Stella Cameron

by Fascination

  Arran nodded slowly.

  She expelled a long breath and continued, “The very first time I saw you, I knew there were certain things that drew us together. I couldn’t have explained them clearly then, except to say that we were two people with a passion for an art. And that we were both forced to indulge that art in secret.

  “Niall, you and I need to be free. Your anger and wildness—particularly toward me when I am your only friend—proves it. We must help one another.”

  Unbelievable. She had actually managed to completely romanticize the truth. “This is most illuminating,” he said slowly.

  “You agree with me. Good. Now, listen. It is possible the marquess will not send for me at all. That will mean that I must leave, but I cannot dream of doing so without offering to take you with me.”

  He was speechless.

  “Say nothing. Let me talk. First things must be attended to first. We will give the situation a few more days. If his lordship continues to ignore my presence, I shall arrange to take Mama back to London, and if you wish, you shall come with me. I promise to make a place for you wherever we go. It is the least I can do for a like soul. Is that clear?”

  “Clear?”

  “Perfect. However, if I am summoned to the marquess, I shall go. Never let it be said that I am not brave, and in truth, I do desperately need the money a marriage to him would bring.” She wrinkled her tip-tilted nose. “If a marriage takes place, I shall ask Father Struan to forgive me for hoping it is short-lived.”

  “A good notion.”

  “I’m glad you think so. I wish I could forget that I have become so calculating a woman.” She lowered her lashes. “However, and this is of the utmost importance since my very life may depend on it, you must protect me against any bodily danger the marquess may represent.”

  “How—”

  “By being ready, of course. I have it entirely worked out. If and when the marquess calls me to discuss our marriage—should a marriage be about to take place—you will position yourself where you can come to my aid. If he pounces upon me, that is.”

  “Pounces?”

  “Yes, yes, I admit it’s unlikely that a dying man confined to bed would be particularly adept at pouncing, but one never knows. It will be simple for you to be near him. So you are to crouch somewhere so that he cannot see you, and be present all the while I am with him. Of course, if the marriage takes place, we shall have to work out elaborate plans for my ongoing safety. You won’t mind that, will you?”

  “Why should I?”

  “Naturally you won’t. After all, we are to become the most faithful of companions.” The smooth skin between her brows puckered. “And we will be able to make the best of what happened between us the other night? We won’t let it stand between us?”

  “I’m sure we won’t.”

  “Wonderful. Then we have settled everything. I’ll

  be certain to send word to you if the marquess summons me.”

  Those three hours of missed sleep were making themselves felt—or was he merely losing his mind? Marshaling a neutral tone, he asked, “What exactly will you have me do if the summons comes?”

  Grace regarded her painting once more. She closed one eye and reached to lengthen a stroke—the single gold stroke. “You will conceal yourself behind the Savage’s bed curtains.”

  Chapter 10

  Her talents, Melony Pincham decided, had definitely been ignored for far too long. Through the ajar door leading from Mortimer’s dressing room into his wife’s chamber, Melony listened to her sister and brother-in-law argue.

  Poor Theodora. So obviously past her prime. So obviously and pathetically clinging to the faded shreds of her youth.

  True, Hector McFie’s news must have been a considerable shock to dear Mortimer and Theodora—but there was certainly no cause for panic.

  Melony knew what needed to be done.

  Melony’s talents were about to become fully utilized.

  “You were so certain there was no hurry,” Theodora said. She turned this way and that before her dressing table glass in the tastefully blue and gold room she could never have furnished herself, and finally decided to spear a third diamond-encrusted comb into her too fussily dressed brown hair.

  Mortimer’s voice was lost to Melony, but whatever he said brought Theodora swinging around to face him, her thin cheeks flushing. “I certainly do blame you, Mortie. Roger’s inheritance is at stake here. That—that man’s holdings are our dear boy’s one chance at the future he deserves.”

