Barbara Pierce (17 page)

Fayne must have felt it, too. Suddenly, his fingers curled into fists. His features were taut and his mouth grim as he stared down at her. There was a mute apology in his green eyes. “I—” Strangling on the word, he fiercely rocked his pelvis against her and then he froze. Fayne clamped his eyes shut in agony as air hissed through his lips.

A second later, Kilby felt the foreign heat as his seed filled her. Kilby held Fayne while he shuddered in her embrace. Her hand covered her eyes in resignation.

Well, it was official.

She was truly the Duke of Solitea’s mistress.

“A virgin!”

Fayne had been lamenting those two words aloud ever since he had callously breached Kilby’s maidenhead hours earlier, her violet eyes wide with accusation and pain. Realizing the ramifications of her innocence, he felt like the vilest rogue, and comparable to the gentleman who, two years earlier, had seduced his innocent sister and heartlessly abandoned her. Fayne had wanted to murder Lord Thatcher Standish for his cruelty. Finding himself inadvertently cast into Standish’s dastardly position had made him queasy and very irked at Kilby.

“I would have never touched her had I known she was a virgin,” Fayne sullenly confessed.

It was his fault that they had parted awkwardly. Since she refused to speak to him—and he had his pride—Fayne had helped her dress, repairing the damage to her clothing the best he could. Angry and disillusioned, Kilby had left him alone in the room.

“It is an affliction many young ladies suffer from.”
Ramscar picked up the bottle of wine placed between them and refilled his friend’s glass. “As men, I consider it our solemn duty to relieve them of it.”

The earl had been playing cards at White’s when Fayne had stormed into the room, his brooding expression daring one and all to challenge him. Knowing his friend well, Ramscar foresaw the inevitable explosive conclusion if Fayne remained at the club. Bidding farewell to his companions, the earl had nudged his friend into a coach and driven him to the Red Satyr, a tavern known for its rotgut liquor and nightly violence.

A flicker of annoyance flared in Fayne’s green eyes. “Not me,” he muttered, picking up his glass and swallowing. He grimaced. Whatever they were drinking was nasty and potent. “Bedding virgins. Troublesome business.” He knew firsthand.

“Bah, if you ask me, it is a stupid rule,” scoffed the earl, pointing a finger at him. “What good is it? If you were not so damned honorable, you would be bouncing on your delectable virgin this very minute instead of getting drunk with me.”

He doubted Kilby was thinking highly of his abilities as a lover. Setting down his wine, he scrubbed his face roughly with his hand. He had bungled everything with her.

“Your optimism overwhelms me,” he snorted into his glass.

Fayne blamed himself entirely. He should have believed her when she denied being his father’s mistress. If he had paid attention, there had been subtle clues hinting of her innocence. In his arrogance, Fayne had ignored them, letting his father’s notorious reputation incriminate her. Kilby had been alone in her boudoir with his father the night he had his fatal heart attack. Virile and charismatic, the duke had spent his entire life seducing and bedding every lady who had caught his eye. Fayne could hardly blame Kilby for
succumbing to her passions. The moment he had seen her standing in the ballroom, he wanted to claim that passion for himself.

“Honestly, I do not understand your quandary, Solitea,” Ramscar said, obviously musing over what Fayne had told him. “So the young lady is not your father’s former mistress. While your discovery, in itself, is a tiny infraction of your rigid rule about bedding innocents, your lapse has successfully nullified her virginity. If you want Lady Kilby, and the lady is willing, I say enjoy her.”

Fayne doubted Kilby would allow him to touch her again after his hasty claiming of her maidenhead. He was still rattled by his discovery. Kilby had not seemed innocent. She had been so curious and responsive to his caresses. Her arousing wetness had clung to his fingers as he teased her womanly flesh. When he finally had her naked and squirming underneath him, he thought only of claiming her.

“Willing?” Fayne shook his head at the impossibility. “Ram, the lady is a trifle upset with me. I expect any day her male relatives will be pounding on my door and demanding satisfaction.”

The precise moment he had swiftly buried himself into her welcoming channel had played over and over again in his mind. The tearing of her maidenhead had jolted both of them. While it might have been gentlemanly to stop just then, the primitive desire to claim her and the basic laws of gravity impelled him gratifyingly to the hilt.

Oblivious to his friend’s thoughts, Ramscar flirted with a brown-haired barmaid who was serving a table across the room. “You are in luck. Curious about the lady who seems to have befuddled one of my closest friends so magnificently, I made some casual inquiries about Lady Kilby Fitchwolf. The parents are dead. They drowned in some unfortunate tragedy. I heard she has an older brother, but he is not in town.”

