Colin opened his mouth against hers, and her tongue flicked against his in challenge. In response, he pulled her more tightly against his body, her breasts flattened against his chest. He inhaled her scent—cheap perfume, smoke, and stale liquor. Nothing like Brenna, who intoxicated him to near senselessness with her clean, lavender scent. But Brenna was pure, an innocent, a far cry from Rosie, who clearly knew how to please a man, if the hand stroking his mercifully cooperative shaft through his trousers was any indication. Dear God, how he’d wanted to kiss Brenna like this. Not once but twice now he’d thought of nothing save taking her sweet mouth with his own.
Sudden bile rose in his throat, and he pushed Rosie away, staggering backward with a groan. Devil take it, what was he doing? This was wrong. Senseless. He couldn’t do it, even if he wanted to. It was clear that bedding Rosie would do nothing to slake his needs.
“Aww, come back now, love. I’m likin’ the feel of ye.” She reached for the flap of his trousers, but he side-stepped her grasp.
“I’m afraid I’ve changed my mind,” he said, hastily buttoning his waistcoat and retrieving his coat from the floor.
“Oh, no, you don’, gov’na.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “You agreed to my price, and there’s nay goin’ back on the bargain.”
He reached into his pocket and withdrew several notes that he’d only just won. Money he sorely needed. “Here.” He placed the money in her palm and closed her fingers over it. Her scowl deepened, and he wondered if he’d offended her, if she thought his change of heart indicated he’d found her talents lacking. “Here’s your price, plus some. I beg you to forgive me, madam. While your charms are tempting to say the least, I...I...” he stuttered, striving hard to make his voice articulate and respectful, despite the effects of the drink. “I must regretfully decline them.”
Rosie’s painted mouth curved into a smile, but she made no move to cover herself. “I hope she’s worth it, gov’na. She’s got you by the ballocks, she does, by the looks of it.”
Colin shrugged into his coat, his fingers fumbling awkwardly with the buttons. He had to get out of this place. Now.
“If you’ll excuse me.” He bowed, then opened the door and let himself out into the corridor, cursing under his breath as he did so. What a bloody fool he was. For allowing Staunton to drag him there tonight. For thinking he could enjoy one woman’s body while he lusted for another, one he could never have. Damn Danville for bringing his daughter to London and tempting him with something he could never possess.
And damn the man for writing the letter that he carried with him now, the letter that had cut him to the quick and snuffed out whatever hopes had blossomed in his breast against his will; against his reason.
With a groan of frustration, he moved to stand beneath the sconce on the wall, its flame flickering pitifully in the dingy hall. His heart pounding against his ribs, he pulled the missive from his pocket, unfolded the page for perhaps the sixth time in so many hours, and read the now-familiar words:
I’ve informed my daughter of your true character and fully explained the details of your fall from grace, including the recent debacle in Covent Garden and the means in which you were extricated from a duel. I have commanded my daughter to herewith cease all association with you and have extracted the promise of her full compliance, which she made without hesitation or regret. If there is any honor left in you, you will cease all attempts to pursue her at once. I will not have my only daughter ruined by association with someone like you, simply because she is far too innocent and trusting to recognize a rogue in gentleman’s clothing.
The letter continued on in the same vein for several more lines, but Colin had no wish to read further. Instead, he held the page up to the wall sconce, watching in grim satisfaction as the corner lit and curled inward. When half the page had been licked away by the flame, he dropped what was left of the missive to the floor and ground the heel of his boot into the burning page till nothing but a pile of smoldering ash remained.
Just like his heart.
Chapter 7
Brenna followed Jane up the steps of Mandeville House, admiring the grand façade as she trailed one hand along the wrought-iron railing. “It was so verra kind of Lady Mandeville to include me in her invitation to tea.”
“Truly, she cannot wait to make your acquaintance. She nearly begged me to make the introduction.” The heavy black door swung open to reveal a well-liveried butler standing in the entry hall.
“Good afternoon, Miss Rosemoor,” he said, inclining his head.
