Season of Denial (Scandalous Scions Book 7)

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  Mairin put her folded parasol on the table, took out her hat pin and laid the big hat with its cabbage roses and ribbons carefully on top. She turned to face Iefan. “I don’t know how to kiss a man, Iefan.”

  For a moment, Iefan’s face remained still and blank. Then the corner of his mouth lifted. “And you are telling me this because…?”

  “I want you to teach me how.”

  His eyes widened.

  “You’ve had lots of practice,” Mairin added quickly. “Don’t bother to deny it. I know you have. You taught me how to use a pistol, so I thought…”

  “I could just as easily teach you how to kiss?” he finished, his voice soft.

  She held up her hand to forestall his arguments. “You do not care to be entangled with a lady, so I know it is safe to…to practice with you. You said it, just yesterday. You have no intention of being trapped that way. That makes you the perfect man to teach me.”

  “And why, all of a sudden, do you care to know?” Iefan asked.

  Mairin swallowed. She yearned for another brandy. “I saw…” For the first time in many weeks, she could feel herself blushing. “I saw a man and a woman kissing and it occurred to me that…”

  Iefan must surely see where she was going with this yet he did not speak, to help her out by finishing her sentence as he so often did. His eyes narrowed. He was quite still.

  “Gascony is French!” she cried, throwing herself into the depths of her dilemma. “He is sophisticated and you tell me he has his way with ladies, too. I have never been kissed, Iefan! Not once! If he kisses me, he will…he will be disappointed!”

  Still Iefan did not move or speak.

  Mairin dropped her gaze. “You said that kissing, that…that everything which comes after a kiss, that to be truly good at it takes practice. I heard you! You did say it.”

  “I did,” Iefan said. “You hear too much and remember it far too well.” He lowered his arms. “Although I am certain Gascony would not be disappointed by your kisses. Has he asked for one?”

  “It can only be a matter of time before he does,” Mairin replied. “He spoke of amor this afternoon.”

  Iefan drew in a breath and let it out. “Then let the man kiss you. You will learn the way of it.”

  “I will be inept, though. I am ignorant, Iefan—and this is all your fault!”

  “Mine?” he said blankly.

  “Yes, yours. At the beginning of the season I was so woefully uninformed I was unaware of how much I did not understand about…about just about everything! Now, I look back at how I was back then….are you laughing at me, Iefan?”

  For his mouth was pursed and held straight, while his eyes danced. At her sharp question, his smile formed fully. “A little, perhaps,” he admitted. “Do you think you know everything now, perhaps?”

  “Clearly not!” she shot back. “Oh, you are trying to trap me with words. I see what you are doing.”

  “What am I doing?” he asked, his tone curious.

  “You are trying to make me feel foolish again, so I am reminded of how much there is still to learn about…well, everything. Be serious for a moment, please, Iefan. This is important. I will not have Gascony think badly of me.”

  Iefan rolled his eyes. “Heaven forbid the French lord be disappointed. Very well. Where do you intend this lesson take place? Here? Now?”

  Relief touched her. Mairin wrinkled her nose. “Not here,” she said firmly, looking around the shoddy room, taking in the scratched table and the faded chairs. “The air, the room…it is not conducive.”

  Then she gasped, for Iefan moved while her gaze was not on him and now stood close to her. “Kisses should be conducive all by themselves,” he told her, “regardless of their context.” He put his hand beneath her chin and lifted it so she was forced to look him in the eye. “Watch me,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “Watch,” he breathed. “You can always see the truth there…”

  His gaze held hers for a long moment.

  Her heart beat harder. “Iefan…”

  “Shh…” He bent and pressed his lips to hers.

  For a tiny fraction of a moment, Mairin was disappointed. If it was simply a matter of mouths pressing together, then Iefan could have told her so.

  Then something shifted, deep inside her. She grew aware of every inch of her body, of the touch of the muslin against her arms, the way her breasts were held inside her corset, of the touch of silk beneath her dress. It was as if the press of Iefan’s mouth had turned up an internal lamp.