“A brother.” He gripped the empty glass in his hand and glowered into the bottom. “Aye, no trouble there,” he muttered sarcastically. “The man will be tickled to learn I have tupped his sister.”

In hindsight, Fayne realized he should have stopped, withdrawn completely, when he realized Kilby was a virgin. He had every intention of doing so, but Kilby had started struggling to get free. Her frenetic movements bumped her hips against his as she tried to dislodge him. He had tried to warn her, had ordered her to stop. She had ignored him. Her movements pummeled the head of his cock against her womb.

Although she was innocent, her body and nature had coaxed their union to its predictable conclusion. The sensation of her wet channel constricted around his cock was his undoing. For the first time in his life, he surrendered to the instinctive need to mate and released his seed into Kilby.

“Well, it will not be the first time a man has challenged you for sullying his virginal sister,” Ramscar said pragmatically.

Fayne picked up the bottle, refilling his friend’s glass and then his own. “It will be the first occasion I deserve it!”

“I suppose you could always marry the chit,” Ramscar suggested absently. The barmaid was gesturing for him to join her at the bar. “Excuse me. I will return shortly.” His friend stood up, hoping to engage the pretty maid in a tryst later.

Fayne barely noticed Ramscar’s departure. His thoughts were centered on Kilby. In the past, he had always been careful about denying his lover his seed. Though the family rarely discussed his father’s infidelities, it was known the duke had sired a son with one of his married lovers, Lady Dening. She delivered the infant nine months after Fayne had been born.

Fayne did not know the specifics, but he was certain
there must have been a confrontation between the duke and Lord Dening. In the end, the earl had claimed the boy as his heir.

The undeniable proof of her husband’s unfaithfulness had shattered his mother’s heart. Since her husband could not recognize the boy as a Carlisle, the duchess had felt bound by duty to visit the Denings each year and see Lord Jerrett on the duke’s behalf. Both he and his sister, Fayre, knew how painful those visits were for their mother. It was an anguish he had vowed never to burden his future wife with.

And yet, he had spilled himself into Kilby like an uncouth lad mounting his first mistress. Fayne had always prided himself on being a skillful lover. There was little doubt Kilby had not enjoyed his fumbling efforts. Fayne’s mouth went dry at his next thought.

What if Kilby is carrying my heir?

He closed his eyes, recalling the blissful pinnacle of his orgasm. Fayne could not summon up any real regret that Kilby had been the one who had pierced his restraint. Just thinking about her made his cock swell with anticipation. He craved her. The small taste of her body had whetted his appetite.

Kilby was rightfully angry and disappointed, but Fayne was confident he could persuade her to forgive him. Once he was back in her good graces, he planned to seduce her into his bed again. This time he would do it properly. Fayne looked forward to tempting her with pleasure. He planned on coaxing and tormenting her until she thought of nothing else but him.

“Did you hear the news?” Lyssa asked Kilby as she approached, her blue eyes sparkling with excitement.

“I have heard several things this evening,” Kilby replied, smiling indulgently. Three days had passed since Fayne
had pried her out of Lord Tulley’s vile embrace. Three days since she had happily surrendered her virginity to the cad. “Let me think. Hmmm . . . Lady Ambridge is reportedly considering accepting Lord Drakefield’s marriage proposal . . . Mr. Favero was so foxed last evening that he used Lord Kibblewhite’s high-crowned beaver as a privy . . . oh, and the very married Countess of Sarell had a public row with her lover.”

“No, I heard something else. I—” Lyssa paused, thinking about her friend’s revelations. “Mr. Favero piddled in Lord Kibblewhite’s hat?” She wrinkled her nose in revulsion, dismissing her question with the wave of a hand. “Never mind. I heard something even better. It appears the Duke of Solitea has fought yet another duel. According to my source, Lord Tulley had insulted a very good friend of His Grace’s. Words and cards were exchanged a few nights ago. Lord Tulley refused to apologize so they settled their differences this morning at dawn.” Lyssa looked expectantly at Kilby, daring her friend to best her news.

Kilby was appalled by the news. The reckless ne’er-do-well! So Fayne had challenged Lord Tulley despite her wishes after all. Kilby was not really surprised. The duke apparently did whatever he wanted. He had chased her mercilessly around London for weeks, seduced her at first opportunity, and then let her walk away without a single word to her in three days. Three days! If he was not already dead, she was tempted to borrow a pistol from Darknell, and shoot him herself.

