“Yes, you’re right.” With furtive excitement, Livia turned and hastened through the hallway.
Deciding that it was only fair to let McKenna know about her brother’s machinations, Aline decided to approach him after supper. However, she had the opportunity to speak to McKenna sooner than expected, as the meal ended in a precipitate and distinctly awkward manner. Gideon Shaw was conspicuously absent, and his sister Susan Chamberlain seemed to be in an ill humor.
Seeing that Susan was consuming her wine a bit too freely, Aline exchanged a subtle glance with the first footman, communicating that the wine should be more heavily watered. Within a minute, the footman had circumspectly handed a carafe of wine to a subordinate, who secreted it to the serving room and then quickly returned with it. The entire process was unnoticeable to any of the guests except McKenna, who regarded Aline with a quick smile.
As the first course of asparagus soup and salmon with lobster sauce was removed, the conversation veered to the subject of the business negotiations that would take place in London. Mr. Cuyler innocently undertook to ask Marcus’s opinion about how the negotiations would turn out, and Marcus replied coolly, “I doubt this subject can be adequately discussed in Mr. Shaw’s absence, as the outcome will depend strongly upon his performance. Perhaps we should wait until he is no longer indisposed.”
“Indisposed,” Susan Chamberlain said with a mocking laugh. “Are you referring to my brother’s habit of swilling rotgut from sunup to sundown? Quite the family figurehead, isn’t he?”
All conversation stopped. Inwardly startled by Susan’s flash of hostility toward her brother, Aline tried to ease the tension in the room. “It seems to me, Mrs. Chamberlain,” she said, “that your family has prospered under Mr. Shaw’s leadership.”
“That has nothing to do with him,” Susan said scornfully, resisting her husband’s attempts to shush her. “No, I will have my say! Why must I pay homage to Gideon merely because he had the fool’s luck to be next in line when poor Frederick died?” Her mouth twisted bitterly. “The reason the Shaws have prospered, Lady Aline, is because my brother decided to place his family’s welfare at the mercy of an uneducated immigrant who happened to make a few lucky choices.” She began to laugh. “A drunkard and a docker—what a distinguished pair. And my future lies completely in their hands. So very amusing, don’t you think?”
No one else seemed to share her amusement. A long moment of silence ensued. McKenna’s expression was implacable. He seemed completely unaffected, as if he had long ago been inured to poisonous words. Aline wondered how many insults and affronts he had endured over the years, merely because he had committed the unpardonable sin of laboring for his keep.
Standing, McKenna bowed to the company at large, his gaze catching briefly with Aline’s. “Excuse me,” he murmured. “My appetite fails me this evening.”
Everyone wished him a pleasant evening, except for Susan Chamberlain, who proceeded to bury her resentment in another glass of wine.
Aline knew that she should have stayed to ease the atmosphere with light conversation. But as she stared at McKenna’s empty chair, the urge to follow him became unbearable. Stay where you are, and do what you should, she disciplined herself, but with every second that passed, the sense of exigency became sharper, until her heart pounded and sweat trickled beneath her dress. Aline found herself rising from the table, obliging the gentlemen to stand. “I beg your pardon…” she murmured, trying to come up with some reason for her sudden departure. “I…” However, she couldn’t seem to think of anything. “Do excuse me,” she said lamely, and left the room. Ignoring the whispers that followed her departure, she hurried after McKenna. When she reached the top of the staircase, she found him waiting for her. He must have heard her footsteps behind him.
Waves of cold and heat winnowed through her as they faced each other. McKenna’s eyes were bright in his dark face, his piercing gaze invoking the memory of the two of them clutching greedily at each other in the forest…her body impaled and writhing on his.
Discomfited, Aline closed her eyes, while pinpoints of heat seemed to cover her face. When she finally managed to look at him once more, his eyes still held a disquieting gleam.
“Are all the Shaws like that?” Aline asked, referring to Susan Chamberlain.
“No, she’s the nice one,” McKenna said dryly, startling a laugh from her.
Twisting her fingers into a little knot, she asked, “May I speak with you for a minute? I have something rather important to tell you.”
