Barbara Pierce (21 page)

Wondering what she would do, Fayne walked into her bedchamber. The lantern emitted enough light for him to make out the fireplace. Crouching down, he concentrated on bringing light and warmth to the room.

“Why are you doing this?”

Fayne hoped she was stripping off her slippers and stockings. He blew lightly on the smoldering kindling. “We need to talk.”

He listened to her movements in the dressing room. “I should warn you, Your Grace. The liberties I granted you were out of necessity. What occurred between us the night you challenged Tulley will not happen again.”

He mentally counted off the faint steps she took to reach the door.

Bracing his hands on his thighs, Fayne devilishly grinned into the mounting fire. “I heartily concur, little wolf.”

He retrieved a small key from his waistcoat pocket. Examining it in the firelight, Fayne patiently waited for Kilby to discover the door was locked.

Kilby gave the latch on the door another useless tug. Fayne had locked the door and secreted the key. She leaned her head against the door and marveled that the duke had always been one step ahead of her.

“Come here, Kilby,” he said, beckoning from the other room.

Moving away from the door, she glanced down at her chemise in despair. The thin undergarment was not enough protection from Fayne’s shrewd green gaze. Striding to a small mahogany chest, she opened the lid and pulled out a long brown and white shawl. Kilby carefully wrapped it around her like a shield.

“You still wear your chemise,” he chided, when she entered the bedchamber. He held out his hand, signaling for her to join him in front of the fire. During their time apart, he had removed his waistcoat and his cravat hung loosely from his neck. The duke’s feet were also bare. “I told you to remove everything.”

“Everything
wet,
” she said crisply. Ignoring his outstretched hand, she knelt down on the blanket he had laid out in front of the fireplace. “I assume—” She paused, distracted when he leaned forward and dragged a large bowl
of water he had warming on the hearth closer to them. “What do you intend to do?”

Fayne grabbed his untied cravat and pulled it away from his neck. Folding the material in his hands, he pushed the fabric into the water. “Talk.” He wrung out the wet cravat. “Your face is filthy.”

Kilby touched her cheek and grimaced at the flecks of dirt and other things she would do well not to contemplate on her fingertips. Annoyed, she held out her hand, expecting him to hand over the wet fabric. Fayne ignored her hand and grasped her chin firmly. Tilting her head up, he gently began washing the muddy streaks from her face.

Giving up, she said, “So you want to talk about the dirt on my face.” He had gone to a great deal of trouble ensconcing them in her bedchamber. If hearing his grand confession granted her the key and his departure, she was prepared to listen.

The dimple on his cheek flashed as he gifted her with a quick grin. “No.” He glided the cloth along the curve of her jaw. The soft cloth and the tepid water felt good on her face. “I want to talk about Lady Spryng.”

She pulled back from his hand. “I am not interested in hearing about your good friend the countess.”

Fayne sighed. “A pity, since I feel compelled to share.” He dipped the cloth in the water and squeezed. “This is a first for me. I have never justified myself to anyone about anything. If you have the courage to listen, you might learn more about me than I have ever shared with another.”

With his other hand, he curled his fingers around her nape and pulled her closer. He nudged her chin up and to the left with his fingertip. She felt the cloth stroke her throat. “Your assumptions were correct. When Velouette invited me to join her in the private parlor, I left the box aware the lady desired to renew our, ah, friendship.”

Kilby turned her face to the right, offering him more of her throat. It also kept him from noticing her tears. Even at a distance, it was apparent Lady Spryng was stunning and exotic. The voluptuous countess was everything Kilby was not. “I see.” She trembled beneath his trailing caress. The cloth followed the slope of her neck, down her shoulder, and across the ridges of her fragile collarbones.

“No you don’t. Not yet.”

His fingers and the cloth ventured lower. Water dripped over her breasts and her nipples were erect painful points chafing against her chemise. Under his gentle stroking, she had relaxed and allowed her shawl to fall to her waist. When the cloth slipped under her chemise and over her breast, her womb pulsed in response. The cleft nestled in the curly hair between her legs grew damp and a part of her ached for Fayne to bury his hand there, too.

“Kilby.” There was longing and regret in his voice. “I need you to understand.”

