“Of course, sir.”
They changed direction and in no time descended upon the pub at the heart of life in Wetherby. Leaving their mounts with a groom, they entered the dark, lively establishment and found a table near the window.
A barmaid sidled up alongside him almost before he was fully seated, her creamy bosom jiggling and virtually spilling over the top of her too-tight dress. He cringed at the sight—a shocking realization—and hastily looked away. “What will you have tonight, gents?” she crooned in his ear, doing her best to tempt his eyes back to her.
Damnation! What the devil was wrong with him that he couldn’t enjoy such a lovely view when it was offered? Quin shook the odd sensation off. “Two shepherd’s pies. I’ll have a brandy and for my companion…?”
“Whiskey for me,” Carruthers said.
The flaxen-haired barmaid nodded and left, winking over her shoulder at him as she sashayed away.
“So,” Quin began, “there’ve been no problems during my time away? Nothing amiss? No problems with the tenants or workers?”
“No, my lord. I’ve run everything just as I always have. Haven’t made any changes since Sir Augustus hired me and we sorted out the mess your father left behind.”
Sir Augustus? Quin’s step-father had employed the man? He nodded, encouraging the steward to go on.
“A few of our workers have left over the years and others have come along. But generally they’ve all been working here as long as I have. Many of them even longer than that.” The steward smiled. “It’s really quite like a family, we’ve all been together for so long.”
A family? Ha. Quinton Abbey was no place for a family, which only made Quin’s proposition to Rotheby even more ridiculous. Sure, they were far from the prying eyes of the ton. That very privacy only allowed for nasty family secrets to fester like open wounds until they ate the flesh of their victims.
The barmaid returned with their food and drinks. “Anything else I can get you?” she asked with a come-hither smile.
Quin realized with a start that he had no intention of doing anything that could possibly be construed as going-thither. He shook his head. “Just come back in a bit with more whiskey and brandy.”
She nodded and backed away.
He downed half his brandy in one swallow. “So the staff has all been here, for what? Twenty years? Perhaps more?”
“Some for over forty years,” Carruthers said. “The head groom was here as a stable boy when Lord Rotheby was still Lord Quinton. You might recall that Mrs. Marshall was then your nurse.”
Yes. Quin remembered. She’d been the one to find him in the woods where he lay by the river after Mercy died. The one to hold him as he sobbed like the baby he would never be again. The one to pick up his bruised body from the floor after the first beating, the hot, sticky blood from his cheek staining her grey dress.
He also remembered he had a different nurse after that day. Mrs. Marshall had left him, too. They all left him.
Or so he thought.
~ * ~
Aurora dined alone. She waited until she was almost faint with hunger before she gave in and made her way into the great hall alone. Cook had graciously held the supper, keeping it warm, while Aurora waited more than two hours for Quin.
Even after she ate, she waited for him. First in the salon, then in the refectory where she pored through the massive library of books, and finally in the sitting room separating their chambers.
She’d already been through her nightly ablutions, changed into her nightrail, and was half asleep on a divan when she heard the creak of the door.
“You’re home,” she said.
Quin merely grunted. His bleary eyes bore red streaks and the stench of brandy assailed her from across the room.
Lovely. Just lovely. “Can we talk?” Though, this might not be the best time for a conversation. Blast. Still, she stood and moved closer to him.
But he didn’t walk away and close the door. He just stood there. Staring at her. Or more staring through her nightrail, at least. Aurora fought the urge to wrap her arms across her chest and cross her legs. The thin material was hardly diaphanous, but it would be hard to decipher that from the heat of his gaze.
She might as well just start. “Mrs. Marshall took me on a lovely tour of the abbey today. There are so many books in the refectory I doubt I’ll ever finish reading them all.”
Quin took a step toward her, closing the distance between them somewhat. Aurora shivered. His eyes moved over her, possessing every inch of her body with his eyes.
“And the tapestries in the salon are exquisite. I doubt I’ve ever seen their equal.”
