by Lara Temple
By the time she returned to her rooms she hoped Lord Westford had calmed sufficiently and would leave her be.
That hope died abruptly when she saw him on the sill of her parlour.
The menu lists she’d taken to review for the rest of the week slipped from her hand and fluttered to the carpet.
Lord Westford turned at the sound of the door opening and leaned down to pick up one of the sheets of paper that had settled by his boot.
Her surprise was transformed into alarm and she calmed only slightly as she realised she’d put her private notes in the drawer out of force of habit before leaving the room.
‘This parlour has been set aside for my use and Serena’s, my lord.’
‘I’m aware of that—which is precisely why I am here. You took your time hiding in Mrs Pritchard’s lair.’
Her stomach tightened at his clipped tones. He looked much as he had during those first days in London, before they’d forged their tentative truce and tested the boundaries of propriety with their flirtation.
He certainly looked nothing like he had on board the Hesperus.
She waited for the attack, but to her surprise he placed one hand on the stack of books on her table.
‘I was wondering where these had gone.’
A shiver of alarm ran through her, but her voice was steady when she answered.
‘I apologise. I did not know anyone was looking for them. I shall return them.’
‘No need. Now I know where they are...’
He raised the book he had been holding. A different kind of tension caught her.
‘I didn’t know your grandfather had written a book,’ he continued.
‘It is a volume of essays first published in the London Magazine.’ She swallowed and tried to smile, adding a little impulsively, ‘I have several copies if you wish to take one.’
He considered her, but there was no lightening of his expression. She’d begun to forget how unfairly handsome he was. When he was aloof like this it was hard to ignore the sheer beauty of his face and physique. Every time she was reminded, the differences between them slammed down like a drawbridge clanging into place.
‘Thank you.’ His words were cold and something turned inside her—a flicker of welcome anger to press back at the confused heat.
‘You are welcome. Now, if you do not mind, I must review the week’s menus.’ She waved the handwritten sheets she’d collected from the floor and scooted around him to sit at the writing table, pulling the inkwell towards her.
‘An excuse, Genny?’
Far from leaving, he came to stand by the desk, picking up one of the entwined jade dragons and weighing it in his palm. She felt a tremor shimmer down her spine. It wasn’t fear—it was that damnable awareness, made all the worse now it was backed by experience.
‘It is no excuse, my lord, merely a care for details. It might have escaped your notice, but a house party is a nightmare of logistics,’ she said with dignity, keeping her eyes on the menus but seeing very little.
‘Not at all. I’m impressed by your skills, Madam Quartermaster. Even more so having seen you in mid-campaign. What were you and my grandmother discussing just now?’
That answered her question about whether he’d overheard. Her stomach sank to somewhere below her ankles. Which was suitable—she truly felt a heel.
‘Lady Westford is naturally unsettled by the house being invaded. I merely reassured her I shall do my best to keep everything in order.’
He planted his hand on the menu she was trying to read. It was a very large hand, splayed wide on the white paper. She swallowed again as another potent memory arose—that same hand, entwined with hers, his calluses rough against her palm. She felt the warmth of his body as he leaned over the desk but she didn’t look up. Not that staring at his hand was any better.
‘Someone who lies as often as you should do a better job of it, sweetheart.’
His voice was as soft as silk and as menacing as a coiled snake.
‘I’m not—’
‘I am serious,’ he interrupted. ‘Whatever you and the old witch are concocting, I hope... I very much hope...it has nothing to do with me.’
She tried to tug the paper from under his hand, but achieved nothing more than a ripped corner.
‘I told you I do not care to be loomed over, Lord Westford. If you are in a foul mood, please exorcise it elsewhere.’
‘I’m in “a foul mood”, Genny, because I don’t like being manipulated. If you put so many pokers in the fire, don’t be surprised when one burns you.’
A flush of sheer, brutal heat swept over her. She bent further over her lists, but he caught her chin, angling up her face.
‘What are you two plotting?’
His voice had dropped into a hoarse, coaxing rumble. He wasn’t exerting any pressure on her skin, but she felt his touch deep inside her, as if it was setting roots and spreading.
‘I’m not plotting anything,’ she said, a little desperately.
His fingers traced the line of her jaw, feathering the hollow below her ear. ‘So what do you call it, then? Merely doing what needs to be done to “get through the day”?’
She realised he was using her own words from that day in the stables. They sounded all wrong like that. She shook her head, but that only made his fingers graze the lobe of her ear and she couldn’t stop the answering shudder that swept through her. He felt it, closing his hand on her nape. A deep sound, almost of pain, caught in his throat.
For a second she couldn’t breathe. Her lungs just stopped, waiting out the wave of scalding heat that swept through her, setting fire after fire—in her cheeks, her chest, and again at that unfamiliar core inside her.
He spoke first, his voice a sensual drag across her nerves.
‘You don’t like being out of control, do you? You’re like a cat, clinging to the ceiling, afraid to sheathe your claws for fear of the fall.’
‘Cats land on their feet. I don’t.’
