Dennis, Josie - Wild Heights [Classics Rekindled 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (9 page)

“Cared for you?” Henry scoffed. “We love you!”

“Love?” She shook with her fury. “This is not love.” She waved her hand in the direction of the settee. “This is…sexual. No mention of love was made by either of you, Henry. And now you expect me to believe that? Stuff and nonsense.”

Helpless, Edward watched as everything they’d planned fell apart before his eyes. They had grossly miscalculated, thinking to ease her toward the reality of their futures together. And now? Now it appeared she would never believe them, let alone be their bride.

“Cathy, let us explain,” Edward said.

“Take me home, please,” she snapped.

“Cathy,” Henry urged. “Do not go this way.”

She closed her eyes, tears spiking her lashes. They had thrown everything away in a single night, and Edward could not pinpoint where matters went so awry.

“We shall see you home,” Edward said.

She shook her head. “I cannot bear to be in the carriage with the two of you. Please let me go alone.”

“As you wish,” Edward said.

He called for his carriage and saw to her wrap, and then he and Henry watched her ride away from them.

“I had to open my blasted mouth,” Edward muttered. “I had to blurt out our plans like that, after what was the most astonishing sex I’ve ever had.”

“For me, as well.” Henry placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “What are we going to do?”

Edward shook his head. “I have no notion. I shall tell you this much, however. She cares for us more than she wants to admit.”

“Her reaction! Her anger as she talked of our marrying other women.” Henry nodded, a slow smile curving his lips. “Do you think she loves us?”

“I have to believe she does. How else could a previously innocent girl give so much of herself?”

“We shall get her back. Convince her that we mean to keep her with us forever.”

Edward snorted. “How?”

“We shall sleep on it.” Henry yawned lustily. “I daresay after that orgasm I shall sleep like the dead.”

Edward finally felt a touch of Henry’s optimism for the situation. “It was incredible. She was incredible.”

“She will be ours, Edward. Count on it.”

Chapter 9

Cathy sobbed in the carriage on the too-short ride back to the manor. What had she been thinking, to presume she knew the workings of such matters? To have both of them inside of her, holding her, caressing her, had been too much. Afterward, as they held her and stroked her so tenderly, she had let her heart believe that perhaps she could have kept them to herself forever.

“Ha,” she grumbled.

Edward said they’d planned this. Started on this course to seduce her. Well, she’d been an oh-too-willing participant, that was certain. Now she was left with nothing. No Henry. No Edward. Her heart clenched. And no future.

Climbing wearily out of the carriage, she stepped into the manor. Maggie gasped when she saw her.

“Miss Cathy!” She rushed to her side. “What has happened? Are you hurt?”

She shook her head. “Not physically.”

Maggie frowned then crossed her arms. “It was that Middleton girl, wasn’t it? I heard from the Richardson housekeeper that she was at the card party, spreading more of her vicious lies.”

“Lies?” Her head shot up. “Maggie, what are you talking about?”

“All of Highmoor has heard the tales she’s been carrying since the Pickering recital. Tales of you and…”—Maggie leaned closer—“the gentlemen from Thistle Grange.”

Cathy gasped. “No!”

“She said that you and Mr. Henry have been intimate. That you and Mr. Edward were more than friends as well.”

Hot rage boiled through her. “Bitch.”

Maggie nodded. “I attempted to quash the stories then and there, but those fools are titillated by the merest gossip.” She wrapped her arms around Cathy. “I’m sorry, dear. From what the housekeeper said it seems this tale is far too juicy a bone for them to release easily.”

“Oh, Maggie.” She fell into another crying jag, her throat burning. “What have I done?”

Maggie froze then pulled back to stare at her. “What are you saying?”

She could not answer her, not all of it. “I foolishly gave my heart to both of them and they trampled on it. That is the only thing that matters now.”

Maggie held her close again, rubbing her back to soothe her as she had nearly all her life. “Now, now. Matters will look brighter in the morning.”

