Sylvia Day - [Georgian 03] (19 page)

“Yes, we are acting impetuously,” he continued. “Yes, we are seizing the day and our love without a care for the world. That is who we are. That is our affinity. You and I are not ones to restrain our joys.”

“People cannot live in that manner.”

“Yes, they can. As long as doing so brings no pain to others.” His voice grew more impassioned, arresting her. “Ware does not love you, not as I do. And you do not love him. I also suspect that you do not love yourself, not as you should. You accused me of molding myself into someone I am not, yet you are guilty of the same offense. You seek to mold yourself into a woman of decorum and duty, but that is not who you are! Do not be ashamed of the facets of you that I love so much.”

“Welton was an awful man,” she cried. “I cannot be like him.”

“You never could be.” Colin caught up her hands. “You are filled with love for life and family. Your father was filled with love only for himself. Two very different things.”

“Ware . . .”

“Ware knows what I am doing. He could stop us if he wishes, but he won’t. Regardless, I am altering myself to have you. I am taking this day and you, and forsaking all of the rest. It is frightening, yes. We will both have to leave the cages we created for ourselves and venture into the unknown. But we will have each other.”

Cages.
She had been caged for so long, one part of her hating the restrictions, the other part grateful that they restrained her from being too much like Welton. “You know me so well,” she whispered.

“Yes, I know you better than anyone. You told me to believe that I was worthy of you. Now it is your turn to believe that you are worthy of me. Trust that you are free from whatever defect of character your father suffered. Trust that I am smart enough to love a wonderful woman.”

He pressed his lips to her knuckles. “Make the leap with me, Amelia. I am holding on to our love with both hands, despite all the reasons why I shouldn’t. Do the same. Embrace your wild nature and run with me. Be free with me. We shall all be happier for it.”

She gazed at him for a long moment, her vision blurring with tears. Then she threw herself into his arms.

“Yes,” she whispered with her cheek pressed to his. “Let’s be free.”

 

Christopher, Simon, and Ware were engrossed in a discussion when Maria burst into the room with her skirts held in one hand and a missive in the other.

All three men rose immediately. Christopher and Simon both stepped toward her with frowns marring their handsome features. Ware merely raised his brows.

“I found this atop Amelia’s pillow! Mitchell has absconded with her.”

Simon blinked. “Beg your pardon?”

“Truly?” Christopher smiled.

“He says he intends to marry her.” She glanced down at the note to read it again. “They are already headed north.”

“We must hurry or we will miss the nuptials,” Ware said.

“You knew?” Maria stared at him with wide eyes.

“I hoped,” he corrected. “I am pleased to see the man has come to his senses.”

Maria opened her mouth, then shut it again.

“Well, let’s not dally,” Christopher said, catching her elbow and spinning her back around toward the door. “We have packing to see to. Tim can guard Mademoiselle Rousseau and Jacques while we are absent.”

“North,” Simon muttered. “May I ride in your carriage, my lord?”

“Certainly.”

Still finding it difficult to believe, Maria glanced over her shoulder at Ware.

“This is a happy occasion, Mrs. St. John,” he drawled, following directly behind them. “You should be smiling as I am.”

“Yes, my lord.”

She looked at Christopher, who nodded. With that, she shrugged and laughed aloud. Then she lifted her skirts and raced her husband up the stairs.

“W
e set sail in a few hours,” Quinn said, fingering a coined tassel on a multicolored pillow. “My trunks and valet are aboard, and Lysette is safely restrained in my cabin.”

They sat in the family parlor of Colin’s new town house in London. It was a large room, beautifully decorated in shades of soft blue and gold. Around the room, Amelia had added colorful touches of his heritage—pillows encased in glorious scarves, small carved figurines, and bowls of Romany trinkets given to them by Pietro as wedding gifts. The style was unfashionable and would be considered horrifyingly gauche by many, but they both loved the space and spent a great deal of time curled up together there.

Embrace who you are
, she had said, with a new confidence that aroused him unbearably. She, too, was embracing the reckless side of herself that she had fought to contain for so long. Fears of becoming too much like her father were banished, just as Colin’s fear of being unworthy of her no longer had power to dictate his actions.

Colin leaned back in his chair and asked Quinn, “Did the French agree to release your men in a trade for the return of Mademoiselle Rousseau and Cartland?”

“And Jacques. They want him, too. But I am only taking Lysette with me for now. They can have the other two back after I am certain they will honor their end of the agreement.”

“I do not envy you that trip,” Colin said, wincing. “I cannot imagine Mademoiselle Rousseau makes a very good prisoner.”

“She is miserable, but I am enjoying the whole thing immensely.”

Colin laughed. “Because you’re a cad. When will you return?”

“I am not certain.” Shrugging, Quinn said, “Perhaps after I ensure that the others are released. Or perhaps not even then. Maybe I will travel some.”

“You are good to your men, Quinn. It is a trait I have always admired in you.”

“They are not my men any longer. I have resigned.” He nodded at Colin’s raised brows. “Yes, it’s true. My work for Eddington was diverting for a time, but now I must find new ways to amuse myself.”

