A light snore whuffled up from under a nearby pillow. Mr. Kennedy.
Throughout the night he had explored the most secret places in her body. Her cheeks warmed as she remembered his shocking requests. He had stirred passions lying deep inside, curled up in her aching womb, waiting for release.
Cassie stretched and grinned like a Cheshire cat. Such hot-blooded mating.
Pushing back some of the bedcovers, she studied his broad shoulders and lean torso. Farther down, strong thigh and buttock muscles lay exposed for her to admire. He possessed the body of an athlete.
And that brute of a penis, ready twice last night.
Tucked into the crook of his shoulder, she was warmed by the heat of his body. She inhaled the deep spice and lime of his cologne mixed with the intoxicating male scent of him.
After a soft knock, Cécile opened the door a crack. “Breakfast, madame?” Her usual request, croissants filled with blackberry preserve, a pot of good strong coffee, and steamed milk. He stirred under the covers and she turned to find him watching her with a sleepy-eyed, curious gaze.
“Good morning, Zak.”
HE KNEW AT that very moment, he would have to have Cassandra St. Cloud again. And again. Last night, she had captured him, body and soul. And what a lass she was. Intelligent, with a crack wit and an enchanting, eccentric way about her. She was also … wanton.
She sat upright against a large square pillow, her breasts fully exposed. She smiled at him, all radiance and guileless beauty.
He snaked a hand out from under the covers and found hers. “Good morning, Cassandra.”
Her little French maid unfolded a tray table, and set down a platter filled with breakfast items. He pulled the linens up.
“Thank you, Cécile.” Cassie turned to him. “Steamed milk?”
“Mm-mm, yes.” He pointed at the maid. “Is she … going to remain in here?” Cassie proceeded to stir his blood measurably as she poured milk for his café au lait. Morning light streamed through rain-spattered windowpanes, dappling her derriere.
He propped himself on an elbow and displaced the blanket, exposing more of his thigh. That saucy maid managed an ogle as she set down the silver pitcher.
He stacked a few extra pillows up to the headboard and sat up.
She inhaled. “Coffee has a delicious aroma, does it not?”
“Most stimulating.” He traced a finger over the beautiful script that ran across her hip. “I can hardly start the day without it. I have pushed tea back to afternoon.”
He lounged beside her, bare-chested, as the maid stoked the fire. It wasn’t proper to expose himself to the female servant, though to cover up seemed the height of hypocrisy. And so British. He listened with amusement as the two women conversed in French.
Sipping the steaming, caramel-colored coffee, he fancied himself in Paris. It wasn’t difficult in the least.
When Cécile referred to his masculine form and the desirable qualities of his chest hair, he yanked the sheet up farther and swallowed more coffee. When Cassie described him as frightfully large and as hard as a Bengal tiger, he could no longer feign disinterest in the women’s commentary.
“Tu as beaux nénés, Cassandra.” The flirtatious maid winked as she backed out of the room.
Cassie raised a brow.
“If you two can boldly discuss the intimate parts of my anatomy, I believe I might be allowed comment on your pretty breasts.”
The rekindled warmth from the hearth began to reach the bed. Placing his cup and saucer on a nightstand, he pressed up against his new paramour and laved the side of a round globe.
“Mine.” He felt possessive this morning. “Do ladies often speak in such lurid terms regarding their lovers?”
She fed him a heavenly piece of warm bun and jam. “We all, to some extent, share shockingly intimate stories with one another. Both the large and the small of it, I’m afraid.” Cassie lifted a little finger, along with her cup.
Snorting a laugh, he kissed a pink nipple and spread a swath of berry preserve across a swell of breast. “Alas, I have made you all sticky. I shall have to lick it off.”
Zeno wet a circle around her areola. Her skin tasted salty and sweet, a honeyed female flavor he could not get enough of. And the mysterious scent of her, a mixture of carnations and light musk, filled the memory of his senses. Last evening, she had arched and thrust under him, a passionate goddess, as she elevated her hips and beckoned him to mount and breed with her. Twice.
Christ, just thinking about their lovemaking made him stiff. Absently, he entertained the idea of a third round as he counted the chimes of the wall clock.