“That,” she sniffed, “is highly doubtful.”

“No matter. Go to your chamber, dear. I’ll have a bath readied for you.”

Suddenly the thought of a bath was infinitely better than going right to bed. Goodness knew she’d never be able to sleep now.

Maggie sent her on her way, and Cathy went up to her bedchamber. Her maid fussed over her hair, her dress.

“I shall see to myself, Lucy,” she told her.

At last alone, she sank into the soothing water. She could smell the heather infused in her bath soaps, the scent immediately bringing to mind the events of tonight. That balm they’d used, before Edward put his cock deep in her bottom, had smelled of it. It was scented for her, they’d told her. Tears tracked down her cheeks, and she dunked her head beneath the water.

When she emerged she took a deep breath. How could they use her so? How had she so willingly given Henry her maidenhead that afternoon in the lodge? No mention of love, certainly none of marriage, had been made. Now she was to believe them?

“Not bloody likely,” she muttered.

She scrubbed herself, erasing the feel of them. The smell of them. She ached in her bottom, but it wasn’t unpleasant. They’d both been inside of her, and it had been glorious. Quite fitting for a last time.

No more tears, then. They’d given her pleasure, to be sure. And the knowledge that she held a power she’d never imagined, able to captivate the two of them for this brief time at least. She let out a harsh breath.

That would have to be enough.

* * * *

Edward heard the whispers, harsh and insidious. He turned his head, finding three gentlemen on High Street eyeing him with dark gazes. He nodded to them and turned away. A group of ladies watched him, speaking behind their hands and clucking like hens. Their eyes, too, were dark with speculation before they put on their maidenly masks. What the devil was going on?

Henry was in the pub, settling their bill before they headed back to the Grange. It had been three days since that horrid night in their parlor, and they had not yet thought of a way to untangle this mess. Cathy returned their missives unopened. She refused the hothouse flowers they’d sent. The Lord knew they had little experience properly courting any woman, let alone the one with whom they wished to spend their lives. They were at a loss about how to set matters to rights.

As he strolled back to the carriage, one of the three gentlemen approached him. “Say, Linden!”

Edward stopped and faced him, arching a brow in question. “Pickering.”

The man stepped closer. “How did you manage it, Linden? You and Heath?”

Edward’s stomach took a tumble, though he kept his face impassive. “Pardon?”

Pickering grinned, a lascivious expression that proved nauseating on his fat face. “The Earling chit. She’s a prize piece to be sure, but no gentleman has been able to woo her. And now we hear that the two of you have…” He winked. “Well, perhaps it is better left unsaid.”

Edward’s hands fisted. “What did you hear?”

“All are talking about it,” Pickering said, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Why, I myself saw how…attached the three of you were at my home the other night.”

“Damn it all, Pickering. State your meaning or I shall have to call you out.”

Pickering’s fat mouth fell open, his ruddy cheeks growing redder by the moment.

“What’s going on?” Henry came to Edward’s side. “Pickering, your eyes are boggled. Eat a sour kipper this morning?”

“Heath.” Pickering bowed his head, no doubt struggling to affect his usual air of modest gentility. “I was merely asking after Miss Earling. She has not been seen in company since the recital. Keeping her to yourselves?”

Henry leaned closer. “Excuse me?”

Pickering had the audacity to preen. “I’m curious, is all.”

Edward exchanged a worried glance with Henry, who faced Pickering once again. “Curious?” he growled.

Apparently Pickering hadn’t the sense God gave a partridge, for he missed the import of Henry’s tone. “Yes. However did you two of you managed to bed her?”

Edward’s fist shot out, catching Pickering square in the face. “How dare you speak of her!”

Henry grabbed Edward’s arm before he could thrash the bastard. “Easy.” Stepping between them, he placed a hand on Pickering’s barrel chest, shoving hard. “Did I hear you correctly?” Henry rubbed his jaw then flexed his hands. “Because if I did, you will have more than a bloody nose before the day is out.”

