Windemere’ (The McKenzie Brothers)

by Kimberly Nee

  “Don’t you get it, Georgie? She did what she did, and she did it out of loyalty and friendship. If you had no intention of asking Miss Adams for her hand, why not just say so? No good gentleman plays two rival ladies along. It’s in poor taste, and you will end up the loser.”

  George’s shoulders slumped, and he ran a hand through his hair. “I- because I don’t know what my intentions are. I don’t expect you to understand, McCallister. You of all people.”

  Without thinking, Julian grabbed two fistfuls of George’s shirt and yanked him close until they were practically nose to nose. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

  “No one expects you to marry. No one expects you to bind yourself to one woman. No one is troubling themselves with what woman—what tart you decide to while away an evening with. So why should I expect you to know anything about my situation?”

  “Come with me.” Julian dragged him away from the desk and toward the doors. “You are talking to her, and you’re fixing this.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “Don’t even test me, George.”

  George stumbled, but Julian didn’t halt his stride. Instead, he opened one fist, and shifted to pull George along behind him. Enough was enough.

  “You really are mad, aren’t you?” George sputtered, tripping again—this time over the edge of the hallway runner.

  “That’s what they say,” Julian retorted. “Are you sure you want to see just how mad I can be?”

  People milled about in the hallway between the music room and ballroom, and Julian greeted several, all the while maintaining his hold on George. It earned them several wide-eyed stares, but he ignored them as he peered into the music room. No Emma.

  “This is ridiculous,” he muttered, then turned to say to George, “You know, your situation is hardly complicated. Or it wasn’t, until you had your head turned by a quick piece.”

  “Mr. McCallister!” George jerked his head toward the two couples staring at them from near the piano.

  “Oh, are you afraid someone will hear me?” Julian jerked on his shirtfront to get him moving again.

  “Well, you did promise—”

  “And you know how reliable we mad men are.”

  “Yes, but—”

  Julian tugged him around the corner and offered a silent prayer of thanks when he heard Emma’s voice. If he spent much more time hunting for her, he’d have punched George just for the hell of it.

  As they neared the room at the end of the hallway, George said, “Is that all you see Darcy as? A quick piece? If so, then you’re a fool.” His words tumbled over each other as they spilled from his mouth. “She’s a fascinating creature, McCallister. Your head would spin, knowing half of what she knows. She’s bright and funny and she reads. Books, Mr. McCallister. Rose doesn’t read. She cannot be troubled with turning pages or using her imagination. She’d rather sit and sew or paint.”

  “Frankly, I don’t give a damn.” Julian stopped short right outside the door, which was ajar. “And if I were you, I’d shut my mouth now.”

  George twisted to break Julian’s hold on him. “What are you doing?”

  “You’re talking to Rose if I have to knock you down and sit on you in there.” He jabbed at the door.

  “The hell I am.”

  “The hell you’re not.”

  With that, Julian threw open the door and grabbed George by the elbow to shove him over the threshold. Rose and Emma sat with their backs to the door, and both jumped as the door slammed into the wall.

  “McCallister, you—”

  “Go. And don’t test me.”

  “George? What’s going on?” Rose looked from Julian to George and back. “Why is he threatening you?”

  Julian glared at George, folding his arms over his chest. “Talk to her.”

  Rose stepped toward them, her forehead wrinkled. “Talk to me about what?”

  Behind her, Emma pressed her lips together and her eyes were bright. It did wonders to lift the fury tensing the muscles across Julian’s shoulders and down his back. She looked as if she was fighting off a smile, but as George remained silent, the urge to hit him roared back.

  “George, isn’t there something you wanted to say to Miss Adams?” Julian had to push the words out.

  “I—er—that is, I—”

  Muffling an oath, Julian jabbed him in the back. George stumbled forward, bumping into the piecrust table nestled against the arm of a sofa. Julian winced as a small porcelain figure wobbled then hit the floor, where it shattered on contact.

  “I beg your pardon,” George stammered, kneeling to pick up the shattered remains of the figurine.

