Bombshell

by Sarah MacLean

  And Sesily Talbot, a temptation that made that threat all the more real.

  Minutes later, he was out in the November air, hunching his shoulders against the brisk wind whipping through the fabric of his topcoat.

  She hadn’t been wearing a cloak, or even a shawl, and the cold chill would be uncomfortable for her, chafing her bare skin.

  Doing his best to put her bare skin out of his mind, Caleb made his way down the steps leading away from the balcony and into the dark gardens. He stilled to listen for any sound—knowing that it was unlikely she would be easily heard. Even if he could hear her, the rough wind in the leaves above made it impossible, requiring him to rely on instinct and knowledge of Sesily Talbot if he was going to have a chance at finding her.

  Which wouldn’t be difficult, as Caleb had spent the last two years unwillingly consumed with all he knew about Sesily Talbot.

  She’d be in the labyrinth.

  And there was only one reason why a woman like Sesily entered a labyrinth on a cold November evening—she was with someone who would keep her warm.

  He tensed at the thought, even as he reminded himself that Sesily’s late-night assignations had nothing to do with him . . . or with anyone else for that matter. Over the years, her scandals—along with those of her sisters—had graced every gossip rag in London, making her the object of public scorn and private admiration. There were equally as many homes that shunned her as there were that welcomed her with delight.

  Where Sexily went, attention followed.

  Even in the Trevescan labyrinth, Caleb thought with no small amount of irritation. He didn’t care to discover Sesily in the arms of her latest paramour.

  He certainly had no interest in hearing the sounds of her pleasure, or seeing the flush that chased over her skin when she took that pleasure.

  He relaxed the fist that had somehow formed at his side.

  No interest at all.

  It mattered not a bit to him whom the woman was meeting, or what she was doing deep inside this hedge maze. He should turn around, in fact.

  He stepped through the magnificent arched entrance.

  Dammit. He wasn’t going to turn around.

  And then, to his left, down a dark path, barely seen in the faraway light of what he assumed was a torch designed to lure would-be scandal-makers to the destination of their choosing, Caleb detected movement.

  Not just movement. Speed.

  Sesily was headed out of the darkness, straight for him.

  She didn’t notice him right away, too busy fiddling with her elaborate skirts. Once she was through with that, she tossed something into the hedgerow, the item flashing in the light of a nearby torch. The punch glass.

  She came up short when she noticed his presence, her breath harsh and quick. Not excitement. Exertion.

  Her hand flew to her breast, to the line of her dress—was it lower than before? Frustration tumbled through him at the recognition—at the possible activities that she’d engaged in to look so flushed.

  “Caleb,” she said, quick and surprised, and he hated the ease of it on her tongue. The familiarity of it, as though she owned it. As though she owned him, even after a year apart. And then she smiled, as though they were anywhere but here. As though she was happy to see him. “What are you doing here?”

  He wasn’t about to answer that. “I could ask you the same.”

  “Are you surprised to find me lurking in the gardens?” she quipped, the flirt in the words pure Sesily, but tinged with urgency, as though she had somewhere to be. “Surely you’d be the only one.” She looked over her shoulder, then back at him, and smiled, wide and winning, and offering a dozen things he’d happily accept if he were a different man. If she were a different woman.

  If he were a different man, however, Caleb might have missed the flash of emotion that preceded the sultry seduction, the delight, and the wild promise of fun.

  He would have missed the fear.

  He was on alert, looking past her into the darkness, hoping his casual tone masked his instant anger. “Short tryst.”

  She ignored the observation, all hint of nerves missing from the words, even if she moved toward him, making to pass him in the aisle of the maze. “Were you inside?”

  “Is there another option?”

  “With you, just returned?” She paused. “Surely it’s possible you were so destroyed by our time apart that you bypassed the party altogether and came straight to find me.”

  He pressed his lips together, ignoring the way the words thrummed through him. “Lingering in the darkness in the wild hope that you might turn up?”

