“Graciela, my dark siren,” he crooned. She turned her head from his descending mouth. His lips landed on her cheek, but his voice filled her ears, desperate and frenzied with need. “I’ve dreamed of you in my arms for too long. There have been others since my wife, but none have been you despite how I liked to pretend—”
“My lord!” The idea that he pretended he was with her when he was with other women revolted her.
“Your sunlit skin,” he panted.
“No!” She pushed harder at his chest.
“Your glorious breasts.” His hand closed around one, mauling it roughly, with all the finesse of a drunken ox, through the bodice of her gown. “I’ve ached for these in my hands for so long.”
A strangled shriek escaped her and she pulled back her arm to slap him but never got the chance. Colin was there, yanking the viscount away from her. She staggered free, watching in horror as he pulled back his arm and delivered a hard blow to Needling’s face. It sounded awful. Like bone striking bone.
She felt the color bleed from her face. There was no saving her now.
The smaller man fell to the carpet with a mewling cry. Colin didn’t even appear finished. Bloodlust gleamed in his eyes.
She attached herself to Colin’s side, seizing his arm just as he stretched it for Needling again. “Colin, no, no!”
He attempted to shake off her hand, his stare fixed hard on the older man. “He touched you,” he growled.
Needling rolled on the floor, holding his nose and moaning. Blood seeped out between his fingers.
“You stopped him,” she argued, trying to find the words to calm him. His face was fearsome in its intensity, skin flushed red with temper, his eyes vowing murder. He was normally so affable. If anything, Marcus was given to fisticuffs. He had brawled on the streets of London with his half brother, after all. Colin, however, was always the calm and steady one. She’d never seen him like this and it alarmed her. She didn’t know what to do to bring him back to himself.
“I’ll kill you. She said no,” he snarled at Needling, leaning over the man and kicking his listless boot. “Get to your feet.”
“Colin!” She took his face in both hands and forced him around to meet her gaze.
His brilliant eyes raged with the storm of his fury. Still holding him, she did the one thing she could think to do to distract him from thrashing Needling to within an inch of his life.
She kissed him.
Chapter 9
It took all of one moment for Ela to blind him to everything. To Needling, to his surroundings. The entire world faded away.
Her mouth fell hungrily on his, demanding. She kissed him as though this were the last kiss in the history of all kisses.
She clung to his face, her short little nails digging deep into his cheeks as her soft, pliant mouth slanted wide for him. She bit his bottom lip before thrusting her tongue against his. His cock grew hard against her belly, but she didn’t appear to care. Didn’t care that she was kissing him. Didn’t care that they had an audience. She pressed herself into him with wild abandon. Her hands dropped to his shoulders and he grabbed her by the small of the back, holding her lush body against him as he kissed her back with equal intensity.
“I see the way of it,” Needling rasped. “Of course, it would have been nice to know I was wasting my time.”
Colin growled and started breaking away from Ela, but her hands tightened on his shoulders. She increased the pressure of her mouth. He knew what she was doing. He knew she was attempting to distract him from thrashing Needling—and for the most part succeeding.
“If you were otherwise involved, Your Grace, you should have said as much before you traipsed inside my house and made a fool of me.”
At this, Colin finally tore himself away from Ela and squared off in front of the viscount. “You need very little help from us to do that.”
She made a plaintive sound in her throat, her wide eyes flying to the viscount. She attempted to step forward as though to place herself between them. Colin snatched her hand and hauled her behind him. No woman of his needed to protect him.
The possessive thought jarred him the moment it crossed his mind, but he didn’t waste another moment on it as Needling advanced on him, mopping at his bloodied face with a handkerchief. He fluttered the bloody rag in the air between them. “Had I known that the two of you—”
“You know now. She’s mine,” Colin snapped.
Ela sucked in a breath behind him as though preparing to speak, doubtlessly to protest that statement. He gave her hand a squeeze and sent her a quelling look over his shoulder indicating she could argue that point later. After she’d just kissed him bold as you please, Needling wouldn’t believe her anyway.
“I should call you out,” Needling sputtered. “You’re a blackguard, Strickland.”
“Am I? I caught you manhandling the Duchess of Autenberry. What does that make you?”
“I thought she favored my attentions!”
“She said no. Quite forcibly as I heard it.”
“She made a fool of me. And you, Strickland. I welcomed you into my house to court my daughter. What were you two up to before I happened upon you?” His eyes narrowed. “I’ve been made a fool by the both of you!”
“Indeed.” Colin nodded, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction.
Ela hissed behind him. “How are you helping?”
He continued, “I doubt you should like the world to know that fact, my lord. You can well imagine the great amusement everyone will take at your expense. I can just hear the men at White’s laughing now.”
He knew the precise moment this clicked in Needling’s mind. All the men at his club . . . laughing because the Duchess of Autenberry made merry with his daughter’s suitor beneath his roof whilst he thought she wanted him. It was a tangled shrub and Needling the unfortunate dunce at the center of it.
The viscount flushed red, shaking his head vigorously. “This episode need go no further than us.”