  Her breath escaped her in a breathy rush and she realized she was leaning against him, just as the woman at Epsom had been doing. It was a secondary, distant thought, for Iefan’s mouth was still against hers.

  She liked kissing very much, she decided in a dreamy, far away thought.

  Then his tongue touched her lips, pressed against them and parted them. It slid inside to touch hers.

  Someone made a soft sound. She realized it was her who had made it. The moan had escaped her without artifice, pulled from her by the delicious sensations.

  He traced her lips with his tongue, his own breath harsh and hurried and she liked that sound, too. She liked to think he enjoyed kissing her.

  When had her eyes closed? She didn’t know and didn’t care. Iefan’s hands were holding her face, keeping her still so he could kiss her even more deeply. His tongue invaded her mouth once more and tangled with hers, and her body seemed to flare with heat and throb. Her legs trembled.

  Iefan drew her arms up behind his neck, and she clung to him, grateful for the support. His hand pressed into the small of her back, pulling her against him, making her hips press against him. He was hot, too.

  His other hand slid up her back and into her hair, to hold her head steady as he plundered her mouth. His lips brushed in soft touched over the width of them, then he would plunge deeply once more, stealing her breath and her strength.

  He smelled of something spicy and nice, as he always did.

  When had she learned how he smelled?

  The question faded away.

  When Iefan’s hand moved from her waist to slide up her torso, it felt perfectly natural. Inevitable. His long fingers pressed against the side of her breast and the rigid corsetry and the flesh between her legs throbbed in response. She gasped against his lips. Without thought, she twisted, pushing her breast into his hand.

  Iefan tore himself away from her with a harsh exhalation, almost staggering away. He came up against the table and leaned on it, breathing hard.

  Mairin blinked. It was far brighter in the room than it had been a moment ago. She wrapped her arms around her waist, trembling.

  “Iefan?” she whispered. The thundering in her temple and her throbbing, weak body made it difficult to put together more than the simple speaking of his name.

  He closed his eyes. His brow wrinkled as if he was in pain.

  “Iefan…” She went to him.

  He held up a hand, bringing her to a halt a pace away. His hand was shaking.

  Mairin was back to the bewildering vale of ignorance. She didn’t understand what the matter was. “Iefan, please, tell me what I did wrong.”

  Iefan groaned and straightened. “Nothing,” he said, his voice hoarse. “You did nothing wrong at all.”

  “Then I don’t understand. Why are you upset?”

  He pushed his shaking hand through his hair, making a mess of the thick curls. “Because I liked it,” he said, almost snarling the words.

  Her heart leapt high and hard. Her breath halted.

  “Too much,” Iefan added, his voice bitter. His gaze did not meet hers. He looked at the table, the floor, anywhere but at her.

  Mairin’s trembling increased.

  He blew out his breath and tugged his waistcoat into place and buttoned his jacket. It took him three attempts to slide the button through the hole, for his fingers were shaking.

  He moved to the door and opened it. Immediately the aroma and sou
nds of the inn leapt in volume. Iefan gripped the door handle, his knuckles white. He lifted his head. “Here endeth the lesson and a mighty one it was.” His tone was dry. Cynical, the way it had been all through the years Mairin had known him.

  He didn’t slam the door behind him and that made it worse.

  Chapter Ten

  Annalies patted Iefan’s calves, silently asking him to shift his legs so she could sit on the end of the divan, instead.

  Iefan grudgingly moved his legs, which required him to turn and put them on the ground. Which meant straightening his back. It took effort he didn’t want to spend. He had been comfortable. Numbness was generally comfortable, only the effort it took to reach a state of numbness was often not worth it.

  His mother sat with her hands in her lap, studying him. “You have been on this divan for a week, Iefan.”

  Straight to the point. Of course.

  “Has it been a week?” he asked, trying to remember the passage of days. He glanced around the divan, moving only his gaze and keeping his head still. Stamp was cleaning up around him, although there were still stacks of books and unread newspapers, and the tray with the decanter and glass. The decanter was full again. Good old Stamp.