Zeno bolted straight up in bed. “Bollocks. I’ve got football.” He jumped into his trousers. Amused, Cassie sat back against a cloud of pillows while he tucked a half-hard penis into his drawers.
“Oh dear!” She sat upright. “I’m late as well.” Springing out of bed, she attempted to dance past him but he caught her in his arms. Running kisses down her beautiful naked spine and rounded bum, he spun her around.
“I’m to meet Lydia for a ride in less than an hour.”
“So we’re both in a jam.” Zeno chuckled. “When can I see you again?”
“I’ve invited Lydia and Jeremy for Sunday dinner this afternoon, can you make it?”
“What’s the fare?”
“Braised lover.” Her eyes crinkled. “I suppose there might also be a roast leg of lamb with mint chutney. Spice cake for dessert. But only for those brave enough to attend.”
“Cake.” He grabbed up his shoes and stockings. “With butter frosting?”
“Luscious, creamy butter frosting.”
CASSIE BRAKED HER bicycle and glided to a stop. She reached up under her hat and repinned the boater in place.
“You have such pretty color in your cheeks this morning, Cass.” Lydia drew up beside her. “The impact of the bicycle on the health and emancipation of women cannot be underestimated.”
“Dear me, you remind me of Mother Erskine.”
This made the second time in less than an hour that Lydia had commented on the radiance of her complexion. And what exactly could she say to her female companion? Oh, Lydia, I have taken a lover who leaves me all aglow from his pleasuring.
She eased back onto the bicycle seat, adjusting for the deep soreness inside her body. A quiver rolled through all the intimate places Zak had been.
Lydia tilted her head. “There’s something you’re not telling me. You’re holding back, Cass. Don’t think you can fool me for long.”
Her friend studied her outfit and she could only guess at what was coming next. Lydia could be either overly critical or effusive with her compliments, and often both at once. “Cassie, you have such style, not like all my frippery and flounces. Your clothes are always an exquisite combination of perfect tailoring and simplicity.”
Lydia patted down a few unnecessary ruffles. “I’m positively eaten up with jealousy over those navy bloomers and that crisp, white sailor blouse.”
Cassie patted the top of her handsome straw boater with its navy grosgrain hatband. “Oh, but it’s the hat that is the finishing touch, wouldn’t you agree?”
Her friend sighed. “It’s just that I feel so—pastel.”
“Honestly, Lydia, I have told you a thousand times you wear colors that wash you out.”
“Cass, you must go shopping with me again. This time I promise to purchase only what you deem suitable.”
Cassie surveyed the park. “Where is the football field?”
The ash blonde, who did look a bit pale, paused for a moment to think. “Past the lake on left, I think. Why on earth …?”
“Men play football, don’t they?” Cassie pushed off in the direction Lydia pointed.
“What a wicked idea, Cassie. I do believe you are finally coming out of your black.”
As she and Lydia cycled along, they were, at times, greeted by gawkers and a few disapproving stares. There had begun a countrywide backlash against
certain advances in women’s rights, including the idea of women cycling. The bicycle was fast becoming a symbol of the New Woman. Just this year, male undergraduates at Cambridge chose to show their opposition to the admission of women as full members of the university by hanging a female figure in effigy in the main town square—tellingly, on a bicycle.
It was exasperating! As far as she was concerned, all those opposed to a woman’s right to cycle could stare all they like and walk straight into the Serpentine while doing so.
The moment she and Lydia rounded the lake, the footballers caught sight of them. Several players trifled, but more serious jeers began on a break in play. Never one to back away from a fight, Lydia applied the brakes. “Never seen a real lady out for a cycle? Backward, are we?”
Cassie chirped in. “Get used to it, gentlemen. You can’t keep us in skirts forever.”
Mounting scornful remarks, however, triggered some of the younger men to approach them. And, most unfortunately, the first taunt out of an unruly redheaded chap served to incense Cassie. “Why would a lady wish to show off her bum to the rest of the world?”
She clenched her hands into fists, which landed on her hips. “I daresay Hyde Park is hardly the rest of the world, sir, and would you suggest a woman ride a bicycle sidesaddle? You must not be familiar with the way these vehicles are engineered. Otherwise you would understand that it is near impossible, even dangerous for a lady to wear a skirt while pedaling.”
