Love's Misadventure (The Mason Siblings Series Book 1)

by Cheri Champagne

  Lane was a strikingly gorgeous man. From his tousled blonde hair, knowing smirk, rippling muscles, and shapely, but highly muscular legs, to his amazing and utterly attractive personality. Anna’s gaze travelled over his arousal and felt immediately swathed in blazing heat.

  In one smooth motion, Anna lifted her night rail off and flung it atop of Lane’s clothing pile. An empowered smile touched her lips at his swift intake of breath. She loved that she affected him as he did her.

  She placed her hands on his warm chest and pushed him backwards until he lay flat on the rug. She took her time exploring his body, pausing at the scar on his right arm from the bullet that had grazed him. She kissed the reddened tissue before moving on to the rest of him.

  He was warm, hard, and soft in all the desired places. She used her mouth, tongue, and teeth to tease, lick, and nip him, similarly to what he had done to her the night before. She delighted in returning the pleasure.

  She assumed that one particular act, which he had most wonderfully performed on her, could likewise be done to him.

  Slowly, she kissed her way down his body, then the tip of his stiff manhood. Lane gasped, and his member leapt before her. With a smile, she slid her tongue up and down his smooth skin, then around the tip. Heartened by Lane’s rapid breathing, she became more daring. She grasped the base of him in one hand and put the tip in her mouth. It was rather interesting. Salty and velvety…and entirely arousing.

  * * *

  Lane choked out another garbled gasp as Anna created suction with her mouth. Thunderation! He had always wondered what this particular pleasure would feel like. Now he knew. He had thought to ask for the experience before, but had never summoned the courage. Hell, he very much wished that he could allow it to continue. Unfortunately, he was perilously close to coming off in her hot little mouth, and he much preferred to climax with her.

  She bent further over him, her hair teasing his hips as she took more of him into her mouth.

  Lane groaned. “Sweet blazes, Annabel. You need to stop.”

  She lifted, her lips leaving him with a pop. Uncertainty and disappointment clouded her features. “I didn’t do it correctly. I didn’t pleasure you, did I?”

  Lane let out a startled laugh. “Anna, if you had gone on for a single moment more, I would have finished our evening before it had even truly began. You are extremely talented in that regard, I assure you.”

  Her Machiavellian expression returned to her face, accompanied by a self-satisfied grin that made his heart flip over in his chest.

  She moved over his body, and he gripped her hips, guiding her where he wanted her. She nipped at his neck, then smoothed the sting with flicks of her tongue.

  Lane could not suppress the moan that escaped as Anna grasped his cock and guided it into her slick heat, settling herself atop him. Her hair hung around them as she began to rock back and forth, and her gloriously full breasts bounced and swayed with her every movement. By damn, he could never have his fill of this woman. You are magnificent.

  “Why, thank you,” she breathed.

  He hadn’t realized that he’d spoken aloud. “It is the truth,” he grunted.

  Giving in to his desires, Lane cupped her breasts, pinching her nipples and rolling them between his forefinger and thumb.

  Anna’s eyelids closed on a moan. She was getting closer, he could tell. He hoped he could hold out long enough for her to find her pleasure.

  Suddenly, her rocking grew ragged, her breath halting. Her head fell back as she bit her lip to keep from calling out.

  The sight pushed Lane over the edge, and he let himself go, growling as he spilled himself inside her.

  With contented, panting breaths, Anna rolled to the floor beside him, resting her head on his heaving chest.

  “Goodness!” she breathed as she pressed a kiss to his glistening chest.

  Lane’s lips pulled in a crooked grin. “Come,” he murmured, rising from his reclined position and taking Anna with him.

  He lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed, placing her gently on the turned down mattress. The bedclothes were crisp, clean, and cool to the touch. He slid in next to Anna and pulled the counterpane over them.

  He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and settled her tightly against him. How could he have been so fortunate as to find a perfect woman? Not only had he discovered a consuming love, but he had also realized the remarkable delights of the bedchamber. This woman. This bloody remarkable woman had brought him into an entirely different life. And he would never let it go.

