She closed her eyes for a second before opening them again. “Thank you! Oh, thank you, Stephen.”
His name, on her lips, had an odd effect upon him.
“I suppose you have some ideas already brewing as to how you’d like to go about this?” he asked, realizing his voice sounded a bit gruffer than usual.
This must be what purgatory felt like. All the wonders of heaven, right before him, but quite out of reach. She was Flavion’s wife, and yet… she was not.
She dropped one of her hands to his leg, resting it on the stretched material of his breeches. Every particle of his being screamed out for him to kiss her. She still hadn’t answered his question. Not only was she unchaperoned, but she wanted him. Or was she still attempting to be persuasive? Or was she simply resting her hand upon his thigh because there was nowhere else to rest it?
“You don’t have any ideas?” he asked, laughing at himself. God, he’d been too long in his own company.
“Oh, no, I mean, yes, yes I do.” They continued sitting in very close proximity to one another “I had thought that it would be effective for Flavion to find me in bed with my lover… with you… well, not my actual lover… Anyhow, I had thought I would leave my door unlocked, and when he attempts to enter my suite, he will see what appears to be evidence of my infidelity.” Even by moonlight, he could see the telltale signs of her blush.
“Ah,” Stephen said. “Very effective.” His hand found hers, and he turned it over on his leg thoughtfully. “So, all we have to do is… ahem, both of us, sleep together, that is, in your bed, and await Flavion’s entrance?” While talking, he’d begun drawing soft little lines from the ends of her fingers to her palm with his thumb. Her hands were tiny compared to his… and white… and soft.
“The more incriminating the circumstances, the better,” She said. “You will do it?”
Stephen lifted her hand and pressed his palm against hers. Again, he was affected by how fragile and small she seemed.
Up until recently Flavion’s life had been charmed. Even though he’d lived the life of a selfish aristocrat, his cousin had managed to be cherished and beloved by those around him. He’d never been forced to deal with the consequences of his callous actions. And now the wife he’d scorned was determined to make him pay for the wrong he’d done her. God knew Flavion deserved it.
And perhaps…
Perhaps, by helping Lady Kensington, Stephen could put some of his own anger to rest.
And then he stared boldly into her eyes. “What time shall I come to you?”
HE WAS GOING to do it. He was going to help her.
She’d barely had any time to know him, and yet suddenly her life didn’t seem so recklessly out of control. What was it about him? Stephen Nottingham could not be any more different from Flavion. Perhaps that was his attraction.
Cecily returned to her room feeling a mixture of elation and sheer terror. Would it work? Of course, Flavion would come to her room. He’d not missed a night since their wedding. It was a shame he was not as dependable where other areas of their marriage were concerned.
Except… perhaps it was not.
Uncertain as to what Stephen would consider necessary in order for the encounter to be incriminating, Cecily chose one of her newer nightgowns and then requested that her maid draw a bath.
Her preparations were ironically reminiscent of her wedding night.
Only then, she had been full of hope. She had been excited to give herself to the man she had vowed to love, honor and obey till death do they part. Tonight, she prepared herself for an ending.
A very foolish, very naïve part of her wondered what her life would be like if she had shared a wedding night with Stephen Nottingham rather than Flavion.
Mr. Nottingham, Stephen, possessed all of the qualities she’d assumed Flavion had possessed when she’d accepted his proposal.
Or she presumed Stephen did, anyhow. How could she know when she barely knew him? How could she ever trust her emotions again?
And yet she felt she did know him. The part of her heart that had been frozen since Flavion’s betrayal seemed to have slightly thawed since she’d met his cousin.
When her bath was prepared, she requested champagne be chilled and brought up to her room.
It was important the servants were as aware of this affair as Flavion would be. For servants were the backbone of tonnish gossip. They would tell their counterparts in other aristocratic houses, who would then tell their mistress or master and so on and so forth. And it was vital to her plan that the ton knew. If the ton were not privy, then Flavion’s pride would not be tested. Everybody who was anybody in London would need to know of Cecily’s infidelity in order for Flavion to consider divorcing her.
That was the terrifying part.
Having Flavion think her an adulteress was one thing, but spreading such information to all of society was another thing altogether. Good Lord, what would her father say?
Cecily shivered and slid down farther into her bath. The water was hot — almost too hot. Would her father be angry with her or proud? He’d always told her to go after the things that she wanted. He’d told her not to be any man’s pawn. Well, she was taking action tonight. Even submersed in the hot bath, she shivered again. By the time her maid washed and rinsed her hair, Cecily was shivering uncontrollably.
Sally, the lady’s maid she’d acquired upon marrying Flavion was quite concerned that her mistress was taking a chill. “Come out of there, my lady, and sit by the fire.”
Once Cecily had done so, the maid went to work drying and braiding her hair into one long single rope. The shivering hadn’t stopped, but it was less violent.
Pulling the counterpane down, Sally urged Cecily to climb into bed.
Cecily merely shook her head and poured herself a glass of champagne. “I’m fine, Sally. Please, don’t worry about me.” And then she gave the maid as normal of a smile as she could. It wouldn’t do for the servants to think she was taking a chill when she wanted them to believe she was taking a lover.
