by Merry Farmer
“Oh, Papa,” Cece replied with a laugh.
Katya stood as Malcolm reached her end of the table. “I think I’ll head up to bed as well,” she said, doing a far better job of appearing innocent than Malcolm was. “You young things might be able to look fresh and vibrant after a night without sleep, but when you reach my age, it takes a great deal more effort.”
“Mama, you’re always beautiful and you know it,” Bianca said with a sweet smile.
Katya’s heart thumped with maternal affection for her daughter, but she arched a brow and said, “You’re not going to the ball and you know it. Your presentation is next year, and I’m not willing to put up with wagging tongues if you show up at Spencer House before you’re officially out.”
“But Mama,” Bianca deflated, looking more like a girl than a woman. “It’s eighteen-eighty-one. Nobody cares about those silly rules anymore.”
“Yes, they do,” Katya told her. “So behave.”
Malcolm had already moved into the hall, doing a poor job of pretending he wasn’t waiting for her as he did, so Katya only gave Bianca one, parting look of warning before sweeping out of the room herself.
“When I’m out,” Bianca grumbled behind her, “I’m not going to let a bunch of silly society rules keep me from doing exactly what I want.”
“You will if you want to be received by anybody who’s anybody,” Cece told her.
“Smart girl, your daughter,” Katya whispered as she caught up to Malcolm at the base of the stairs.
“Obviously,” Malcolm whispered back as he took her hand and hurried up the stairs. “What brilliance has she displayed this time?”
“Warning Bianca that she can’t flout all the rules if she wants to have a place at society’s table,” Katya said.
“I’m surprised you would think so,” Malcolm said, as they reached the top of the stairs and tip-toed down the hall. “You’ve never played by society’s rules.”
She turned to him with wide-eyed surprise as they reached the door to her room. “Of course I have. Rule number one is discretion. The finer ladies of society may whisper about me, but they can’t prove anything.”
She followed her bold statement by sending a covert glance down the hall to be certain they weren’t being observed. As soon as she was satisfied, she opened her bedroom door as carefully as possible and whisked Malcolm inside. He chuckled as he went, shrugging out of his jacket as soon as Katya had the door shut.
“Observe,” she told him in a voice that was still hushed, reaching for the lock. “This is how properly discreet women conduct their affairs.” She arched her eyebrow and turned the lock until the tumblers clicked.
“I didn’t expect Cece to come rushing into my room the other night,” Malcolm argued, sitting on the edge of her bed to take off his shoes.
“Really, Malcolm,” Katya shook her head at him as she crossed to her vanity and began pulling the pins from her elaborate hairstyle. “The first rule of illicit romance is to always lock the doors.”
“You’re full of rules tonight, Lady Stanhope.” Malcolm rose from the bed, tossed his shoes aside, and crossed the room to her. He slid his arms around her waist and nibbled at her neck. “One would almost think you were in a mood for discipline this evening.”
She laughed, loving the way his bold suggestion sent a thrill through her that was as fresh as the first time he’d snuck into her bedroom…when she was barely older than Bianca was now.
She turned to him, a strange sort of nostalgia making her wistful. “We don’t need games and ploys to be together,” she said, resting a hand on his cheek.
“No,” he agreed, mischief in his eyes. “But they are fun.”
She burst into laughter, the sound far louder then she’d intended. Her gaze darted to the door, but Malcolm silenced any other noise that could have given them away with a kiss. His hands roved her side, knowing exactly what he wanted from her. She circled her arms around his shoulders for a moment, indulging in the delicious familiarity of his mouth. A new lover every night was exciting to a point, but at her age, she craved the tender and the familiar.
Their kiss ended only when they were both so aroused that clothing became a burden. With a sigh, she stepped away from him, reaching for the fastenings of her skirt. “Someday,” she said as she turned her back so that Malcolm could undo her buttons, “they’ll make clothing for women that doesn’t require a second set of hands to remove.”
