Oxford Whispers

by Marion Croslydon

  Why—why?—must she have her periods at the strategically worst time EVER?

  Need made her bite her tongue. She listened to her heart pounding inside her ribcage. When Rupert shifted his hand from her shoulder to her breast, her nipple hardened and her heart stopped making a sound as it skipped a beat.

  Madison moaned and the sound of her own desire fed into further desire. She caressed the taut skin on his back, followed the hard muscles that defined his shoulders and ran her fingers through his hair.

  It was his turn to moan. “Maddie.”

  His lips buried her name into a kiss. His tongue explored her mouth. She lifted her pelvis toward his, inviting him inside of her. He wanted her as much as she wanted him. Pride exploded inside her. Rupert belonged to her, only to her.

  Her victory was shortlived. He rolled his weight aside to rest next to her rather than on her. Her eyes opened wide. His were drowned under the heat of their almost-lovemaking.

  “I’m going to break, baby. I want you so bad it’s hurting me.” His voice was hoarse.

  “I can help… I mean, I can give you some fun.” She wanted to bury her head under the pillow as a blush crept across her face like a wildfire. But Madison didn’t want to play hard to get. She wanted Rupert. He wanted her. That was all they needed to know. “You can show me what you like.”

  Rupert growled. “If you talk like that, I’m going to get off on the sheets.”

  Madison giggled, enjoying her new role as the Princess of Naughty. She had never worn the crown before. “Tell me what you need.”

  Rupert didn’t answer, seemingly absorbed in the line formed by her collarbone.

  “I’m scared,” he murmured. Humm. She hadn’t expected that. “You mean so much to me. When we have sex, there will be no way back. Ever…”

  Love and pride mingled in her chest and tears started falling down her cheeks.

  “Don’t cry. Or I’ll start as well.” Rupert brushed her face with the back of his knuckles.

  They both laughed and he dropped a kiss on each of her damp eyelids. Lying on their sides, they faced each other, nose to nose, their fingers and legs intertwined. With his eyes fixed on her, she felt like a pagan idol worshipped on the pedestal of love and lust.

  In an unexpected move, he flipped on his back, his hands around her hips pulling her on top of him. He pulled her closer to him until her nipples dangled above his mouth. He sucked one of them, pulling and releasing, then administered the same care to the other one. A zing shot back and forth from the tip of her breasts to her core. The sound she made was a medley between a moan, a groan, and a purr. Entirely embarrassing.

  She straddled his length, enjoying its tiny jerking movements each time her groin gave in to the smallest shift.

  “I want to make you come with my hand.” Humm, had she just said that?

  The muscles of his stomach tightened, his chest caved in. He chuckled. “If you keep talking to me with this purring voice of yours, you won’t even need your hand.”

  Madison moved her weight to the top of his thighs so that she could take hold of him. Her fingertips followed its long warmth. Up and down. Up and down. Finally, she took full hold of it, squeezing it gently.

  Rupert groaned and his head fell back against the cushion.

  They had been making out for an hour at least and his swollen sex was pulsing against her curled palm and fingers. It was all tense and warm. She started pumping him, his hips thrusting toward her.

  “I’m close, baby,” he warned, his hands now over her forearms trying to move her further aback. “Let me finish it.”

  She refused to stop. “No way.”

  “Fu—”

  He erupted, warm and sticky, between her hands, but she continued until the flow stopped.

  His chest heaved and he swallowed hard. When he broke the silence, his words were choppy. “That was—that felt better than in my wildest teenage dreams. And I was a very horny boy.”

  “Glad I could help.”

  His torso twisted so that he could grab the shirt he had dropped next to the bed when they had undressed earlier. He wiped her hands with it then cleaned the mess over his lower stomach.

  Reluctantly, Madison abandoned her straddling position and lay along Rupert. He pulled the duvet from where it had been kicked earlier down to the feet of the mattress and tucked it around them.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “You’re very welcome.”