  “I’m very good at turning up for trouble.”

  “I don’t think I’m the trouble you turned up for tonight.”

  “And thus, my girlish dreams are dashed.” She extracted a watch from the reticule, checked it in the light from the ballroom beyond, and then made to pass him. “Are you for your own tryst?” She tutted her disappointment. “I shall endeavor to keep my heart from breaking.”

  He ignored the tease and moved into her path, forcing her to pull up short. “Who were you with?”

  “Why Mr. Calhoun,” she said, feigning shock. “A gentleman would never ask such a thing.”

  “I never claimed to be a gentleman.”

  She made a show of assessing him, her heated gaze sending fire straight through him. “And yet, I have never seen proof otherwise.”

  “Sesily . . .” He growled a warning.

  “So sorry, American, but I’m short on time.”

  He turned as she passed him and headed for the arched entrance to the maze. “Somewhere to be?”

  “Somewhere not to be, as a matter of fact,” she replied, increasing her pace, heading for the gleaming lights of the ballroom beyond.

  He followed, easily catching up. “What were you doing in there?”

  She did not slow, even as she cast him a full, practiced smile that would have dazzled a lesser human. “A lady must be allowed her secrets.”

  He was meant to think that she’d been trysting in the darkness. And others might. But he’d seen the truth in her eyes. She didn’t want anyone knowing what she’d been doing in that labyrinth.

  Which meant that Caleb was going to have to find out.

  “Fair enough.” He stopped and turned on his heel, aiming for the maze once more.

  “No!” She squeaked, looking down at the watch in her hand again.

  He looked, too. “What are you worried about missing?”

  “On the contrary,” she said, glancing toward the maze. “I’m worried that I won’t miss it.”

  “Sesily.”

  There was just enough wash of golden light from the ballroom for him to see her, to really see her. He bit back a frustrated curse at the way his chest tightened. No matter what he had hoped, a year away had done nothing to stop his reaction to this woman. And truly, it should not be such a surprise. Because Sesily Talbot had been sculpted by angels. Smooth golden skin, dark hair gleaming like the night sky, and a full, beautiful face that threatened to lay a body low even now, as she pursed her lips and considered her next move.

  He nearly turned on his heel and made for Southampton again—back to Boston. At least with an ocean between them he couldn’t be tempted by her.

  Lie.

  He was saved from having to linger on the thought when he heard the sound behind them. Movement in the labyrinth. It would be impossible not to hear it, as it did not sound graceful or mincing or delicate or clandestine. It sounded like someone had loosed a large animal inside. A bull or an ox—something that lumbered.

  And groaned.

  He looked to her. “What did you do?”

  “What makes you think I have anything to do with it?” Later, he would be impressed by her lack of hesitation. By the way she grabbed his hand, as though it was the most ordinary thing in the world, and yanked him into the darkness beneath the nearest tree.

  “Does my sister know you’ve returned?” The
question was perfectly ordinary, as though they were inside the ballroom at the refreshment table where her friends no doubt continued to wreak havoc.

  “She does. I went to the Sparrow first.” The Singing Sparrow, the Covent Garden tavern jointly owned by Caleb and Sesily’s eldest sister, Seraphina Bevingstoke, Duchess of Haven.

  “And me, always the last to know,” she said, quietly, pivoting to push him back to the trunk.

  Later, he would take himself to task for not resisting. For not even lasting twenty-four hours in this godforsaken country before he failed to resist.

  But how was he supposed to resist Sesily Talbot as she pressed herself to him, her hands sliding up over his chest, her fingers finding purchase in his hair? He was only human, after all.

  “I was not aware that I was to apprise you of my comings and goings.” One of his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her tight to him. Only to make sure they kept their balance.

  Not for anything else. Not because he wanted her there.

