Barbara Pierce - Sinful Between the Sheets

by Barbara Pierce

  "Not everyone, my dear lady," he said, pleased they were alone. "Come. No one will miss us."

  "Do not be so certain," she said, placing her hand on his arm as they descended the four wave-shaped steps into the conservatory. "With the exception of Mrs. Du Toy, I believe we are the youngest guests present. That alone makes it difficult for us to be inconspicuous."

  "Morrigan Du Toy is here?" he asked innocently. Be­fore her marriage and very public divorce to one of the royal court physicians, Fayne and Morrigan had indulged in a spectacularly unforgettable affair one hot summer. He had not spoken to her privately since the House of Lords had dissolved her marriage. However, Ramscar and Cadd had told him that the statuesque blonde had expressed a desire to see him again. Fayne had resisted calling on her. The passion he had shared with her had burned out years ago. As pleasurable as their time together had been, he was not interested in rekindling the friendship.

  Lady Kilby halted and looked at him sharply. "You are acquainted with Mrs. Du Toy?"

  "Not really. I haven't seen the lady in years," he said, giving her the partial truth. She seemed relieved by his ad­mission.

  Fayne only hoped Morrigan would behave herself this evening. No doubt she would try to use their meeting to her advantage. In many ways, the lady was a lot like him. He pulled Lady Kilby away from the entrance, taking her deeper into an alcove of potted orange trees.

  "I have never been to Lord Guttrey's house," she admit­ted shyly, her voice just above a whisper. "Someone in the drawing room commented on his impressive conservatory, and upon seeing it, I must concur."

  "You can speak aloud. This is not a place of worship," he said, teasing her into smiling up at him.

  As he recalled the brief taste of her flesh when he kissed her wrist at the fair, his green gaze was contempla­tive as it dropped down to her lips. A man who generally indulged his impulses, he did not question his motives as he pulled her into his arms. Lady Kilby was shorter than the ladies he usually chose for lovers. She also did not have the curvaceous figure he preferred. These differ­ences did not seem to matter when he touched her. When he pulled her against his lean, muscular torso, the lady fit him perfectly.

  He did not ask for permission. Her eyes and the subtle tilt of her face revealed she wanted his mouth on hers. Fayne gently brushed his lips teasingly against her full lips. Lady Kilby shivered at his brief contact. She had a gener­ous mouth, just begging to be kissed. If she was so respon­sive to such a light touch, he could not wait until he had her naked in his bed.

  "I stand corrected," he murmured against her mouth. He laved her upper lip with the tip of his tongue.

  "How so?" Her lips parted at his tongue's coaxing.

  Fayne grinned impishly at her. "With you in my arms, this is a place where I will gladly worship."

  Kilby moaned as his agile tongue slipped between her parted lips, savoring her taste. The feel of his rough tongue mating against hers seemed to bring her body to life. A tingling awareness coursed through her entire body. Oh, the taste of him! There was a sweet decadence in the way he moved his mouth thoroughly over hers, his tongue sizzling over her sensitive lips. Despite her limited experience with males, she sensed the duke was unlike most gentlemen.

  "We should—oh—we should stop. Go back upstairs," she said breathlessly. Fayne's questing mouth glided down to her neck. If she were honest with herself, she knew she did not mean a single word. He nipped the tender flesh above the gold and amethyst dangle earring she wore, and then laved the inner recess of her ear. Clutching him tightly on the arms, she expelled a melodiously sound against his cheek.

  Fayne pulled back and grinned roguishly at her uninhib­ited response. "I prefer your company, little wolf."

  Kilby pressed her face into his shoulder, a little morti­fied by his teasing endearment. It was not her last name that prompted the nickname, but rather her unbidden reac­tion to his loving caresses. She had sounded like a wild an­imal. The man was too dangerous.

  He backed her up until she felt the abrasive surface of one of the brick pilasters designed as a structural buttress for the large interior. Anyone entering the conservatory would not be able to see them. She was grateful no one could see her wanton position. The sensible side of her was urging her to break away from her ardent companion and return to the safety of the drawing room. Her body was not listening to reason. All she could do was turn her face to the side, giving him access to the bared flesh above her corset.

