So Enchanting (18 page)
Hayden regarded her in bewilderment. Paeans to her beauty and first-rate declarations of love had pried only amusement from her, but tell her he didn’t think she was a liar and her expression filled with as much rapture as any heartsick swain could want. Nonplussed he might be, but Hayden was no Johnny-come-lately, either. He came out of his bemused state quickly when he realized Amelie’s piquant face was raised to his.
Eagerly, he raised his hands to draw her into his embrace, but then . . . then he realized that this was no ordinary girl, no society coquette, no diversion at a ball. This was the woman he loved.
Reverently, he placed his hands on the lace covering her shoulders, being careful not to touch her skin with his bare hand. Just as reverently, he stepped closer while still maintaining a respectful distance between his chest and her soft, milky—No, no. Such thoughts were inappropriate for now. Then finally, adoringly, he lowered his face to hers and, with the most reverent touch of all, pressed his lips to hers.
Grey caught Fanny’s wrist before she could land the blow and tugged her off balance, tumbling her forward. Using her momentum, he spun her around, looped an arm around her waist, and pulled her back against his chest. Every detail of her form thus pressed against him awoke excruciating desire. He was aware of every soft swell and winsome valley: the glide of her hair beneath his chin, the imprint of her shoulder blades against his chest, and the lush mounds of her buttocks snuggled intimately against his groin.
“You seem to have a penchant for manhandling me, Sheffield,” she proclaimed. But her voice was breathy and the chill hauteur a wafer-thin veneer. “Let me go.”
He had no intention of letting her go. He’d been cowed by that tone once today. It wasn’t going to work twice. He wheeled her in his embrace, one hand encircling her throat, the other tipping her chin up.
“Not this time, Fanny,” he muttered as his mouth descended hungrily on hers.
For a heartbeat she froze, and then she flung her arms around his neck and was kissing him back, her mouth opening with delicious surrender, her body arching up in passionate response as he fell forward with her to the couch so conveniently at hand there. He loosed one arm and swept books and magazines from the cushions, sending them flying across the room as, lips locked to hers, he gently laid her down. Bracing a knee next to her hip, he lowered himself over her.
Her body trembled. Urgently, he combed his fingers through her black hair. A cascade of pins skittered across the floorboards as the thick, glossy veil fell free. He groaned deep in his throat, twisting a rope of the satiny tresses around his palm and pulling her head gently back.
He released her mouth, and she made a soft sound of protest before his lips fell on the smooth column of her arching neck. Through the cobweb-fine lace, he kissed her, dampening the cloth. She gasped and sighed, her arms traveling restlessly around his waist, her hands roving over his back, settling on his shoulders, only to jerk away, return, wrap tighter, release him once more, and then come back again, destroying his reason.
She seemed to have no idea how to move or where to go. Her mouth remained sealed, almost prim, but then would open intuitively, her untutored tongue devastating in its unskilled ardor. Slowly, a din of sound penetrated his conscience. Loud, caterwauling cries came from outside, where Hayden—
Good God.
If they came in, Fanny’s reputation wouldn’t be—
Good God.
If they came in, Fanny’s reputation wouldn’t be—
It took every bit of his effort to do so, but he tore his mouth from hers and rose, stepping back, his chest heaving like a bellows. They stared at each other, the only sound the duet of their labored breathing. Her lips were rosy and swollen from his kisses, a small piece of lace dangling loose from her collar.
He saw the self-awareness seep slowly into her onyx eyes. She scooted up on her elbows, going bright red, and touched her cheek with shaking fingers. “Don’t you own a decent razor?”
A series of bloodcurdling screams splintered the still night air.
“What was that?” Hayden asked, straightening abruptly.
“A cat,” Amelie said, annoyed. “Or rather, cats, from the sound of it.”
“Cats?” Hayden asked, looking confused—in an entirely noble manner.
She smiled shyly. “It is, after all, spring.”
“Oh? Oh!” Hayden smiled rakishly, and Amelie’s cheeks warmed. He reached for her—
“Hayden! Hayden, we’re leaving! At once!” Lord Sheffield bellowed from inside the drawing room.
Hayden looked over his shoulder, his face darkening thunderously.
“You’d best go,” Amelie said, unable to keep her disappointment from her voice.
“I’m my own man, Amelie.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “Of course you are. But I am not my own woman. I am under Mrs. Walcott’s care and guidance. Should she decide not to allow you into the house—and she can, you know. My father gave her authority over the household—I would have no recourse but to . . .”
