SoundsofLove (2 page)

“You’ve done it now, Lady Sibley.”

The icy air felt wonderful on her heated cheeks. “I doubt
the man will give me another thought until tomorrow.”

Waldemere shook his head as he helped her into the carriage.
“I doubt the man will think of anything else. He’s single-minded if nothing
else, and you’ve pricked his pride.”

Cathryn tried to shake off Waldemere’s warning, but the
trembling she felt was due as much to trepidation as it was the bitter weather.
Ahlquist was a formidable man, and she’d clearly raised his hackles with her
rash behavior. These past months she’d become more confident as she achieved
some success with her articles in the London ladies’ journals. Nonetheless, she
had no desire to make such a powerful enemy. A series of successful scholarly
publications could pay off her mortgage, and attendance at the Philological
Society was the key to securing a prestigious publisher for her translations.
If she couldn’t have a family, she needed to strive for financial independence.

She would have to appease Lord Ahlquist when he paid his
call tomorrow, even if it was only the prescribed fifteen-minute visit. She
would have Mrs. Lewin make those delicious rum scones, and she would defer to
Ahlquist as best as she could in their short conversation. Perhaps she should
offer an apology for her outspoken conduct. She wondered how he would react
when she told him of her own correspondence with Mrs. Burns and imagined he
would take it as a somewhat treasonous act. She planned to postpone telling him
as long as possible.

Lord Waldemere interrupted her musings with an unwelcome
question. “I haven’t seen Sir Percival for some time. Is he well?”

Her heart sank. She deeply regretted allowing her dying
husband to arrange her marriage contract with the cousin who inherited the
Sibley estate. “He’s completing a major translation. I expect he’ll visit
during the holidays.” Percival Hedges was a serious scholar and a don at
Oxford. Cathryn was quite certain he was ill-prepared for a wife and the
responsibilities of being a peer. In the two times they had seen one another
since her husband’s death, he’d not attempted to embrace her, and Cathryn
suspected he was a cold fish. The thought made her shudder.

“Well, he would probably advise you to have a chaperone for
your visit with Ahlquist.”

She nodded agreement. It was imperative that she not be
alone with the rakish Lord Ahlquist. He was a dreadfully potent man, and she
suffered almost constantly with strong carnal urges. Her body yearned for a
man’s touch, even as her mind relished the unexpected freedom of widowhood. His
smile alone would melt her virtuous resolve, of that she had little doubt.

Anyone who read the papers knew of the man’s reputation with
women, and now Waldemere’s warnings rang in her ears.

The heavy oak door slammed behind Waldemere, and Julian
Ahlquist bristled with discontent. That had not gone well. Lady Sibley had far
exceeded her bounds and made a fool of him in front of his peers, goading him
to churlish behavior with her insistence to pursue Mrs. Burns’ inane request.

And tomorrow at eleven-thirty was when he planned to visit Lilith.
That would cut short his time with the luscious blonde, as she had rehearsal at
one in the theater near her flat. Another reason to dislike the impertinent
Lady Sibley. He glanced at the clock on the wall, wondering how best to correct
her disrespectful attitude. Clearly, someone needed to put her in her place,
and he suspected he was the only man in the society up to the task. She seemed
determined to attend meetings and followed even the driest discussions without
a hint of boredom. Normally he welcomed her comely face in the sea of gray
whiskers, but he would not have a repeat of today’s performance. Now that she
was out of mourning he could deny her attendance, but she was popular with some
influential members. Elections were only two months away and losing would be an
insufferable blow. He cursed Melina Burns for threatening his academic
achievements with public quibbles. What trickery was the woman up to this time?

He had two hours before his fencing practice. Perhaps Lilith
could soothe his bruised ego. A corner of his mouth turned up as he thought of
the bauble he had for his pretty courtesan and how grateful she would be to
him. She’d be on her knees before he shed his outer garments, and she would
keep his cock hard for an hour with her skills. That was a beautiful woman’s
proper place—on her knees or on her back.

Lady Sibley’s full, rosy lips came to mind and he wondered
if she serviced men with her mouth. His cock twitched at the thought, and he
stuffed Melina’s irksome letter in his pocket as he headed for the door. Perhaps
he should make Sibley pay by seducing her. She was out of mourning, and he had
barely known her husband, so there was no honor at stake. A vigorous woman like
her must be lusting for a man by now—he would be doing her a favor.