Pickering gasped as blood poured down his face.

“Carrying tales spread by a jealous young woman,” Henry mused aloud, taking out his handkerchief to hand the lout. “Not very gentlemanly. Perhaps your wife does indeed keep your balls in her sewing basket.”

Pickering shook his head, his eyes wide as he covered his nose. “P–perhaps I was m–mistaken.”

Somewhat mollified, Henry came closer. “Let me hear of your spreading those lies again, Pickering. The lake at the Grange is quite deep, you know. In the center especially, where one cannot see the bottom.”

Edward nodded. “Too true. Should one lose something there I daresay it is gone forever.”

Pickering looked from one to the other. “I must be going.”

“Your word?” Edward asked.

“Y–yes,” Pickering answered before hurrying away from them.

“Bastard.” Henry made for the carriage. “I saw his face, Edward. This story had him randy as a goat in spring.”

“Look around, Henry,” Edward said in a low voice. “All eyes are on us. Talk of Cathy is spreading and there is nothing we can do about it.”

Henry looked thoughtful for a moment. “We may have just been given a gift. A way to force our love’s hand.”

Edward blinked. “Explain.”

“Not yet. I’ve merely the seed of an idea.” Henry gave a nod. “But I believe I just may let Pickering live.”

Edward leaned back, letting out a breath. “I hope you have the right of it. I cannot bear the thought of losing her forever.”

* * * *

Cathy tossed in her bed, the sounds of the storm outside reaching through to her. Like that day on the moors with Henry and Edward, fierce and wild. In her mind she was back on that ill-fated picnic, back with the two men she’d loved her whole life. Then later, in the hunting lodge…Their mouths and hands, their bodies twined with hers. Heaven and perdition at once.

Sweat filmed her body, her hair in tangles stuck against her cheeks and neck. Beads formed between her breasts as her pussy wept, hot with need. She kicked aside the coverlet and went to the balcony doors.

Pressing against the cold glass, she tried to cool her heated blood. Anger at the two of them crashed through her, that and the ever-present passion they’d easily aroused that day and since. Lightning flashed across the sky, as bright and captivating as Edward’s smile. Followed by a boom of thunder, wild and brash like Henry’s spirit. Oh, how she missed them both!

Crossing to the side table, she eyed the bouquet of heather she’d gathered. Perhaps they were not as perfect as the flowers
they
had sent to her, roses and peonies she was certain cost a fortune to procure this time of year. The heather was far dearer to her, however. Burying her face among the purple flowers, she breathed in deeply. Her soul seemed to open up, the scent calming her and calling to mind all the many days they’d spent out on the moors over the years. Tears stung her eyes. It was all over. Finished. Never again would she share that with them. Share anything with them.

The storm beckoned, rain lashing wildly against the glass doors until they rattled in their frames. Unable to resist, she tore the doors open and ran to the railing.

“How could you do this to me, Edward?” she screamed into the sky. “I gave you everything, Henry!”

The skies did not answer, just intensified the storm as her night dress was soon plastered to her body. Icy rain and scalding tears streamed down her cheeks, filled her mouth. Another flash of lightning struck and she saw the three of them out on the moors, as they’d been as children. They ran with her, tugging her hands and laughing. Aging before her eyes, taking her on that picnic then running for cover at the lodge. Cursing herself for a foolish girl, she longed to join them. To repeat the mistakes she’d made that day and surrender to the passion once more.

“I am doomed,” she moaned. “Doomed to love two men who could never fully be mine.”

She fell into sobs, crumbling to the floor in a shivering heap as the rain pounded against her.

“Miss Cathy!”

She heard Maggie’s voice from somewhere behind her, sensed herself being lifted by hands against her numb skin. Stripped of her dripping clothes, bundled up and put into bed. Maggie’s cool hand on her fevered brow.