I Thee Wed (16 page)

When Orion realized that he was nattering on about Francesca's astonishing voice, he forced himself to silence. He waited for a long moment, but Button made no commentary whatsoever.

“Well, what do you think I should do?”

Button raised a kindly brow. “Do you want me to tell you if I think you should be wise, or unwise?”

“Well . . . yes.”

Button smiled sadly. “But which is which?”

Orion opened his mouth, then realized that he himself wasn't sure. Society would surely call the proposed night of sexual gratification unwise—but Orion didn't care what Society said. In another interpretation, continuing to let their work suffer while they physically pined for each other might be the unwise choice.

Orion's head began to spin. He shook it to clear his spiraling thoughts. “What would you do? What decision would you make, if you wanted someone so badly that you couldn't think of anything else?”

Button blinked. “I—” He went rather unaccountably pale, but Orion rushed on, his thoughts coming almost too fast to speak them.

“What if there is no such thing as right or wrong here?
Is
something actually wrong, if there are no consequences due? If two sane, adult people want something that harms no one, that serves them and them alone, then . . .” He spread his hands, suddenly out of words.

Button sat very still, staring at some point just over Orion's left shoulder. “Then why not?” The words were the merest whisper, a breath of speech that would not have been audible had the shop not been so silent.

Yes
.

Orion nodded sharply. Then he turned on his heel and
strode down the hall, out of the shop, and back down the damp cobbled street—

To Francesca.

So focused was he on his destination that he did not hear Button's breathless protest. “No, Orion! Wait—”

O
RION left Lementeur's, intent upon his new purpose. He would fulfill his distracting desire for the sumptuous Francesca, and by doing so, would reorient his attention to his work, and his future career. It was an excellent plan, and
not
an impulsive decision.

Francesca
.

His pulse rate increased even as his pace lengthened. His long-legged stride made good time, but not fast enough to avoid the equally long legs of the young man who chased him down on the street outside the shop. Orion blinked at the sound of his name. “Oh, Cabot.” Then he made to brush past him. “I haven't time to talk—”

“Wait.” Cabot stepped in front of Orion again. Orion drew back. Cabot was never so tasteless. Ever.

He looked more closely at the younger man. Not that Cabot was all that much younger. Probably twenty-seven or thereabouts. From what Orion had learned of Cabot's background as an orphan and street thief, he wondered if Cabot himself
knew his age. He was certainly no child, no matter what Button might think.

No child ever had eyes like Cabot's, cool, distant gray eyes that sometimes betrayed the pain of his early years.

Like now. After looking more closely, Orion saw the same signs of tension he'd seen on Button's face.

Belatedly, it occurred to Orion that some people might have larger problems than his own unconsummated lust for Miss Francesca Penrose.

“Er, Cabot . . . I say,” he finished lamely. Emotions had never been his territory. Give him a good old chemical reaction any day. Like aqua fortis and spirits of salt. Simple, clear, and easily explained.

Button and Cabot were the stuff of plays, or opera. They were something taut and fraught and truly out of Orion's purview . . .

Still, he could not help but put a sympathetic hand on the other man's shoulder. “How can I help?”

Cabot's shoulder felt like an overwound spring. He'd always been a distant, cool sort of person—although ever ready to help when needed. He'd saved Orion's sister Callie when Attie had accidentally put a bullet hole in her. The family owed Cabot a great deal.

Cabot shot a glance back at Lementeur's shop. “He hasn't been out of there in days.”

Orion blinked. “Have you been waiting out here?”

Cabot shook his head. “No. The Prince Regent keeps me far too busy for that. I—I have my sources. But you just saw him. Tell me—”

Orion frowned. “Tell you what?”

Cabot shrugged helplessly. “Anything. Everything. Is he eating? Is he sleeping? He'll stay up all night, working, if no one is there to mind him. And I doubt that his housekeeper even knows what kind of tea he likes . . . It is hard to get him to eat. He's like a child sometimes . . .”

Orion tried not to take a step back from Cabot's outpouring of worry. They had all known that Cabot looked after Button, but this did rather explain the messy state of things, and Button's weariness, and the circles beneath his eyes. The ones that matched Cabot's own set.

“He's all right,” Orion said carefully. “Working away in there. I suppose things could be a bit neater, but I don't think he's going to starve himself.” Then, because Cabot looked so desperate, he said, “I think he misses you.” And because it was true, he added, “We all miss you. Attie especially.”