  His hand cupped her cheek, the tip of this thumb drawing small circles. “I can share everything with you.” Rupert moved his hand from her face and laid it over her stomach. “I trust you implicitly and it gives me a strength I didn’t know I had. I’ll never lie to you, and you’ll never lie to me.”

  He dropped a kiss at the corner of her mouth, but her inner temperature plunged down to subzero.

  “Let’s try and sleep, otherwise I won’t stay a gentleman much longer.”

  She shifted her body so that he could hold her from behind, his body tight against hers, surrounding her in a cocoon.

  His protection wasn’t enough to lift the burden that had crashed over her. Madison had lied to Rupert from the get-go. She had never hinted at her powers, at the dead people in her life … at the Cavalier, and what he could mean to both of them.

  She bit her lower lip. Guilt buried itself deep inside her.

  THE SOUND OF A police siren filtered through Rupert’s bedroom window. Lying next to him, Madison didn’t move an inch. He was envious of her slumber.

  He had stored away the memories of their first weekend together at his house in London. It was a pity that Archie Black had stolen her from him the evening before. Still, Madison had wanted to meet Black on her own, and whatever she’d discussed with the genealogist, it had upset her.

  His mouth went dry, as it had when someone had broken into her bedroom, to steal nothing and leave everything in perfect order. Rupert had had to beg for her to file a police report.

  Images of what could have been flashed through his mind. What if they’d come back earlier and the intruder had still been inside her room? What if the man had been more than a petty thief?

  Nausea brought an acrid taste to his mouth. Madison stirred, and Rupert froze a moment to assure himself he hadn’t disturbed her. No, Sleeping Beauty was still out for the count.

  He pressed his head against the nape of her neck. The scent of vanilla tinged his nostrils. She remained immobile, the streetlamp outside his window illuminating her profile.

  He wouldn’t let anyone or anything hurt her.

  Madison had been reluctant to talk. Therefore, his first step was to find out what Archie Black had said to Madison, and why she was so obsessed with Robert Dallembert. The research would keep his mind away from all the things he wanted to do to her in bed.

  Chapter 39

  OXFAM, THANK YOU for saving my butt today.” Madison checked her reflection in the full-length mirror.

  The British charity shop had made her dream come true. She wore a designer dress for a fraction of its original price. This was the most superficial outcome the good-works organization had achieved, ever.

  Surrounded by luxury in one of Magway’s twenty-something bedrooms, she caressed the black satin of the bodice and brushed her hands over the skirt. Why couldn’t she be taller, bustier … blonder? Yeah, why not? Chewing at her lower lip, she passed her fingers through the jet-black hair she’d almost lost her sanity shaping into tidy curls.

  Madison had no illusions, though. A redneck like her would never fit into Rupert’s family. Like Harriet probably had. That bitch had been invited today. But in the words of her mother, LeBon women always held their heads high and their ninnies even higher. She always said that while hiking her ample torso upward, a hand on the underside of each well-shaped breast, after one shot too many of bourbon.

  A knock at the bedroom door made her heartbeat quicken and caused searing heat to pulse through her cheeks. She stole a last glance at her flushin
g face in the mirror and opened the door.

  Rupert stood right in front of her, and never had she been so close to melting. Sexual hunger consumed her.

  The dress code for gentlemen was morning suit, and Rupert’s single-breasted tailcoat complemented the gray of his waistcoat and striped trousers. She wanted to tear the suit from his shoulders and feel his skin under her fingertips.

  “As we say in the South: ‘You look good enough to make me wanna smack your granny.’”

  “Good luck with that. They both died when I was a kid.”

  Madison grimaced.

  When he entered the room, a smile remained stamped on his face, but his eyes had a fierce glint to them. “You take my breath away.”

  A giggle caught in her throat, and nerves made her hands knead the material of her dress, as if it had been a cooking apron. Embarrassed, she kept her eyes downcast. “I’m no lady, I’m afraid.”

  “You’re a lady to me.”

  “You sound so corny,” she laughed. A delicious, warm sensation settled in the lower part of her anatomy.