“What?” she asked, her eyes fluttering open. Fayne was seducing her with his slow, meandering strokes. Kilby was almost prepared to forgive him anything if he would stop teasing her and—do
more.
Turning back to him, she saw the same stark hunger glittering in his green eyes. He wanted her, too. The impressive length of his manhood was a prominent bulge in his breeches. Yet, he was holding back, resisting the chance to take her.

“Fayne?” she asked, doubt clouding the sweet lethargy his touch had evoked. “What do you want me to understand?”

His hand halted mid-stroke over her heart. “Velouette was mine for the taking. No questions. No avowals of love. No complications. She offered to fulfill my darkest fantasies, to yield her body to my wickedest commands.”

Kilby placed her hand over his. Her gaze fell to his arm, ashamed by her uninhibited response to his touch. He skillfully seduced while he soothed. If she allowed him
to continue stroking her with the damp cloth, she might have been tempted to blurt out similar reckless promises as his former mistress had. She nodded, her eyes filling with tears. “You wanted me to understand why you did not refuse—”

“No!” he barked sharply, withdrawing his hand from her grasp. “I want you to understand why I
did
!” Disgusted, he tossed his wet cravat into the bowl.

Her head shot up. “You . . . You and the countess—” She could not say the words aloud for fear she had misunderstood him.

“No,” he said, inching closer. “What I had with her, I no longer want,” he confessed, spearing his fingers through her hair, getting rid of hairpins as he discovered them.

The full weight of her hair spilled down her back. “What do you want?” She licked her lips. His mouth was hovering temptingly above hers.

“I crave you, my little wolf.” Unable to hold back, Fayne crushed his lips to hers. His tongue pierced her lips, coaxing her to let him in. He tasted like rain, of reckless sin, and dark promises that only he could fulfill.

Fayne pulled back. Gently, he eased her chemise over her head. As he stared hungrily at her naked body, his thumb teased one of her nipples. “Here and now, let me show you.”

Fayne sensed lovemaking with Kilby could be much more than frenzied lust, more than finding his own pleasure in her tight body. Fayne had taken her in that fashion when he had thought she had had previous lovers. Knowing that he had been her first lover, Fayne needed to show her tenderness.

“No, do not cover your breasts,” he said, drawing her hands away and appreciating the pert uplift of her firm breasts. Fayne guided her onto her back.

Most of his former lovers, like Velouette, had been overly bountiful. Kilby’s exquisitely responsive breasts had him
reevaluating his preferences. Squeezing one of her firm globes in his hand, Fayne bent his head down and licked her swollen nipple. He nibbled the underside of her breast and she giggled.

“Like that, did you?” he murmured, caging her with his body so he could taste her other breast.

“Fayne, would you untie your queue?” she asked unexpectedly, drawing idle circles on his shoulder with her finger. “The color is so glorious. I have often wondered how your hair looked down.”

“As you wish, my lady.” He reached back and pulled on the leather thong. Kilby immediately threaded her fingers through the thick, dark cinnamon strands as they fell over his shoulders. Fayne preferred wearing his hair long. Women had always adored running their fingers through it. There were also some intriguing benefits. He moved down her body, allowing the spiky ends to tickle Kilby’s sensitive flesh. She laughed openly, the muscles of her stomach rippling as he traced the oval of her navel with the tip of his tongue.

“S-stop,” she begged, choking on her laughter. “I cannot bear it!”

Fayne parted her thighs wider. The scent of her arousal made his stomach clench painfully. No woman had ever ignited his senses as Kilby did. He lifted his head, his expression naughty. “You are only challenging me to prove you wrong, little wolf.”

Lowering his face to the dewy curls between her legs, Fayne parted her tender folds and suckled the sensitive nub tucked within. Kilby cried out his name, her upper body craned upward while her hands reached for him in a feeble attempt to stop his delightful torment.

“You taste like honeydew, little wolf,” he murmured, lapping the nectar.

He reveled in the distinct flavor of her. This was the way
their first time should have been. Slow. Savoring each pleasure. Kilby squirmed against his unrelenting mouth, her thighs subtly widening, silently willing him to fill her with his cock.

Oh, he would fill her.

Soon.