“Good afternoon, Matthews. We’re a bit early, but Lady Mandeville is expecting us. Don’t trouble yourself; I’ll show the marchioness’s guest to the yellow salon.”
“But, miss...” the butler protested, shaking his head as Jane continued across the marble tiles and into a wide corridor, Brenna trailing helplessly behind.
“Lucy won’t mind if we wait in the salon,” Jane said once they were out of the butler’s earshot. “It’s my favorite room in all of Mandeville House and where we always take our tea. French doors open up to a lovely terrace. Here we are.” She reached for the doorknob. “Come, you must see the view of the garden from here.”
Jane pushed the door open and froze, her fingers still clasping the cut-glass knob. Brenna peered around her, curious to see what had stilled her. A petite, golden-haired woman, surely Lady Mandeville, sat perched on the edge of a moss-green velvet chaise longue, where a man lounged carelessly in nothing but trousers, boots, waistcoat, and rumpled linen. A coat of dark blue superfine lay discarded across the curved arm of the chaise. His face was hidden from Brenna’s view, but she could see that he clutched one of Lady Mandeville’s hands in his own.
Lord Mandeville, she hoped.
“Colin,” Jane said at last, her voice sharp. Lady Mandeville looked up in surprise.
Brenna’s stomach pitched. Colin? Nay, it couldn’t be.
“Colin Rosemoor, whatever are you doing here?” Jane asked, hurrying across the room to the chaise.
Indeed it was Colin. In a flash, he rose to his feet, still clutching Lady Mandeville’s hand in his own. Dear Lord, whatever had they stumbled upon? Colin and Lady Mandeville in some sort of compromising position? Brenna’s heart began to race. Nay, her mind screamed. Nay. It simply could not be.
“Jane, Lady Brenna.” Colin bowed stiffly in their direction. “You must excuse my...ahh, casual appearance.” He reached for his coat and quickly donned it, his fingers flying over the buttons. “I had some business to discuss with Lord Mandeville, and I’m afraid I imposed on Lucy’s hospitality when I found he was not at home.”
“You must be the Lady Brenna that Jane has spoken so affectionately of. You must forgive my manners,” Lady Mandeville said, reaching for Brenna’s hand and giving it a friendly squeeze. “I did not realize the hour had grown so late.”
Brenna found her voice. “I’m only glad to make your acquaintance at last, Lady Mandeville. I hope we did not interrupt—”
“Not at all,” Colin said, running a hand through his hair. She hadn’t thought it possible, but he looked even more discomposed now than he had before. His eyes never once met hers. He looked...guilty. “It’s well past time I take my leave.”
“You mustn’t dash off on our account, Colin,” Jane said. “Hadn’t you some business with Mandeville? Stay, until he returns. And then you can go do whatever it is you gentlemen do when ladies leave you to your solitude.”
His gaze finally collided with Brenna’s. “I’m afraid I haven’t much of a choice,” he answered, his voice suddenly cold.
Brenna knew she ought to be relieved that he was leaving them. Her parents had forbidden her to remain in his company, after all. Judging by the icy way in which he was regarding her, it appeared her father or Hugh had spoken with him, told him that Brenna had been instructed to cease all association with him. Perhaps he thought she had readily agreed to such a mandate.
“Mr. Rosemoor,” she blurted out before she t
hought better of it, “would ye mind verra much if I had a private word with ye before ye take your leave?”
His steely gaze bore through hers, making her squirm in discomfort.
“Actually, I would mind,” he said at last. “I’m certain Lord Danville would not approve. I’ve grown quite fond of my limbs, you see. I would not wish to part with them, simply for a moment of your company, no matter how agreeable it might be.”
“My father is not here, Mr. Rosemoor, and I dinna wish to leave things unsaid between us.”
At last remembering Jane and Lady Mandeville’s presence beside her, she turned to find them both wide-eyed, watching the exchange with unconcealed curiosity.
“Colin,” Jane entreated her brother in a harsh whisper, tipping her head toward the terrace, “go on.”