“What a horrible day that will be,” Malcolm replied.
Katya grinned and undressed as quickly as she could. Once her buttons were done, Malcolm stepped away to shed his clothes. He tossed them over the chair instead of folding them neatly, as usual, missing the chair entirely as he threw off his drawers.
“Really, Malcolm,” she clucked, taking more care with her chemise and drawers. “Is it so hard to fold your things?”
“It’s so hard. Let’s leave it at that.”
Of all the things that could turn her heart to butter and make her consider swallowing her pride to marry him, it had to be ribald comments like that. Heat flushed through her and her heart felt years younger as she crossed to the bed, where he was pulling back the covers.
“You’re impossible, you realize,” she said.
Instead of answering, when she drew close enough, he spun and sat abruptly on the side of the bed, tugging her off-balance and drawing her, face-down, across his lap. Before she could regain her equilibrium, he smacked her backside hard. The surprise sting was ridiculously arousing. He spanked her again, sending the ache between her legs into a full-fledged inferno.
“Malcolm, what are you doing?” she laughed in spite of the sting and the ache.
“You deserve a few more smacks for the way you’ve been flirting with Dowland this week,” he said, trying to sound stern. She knew him too well to buy the act, though. There was too much humor in his voice.
“I was not fli—”
He brought his hand down hard on her backside, and she finished her sentence with a loud yelp.
A noise in the hall instantly made her swallow what was either going to be a shout of protest or a plea for more.
“Mama, are you all right in there?” Natalia’s voice came from the other side of the door.
Malcolm tensed and cursed under his breath.
“I’m fine, sweeting,” Katya called out. “I stubbed my toe on the washstand.” She deserved a royal commendation for her acting abilities.
“All right, then,” Natalia said. “Be careful. Good night.”
“Good night, dear.”
She and Malcolm remained frozen as they listened to Natalia’s retreating footsteps, whispers from more than one of the girls in the hall, and finally, a door shutting. Then Malcolm smacked her backside again.
“Stop, stop, Malcolm,” Katya said through a rush of embarrassed and relieved laughter. “One of them might be lurking on the other side of the door. You know they all suspect what we’re up to.”
“If they’re listening,” Malcolm murmured, “you’ll just have to stay quiet as I do this.”
He brushed his hand across her pleasantly hot backside, delving his fingers into the cleft between her legs. She gasped as he stroked the wet folds of her sex, the unusual angle of his attentions adding to her arousal. He was relentless in pleasuring her, and he knew exactly how to tease her into what promised to be a fast orgasm. He also knew just when to pull back, leaving her sweating and hungry for more.
“I doubt the likes of Christopher Dowland can make you feel like that,” he purred.
His words were as good as a pail of cold water to douse her mood. She yanked away from him, standing with a sigh. “Would you kindly stop being a jealous prick?” she asked.
“As soon as you stop making eyes at every man that walks past you,” he said, clearly still thinking they were playing.
She shifted to straddle his knees, then pushed his shoulders with her full strength. He lost his balance and splayed on his back, giving
her the opportunity to position herself over him and pin him beneath her.
“For the last time, Malcolm. I am not the whore you seem to think I am,” she said unable to keep the genuine anger from her voice.
“I never said you—”
She silenced his tired old protest with a kiss, but it was a kiss on her terms. She loved Malcolm, far more than she was willing to admit to herself most of the time. But the man was an ass more often than not.
He responded to her show of dominance by circling his arms around her and kissing her as though he was the one who had started it all. His cock jutted between them, a reminder that they both gained something from their ridiculous relationship. But that was the problem. She didn’t want to do without him, without all the ways he made her feel, both physically and emotionally. Even without a ring on her finger, he could still hold what little power she had in the world hostage.
“What’s wrong?” he answered as her thoughts sapped her energy. He rolled her to her back, sliding all the way into bed with her.
“Nothing,” she said, looking away from him.