“Such as?”

“Some sort of trouble will come up.” Quinn grinned. “Seeing you in your evening finery reminds me that a life of social indulgence is not for me. It would bore me to tears.”

“Not with the right woman.”

Quinn threw his dark head back and laughed, a rich, full sound that brought a smile to Colin’s lips.

“Even when I was maudlin with love for Maria,” Quinn said, pushing to his feet, “I thankfully never spouted such nonsense.”

Colin rose with him, flushing sheepishly. “One day, I hope to remind you of your protestations and watch you eat your words.”

“Ha! That day will be a long time coming, my friend. Likely, neither of us will live long enough to see it.”

As Quinn turned to leave the room, Colin felt more than a small measure of sadness at their parting. Quinn was a wanderer by nature; therefore, they would see each other far less often. After all they had endured and experienced together, he thought of Quinn as a brother and would miss him accordingly.

“Farewell, my friend.” Quinn clapped him on the back when they reached the foyer. “I wish you much joy and many children in your marriage.”

“I wish you happy, as well.”

Quinn touched his brow in a smart salute, and then he was gone. Off to find his next adventure.

Colin stared at the closed front door for a long moment.

Amelia’s throaty purr sent a wave of heat across his skin.

He turned to face her with a smile and found her paused at the top of the stairs, dressed in only her robe. Her hair was beautifully, intricately arranged with twinkling diamonds weaved among the powdered strands.

“You have yet to dress?” he asked.

“I was nearly finished.”

“It does not appear that way to me.”

“I had to stop when Anne brought me the finishing touches to my ensemble . . . and the final piece of yours.”

“Oh?” His smile widened. He knew well that look of seductive mischief in her eyes.

Her left arm lifted gracefully, the emerald of her wedding ring glinting in the candlelight from the foyer chandelier, her delicate fingers wrapped with lustrous black satin and dangling a familiar white mask.

Every muscle in his body hardened.

“If you like,” she murmured, “we can go to the masquerade as planned. I know it took you some time to dress.”

He strode toward the stairs. “It would take me considerably less time to undress,” he purred.

“I should like you to wear this.”

“I set it out for a reason.”

“Wicked man.”

Colin took the steps two at a time and caught her up, relishing the feel of her soft, unfettered body pressed to his.
“I’m
wicked? It is you, Countess Montoya, who lures me away from a staid social outing in favor of a night of licentious revelry.”

“I cannot resist.” She lifted the mask to his face and secured the ribbons. “I have a passion for you.”

“Indulge it,” he growled, his lips to her throat. “I beg of you.”

Her laughter was filled with joy and love. It filled his heart then, and over the course of many hours afterward. Along with other, equally wondrous sounds.

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“I
t’s stupid, I know, but I don’t think I want to hire a private investigator,” she said quietly. “I don’t want to find out that another person I trusted wasn’t what he appeared to be.”

“What do you mean?” Damon asked, wondering who had betrayed her. He supposed any number of the adults in her life could’ve been responsible, from the social workers who’d placed her in one home after another, to the various people she’d been sent to live with following her mother’s death. Or maybe some guy had hurt her, although he had his doubts on that score since she rarely allowed anyone that close to her. “You do realize looking into Linton’s past could mean the difference between a death sentence and freedom.”

“I know that,” Laurel said. “I do. But I’d hate to find out I was wrong about him. Besides, it’s just . . . it just seems so far-fetched. Like what? Jonathan was leading a double life that I didn’t know about?”

“It’s entirely possible.” He loosened his hold on her and slid his hands up her arms to her shoulders.

“What if I don’t want to entertain the possibility?”

The hurt in her eyes made him curious, but also resurrected the protectiveness he’d always felt toward her. An emotion he knew from experience could lead him right into a world of trouble neither of them needed.

That knowledge didn’t stop his hands from drifting upward to cup her satiny soft cheeks in his work-roughened palms. “Look, Laurel. My job is to keep you alive. I’ll do whatever it takes to ensure that happens.”

The barest hint of a sad little smile curved her lips. “You know, for as much as I protested, I don’t know if I could get through this mess without you.”

He smiled. “Sure you could,” he told her. “You’re a strong woman, Laurel. Don’t forget that.”

Something flickered in her eyes, but this time he recognized the emotion. Desire. That other emotion in her gaze he’d mistakenly thought could be fear, hadn’t been fear at all.

Man, was he ever in trouble.

“I am glad you’re here, Damon,” she said softly.

God help him, he had to kiss her. “Me, too,” he said.

Tension radiated between them. Before he could debate the wisdom of his actions, he lowered his head and kissed her.

Telling himself kissing Laurel was nothing more than a measure of comfort for a friend in need because she was facing such a difficult situation was a bald-faced lie. The instant his lips pressed against hers, the sweet taste of her mouth fired his libido and blindsided him.