  “I suppose I should congratulate you,” Annalies continued, as if Iefan had not spoken. “You appear to be somewhat sober today, which is a change.”

  “Your point, Mother?”

  “I planned to return to Marblethorpe tomorrow. Should I change my arrangements and stay here?” Her gaze was steady.

  Iefan put his head in his hands. It was easier, that way. “No,” he said, his voice sounding strained even to him. “This is my last day sitting here.”

  “Is it?” His mother’s tone was cool. “Do you want to tell me why you are sitting here in the first place, Iefan?”

  He shook his head. The pounding made him hiss and grow still once more.

  The bell over the front door chimed, a soft tinkle, and even that made his head pound.

  Footsteps. Stamp, going to answer the door. Murmurs.

  Then more footsteps across the tiles in the front hall.

  Stamp cleared his throat. “Lady Mairin to speak to you, Master Iefan.”

  His gut tightened. His heart squeezed. “I’m not in a fit state—”

  “Mairin, do come in!” his mother called.

  Soft steps.

  Iefan forced himself to lift his head and watch Mairin move into the drawing room. It was as if he was seeing her for the first time, now the blinders were gone. She wore a striped dress and the dark stripes were the exact shade of her hair. The pale stripes were the color of her pale flesh. The straight lines exaggerated her curves. Why had he not noticed them before? Now, his gaze was drawn to the nipped-in waist, the width of her shoulders and the full breasts beneath the striped cotton. His gaze shifted to her lips and lingered there.

  Her eyes were shadowed and there were dark marks beneath them.

  He had put those there, he reminded himself.

  Mairin stopped in the middle of the floor, with a swish of lace, her ribbons fluttering. “Aunt Anna…”

  “Should I leave?” his mother asked, getting to her feet.

  “No,” Mairin said. “I won’t stay. I only wanted to speak to Iefan for a minute. I am on my way to…I suppose it doesn’t matter.”

  Annalies stayed on her feet. “You look tired, my dear.”

  “I am,” Mairin admitted candidly. Her gaze swung back to Iefan.

  He should stand too, he supposed. Only, he wasn’t sure he could and not just because of the way his head threatened to split in two when he moved.

  Just seeing her brought back in a rush all the heated, rabid need, all over again. A week of drinking had not killed it, as such a week had cured his need in the past. Lust curled in his belly and knocked at his chest, like a sleeping tiger stirring back to life.

  Iefan swallowed.

  “You didn’t answer my letters,” Mairin told him. Her voice was strained, too. “I would not have come, otherwise. I wanted to apologize for making you…for asking…well, you know.”

  Iefan’s breath pushed out of him. She was apologizing! To him. He had made her think this was her fault.

  He closed his eyes, the only way he could make himself not look at her. “Don’t apologize.”

  “I wanted to say…” Mairin’s lace covered hand curled into a small fist which she pressed against her hip. “I saw Gordie last night. He says you have failed to attend any engagements for nearly a week. I don’t want to be the reason you feel you must avoid your friends, Iefan. I am here to tell you there is no need to stay away from them. I will make sure you never see me again.”

  She was severing any connection between them.

  Iefan wanted to protest, to claim she had misunderstood. Only, she had not. Mairin was far from stupid. “Thank you,” he said, when the silence drew into a thin scream.

  “Well…I should go.” Mairin gave Annalies an effortful smile. “A shipboard party with Navy officers. Every debutante has been angling for an invitation all season.”

  “And you received one,” Anna said, her tone light.

  “I honestly do not know why,” Mairin admitted. “Still…” Her smile fluttered and died. “Goodbye Iefan.”

  “Goodbye,” he said…or thought he said. He couldn’t hear his own voice for the roaring in his head.

  He pushed his fingers against his temples, trying to halt the roar and the waves of pain.

  When he looked up again, Mairin was gone.

  His mother came back from the front hall, her brows drawn together. She sat back on the end of the divan and looked at him expectantly.

