Desperate and Daring 01 - Desperate and Daring (19 page)

Heather picked up the rhythm and her hips answered him. The sting was ebbing, the burning giving way to a pleasant heat. The more she moved, the better it felt. She kissed him back eagerly, the coals of her need roaring to life and the pressure of his groin against hers the only appeasement. The pressure grew as the chase for pleasure eclipsed any discomfort. She was fighting for that fire again, moaning and gasping against his mouth, her body rigid in its search for satisfaction.

Fallon began to thrust harder and faster, and Heather moved with him. “Oh, God, Heather,” he groaned, praying she would find release soon.

She answered his prayer.

Heather felt the wave of pleasure crash over her without warning. She cried out, all of the sudden weak and lethargic. She couldn’t move. She didn’t want to move.

Fallon followed her over the edge, thrusting one last time as he found release, and spent himself inside her. He collapsed to the side of her, careful not to crush her.

They both lay there breathing, their huffs and pants the only sound in the room.

Fallon found the apartment just as his new lawyer’s hired runner had described. It was not in the best part of London, which confirmed his suspicions of Mr. Bell. Though evidence so far suggested he was, indeed, his cousin, he didn’t feel any familial connection. Mr. Bell, who should actually be Mr. Calder, had burned any kindness Fallon otherwise may have shown him. What he wished to do was knock his teeth out, but the man was old and probably troubled financially.

Fallon knocked forcefully on the door. There was scuffling and cursing from the other side before the door was yanked open.

“What is it?” Mr. Bell scowled at the intruder and hurriedly patted down his combed over hair. His face blanked when he actually took note of who stood before him.

“May I come in?” Fallon said politely, but with little kindness.

“What do you want? Do you think you can come here and threaten me?”

“If I wish to, yes.” Fallon pushed the door open and brushed past him. The room was little better than the hall. Dust settled on things that were rarely touched, and what did see use was cluttered with papers and clothing.

Mr. Bell scuttled to his desk and snatched up quill and paper.

“What are you doing?” Fallon asked in puzzlement.

“I’m going to record everything you say to be used in court.”

Fallon sighed heavily and looked heavenward. “Do what you wish. I’ve come to speak to you man to man. We are, after all, family.”

“That remains to be seen.” Mr. Bell scribbled furiously.

“Why is it you don’t use the Calder surname?” Fallon asked curiously.

“I’ve had better luck as a Bell. The Calder name is cursed.”

Fallon snorted. “I could almost believe that. What was your father like?”

Mr. Bell sneered at him. “A cold bastard. Are you fishing for information to make your lies more plausible?”

“I’ve no need to lie. The marriage of my parents was never in question, was it? You believe I died as a boy?”

“That’s what my own father said. It was one of the only letters he ever received from the duke, his only brother.”

“While I hate to disappoint you, and I assure you, I disappointed my father with this revelation, but I am very much alive. It’s true I was ill as a boy, weak lungs from birth, but after my father wished for my death and departed with the idea that it was only a matter of time, I recovered. Dr. Logan is the family doctor, and he can attest to my birth, my history of illness, and my recovery.”

“I won’t trust any witness you pay to give credit to your tales. I know what I was told. I was there when my father received the letter.”

“Do you have this letter?” Fallon queried.

“I dare not let you lay hands on it. You will try to destroy it.”

“But you have this letter?” Fallon pressed.

Mr. Bell’s neck reddened. “I’m not telling you anything.”

“I’ll take that as a no then. How about record of my death? A certificate perhaps? Did you attend my funeral?”

“Enough!” Mr. Bell hollered. “You won’t persuade me to turn aside while you pilfer what is rightfully mine.”

“Rightfully?” Fallon lost his patience. He advanced on Mr. Bell until he had him backed against his filthy desk. He towered over him. “I’ve spent my entire life fighting for the mere right to live. My own father tried to deny me, but by God, I overcame his death sentence. You will fail, Mr. Bell. My father may have wanted me to die, he may have even claimed I did, but I stand before you now and I tell you this. I conquered his dire predictions, and I will conquer you.”

Fallon jumped back just as Mr. Bell whipped his arm in front of him, a letter opener clench in his fist.

