away. Even a better man that he would see this empty victory as well deserved.

  Chapter 20

  Having relegated herself to the position of paid employee rather than mock wife, Starling knocked carefully on Alasdair’s bedroom door. Before she could lose her courage, she entered.

  Alasdair sat, elbows on his knees, staring at the empty fire grate. Tall, strong, handsome, and totally expressionless, he rose to his feet. His eyebrows lifted.

  She cleared the lump in her throat with a faked cough. “Early tomorrow,” she said in a husky voice, “as soon as we’ve waved goodbye to Paul and Mary, I will leave. You’ll return to work straight after, I imagine, and so I thought it might be better if you paid me tonight, rather than be held up in the morning.”

  Without a word, he went to the desk and took out a wallet of money. His face pallid, he counted out forty pounds and put them in a small cloth bag. “Thank you,” he said, handing the bag to her, his jaw tight. “You gave me more than I asked for. You earned every penny of this.”

  Starling smiled brightly and turned to leave.

  His voice lowered. “Where will you go?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “That money won’t last you forever.” He heaved a huge breath. “You’ll have to find another job.”

  “Yes, I plan to.”

  “As I recall, you have no reference. I’ll write one for you, if you’ll wait for a few minutes.”

  Finding it impossible to hold her pasted smile any longer, she inclined her head. “Thank you.”

  He settled at the desk, taking out paper, a pen, and a screw-top bottle of ink. She moved over to stand behind his shoulder, watching as he headed the paper with his address and the date, her heartbeat almost audible. Being so close to him without being able to touch him...having to leave him to Lavender... She clenched her hands together.

  He wrote, in beautifully formed copperplate:

  To whom it may concern,

  During the time Miss Smith was in my employ, she proved herself to be loyal and trustworthy. I would recommend her for any position requiring honesty, efficiency, and initiative. She takes with her when she leaves my very best wishes for her future.

  Alasdair Seymour, Seymour Emporiums.

  He waved the letter to dry the ink and when satisfied, swung around in his chair and passed the paper to her. “I hope it helps.”

  Her lips stretched and she blinked hard. “Efficiency?”

  “First out of bed in the morning,” he said in a sardonic voice.

  “Initiative?”

  “Repelling my advances.”

  “I won’t ask about honesty.” Her voice cracked.

  “Free character readings.” His smile flickered and died. “Most of them completely accurate. Well, now, I suppose—”

  Wanting to halt any further speech, or unable to resist the urge to touch him one last time, she reached out and traced the outline of his thick hair. Time stood still as the silky edge of one curl brushed her forefinger. Her heart expanded and her emotions tangled, and she saw an expression of stark need on his handsome face. With a sound of inevitability, he lifted his hands to her waist. She dropped her mouth to his. The moment their lips met, she knew she’d kissed him with love. Only on this final night in his house could she give herself, when she would never see him again.

  He settled her onto his knee and encircled his arms right around her, pressing his shaven cheek against hers. In the time they’d been together, she’d learned he appreciated any caress. With a need to give more than she took, she put her palm on his other cheek. His hand flattened on the center of her back, holding her even closer to him. His beating heart thudded against her. She moved her hands to the fabric covering his solid chest, to his broad shoulders, to the hard biceps that flexed as she helped him slide off his jacket.

  In the giving, she experienced the receiving, the way his hand spanned from her rib cage to her breast, which he cupped and stroked with his thumb. She arched, pressing closer.

  The soft touch of his lips heightened her fractured breathing. He took his hand from her breast, and with no change in the pressure of his mouth, he unbuttoned her gown. As he’d done so many times, he slid the material over her shoulders. He lifted down her chemise as well, baring her breasts completely. He made a sound like a shattered groan.

  Shaky pleasure filled her. She trembled clumsily over his buttons in an attempt to remove his shirt. While she worked there, he ripped off his cravat. His wonderful mouth stayed on hers until, finally, his bare flesh heated her. His urgency sped her heart into pounding excitement. Her pulse thudded while his palms on her back arched her into him. One of her hands clutched his shoulder, and the other splayed across his broad chest.

  His muscles bunched under her fingers. He stood, sliding her from his lap, ripping the tie on her underdrawers. Her garments dropped to the floor, leaving her in stockings and shoes. His hand rounded her buttocks and, half urging, half carrying, he took her to the bed. Only then did his lips leave hers. He leaned over, flipping the covers to the end of the bed. She found herself sitting while he peeled off her stockings and shoes.

  For the first time, her nakedness emba
rrassed her, but only until he gazed at her with stark, shining desire. She blushed, not ever imagining she would see him spellbound by the sight of her. His face could have been carved from marble, and his eyes heated by the blacksmith’s forge. His intensity stopped her breath.

  He kicked off his shoes, unbuttoned his flap, and took his trousers and socks off so quickly that she could almost have believed that he hadn’t worn them. Except she did, because she saw something then that she hadn’t seen before: his naked, full arousal.

  Her mouth dried. She’d touched him in that state, but she hadn’t looked. Although she couldn’t back out at this late stage, the sight of his huge pecker tempted her to do so. She would surely be ripped apart.

  “You have done this before?” she asked nervously.

  He gave a spurt of husky laughter. Before she could take another breath, he landed on the bed beside her and lifted her on top of him. “I’m nervous enough to think this is a first time.” He cupped her face and brought her mouth down on his.

  His beautiful mouth, his deep kisses, and the gentle caresses of his hands stilled her fears. The warmth of his nakedness along the full length of her body, the faint scent of his shaving soap, and his erratic breathing were only parts of the full glory of him. A slight movement of his hips put his hardened flesh between her legs. The slide thrilled her. Thudding with excitement, she widened her legs around him, pressing her inner thighs against his hips.

  He angled his mouth and, firmly holding her bottom, he rolled her onto his side of the bed and lifted to his elbows to either side of her head. She felt protected. When he smiled at her, she ached with love. His buttocks clenched and he thrust a little way inside her. Her face tightened with discomfort, but he withdrew and moved a hand down to touch where their wet flesh met. He closed his eyes as he enticed his arousal against her. Tingling with anticipation and pounding with a kind of fear, she spread her hands over the small of his back.