Cabot shook his head. “Oh, I see Attie all the time. She visits me at work.”

Orion blinked. “Attie just strolls into the
palace
?”

Cabot's lips quirked. “Attie goes where Attie goes. It's rather like trying to keep a cat out . . . or in.”

Orion shuddered. “Just . . . don't let anyone behead her.”

But Cabot had forgotten Attie already. His gaze had been drawn magnetically back to the fancifully carved door. “Do you really think he's all right in there?”

Orion shook his head and left him there, hurrying back to Blayne House through the spreading darkness. Cabot and Button might find themselves torn, but Orion knew precisely what he wanted!

*   *   *

F
RANCESCA DABBED HER
forearm across her heat-dampened brow. The kitchen had become quite stuffy after she spent the entire evening baking a dozen poppy-seed cakes, and she felt sticky, but she could not use her hands quite yet.

With fingers well smeared with icing, she picked up the pastry bag and began to ice the last cake. She cooked when she was sad, but she baked when she was frustrated. She always had done so, but never so often as she did now at Blayne House!

It was all very well to retreat to the kitchen when she found the world too difficult or disturbing, but if Orion kept refusing
her perfectly straightforward advances, Francesca feared that she would end up as wide in the arse as her great-aunt Rosaria!

Her mind spun back a few hours, as it had over and over again—which went a long way to explaining the full dozen cakes!—to relive his large, warm hands on her skin.

Her body still vibrated with need. She already longed for him. That breathless taste of his touch as they stood hidden behind the draperies in Sir Geoffrey's study had only made matters worse! Francesca bit her bottom lip as she squeezed a perfect swirling design of creamy icing onto the top of the final cake.

She promised herself that she would not eat them all alone. Sir Geoffrey might complain about her “overstimulating” spices, but she had long ago noticed that no one seemed to mind a pantry full of sweets!

Then again, what did it matter if she gained a bit more arse? The only man she'd ever desired wanted her to save herself for marriage!

She wished that she didn't find that rather charming, and admirable, and, damn it, honorable that he didn't want to despoil her wretched, worthless virginity! It was a silly, useless thing to hang on to when she would never wed anyway . . . and she so wanted to let go of it in Orion Worthington's arms.

Letting out another gusting sigh, because she was all alone and could wax as melodramatic as she pleased, Francesca concentrated in the dim lamplight and produced the final, delicate touches to the icing. There. All done.

She gazed across the cake-studded table in a state of complete desolation. Twelve cakes and no one to feed. She did so love to feed people.

But she didn't really have any people, did she?

With an expression of crumpling resolution, she reached out to pick off a chunk of iced cake with her fingers. So she would put eleven cakes into the pantry. No one would care.

She was about to pop the guilty pleasure into her mouth when she heard ringing bootheels striding down the hallway
outside the kitchens. Orion? No one else in Blayne House moved with such long paces—but heavens, he must be nearly running!

Turning with the sticky chunk of yellow, black-seeded cake forgotten in her fingers, she felt her jaw drop as Orion Worthington, tall and daunting, with his mussed hair still misted from the fog outside, came striding into the kitchen.

Francesca blinked. “Ah . . .” Her gaze slid guiltily to the wad of cake and icing in her hand. “Want some?” She impulsively held it out to him.

It was then that she saw the flare of untamed lust in his midnight eyes.

Someone let the wolf out.

With a thrill, Francesca realized that it was she.

Without a word, he came forward to gaze down at her with those eyes filled with dark need. Francesca swallowed hard.

You called the wolf. Don't be a sheep!

His large hand wrapped around her wrist and raised the bit of cake up high. Without altering his riveting gaze, he opened his mouth and consumed the morsel with zeal. Then he carefully licked every crumb from her fingertips.

Oh heavens
. Francesca felt her heartbeat speed so suddenly to a gallop that faintness threatened.

Don't you dare,
her inner seductress admonished.
We don't want to miss a minute of this!

No, she most certainly did not.

He enveloped her other wrist with his other hand and lifted it to his mouth to suck the remaining icing from those fingers as well.

Then, releasing one hand, he turned to tow her from the kitchen like a naughty child in need of a spanking.

The very thought nearly made her stumble. Luckily, her inner seductress was a nimble wench and kept her feet. With her free hand, Francesca whipped her apron over her head and left it on the kitchen floor behind her.

Her hair tumbled free of its pins. Since she rather thought Orion wouldn't mind, she let it fall.