  “Arran’s fortune is me own one chance at the life I deserve, don’t y’know.” This time Melony heard

  him clearly. “And yours, of course, m’dear. Naturally I want Roger to have the best, and so he shall—after we have had the best. There’s more than enough.”

  Melony smiled and wound one of Mortimer’s white silk evening scarves about her neck. How like Mortimer and Theodora to make no mention of the fortune Mortimer’s father left him and which had already been squandered. She, Melony, would be the one to have the very best out of all this. First she must play her hand with Mortimer and Theodora, and play it exactly right. Then she would be ready to play the other part she had in mind.

  “What exactly are you primpin’ for, m’dear?” Mortimer said. “I’d have thought your time better used preparing for tomorrow’s journey.”

  Theodora ignored him. Bending before the glass to assess the flow of her large breasts from the too tight green dress she wore, she dabbed cologne into her cleavage and turned sideways to achieve another angle.

  “We leave at dawn,” Mortimer said in his familiar tetchy tone. “I hardly think your best and admirable feature will be particularly noted at Kirkcaldy.”

  In his youth, Mortimer had been a man to turn any female’s head. Back then he’d given full rein to his penchant for untried girls. Many had run from that. Not Melony. She raised her chin. She and Mortimer had shared entertaining moments before her marriage to Pincham ... whilst Mortimer had been courting Theodora. Melony used an end of the silk scarf to smother a laugh. She had always outshone silly Theodora.

  Mortimer remained handsome, in a slightly blurred way. The drink had done its worst, Melony supposed. Dark blond hair was still thick upon his head, curling in a charming manner across his brow and at his nape, and his eyes were still a disconcertingly silver shade of gray. True, at forty his cheeks were not so lean and his full mouth had developed an even sulkier droop, but he was carnal to the core, and Melony was woman enough to appreciate his potential. Yes, Mortimer hadn’t lost his power to excite.

  If Theodora’s breasts had not been overlarge, her figure would be regarded as relentlessly scrawny. Melony sniffed and ran her hands up over her hips and belly. She had a body no man would ignore. From any angle. And her hair was not brown but auburn, thick and heavy and shimmering with light. And her eyes were not brown but violet, exactly like the velvety flower, as so many gentlemen had told her. Marrying old Edediah Pincham had been a pity and a waste, but how was she to know he hadn’t a fraction of the blunt he’d claimed to have when he offered for her? Well, that was over. Edediah was poisoning the roots of daisies in a Devonshire churchyard, and she was on her way to becoming a rich woman at last.

  She put her eye to the crack for a better view and drew her mouth into a tight line. For all he disdained his boring wife, Mortimer was smiling at her now—leering more like—and plunging a hand into her bodice.

  “Not now!” Theodora said, squealing. “I am quite distracted with all this fuss. You should not have been so leisurely in your dealing with the business of your cousin’s possible marriage.” But she only flapped ineffectually at Mortimer’s hand, and when he lifted one obscenely huge breast into full view, Theodora leaned toward him, smiling with lustful anticipation.

  Disgusting.

  Word had it that foolish King George IV’s latest mistress, Lady Conyngham’s, most notable feature was what Polite Society delightedly called an “enormous balcony.”
No doubt if Theodora were present in the company of the king and his “prime bit of stuff” at any time during the royal visit to Edinburgh later in the year, there might be quite a competition for Outstanding Dairy Specimen.

  “I was to have received word if there was any truth to Calum Innes’s burblings at White’s,” Mortimer said. He now had Theodora’s bodice pushed down over her stays, allowing him to play with the only thing that could possibly interest him about the woman. “My source failed me. But since this supposed fiancée has been at Kirkcaldy more than a week and no wedding has been announced, I think we may assume that Arran has retired into his customary tiresome seclusion.”

  “Such a handsome man,” Theodora said to the top of Mortimer’s head. Her lips parted and her eyes closed. “Hurry, Mortie. I really do have such a lot to accomplish this evening.”

  “Hurry?” Mortimer asked indistinctly, backing her against the foot of the damask-draped bed. “Why should we not take our time?”

