The Season of Lady Chastity (The Undaunted Debutantes Book 4)

by Christina McKnight

  Utmost desire.

  Chastity knew her intense, undeniable attraction for Bastian made little sense. They were little more than strangers, thrown together at random at a holiday house party. Yet, her soul proclaimed him the man she’d waited her entire life for. Her entire Season as a wallflower, dutifully following in Prudence’s silent wake had all led up to this moment.

  In Bastian’s arms.

  “Bastian.” She closed the distance between them and pushed to her toes, bringing her bodice up against his chest. “Kiss me?”

  It wasn’t a demand, but a question.

  She would never demand anything of another—not if it wasn’t their wish.

  He released his breath, and it cascaded across her cheek in a welcome rush. Bastian’s rapid, harried heartbeat pushed hers over the edge as her lungs ached to draw in air.

  The unfettered moonlight shone on them like a spotlight.

  They found themselves in the center of the light from above—a place she’d never dreamt of Bastian being, and the exact spot she’d longed for since discovering her mother’s secret.

  Bastian’s stare narrowed on her. “Are you certain?”

  “I’ve never been more sure of anything, my lord.”

  His eyes darkened, and his hand came to rest on her cheek, his fingers gently caressing her chilled skin as he trailed his touch down to her neck.

  Chastity didn’t fight the draw to close her eyes. It broke their connected stare, but now, they were joined in another way. His hand on her neck, her shoulder. Never had she thought her existence lacked this…the all-consuming sensation of physical touch.

  But now, she feared she’d be unable to go on without it.

  Or at least the hope of it.

  Her breaths turned to shallow pants. Bastian’s labored gasps were erotic music to her sensitive ears.

  His finger came to rest under her chin, and he tilted her face up to his.

  Though her eyes remained closed, she could feel his lips close to hers.

  Overwhelming need, longing, and desire sent a quiver through her.

  A delicate tremble.

  Bastian wrapped his arm around her waist, holding her to him upright.

  When his lips still did not touch hers, Chastity longed for Bastian to be a little less noble and a bit more caught up in the need that had driven her recklessly into his arms.

  Had this been what had pushed her mother away from the man she knew as her father and into the arms of Cam? If so, Chastity did not only feel the power of it, she also allowed the sensation to seep into her until it seemed to become the nature of her essence.

  A new understanding coursed through her, enthralled her, riveted her to the spot they stood.

  She not only felt the need to have Bastian’s mouth pressed to her lips, as the moments passed, a part of him burrowed deep within her, and their combined need resided within her.

  Feelings and natures became one.

  Tentatively, Chastity leaned forward until her lips met his.

  Instinct took over as her body pushed to be closer to Bastian, their lips locking together as naturally and uncompromisingly as their stares had held earlier. The frigid wind no longer chilled her exposed flesh as Bastian’s warmth suffused her.

  Her first kiss.

  There could be a thousand embraces to follow; ones stolen in darkened halls outside crowded ballrooms, ones given and received in private chambers, ones lasting only for the blink of an eye or lingering long into the night. But this kiss, with Bastian, would be forever seared into Chastity’s memory.

  She could be held in the arms of a powerful, wealthy duke, or in the embrace of a blacksmith, and neither would compare to the gentle but firm hold of Bastian.

  His lips parted, but he did not pull away, only paused to fill his lungs with precious air before dragging his tongue across her bottom lip. Not to be outdone, Chastity licked at his bottom lip before sucking it gently into her mouth.

  Bastian inhaled sharply.

  She feared she’d done something wrong, but Bastian claimed her mouth again, a new and increased need—one that matched her own—seeming to thrum within him as he drew her ever tighter into his arms.

  Riotous, male laughter cut into the silence of the night, pulling Chastity from Bastian’s embrace as the cold air swirled around them.

  The spell was broken, despite their lingering mutual need.