One handsome blond Adonis with rumpled hair and dirt on his cheek appeared more enchanted than angry. “Perhaps one might suggest the lady not pedal at all?”
“You would fancy that, wouldn’t you?” Lydia stuck her nose between them and went off on the handsome lad.
Cassie grinned. She was actually beginning to enjoy this confrontation, for she did not spot Zeno among the athletes. Undoubtedly he played on some other field.
If he were here, he would characterize this raucousness as an unseemly incident in a public park—though she had recently confirmed to herself that Zeno Kennedy was a very different man privately than the reserved, stern gentleman of first acquaintance.
Oh dear.
She spotted him just as her gaze wandered to the far side of the male gathering. He wore a faded blue rugby shirt along with an all too familiar frown. The ice in his stare could freeze the first hardy daffodils of spring.
Their gazes met over the small cluster of players. She backed up instinctively and repositioned her newly purchased vehicle for escape. From the corner of her eye she saw him lob the ball over to one of his teammates.
It took him a few long strides to catch her by the middy blouse and take her boldly in his arms. He kissed her hard, and a thrill shot through her body as he bent her back across his arm.
“Whooo-hooo,” came the raucous hoots and shouts. Of course such outrageous deportment would be encouraged, even cheered on by his teammates, who undoubtedly thought his response a shocking but understandable reaction to the ladies’ cycling costumes.
“That is what happens to young women who wear bloomers in the park, Cassandra.” His grim expression belied his true feelings, for his eyes spoke the truth. He was both amused and bedeviled by her.
When her knees went to jelly he steadied her. Cassie staggered backward with one hand still attached to the back of her hat. She glanced at Lydia, whose mouth, as yet, hadn’t closed.
Gathering her wits about her, she thrust out her chin and made a show of straightening her boater. She ignored the boisterous men and proceeded in the most genteel fashion to make introductions. “Mr. Zeno Augustus Kennedy, please meet Miss Lydia Valentine Philbrook.”
“Miss Philbrook.” His cool gaze slid from one young woman to the other. “When you told me you were riding in the park, I assumed—”
“Yes, I expect you never dreamed your weekend sport would be so rudely interrupted by two women in bloomers. I hope that we haven’t put you off your appetite, for you are still expected for dinner at three.” Cassie nodded politely and pushed off on her bicycle. “Good day, Mr. Kennedy.” She nodded to the footballers. “Gentlemen.”
ZENO’S HARDENED GAZE lingered on Cassie’s pretty bum as she pedaled away down the path. It appeared his kiss and her reference to his dinner invitation had knocked the wind out of his teammates’ sails. The poor confused blokes drifted back onto the playing field.
He gazed at Lydia rather intently. “You’ve known her a long time?”
Lydia nodded. “Since ballet and art classes.” The young lady hurried her bicycle down the pathway.
Zeno accompanied her a few more paces. “Has she always been like this?”
“Why, whatever do you mean, Mr. Kennedy?” Cassie’s friend played coy with him.
“Bicycles, bloomers … cigars.” There were numerous other behaviors he dare not allude to, including tattoos and wanton lovemaking.
“Well, she wasn’t nearly this much fun after she married Thom.” Lydia climbed astride her bicycle. “You know about the cigars?”
Chapter Sixteen
Between the parlor and dining room Zeno pulled Cassie against him and kissed her. He should have released her on the spot, but his body refused to obey. Instead, he closed his eyes and nuzzled wisps of hair at her temple and breathed in her scent. Her presence electrified him this evening.
She spoke softly against his ear. “I’ve a bit of awkward news. I’m afraid my parents arrived unexpectedly, moments ago.” She fiddled with a button on his waistcoat. “Of course I insisted they stay for dinner.”
A cough and ahem signaled they were not alone. With the help of a quick shove from Cassie, Zeno stepped away. “Mother. Father. Drs. Olivia and Henry Erskine, I would like you to meet Mr. Zeno Kennedy.” Cassie cleared her throat. “My … landlord.”