  “Why start now?” she said, the question punctuated by another groan from the maze, and she moved impossibly closer to him, aligning their bodies in a way that made him think violent thoughts about fabric. “I swore I’d never do this,” she said, her fingers clenching in his hair, tugging his face down toward her.

  He meant to resist. “Do what?”

  “Kiss you,” she said, and for a moment the matter-of-fact words sizzled through him.

  He meant to stop her.

  Except there was no stopping Sesily Talbot.

  She continued in a low whisper, more to herself than to him, it seemed, even as she rose on her toes, the movement sending his hand sliding over the stunning swell of her bottom. “You don’t deserve it.”

  Why in hell not?

  He absolutely didn’t deserve it. But he still wanted to know why she thought he didn’t. She had no reason to think such a thing.

  “Unfortunately . . . circumstances dictate . . .”

  No. He wasn’t going to kiss her. That way lay madness. It did not matter the feel of her bottom or the swell of her breasts or the way her lips curved like promise or the fact that she’d never met a scandal she didn’t like.

  It mattered that she was sister to his business partner and the closest thing he had to a friend. It mattered that she was an English lady. That she was daughter to an earl. Sister-in-law to four of the richest men in Britain, three of whom held venerable titles.

  It mattered that she was a goddamn hurricane.

  Hang on . . . unfortunately?

  “What circumstances?”

  The animal in the labyrinth cursed, angry and pained. Caleb made to look, but she was there, her fingers at the curve of his jaw, tilting him back to her.

  She was right there. A breath away.

  Shit. He wasn’t going to kiss her.

  He was almost sure of it.

  And he didn’t. She kissed him first.

  But then it didn’t matter who’d kissed whom, because the only thing that mattered was Sesily’s full, soft lips on his, hot and sweet and perfect, and how was he to deny himself? She was right there, in his arms like a gift that he did not deserve. A gift he could not accept.

  But he wasn’t a fool. He’d open it. Look at it. Taste it.

  Just for a moment.

  And then he’d do what was right.

  Her lips softened, opening on a little sigh, and he did taste then, his tongue sliding against hers as she pressed herself closer. She was delicious. The sounds of her. The sight of her. The feel of her. And he didn’t want to stop, because he could not remember the last time that he’d felt like this.

  Like everything was right.

  Of course, nothing was right.

  “Oy!”

  She broke the kiss at the sound, loud and affronted and near enough to distract Caleb from his newfound goal—to kiss Sesily Talbot again. Immediately. But in order to do that, he required solitude, which meant responding to the man who’d stumbled out of the labyrinth, hand to his head as though he had a banger of a headache.

  Before he could turn his head, Sesily whispered, “Don’t give him any reason to stop.”

  She didn’t want to be seen.

  Curiosity flared, but he knew better than to press her. Instead, he pulled her tight against him, turning just enough to ensure she was hidden in the shadows. “What happened?”

  She shook her head.

  Whatever it was, she needed his help.

  “Alright,” he whispered, looking over the top of her head at the man headed back to the ballroom.

  “Is that you, Calhoun?” the man slurred. “I thought you’d decided to stay on your side of the pond. Bad luck for us, I suppose.” Lewdness slid into the snide words. “Does that girl’s family know she’s climbed down into the American muck?”

  Caleb turned to stone, recognition flaring.

  Jared, Earl of Totting, was a bastard through and through. Rich and entitled, with enough size behind him to make him dangerous when he chose to terrorize. And he did. He’d been banned from Caleb’s tavern almost as soon as they’d opened for business; the earl was the kind of man who never left a pub without starting a brawl, and that was on his good nights. His bad ones were why half the brothels in Covent Garden wouldn’t see him through the door.

  And Sesily had been in the maze with him.

  Caleb didn’t like that. In fact, he was about to show this rich, entitled horse’s ass just how little he liked it.

  Sesily’s fingers tightened on his forearm, now steeled for battle. “Caleb,” she whispered, his name soft as silk on her lips. “Please.”