He stared at her alertly. “Where shall we go?”
“The family receiving room,” Aline suggested. It was the most appropriate second-floor room to hold such a conversation.
“We’ll run the risk of being interrupted if we talk in there,” McKenna said.
“We’ll close the door.”
“No.” He took her hand, pulling her along with him. Bemused by his authoritative manner, Aline went without resistance. Her heart kicked in an unruly pattern as she realized where he was taking her. “We can’t go to my room,” she said warily, glancing up and down the long hallway. “Is that where you…no, really, we can’t…”
Ignoring her protests, McKenna went to the door of the room she had slept in all her life, and pushed his way in. A brief contemplation of his large, broad-shouldered form convinced Aline that it was useless to argue. She could hardly throw him out, after all. With a sigh that conveyed exasperation, she entered the room and closed the door.
A lamp reposed on a table near the entrance. Aline paused to light it deftly, the flame casting long shadows across the bedchamber and dressing room beyond. Picking up the lamp by its painted porcelain handle, she followed McKenna into the cabinet—the private space he had never dared to trespass in their childhood.
A daybed—the only piece of furniture in the room—was littered with embroidered cushions. Nearby, a strand of pearls hung from a gold hook, beside a collection of tiny beaded reticules and purses. Out of the corner of her eye, Aline saw McKenna reach out to touch one of the delicate reticules, which looked absurdly small beside his hand.
She went to the cabinet’s ancient widow. The age-rippled glass panels made the view of the outside grounds pleasantly blurred, as if one were looking through water. The other three sides of the cabinet were lined with squares of silvered glass, creating a myriad of reflections that multiplied one another. As McKenna stood behind her, Aline saw his face, and her own, reproduced infinitely in the glow of lamplight.
Exploring, McKenna went to the window and picked up an object from the painted sill. It was a child’s toy, a little metal horse with the figure of a man riding it. Aline saw at once that he recognized the object…it had been his favorite toy, so well loved that most of the brightly colored paint had worn off. Mercifully McKenna set it down without making a comment.
“What do you want to tell me?” he asked quietly. Aline was fascinated by the perfect juxtaposition of hardness and softness in his face…the bold angle of his nose, the lush curve of his bottom lip, the way the feathery silk of his eyelashes cast shadows over his cheekbones.
“I’m afraid that my brother has made your negotiations a bit more difficult than you may expect,” she said.
His gaze sharpened. “In what way?”
As she proceeded to explain what Marcus had done, McKenna listened with a reassuring lack of alarm.
“It will be all right,” he said when she had finished. “I can ease the investors’ concerns. And I’ll find a way to convince Elham that it’s in his best interests to sell us those docking rights. Failing that, we’ll build our own damned dock.”
Aline smiled at his self-confidence. “That wouldn’t be easy.”
“Nothing worthwhile ever is.”
“I’m certain that you must be furious with Marcus. But he only did it out of a mistaken desire to…”
“Protect you and your sister,” McKenna finished for her, as she hesitated. “I can hardly blame him for that.”
His voice was very gentle. “Someone should keep you safe from men like me.”
Turning away, Aline confronted the panels of mirror glass, the mosaic of her own flushed face…and the way the lamplight slid over McKenna’s gleaming black hair as he came to stand behind her. Their gazes met in the midst of the fragmented images.
“You will have to go to London right away, won’t you?” she asked, flustered at being in such close quarters with him.
“Yes. Tomorrow.”
“Wh-what will you do about Mr. Shaw?”
His head bent over hers until she felt his breath at her temple. One of his hands came to the exposed top of her shoulder, his fingertips brushing over the pale skin with the lightness of a butterfly’s wing. “I’ll have to sober him up, I suppose.”
“I think it is so unfortunate that he chooses to—”
“I don’t want to talk about Shaw.” McKenna turned her to face him, and his hand drifted up her neck until his sun-browned fingers were cupping her cheek.
“What are you doing?” Aline asked, tensing as she felt his other hand slide to the back of her gown.
“Exactly what you knew I would do, if you let me in here.” McKenna kissed her as he began to unfasten her gown, the bristle of his cheek making her skin tingle.