  “This is a new experience for me," he murmured, laving the swells of her breasts.

  Kilby tangled her fingers in the long length of dark cin­namon hair he had tied into a queue. Unlike the man, his hair was luxuriantly soft to the touch. She was tempted to untie his queue, needing to feel the texture against her warm skin. "It is the same for me." Never had a gentleman handled her so intimately, so skillfully.

  "This might come as a surprise to most," he said, pulling the edge of her bodice forward and revealing more of her right breast. "We Carlisles have a few rules regarding our passions, you know. Never coveting one of my father's women is one I have always adhered to, until I saw you."

  Bewildered and slightly hurt, Kilby locked her elbows, deliberately holding him away from her. "Your Grace, I thought you understood. I was never your father's mistress. Good heavens, I had just met him. He was old enough to be my father! The night he—" Kilby bit her lip in hesitation. She did not want to ruin what they had shared with un­happy thoughts. "He only visited me to continue a discus­sion we had begun the previous evening. You have to believe me. Nothing untoward occurred between the Duke of Solitea and—"

  He silenced her with an abrupt rough kiss. "You do not have to explain anything to me." Fayne seared her soul with his smoldering green gaze. "I prefer conversing with you in other, more gratifying ways."

  To prove his point, he slid his hand underneath Lady Kilby's chemise and stiff corset, cupping her right breast. The warm globe fit easily in his hand. She was less voluptuous than the sort of lady who usually caught his eye; however, he was pleasantly surprised by the firm texture of her breast. His mouth salivated at the thought of laving the plump nipple stabbing into his palm. Despite the lady's suggestions that they leave, she was aroused and panting for his deft caresses.

  "You are correct. We cannot let this go too far this eve­ning." He exposed her rosy nipple. His cock jerked in re­sponse. If he had any sense, he would cease tormenting them both. "A taste. There is no harm in sampling the pas­sion between us." Fayne lowered his head and teased the beckoning bud with his tongue.

  "Your Grace!" she gasped, her hands pulling at his hair. She was tugging him closer, not pushing him away.

  "Call me by my name," he said impulsively, not wanting her to use the variations of his titles. He craved a level of intimacy he had not sought with other women. Gently, he suckled her nipple. It reminded him of a ripe succulent berry. "Fayne. Say my name, little wolf."

  Kilby shuddered as he peeled back her bodice, coaxing her left breast into view. "Fayne. No... no, this is not right. Not like this," she hissed, when he set his teeth into her skin. He wanted to mark her flesh, so later she would see his claim on her.

  Fayne had never been so aroused for a woman. His cock ached, straining for release from his breeches. What they were doing was risky. Unfortunately, passion tended to overrule good sense.

  He worked his way up the graceful line of her throat to her jaw. Hungrily, he nipped her chin. "Ah, Kilby, what you do to a man's good intentions. Guttrey's conservatory is not exactly the place I would have chosen for lovemaking." His hand grazed the front of her skirts, unerringly pressing against the juncture between her legs. Her body jerked at his touch. He imagined that if he lifted her skirts and plunged his fingers into the moist heat of her womanly sheath, he would discover she was ready for him.

  They both froze at the sound of a door opening.

  No!

  "Kilby, my girl, are you in here?" Lady Quennell de­scended the four s
teps, expecting a reply.

  Kilby's violet eyes widened in horror at their awkward predicament. Fayne removed the hand he had buried in her skirts and put a hand over his rigid cock. If the viscountess was as adventurous as her young charge, she was going to get an eyeful. Hastily, Kilby began stuffing her breasts into her bodice. She gestured helplessly at him, demanding him to do something. Fayne held a finger to his lips, warning her to be silent. He respected her wish to keep their friend­ship a secret. For now, he did not mind sneaking around. His mother was a tolerant lady, but even he was not certain how she would react if she saw Kilby.

  Ah, yes.

  The viscountess's sudden search for Kilby was abun­dantly clear. Fayne leaned close to her ear and whispered, "Did I forget to mention that I am my mother's escort this evening?" Noticing her panicked expression, he assumed he had not. He held her against the brick pilaster to prevent her from bolting into the open.