  “Lady Chastity,” Bastian said with a gulp, his stare holding hers, refusing to let it go, though his hands fell from her waist to his sides. “Forgive my—”

  “Do not beg forgiveness when there is naught to forgive.” She brought her gloved palm to his cheek, and he turned his face toward it, placing a kiss on her wrist as she’d done to him before. “If forgiveness is needed for anything, it is because our time alone has been cut short—far too soon.”

  She smiled up at him as the sound of heavy footsteps moving down the path toward the moat invaded the night. Male chuckling and jests preceded the party’s arrival.

  “We should return to the manor.” Bastian took a step back, his eyes downcast. Even in the dim light provided by the moon high overhead, Chastity could see his cheeks turn pink. “It is late, and the cold will soon be unbearable.”

  Chastity wanted to tell him the entire world could freeze over, but as long as he held her, she’d find the warmth she needed.

  Light from a lantern flared across the path leading back through the garden to Oxburgh Hall beyond. There was little doubt who the men were now coming their way: Comstock and his friends, likely sloshed on Roderick’s imported port wine and anxious for a rowdy evening.

  Neither she nor Bastian would provide the rakehells with their evening entertainment.

  “This way,” she whispered, dropping her voice low. “I discovered a hidden trail that will lead back up to the manor. We can enter through the library.”

  When he hesitated, Chastity clasped his hand and pulled him off the path and into the overgrown bushes; branches, and underbrush snapping at her dress and tickling her skin as they broke into a run.

  “Who’s there?” Lord Ruthven called, his voice deep with only a slight quiver. “Show yourself.”

  “Come, Ruthven, the stables are this way…”

  Chastity did not glance over her shoulder to see if the men had spotted them; instead, she threaded through the greenery with Bastian in tow. Admirably, he kept pace with her, and within moments, they’d exited the garden on the south side of the house, the library doors within sight.

  The hour was late, and only a dim light from a single candle shone through the plate glass doors as they hurried up the steps, pulled open the door, and rushed inside, the winter wind nipping at their heels.

  “That was close,” Chastity giggled, her cheeks flushing but not with embarrassment or shame. With exhilaration.

  They’d nearly been caught in a most compromising position.

  Embracing, alone in the dark of night by Montrose’s moat.

  Yet, it was no worse than if she were found out to be the love child of Lady Downshire—and a man certainly not her husband. Her exhilaration dimmed considerably at the thought; of what it meant for her and how it could affect her family and Bastian.

  Chastity had no doubt that the young group of lords would have relished sharing the gossip far and wide when they returned to London.

  “What was close?” Triston’s stern voice pierced the room, his question diminishing all merriment and wiping the grin from Chastity’s face. “Lord Mansfield. Chastity.”

  The color drained from Bastian’s face as quickly as her own smile vanished.

  “My dear brother.” Chastity turned, her eyes scanning the room for Triston, settling not only on her brother but on Roderick and Colin, as well. “Your Grace, Lord Hawke, a pleasure to see you both. Whatever are you doing sitting in the dark?”

  Roderick chuckled, and Colin stared into the tumbler held tightly in his hand. Neither man met Chastity’s eye from where they sat in a
trio of matching chairs.

  “I could ask you the same thing; however, I prefer to address the inquiry to Lord Mansfield.” Triston set his drink aside and pushed to his feet, his immense height and bulk something that sent many men cowering. “Tell me, my lord, what were you and my sister—my young, innocent, untarnished sister—doing outside alone after dark?”

  Chastity wanted to demand that Triston mind his own business and leave her to her own devices. She did not need nor want another Prudence in her life. Neither did she want the shadow of her brother’s protectiveness to taint the memory of her first kiss and the resulting euphoria of it.

  To her surprise, Bastian stepped forward and lifted his chin. His build was not close to matching her brother’s large frame, but that did not seem to deter him. “Lord Torrington”—he glanced past Triston to his companion and their host—“Montrose, Hawke. Good evening. I accompanied Lady Chastity to the moat to collect her forgotten book.”

  Triston made a show of glancing up and down both Chastity’s and Bastian’s forms before responding. “And where, pray tell, is the book?”