Shaking her head disapprovingly, the maid gathered together the wet towels and linens and followed the footmen as they moved the tub out of her room. When the door finally closed behind them, Cecily let out a sigh of relief.
And then began shivering again.
STEPHEN HAD SEVERAL tasks he wanted to take care of before he would be ready to retire for the evening. He did not wish to consider the ramifications of the promise he’d made to Cecily.
Sitting at his uncle’s desk, Stephen’s first task was to arrange for Cecily to have what would essentially amount to a bodyguard. After seeing firsthand the harrowing circumstance she’d found herself in that afternoon, he was not about to let her go another day without full-time protection.
A business associate who had assisted him with delicate matters in the past would be well suited to the task. He had a missive delivered to them that night.
Next, he read through the day’s mail, which included estate reports, invitations, and yet more bills that had accrued before he’d imposed the spending moratorium on the newlywed couple. When he’d dispatched with these, he located some law treatises in the library and did some light reading on the British Parliamentary steps required to obtain a divorce.
Stephen was fairly certain that if Flavion were to petition for a divorce, he’d likely still be received by the ton.
Maybe.
Would it be for the best? Didn’t Flavion deserve to experience some repercussions, some uncomfortable consequences for being so heartless? For on more than one occasion, Flavion had acted without thought or consideration for those hurt by him — for those who loved him.
He’d always managed to emerge smelling of roses.
Perhaps Flavion would learn something from this. Perhaps Cecily was right in that he needed some punishment. For God knew, Uncle Leo hadn’t meted any out, and look where that had gotten Flavion.
Satisfied that he’d researched the topic thoroughly, Stephen
returned his spectacles to his pocket and rose from the desk. He would do this favor for Cecily. But he would also do it for Flavion. And for himself.
While washing up and changing into his dressing gown, he considered what Flavion’s probable reaction was going to be. Would he hate Stephen? Most likely not. His own relationship with Flave would not be in peril. Since Flavion was not in love with Cecily, Stephen was confident that Flave would eventually forgive him for his part in it all.
Would Flavion become interested in Cecily again?
That was possible. In the past, Flavion had only ever wanted something after he knew Stephen desired it. Hopefully, this would not be the case. For at this point, Cecily did not want for Flavion to want her. At least that was what Stephen thought. He did not think she was in love with him anymore. She was quite adamant about wanting her freedom.
It was also conceivable that Flavion would respond exactly as Cecily hoped.
Flave was a particularly proud man. The publicity of the affair was prone to make him angrier than the affair itself.
And then Stephen considered another possibility. Flavion, being Flavion, might very well be completely apathetic to the entire charade.
Oh damn, the latter scenario was highly likely. He hoped, for Cecily’s sake, that Flave would become mad as hell.
And if that were the case, Flavion would spend thousands of pounds of Stephen’s money on the divorce, Cecily would be shunned by all of Society, and Stephen would be left to clean up the mess. Ah, well, what else did he expect?
With these thoughts plaguing him, he pulled back his shoulders and knocked softly on the door to Cecily’s suite. Hearing nothing, he turned the knob and pushed inward.
Her sitting room was opulently appointed with a velvet chaise lounge, ornate tables, and gilded mirrors. Somehow, he did not think the décor was done with her approval. It was all too… plush… too garish.
He walked over to another door and then again knocked softly.
Still no response.
He pushed this door open slowly and realized he had waited until it was indeed very late before coming upstairs.
He hoped she hadn’t been waiting up for him.
A few lit candles had burned down considerably, and the coals in the hearth glowed hotly from behind a grate.
Cecily was fast asleep, bundled up in a blanket on a large brocaded chair.
Looking at her thoughtfully, Stephen rubbed his chin in contemplation.
She looked all of sixteen. A rope of her amber hair fell softly over her shoulder all the way down to her waist. He wondered if she wore the gown he’d seen her in the other morning. All he could do for now was wonder, however, as she was currently wrapped from head to toe. Stephen knelt beside her and touched her cheek with the back of his fingers.
“My lady… Cecily? It’s me, Stephen.”
Her eyelids fluttered open, and she looked at him in confusion for only a moment.
“I thought you’d changed your mind,” she said.
“I’m sorry to be so late. I was reading through some paperwork… Time got away from me.”
Cecily pulled herself up to a straighter position now that she was awake. When she pushed the blanket away, Stephen realized she was not wearing the red negligée.
She wore a black one.
It had thin little straps and appeared to be as equally transparent as the red one.
“You have not changed your mind then?” she asked.
“Have you?” he countered.
“I admit to having second thoughts… and third ones… and fourth ones… but, no, I have not changed my mind.”
They both sat looking at each other somewhat awkwardly. Finally, Stephen stood up and reached out a hand to her. “Well, then, I suppose we ought to set the stage for this affair. Flavion could be home anytime now.” Her hand felt warm and fragile.
“Will you check the door to Flavion’s room?” she asked him as she climbed onto the large canopied bed. “This will all be for naught if the door remains locked.” At that, she gave him a wan smile.
Stephen opened the door, checked the lock, and then closed it again. For good measure, he opened it again and left it slightly ajar.