  “You know we cannot,” Theodora said, giggling.

  Melony heard loud suckling sounds and wrinkled her nose. Why did Mortimer not simply send Theodora away? There was serious business to discuss.

  “How do you intend for us to proceed?” Theodora said, panting. Mortimer pulled her skirts up about her waist.

  “We shall arrive unannounced. It was brilliant of you to persuade Hector to spend the night and attend the Parsonbury estate auction tomorrow.” He undid his trousers and let them fall about his ankles. “We’ll be at Kirkcaldy before Arran can be warned that we are coming. Spread your legs.”

  “Really, Mortie,” Theodora whined in her own special little-girl voice. “You can be so crude.”

  His response was to bend her over the foot of the

  bed and plunge into her. “As crude as you want me to be, lovie. As crude as you are yourself. We know what we like.”

  Melony ground a hand between her legs. A burning ache leaped into her belly. She could see how Mortimer’s slick rod withdrew, and thudded home again. Theodora cried out, hoisting herself until her body’s weight lay on the bed, and she wrapped her legs around Mortimer’s muscular hips.

  Insupportable. Melony stifled her own gasp. She could not look away.

  Mortimer’s satisfied grunt mingled with another of Theodora’s shrieks, and the whole sordid little performance was over. They parted and quickly replaced their clothing.

  “Where are you going, m’dear?” Mortimer asked, tugging his waistcoat straight.

  “I already accepted an invitation to a little gathering at Lady McGrath’s. If I don’t put in an appearance, tongues will wag. Better to let everything appear as usual, don’t you think?”

  “Much better.” Mortimer helped Theodora arrange her breasts in her bodice once more and bent to kiss a nipple before tucking it away and murmuring, “Always a pleasure, lovie. Always has been.”

  “And always will be,” Theodora said, smiling coyly. “Whilst I’m at the McGraths, I’ll mention an unexpected visit to your Rossmara relative. That should silence any gossip.”

  “It should indeed.”

  They parted pleasantly, Theodora sweeping from the room with the satisfied pink face of a woman well serviced.

  Melony heard Mortimer hum. He turned toward the dressing room, and she sank back behind hanging clothes.

  The door opened, casting a slice of light from the bedroom across the dark, narrow space. Mortimer

  closed the door behind him and continued to hum as he passed through on his way to his own chamber.

  “Come and find me,” Melony crooned. “If you can.”

  “What the ...!”

  There was silence then. Silence and darkness.

  “Guess who’s here, Mortimer.”

  He made no sound, no movement, and Melony grinned. “We need to talk, my love.”

  “Then we must indeed do so,” Mortimer said, and she heard how desire already thickened his voice. “Come out now.”

  “Find me.”

  “I fear it might take longer than I can wait—for our conversation.”

  “Try.”

  Clothes began to swing and Melony pushed herself into a corner, giggling. She dragged the square neck of her chemise lower. The chemise was all she wore over daring red silk drawers an admirer had brought from France.

  “Where are you, you teasing little baggage?” Mortimer demanded. “Enough of this. Come out to me, now.”

  “Are you too tired for more chase?” she asked sweetly, and grinned at his curse. “Now, now. If you will disport yourself in full view with that cow you’re married to, who can you blame but yourself if you’re observed?”

  “We were not in full view,” Mortimer said, and he found Melony’s shoulder. Yanking, he pulled her out and held her firmly whilst opening the door to his chamber.

  “You always thrill me when you’re violent,” she told him, wetting her lips and laughing up into his flushed face. “I forgive you for wasting yourself on

  her. We will call it a small exercise to ready yourself for more taxing things.”

  A slow smile spread his full mouth. “What in God’s name are you doing in my dressing room? While I’m with my wife? And wearing almost nothing?”

  She tossed her head and reached up to remove pins from her hair.

  Mortimer took advantage of the opportunity to cover her breasts and push them up inside their scanty lawn covering.