  When they left the haven of her room, Madison didn’t hold her ninnies very high. All she wanted was to make herself even smaller and reduce her exposure to any social danger. They stepped into the hallway, and she squared her shoulders anyway. In the distance, she heard voices, and her heart hammered.

  Rupert was by her side and he took her hand. The solid feel gave her strength, more than she had on her own. She breathed deep, determined to do him proud.

  “Rupert, don’t forget the seating plan.”

  The voice had come from behind Madison, low but inflexible, resonating in her ears.

  Rupert’s hand released her as he swiveled around. “Father.”

  Hugo Vance.

  Madison lowered her chin, but managed to turn and face a middle-aged man who looked nothing like his son. Compact, dark, with “obnoxious” written all over his full-lipped face, the aristocrat glared.

  The Earl of Huxbury didn’t want her there. No psychic powers were needed to interpret what his compressed lips and flared nostrils shouted out loud.

  “Let me introduce you to Madison LeBon. She’s a fellow student at Christ Church.” Rupert extended his arm and pulled her toward him. As a sign of ownership? Of protection?

  Madison thanked Hugo for his hospitality, but he cut her off with a hand gesture and a half-hearted shrug. “You’re my son’s guest.”

  Rupert tightened his grip on Madison’s shoulder. She looked up at him. His jaw was clenched, and a vein pulsed on his temple when he answered, “She’s very much is.”

  Without another word, Hugo Vance left.

  “I’m so sorry,” Rupert said through gritted teeth.

  “Don’t go off with your pistol half-cocked. He’s nervous about the ceremony. I don’t care at all.” But she did, very much so.

  “Your father mentioned the seating plan?” she asked to divert his anger.

  Rupert shook his head and waved his hand as if his father’s demand was nothing.

  “Please, tell me,” Madison pushed nevertheless.

  “During the ceremony, he wants me to sit in the front row, on my own. My father insisted on it.”

  Of course when a couple jumped over the broom back in Pierre Part, etiquette was much simpler. You could sit wherever you damned well pleased.

  “Oh, I see,” Madison failed to hide her disappointment. Coming here had been a huge mistake.

  “I’m just telling you so that you’re not surprised if my father glowers at me while saying his vows.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Rupert slid his hand behind her neck. He took a step forward and narrowed down the space between them. His gaze hunted hers. She didn’t want to look back at him and betray her insecurities.

  When he finally grabbed hold of her eyes, he had never sounded so serious, “Madison LeBon, there’s only one place for you in my life, and it’s the front row.”

  WHEN CAMILLA WALKED down the aisle, a solo pianist played Pachelbel’s Canon in D. The new countess wore a beige silk dress, the double-sided draping reminding Madison of a sari, and concealing Camilla’s pregnancy.

  Judging by the new Lady Huxbury’s controlled face, Madison doubted Rupert’s stepmother could be prone to any “accident,” like getting knocked up by mistake.

  Swallowing a giggle, Madison shuffled on her seat. But on the other side of the aisle, a few rows behind, Harriet threw her a murderous stare.

  Don’t you make eyes at me, missie.

  Gathering all her inborn Cajun dignity, Madison acknowledged her enemy with a quiet nod, then shifted her attention away. She could still feel Harriet’s hatred burning at her skin.

  Madison’s throat tightened, and she hugged her clutch like a shield. Rupert—next to her—hadn’t missed her shuffling on the seat. He gave her his trademark arch of the eyebrow alla James Bond. She answered him with a tight smile that didn’t seem to convince him. He intertwined his fingers with hers and reverted his attention to the couple standing in front of the minister.

  And that had only been the wedding ceremony, she psyched herself up for the cocktail party and dinner later in the evening.

  However, a dinner of roasted scallops, beef Wellington, and praline mousse made up for the adversity Madison had faced in the afternoon. The champagne bubbles tickled her tongue and the warmth of the room relaxed her tense muscles. A few more glasses and she would be higher than a Georgia pine.

  “Do you want to dance?” Rupert asked, his thumb stroking her palm.