Perhaps he would postpone tomorrow’s visit to Lilith and
lift Sibley’s skirts instead. He’d caught a whiff of lemon when he retrieved
his letter—that would be a welcome change from Lilith’s heavy floral perfume.

He was stiff as a poker by the time he entered his plush
carriage and called out Lilith’s direction to his driver. He stared out the
window at the bustling sidewalks of the city, but his mind was on his new
quarry. Sibley had dark-brown hair that peeked out from under her drab winter
hat. It had been years since he’d had a brunette. Even draped in her thick
cloak, he could see she had ample breasts, and his fingers itched to explore
them. He rubbed his hands together to warm them as he considered how to
approach her.

She would want an apology, and he would offer one, along
with a generous gift. That should lower her defenses. Then he would find a way
to brush against her and stroke the side of one of her breasts. If she didn’t
recoil, he would kiss her. Once an experienced woman welcomed his tongue inside
her mouth, with a modicum of privacy, he could have his cock buried in her
within ten minutes.

Sibley had spirit, he had to grant her that.

Julian liked spirited women—in bed.

Cathryn paced the perimeter of her drawing room at 11:10 the
next morning, trying not to be irritated by her sister-in-law’s prattling.

Violet adjusted her new plum-colored bonnet before the
mirror. “One evening gown, Cat. That’s all. We can share it. I’ve had this
fitting scheduled for two months.”

A sigh of resignation escaped. “I’ll ask Mrs. Lewin to cut
back on groceries for the next month.”

“You’ve paid the last of Geoffrey’s medical expenses?”

“There’s only the apothecary, although I’m tempted not to pay
the last installment. He preyed on us, Vi, giving us the premium paregoric when
the cheaper worked as well.” Her blood began to pound each time she thought of
how others had taken advantage of her household during their grief. “I’ve not
heard from the Sibley steward this month, and we can’t live off your portion.”

“Perhaps if you publish your older stories again? They did
very well in the Oxfordshire presses.”

A pang of longing for her past success shot through Cathryn.
Before her beloved Geoffrey took ill, they had forged a grand life together. He
with his farming and academic works, she with her women’s stories, attending to
the needy in their lovely rural community, and attempting her own scholarly
translations.

“I’ll consider it, but I’m certain the pay will be pitiful.
Until we have an adequate source of income, we have to make do with less.” She
ran her hands down her fine wool dress. “Good quality, but not high fashion.
These new gowns should last five years, and three a season is more than enough.”
The fiery redhead made a face that shouted her disagreement, and Cathryn plowed
on. “An evening gown is an unnecessary extravagance when neither of us has the
funds to go to balls, or even the opera.”

“What if Percival appears and wants to whisk you out on the
town?”

It was Cathryn’s turn to grimace. “That hardly seems likely,
does it?”

Violet’s curls bobbed as she drew on her white gloves. “Well,
I’ll never meet a man sequestered in our parlor or volunteering at the
poorhouse. I’m nearly twenty-six and have no prospects. I can’t wait another
year, and I need you by my side when I venture forth.”

She was right on all counts. Cathryn hated denying the
lovely widow when she might have a brilliant future. “We’ll need two gowns to
help you find a new husband. If we use our old accessories and share a carriage
with other ladies, we could manage the opera.”

Green eyes sparkled with infectious good humor. “Thank you,
Cat. I’ll make an appointment for your fitting.” She hefted an overlarge
reticule that held a myriad of feminine necessities. “I’m sorry I’ll miss the
earl. Pity he didn’t come at eleven.”

The door closed behind Violet and Cathryn brooded as she
continued pacing. She’d been left without a proper chaperone for her call with
Lord Ahlquist. She would have to ask Lewin to stand by the door.

As if on cue, her butler arrived at the door and announced
the earl, handing Cathryn an ivory calling card embossed with gold that read
Julian
Ahlquist, Earl of Trenchford
. Clutching the card, she glanced in the
looking glass and tucked a loose strand of hair behind an ear. She had debated
wearing a lace cap but decided against it. Now she wished she could shroud
herself against this aggressive man. Of course, even this modest rust-colored
gown did not truly hide her assets, which were made appallingly prominent by
the new corset Violet pressed her to wear this morning. Vi had also dropped off
a tin of rouge in Cat’s dressing room after she heard Ahlquist was coming,
saying, “It can’t hurt to flirt a little.”

The rouge did help. Cathryn felt like an apparition after
five years of near seclusion.