  They listened to Lady Quennell's retreat and the door closing behind her.

  Kilby shoved him away. "You are here with your mother? Good grief, your mother!"

  "Do not sound so shocked," he said defensively, in reac­tion to her appalled tone. "I occasionally act as the duchess's escort. It has been a disconcerting time for her with the duke's death and all."

  "I know. You—you simpleton!" She lifted her hands up in supplication and started to move toward the door. "What am I doing here with you?" she asked herself. "You are the last person in this entire country I should be kissing... and such."

  He was too amused to be offended. "I hope to do more of the 'and such' you mentioned," Fayne said, finding Kilby's nervous fluttering about the duchess's presence endearing. Without a doubt, his mother would certainly disapprove of his soon-to-be mistress. Nevertheless, it did not deter him from wanting the lady. If she did not believe his sincerity, all she had to do was look at the front of his breeches. "When can we meet again?"

  Kilby halted at the steps and whirled around to confront him. "What? Are you daft? We can never meet again."

  Fayne frowned slightly at her. He was not used to hav­ing anyone refuse him. "Of course we can," he said reason­ably. "Tonight got a trifle out of hand, I will admit. Next time, we shall strive for a less public place to display our affections."

  "I have to find Priddy before she returns upstairs," Kilby muttered, already concentrating on the lie she planned to use to explain her absence. "Forgive me, Your Grace. As much as I find you appealing, I did not come to London for a blithe flirtation. Undoubtedly, you will be able to quickly stumble on a half dozen ladies more agreeable to your amorous purposes."

  Lady Kilby Fitchwolf left him. Standing alone in the conservatory, Fayne was burdened with an arousal that had him wondering if it would ever wane. So Kilby thought she could dismiss him so easily? Obviously, she was as used to getting her way as he was. It was a battle she was bound to lose. He had tasted her passion. When she forgot how im­proper it was to take both father and son as lovers, she was beautifully responsive. Fayne now understood why the duke had made an exception and chosen Kilby above his usual type of mistress. He had discovered that his predilection in women had altered, too.

  Moving to one of the stone benches near the front, he sat down and gingerly adjusted his arousal. Perhaps it was for the best that Kilby escaped with Lady Quennell. Fayne chuckled humorlessly at the thought of the duchess's reac­tion if he arrived in the dining room in his present uncom­fortable condition.

  He never had a chance to tell her, but he doubted Kilby would fare much better. One look at her face and the vis­countess would know her charge had been up to some pleasurable mischief. His kisses had left Kilby's lips red and swollen, and her dress had been delightfully rumpled. Fayne wished he could see the lady's reaction when she noticed the love bite he had bestowed on her left breast.

  His cock swelled at his musings. Fayne pressed his fin­gers to his brow and groaned. Just thinking about Kilby had him craving her. He was going to have to get his unruly body under control, else he would be spending the night on the cold stone bench.

  CHAPTER 7

  "It was a near thing at Guttrey's, do you not agree?" Priddy asked Kilby the following day as they entered the per­fumery on Jermyn Street. Kilby watched her companion summon a clerk and send him scurrying to find her spe­cial order. They had not spoken about the incident so Kilby was surprised the older woman had brought up the subject. The pair had spent the afternoon shopping. The sunny day and gusting spring breeze had made their walk a pleasant one.

  Priddy returned to her while they awaited her package. "The Carlisles are an eccentric clan. Honestly, no one could have predicted that the dowager Duchess of Solitea would have attended Lord Guttrey's supper so soon after her husband's death. It just isn't done," the viscountess said, shaking her head in wonderment. "We were fortunate I was elsewhere when the dowager was announced."

  Since her son had been prowling around downstairs, Kilby assumed she had just missed encountering the lady. "If Her Grace believes half the things Darknell suggested she might, giving me the cut direct would be the kindest greeting I could expect."

  "I disagree," the viscountess countered. "I have met the duchess on several occasions and know her to have a lib­eral disposition. Still, the intimate setting of the supper and your regrettable connection with the duke had me ques­tioning the sagacity of remaining."