He didn’t believe she’d actually meant to slide her body along his, or return the kiss in a way that defied the boundaries of friendship or that of a client and her attorney. There was no way in hell either of them had imagined for a minute the air around them would crackle with an energy that could only be described as sexual in nature, but when her lips moved beneath his in an erotic dance of seduction, his testosterone shot through the roof.

Heat stirred in his belly and burned hot in his groin as her tongue demanded entrance. She tasted sweet. And hot. So hot. Like mind-blowing, sweat-drenched bodies, and tangled-sheets sex. The kind they used to have.

God help him, he wanted nothing more.

He should stop the insanity, but he couldn’t even if he wanted to. He wanted Laurel.

Instead, he moved his hands, sliding them around her rib cage to chase down her back, settling on the curve of her bottom, pulling her closer.

He brought his hands up, gliding along her side and stopped on her rib cage again. With his thumb, he traced the underside of her breast. She trembled in his arms.

She slid her hands from around his waist to wreathe her arms around his neck, the movement creating more friction as their bodies moved together. Through the thin fabric of her top, the pebble hardness of her nipples brushed against his chest.

His cock throbbed. He knew he should stop. Stop before they went too far. He also knew he’d wake up in the morning with more than regret, too, if he didn’t end this craziness—now. He’d wake up in bed with a beautiful, sensuous woman. A naked woman.

For the space of a heartbeat, he figured spending the rest of the night making love to Laurel would be worth every regret thrown at him. The temptation of having her in his bed again was too much for him to ignore.

He waited for common sense to prevail.

It didn’t.

Thank God
.

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“Y
ou really believe that one kiss will get you in my bed, don’t you? You think you can live up to your own legend?”

“One way to find out.” He put his mouth to hers.

She stood immobile, her arms hanging down at her sides, her hands clenched in determination. As if she wanted to prove to them both that she wasn’t susceptible to the combustible chemistry sizzling between them.

Luke took the challenge. He slid his hand off her neck and into her thick, soft hair. Then he spread his other hand over her lower back and pulled her into his body.

She resisted for a long second, then she softened with a frustrated sigh. Her mouth slid open as she exhaled, her rigid spine eased against his hand and she put her arms around him.

Surrendering? God, he hoped so. Then her tongue touched his and lust swamped him. His blood pumped fast and hard while his dick throbbed. He sank his tongue deep inside her, tasting Ivy, a flavor so real and intoxicating that he forgot about statues, jobs, fathers . . . His entire world narrowed to the woman in his arms.

“No!” Ivy jerked her whole body away from him. She ran her hand over her mouth, her gaze losing the haze of desire and icing to frustration, maybe anger. Then she grabbed the doorknob, pulled open the door, and said, “Time for you to go.”

What the hell just happened? He reached out to touch her, to reconnect.

Ivy smacked his hand away and glared at him. “Leave.”

Damn, he’d been doing a good job of seducing her. “Ivy, you liked the kiss as much as I did. Don’t lie.”

She shoved her hair back out of her face. “So what? I don’t think with my hormones, Sterling. You’re just another dime-a-dozen bad boy.”

Ah, that was it. She was tough, he’d give her that. Which just made her all the more interesting. Intriguing. Sexy. “You don’t mind using bad boys to get what you want.” She’d used his Urban Legend persona often enough on her radio show to prove her points. To tell the world what a bastard he was without ever having met him.

Her mouth thinned and her eyes narrowed. “Are you suggesting I sleep with you to get you to back off?”

He shook his head. “I’m not backing off whether you have sex with me or not.”

She made that female noise in her throat again. “God, you’re annoying. I can’t believe all those ditzy Urban Legend fans actually fall for your bull. I liked you much better in your Clark Kent character.”

He couldn’t help it, he laughed. She’d been the one person who had gotten him to break character, and she’d been intrigued by him in spite of herself. Drawn to him. “Yeah, well, this is me, sweet cheeks.” He leaned toward her. “I’m not a bad boy.”

She put her arm against the edge of the door as if she were amused by his ignorance. “No? Then what are you?”

“A bad ass.”

A light flared like a crystal star in her gaze. “The difference?”

Ivy York was such a pretender. That flare in her eyes told him how very much she liked dangerous men. He suspected it was because, deep down Ivy possessed the same drive to survive and to succeed, a need to prove to the world that it couldn’t destroy her. To answer her question, he said, “A bad boy throws tantrums and punches for no reason other than he’s a spoiled brat with a man-sized cock.”

Her lips twitched. “With you so far,
Urban Legend
.” She managed to make Urban Legend sound like something right out of a garbage can. He leaned his body closer. “A bad ass takes care of business and gets the job done.” He slid through the opened door, thinking she could chew on that for a night.

“Hey, Sterling.”

He turned at the top of the stairs and caught his breath. She stood silhouetted by the porch light in her black tank and tiny shorts. Her breasts jutted out with perky nipples, while her shorts cupped her hips where he longed to bury his dick. Her blond hair flowed down around her shoulders and damn it, she was hot. “What?”

Her smile was slow and sensual. “You really are a legend . . . in your own mind.” She shut the door.