Ahlquist appeared in the doorway, carrying an enormous
bundle of what appeared to be books. He was impeccably dressed in a deep-brown
worsted wool jacket and long tan trousers suitable for the cold weather.
Without his greatcoat, he looked much less intimidating, and Cathryn was drawn
to him in spite of her reservations. She forgot about Lewin until she heard the
door click shut behind him.

“Lady Sibley, my apologies for arriving a trifle early. I
have another engagement scheduled for later this morning.”

Cathryn glanced at the mantel clock and saw it was
eleven-twenty. Fair enough. “That’s quite all right.” She watched him assess
her drawing room, with the high quality but sparse furnishings surrounded by a
jungle of green plants. Something in his approving gaze made her choose to be
contrite. “It was peevish of me not to accept your original time. I apologize.”
She tucked his card into her dress pocket before extending her hand.

“It is I who must apologize, my lady.” He held her hand
lightly and bowed low over it. His unbound hair fell across her glove and
tickled her exposed wrist. Cathryn withdrew before he had a chance to kiss her
hand, and he continued, “My behavior was reprehensible yesterday. I’m not
certain what came over me to react so…”

“Boorishly?” Her contrition hadn’t lasted long, but the man
did challenge her senses.

“Well, I wouldn’t put it quite so strongly, but I will give
you discourteously.”

Cathryn considered this and knew it must be a great
concession on his part. “Discourteously then…agreed. And I was rather…dominant.”

“Overbearing?”

“I did overstep my bounds, I will grant you that.”

“Agreed.”

Cathryn led him to the settee in front of the fire. “I hope
we can put that behind us and start anew today.”

She had intended to sit in the side chair, but he took her
elbow and urged her to join him on the couch. He held up the bundle of books
and said, “I thought we could begin by looking up a few words in Dr. Johnson’s
latest edition.”

Cathryn’s eyes widened. “You’ve brought a copy with you?”
All thoughts of resisting him flew up the chimney as her curiosity was piqued.

“Consider it a gift of reconciliation.” He bowed his head as
he untied the string holding the precious goods.

“I couldn’t possibly accept such an extravagant gift.” The
new editions ran over 100 guineas, the cost of ten day gowns.

“I had two copies in my library.” He unwrapped the blue
broadcloth and quickly set aside the top book, placing it out of Cathryn’s
sight as he handed her the tome they had been discussing.

She settled the heavy dictionary on her lap and ran her
hands across the embossed cover.
Johnson’s Dictionary, Improved by Todd.
A lump formed in her throat and her corset shrunk a size. This was too much,
but she wanted it very badly. It had been years since she’d purchased a book,
relying on her local lending library instead.

“I see I’ve left you speechless,” he said as he reached
across her to open the book. “I assure you, that was not my intent.” His upper
arm grazed the side of her breast as he lifted the cover and about half the
pages.

She drew back at the intimate contact, but the weight of the
dictionary grounded her. Before she could complain, his arm was gone. He did
not apologize, and she thought that perhaps she had misconstrued his actions.
But he bent over her as he leafed through the pages to the one titled “MUN”,
and his arm again brushed across the front of her dress. She shifted away from
him, but the arm of the settee and the tome on her lap pinned her in.

He spoke before she had a chance to protest. “I thought we
could begin with the place Mrs. Burns’ word would occupy in a dictionary.” His
voice was low, and while part of Cathryn wanted to repel him, she was drawn to
lean forward and examine the page. His long hair was nearly touching hers and
his warm breath clung to her cheek as he spoke, his masculine scent filling her
senses. She closed her eyes for an instant as the assault on her sensibilities
continued, and he moved closer until his shoulder covered hers.

He meant to seduce her, she realized with a start. And this
dictionary was the means of his seduction, allowing him intimate contact in a
manner few gifts would have done. She needed to be on guard against him, but
she was honest enough with herself to know she would probably not resist if he
tried to kiss her.

What could be the harm in an innocent kiss from a handsome
gentleman? One that she could cherish for years to come.

There is nothing innocent about Lord Ahlquist.

“Murmur,” he read in his low voice. She recognized his tone
as similar to the one Geoffrey had used each week when he asked to come to her
bed.

“My lord,” she began in feeble protest as she shifted her
weight slightly, moving an inch away from him.

“To grumble,” he said as he kept his finger on the entry,
ignoring her discomfort. “To mutter, complaint, grumbling.” He murmured the
last, and she had to grant him a nervous smile as he looked up at her.

“You’re very good, my lord.”

He leaned closer as if he meant to kiss her, saying, “Yes, I
am, my lady.”

