“Of course,” he told her.
“Good, then no more talk of your leaving the city. At least not today.” She smiled prettily at him. “Now, I know that you will be standing up with your brother, and have duties as his best man that require your attention. Is that not so?” She leaned forward, just far enough to offer an enticing glimpse of her breasts as her robe gaped open.
Rian nodded in response to her question, his eyes automatically straying to the creamy alabaster skin as his groin became an inferno. This close, her fragrance was subtle yet completely overpowering, inflaming his desire. She shifted slightly and her hand brushed against his thigh. It felt like liquid lightning, and Rian bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from groaning out loud.
“Well in that case,” she continued, “you will be far too busy to pay me any attention, so why don’t we just agree to divert ourselves with other amusements until the day of the wedding?”
“You don’t want to see me until Liam’s wedding?” The question slipped out before he had a chance to think how it sounded. “Of course I want to see you, darling.” She gave a throaty purr that sent his libido racing, even though she seemed oblivious to the erection straining against the front of his trousers, blissfully unaware of the effect she was having on him. “I am simply saying I understand that you are going to be busy, and the last thing I want is to become a burden.” The round firmness of her breast pushed against his arm, and he nodded. Isabel was being perfectly logical. He needed to get up and move. Readjust his clothing at the very least. “But you don’t have to attend to any of those duties at this immediate moment…do you?” she whispered.
“What? No, not yet.”
He watched as she ran the tip of her tongue across her lips and turned predatory. “Then we have time.”
“Time for what?”
Leaning forward, Isabel kissed him on the mouth, reminding Rian of how wonderful she tasted. Her tongue teased him, while her teeth gently scraped his lower lip. She grasped his hand and slipped it inside the opening of her robe, filling his palm with the lush fullness of her breast. He automatically curled his fingers, feeling the stiff peak of her nipple rub against his skin. More than ready for him, Isabel moaned softly in his mouth as her tongue stroked his own. She dropped a hand and pressed it against his groin, promising to deliver the relief he needed.
Rian’s lust roared through him, and he groaned. Isabel pulled her mouth from his and stood up. A slight movement and the robe slipped from her shoulders and fell to the floor, leaving her gloriously naked save for the high-heeled slippers on her feet. Reaching for his hand, Isabel placed it back on her breast, a seductive smile lifting her lips as she gave a husky sigh. It was a sound that was filled with need and wanting, and she was rewarded when Rian, no longer able to deny his own hunger, pulled her down onto the couch and lost himself in the silky perfume of her skin.
Chapter 21
Rian rubbed a finger across his chin as he stared out the carriage window, seeing nothing of the scenery beyond. It had not been his intention to enjoy Isabel’s bed, or her couch as it turned out, but he also accepted that he had done little to prevent it from happening. Did that make him dishonorable? Any other woman would probably think so, but then any other woman would not have received him wearing practically nothing. He sighed. He was as susceptible as any man when it came to a beautiful, desirable woman, and there was little to be gained by berating himself over his physical reaction to the alluring presence of a skilled temptress.
He had been seduced by the perfume of her skin, the soft velvet feel as she moved beneath him, the silky whisper of her hair across his body. Allowing Isabel to arouse every sensuous fiber in him, he had answered her siren’s call like a drunk needing to slake his never-ending thirst. His mind had warned him beforehand that she might try to seduce him as a way to make him reconsider his decision. He told himself he could withstand whatever temptation was put in his way. Too bad he hadn’t checked to make sure his cock was also in agreement.
He couldn’t decide if he was more angry or disappointed in himself, although, in truth, why he should feel either was a puzzlement. He was a grown man with a grown man’s appetites. Isabel’s choice of wardrobe made it clear what she wanted, and she had both acknowledged, and then dismissed, the marriage rumor. Even if her dismissal had struck him as a little too quick, her regard too casual.