  Chastity clasped her hands before her, unwilling to allow her brother to intimidate her. “I fear I could not locate it.” She glanced at Roderick, readied to perpetuate the fib she’d told Bastian to give them a few moments of privacy. “My apologies, Your Grace. I borrowed a book from your library and forgot it outside yesterday. Now, I cannot locate it. I will journey out tomorrow morning at first light to scour the garden path.”

  “You have been out in the cold with only Mansfield’s evening jacket to keep you warm?” Triston’s hardened stare swung back to Bastian. “And you allowed this, sir?”

  “I assure you, Lord Torrington,”—Bastian’s tone was even and as stern as her brother’s—“I would never allow any harm to come to Lady Chastity. We were outside but for a few brief moments.”

  Never had anyone risen to the point of challenging Triston, and Chastity much enjoyed Bastian putting her brother in his place.

  And asserting himself.

  “Chastity, Prudence was asking after you not long ago.” Triston’s hands remained relaxed at his sides, but her brother was fooling no one. “I think you should find her and retire for the night.”

  A sharp rebuff was on the tip of her tongue, but Bastian spoke before Chastity could speak past the lump in her throat.

  “Lady Chastity, Torrington is correct.” Bastian met her questioning gaze. “It is late, and there are many activities planned for tomorrow. I will bid you good eve.”

  She was stunned into silence by his accord with Triston.

  Bastian—her dearest Bastian—was supposed to side with her against all others.

  Yet, she knew with certainty Lord Mansfield did not belong to her, and neither did she belong to him.

  They’d shared a kiss—her first kiss and an embrace she’d remember forevermore—but he was not hers.

  Chastity swallowed, nodding to Bastian and turning a scowl in Triston’s direction. She was angry, intensely mad, and she’d have her brother know it. He had no right to order her about. He was not her father, and if her suspicions were correct, he wasn’t even her true brother.

  “Good evening, gentlemen,” she snapped, a forced smile on her lips before she walked from the room, her head held high, and four sets of eyes on her back.

  Chapter 10

  Bastian felt helpless, inside and out, as he watched Chastity stalk from the library, the sound of her half boots echoing in the halls, her staccato steps punctuating her obvious ire. He knew she’d restrained herself where Lord Torrington was concerned. But, largely, he had the overwhelming sense he’d failed her in some way.

  By the time she pulled the door closed behind her, he’d set his mind to rectifying the situation with Torrington. He could not have Chastity’s brother angry or disappointed with her.

  “Lord Torrington, please do not think—”

  Chastity’s brother’s grim frown turned into a smirk, and he clasped his hand to Bastian’s shoulder. “I think we fooled her well and good, Mansfield.”

  “Pardon, my lord?” Bastian sputtered.

  “Triston. My friends call me Triston, not my lord or heaven forbid, Torrington.”

  “We fooled her?” Bastian attempted to begin anew, his stare traveling past Chastity’s brother to Montrose and Hawke. Both men wore matching smirks, and Bastian was once again the one left out of a private jest.

  “My new friend, Bastian.” Triston turned, leading Bastian toward the other men, his hand still firmly affixed to his shoulder. “May I call you Bastian? Of course, I can.” He didn’t wait for Bastian to respond. “You see, my dear sisters, lovely as they may be, have been quite adamant in their refusal to accept the courtship of any man. Not so much as even a dance. Can you believe that?”

  “No,” Bastian replied. Chastity was charming, eloquent, and witty; everything any London lord should desire in a wife—or at least a suitable dance partner.

  Everything that had led him to believe Chastity was spoken for…that and the love note he’d seen her with.

  “I cannot give any sign that I approve of her spending time with you.” Triston chuckled and gestured to an empty seat beside Montrose. “Join us. I am in a jovial mood.”

  “What do you mean you cannot give her any sign that you approve?” Bastian took the proffered seat. “Approve of what, exactly?”

  “Her interest.”

  Bastian’s eyes narrowed in confusion.