  “I love you, Anna.” Lane closed his eyes, enjoying the sound of their combined breathing.

  “I love you, too, Lane.” Anna’s muffled voice was the last thing Lane heard before he fell into a deep, satisfying sleep.

  Chapter 37

  Anna shifted in her sleep as a soft sound woke her from a dream. She ignored it and turned onto her side, her eyes still closed.

  A soft knock echoed against the wood of her door, and Anna’s eyes shot open.

  The unmistakable sound of her bedchamber door’s latch being pressed sounded next, and her heart immediately began a frantic, terrified pounding. Impossibly, time seemed to slow as she reached for the thin cotton of her bed sheet and the door swung open.

  “Terribly sorry to wake you, Anna, but I had been meaning to ask you about the—” He froze. “What the bloody hell is going on?” Charles roared, waking Lane.

  Anna sat bolt upright in bed, holding the sheet up to cover her breasts, while Lane leapt, stark naked, from under the counterpane.

  Before she or Lane had any time to react, Charles strode forward and punched Lane in the face, sending him falling back against the mattress.

  “Lane!” Anna shuffled forward on the bed, still with one hand on the sheet for modesty’s sake. “Lane, are you all right?”

  Lane held a palm to his face with a grumbled “hell and blazes.”

  “You bloody, ignoble wretch!” Charles curled his lip in disgust. “All of this time you have been feigning innocence while I labour at discovering the father of my sister’s unborn bastard child. And it was you!” He bent at the pile of clothes on the floor, picked up Lane’s trousers and threw them at Lane as he righted himself. “Cover yourself. I have no desire to see your naked arse.”

  Anna’s heart thundered. “Charles, do not do this!”

  Charles pointed a finger at her, his irate blue gaze pinning her on the spot. “You and I shall discuss this later.”

  Lane stepped into and buttoned his trousers just as Charles stepped forward to punch him again. The smack of their skin connecting and the awful crunch made Anna cringe.

  “Charles, stop!” she cried.

  “I expect silence from you, Annabel.” He didn’t take his furious gaze off of Lane.

  “He is correct, Anna.” Lane held a placating hand up to her. “I deserve what he is to give me.”

  Anna bristled. “You do not deserve it!” She turned her gaze on her enraged older brother. “Charles, this is not what it seems.”

  “No?” His frosty regard chilled her to her bones. “He is not the father of your unborn child? He did not allow me to believe that it was one of the scoundrels that abducted you? It was not he who abandoned you when he discovered you were with his child, and leave you to that rogue Lord bloody Boxton?”

  Oh dear. “He…yes. Yes, it was he. But there—”

  “That is precisely what I thought.” His eyes flared with hatred and rage as he glowered down at Lane sitting on the edge of the bed.

  “We are to be married!” Anna blurted.

  “The hell you are!” Charles roared.

  Gathering her courage, Anna slid from the bed holding the sheet to her front. “Charles, listen to me—”

  “I shall not!”

  “Damn it, Charles!” Lane said over him. “I have proposed to your sister. Twice, in fact.”

  Anna stepped forward, her heart i
n her throat. “Please understand. I accepted Lane’s proposal, Charles. This baby will not be a bastard.” Her voice strengthened as she defended her unborn child.

  Charles’ visage was dark and frightening as he stared her down. “If Lane lives past dawn.”

  “What?” Her face grew ashen.

  “As I am a gentleman and do not kill men in their skivvies—and in the presence of women—I will see you on the field of honour at dawn, Lord Devon. Choose your weapon.”

  “No!” Anna screeched. “I will not allow you to fight!” Anna’s heart plummeted, leaving a sickening hollowness in her chest.

  “Pistols,” Lane grumbled.

  Charles sent him a curt nod. “I will see you at dawn. Now get the hell out of my home.”

  Lane began gathering his remaining clothing and putting it on.