  “Naughty,” Melony said, letting her hair cascade down, but keeping her hands where they were. “Naughty but so nice.” She rocked slowly from side to side, rubbing her nipples against his palms.

  Mortimer’s nostrils flared and, in a single motion, he ripped the chemise down to the waist.

  “So naughty,” Melony said, covering his hands on her swelling flesh. “And in far too much of a hurry. Silly Theodora had to leave. I want to stay and stay.”

  “I can’t wait for you.”

  “Yes you can. I want you to. Waiting makes you better. We both know that. I like you strong, Mortimer, strong and slow. I know what we’re going to do about your cousin.”

  His eyes shifted instantly from her breasts to her face. “That’s no affair of yours.”

  “It certainly is. I have a plan that cannot fail.”

  For an instant he regarded her lips. Then he kissed her, bit her mouth until she moaned while he began undoing his trousers again.

  Melony dragged her mouth away. “Listen.” Her appetite could match Mortimer’s and a dozen other men in any day. And she was growing bored with too few readily available candidates to draw upon. “Stonehaven is a recluse, am I correct?”

  “Correct. I want to do what we did last time.”

  “Oh, we will.” Her skin tingled and she shuddered at the thought. “Obviously this insipid thing Calum Innes secured doesn’t have the fire to draw your cousin into bed. But, given time and necessity, he’ll get to it.”

  “I’ll make sure he doesn’t.”

  “We’ll make sure he doesn’t.”

  “I want you now.”

  “Patience. You’ll last longer, and you’ll like that.”

  “You’ll like that.”

  She chuckled. “Oh, yes. You are going to compromise Lord Stonehaven’s little virgin. And we may be certain she is a virgin.”

  Melony felt Mortimer’s fingers dig into her flesh and she drew back her lips from her teeth. She’d known that would secure his attention.

  “Deflowering an innocent is a chore, I know, but what better man to do it than one with your experience?”

  “Go on,” he said with a deep intensity that sent Melony’s blood thundering through her veins. “How exactly am I to accomplish this?”

  “With my help. We’ll be at Kirkcaldy by late tomorrow afternoon. You will immediately show yourself sympathetic toward this creature and offer your help in all things. She has no father, I hear, no male relative. Offer your services. All of your services.”

  Absently Mortimer massaged Melony’s breasts un
til she clutched at his shirt, dragging it undone, pulling at his waistcoat until his chest with its gray-flecked dark hair was bared.

  “I think my cousin may rouse himself if he hears that I am using my charm on his fiancée. And I’ve no doubt that he’ll hear. I’ve seen how that castle moves about him like a smoothly oiled pistol. They all listen for his whispered commands as if he were some hidden, all-powerful god.”

  “The solution is obvious,” she told him. “You

  distract the female and make certain your cousin no longer considers her a suitable wife.”

  Mortimer stared at her.

  “He will not want a bride who has made a gift of her maidenhead to you.”

  He smiled and ran his tongue over his lips. “What if the girl doesn’t cooperate? She could be determined to accomplish the match. After all, the rewards will be considerable.”

  As if she were not considering those rewards above all else. “I’ve thought of these things. I shall help you, Mortimer, my love. I shall befriend her. She will not question a short, pleasant outing to a place upon which we settle. You will be there. I am a very strong woman, remember. Between us we shall carry our task to its conclusion.” She shuddered again. “The thought is not without appeal. In fact, a most exciting interlude should be ours, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, I do think so.”

  Melony rose to her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck. Gazing adoringly into his steel gray eyes, she contemplated her personal plan—to provide the dear, cuckolded marquess with solace. His fury at his betrayal should make him a willing recipient for the solace Melony understood best. Then she would have to see, but with good fortune she might find herself the new Marchioness of Stonehaven.

  That was her goal.

  She reached up and drew Mortimer’s bottom lip between her teeth—and filled a hand with his heavy manhood.

  Mortimer groaned, and broke free like a crazed animal. As always, his strength frightened and thrilled Melony. It thrilled her more.