But, as he moved them both closer to their climax, he had been filled with a sensation that he had not recognized at first. It was not until he was about to satisfy the wave of his own hunger that he was able to put a name to the feeling that pulled and nagged at the edge of his mind.
Guilt.
And as he came crashing down, his breathing ragged, all he could think of was that somehow he was betraying Catherine. And this he didn’t understand at all. Wanting to end his relationship with Isabel had nothing to do with Catherine…did it?
The beautiful woman who had used him to fight against her inner demons had been a sight to behold. Completely vulnerable at the height of her fever, she had clung to him, needing his strength to keep her safe. Never had any woman so completely offered herself to him, body and soul, while asking for nothing in return. Was it any wonder she had unwittingly released in him sensations he had thought buried long ago?
The attraction he felt was not for the frightened girl who pulled away from him, but for the woman hiding inside her. The one who would not shy away from his touch, but would welcome it. The woman he hoped to meet again, very soon. In the meantime he would gain nothing by showing his feelings, and until he had a sense that Catherine would welcome his company, there was no reason to see her. He could find enough distractions to keep him occupied during the day, but the nights were not so easy.
Tossing and turning in his bed he found his sleep broken by images of a blue-eyed beauty who called to him. Like a hungry animal, she prowled through the jungle of his dreams, becoming a thirst that needed to be quenched, a hunger to be fed, and making his own needs rise in response. Rian found the only way to appease the fire that flamed within him was to sit by Catherine’s bedside and keep watch over her while she slept.
Now he leaned back against the padded carriage seat and closed his eyes. What had happened with Isabel was regrettable, but could not be taken back. He would, as promised, escort her to his brother’s wedding, and then return to Oakhaven and not see her again. His departure from the city would allow her to give whatever pretext she chose to explain the demise of their relationship. He had made a mistake in making love to Isabel, and he cursed his own foolish male susceptibility for it.
* * * *
Seated at her dressing table, Isabel began to restore order to her hair. Brushing the dark locks, she replayed the encounter with Rian once more in her mind, recalling every word, every gesture, and every nuance. It all unfolded into a scenario that did not please her. Even though Rian had made love to her with as much skill as ever, something was different this time. She could feel it the moment he took her in his arms.
In the past their lovemaking had always been filled with a sense of abandon and spontaneity that exhilarated her, but this time Rian had been careful, restrained even. It was as if only his body had been aroused while his mind had been…elsewhere. She slammed down the silver-backed hairbrush as the truth hit her.
How dare he! While he’d been making love to her, he’d been thinking of someone else!
Suddenly she began to laugh, but it was a vicious, ugly sound. Though he hadn’t said it, Rian was looking to replace her, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out who aspired to slip between his sheets and curl herself around his magnificent body. The dockside whore he had rescued had managed to cleverly drive a wedge between them. One strong enough to make Rian believe he had feelings for the strumpet.
Isabel stared at her reflection in the mirror before picking up the brush and resuming her task. She knew Rian well enough to know he had not yet taken the girl to his bed. If he had, nothing she di
d could have induced him to make love to her. The face that looked back at her became thoughtful and calculating. If Rian had coupled with her once, then he would do so again. She knew how to arouse him, how to make him want her. As for the whore, well, she had no idea whom she was dealing with…but she would soon find out.
Putting down the hairbrush a little more gently this time, Isabel moved to her writing desk. Quill in hand, she scribbled a hasty note. She had to act quickly, unable to afford the luxury of wasting any more time. Her rival had been under Rian’s roof for too long already. Her plan was not complicated. She needed to find out all she could about the other woman, exploit her weaknesses, and then dispose of her. It was a method that had always served Isabel well.
Folding the sheet of parchment, she melted wax and affixed her seal to the note. She was not the type of woman who would meekly accept being replaced, and if Rian thought for one minute that he had seen the last of her, either in or out of his bed, he would soon discover that he was gravely mistaken. She would not give him up so readily. This temporary madness of his would pass. It had to because she had quite set her heart on becoming the future Mrs. Rian Connor. And Isabel always got what she wanted.