She let hang in the air the suggestion that she would be forced to sneak from the house and meet him. Of course, if it came down to it, she would. One did not abandon the love of one’s life over a set of unreasonable dictates. But she loved Fanny, and so would rather not deceive her more than absolutely necessary.
“You would not ask me to do anything against my conscience?” she asked, fairly certain of his answer. Still, she appreciated his insulted expression.
“I should say not! I’ll go, but I’ll be back tomorrow. I promise.”
“I will look for you.”
“Until I see you again, every second shall seem an eternity.” Gracefully, he fell to one knee, securing her hands in his and gazing earnestly up into her face. “I will not be able to eat or drink. I can only hope to sleep away each hour that separates us so that I will not know the torment of—”
“Hayden, you young bounder! Now!”
Amelie, though quite liking Hayden’s protestations of love, was, as he’d so discerningly pointed out, a practical girl. She grabbed hold of his arm and urged him to his feet, swiping at the dirt on his knee.
“Best go,” she whispered, and then, because even though she was practical, she was also eighteen and in love, she rose up on her tiptoes and butterflied a kiss against his lips.
At once, he responded in kind. She was gratified to find this second kiss even more wonderful than the first, a fact that gave her great hopes for the third and fourth and all subsequent kisses.
Then she shoved him gently, nodding encouragingly. “Until tomorrow, then. Good night.”
Chapter Eighteen
A fist hammering on her bedroom door awoke Fanny the next day. Fanny knew that hammering.
“What is it, Violet?”
“The lord from the new lodge is downstairs asking fer you,” Violet yelled through the closed door. “Ye want I should send him on ’is way?”
Fanny bolted upright in her bed. “What lord? Which lord?”
“The big black-haired one.”
Grey was here? What could he want? Had he come to apologize, or . . . Why even bother guessing? Grey did not follow any pattern. It was impossible to predict what the man would do or why.
“Well? I ain’t got all day.”
“Come in here! Stop bellowing!”
“Can’t. Me arms’re full of laundry,” Violet replied. “Now, should I send ’im on his way or not?”
“Not! Have him wait . . .” Not the drawing room. The memory of last night was too fresh. “Have him wait in the library.”
“Fine.” Violet’s heavy-booted tread began retreating down the hallway.
“Wait!”
“What now?”
“Has he asked for Miss Chase, too?”
“No,” Violet snapped. “Now, if you don’t mind . . . ?”
Fanny didn’t bother replying. She looked at the mantel clock. Eight o’clock? The man had come calling at eight o’clock in the morning? He deserved to wait for his audacity. Let him wait all morning.
She flung off the blankets and hurried over to the armoire. What to wear? What to wear? Something that bespoke seriousness. Something flattering but serious. Seriously flattering. She was in a dither and she knew it, and it didn’t help.
Why
should she worry about impressing Grey Sheffield? He did not trust her, he thought the worst of her, and he was suspicious of her.
should she worry about impressing Grey Sheffield? He did not trust her, he thought the worst of her, and he was suspicious of her.
Lavender.
The pale lavender kerchief material with the coffee brown knot design. Just the thing! Feminine but not frivolous.
The pale lavender kerchief material with the coffee brown knot design. Just the thing! Feminine but not frivolous.
She tossed the dress on the chair and flew to her dressing table, already unbraiding her hair. Last night, Sheffield had caught her off guard when he’d scooped her up in his arms as easily as if she’d been a doll. She hadn’t had time to throw up defenses.
And then she hadn’t wanted to.
She stared into the mirror. A stranger looked back, one with sparkling eyes and rosy cheeks, her lips swollen from kisses. Wonderingly, she touched her reflection. Was that her?
She couldn’t seem to catch her breath. Sheffield had stolen it, just as he’d stolen her peace of mind. He’d stripped away the immunity she’d spent six years perfecting. He provoked her, frightened her, amused her, incited her . . . even moved her.
She
knew who’d sent the fish that had saved their dinner last night. It was an unaccountably gentlemanly gesture, and since he was, by his own admission, no gentleman, that meant his action had been inspired by something else.
knew who’d sent the fish that had saved their dinner last night. It was an unaccountably gentlemanly gesture, and since he was, by his own admission, no gentleman, that meant his action had been inspired by something else.
What in blazes was she thinking?