His long legs were moving so fast that she had to scamper behind him, nearly dancing to keep up. This was all very mysterious and exciting, but she was already overly warm, and if he didn't land somewhere soon, she feared her face would become red as a beet!

He dragged her up the stairs into the front hall. As they sped through, she noticed his greatcoat left damp and crumpled on the marble floor of the foyer.

All the servants were abed. It must be later than she'd realized.

Excellent
.

Orion pulled her into Sir Geoffrey's study and shut the door behind them. Then he whirled on her, put both his big hands on her shoulders, and pressed her firmly against the closed door.

Francesca felt a strange, cold thrill in her belly. She wasn't afraid, not really. Still, this black intensity was something she'd only sensed in him. She'd deliberately called forth the wolf.

How would the wolf behave?

Slowly, as if he could not bear to let a single inch of her skin go untouched, he slid each of his hands from her shoulders, then across her bare collarbone until his long fingers wrapped loosely about her throat. Francesca's own wolf began to scratch at the door to get out.

With his large hands cupping her jaw, she allowed him to lift her mouth to his. In fact, she went up on her tiptoes and clutched his lapels to get there, but it was well worth the trip.

Orion kissed the way he did everything—with deadly focus. Francesca practically purred as he took possession of her mouth with his. Had any kiss ever been so hot, so demanding, yet so coaxing at the same time?

He wanted her to join him in his lust.

She wrapped her arms about his neck and did her best to convince him that she was already there.

A groan sounded deep in his throat. His arms wrapped about her waist, and he lifted her off her feet, pressing her to the door with his body.

Francesca found herself standing on nothing at all.
I have always wanted to fly,
she thought, just as any coherence of thought shredded away, torn to bits by the whirling storm of her desire for him.

Her lips parted on a sigh, and he took it as an invitation. His tongue delved within and stroked hungrily against hers. As innocent as she was, she recognized the rhythm of his invasion. She moaned into his mouth. Dimly, she realized that her hands were fisted in his thick hair, clinging to him as if she were drowning and his kiss, the only succor.

It was wild and raw and unbelievably wonderful to release her longing at last—but it still wasn't enough.

“I want to touch you.”

Those were the first words he'd spoken to her. They were hot and urgent words, and the need in them echoed her own.

She laughed against his lips. “Sir, I assure you that the desire is mutual. I suggest you remove your clothing.”

She wanted to see him naked, and to run her fingers over his bare skin again—this time without the acid bath! She wanted him hot and hard, not cold and wet, although she would take him any way she could get him. It was a fine idea, this one.

She was so pleased that she'd had it.

Surely if they kissed and touched and fondled each other all night, they could have their fill! She'd been so hungry for him, and it seemed as if she'd been hungry forever. How else could she drink her fill of him in one night if she did not leap right in?

He didn't seem to object, nor wish to judge her for being forward. Instead, he seemed more than willing now that he'd come to his decision. His hands tightened on her waist as she
reached behind her head to undo the top buttons of her gown. As the neckline of the plain gown drooped, his gaze fell down to watch her breasts being revealed.

But first, there was the lace-edged chemise that she wore beneath the plain gabardine. It was quite low-cut, for it was borrowed from Judith and therefore rather too long in all. All of Francesca's things had been too lightweight for England, but for a few practical winter gowns. Judith had the idea to add more layers of underthings just to keep from shivering at the dinner table.

Now, in high British summer, she was down to a single, thin chemise.

Orion had never seen a woman's underthings. It seemed exotic, and erotic, to solve that puzzle and know that secret. Orion had always loved to solve puzzles . . .

All thought of clothing fell from his mind as she pulled at the strings tying the neckline of her chemise closed. He held his breath, waiting—

The thin batiste fell away, and her beautiful breasts fell into his ready hands. They were round and full and soft and tipped with sweet, tender coral nipples that he could not live one more minute without sucking into his mouth—

Francesca gasped as his large hot hands closed over her bare breasts. He took ownership of her flesh as if it had always belonged to him and only him. With all the focus she had ever seen in his dark blue eyes, he bent his head to watch her soft flesh give beneath his avid touch.

Yet, he was gentle. Uncompromising and firm, but he never hurt her, even when he pressed her breasts high to take each nipple into his mouth in turn. The low moan that escaped her at the sweet, nearly painful sucking sensation brought out a growl from his throat.

The wolf was there, lurking behind the mild-mannered exterior. No suit or pair of spectacles could hide him from her. She saw the beast within the man, unleashed at last.

The beast had been set free, and it was hunting her.