His body yearned for completion. However, first he wanted to savor Kilby’s climax. She was close. Dewy beads of his own arousal moistened the tip of his cock. His body was throbbing in anticipation. Repeatedly thrusting his fingers deeply into her dripping wet sheath, he suckled her clitoris, ruthlessly demanding her surrender.

Her body answered.

Kilby sobbed his name brokenly, her entire body shaking as the blinding magnificence of her first orgasm claimed her. She held him tightly throughout, overwhelmed by the powerful tempest assailing her.

Fayne was far from finished with her. Nuzzling the indentation of her right hip, he crawled up the length of her body and kissed leisurely. When he pulled back to examine her face, Kilby looked charmingly befuddled.

“What did you do to me?” she asked, her violet eyes filled with awe and excitement.

The way she was staring up at him made him feel omnipotent. He wanted to pound his chest and howl in triumph. Instead, Fayne brushed a few stray hairs from her face. “A mere taste of our passion.”

Her mouth parted in surprise at his announcement. “There is
more
?”

“Oh, yes, my cuddly little wolf,” Fayne promised. “An entire night of it.”

The days that followed drifted by for Kilby like a superlative, decadent dream. Since the night Fayne had carried her up to her bedchamber and made love to her in front of the fire, there had been some subtle changes in her relationship with Fayne that went beyond the physical.

Though she had no complaints in that regard!

What discomfort she had experienced in the beginning had disappeared and Fayne had proved himself to be a very inventive and attentive lover. The aches that plagued her now were the result of anticipation, of knowing what those skillful, dexterous hands of his could evoke from her body. He had somehow bound her to him with his exquisite lovemaking. She felt the pull of his absence from those invisible threads woven around her heart each moment they were apart.

His misguided offer of marriage had not been mentioned nor had he extended the generous offer again.

Essentially, Kilby was relieved that Fayne had not pressed her for a permanent union. If she felt a jot of disappointment,
she reminded herself that she had already refused his offer. What she shared with Fayne was temporary. When his roving eye settled on another lady, she would not let bitterness ruin her fond memories of their time together.

For now, Fayne was hers.

They had plans to encounter each other at Lord and Lady Kennard’s ball this evening. Socializing in the same circles made it simple for them to accidentally meet without gaining the
ton’
s notice. At her urging, their public assignations had been above reproach. Only Priddy had commented with a shrewd look in her eye on the frequency of Fayne’s presence at the gatherings they both attended together. The older woman had wondered aloud at the wisdom of encouraging the flirtation. After all, there was that awkward business with the duke’s father. She was convinced Fayne was subtly courting her young charge. Nothing Kilby said dissuaded her of the notion.

From the corner of her eye, Kilby noticed Lord Ordish’s measured approach. He was leaning heavily on his walking stick.

“Good evening, my lord.”

The earl made a soft disapproving sound. “Where is your chaperone? She is not doing right by you, my dear child. You are too young and pretty not to be dancing with the others,” Lord Ordish said, joining her.

“How kind of you to say so,” Kilby said, patting his arm affectionately. “Nevertheless, do not fret. Lady Quennell has vowed to one and all that she will have me betrothed by season’s end. If her daunting ambitions do not come to fruition, I fear it will be my failing, not hers.”

“Balderdash! If you do not have a dozen gents leaving their cards each afternoon, there is something wrong with the young noblemen your chaperone is presenting you to,” Lord Ordish said vehemently in her defense. “Where is
Lady Quennell? I should dash off and find her, mayhap, have a word or two with her.”

Kilby was appreciative of the earl’s concern. However, there would be no dashing off for the Lord Ordish, not with his painful gait. “Heavens, there is no telling where Priddy might be at this moment, and I will not have you straining your leg on my behalf.”

“My hip, actually. And here I thought I was hiding it so well.” The earl glanced at her sheepishly, and then gruffly chuckled. “I confess I have some lingering inflammation in my right hip that often plagues me at inopportune moments. It is the sad result of a humbling tumble from my horse two summers past.”

“How terrible for you,” Kilby murmured sympathetically. Lord Ordish’s retelling of his accident faded in the distance as her violet gaze landed on Fayne, who was entering the north side of the ballroom. A warm, welcoming smile animated her countenance. Kilby could pick him out of any crowd with great ease. His proud bearing and long, dark reddish-brown hair color were distinctly Fayne.