Another step. She could almost feel him. Heat poured from him in waves, cascading over the ebbs and peaks of her body.
“Tomorrow, she’s promised to show me the gardens and the park. She says the wisteria is particularly lovely this time of year.”
One more step. His hand reached across and took hers, seemingly enveloping her in his warmth. Aurora nearly wept from the simple touch. For days, they’d been so close, but yet so far. She’d sworn to herself that she wouldn’t capitulate. That she’d be strong and not allow him to seduce her with his touch. That he’d have to make amends before she capitulated to him.
Oh, dear good Lord. She couldn’t very well surrender now.
“I particularly enjoyed the gallery. The portraits showed such a strong family resemblance.” His hand stiffened over hers, but she pressed on. “I was particularly curious about your sister and your mother.”
~ * ~
“You’ve never spoken of them,” she said.
How dare she? How dare she go snooping around the abbey, prying into his past, poking at open wounds?
“I thought I told you to stay out of my concerns,” he said. He had to walk away. He had to get control over himself again. Now.
But Aurora backed away first, pulling her hand free and holding it to her chest. Her mouth was in a perfect O and her eyes nearly matched it. “Your concerns? But they are your family. I thought”
“Stop bloody well thinking. Stop prying. Stop going behind my back to find your answers.”
Tears formed in her eyes again. Good. He wanted her to cry.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’d only hoped I could meet them some day. My own mother passed away many years ago, and I’ve never had a sister before.”
Ha. What a sight that would be. “That’s not possible,” he barked. “Mercy is dead.” She didn’t need to know about Nia, either.
Then tears poured down her cheeks like a deluge. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know. Mind your own concerns.”
Aurora turned to her chamber to leave, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her around to face him again.
“Where are you going?”
Her eyes refused to meet his. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”
Bloody hell. Now that they’d been talking, he couldn’t just let her go off to bed. He needed something. Christ, he needed her.
Badly.
But she couldn’t know. He couldn’t tell her. That would make it all too real, too permanent. Quin pressed his fingers beneath her chin, forcing it up until she looked into his eyes. “Have you forgotten? We have an heir to conceive.”
Aurora’s eyes narrowed to darkened slits. Even as he brought his lips down to crush against hers, she pushed with all her might against his chest. He’d be damned if he wouldn’t have her in his bed that night. Beneath him. Above him. Around him.
Quin bit her lip, harder than he’d intended, but it had the desired effect. She gasped. He entered her mouth with his tongue, stroking and suckling against hers. Still, she shoved against him. Quin advanced upon her, using his weight to drive her backward until she bumped into the wall.
With one hand still keeping hers enslaved, he pressed a knee between her thighs, driving it against her sex. She let out a little moan against his mouth. He could feel he
r wetness through his trousers—could smell the musky aroma of her arousal mixed with rosewater and brandy and heat.
Another pass with his knee, and Aurora gave up her fight.
Quin dropped her hands and used his to rip the front of her nightrail open, delighted at her shocked gasp. God, her breasts were perfect. Smooth and full, with nipples as hard as diamonds practically begging him to touch them.
How could he resist? He splayed his hands against Aurora’s ribcage and slid them up over her breasts. Slowly. Painstakingly slow. Her eyes closed and her breaths came in rapid succession. The juxtaposition of her taut nipples followed by soft breasts against his palms was a sensation he’d never forget. Exquisite agony. Just like everything else about her.
She moved her hips against him then, sliding her moist heat over his leg in an all-too-familiar rhythm. Quin raised his knee to help her. With his thumbs and fingers, he rolled those pert little nipples around and watched his wife come to the precipice of ecstasy.
“Yes, love,” he crooned in her ear. “Almost there.”
She was, too—panting and rocking her hips and searching for release with her eyes rolled back in her head. Deep in her throat, soft, little sounds formed.