“You back away now. I won’t be cowed by you.”

Fallon straightened his coat, keeping his eye on the letter opener. “There is no convincing you to see reason. I will take my leave, and we will let the courts handle the matter, if they will even consider such a fruitless case. Good day, Mr. Bell, and for God’s sake get a maid to clean this place up.” Fallon threw a purse of coins at his feet. “Consider is a consolation prize, cousin.” He turned to leave, his sense heightened in case Mr. Bell decided murder could further his cause. Fallon pulled the door closed behind him, but Mr. Bell never moved from the desk.

He was due to meet Heather for tea, and he had a tin of comfits for Prim and Violet. He liked the idea of little sisters, though they couldn’t be considered little. All too soon, he would be meeting with potential suitors, denying requests for their hands. Mr. Bell had no place in his life. Whenever Faegan returned with his records, he would take all responsibility for dealings with Mr. Bell. Fallon had better things to do, like doting on his mother-in-law and new sisters, bedding his wife, and ensuring they produced a house full of children over the next decade.

If the Calder name was cursed, Fallon was going to break it with sheer strength of will. No more single sons and frigid fathers. He would climb trees with his sons, play dolls with his daughters, and never let his wife forget for a moment that she is the single most beautiful woman in the world.

According to Heather, he could conquer dragons. Curses are nothing compared to dragons.

*

The scent of roses filled St. Georges until it was almost overbearing. Heather stood at the altar, Fallon beside her, and pledged her troth to him for the rest of her days. After a long ceremony, and many prayers, they were pronounced husband and wife. They did not kiss, her mother decreed it too sensational, and there was enough sensation surrounding them already. The applause was almost deafening, but Heather was all smiles as Fallon escorted her down the aisle and outside to the waiting carriage—equally overbearingly covered with roses.

Fallon stood on the steps of the carriage and tossed coins into the air to the crowd that had gathered. Heather laughed. He looked quite at home in his place as duke now, especially when he was giving his wealth away. She pulled him inside the coach and he pulled the door shut. Alone at last, she pulled him to her lips and he obliged her with a wicked kiss.

Heather felt starved for him after a week of fittings. Each time she did see him, they were never alone, and her mother seemed inordinately determined to chaperone their every meeting. Not that it would make any difference now, but her mother didn’t know that.

They consumed each other with kisses in the carriage, the melee of curious onlookers and waiting carriages ensuring they had lots of time for dalliance before reaching the townhouse. Fallon wasted no time divesting her of her veil, and stretching the limits of her heavily beaded bodice to expose one of her breasts. He worshiped her nipple with his tongue, a cacophony of moans and cries erupting from her. She delivered her own torture, climbing into his lap and using boldly clever fingers to undo the buttons of his pantaloons to reach his manhood. He was engorged and throbbing already.

“Heather, we don’t have time.”

“Yes, we do. You can tell the driver to take the long way.”

“I will not consummate our marriage in a carriage.” He growled playfully.

“We’ve already consummated our marriage in a bed,” Heather reminded him.

He groaned as her hand squeezed him down his length. “It’s too soon. You’re body isn’t accustomed to me yet.”

“My body was made for you.” She nipped at his bottom lip.

“Is this the way our marriage will be? Me always giving in to you?”

She smiled seductively, relishing the power she had over him. “I think that sounds like a wonderful marriage.”

“Minx.” He pulled at her gown, her absurdly long train a bane. He finally freed her legs and pulled them apart to straddle his lap. Heather had already worked his erection free of his pantaloons.

“I don’t know what to do,” she admitted. She was still a novice, after all.

He gripped her waist, his hands large enough to almost encircle her. He lifted her above him until the head of his manhood touched her core. She adjusted her knee’s, giving her leverage. She placed her hands on his shoulders. “And now?”

She was already slick and hot, her body almost burning him. He lowered her slowly, giving her time to shift and adjust. She gasped as he entered her fully.

“Oh, my.” She breathed.

“You’re in control now, Heather. You have all the power in this position.” His voice was strained.