This was going to be damned awkward. Zeno stepped forward and reached for Dr. Erskine’s hand. “Delighted to meet you both.”
He could not help but notice Cassie’s parents were a handsome couple and her mother would be lovely indeed without her current tight-lipped, narrow-eyed, raised-chin expression.
“Where is Lydia?” Cassie glanced about. “Ah, here you are.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Erskine.” Lydia tilted her head at Zeno. “Mr. Kennedy.”
“We meet again, Miss Philbrook.” Zeno nodded politely.
Lydia turned to their hostess. “And wherever is Jeremy? Late again, I take it?”
“Our illustrious chum is hanging a preview and has been delayed.” Cassie rolled open the dining room doors. “He hopes to drop by for dessert and coffee.” She showed Zeno to his seat at the table and leaned in close. “I advise you to keep your head this evening. You shall need it.”
Despite the warning, Zeno sailed through the soup course with small talk, but could not help but feel the eyes of his inquisitors upon him. And he did not have long to wait once the lamb was served.
“So, Mr. Kennedy, from what part of Scotland do you hail?” Erskine stabbed his fork into a slice of roast and a small boiled potato.
“Isle of Skye. Sheep farmers and whiskey makers.” Zeno grimaced inwardly. Bad choice of words. Made it sound as if the family were a drunken gang of peat cutters. He cleared his throat. “The Kennedy earls reside at Culzean Castle in South Ayrshire. Lowlanders loyal to the crown.”
“The only good drink is a Talisker scotch.” Dr. Erskine offered a toast. “Here’s to a bottle and an honest friend …”
Now, there’s a relief. Zeno picked up his whiskey glass and met her father’s tumbler with a wink and a grin. “Sin on.”
With the barest of smiles, Olivia Erskine gave them the once-over. “Two Scots and each with a full glass. Love at first sight.”
Cassie wore a glint in her eye. “Zak does seem to bring out the haggis in Father.”
Mrs. Erskine puffed up and studied him. “I take it you served in the military, Mr. Kennedy? Sometime after you completed your education? My daughter mentioned an athletic award or fellowship to Cambri
dge University?”
“Please call me Zak.” He winked at Cassie. “St. John’s. My studies were in linguistics, with a postgraduate term spent translating Latin and Greek—minor poets and philosophers.” Good lord. Now he sounded like a flighty, unfocused academic.
Zeno removed a succulent piece of meat from a rib before setting his knife down. “After university, my uncle’s service made it possible for me to get a placement in the Second Dragoons.”
Dr. Erskine leaned forward. “The Royal Scots Greys, a crack cavalry outfit, I must say. ‘Second to none,’ the motto, what? Well, Rob will be impressed, won’t he Cassie?”
“No doubt, Daddy.” Cassie shot both her parents a disparaging look, which allowed Zeno to get a forkful of dinner into his mouth. “Goodness, I must apologize for the interrogation, Zak.”
He made contact with sparkling silver eyes. She was the picture of loveliness. An effortlessly beautiful woman with a very modern outlook on life and, well, sex, to be honest. And there could be no doubt the two were inarguably linked. As he watched, a shade of pale rose crept from her throat to her cheek. Was she thinking about last night?
He forced his attention back to the Erskines’ background check. “The Greys wore bearskins and kilts—breeches for riding. Thankfully, they don’t wear kilts on horseback anymore.” He relaxed a little, as the remark appeared to amuse everyone at table. “Although I do recall a night when the Highlanders in my squadron got drunk enough to ride around the parade ground in their plaids. Rode past the sergeant major’s quarters. Pulled up our kilts—stuck our bare-naked arses out in the air.”
Dead silence.
Zeno gulped from his water glass. “Not half so amusing the next morning. Certain parts hurt like hell—”
To the rescue, Cassie cut in. “And was the sergeant amused?”
“We scrubbed latrines for a week. Nemo me impune lacessit,” Zeno chuckled.
Cassie’s father snorted a roar of laughter. “No one provokes me with impunity.” After two tumblers of hard spirits, a lilt had materialized in Henry Erskine’s brogue.
An Affair with Mr. Kennedy Page 15