  From their dining table, she scanned the couples on the temporary dance floor, and her stomach churned. On the exposed stage everybody would see her clumsy steps, starting with the hyper-vigilant Harriet. Not an option. She shuffled and fiddled with her clutch, which was already creased.

  “We can go somewhere more private.” Rupert had received the unspoken message. “Somewhere we’ll be sure not to meet my father or my stepmother, or my ex.”

  They left their table without a word. Madison followed Rupert through deserted hallways, the sounds of the wedding fading away with each of her footsteps.

  Their retreat was cut short when Hugo Vance stepped out of a room into the corridor.

  “Father,” Rupert moved so that he stood between his dad and Madison. “Congratulations again.”

  Lord Vance savored a cigar in silence. The smoky aroma reached Madison so did his reptilian gaze over Rupert’s shoulder. Her body shrunk in defense. Vance smiled, and Rupert’s body tensed.

  “I will not even mention how you disobeyed my order with regards to the seating plan. It would be too little, too late.” Hugo released a cloud of smoke. “I will only be true to my word. You provoked me, Rupert, and now has come the time for retaliation.”

  “We’re not at war, Father, and I don’t appreciate being threatened.” Rupert’s voice could have slashed through ice.

  “Does your girlfriend mind being with someone who has blood on his hand? His mother’s blood?” Hugo’s words stunk of his hate.

  “Threats won’t work anymore. Madison knows all about the circumstances around Mum’s death, and I talked to the police.”

  Hugo’s expression widened in surprise.

  “Is that so? And she doesn’t mind.” Rupert’s father took a step sideways so that his stare could hit Madison right in the face. “Why would she? Her morality—or lack of it—won’t stand on her path to your trust fund.”

  Madison recoiled. “That’s not—”

  But Rupert had launched himself against his father, grabbing him by the crisp collar of his suit, and pinning him against the wall. Shock…and fear was sketched over Hugo’s face.

  “Don’t ever disrespect her! You can say whatever you damn want about me, I don’t care anymore, but never, never, disrespect her.” Rupert released his father and started readjusting his sleeves and collar. He wasn’t finished though. “You touch her with your venom ever again, and I’ll kill you.”

  Ruper
t spun around, grabbed Madison’s hand firmly in his, and led her away from a very angry Earl of Huxbury.

  Rupert didn’t pronounce another word until they entered a wood-paneled room where the aroma of cigars and whiskey lingered. Rupert closed the door behind them. Two lampshades in opposite corners barely lit the thick, ancient rug in the center.

  Although the shadow hid Rupert’s features, Madison could feel him, not just his heat but the electricity racing between their bodies. Her arms folded themselves around her lower chest. Rupert narrowed the distance to her side.

  “I’m sorry about what happened. I should have done that a long time ago. That way you’d never had to witness what a fucked-up family I have.”

  Madison wanted to reassure him but he asked out of the blue, “Do you like Sinatra?”

  “Yes.”

  Her brain struggled to come up with anything more elaborate, while he flicked through a lacquered box and extracted an old-fashioned record. Fascinated, she watched him set the disk on a gramophone, and the needle descend onto the revolving plate. The room filled with the smooth tones of the 1950s crooner. He sang about Witchcraft. How ironic.

  She took the hand Rupert had extended and focused on keeping her feet from kicking each other. But he was a smooth dancer, and she forgot about choreography, her body swaying against his.

  “Sorry, I’m not very modern. My grandfather, Charles Vance, he’s the one who was fascinated with the family’s history. He donated his vinyl collection to me.”

  “I like it better than standard Cajun wedding bands, French accordions, violins, steel guitars. Altogether, they suck.”

  When they laughed, her breasts brushed against his chest. His hand followed the curve of her back, and her head tilted backward.

  He kissed her. His tongue touched her lips, opened them. Her breast tightened against the material of the corset. They begged for a touch. Sparks of desire ignited her senses from the pit of her stomach to her fingertips.

  But Rupert held off. He stepped away, the space between them now a void Madison could have fallen into.

  “Have I done anything wrong?” Dizziness threatened to make her lose her balance.