  He might not have listened.

  He might have ignored the plea and the warning, and allowed his misguided sense of honor to put the bastard into the ground. But at that precise moment, the earl stepped from darkness into the pool of golden light that spilled from the wall of windows that lined the outer edge of the Trevescan ballroom . . . giving Caleb a clear look at his face.

  And the proof that whatever he could do to Totting was nothing compared to what Sesily had done.

  Caleb looked down at her, careful not to let his shock into his eyes.

  “Please,” she said, her fingers tight like a vise on him. The word barely sound. He heard the rest like she’d shouted it. Don’t say anything.

  He couldn’t quite agree to that bit. Instead, he offered the earl his broadest American devil-absolutely-don’t-care grin, and said, “Enjoy your evening, Totting.”

  The earl told him exactly what he thought Caleb could do with the pleasantry, and listed his way back toward the ballroom.

  Once the man was out of earshot, Caleb leaned down, close enough to feel the heat of her. To delight in the scent of her—like sugared almonds. But he wasn’t about to dwell on either of those things.

  He was too busy being shocked. “You’re going to tell me everything,” he whispered, low in her ear. “As payment for keeping your secret.”

  She turned to face him, the warm golden light diffused to silver on her face. “I think we both know that’s not going to happen,” she said. “Besides, I let you kiss me, and that should be payment enough . . .”

  “You kissed me.”

  She gave him a little half smile. “Are you sure?”

  “Sesily, what in hell are you up to?”

  She was back to playing games. “What makes you think I had anything to do with it?”

  “Because you’re rich and beautiful, with the freedom that comes with both of those.”

  “You think I’m beautiful?” she asked, as though everything was perfectly normal.

  “I think you’re fucking fearless, which makes you incredibly dangerous.”

  She peered around him, watching as the unsuspecting earl climbed the steps to return to the ballroom. “Dangerous to whom?” she asked, casually, as though they were anywhere but here.

  To me. Caleb swallowed the response. “To yourself.”

  She cut him a quick look
, then returned her attention to the earl. “Nonsense. I did exactly what any good girl should do when she gets herself into trouble.”

  “And what’s that?”

  She smiled. “I found a proper hero to protect me.”

  She wasn’t just dangerous. She fairly guaranteed his demise. “Christ, Sesily. You think he won’t come looking for you when he—”

  “He won’t remember anything about the last seventeen minutes,” she whispered, waving a hand to silence him. “Look.”

  Her face was turned fully to the ballroom now, her pure, unabashed excitement undeniable in the candlelight.

  “It’s happening,” she said, quietly, as Caleb followed her gaze as Totting pushed back into the crush of people. “Watch.”

  Within seconds, fans began fluttering, attention turning to Totting from all over the room. Then the whispers started—heads bowed in serious conversation around the room. And then . . . the laughter.

  The pointing.

  The evisceration.

  And Totting, the arrogant sot, had no idea that the attention was directed toward him. He was so confused that he even turned around at one point, seeking the person who was surely behind him.

  That’s when Caleb saw Sesily’s work in full, glorious, horrifying light.

  There, across the earl’s broad forehead, in dark, indelible ink, the lettering impeccable, was a single word.

  ROTTER.

  Six letters, and nothing that London didn’t already know. Nothing London did not turn from, averting its collective gaze, because money and name and privilege made for unbeatable, undeniable power when it came to titled men.

  But that evening, Sesily beat it. Sesily denied it.

  And gave permission to the rest of the aristocracy to do the same.

  He looked back at her. Saw the emotion on her face. Felt it in his own chest—not that he’d ever admit it. Pride.

  “Sesily Talbot, you court trouble.”

  “You disappoint me, Mr. Calhoun,” she said, the words distracted as she watched the play unfold on the stunning stage laid out before them. “I would have thought that after what you’d witnessed tonight, you’d know that I’ve no need to court trouble.”