  “I repeat,” Anna said rigidly, “I will not allow you to fight! There must be some other way to resolve this.”

  Charles rounded on her. “If you think I will so much as entertain the idea of listening to your lies right now, Annabel, you are sadly mistaken. I have asked you countless times for the identity of the heartless cur that put his bastard inside you, and not once have you said that he was, supposedly, a friend to this family. You allowed me to believe that you had been raped, for God’s sake, Anna!” He shook his head in disgust. “I have all the information I require at the moment. You are not to see Lord Devon any longer, and you will begin packing your trunks tonight. You leave for Hertfordshire in the morning.”

  Anna felt certain that her pale cheeks had turned a sickly green. “Pardon?”

  “You heard me correctly. You will remain at the familial estate until the end of your confinement, at which time the baby will be given to a distant relative—”

  “No!” Anna bared her teeth at him. “You are not my father, Charles. You have no right to dictate to me—”

  “I will do whatever I damned well please when you behave like a bloody harlot in my home!” He heaved a heavy breath, his fists clenched.

  Hurt lanced through Anna’s chest, and tears sprang to her eyes, the curst things.

  “That is uncalled for, Charles.” Lane stepped between them, his waistcoat unbuttoned and his cravat hanging limp from his hand. A thin line of blood ran from his nose, down around his mouth, and along his jaw, until it dripped down his shirtfront.

  Charles’ face reddened, and the veins in his neck began to bulge. Anna feared he might have apoplexy.

  “It damned well is,” Charles protested.

  Her brother had been a soldier at war for several years, but never once had Anna seen this side of him. She had witnessed him upset and had seen him hide his pain behind his jokes, she had even observed him angry a time or two recently, but not like this. Never like this.

  Was this who he was as a soldier? Was this his demeanour when he fought and killed in battle? Lord, but she would hate to face this man again. She wished that the old Charles would return, the one from before the war—the loving and carefree brother who would have seen this situation as grounds for a marriage, not a duel.

  “Charles,” Anna pleaded, “you are cross now, but what of the morrow? There is no need to go to such extreme measures. Surely you will see things in a different light once you have separated yourself from it for a night.”

  “The devil I will,” he spat. “You’ve become a whore and our family friend has dishonoured his own good name by lowering himself to the despoiler of virgins.”

  Wholly without her control, tears overflowed her eyelids to leave hot trails down her cheeks. She turned her gaze on Lane, who had pulled his coat on and was attempting to knot his cravat without the aid of a mirror.

  She must stop this duel. She went to Lane, desperation driving her. “Lane, you do not have to do this,” she whispered in his ear. “Please. Run away with me to Gretna.”

  She could feel him shake his head. “Your brother deserves to have satisfaction,” he whispered back to her. “I will not harm him, Anna, my love. I will not shoot.”

  Anna tightened her hold on him. “I do not wish for you to be hurt,” she said helplessly.

  “Enough!” Charles barked, pushing them apart and scowling down at Anna. “You two have spent more than adequate time in each other’s company. I believe you should be packing, Annabel.” He sent her a warning glance then turned to shove Lane toward her door. “Get out.”

  Lane turned to glance over his shoulder at her before he marched through the doorway.

  Desperate, Anna grasped for Charles’ arm and spun him around. “Please, Charles! I implore you to see that we love each other!” For the briefest of moments Anna thought she’d seen regret in his gaze, but his countenance hardened to stone so quickly, she was unsure. “I love Lane.”

  His lips curled back in revulsion. “Love,” he snarled the word, as though it left an ill taste on his tongue.

  He brushed her off, unintentionally knocking her off balance and sending her stumbling back. She quickly righted herself, but when she looked back at the doorway, Lane and Charles were gone.

  How could such a peaceful, wonderful evening have concluded so horribly? Anna closed the door, tossed down the sheet, and strode angrily to her wardrobe. How could Charles have behaved so abominably? And how could Lane have accepted this fate as thought it were an expected punishment?