“Quite so,” Colin said crisply.
Squaring his shoulders, Needling managed to demand, “I take it you will quit your suit of my daughter.”
Colin nodded tersely. “Of course.”
Relinquishing his suit of Forsythia was no hardship. He’d already crossed her off his list—not that he was thinking much about his list right now. Needling as a father-in-law would be a definite toll to endure. Forget the fact that Colin had quite possibly broken the man’s nose—he’d never be able to forget the way Needling had groped Ela. No, there were countless debutantes from whom to choose. Colin need only look to his grandmother’s list.
Needling bobbed his head as though satisfied and then looked over Colin’s shoulder where Ela stood.
He felt a snarl well up inside his throat. He didn’t even want the man looking at her. He could still hear the bastard calling her his “dark siren” and wanted to smash his face in all over again. He wasn’t usually given to violence. She did that to him. Made him react and feel things he hadn’t felt before. He told himself it was because he had known her for so long, but that explanation felt a little weak even to him.
The fact that Ela had even been considering taking the viscount—or someone else—into her bed struck him hard. If he had not seen her the other night at Sodom, she might very well be with someone else now. Colin might not have kissed her or tasted her or even right now be planning how he could be alone with her again.
Needling must have seen some of his urge to commit violence again in his face. Sniffing loudly, he edged toward the door, saying, “You both can see yourselves out. If anyone asks, I’ll make your excuses.”
“Good of you,” Colin replied in a voice that was anything but appreciative.
The viscount departed the room. Colin listened for a moment to the sounds of his footsteps scurrying away.
“We best leave before the performance ends. No one will notice if we slip out now.”
She nodded in agreement, still staring at him waril
y. “I came here with Lady Talbot.”
“I’ll see you home.”
If possible, she looked even more wary. Gone was the woman who had just kissed him with fire and zeal.
She stepped past him and out into the corridor. He followed her, reaching for her elbow.
She glanced down at his touch on her arm as though she would reject it but then trained her gaze forward again, her lips flattening into a thin line. As though she would endure his touch. Still, he did not release her until they’d departed the house and settled in the confines of his coach.
He took the seat across from her, deciding not to push his luck by sitting next to her.
The carriage began rolling, the wheels clattering on the road outside.
“Will he keep his word?”
“Or risk becoming a laughingstock?” he asked, understanding her meaning at once. “He will keep his word. His pride will guarantee his silence.”
She exhaled and he noticed her shoulders eased a little, some of their rigidity slipping away. He was glad for that. He didn’t wish to see her worried or afraid and the encounter with Needling had left her feeling both those things. She lifted her gaze to the curtains. They were closed, but she stared at them as though she were seeing outside. Evidently she would rather look anywhere than at him.
“How long will you remain in Town?” he asked. He knew with Clara and Enid in the country she would not be here too long.
She lifted her dark eyes to him. “I don’t know. I suppose I should return soon.” She paused, frowning. “Perhaps the sooner the better. This visit to Town hasn’t been free of its problems—”
“You mean you and me.”
She held his gaze and merely arched a dark eyebrow. “We’ve both been behaving recklessly of late.”
“I’ll allow that.”
She sniffed. “It has to stop. If Marcus or the girls ever knew . . .”
“So let’s stop behaving recklessly.”
“What do you mean?”
“Let’s have a proper affair, conducted with total discretion. I can arrange it so no one ever knows. A time and place so that no one will ever know.”
She stared at him a long moment, swaying slightly with the carriage’s movement. He took heart in the fact that she did not deny him right away. She did not laugh at the suggestion. She was considering it and he had to contain his excitement. Somehow, in a short time she had become his sole desire. He wanted her with an intensity that would not go away until it found its release.
“Simply promise to consider it.”
The carriage slowed as it approached her town house. It rocked to a stop and she still hadn’t answered him. He didn’t know if this was a good sign or not. The groom was at the door, opening it. She sat forward, ready to descend, her eyes averted. His heart sank a little. She couldn’t even look at him.
She gripped the handle above the door, on the verge of stepping down. “I will consider it,” she murmured, her softly accented voice nearly inaudible. But he heard it.
He released a breath, ridiculously elated.
And then she was gone.
The day dawned bright and cold and with it came the flood of everything that happened the night before. As she opened her eyes to peer out at the frost-crusted mullioned windowpanes of her bedchamber, she remembered everything in painful detail. She had told Colin she would consider an affair with him.
She pulled her pillow over her head and groaned. How could she have done such a thing?
“Morning, Your Grace,” Minnie called, poking the logs in the hearth at the other side of the chamber before then adding more logs. That explained the chill. The fire had died down in the night. “Shall I fetch your breakfast or would you like to eat downstairs?”
“A tray please, Minnie.” She pulled the pillow off her face and released a great breath.
She had clearly lost her mind if she was thinking that she would do such a foolhardy thing. Today she would not step outside her bedchamber. Nothing could go wrong if she stayed locked up in her room.