“You’re angry with me,” he said, positioning himself between her legs.
She cursed herself for wriggling her hips in invitation and for feeling so relieved when he pushed inside of her.
“I’m angry with the world,” she admitted as they moved together. He felt so good inside her, like they could actually be one in life as well as in bed.
“I’ll change the world for you,” he said, stroking her leg and lifting her thigh higher against his hips. “If you’ll let me.”
She sighed and dug her nails into his back, closing her eyes so that she could block out everything but the bliss of making love. If she let him, Malcolm would trap her in a marriage as constrictive as the one Robert had caged her in. She could see the same masculine determination to tame, to control, and to make her submit in his eyes that she’d seen in Robert. But sometimes it felt so divine to give in to his will, to have him use her as he saw fit.
“I love you, Katya,” he sighed, picking up his pace. The tension she could feel coiled in him drove her mad with desire and frustration. “I love you.”
I love you too, she thought, tears stinging at her eyes. If only loving him didn’t mean losing everything.
Chapter 7
Malcolm always slept better with Katya in his arms. In fact, he slept a little too well. The first rays of dawn were peeking through her curtains as he drifted awake the next morning. The house was already alive with thumps and footsteps, and all Malcolm could do was pray that it was the servants making the noise and not any of the children.
He scrambled out of Katya’s bed as deftly as his sated, old body could manage, knees creaking as he searched the floor for his clothes from the night before.
“Why are you making all that noise?” Katya asked in half-asleep tones, rolling to her side to face him. She was even more beautiful disheveled from sleep—and other things—than she was in full, formal regalia.
“I need to get to my guest room before the children wake up,” Malcolm whispered. He sat on the edge of the bed to pull on his socks, but was up again in a flash.
“All right,” Katya sighed, settling against the pillow again and closing her eyes. “If you want to go through all the trouble.”
Malcolm frowned at her. It was her reputation he was protecting by not being found in bed with her. Their children weren’t young anymore, and the damned things had grown far too clever for their own good.
With his shirt, waistcoat, and jacket unbuttoned and his shoes in his hand, he unlocked Katya’s door and tip-toed into the hall. As soon as he shut the door, he turned to find Rupert quietly shutting a door at the other end of the hall. Katya’s son wore a robe, the hem of his pajamas peeking out at the bottom, and he hadn’t yet shaved.
Malcolm felt a moment of panic as their eyes met—a sentiment that was reflected in Rupert’s eyes. A split-second later, rage replaced guilt, and he nearly dropped his shoes.
“What the devil do you think you’re doing, boy?” he growled, marching down the hall to stand toe-to-toe with Rupert. “If I find out you’ve interfered with Cece in any way—”
“This isn’t her room, sir, it’s mine,” Rupert answered in a tight whisper. “How dare you suggest I would dishonor Cecelia that way?”
Malcolm wasn’t sure whether to be embarrassed or not. “I know what it’s like to be a young man in love,” he said as justification. “But Cece is my daughter.”
“And Katya is my mother,” Rupert snapped.
Damn, the boy was quick. Carrying on with Katya had been much simpler when Rupert was tucked away in the nursery.
“She is,” Malcolm nodded, fighting to keep the upper hand. “And she’s perfectly capable of making her own decisions.”
Before things could get even more awkward, Malcolm squared his shoulders and marched past Rupert to the unused guestroom that was supposed to be his. As he reached for the doorknob, he could have sworn he heard Rupert chuckle. Once he was safely inside the room, he let his shoulders drop and made a face at himself in the mirror. He was far too old for these sorts of shenanigans.
It didn’t take long for him to wash, shave, and dress in clean clothes. Katya’s staff was highly efficient when it came to accommodating guests. Malcolm tried not to think about how often Katya had guests—particularly of a certain ilk—but he never had been any good at curbing his imagination, especially when it came to Katya. As much as he fought it, he couldn’t help but wonder how long it would be before Christopher Dowland would be creeping down the hall in the early morning, pretending he’d been in the guest room all night.