Colin looked from his sister to Lady Mandeville, who nodded her own encouragement, before returning his simmering gaze to Brenna’s. “Have I a choice?” he muttered, striding off toward the French doors that led to the terrace beyond. “Come, Lady Brenna. We’ll retire out to the garden. We won’t be long,” he added as he stepped out onto the flagstones, Brenna silently in tow.
Perhaps this wasna such a good idea, after all, Brenna thought as the door clicked shut behind them. She took a moment to study the tips of her half boots as she gathered her courage to face him.
“You realize I’ve been informed by your father that I am to cease all association with you?” Colin said, watching as she raised her aquamarine gaze to meet his. Damn those eyes. They were beginning to haunt his dreams.
“Aye, I’m aware of it,” she answered, her voice steady. Her gaze locked with his, daring him to look away. “And yet despite what I just stumbled upon—”
“You stumbled upon nothing untoward. Lucy is like a sister to me, nothing more.” He folded his arms across his chest as he watched the flicker of disbelief play across her features. She didn’t believe him. She truly thought she’d caught him in some sort of compromising position with Lucy. He almost laughed aloud at the absurdity of such a notion.
“Yes, well, regardless,” she continued, “I thought it only fair to tell ye that I was displeased by my parents’ command that I avoid your company. I...I protested against it. Most vehemently.”
“How very charitable of you,” he drawled.
“Yet they remain convinced of your ill character, despite my protests. I’m verra sorry, Mr. Rosemoor, but as long as I remain under their protection, I havena a choice.”
“You can choose to believe whatever you wish about me, Lady Brenna.”
“I thought ye to be an honorable man, a gentleman whose name was falsely tarnished.”
“But you no longer believe that to be true?” he challenged.
“I...I dinna ken what I believe anymore.” Uncertainty shadowed her eyes.
“Then we’ve nothing more to say, have we? I bid you a good day.” He bowed stiffly and turned toward the pair of doors leading back inside.
“Wait.”
He froze, one hand on the handle. Closing his eyes, he took a deep, ragged breath.
“I must be daft, but I do believe ye an honorable man. Despite what they say, despite what I’ve seen today with my own eyes...” Her voice trailed off, and he turned to face her.
A battle raged within him, nearly taking his breath away. Selfishly, he wanted her to believe him, to believe in him. He craved her affection with a sharp, near-painful desperation. But what would it cost her? Her reputation. Her father had forbidden her to associate with him, and Ballard had told him that, despite his own protestations, his father’s resolve on the matter was firm. What price would she pay if she disobeyed him? What price would he pay at her father’s hands?
“I know what kind of man ye are, Colin. A good man, a—”
“You know nothing of my character, Brenna,” he interrupted, crossing the flagstones in three strides. He had to do this. There was no alternative.
Brenna took a step backward, her lower back colliding with the terrace’s stone railing as his lips descended upon hers. Blindly she clutched at the stones behind her in desperation as his impatient mouth roughly possessed hers, his long, lean body pressed against her. At first she resisted, her lips held firm. Her heart beat furiously against her breast as the delicious sensation of his heat—his power—warmed her, softening her defenses until at last she yielded to his demands, opening her mouth against his.
It was invitation enough. He groaned, a near primal sound, then roughly grasped her shoulders and drew her closer as his tongue invaded her mouth, searching, seeking. His purely male scent invaded her consciousness—tobacco, saddle leather, sandalwood. His mouth tasted of brandy, intoxicating her.
Dear Lord, whatever was he doing to her? She found herself kissing him back, arching herself against him. Her limbs felt weak; her hands trembled by her sides. A strange warmth pooled in her belly, spreading down to her thighs. Of their own volition, her hands stole up to clasp his neck, her fingers tangling in the silky waves that brushed his collar as she drew him closer still, till she could hear the pounding of his heart over the din of her own.
A soft moan of regret escaped her lips when he retreated, his teeth nipping at her bottom lip. A second later his mouth found the pulse that fluttered wildly in her neck, his lips searing her sensitive skin with a moist, wicked heat. A shiver worked its way from the base of her spine up to her shoulders, and she couldn’t stop herself from crying out his name.