She jerked her brush through her hair and wrapped it into a loose coil on the crown of her head. She didn’t know whether she was a bigger fool now than she was. At least with Alphonse she’d had the excuse of being young and lonely and naive. And Alphonse Brown had been beautiful, with his delicate features, limpid brown eyes, and slender physique. Everything about him had been celestial.
There was nothing beautiful or in the least celestial about Greyson Sheffield. He was striking, imposing, disdainful, and unrepentantly earthy. Mars convicted to a sentence on earth. Her eyes drifted shut as she called up the memory of how he’d braced himself over her as he ravished her mouth.
Hers had been a nearly celibate marriage. Alphonse had claimed they risked compromising their respective “gifts” through too much carnal exercise.
Carnal exercise.
Abruptly, Fanny stood up and pulled the ties holding her nightgown at the neck so that it fell in a pool around her feet. She couldn’t imagine Grey Sheffield using a term like
carnal exercise
. Something raw, offensive, and forthright, yes, that she could imagine him saying. Like the man himself, his speech would use a dizzying mixture of polish and roughness, bluntness and then refinement.
carnal exercise
. Something raw, offensive, and forthright, yes, that she could imagine him saying. Like the man himself, his speech would use a dizzying mixture of polish and roughness, bluntness and then refinement.
Oh, God, what was she thinking? She slipped on her undergarments. He was an
impossible
, rude, arrogant bully. But there had been instances when she’d glimpsed something else beneath his rough demeanor, a sensitivity he kept buried. A pain and even a vulnerability he went to great lengths to conceal.
impossible
, rude, arrogant bully. But there had been instances when she’d glimpsed something else beneath his rough demeanor, a sensitivity he kept buried. A pain and even a vulnerability he went to great lengths to conceal.
She understood. She’d lived a similar life, keeping her emotions at arm’s length, never daring to be spontaneous, avoiding the heights and depths of human feeling. Her brother, Wesley, and the rage that had led to his crippling was always in the back of her mind. And yet, yesterday when Grey and she had been sparring and the cats and dogs and all those dratted birds had responded, nothing terrible or dangerous had happened. And she was older now. If nothing else, her experience as Amelie’s governess had taught her that pubescent girls were passionate, frenzied, liable creatures. It was perhaps her adolescent emotions that had run out of control rather than her odd . . . influence on animals.
She did not think she could feel rage in the same way anymore. She had no doubt she could feel it to the same degree, but not as something so immediate, uncomplicated by experience or conscience.
She pulled the dress over her head, trying to analyze her anticipation and, yes, undeniable pleasure. Sheffield didn’t believe in anything he couldn’t see, hear, or explain. To him, she was a normal woman: exasperating, vivacious, unfathomable, impertinent, if she’d correctly heard the words he’d uttered under his breath as he’d waited for Hayden, but normal, nonetheless. And the final epithet he’d muttered last night had held a quite different connotation from any of the other times it had been attached to her.
He’d called her a beguiling witch.
Her mouth curved into a smile as she opened her bedroom door and hastened down the stairs to the library. At the bottom, she counted to twenty. It would never do for him to see her out of breath.
“Good morning, Lord Sheffield,” she said, entering.
He was bent over a table, scrutinizing a small figurine. He did not straighten or turn his head. “What is this thing?” he asked without preamble.
No manners at all. She sighed loudly, letting her disapproval be known, and then moved to his side to see what he was frowning at. “That is a Japanese netsuke.”
“It looks like Donnie MacKee in diapers.”
She stifled the impulse to laugh. “I believe it is a type of athlete known as a sumo wrestler.”
“What is it doing here?”
“Excuse me?”
“Why do you have it? How did you—” He’d started to turn to look at her and seemed to have forgotten what he’d been about to say. His gaze swept over her. He swallowed.
“How did I what, Lord Sheffield?” she asked, a little breathlessly. She must have taken the stairs faster than she’d realized.
“How did you come by it?”
She studied him a moment. His hair was shaggy and touched by charcoal gray at the temples. He looked . . . perplexed. “Do you always ask so many questions?”
“Always,” he replied.
“I had it sent here from an antiquities dealer in Edinburgh. I acquired it to provoke conversation and inquiry into that country’s history. That’s the how and why for most of the things you see in the house. I’ve considered it part of Amelie’s education,” she said.
“Now it is my turn. Why do you want to know?”
“You have never been to Japan, and neither has Miss Chase. You have no occidental blood, and neither does Miss Chase.”
“That is not an answer.”
“I am curious about you.”