“I assume this tale has a happy ending?”

Lyssa furrowed her brow at Kilby’s waspish tone. “I suppose it depends on whose side you choose. Lord Tulley fired first. The bullet missed His Grace, but managed to put a hole in the left sleeve of his shirt.”

Kilby had not realized she had been holding her breath until a wave of dizziness assailed her. Pressing her fist to
her stomach, she slowly exhaled. Fayne was unhurt. If he had died for defending her honor, she would have never forgiven him. Her friend was giving her an odd look so Kilby smiled brightly and said, “A ruined shirt. His Grace has more lives than a cat.”

Lyssa concurred with a quick nod. “The Duke of Solitea fired next. His shot hit the earl in the collarbone, breaking it in two places. I was told that Lord Tulley was conscious long enough to apologize to His Grace before the surgeon had him carried to his coach.”

“An amazing tale,” Kilby said faintly. “And the woman—the woman whom the Duke of Solitea was defending. Does anyone know her identity?”

Lyssa fanned herself slowly in contemplation. “No.” She frowned. “No, I do not believe the lady’s name was mentioned. The Duke of Solitea’s accuracy with a pistol should keep Lord Tulley silent on the matter.”

Fayne had taken an incredible risk, challenging the earl. If Lord Tulley had spun a sordid tale about her as he had threatened, there was little doubt her reputation would have suffered greatly. While Kilby did not agree with Fayne’s resorting to violent measures on her behalf, she had to admit his resolution was exceedingly effective.

Lyssa raised her fan to cover the lower half of her face as she leaned over to speak confidentially. “You have spoken to His Grace on several occasions. Who do you think his mysterious lady is?”

Kilby had never kept secrets from Lyssa. She trusted her friend unequivocally. Be that as it may, Fayne had gone to great lengths to protect her. She owed him her discretion. “I have no clue,” she lied guilelessly.

Damn Lady Quennell and her never-ending hunt for a husband for her young charge! The viscountess did not understand the trouble she was causing. Fayne had trailed Kilby
and the viscountess to three residences this evening and at each stop he had missed them by minutes. He had the disconcerting pleasure of encountering the dozen or more gentlemen his lady had beguiled with a kind word, a dance, or a flirtatious smile. Lady Kilby Fitchwolf was a bewitching menace! Two of the gentlemen, Viscount Milyard and Mr. Edison Linsacre, had brazenly announced at one gathering that each intended to marry Lady Kilby Fitchwolf. This was a shock to both gentlemen, who each claimed he had procured Lady Kilby’s affections. The viscount shoved Linsacre and soon a full-blown fight erupted. By the time Fayne had found someone who had known their whereabouts, the two ladies had already driven off to their next diversion.

For the past three days, he had resisted calling on Kilby. Their parting had been awkward, and he accepted the blame for it. He also knew she would be angry once she learned that he had formally issued a challenge to Lord Tulley. Kilby’s complete lack of faith in his fighting skills stung his pride. He was perfectly capable of dealing with an ill-mannered bruiser like Tulley. Her concern, however, had given Fayne hope. Perhaps the lady cared about him more than she was willing to admit aloud.

Fayne was wagering his entire future on it.

Gaining admittance to Lord and Lady Wasbrough’s ball without an invitation in hand had proved to be simpler than he had first thought. Initially, their insolent butler with a face like a bulldog had been troublesome. Fortunately, one of the arriving guests had vouched for him and he was free to search the house for his errant lady.

As he entered the ballroom, Fayne breathed a sigh of relief. Kilby was standing near one of the open windows. Her friend Lady Lyssa was at her side. There was no sign of Lord Darknell, thankfully. Despite Kilby’s claims that the gentleman was only a dear friend, Fayne recognized a rival
when he saw one. The viscount desired more than friendship from her.

Fayne’s expression softened tenderly as he observed the ladies share confidences. Kilby had once told him that she was unsophisticated in comparison to the other ladies in the ballroom. He disagreed. Lady Quennell had impeccable taste, and Kilby’s attire reflected the viscountess’s influence. Tonight she was wearing a dress of fine muslin. Across the bust and down the front diagonally, dainty flowers and scrolling vines had been elegantly embroidered. All the edges of the dress were trimmed in dark blue ribbon. Kilby’s black tresses were piled high on her head. White gloves and matching slippers completed the costume.