Heather liked the sound of that. She moved tentatively at first, trying to find a movement that felt right for both him and her. She found a pace that suited her, a gentle rocking that made warmth spread through her limbs and little sparks of pleasure between her legs. Fallon had his head back against the squabs, his eyes closed. She could tell he was engrossed by the intense pressure of his hands as he squeezed her hips with each movement. Her fever was growing quickly, the sparks turning to a blaze that threatened to consume her. She didn’t fight it. She cried out, shaking with release, her legs instantly turning to water.

Fallon took over the tempo and thrust hard into her, pumping over and over until he groaned her name and found his own completion, clutching her hips to his groin with one hand and one steely arm wrapped around her.

Their lovemaking may have been rushed and spontaneous, but Heather never felt closer to him. She could feel the pulse of his heart between her thighs. It matched her own pounding heart.

She reluctantly roused herself, suddenly self-conscious that they were moving in the carriage. She slid from him and righted her clothes. He did the same.

“Will it always be like this?”

“Until we’re too old to lift our heads.” Fallon sighed as he pulled her head to his shoulder and kissed her forehead. “I will never stop wanting you.”

“I love you,” she whispered. She didn’t know why but she felt teary.

“I love you.” He tipped her chin up and kissed her one last time before the carriage rolled to a stop.

“I don’t want to go in there. I want to go straight to bed.” Heather pouted.

“It will be over before you know it, and then we will be in bed. We can stay there for a week if you like.”

“No, I want you to take me to Scotland. I want to see where you grew up.”

He smiled at that. “Really?”

“Yes, I want our children to be born there.”

He pulled her tighter against his side. “You have no idea how much that means to me. How did I ever get lucky enough to find you?”

“I believe I found you. It was me who wrote a letter to you, after all.”

He chuckled. “You’re right. You will always be right.”

Heather had stolen a quick kiss before the door opened. Light seemed to blind them at first, but then, Fallon stepped out and handed Heather down. A crowd had gathered in the streets of the townhouse as well, but Fallon recognized a smiling familiar face waiting at the top of the steps.

“Dr. Logan?”

“And son,” a younger version stepped out from behind him followed by Faegan.

“I’ve brought you a wedding present.” Faegan grinned ear to ear.

“It seems I’m to declare you alive and fit to inherit, though you seem to have done all right for yerself,” Dr. Logan quipped.

He had very little hair left, but what was left was as red as the setting sun and as wiry as goat’s hair.

“Well, curse my bleeding eyes,” Fallon said with a thick burr.

That caused the old man to splinter into laughter.

Fallon turned to Heather “I present to you, the irascible Dr. Logan.” Fallon laughed. “Dr. Logan, my wife, the Duchess of Ablehill.”

Fallon escorted her up the steps. “Please, call me Heather.” She took the doctor’s hand.

“I can see you’ve got a bit of scot in you—all the best duchess’ do, mind you.”

Heather laughed. She liked him immensely already. She was introduced to the younger Dr. Logan, who was as charming as his father was. They took the little reunion to the drawing room where Faegan assured them that all the proof they needed was in order on paper, and in person with the help of Dr. Logan and his son. It would be more than enough. Heather wasn’t worried. She was more terrified of surviving the monstrosity of a wedding breakfast her mother had planned than the threat of Mr. Bell.

She had Fallon by her side, and she knew Anabelle, Hazel, Lucy, Dorothea, and her other friends would be there to keep her sane. She was more blessed than she could have ever dreamed. All of a sudden she thought of their song. Her love with Fallon had indeed been almost a fantasy, but now it was reality, a desperate and daring dream come true.

The End

Thank you for reading
Desperate and Daring!
This is the first book in the Desperate and Daring Series that will total 10 when completed. Coming next, the series continues with Lady Anabelle and Lord Draven in
Belle of the Ball
. Watch out for its Fall 2014 release date!

Fun Fact!

The song Heather plays on the harp for Fallon is
Quasi una Fantasia
(Almost a Fantasy) by Beethoven, composed in 1801. This song is more commonly known as
Moonlight Sonata
. It came by that name in 1836 when German music critic, Ludwig Rellstab, wrote that the song reminded him of moonlight reflected off Lake Lucerne.
Moonlight Sonata
has since become the “official” unofficial title.