  Julian rubbed one temple as George set the pile of china bits on the table with utmost care. It wouldn’t take much for him to break another figure over George’s head, if he didn’t say something soon.

  Then George cleared his throat. “Yes, Rose. May I have a word with you?”

  “About what?”

  “About—well, about—”

  “Just say it,” Julian gritted.

  “Mr. Hadley, what do you want?” Emma slid her arm about Rose’s shoulders, as if to protect her.

  “I need to speak with Miss Adams.”

  He said it without even a hint of that annoying stammer. He sounded so much stronger than he had only minutes earlier. Julian stared at him as if he’d never seen him before.

  She folded her arms over her chest and stared up at them, not smiling. “What makes you think I wish to speak with you?”

  Julian ducked his head to hide his grin. For a moment, she sounded exactly like Emma, although Emma would have hit him by now.

  “Miss Adams, please…it will only take a moment.”

  Julian’s grin faded. What if he’d managed to get George to admit the truth about Darcy, only to have Rose decide she was done with him altogether? Emma would never let up if she couldn’t fix what she saw as her doing.

  Rose stared at George, her lips pursing and then returning to normal. “What’s this about, George?”

  “I want to explain…” He rubbed the back of his neck and shuffled his feet. “About Miss Penrose.”

  “I see.”

  The silence in the room grew uncomfortably long, broken only by the gentle tap of Rose’s forefinger on her arm. “What about her?”

  “Well, I—” George cast a glance at Julian, as if he was afraid Julian would poke him again.

  “Miss Adams, please…Just hear me out.”

  “Very well. What is it?” Rose asked, her voice tight.

  Emma came around Rose and her fingers brushed Julian’s. He caught himself before he sucked in a sharp breath when her hand slipped into his. Aside from that first jolt, it felt natural, as did her fingers threading through his, but as their skin touched, electricity crackled between them.

  Rose glanced over at them through narrow eyes, and Julian took the hint. Privacy. Very well. That was fine with him, as he had no desire to witness this anyway. Tugging gently on Emma’s hand, he murmured, “They can figure this part out on their own. I think it safe to say we’ve done all we can do here.”

  “Thank you,” Rose called as Julian steered Emma back toward the door. He raised a hand in response then guided Emma through the doorway. There, he pulled the door closed to lean against them. “I think we might have been successful. If neither decides to be stubborn, anyway.”

  But instead of smiling, Emma looked downcast. “I’m not so certain that’s a good thing now. She seemed quite insistent to me that Miss Penrose was doing her a great favor by trying to nab George from her.” The skin between her brows creased. Her fingertips went white as she pinched the bridge of her nose. “And now she’s having second thoughts about him.”

  “Well, it’s in their hands now.” He fought to keep his gaze from wandering down to the enticing slope of her breasts. It wasn’t easy, as the low scalloped neckline of her gown offered up such an enticing view. He could almost feel those small, firm mounds
in his palms, could almost feel her soft nipples as they hardened beneath his thumbs.

  Now was not the time to be thinking such scarlet thoughts, but unfortunately, once the floodgate opened, he couldn’t stop them. He wanted to kiss the frown from her lips and smooth that crease between her brows. He wanted to peel the layers of silk and linen from her body, to pin her beneath him, to feel her wrap all around him as he drove into her.

  He rubbed his forehead as if that would make the lusty thoughts leave his mind. It did nothing of the sort. If anything, the ache inside him worsened. His breeches grew tighter. The empty corridor stretching in both directions served as a reminder that it would be too easy to pull her into one of the empty rooms and ravish her until they were both breathless and sated.

  “Julian?” Her voice broke through the fog steaming his mind as her hand came to rest on his forearm, and his entire body snapped to attention. “Are you all right?”

  He cleared his throat. “I’m fine. It’s been a long day, and the next few don’t promise to be any shorter.”