Cecily had climbed into the covers but had not pulled them up around her yet. Large green eyes watched him uncertainly. Her slender calves and knees were exposed as the nightgown rode up slightly. Hints of what lie beneath the gown were revealed by the thin fabric.
“You might wish to avert your eyes, my lady. I don’t wear anything when I go to bed. I cannot imagine Flavion would believe anything were going on between the two of us if I suddenly took to wearing a nightshirt.”
Turning to look anywhere but at him, Cecily tucked her legs into the blanket. “Of course. Oh yes, of course.”
“Ought I to put out the candles?” he asked after discarding his dressing gown.
Flave’s countess glanced over at him. When he turned back toward her, he was caught by her stare. She did not avert her eyes as he’d suggested. No, she seemed entranced as she looked him over thoroughly.
The platonic nature he’d intended to impose upon this encounter suddenly lost its appeal completely. Why were they only going to pretend to have an affair?
Oh, yes. Because Flave was his cousin.
And Cecily’s husband.
Stephen tried to take a deep breath, but his lungs felt very tight indeed. Cecily was looking up at him with her soft pink lips parted and a small flush on her normally delicate porcelain skin.
“I already thought of that,” she said, shaking him out of the trance he’d fallen into. “It would be best to leave them lit so I’ve placed them on larger platters. They can simply burn themselves down. I’ve placed the grate in front of the fire, as well.”
Cecily turned away and made a good show of fluffing her pillow and pulling the covers up to her chin. Stephen climbed in on the other side and then looked about the bed, a bit disgruntled.
“This bed is large enough that we might as well be in entirely separate chambers.” On that note, he crawled over to her side and relaxed behind her. “If Flavion is going to believe you and I are actually having an affair, we will have to look like lovers, my lady.”
Once embarked upon a task, Stephen would not address it in half measures.
When she was within reach, he pulled her back up against him. She didn’t protest, but he felt her tense beneath his touch when he untied the ribbon at the end of her braid. He’d not thought any of this through earlier, but as the necessary details of this charade came to him, he was not reluctant to put them into place. Mesmerized, he used his fingers to gently unplait the silken strands and draw them out about them both. “No man worth his salt would allow you to keep this bound up while he made love to you.”
He felt her breathing change, her back pressed against his bare chest. His hands continued moving down her arm, along her hip, a soft caress of her thigh. Everything logical inside of him screamed out that this was definitely not part of their pact. Another part of himself reasoned that if he were going to play the role of her lover, he ought to put his best, er… foot forward. He could stop before it went too far. What would it hurt to take some pleasure from each other first?
What he hadn’t bargained on, however, was the unpredictable nature of Cecily Nottingham.
For as he lifted his hand to bring it back up to her hair, she twisted in his embrace and faced him.
Her lips looked soft, moist, welcoming. Her eyes were partly shuttered, and her hands had slid up his abdomen to rest against his chest. Her fingers plucked gently at the smattering of hair she discovered there.
And then she tilted her head back and gazed into his eyes.
With a groan, he gave into the desire he only just now would acknowledge to himself.
He wanted Flave’s wife.
He caught her lips with his own and tasted her as though a man starved.
CHAPTER SIX
CECILY FELT A tug behind her as Stephen twi
ned his hand inside her hair, his mouth exploring hers with an almost feverish intent. Although she’d felt chilled earlier, she was now hot all over. Hot and surprisingly aching. And the only thing that could soothe her was to be closer to this man. They were barely acquainted, and yet her body, nay, her soul, begged to be closer to him.
Was this merely a betrayal of her flesh, which had been newly awakened and then denied upon her marriage?
She pressed herself into his chest and hips. Instinctively, her free leg wrapped around his thighs and she thrilled when she felt his arousal. Tilting her head back, she gave him better access to the tender inside of her mouth. He tasted of brandy and mint.
She groaned in protest when his lips abandoned hers to instead trail along her chin and then her neck. This was so very different from her wedding night.
Of course, it was different. They were not truly going to make love.
Except that this felt much more like making love than what Flavion had done. This touch was tender, exploring, and well… it felt… loving.
Stephen devoured her with his mouth at the same time he memorized her with his hands. His attention to detail was a very attractive characteristic in that moment.
With each kiss and lick and touch he sent sparks of desire shooting around inside, not only her body, but her brain. He wanted her. He wanted to make love to her.
Suddenly she realized that her wedding night had been even more of a travesty than she had originally thought.
For Flavion had not wanted to consummate his marriage to her. He had taken her body as though it had been an unsavory chore — an item to check off a list. The realization was like a slap in the face.
But Stephen was touching her, caressing her, consuming her like a man possessed.
The contrast was overwhelming, and although she tried to hold it back, she could not contain the sob that rose up inside of her.
He did not ignore her cry. It was apparent she’d not stifled the sound adequately when his lovemaking came to a vexing halt. His hands stilled. He tilted her chin and peered into her eyes. “Hey, what’s this?” He rubbed her back in a soothing motion and caught one of her tears upon his fingertip.
Hell Hath No Fury (Devilish Debutantes Book 1) Page 9