But she hadn’t wanted him to stop. She’d been exalting beneath his touch.
He pressed her face into his chest and smoothed her hair down her back. “Hush, hush,” he said. “God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sorry, Cecily.”
She heard remorse in his voice. But she didn’t want for him to be sorry!
Trying to speak in between the sobs she was trying to silence was not very easy. “No, it isn’t what you think. You aren’t scaring me.” She needed to explain it to him but had no idea what she would say. She could barely understand herself, this wash of emotions coursing through her.
Stephen pulled back, and she studied his face again. His hair appeared darker in the candlelight and was mussed where her hands had been. In his eyes, she saw concern, but desire still lurked there, too. “I will not take advantage of you. You’ve been through too much this past month as it is.” His breath fanned her heated cheeks as he spoke. The scent of it only reminded her of how he had tasted. She wanted to savor him again.
She slid her hands back up around his neck and pulled his face down to hers. This time it was her mouth that was seeking, demanding. She tasted his lips, his chin, and then inside. She explored his teeth, the roof of his mouth, all around his tongue.
He held her loosely and allowed her to explore. She had somehow pushed him onto his back and was leaning over him, pressed atop him. Her hair shrouded them both while she discovered the heady sensation of kissing Stephen Nottingham.
When she finally realized that he lay passively beneath her, she pulled back and frowned at him. His lips were swollen from her kisses and his hooded eyes, lazy and sensual. His hands rested loosely on her hips.
His arousal was blatantly thrust between her thighs, but was impeded by the fabric of her gown.
And then he smiled boyishly. “Do you think this is incriminating enough?”
He was joking!
Staid old sobersides himself was joking!
She felt his stomach begin to shake a bit and realized, that yes, God help her, he was laughing!
“You are laughing at me,” she said, not seeing the humor in the situation at all.
“Ah, Cecily,” he said. “I want to. I really want to. But I will not make love to my cousin’s wife in his own home.” His countenance had become serious again.
Perversely, she wished he would go back to laughing. It was the first time she’d heard him laugh. He needed to laugh more often.
“You will only pretend to,” she said, and then she moved her hips slowly against him.
His eyes darkened, and his hands grasped the tops of her thighs tightly, pressing her down against him.
“It would be the height of dishonor. I could not forgive myself.” His eyes were grim.
She could see he fought a war with himself.
Cecily leaned forward and allowed the straps of her gown to slide off her shoulders. She watched as his eyes flickered to her bodice. It gaped open, and she knew he could almost see all of her breasts. Almost, but not quite.
She shimmied a little, and the front of her gown slipped even lower.
His hands clenched and unclenched. His entire body was coiled with tension. The electricity between the two of them held a world of promise. She’d had no idea she could act so boldly. She had no idea she would ever want to!
She leaned forward even farther and allowed the full weight of her body to rest upon him. She then straightened her legs out behind her and slid them along the top of his hard and sinewy thighs and calves. The roughness of his hair made her feel incredibly soft, incredibly feminine. Feeling utterly safe, she relaxed there, as though his body were her mattress.
When she laid her head upon his chest, she could both hear and feel the strong beating of his heart.
His hands had come up around her, and he rubbed lazy circles on her back. “Thank you, Stephen,” she whispered before kissing the smooth skin on his shoulder.
“My pleasure,” he said with a chuckle.
Even better than watching him laugh was feeling him laugh beneath her.
Closing her eyes, her last thought before she fell asleep was that she wouldn’t mind terribly if Flavion didn’t discover them tonight, and they had to do it all over again tomorrow. No, she wouldn’t mind at all.
STEPHEN WAS NOT a deep sleeper. He didn’t require a great deal of sleep, and when he did eventually drift off, he came awake easily. Lying in Cecily’s bed with her tucked in beside him, he was acutely conscious of the fact that Flavion was likely to burst in upon them at any moment.
That being the case, he only managed to drift off intermittently throughout the night. And he slept only lightly, keeping his senses alert for any intrusion.
Although there was a certain painful aspect to not being able to satisfy either himself or Cecily, he experienced a sweetness at having her sleep beside him.
It was odd. He’d barely known her for twenty-four hours, and yet… he liked knowing he could reach out his hand and touch her anytime throughout the night. And he did so, often.
He’d find himself threading his fingers through her hair, grasping her hand in his and, on one occasion cupping a firm, full breast through her gown. And then an annoying voice would taunt him. “This is your cousin’s wife!” The battle persisted for most of the night.