Aurora reached down and unbuttoned the flap of his breeches, placing her hand inside and stroking his length. He kissed her again, sliding his tongue over hers to mimic her hand. When she squeezed just so, he nearly lost control. “Oh, God. Just like that, Aurora. I lo”
He cut himself off before he could finish the thought. Quin pulled away from her. Aurora stumbled when his weight no longer pinned her to the wall. Her eyes spoke to her confusion.
Walking to his chamber, Quin called out over his shoulder, “If you want me to finish what I’ve started, you know where to find me.”
He couldn’t tell her. Not now. Not yet.
~ * ~
Oh, damn and blast. The door closed behind Quin. How could he leave her in such a state? If he didn’t keep touching her, Aurora thought she might die. Her body ached for the release that only he had ever provided her.
But she’d be damned if she would follow that blasted man and beg him to finish what he’d started. With a huff, Aurora turned to her own chamber and slammed the door behind her. Hopefully he heard it. Abominable man, toying with her like that.
She riffled through a couple of her chests, hoping to find another nightrail, since he’d torn the one she had on to shreds, but with no luck. It was all too new. She didn’t know where Rose had stored anything yet.
And she couldn’t very well ring for the maid now. Not with her bosom hanging out for all the world to see.
Sleep. She’d just go to sleep and worry about her nightrail in the morning, and forget all about Quin and the way his touch made her feel. Aurora climbed into her bed and slid beneath the counterpane, willing her mind to forget all that had happened.
Her mind might have complied, but her body refused. It still thrummed for Quin’s touch, aching for his mouth. Blast him. She tried rolling over, but the movement of the bedding against her sensitive flesh sent a jolt through her body. Oh, dear good Lord. Perhaps she ought not to move at all. Maybe it would go away. Aurora lay still for as long as she could stand it. Probably not for more than a few moments, at most.
She could, perhaps, make it go away herself. Couldn’t she? With a tentative hand, she slid it over one sensitive breast. Her eyes flew open. Oh. Oh, my. That was actually somewhat pleasant. She tried it again, pressing harder this time—and attaining only a slightly better result.
At this rate, she would only keep herself up all night with trying for something that would never happen. She had no idea what to do. But Quin always knew exactly what to do.
Blast, blast, blast, damn, blast.
Aurora tossed back the counterpane and marched through her room and the sitting room, throwing back the door to Quin’s chamber with all her might. He sat completely naked on the edge of his massive bed, fully aroused, surrounded by the glow of candlelight.
“I hope you’re well and truly happy with yourself.” Aurora reached his side in three strides, and then straddled his legs, rubbing her heated center against his length. She kissed him, getting drunk from the brandy still on his tongue. “Finish it,” she said against his lips. “Please, Quin. Finish it.”
He lifted her by the hips and settled her over him. As she lowered, he filled her. Aurora waited. She waited for him to flip her to her back and come over top of her, but he just smiled.
“You finish it,” he drawled with a fiendish glint in his eye.
Oh, gracious Lord in heaven. She never knew…
~ * ~
Thank God she’d come to him. Even through two closed doors, he could hear Aurora’s little sounds as she’d tried to pleasure herself. Or perhaps he only imagined them. Either way, it was enough to send him to Bedlam with need.
Quin had won that little contest.
He won another when she attempted to leave after they were both sated, by pulling her arm until she spun around and fell atop him, her nose landing only an inch from his. “Where do you think you’re going, love?” he asked as the tickle of her hot breath danced over his lips.
“Back to my chamber,” she said with a haughty tone. “Thank you for finishing.”
Aurora pulled at her arm, but he kept his grip firm and tight. She was not going anywhere. He wouldn’t allow her to leave.
Instead, Quin rolled to his side, pulling her over the top of him to settle in by his side. He draped an arm and a leg over her, effectively trapping her where she lay. “I would prefer you to stay,” he said, not truthfully as a preference. “‘Love, honor, and obey’, remember? At the very least you can handle the ‘obey’ part of the equation.” He’d handle the love for both of them, unless he could find a way to force it to cease.