‘But you do. Or rather you somehow arrange for one of us mortals to lay a mattress precisely where you need it.’
The mention of mattresses was not fortuitous. She thought of his wide rumpled bed on board the Hesperus, and of her own bed behind the door not two yards from him.
She couldn’t think of anything intelligent to say so she kept silent, waiting for him to stop the assault and leave her be.
‘What were you and my grandmother discussing?’
This question was a whisper of coaxing warmth, spilling like silk down her spine. She knew what he was doing, but it made no difference to her body.
It was aching to be seduced.
‘I will find out, Genny.’
This time she heard frustration, determination—and, she thought, hurt. That surprised her, and she looked up. His eyes were in full storm, dilated. She didn’t see any hurt in them, only concentrated fire. Goosebumps rose on her arms.
‘It’s dangerous, not giving quarter, Generalissima. You should know that,’ he continued.
I do.
She almost spoke the words, but nothing came.
He smiled. ‘Defiance by silence, darling? You’re not the only one who can be stubborn.’
His thumb brushed the cleft of her chin, and then the soft pillow of her lip. His eyes followed, his lashes lowering to shield the deep blue eyes. She let her eyes drift to his mouth; she could feel it on her still, in the gentle, sensuous kiss in the garden, the wild, drugging kiss on the Hesperus, even the kiss that had been promised but never came in his cabin. Each was a different aspect of this man.
This time he was using his skill on her consciously. He might not use his weapons as lightly as Julian, but when he chose to do so he could clearly play a beautiful seduction scene. It might have been a little more believable if he hadn’t been radiating anger.
&n
bsp; There was none of the teasing warmth she’d begun to expect when they crossed swords, when the battles were almost a pleasure as they skirted around the heat they sparked off one another.
‘Tell me.’ His eyes were icy, his voice raw.
She shook her head, the friction of his fingers dancing deliciously over her mouth and adding fuel to the fire. ‘You should know I don’t respond well to threats, Kit.’
‘I’m not threatening. I’m asking,’ he murmured, his hand slipping into her hair, cupping her head, his fingers moving gently against her scalp.
She laid a hand against his chest to push him away but stayed there, feeling his heartbeat fast and hard against her palm.
‘Why don’t you trust me?’ he asked.
‘Why should I?’
He gave a small laugh. ‘Damn you. No reason.’
‘I’m not the only one who doesn’t like being out of control, am I, Kit?’ she asked impulsively.
He shook his head, lowering it inexorably. ‘No. No, you’re not...’
The last word was a whisper against her mouth. But he didn’t kiss her. Not like before. This soft brushing of his lips over hers, sweeping like a willow branch on water, wasn’t quite a kiss. It felt more like a dance...like that waltz on the patio as the music had wound about them and carried them deeper and deeper into darkness, swaying only for the sake of the lightest of frictions.
‘Such sharp claws and such soft lips,’ he murmured. ‘What a chimera you are, Genevieve. I never know if you’ll command, condemn or tantalise.’
‘I never tantalise,’ she protested in a whisper.
Shaking her head only increased the friction.
‘Yes, you do.’ He kissed her gently, mouth closed, just nudging her lips with his before whispering against her mouth, ‘You use whatever tools you have at your disposal.’
‘Not this.’
‘You did in the garden. On the ship.’
‘You did that,’ she protested, drawing back a little.
He shook head again, his eyes narrowed and slumberous. ‘We did that. You know you could have told me to stop and I would have. You can tell me to stop now and I will. Admit it, Genny. You enjoy this. Another field to test your powers.’
A shiver ran through her. Damn him for being right. Perhaps it was best to think of it precisely like that?
‘So what if I do? Me and the rest of humanity. It is nothing extraordinary.’
A flash of challenge turned his eyes near black. ‘Isn’t it?’
He leaned forward again, his mouth hovering below her ear, his breath slipping down the side of her neck and setting it alight. Slowly, slowly his lips approached the lobe of her ear. She could feel the ebb and surge of warmth as his breath came closer.
‘Can’t you feel it, Vivi? I’m on damn fire here and it feels wonderfully out of the ordinary. This is what people live for. Not society, not propriety...this. This is beautiful.’
His lips came to rest on the peach-soft flesh of her lobe and she couldn’t hold back the moan that rose from the deepest part of her. It was beautiful.
But it doesn’t mean anything, her mind insisted. He probably uses the same tactics with whichever female sparks his interest. Or whenever he needs to prise secrets from credulous women.
I don’t give a damn, replied her body. Right now, I am the one sparking it.
She turned her head, making his lips skim her cheek, stopping when they reached the corner of her mouth. His breath stuttered against her skin before he withdrew, sending the tiny hairs on her cheeks shivering.
‘Show me,’ she goaded. ‘Show me something extraordinary.’
There was a thundery echo of anger in his eyes in the moment before his head descended to hers once more. She waited for that anger to be reflected in his actions, but his mouth settled on hers as gently as a dandelion seed on a pond.
‘Vivi...’
The word was a slow exhalation of smoke against her lips and they opened of their own accord, letting him brush the parting with his lower lip.