* * * *
John Fletcher made his living by listening. He was constantly surprised at how such a simple task was so difficult for most of the human race to master. No one ever really listened to what was being said which, on reflection, was a good thing or else he might not have been able to achieve the success he had in life. A quiet, nondescript man, he exuded an air of confidence that inspired complete strangers to reveal their innermost thoughts to him. And with this unique talent, he became the repository of a great many details about a great many things. He was a gatherer of knowledge. A keeper of secrets.
His sharp mind, coupled with a talent for knowing the optimum moment to use the information he gathered, earned him a reputation as a man who could get things done. It also took him from the slums of his birth to the finest salons and drawing rooms of the aristocracy. Recognizing that discretion was the most valuable weapon in his arsenal, he became so accomplished that it was rumored some members of the Royal Family had availed themselves of his talents. It was a rumor John Fletcher wisely chose to neither confirm nor deny.
His first brush against the fringes of respectable society came when his name was whispered in the ear of Lord Howard’s first wife. Unbeknownst to her husband, she had foolishly used a family heirloom as collateral to cover a gambling debt. With the obligation satisfied, she found retrieving the diamond necklace had proved unexpectedly difficult. A single meeting between John and her ladyship was all that was needed before the brilliant gems found their way back to their rightful owner. Lady Howard never asked what means of persuasion had been used to recover her property, suspecting that even if she had, John would not have told her.
It soon became apparent that foolish choices were made just as easily by the rich as the poor, and John seized the opportunity to make himself useful in a wide variety of ways. Lady Howard discreetly circulated his name amongst her friends, becoming his unofficial patron, and he was genuinely sorry when she died.
It did not take him long to see that Lord Howard would not last six months without a wife, much less the year that society demanded. He became instrumental in making sure his lordship, seeking a diversion from his grief, was introduced to a dark haired young beauty who was more than willing to offer comfort to the grieving widower. Desire quickly turned into infatuation and marriage was quickly proposed, which the young woman eagerly accepted.
Like others before him John was under the spell of the young, vivacious Isabel Blackwood, but his fascination with her walked an entirely different path. In most men Isabel whetted the carnal appetites, but John’s interest was on a different level and he had no physical desire for her. Though he liked women well enough to bed them if that was a necessary requirement to obtain his goal, in general he felt quite ambivalent toward the fairer sex. Beyond Isabel’s sexual flirtations was a determination to rise above the accident of her birth at all costs, and he was filled with an admiration for her cunning instinct for survival. It was much like his own, and John wondered if she knew the common link they shared. The rich were not the only ones with secrets to keep.
Lord Howard was so besotted with his young bride-to-be that he was willing to overlook the issue of her parentage, but a past indiscretion could not be ignored. Should certain facts become common knowledge after they wed, Lord Howard would have no option but to divorce his young bride. John proved his usefulness by persuading the indiscretion to pledge himself to service in His Majesty’s Navy. The aid of a press gang helped the foolish youth cement his decision. Grateful to have her problem solved, Isabel tried to thank John by inviting him to her bedroom, but he had politely suggested they enter into a more mutually beneficial arrangement. One where any services he might provide for her were rewarded with coin of the realm. Over the years it had become a most satisfactory agreement.
Now, as he scanned Isabel’s hastily scribbled note, a look of concern crossed his face. This was out of the normal scope of their business dealings. Isabel was adept at using financial ruin as a way of attaining her objectives, and he was just as good at furnishing her with the details she required. But this time her request was different. It was personal.
He sat in his modest suite of rooms and came to a decision. He would not entrust this matter to anyone else. The present Lady Howard, like her predecessor, whispered his name into many ears, helping him to build on his success. John knew as little about Rian Connor as anyone, but he was confident that it would only be a matter of time before a maid could be persuaded to disclose the secrets of her master’s house to him. He could be patient, and he would persuade Isabel to follow his lead, for they both had a personal stake in her future.