“You left me no choice,” Aline protested. “You just barged in and—”
His mouth sealed over hers, while his fingers worked until he had exposed the laces of her corset. He wound the thin cords around his knuckles and tugged, until the web of stays expanded, and her compressed flesh was released. The corset dropped to the floor, beneath the dress she still wore. Her unbound flesh felt tender and swollen, aching for the clasp of his hands.
The rush of her heartbeat filled her ears as his mouth possessed hers with sweet, foraging kisses. The warm male incense of his skin, spiced with cologne, edged with starch and a pungent whiff of tobacco, filled her with drugging pleasure. She felt wildly excited at the prospect of having him inside her again, but at the same time an inner voice warned that he must not be allowed to explore her at his leisure.
“Hurry,” she urged unsteadily. “Just…hurry, please—” The words were crushed by his mouth, more steamy, delicious kisses, more dizzying closeness with his aroused body. His hands slipped inside her open dress, skimming the soft line of her back, down to the full swell of her buttocks. She felt a twinge of response between her thighs, the concealed flesh becoming supple and hot, and she strained hungrily into the wickedly gentle courtship of his fingers.
Tearing his mouth from hers, McKenna turned her to face away from him, his hands coming to her shoulders.
“Get on your knees,” he whispered.
At first she didn’t understand. But the pressure of his palms guided her, and she found herself sinking before the daybed. She knelt amid the shimmering billows of her dress. The pattern of an embroidered cushion blurred before her eyes as she heard the sound of McKenna shedding his coat. The garment landed on the daybed before her. More rustling, the sound of fabric being unfastened, and then McKenna knelt behind her.
Efficiently he reached beneath her skirts, smoothing up yards of layered material to find the vulnerable body beneath. She felt him grasp her hips, his thumbs digging into the plumpness of her buttocks. One of his hands slid between her legs, searching for the opening of her linen drawers. He seemed to measure the length of the lace-edged slit with his fingers, and Aline quivered as his knuckles brushed against the curling hair beneath the fabric. He used both hands to rend the slit another few inches, until the drawers gaped open. Gently McKenna adjusted her position, pushing her forward to lean harder on the daybed, kneeing her thighs open until she was spread wide before him.
McKenna moved closer behind her, covering her, his shoulders slightly hunched. “Easy,” he murmured, as she shivered beneath him. “Easy. I won’t hurt you this time.”
Aline couldn’t answer. She could only tremble, and wait, her eyes closing as she lowered her face to his forearm. She felt his hips shift, and something brushed between her legs…his male part, nudging the delicate tissues that he had exposed. His free hand moved beneath her skirts, over her front and down her stomach, until his fingers slid through the matted curls. He parted the soft furrow of her sex, following as her hips jerked backward against his solid body. She moaned at his gentle teasing, the tiny circles he made around the sensitive nub.
McKenna’s hand left her, and he touched her face, using the tip of his middle finger to stroke her lower lip. Opening her mouth obediently, she let his finger slip inside the warm dampness. His hand dipped beneath her skirts once more, and this time his finger was slippery when he stroked her. He aroused her softly, massaging the wetness all around until she clawed the upholstery of the daybed and dug her sweating forehead into the cushions. A shuddering sound escaped her as she felt his finger enter her, gliding farther and farther until her swollen flesh had enveloped every joint. Her buttocks rose to fit as closely against his body as possible, and she waited in brimming hunger while he stretched her in gentle circling thrusts, preparing her for the invasion yet to come.
Again, that maddeningly light nudge of his organ, a teasing brush of stiff, silken tension. Her breath caught, and she remained utterly passive, her thighs spread in helpless offering. McKenna entered her in a slow thrust…again, she experienced that startling sense of fullness, but this time there was only a brief flicker of pain. He went deep, encountering no resistance as the throbbing depths of her body welcomed him. Each time he pulled back to tunnel inside her again, Aline writhed to press closer to him. His fingers played in the wet curls of her sex, tenderly rubbing the source of her craving, stroking sweetly in counterpoint to the rhythm of his thrusts. The sensation multiplied rapidly, building on itself with each delicious lunge, the hardness advancing ever deeper into the slick channel of her body. The pleasure sharpened to a harrowing pitch, gathering in the part of her that he possessed so consummately, until she could bear it no longer. Arching against his fingers, she convulsed uncontrollably, muffling her groans in the upholstery of the daybed. McKenna contained her with a growl, driving hard into her center until a raw sound was torn from his throat and he pulsed violently inside her.