  Her hand remained on his arm. Her warmth seeped into him. Lust wove through it, growing stronger as it spread through him. An odd buzzing filled his head, made it spin. A heaviness settled into his groin. Damn it. It was going to drive him mad if he wasn’t careful. Every bit as mad as gossips hinted he was.

  That broke the stranglehold of lust on his body.

  “Are you still planning on leaving for Boston?”

  When Darcy looked up at him through lowered lashes, he felt nothing. But when Emma did it, it made thinking clearly almost impossible. His tongue felt thick, sluggish to form sounds.

  “Yes.” He managed to push out.

  The tip of her tongue darted out to touch the middle of her bottom lip, and the fist tightened on him again. So much for relief. “Don’t do that,” he gritted.

  Her eyes widened with innocence. “Do what?”

  Without thinking, he caught her by the chin and dragged his thumb over her bottom lip.

  It was soft and supple and he didn’t miss the sharp intake of her breath or the sudden stiffness of her spine. Her eyelashes fluttered, lowering to lay against her cheeks like sooty crescents. When she peered up through the fringe, he almost groaned. Did she have any idea what that heavy-lidded gaze invited?

  Desire spilled into him like boiling water into a mug, scorching him from the inside out.

  As he grazed her lip again, she caught his thumb between both lips to gently suck. It was as if being struck by a bolt of lightning. Heat smoked through him, and when she looked up at him without a hint of shyness, he couldn’t keep the groan held back any longer.

  “Damn.” The whispered oath slipped free before he could halt it. “Emma…”

  Her tongue was like a ribbon of damp velvet as it caressed the side of his thumb.

  His eyelids grew heavy. His blood thickened. His breeches were now uncomfortably tighter. He slid his thumb free and bent toward her.

  Her arms slid about his neck and she pressed herself up against him. Her breasts crushed against his chest, adding fuel to the fire already threatening to rage out of control.

  As their lips met, Julian caught her around the waist and lifted to bring her to him.

  There was no timidity, no shyness, in her kiss. Only fire and passion and as her tongue slid through his lips, he crushed her to him.

  He cupped one hand over her backside, bringing her into direct contact with his groin.

  Now it was her turn to gasp. Her fingers twisted in his hair, tight but not painful. And when she spoke, her breath was airy and light. “Julian, what are you doing?”

  What was he doing? Now? In the middle of her family’s Christmas party? He had to be mad to even consider something like this.

  He didn’t want to pull away from her, didn’t want to feel space between them, but did so just the same, reluctantly sliding his hand from her backside, over her hip, until it fell free between them as he stepped back. “I beg your pardon, Emma.”

  “No.” She shook her head, confusion still clouding in her eyes. “There’s no need for that.” As she spoke, she closed the gap between them.

  He stiffened as her arms tightened about his waist. The top of her head tucked perfectly beneath his chin, her hair soft and cool against his skin. He squeezed his eyes shut. Never before had he wanted a woman as badly as he wanted her, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to spirit her to the nearest bed.

  And damn, he’d have given anything to have that big desk right in front of them now. It made more sense why George would risk being caught in Captain McKenzie’s office. Julian would have done the same.

  He groaned at the rush of tingles sweeping over his skin.

  The little minx was kissing his neck, slowly, teasingly, and everything in his body snapped taut. When she caught his earlobe between gentle teeth, it was all he could do to keep his groan at bay.

  “Em…” Dear God, he didn’t want to stop her, didn’t want to think about all of those reasons why he should stop her. The desire was too sweet. But still— “You need to—Holy Chr—”

  She was relentless, leaning into him hard enough that he stepped back, flattening up against the wall. Her kiss crept along his jaw, up over his chin, and when her lips met his, he was powerless to halt her.

  Arousal clouded his judgment, the fog thickening with each sweep of her lips, with each caress of her tongue along his. He caught her by the face, tilted her head to the side, and dove in to seize her lips in a fierce kiss that left them both begging for breath.

  She tugged him closer, her arms creeping up to slide about his neck, her entire body pressed hard into him.