She turned her face away from him. “I meant your
articulation, my lord. You could have a place on the stage.”

He reached his hand up and touched her chin lightly. “So
I’ve been told.” His eyes sought hers as he leaned in to brush his lips against
hers. Soft and gentle, and seemingly so innocent, if not for the bearer of the
cherished kiss. Still, it was he who broke away without deepening the embrace.

He straightened in his seat as the noise of a tea tray could
be heard outside the door. “However, that is not how I wish to spend my time.”

She would not have stopped him if he had taken further
liberties, and was mildly annoyed to hear Molly enter the room. The silver tray
soon rested on the table in front of the settee. Cathryn glanced at her maid,
amused to see the girl wide-eyed at the sight of the handsome earl. “Thank you,
Molly. I’ll serve. That will be all.”

“Please, Lady Sibley, allow me.” Ahlquist wore a satisfied
smile as he reached for the teapot. “You can demonstrate your articulation
while I pour.” He nodded at the massive dictionary, and his eyes rested
overlong on her breasts before he lifted the pot.

Taken aback by his shameless attitude, Cathryn glanced
automatically at the page and the word murmur caught her eye. He had just read
that, so she moved on to the next entry. “Murmuration,” she said softly, partly
in imitation of his reading, and partly because her throat was thick with
desire. “A low sound, the act of murmuring.”

“That entry was not in the original Johnson,” he said as he
set down the teapot. “But hearing you read it such, I believe it is my favorite
new word. Murmuration.” He flashed a seductive smile before he asked, “How do
you take your tea?”

“It’s a new word to me as well, my lord.” His smile sent a
wave of pleasant sensations coursing through her. Dear heavens, she could stare
at him all day and never tire of the sight. He waved the sugar spoon over the
bowl to remind her of his question. “Oh, yes, two spoons, please, and as much milk
as the cup will hold.”

He gave her a strange look as he complied and then fixed his
own cup in a similar fashion. “I also prefer a bit of tea with my cream. Next
time, I will leave more room.”

She felt a rush of joy at his words. Next time. He planned
to call again.

“Please continue reading.” He watched intently as she found
her place.

“Murmurer. A grumbler, a repiner.” She shook her head. “I’m
not sure I like that definition. Murmur is more…neutral to me than grumbling.”

“I agree.” He glanced at the tea and scones. “Just one more
entry.”

“Murrain, a plague amongst cattle.” She wrinkled her nose as
she closed the book. He reached out to lift it off her lap and this time he
brushed her chest with the back of his hand.

“My lord!” She recoiled from his brazen touch, even as it
set her afire.

“A thousand pardons, Lady Sibley.” She watched him rise
unhurriedly, set the book on an end table and return to sit beside her. He
stared at her chest for a moment before reaching for her teacup. “You are
somewhat difficult to disregard.”

She took her cup and nodded with all the primness she could
muster in her agitated state. Her face burned at his blatant remark, but he did
have a point—her corset pushed her bosom almost absurdly high. And she did want
another kiss. “Nonetheless, Lord Ahlquist, you have a most forward manner.”

“You do seem to provoke me to boldness.” He glanced at the
scones, and she leaned forward to draw the plate closer.

“Please, help yourself.”

“Thank you, I will.” He removed his gloves to reveal
muscular hands as he picked up a scone. It had been ages since she’d seen a
man’s hands, and the sight captured her attention. Geoffrey’s hands had been
rather pudgy and somewhat clumsy, but Ahlquist’s lean fingers moved gracefully
and promised expertise. “I’ll not be eating for some time.” He glanced at the
clock as he devoured the sweet bread, and she remembered his appointment and
the other book.

“Did you have something else for me, my lord?”

His color seemed to deepen as he reached behind him. “I
thought you might enjoy some…torrid reading.” He placed the book down between
them and picked up his cup.

“Torrid?” Cathryn quickly set her cup down. A wave of
anticipation washed over her. What could he have brought? The leather cover was
bare, and she gasped when she opened it and saw the title. “
Fanny Hill
?”
She rose from her seat, alternating between mortified and intrigued.

He’d brought her an erotic novel—how terribly improper.

“Lady Sibley, I hope I haven’t offended your sensibilities.”
He followed her to the window overlooking the street. His breath warmed her
neck as he spoke softly, “I thought as a widow, perhaps you would enjoy more
titillating materials than the local library dare offer. Mr. Cleland’s work is
nearly a hundred years old, but little has changed in the bedroom.”