Her scowl shone through the moonlit shadows of the room. Then she squirmed and wiggled until she had her back to him.
Quin pulled her closer, wrapping both arms around her and relishing Aurora’s outraged gasp when his cock pressed against her firm little derrière. However delightful the idea of making love to her in such a position may be, he needed sleep first or else he might fall asleep inside her. It had been a rather taxing couple of days. Just to goad her a bit further, though, he took a breast in each palm and massaged them until she arched her back, pressing further into his hands. Christ, her body was so responsive. She may not love him, but her body certainly did.
He whispered into her ear, “Are you ready, love?”
“What?” she screeched. “You can’t—you wouldn’t”
Quin laughed. “Oh, I can and I will. But not now. Go to sleep, Aurora.” Before he changed his mind.
Before he fell further in love.
Before he told her.
Chapter Eighteen
18 May, 1811
I still keep my journal hidden from Quin. I do not want him to know that I’m writing, even though the things I write are really only the silly musings of a lonely wife. What a pathetic soul I am. Regrettably, I no longer have the intense urge to write, to pour my heart and soul into the ink and parchment, to while away the hours creating tales. Perhaps I am too lost to find my way out of just such a tale at the moment. I no longer know.
~From the journal of Lady Quinton
They’d settled into much the same pattern as they had in London. Every morning, Quin rose and breakfasted without Aurora, and then left to meet with his steward, or to have a discussion with the butler, or perhaps to ride over the grounds so he could meet with his field hands and tenants. He might hole himself up of an afternoon in the undercroft, which he’d turned into a brandy-filled office, and go over the reports that Mr. Carruthers gave him, or he might instead go out to the Hog’s Head and enjoy the company of the locals.
She would wake in his big, empty bed when it felt cold without his heat and go about her day alone—discussing the meals with Cook, or managing the household accounts with Mrs. Marshall, or occasiona
lly speaking with Forster about changes she wanted to make to the furnishings in the salon. Occasionally she would take some exercise by walking through the park, or speak with the gardener about the possibility of planting a rose garden.
When she ran out of things to do with the household staff, Aurora often escaped to the refectory and its endless supply of books. At least there, she could pretend she wasn’t quite so alone. The characters kept her company.
Occasionally Aurora would receive a letter from Father or Rebecca in the afternoon and she’d dash off to read it. Rebecca’s Season was turning out to be rather grand, as she’d somehow attracted three more amorous suitors in addition to the ever-present Lord Norcutt. Father was as busy as ever with Parliament. He missed her terribly, but kept himself entertained with a concert here and an opera there. She wrote back to them both immediately upon receiving and perusing their letters, careful to never let on how lonely she’d become. It would not do to worry them. So instead, she told them of grand country house parties they’d attended, and lied about how Quin would take her on picnics by the river.
The lies only hurt her, after all.
But then Aurora would wait for Quin to come home. She’d hold supper for him, hoping that he would return and share a meal with her even though she knew he never would. Then she’d go up to their sitting room and wait for him, often falling asleep due to the lateness of the hour while reading yet another book from the refectory, or working a piece of embroidery, or doing anything at all to keep her occupied other than writing in her journal.
When Quin returned home, he always smelled of brandy. He always tasted of it, too.
Each time he came to her, he’d take her book or her stitchery and set it on the table beside her, then lift her into his arms and carry her to his bed.
For as inattentive as he was to her during the day, Quin more than made up for it at night—at least in regard to physicality. Aurora had never imagined there were as many ways to perform the marriage act as he taught her. Forward, backward, upside down. Using their hands, mouths, tongues. On her knees, the floor, a table. His imagination in terms of pleasure knew no bounds. Every time she was certain he could no longer shock her, he did something even more outrageous and convinced her otherwise.
Twice a Rake (Lord Rotheby's Influence, Book 1) Page 20