She started. Had he been referring to her alone or the plural that would include Amelie?
He smiled. It reached into his eyes and lit them from within, and she realized that though he might not be beautiful, when he smiled like this, he was undeniably handsome. “You, Mrs. Walcott,” he said, reading her thoughts.
She didn’t know what to make of that. It flustered her. Which may well have been his intent. Her eyes grew round. Had kissing been an attempt to fluster her, too?
Oh!
Oh!
She stepped away from his side, uncomfortably aware of how much space he filled and how his masculine heat disturbed the air.
“Why are you here?” she demanded.
His smile faded. Consternation took its place. “Two reasons, actually.”
“Yes?”
“The first has to do with . . . well . . .”
“What are you waiting for, Sheffield?” she asked, her curiosity aroused. “Get on with it.”
He scowled at her. “Do not try to bully me, Fanny Walcott. The matter I wish to speak of requires some diplomacy, and I am trying to think how to phrase it.”
So, he
was
going to apologize. Her mouth must have dropped open, because his frown deepened.
was
going to apologize. Her mouth must have dropped open, because his frown deepened.
“You needn’t look like that. I am fully capable of diplomacy. Just . . . wait a moment, won’t you?”
He looked vastly uncomfortable. And after a few more minutes of waiting, when it became obvious he hadn’t made much progress, she decided to take matters into her own hands. It was her usual response to any given situation. “Let me help you, Sheffield,” she said. “You have come to apologize for accosting me.”
He gaped at her, frozen in place.
“Don’t worry. I accept your apology.” She gave him a kindly smile.
It had the effect of breaking his paralysis. “I most certainly am not here to apologize for kissing you. Why should I? There’s nothing to apologize for. You enjoyed kissing me as much as I did you.”
Heat piled up her chest, into her neck, and up to her face. “Oh! Bounder!”
He made a dismissive gesture of disgust. “Ach. Tell me you did not enjoy our kiss. I dare you.”
“That is not the point!” she said, growing flustered.
“I think it very much is,” he countered.
“You did not ask permission. You . . . you took me by storm!”
A slow, amused smile spread over his dark, bold face. “Oh, my dear Mrs. Walcott, I assure you, you were not taken by storm. Should that have happened, you would not now be standing here berating me for kissing you.”
“Then where would I be?” she demanded, setting her hands on her hips.
“Still abed. With me.”
She gasped, more from the immediate carnal images his few words conjured than the embarrassment she suspected she should be feeling. In bed with Grey after an entire night of his mouth, his hands . . . She gasped again.
“All right,” he muttered. “I concede
that
warrants an apology. Forgive me.”
that
warrants an apology. Forgive me.”
“I should say so!” Fanny huffed, with more indignation than she felt.
“You provoke me.”
“
That
is not an adequate defense,” she replied.
That
is not an adequate defense,” she replied.
“No. It’s not,” he said, and grinned. “You would have made a good barrister.”
Her lips quirked in response, but she stomped out the impulse. “Do you think so? Perhaps I shall pursue your profession someday after we leave Little Firkin. Who knows? We might meet in court to argue opposing sides of a case.”
“I should welcome the opportunity to have you under oath, Mrs. Walcott,” he said, his gaze lazily tracking her movements.
“Oh, but I wouldn’t be there as a witness,” she replied. “I would be there as council.”
“But council is always under oath, Mrs. Walcott. Didn’t you know that? Perhaps you’d better rethink law as a career option after all.”
She felt herself flush. “Why? Because you think I am constitutionally incapable of the truth?”
He shook his head slightly. “No. I am not sure what I think about you.”
He abruptly clasped his hands behind his back and took a broad stance before her. “That is the other reason I came.”
“Ah, we’re back to it, are we? Yes. Do tell me why you are here.”
He frowned at her, but then cleared his throat. “First, to reassure you that Miss Chase and her heart are perfectly safe with Hayden.”
“What do you mean?”
“The boy might be a bit of a bounder, but not where young ladies of quality are concerned. He is well aware that Miss Chase is required to live in Little Firkin for over two more years and therefore any relationship between them would be curtailed by both time and distance. Consequently, he would never encourage her to think of him as anything more than a casual friend. A
very
casual friend.”
very
casual friend.”
“But he held her hand,” Fanny protested, at the same time all too aware of the incongruity of her protest. Grey had done far more than hold her hand, and she didn’t think of him as even a friend. But then, she was not eighteen.
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