  “Her interest in you, Bastian,” Torrington spoke the words slowly. “She has taken a liking to you and, I must say, I approve wholeheartedly. However, if she were to become aware of my endorsement, she may very well change her mind. Which would not do well for either of us, I am afraid.”

  “We only just became acquainted,” Bastian refuted, not willing to grasp on to what Torrington offered. “I can assure you—”

  Chastity’s brother slapped the arm of his chair. “Allow me to assure you of something, my lord. My sister’s determination to remain unnoticed and unattached has never suited me. I suspected when Chastity chose a man worthy of her”—there was that word again, worthy—“she would fall as hard and fast as I did for my Edith. Well, to be fair, Edith fell for me first—from a tree as it were—but that is neither here nor there.”

  Torrington waved his hand, and the other two men chuckled, obviously more informed on what exactly Triston was speaking of.

  Once again, Bastian was left in the dark while those around him spoke of things he was not part of.

  Surprisingly, he realized he wanted to be a part of Lord Torrington’s group.

  It was too soon to hope for anything beyond their few days together at Oxburgh Hall. Besides, nothing had changed with his home life. His mother still needed him close in case she suffered another attack.

  “Very kind of you to speak to your sister’s interest.” Bastian thought of the note she’d clutched the previous day. Was it addressed to her? Or had she written it to another? “I assumed Lady Chastity had a gentleman awaiting her return to London.”

  Perhaps Chastity hadn’t shared news of the note with her brother.

  Their kiss—Bastian’s first kiss—had taken him by surprise; however, he was intuitive enough to realize that the desire coursing through him matched the longing within her. If Ruthven and his friends hadn’t stumbled from the manor, Bastian would have held Chastity in his arms for much longer. All night, if she allowed it. The taste of her lips, tinted by the plum dessert they’d been served at their evening meal, had entranced him and held him prisoner.

  And he’d been resigned to that fact.

  She could have asked anything of him in that moment. Demanded that he throw his family coffers at her feet, steal a king’s ransom of jewels to adorn her body, or travel to the far reaches of England to pick some flowers of her choosing.

  He would have done any of it with utter happiness and unequivocal dedication to earning Chastity’s satisfaction.

&nb
sp; “She hasn’t so much as accepted a dance all Season, Mansfield.” Triston shook his head, as if the state of his sister’s future were of utmost import to him. “My father and I had begun to accept the fact that Pru and Chas were happy seeing themselves into spinsterhood—together. Resolved to remain unwed and childless.”

  “If that is what Lady Chastity wants, who are we—you or I—to persuade her otherwise?” Bastian asked.

  “See! Did I not tell you both?” Triston threw a knowing look towards Montrose and Hawke. “Bastian here is perfect for Chastity. And with my youngest sister duly spoken for, Prudence will have little choice but to follow.”

  “Congratulations,” Hawke said, raising his empty tumbler in salute.

  “Drinks!” Montrose barked. “There is cause to celebrate.”

  Bastian glanced between the trio, shaking his head at the offer of brandy. Torrington was too brash in announcing his victory without knowing what Chastity’s heart desired…or more importantly, who her heart wanted.

  They’d shared an innocent enough kiss, likely not Lady Chastity’s first despite it being the kiss Bastian would forever compare every future kiss to.

  “Do not look so glum, Mansfield.” Montrose handed a fresh glass to Torrington and Hawke.

  “My apologies.” Bastian stood. “Do you truly think she has taken a liking to me?”

  All three men nodded in unison, sending a giddy wave of anticipation through him—at the same time his neck heated. He could not be blushing like a young lord with his first infatuation. What would Torrington and his friends think of him?

  He could not risk remaining to hear what the lords truly thought—or if they jested with him. “I think it best I go check on my mother. I do not wish to lend a solemn air to your celebration.”

  He suspected that his mother was safely at rest and, truthfully, he hoped to catch Chastity before she returned to her private chamber. There was much they needed to discuss: their kiss, their connection, and the bloody love note of sorts.

  “How is she?” Montrose asked.

  For a brief moment, Bastian thought the man asked after Chastity, but then his excuse to depart returned. “My mother?”