A knock sounded at her door. She bade entrance. Mrs. Wakefield entered. “Good morning, Your Grace. Lady Talbot has sent her card twice this morning. She said she would call in a quarter of an hour. She is quite insistent on seeing you today.”
She sighed. Of course she was. Two nights in close succession she had disappeared on her. Vanished with no explanation. Mary Rebecca likely wanted to know what was going on. Graciela owed her an explanation, she supposed. She flung back the coverlet. “Very well. Ring for Minnie, please.”
She’d best make herself presentable.
Chapter 10
“What’s his name?” Mary Rebecca demanded.
“Begging your pardon?” Graciela attempted to school her features into cool neutrality.
“It’s a man. I can tell. What is his name?”
“H-how can you tell?” She winced at that telltale quaver to her voice.
“You look as though you haven’t slept in a week. A man will do that, too.” She nodded sagely. “He’ll either keep you awake at night, occupying you with more carnal pleasures . . . or drive you to such distraction that you cannot sleep.”
She could only stare at her friend for one long beat. As ridiculous as her logic seemed, it was sound. Perhaps the time had come for confessions. It would feel good to talk to someone.
She cleared her throat. “Remember the night at Sodom? When I disappeared—”
“I knew it! I knew it!” Mary Rebecca bounced on her seat, the curls gathered at the sides of her head bobbing. “Who is he?”
“Nothing happened,” she stressed. “Well, merely a kiss and that was only for convenience’s sake.”
“Convenience? What on earth are you talking about? A man does not kiss a woman out of convenience.” Mary Rebecca released a pfft.
“Well, perhaps it’s more fair to say he was rescuing me.” She plucked at the velvet trim of her gown. “You see, my stepson was there that night.”
“Autenberry.” Mary Rebecca’s eyes grew enormous in her face. “No! How incredibly awkward. I have seen him there a time or two.” She cringed and looked remorseful. “I should have warned you.”
Yes, that would have been nice to know before she agreed to join her, but that was neither here nor there now. “Well, he almost saw me.” She inhaled. “But Lord Strickland intervened.”
“How did he accomplish that?”
“Not with ease. He had to kiss me . . . and behave as though we were embroiled to remove me from the room before Marcus realized it was me.”
Mary Rebecca whistled between her teeth. “How very magnanimous of him. I mean, that must have been awful.” Her voice turned teasing. “Kissing you must have been revolting for him.”
She swatted at her friend’s arm.
Sudden understanding lit Mary Rebecca’s eyes. “You disappeared last night with him! That’s why you both vanished during that dreadful musicale. You’re having an affair with that delicious Lord Strickland!” She slapped Graciela’s arm. “You wicked creature. Bedding a younger man! I’m so envious. I want to hear all about it! Leave nothing out. I must find all my vicarious thrills from you.”
She shook her head, a hot blush stealing over her face. “I’m not bedding him.”
Mary Rebecca looked her over carefully. “Not yet, then.”
She continued shaking her head. “No. It won’t happen. Ever. It cannot.”
Mary Rebecca looked merely amused.
A brief knock preceded Mrs. Wakefield’s entrance into the drawing room.
“Begging your pardon, Your Grace. You have some deliveries.” With great flourish, she pulled the door wide, admitting several footmen bearing vases of hothouse roses. Her eyes widened as they simply kept coming. Several footmen. Several vases. Too many to count. “These just arrived for you.” A smile played about the housekeeper’s lips as she stepped forward and extended a small card to Graciela.
“Roses!” Mary Rebecca exclaimed, gawking at th
e parade of them. “This time of year? They must have cost a fortune.”
Graciela accepted the card with trembling fingers. “Thank you, Mrs. Wakefield.”
Still wearing that knowing smile, the housekeeper left the room on the heels of the army of footmen.
Mary Rebecca looked ready to burst as she waited, lips pressed into a tight line, for the door to shut. As soon as it did, Mary Rebecca erupted, “Open it! Open the card.”
Dread pooled in her stomach, mingling with something that felt suspiciously like excitement, and she had no right to feel that way. If Colin was the sender as she suspected, this was the opposite of discretion as he had promised.
Her wide gaze scanned her drawing room. Every surface was covered in flowers. This was flagrant and brazen.
“He promised discretion,” she muttered.
“Open the blasted card!” Mary Rebecca writhed where she sat. “The anticipation is strangling me.”
With a sigh, Graciela broke open the envelope and read it.
“Read it aloud!” Mary Rebecca demanded.
After reading the scant line several times to herself, she obliged. Clearing her throat, she recited: “Ever hopeful we can come to a mutually propitious agreement.”
Propitious. As though this were a business arrangement and not a personal matter. She looked up to meet her friend’s gaze. “He signed it C.”
Mary Rebecca held still for a full thirty seconds before clapping and bouncing again where she sat. “Oooh, you’ve a loooover, Ela. How exciting.”
“Mary Rebecca,” she hissed, shooting a glare to the door. “I have no such thing and would you be so good as to behave with the maturity of a toddler? At the very least?”
Mary Rebecca stuck out her tongue and then supplied, “Yet. You’re not lovers yet, but it is a mere eventuality.”