At once he stiffened, and she felt a rush of cool air as he stepped back from her. Mercifully, he held her shoulders as she swayed against the railing, her fingers once more seeking the stones’ support. She blinked rapidly, attempting to regain her senses, to calm her racing heart.
At last Colin released her, one hand moving to wipe his mouth. She could only stare silently as he visibly fought for composure, his changeling eyes darkening to a stormy gray.
“That’s what kind of man I am,” he bit out at last, his voice as flinty as iron. “The kind who would kiss you senseless, with no offer of marriage to follow. Who would try his damndest to take what he wants from you, and then walk away without looking back. You would do well to listen to your parents.”
Brenna inhaled sharply. “I...I don’t believe ye,” she stammered.
“It’s quite immaterial to me what you believe, though I am sorry for deceiving you. Good day.” With that, he turned and left her there on the terrace, clutching the stone railing for dear life.
***
“You seem distracted, Margaret. You’ve barely touched your dinner. Are you feeling unwell, my dear? Margaret?”
Brenna looked up at her mother in surprise. Whatever had she asked her? “I...I beg your pardon. I was lost in my thoughts for a moment there.”
“I asked if you were feeling unwell. You look a bit pale, doesn’t she, Hugh?”
Hugh set down his fork and examined her across the width of the table. “Hmm, perhaps.” He reached for his glass of wine and continued to eye her critically over the rim before taking a long draught of the purplish liquid.
“Nay, I’m feeling well enough,” she answered at last. “Just a bit tired, ‘tis all. I havena slept well these past few nights.” Sleep had eluded her as she lay in bed and remembered the sensation of Colin’s lips against her mouth, the feel of his long, lean body pressed against hers. Try as she might, she could not erase his cruel words from her memory. “That’s what kind of man I am,” he’d said, and with each passing day, she’d allowed herself to believe more and more that he had spoken the truth. Hadn’t she seen him only the night before at the opera, in the pit amongst the demimonde? Rumor had it that he’d left before the end of the second act with the infamous Mrs. Trumball-Watts, reputed to be the most beautiful, most alluring Cyprian, their heads bent in an intimate tête-à-tête.
Brenna hadn’t witnessed his departure herself; she’d refused to allow her gaze to stray his way once Hugh had pointed out his presence directly below their box. Yet ever
y caller they’d received since had prattled on about it endlessly, speculating on his relationship with Mrs. Trumball-Watts and gleefully predicting the man’s next misstep. Brenna had finally forced herself to ignore the idle chatter, resorting at last to doing sums in her head to distract herself. It had worked well enough.
“Well, dear, perhaps we should call on the apothecary for a sleeping tonic. This is not the time for your spirits and appearance to suffer now, is it?” Her mother looked to Hugh with a mysterious smile.
Brenna’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Whatever do ye mean?”
“I’ll let Hugh tell you the fine news.”
“Of course.” Hugh set down his glass, exchanging a smile with their mother. “It seems that you’ve managed to capture the attention of Lord Thomas Sinclair. Just today he declared his intent to pay you court, and I’ve indicated our family’s approval.”
Brenna felt the few bits of food she’d managed to eat pitch about her stomach. Not Lord Thomas, of all people. Despite his charming manners and good looks, he made her more than a wee bit uncomfortable.
“Just think, Margaret,” her mother interjected, “a duke’s son, even if he is a younger son. Truly, we could not have hoped for better. You should be very pleased.”
“Just what do ye mean, ‘pay court’?” Brenna asked, her voice laced with hesitation.
“Why, escort you to balls and the like, take you riding in the park.” Her mother waved one hand in the air. “That sort of thing. I vow you’ll find it pleasurable enough. And if all goes well, I’ll expect an offer of marriage in a fortnight at most. From what I hear, the man’s quite smitten, isn’t he, Hugh?”
Undressed (Undone by Love) Page 8