Through all of this, his restlessness went completely unnoticed by Cecily. Even when he got out of bed once, to check in Flavion’s chamber, she didn’t stir an inch. Stephen found himself astonished that she could sleep so deeply.
And so, at the break of dawn, Stephen lay awake on the bed looking up at the canopy when he heard a loud pounding downstairs. Unwrapping Cecily’s arms from his waist, he slid out of bed and donned his dressing gown.
When he arrived in the foyer, Flave’s butler, Mr. Sherman, was just himself coming up behind him. “I’m sorry, Mr. Nottingham,” he said tiredly as Stephen cautiously opened the large front door.
Stephen did not open the door all the way but merely peered out at the irate-looking gentleman who was gradually drawing the attention of a few early-rising neighbors.
“What is the meaning of this?” he growled at the unfamiliar man who had been pounding voraciously for all of about ten minutes now. “What is your business, sir?”
“I’ll have satisfaction,” the man bellowed. “That’s my business! Are you the Earl of Kensington? Are you Lord Kensington? ‘Cause, by God, if you are, then you and I have a date in the park with a couple of pistols!”
What in God’s name had Flavion done now?
“I am his cousin, good man.” Stephen held the door open wider and beckoned the man in. “I do not currently know the whereabouts of my cousin, but if you don’t mind waiting while I dress, we can discuss this like two civilized gentlemen.”
The man harrumphed, and then Mr. Sherman led Flavion’s guest off into one of the salons while Stephen retreated to his own room.
Damn, but where was Flavion? He hadn’t returned last night; Stephen was certain of it.
And who was the spirited old chap downstairs? What had Flavion done to draw a challenge of a duel from such an unlikely looking gentleman?
Stephen’s valet, Hamilton, was already awake and pulling out clothing for Stephen to don. “I didn’t think people came visiting this early in London,” Hamilton commented stoically as Stephen began washing up. “I thought they all slept into the noon hours.”
Stephen spit into the washbasin, and then a thought occurred to him.
Not a single person had witnessed Stephen going, sleeping in, or leaving Lady Kensington’s room. And his own valet, who was the only servant likely to have realized Stephen hadn’t slept in his own bed that night, was the soul of discretion.
Blast and thunderation! Was anything going to go as planned?
He shoved this problem to the back of his mind and refocused on the more immediate problem awaiting him downstairs. Who had Flavion insulted this time?
Considering the possible offense
s his cousin could have dealt, Stephen hastily threw on the jacket Hamilton held out for him and then touched the skin on his face. He needed a shave, but that would have to wait until later.
Best not to let the gentleman downstairs stew in his anger for too long. Who knew what might transpire if Flavion were to come sauntering in this morning?
With Hamilton’s assistance, Stephen swiftly pulled on his boots and then made haste to return downstairs.
Mr. Sherman had provided tea and pastries for the guest, who was partaking of the generosity heartily when Stephen found him waiting in the salon.
The man stood up when Stephen entered, brushed the sides of his breeches, and then reached out a hand. “I am Philbert Cunnington, the Baron of Griffin. You might be acquainted with my daughter, Miss Daphne Cunnington.”
“Ah, yes,” Stephen said, not allowing any expression to cross his face. He ought to have seen this coming. Miss Daphne Cunnington was a lady, after all. “What can I do for you?” he asked respectfully.
The baron sat back down and suddenly looked lost. All of the wind and bluster he’d come charging over with had deserted him, and he seemed not to know where to begin.
Stephen waited.
“Your cousin,” the baron finally said, “has compromised my daughter. He, being a married man now, can do nothing about it. And by God, I’m going to make him pay.”
There it was. He’d found that bluster again.
Stephen leaned forward, poured himself a cup of the hot tea, and took a long, fortifying sip. He normally preferred coffee but would make do this morning with tea. Nothing like starting the day with yet another of Flavion’s messes to clean up. Stephen pondered. If a married man compromised a woman, did honor demand that said married man’s cousin marry the little twit in order to protect her from scandal? A scandal that she’d happily jumped into? God, he hoped not, but his own guilt had compelled the thought. He’d nearly swived Flave’s wife last night, after all!
“Was this a public compromising?” Stephen asked calmly, as though for all the world they were discussing the weather. He supposed he ought to be more alarmed for Flavion’s sake, but he just couldn’t seem to summon any up — alarm, that was. His normal sense of responsibility was beginning to flag somewhat, it seemed.
“No, but my daughter has informed me. She said he took her virtue. What’s a father to do about that I ask you? She’s ruined now. Pretty little thing, but without much of a dowry, I’ll never get her married off.”