“Don’t be an ass,” he told his reflection as he tied his tie and straightened his jacket. Katya was and always had been her own woman, and what she got up to on her own time was her business. Or so he insisted to himself. What he actually believed in his heart was another matter. If she would just stop being so stubborn and marry him already, things would be infinitely easier.
Thoughts of marriage were still foremost in his mind as he made his way down to the breakfast room, which was why he stopped short, his heart dropping to his feet, at the sight of Cece standing near the window in her elegant, white presentation gown, Bianca and Natalia with her. Malcolm barely noticed Katya’s girls, though. His eyes were only for his own, darling angel.
“Good morning, Papa,” she said with a radiant and excited smile.
Malcolm simply stood there and looked at her. He wasn’t sure his heart could withstand her beauty. The girl whom he’d done his best to raise in a way that would make her mother proud wasn’t a girl anymore. She looked more like Tessa than ever, with her honey-blonde hair caught up in a fashionable style, her blue eyes the same shape as Tessa’s, and her smile freer than any Tessa had ever worn. There was no doubting whose daughter she was, though. Cece reminded him of everything he’d loved, everything he’d lost, and everything he continued to fight for.
“Papa, are you all right?” Cece stepped away from the window and her friends, coming to meet him in the doorway. “You look…well, honestly, you look as though you’re about to cry.”
“It’s because I am,” he answered in a strangled voice. “You look beautiful.”
“Oh, Papa.” Cece blushed and lowered her eyes, her modesty making her even more of an angel.
Malcolm opened his arms and stepped toward her to hug her, but paused. “I don’t want to crease your gown,” he said, lowering his arms and leaning in to kiss her cheek instead.
“Now you’re going to make me cry,” she said with a sniff. “I’m not finished getting ready, of course,” she went on, stepping around the table to the side where Bianca and Natalia were taking their seats. “I still have to do my hair.”
“What’s wrong with your hair?” Malcolm asked, moving to the sideboard to fix a plate of breakfast.
“She still has to style it,” Natalia informed him, as though she were an expert in all things pertain
ing to royal audiences. “Unmarried women wear two white ostrich feathers in their hair when they’re presented to the Queen. And we have ever so many more decorations to go with those feathers.”
“We bought special pins that day when we met Inspector Craig,” Bianca said, a dreaminess in her eyes that wasn’t for the pins at all.
“And while it’s not the thing to wear cosmetics at court,” Natalia went on, “we’re going to try to figure out how to put a bit more rose in Cece’s cheeks and lips.”
Malcolm grunted and brought his plate to the table. A moment later, Rupert strode into the room, looking far more presentable than he had earlier. He stopped short at the sight of Cece, looking as though he’d walked into a dream. That put the rose in Cece’s cheeks, all right.
The moment was precious, but it ended all too soon when Rupert glanced sideways toward Malcolm. “Good morning, sir,” Rupert greeted him, clearing his throat and avoiding Malcolm’s eyes.
“Morning,” Malcolm answered, far more interested in his plate than the breakfast fare warranted.
The girls glanced between the two of them with puzzled expressions, but quickly went back to fawning over Cece.
In spite of the awkwardness of that moment, breakfast was a far more agreeable experience than Malcolm was used to his meals being. Katya arrived last and made an entrance, of course.
“What a charming and well-turned-out bunch you are,” she said, looking like a page from a French fashion journal herself in a blue gown that brought out the rich darkness of her eyes. She sat immediately at the foot of the table, opposite Rupert at the head, and reached for the teapot.
“Aren’t you going to eat anything?” Malcolm asked her.
Katya made a noise, her eyes wide with wariness. “I’m far too anxious about today to eat a bite.”
“Really?” Bianca said, sending a sly smile between her and Malcolm. “I’d’ve thought you’d worked up quite an appetite last night.”