  Her lips teased his—teased his entire mouth to delights he’d never savored before. His blood pounded to blot out all other noise, and when she took his left wrist and brought that hand down upon her breast, he didn’t hold back his groan.

  The silk between his hand and her flesh was thin and sleek, and when he brought his thumb down to rub over the small bead of her nipple, she made a noise that sounded breathier than a groan, but heavier than a moan.

  He hesitated. It would be so easy to open her bodice, although those little pearl buttons would be a bear to refasten later on. But he had to see her. Had to see if her breasts were every bit as perfect as he imagined them.

  It was risky in the corridor. But then, it was a back corridor, seldom used on a good day, never mind when the maids were all busy elsewhere. Two buttons fell open and he inched his hand in.

  Emma sucked in a sharp breath, her fingernails biting into the skin of his neck.

  He dipped to kiss along her neck. A hint of sweet coconut touched his nose. Coconut? He hadn’t smelled that since the last time he sailed to Bermuda.

  “Mm…” Her airy sigh teased him, inflamed him further. “That feels amazing.”

  “It certainly does.” Her skin was sweet and smooth, both her neck, and the barest inch of breast he’d found when he parted her bodice and slipped his hand deeper into her chemise. Her breast was warm, inviting, and as he eased his hand beneath the curve, he found the mound fit perfectly in his palm. He squeezed gently then teased her nipple with a slow swirl of his thumb.

  “Oh, yes…” Her breath caressed his ear.

  “Mm…” Emma’s sigh was as heavy as it could be and still remain a sigh. “Julian…that feels wonderful.”

  He gently squeezed the mound, eased it from the chemise and corset, and bent down to meet it with hungry lips.

  Her fingernails bit into the back of his neck as he drew the pointed pink crest into his mouth. Her body tensed and he ached to slide his hand beneath her skirts, to slide it up along her leg until he reached the apex of her thighs and the wet heat he knew he’d find.

  Instead, he teased her nipple with the point of his tongue, licked and nibbled until she was pliant in his arms and breathing as if she’d run to the harbor and back at full speed.

  “Julian…please…”

  “Please what?” H
e looked up from her breast and its stiff peak.

  “Please take me to my room. Or your room. It doesn’t matter.”

  “Emma, we can’t. Not yet, anyway.”

  She frowned. “Julian—”

  “Let me speak to your father, and if he is agreeable, I would like to officially ask for your hand.”

  “You would?”

  It had to be the lust talking, because a sane and sober Julian McCallister always swore he’d avoid marriage as if it was cholera. If madness ran through his veins, he didn’t want to inflict it on anyone else—not a wife. Not children.

  Children. Surely Emma would want children, and he was not the one willing to give them to her.

  “There is something we’d need to discuss first, Em. Something you need to know.”

  “What the devil is going on here?”

  Julian knew that voice. He knew it well. And the sound of it filled him with a fear he didn’t know was even possible.

  Emma screamed, trying to shove her breast back into its proper place, while Julian jumped in front of her to protect her. It was all for naught.

  Rebecca McKenzie had seen enough, judging by the fire leaping from her eyes and scowl twisting her lips. Fury radiated from her as she stared them both down, hands on her hips, and Julian could only hope he was lucky enough that she didn’t castrate him on the spot.

  Chapter Twelve

  EMMA WANTED TO DIE. She’d already vomited into the wastebasket in her father’s office, but it didn’t seem to help. Her stomach leapt and twisted and knotted to send sour bile flooding her mouth at regular intervals. She clutched the glass of lemonade in her hand so hard, she was afraid it would break, but she couldn’t make herself ease her grip. Julian sat in a green leather chair beside her, his long legs spread out across the carpet. His face remained impassive but his eyes were swirling storms of fury. Emma wanted to ask him where he directed that fury, but since she was afraid he’d direct at her, she remained still, staring straight ahead, saying nothing.

  “How could you?” Momma asked for what had to be the tenth time since dragging them into the office. That was all she said, in between pacing the office from fireplace to windows and back. “How could you?”