  She pulled a lilac, front-lacing travelling gown from her wardrobe and laid it on her bed. She might as well keep herself busy, for she would get no rest tonight.

  * * *

  Lane nudged Pegasus in the ribs as they hit a straight patch of road. His nose and jaw were still throbbing with the pounding of his heart, but the trail of blood on his face had dried and crusted, making his skin pull with every movement of his mouth.

  He should not have been so careless this evening. He should have left before submitting to sleep.

  Well, if he were to be honest with himself, he would admit that there were many things that he should have done, beginning with not taking Anna’s maidenhead at all. He could not regret it, however. Annabel was beyond anything he had ever imagined possible.

  Lane rounded the last corner before coming upon his town house. The air was crisp, the night dark, and the roads of Mayfair all but vacant. He pulled up the drive, leapt down, and walked Pegasus to the stables. The household and the stable staff would be asleep in their beds; he would need to care for Pegasus on his own. That suited Lane fine, for it would allow him time to reflect on his idiotic actions.

  There would be no hope for sleep as he faced certain injury, and probable death, come dawn.

  Lane brought Pegasus to his stall and removed his saddle.

  One of Emaline’s cats perched curiously on the side of the stall and watched as he brushed Pegasus’ coat and prepared him for the evening.

  He had not lied to Annabel when he had said that he would not shoot her brother. Charles was justified in his anger, overreact though he did, as Lane had indeed ruined his sister. It was unfortunate that Charles had caught them together this evening, as Lane had intended to speak with Mr. Bradley. The cruel irony did not escape him.

  Lane finished with his gelding and left the stall, closing and latching the door behind him. He turned to look back at Pegasus’ large, brown eyes over the stall door, then pulled an apple from a bucket and held it out to him. His horse gently accepted the apple and munched while Lane rubbed his nose.

  “That is a good fellow.”

  He inhaled a deep breath, taking in the scent of horses, leather, manure, and fresh hay, letting it out in a gusty sigh. What a fool he was.

  He turned and strode out the large stable doors, closing and latching them behind him.

  Lane shook his head in self-derision as he rounded the side of the town house toward the front steps. He must focus on what was to come. He had plenty to do before the night was through; the first of which being that he required a second for his duel. He did not have any frie
nds of whom he could request to fill that position. He could convince his valet, Peters, or the head groom, Jenkins, to be his second, but neither would be pleased or very willing to do so.

  He suppressed a groan as he opened the front door. He must clean his duelling pistols and settle his affairs, for Lord knew this night might very well be his last.

  Chapter 38

  Anna lay curled on her bed in the darkness of her bedchamber. The fire had died to only a few embers, and no candles had been left burning. Hours had passed since she had dressed and resolutely not packed her belongings.

  Charles was being unreasonable. Surely come dawn he would see that she and Lane were meant to be together.

  Her head ached from lack of sleep…and the abundance of tears that she had shed. She had listened to Charles pace angrily below stairs in his study, though he had grown silent some time ago. He was likely pouring over the books at his desk or cleaning his pistols.

  Tears stung her dry eyes once more at the thought of Lane and Charles duelling on the field of honour. She had read about duels, and not one had ended with both parties uninjured. She feared for Lane in particular, after his statement regarding not shooting. Anna suspected that Charles was entirely earnest in his fury toward Lane and indeed intended to do him harm.

  She must devise a plan that will render both Charles and Lane unharmed, and her unmoved from London. Perhaps she could appear at the duel, deliver a clever speech, and prevent them from shooting.

  She did not know where the duel was being held. Drat.

  Oh, but perhaps she could saddle Lady Maximus and follow Charles at a discrete distance when he departed.

  She could feign digestive distress and earn Charles’ sympathy and forgiveness… No. She could not be so deceitful to him. As dangerous as the course of action might be, following him was the only plan that could potentially prevent death or serious injury. Neither man would shoot if she stood between them.

  Anna swung her feet over the side of the bed and sat up. She must begin preparations.