Chapter 22
Felicity Pelham was blessed with what was called a quiet beauty. While not plain, she did not possess the type of prettiness that would warrant a second glance. Able to blend into the background at any gathering, she was frequently overlooked, something she took advantage of as often as she could. As an only child she had been raised to be a loving and dutiful daughter, and it never crossed her mind to question the influence her parents had over her life. She deferred to their judgment in all important matters, and never more so than on the subject of a suitable husband. It had been a wonderful shock to discover her father thought Liam Connor would be an excellent choice.
Lured by the promise of a generous dowry, along with even more wealth attached to the Pelham name, many suitors had asked for Felicity’s hand. All had been rejected. Charles Pelham loved his daughter and prided himself on being perceptive enough to notice if a young man caught her interest. None did until Liam Connor. A blind man would have seen the flush on her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes whenever his name was mentioned. It was a sparkle he had first noticed when Felicity had been barely more than a child. And so he had taken it upon himself, as a loving father, to take a more active interest in the young man who had turned his daughter’s head.
There was a certain quality about the younger of the two Connor boys. A quality that spoke of a serious bent of mind. One similar to his daughter’s. No one could tell Charles why, at close to thirty, Liam had yet to take a wife, but suspecting it would please his daughter, he agreed to the courtship. Other than his own choice of wife, and fathering Felicity, Charles Pelham soon came to realize it was one of the best decisions he had ever made. So when Liam asked for Felicity’s hand, he was delighted to give it.
News of the Pelham-Connor engagement spread quickly, and the more vicious tongues lost no time wagging. Before long it was generally concluded that the marriage was nothing more than a business venture. The merger of land and money. The gossips would have been most put out if they had only known how single-minded Liam had been in the pursuit of his bride. He would have taken Felicity with no dowry, and no prospects.
But he had been delight
ed to discover his fiancée possessed a fine brain, and with the proper encouragement, she could converse quite animatedly on a wide variety of subjects. Indeed, when engrossed in a subject she was knowledgeable about, Felicity’s confidence grew, making the quiet beauty very loud indeed. In his heart Liam knew he wanted to share his life with no other.
To Felicity, Liam was the answer to a prayer she had only had the courage to whisper to herself in the dark. She had been ridiculously happy to know he still remembered the timid girl who spent one glorious summer tagging along with him and his brother as they roamed the countryside. Rian, being the eldest, gave permission for her to join them, but it was Liam who took care of her. Offering his hand when she needed help climbing over a stile, carrying her piggyback across a stream so her boots wouldn’t get wet. And it was Liam who gently wiped away her tears and comforted her when she fell and skinned her knees. Was it any surprise she had fallen in love with him?
Emily Pelham, away visiting a sick relative, had been horrified on her return to discover just how and, more to the point, with whom her daughter had been spending her days. Declaring both Connor boys to be totally unsuitable as playmates, she had put an immediate end to the friendship. Sometimes Felicity wished they all could have known each other better growing up, but her mother had spoken and no one was going to defy her wishes.
Through the years, Felicity comforted herself with her daydreams. Sitting unnoticed in the kitchen, she would perk up when a conversation mentioned the latest mischief involving the Connor boys. Usually Rian was the subject of the conversation, but every now and then Liam’s name would be thrown into the mix. It was generally agreed that Liam was the more sensible of the brothers. Rian reminded Felicity of a thunderstorm. Unpredictable and wildly exhilarating but far too exhausting for the likes of her. Liam was the calm that came after the storm. Still, it was said about the village that when riled, usually in defense of his sibling, Liam’s temper was quick to rise, and only a fool would underestimate him. Temper or not, Felicity knew her heart would belong to no other.
Mischance (Corsets and Carriages) Page 16