  Iefan closed his eyes. “I kissed her,” he said, the words tasting like ashes in his mouth.

  “Ah…” There was no admonition in her voice. “And that is a bad thing?” she asked.

  “She plans to marry Gascony.”

  “Plans can change.”

  “Mine have not. There is no room in my life for…” He trailed off. For what, exactly? “Mairin would be a complication. I have no time for complications,” he amended.

  “I see.” His mother’s tone was still neutral. “You might be wise in ways even you have not anticipated.”

  His heart wrenched. She agreed with him! He looked up, hurt. “Why do you say that?”

  Annalies got to her feet and touched the stack of unread newspapers with one patent leather covered toe. “You have missed the news. In tomorrow’s edition, I fully expect to read that France has declared war against Prussia.”

  The jolt sizzled through him. Iefan would have nodded if he thought it wouldn’t kill him to move so vigorously. “At last, we come to it,” he breathed.

  “The war you said was inevitable,” his mother finished. “You have so much at stake in this war. It is probably best you don’t have to fight on the domestic front, too.” She rested her hand on his shoulder. “I’ll have Stamp bring you some salicylic powder.”

  THE FIVE DAYS AFTER she gathered her courage to confront Iefan were a blur to Mairin and would always be. Her life returned once more to a pure, uninterrupted society-driven existence. For those five days she accustomed herself to a future which would be as unchanging as those days.

  Gascony seemed to appreciate that she no longer failed to attend functions for which she had accepted invitations. He pressured her to share her next commitment each time he saw her at one. He rarely left her side at any of them, yet she had no interest in furthering their relationship. She pummeled herself into a minimal enthusiasm so she did not drive him away altogether.

  France declared war upon Prussia on July 19th. Gascony was despondent and stayed in his hotel room, while the ton gathered at Lord Bucknall’s and whispered together about the future of Europe and divided loyalties.

  Mairin listened to the chatter and wondered what Iefan would make of the war. She suspected he knew more about the real causes and possible outcomes of the war than any of the drawing room generals
rattling verbal sabers over tea and crumpets.

  Not that she cared, anymore. The season, which started with such promise, had lost any appeal for her. Less than a month remained before the Glorious Twelfth, after which everyone would abruptly depart for country estates and the hunting season.

  Mairin considered returning to Sussex early. Her mother and Raymond would not mind at all.

  Only, Gascony still seemed to be interested in her. If she departed London before the end of the season, would he see it as a signal of her lack of interest? Of course he would. Even though he was new to the London season, Gascony was practiced at the art of innuendo and implication.

  Mairin stayed in London, listless and bored…until the final opera evening for the season. Die Walküre was a brand new opera by the Bavarian, Richard Wagner, and most of society was anxious to see the grand finale for the season. Only, the war between France and Prussia tainted the performance, for members considered Bavaria to be silent partners with Prussia.

  Instead, the opera company put on a hastily rehearsed performance of The Lily of Killarney for the season finale. The production was slow and stuttered, although Mairin barely cared. She sat in the box beside Gascony and stared at the performers on the stage below yet didn’t see them. Her thoughts were as chaotic as the production.

  Why had she asked Iefan to kiss her? It had changed everything. And yet, it explained so much which she would not have been able to understand at the beginning of the season.

  A man could lust after a woman yet hold no deep affection for her. Men lusted after whores all the time yet they did not marry them. Clearly, the kiss had demonstrated to Iefan that he wanted her…and that was all. Iefan was not the marrying kind. Men like him did not allow affairs of the heart to interfere with their appetites.

  She recalled the redness of his eyes when she called upon him. The pallor of his skin and his unshaved cheeks. The reek of stale brandy had been powerful. He had been drinking, perhaps for days. Is this how Iefan normally dealt with an unwanted lust?

  Mairin understood why he retreated. He did not want to complicate her pursuit of Gascony.

  In a single week, Mairin discovered how much she missed Iefan. His company, his friends and the spice he brought to her life. Society was bland and tasteless in comparison.