‘I want to do this...everywhere. Every inch of you. I can close my eyes and see you on my bed, your hair tangled, your thighs bare, the silk sheet slipping between them, begging me to follow. I should have thrown scruples to the wind and accepted your invitation on the Hesperus. Have you any idea how much I wanted you at that moment?’
She shook her head, a little shocked by the urgency in his voice, and more than a little mistrustful.
Kit would tell her what she wanted to hear, what any woman wanted to hear—that she was desired, that her powers in some way overcame his. He’d warned her that he meant to make her tell him the truth. This was nothing more than another negotiation—wasn’t it?
She didn’t know what to do. This was not a game she knew how to play. This was not a game. Not to her. All she knew was that she wanted him.
He still held her hand pressed to his chest and his heart beat against her palm, against her own hurried, tumbling pulse. She wanted that beat against her bared body, not a stitch of fabric between them and only the cool slide of the silk sheet beneath.
‘I didn’t know. I don’t know. Show me...’
‘If I do I’ll go up in flames, Vivi. Just your scent... You smell like the orange blossoms that bloom on Capri—the scent of paradise. And the taste... I’ve never tasted anything so exquisite, Vivi.’
His fingers slipped down, tracing the outline of her breast, tightening the muslin over her skin until it dragged against the tightened peak, the friction sending a shower of tingling need right down to her toes.
She wanted him to bare it, to touch her properly, and while he was at it to do something about the insistent discomfort that kept surging and ebbing between her legs. She’d thought she understood a great deal about the interplay between men and women—what she hadn’t gleaned from Serena and Mary she’d learned from books or by asking an amused but co-operative Julian. But she realised now that in this domain reality was very, very different from theory. She was still as green as the greenest of virgins and she was tired of her ignorance; she wanted to know in the most biblical sense.
His lips explored hers in a series of light, almost playful kisses, like a butterfly flickering on and off a flower, except each contact was like a strike of flint on flint, teasing, making everything tighten unbearably. Then he raised her from the chair and onto the desk in one motion, drawing her towards him so that he could stand between her thighs.
She’d felt his erection before, on the ship, but now it was a thudding presence against the flame-hot pulse between her legs. Her moan was lost in his own low, guttural groan as he held her there, his mouth against hers, his skin warm on hers, the rasp of his stubble making her skin tingle, a tantalising contrast with the velvet of his lips, making her wonder what that contrast would feel like...elsewhere.
The sensations, so foreign and so right, and the vivid images conjuring themselves in her mind, were both frightening and wonderful. She wanted so much more. She wanted to press deeper, impossibly deeper against him. Until there was nothing at all that stood between them...until she was nothing but these unnameable sensations...until they went up in flames.
Then he spoke, his words a whisper against her temple. ‘Why won’t you tell me what you and my grandmother were discussing, Vivi?’
Sometimes Genny woke from a dream with a harsh thud, quite as if she’d rolled off the bed. His words struck her exactly like that. They cut through the haze of lust and finally set bells pealing.
She gathered every shred of her control, put her hands on his chest, and pushed. His hands tightened on her behind, then released her. He moved away, towards the window, tucking his shirt back into his buckskins. She hadn’t even realised she’d pulled it out.
She truly must have lost her mind.
She slipped off the desk but remained leaning against it.
‘If I tell you...’
He gave a short, bitter laugh.
‘Ah, here it comes. Tit for tat.’
‘You began this negotiation.’
‘It isn’t a negotiation, damn it.’
‘An interrogation, then.’
He didn’t answer, but nor did he deny it.
Then, ‘So, what price are you demanding for your confession, then, darling?’
The word was a slap but she ignored it. ‘Serena.’
He frowned. ‘Serena?’
‘Yes.’ She took a deep breath and forced the words out. ‘I don’t want you making her fall in love with you.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Are we talking about Serena?’
‘Yes. I saw the two of you coming up from the gardens. You were laughing together and she looked...alive again. Like she did before everything went wrong.’
Her voice faltered and she could feel the unfamiliar burn of tears in her throat, in her eyes; even her cheeks ached.
‘And you thought...? Do you want to know what we were talking of, Miss Maitland?’
His sudden formality stung, but she shook her head.
‘My brilliant strategy of seduction was to inveigle your sister into telling me of the time Charlie tried to win the prize for the largest turnip in the village fête. How he finally grew one larger than Squire Felston but the night before the fête his favourite sow... I think her name was Annie...found her way into the garden and ate it.’
He gave a harsh laugh at her expression.
‘You are right about one thing, though, Miss Maitland. It was the first time I had seen her come to life since I returned to England. Whether you wish to face the truth or not, Serena is still in love with Charlie, and I think the last thing she wants to do is find herself another husband. All she wants from me is someone who will talk to her of Charlie and not pity her. She is not interested in me and I am not interested in her. And if this...’ he swept the room with his hand, encompassing everything that had transpired there ‘...was an attempt to keep me away from your sister, you have truly outdone yourself, sweetheart. You are so bent on winning this game you’re playing against life, I think you forget what you are playing for.’