They remained locked together for a long, breathless minute, their bodies joined and clinging, while McKenna’s weight nearly smothered her. Aline never wanted to move again. Her eyes remained closed, her damp lashes sticking to her cheeks. When she felt him ease away from her, she bit her lip to keep from moaning a protest. Instead, she continued to lean against the cushions in a heap of silk and torn linen, her limbs weak in the aftermath of their lovemaking.
McKenna restored his clothing and fumbled for his discarded coat. He had to clear his throat before speaking, his voice sounding scratchy. “No promises, no regrets—just as you wanted.”
Aline did not move as he left the cabinet. She waited until he had left her suite of rooms, listening for the sound of the door clicking shut, before she let the tears slide from her eyes.
The long, hellish supper was over. Although Livia knew that almost everyone at Stony Cross Park suspected that she had gone to visit the bachelor’s house, she felt that it was only decent to try to be discreet. She used a path at the side of the manor and kept to the side of a tall yew hedge before slipping over to the quiet residence. No doubt it would be wise to leave well enough alone, but her concern for Gideon Shaw compelled her to go see him. After she had made certain that he was all right, she would go back to the manor and find some nice long novel to occupy herself with.
Knocking on the door, Livia waited tensely for some response. Nothing. Frowning, Livia knocked again. “Hullo?” she called. “Hullo? Can anyone hear me?”
Just as Livia began to consider the option of going to fetch a key from Mrs. Faircloth, the door vibrated and clanked as it was unlocked. It opened a cautious crack, revealing Shaw’s valet. “Yes, milady?”
“I’ve come to see Mr. Shaw.”
“Mr. Shaw
is not receiving visitors at this time, milady.”
The door began to close. Livia wedged her foot in it. “I won’t leave until I’ve seen him,” she said.
The valet’s gaze conveyed infinite exasperation, though his tone remained courteous. “Mr. Shaw is not in a suitable condition, milady.”
Livia decided to be blunt. “Is he drunk?”
“As David’s sow,” the valet confirmed sourly.
“Then I’ll send for some tea and sandwiches.”
“Mr. Shaw has asked for more brandy.”
Livia’s jaw firmed, and she pushed her way past him. Being a servant, he could not stop her—no one in service would ever dare to lay a hand on a lady of the manor. Ignoring the valet’s protests, she surveyed the darkened receiving room. The air was tainted with the smells of liquor and tobacco. “No brandy,” she said in a tone that allowed no room for argument. “Go to the manor, and bring back a pot of tea and a plate of sandwiches.”
“He won’t take that well, milady. No one stands between Mr. Shaw and what he wants.”
“It’s time someone did,” Livia said, motioning him away. The valet left reluctantly, and Livia ventured farther into the darkened bachelor’s house. The glow of a lamp filled the main bedroom with quiet amber light. The unmistakable rattle of ice in a glass floated to her ears. Assuming that Shaw was in a drunken stupor, Livia went to the doorway.
The sight that greeted her eyes caused her to gasp.
Gideon Shaw was reclining in a slipper tub that had been set near the fire, his head leaning back against the mahogany rim, one long leg dangling carelessly over the side. He held an ice-filled glass in his hand, his gaze arrowing to hers as he took a swallow. Steam rose in veils from the bathwater, condensing on the golden curvature of his shoulders. Droplets glistened on the amber curls of his chest and the small circles of his nipples.
Good Lord in heaven, Livia thought dazedly. Gentlemen suffering the aftereffects of an excess of strong spirits usually looked terrible. “Death’s head on a mop stick” was how Marcus liked to describe them. However, Livia had never seen anything as magnificent as an unshaven and unkempt Gideon Shaw in his bath.