  "You made the correct decision for a very awkward sit­uation," Kilby assured her friend. The thought of sitting across the table from Fayne's mother was the stuff of night­mares. "If we had remained, and something was said, the gossips would have certainly rewritten the encounter in a fashion so ugly it does not bear contemplating."

  "I must agree." Priddy smiled at the clerk approaching with a large wrapped package and a smaller one balanced on top. She signaled her footman forward to carry the boxes for them. "I trust you carried out my instructions to the letter?"

  The clerk nodded, handing the boxes to the servant. "Yes, Lady Quennell. I checked each piece myself. You will be pleased with the results."

  Priddy sniffed, unconvinced by the man's assurances. "I should hope so. The proprietor will be hearing from me, if I am not satisfied." She inclined her head. "Come along, my dear. I am weary from shopping. Besides, the London merchants have collected enough of Quennell's gold this afternoon."

  Kilby followed the older woman out the door. "What do the boxes contain?"

  "A surprise," Priddy said enigmatically. Her light blue eyes sparkled with merriment. "For you."

  "Me?" she replied, stunned by the viscountess's gen­erosity. "Oh no, Priddy. I cannot accept another gift from you. You have been by far too generous."

  "Fiddle-faddle! It is always my pleasure to spoil you, Kilby," the older woman said warmly. "My only regret is that your mother could not be here to share in our adventure."

  Kilby's heart swelled with emotion to the point of burst­ing. "As is mine," she said sadly. "Oh, Priddy, sometimes I cannot believe they are lost to us. I think it must all have been a terrible mistake." Her father had always been so dis­paraging of London. What would he think of Priddy's lofty ambition to see her rushed into marriage this season with no thought of courtship or even love?

  Priddy pulled her into her arms, reminding Kilby of her mother. "I know," the viscountess crooned, rocking Kilby tenderly in her arms. "Ermina and Weldon were so proud of you. You were their bright violet-eyed angel. How they loved you and your sister so."

  She drew away first. Kilby ignored the pang of guilt that stirred within her each time she questioned her parents' honor because of her brother's cruel accusation. He had set her on a path that even had her lying to the viscountess. "Do you think my parents would have approved of me coming to London to hunt for a husband? Papa rarely had anything kind to say about the ton. I cannot help but wonder—"

  "Cease wondering, little one. Weldon might not have supported your mingling with the ton. Regardless, even he respected their influence," Priddy explai
ned as they reached their carriage. "They would have brought you themselves last season if they had not died."

  She nodded, knowing her friend spoke the truth. Kilby climbed into the carriage with the assistance of the foot­man. The viscountess studied her young charge with a spec­ulative expression on her lovely face. Making up her mind, the woman ordered the footman to get her the boxes they had just picked up from the perfumery.

  "Here," Priddy said, offering Kilby the smaller box. "You are the closest I have to a daughter, Kilby. I would never presume to replace your mother. However, I pray our time together can help ease your loss."

  She was touched by Lady Quennell's words. It was a pity the lady's beloved viscount had died before they had children. Priddy would have been a good mother. "You have been so kind to me. I will never be able to repay you."

  Priddy delicately wiped away a tear. "Repayment is not necessary, my girl. Just be happy. It is what Ermina and Weldon would have desired most for you."

  Kilby untied the cording on the box and opened the lid. Inside was a magnificent scent bottle. Cylindrical in shape, it was made of hand-carved gold filigree that covered a rock crystal bottle. "Priddy, I have never owned anything so lovely." She turned the bottle in her hands, examining the detailing of the filigree. Within the scrolling leaves were tiny roses. There was a large scroll that almost looked like a heart lying on its side. A lady in Grecian costume danced beneath a tree. On the opposite side, the larger scroll framed a unicorn.

  Giddy with excitement, Priddy said, "Open the top and reveal the stopper."

  She opened the filigree lid as instructed. Removing the stopper, Kilby brought the scent bottle to her nose and in­haled. The scent was a mix of citrus, perhaps lemon and jasmine. "The scent is heavenly."

  Priddy beamed in delight. "I am so pleased you like it. I had the perfumer create a scent especially for you. You al­ways seemed to enjoy the scents Ermina wore. I had them concoct a variation of one of her favorites."