Remembering the blushing lady he’d met two nights ago, Stephen wondered at how some men could treat their daughters as though they were prize stock to be auctioned off.
“When did your daughter come to you?”
“Early this morning,” the man said, turning his attention to one of the pastries that remained on the tea tray, setting it on a smaller plate. “She told me she waited up for Lord Kensington all night. He had said he would come and take her away, but he never appeared.”
At this information, Stephen frowned. He’d assumed that Flavion was with Miss Cunnington when he’d neglected to return last night. But why would he tell Miss Cunnington he was going to run away with her? Earls did not run away. They travelled. They toured. They kept mistresses in houses just outside of Mayfair.
They did not run away with chits who were not their wife.
“When he failed to arrive, she came and woke me and my baroness up. She was nearly hysterical, saying, ‘He promised’ and ‘How could he?’ She was all pink and puffy from crying and, well, I ask you again, what’s a father to do?”
“Are there any, er, consequences from the affair?” Stephen asked politely.
“Consequences?” the baron asked with a glower.
“Yes, consequences, Griffin. Is she in a family way, expecting, enceinte — knocked up?” Stephen was already losing patience with this new glitch. Suddenly Flavion had too many problems for even Stephen to resolve… even if he did feel guilty for lusting after Lady Kensington.
But the baron shook his head. “Not that she has said, but these things take a while to er… become apparent, you know?” The blushing man obviously wasn’t used to discussing such female matters.
At this, Stephen stood up. “Well, then, as my cousin is conveniently away from home this morning, I’m afraid you shall have to wait until a later date to obtain that satisfaction you are seeking. If there is a babe on the way, simply apply to my cousin, and I’m certain he will allocate a portion of my money for your daughter. A small cottage in the country always seems to be appropriate for these types of situations. Perhaps in time she can even return to Society. That is, if she hasn’t shared the nature of her indiscretions with any well-meaning gossips.”
The baron rose to his feet on cue while staring longingly at the last pastry left on the tray. Stephen scooped it onto another small plate and handed it to the man.
“You might also consider finding a new chaperone for your daughter. The present one obviously lacks the skills to keep her out of trouble.” Stephen nodded. “I’m sure you’ll have no difficulty finding your way out. Good day to you, sir.” Without looking back, he exited the room himself and went looking for Hamilton. He really was in dire need of a shave.
CECILY AWOKE TO the sounds of birds chirping happily outside her window. Sally had already been in, left some tea — which, upon investigation, was actually still hot — and had opened the drapes wide.
After taking a sip from her dainty cup, Cecily returned it to the tray and then lay back on the disheveled tangle of sheets and blankets on her bed. Rolling over to where Stephen had been sleeping, she inhaled. Some of his scent remained.
She breathed in and then pressed her face into his pillow. Nothing was going the way she had planned, and she was absolutely giddy.
Which she knew to be foolishness in the extreme, but really, when one considered her situation, she ought to enjoy any giddiness she could feel now, for most certainly the future held an abundance of sorrow and recriminations.
She’d loved, loved, loved sleeping beside Stephen Nottingham — her husband’s cousin.
Of course, she’d wanted to experience the full extent of his lovemaking, but he’d been quite right to bring a halt to things before they’d gone too far. For she did not, in truth, wish to present Flavion with a child that was not his own. She did not want for any child to endure the stigma of divorce that she, herself, would carry for life.
If Stephen had gone ahead and actually, well, fornicated with her, there would have been some chance of her being gotten with child. The timing would have been right, for she’d had her courses a few weeks ago, twelve days after her wedding night. When she’d discovered the evidence of them, she’d nearly fainted with relief. In either case, her life did not make for a happy situation in which to bring a child.
Stephen had done the right thing.
Cecily was beginning to realize that he was the sort of man who would always do the right thing. Which was nearly as appealing as it was annoying. No, it was more appealing than annoying. Stephen was appealing.
Cecily bounded out of bed and called for Sally to attend to her. Today, she was happy to be alive. This was a nice feeling to have again. She hoped it was not fleeting.
BY THE TIME Cecily was dressed and went downstairs for breakfast, Stephen was already finishing up in the morning room. He’d obviously, by this time, been quite busy as he was perusing through some paperwork and sipping a hot cup of coffee.
Cecily daintily placed her usual piece of toast and one slice of bacon on a small but ornate plate and sat down casually, as though she spent the night with gentlemen who were not her husband, all the time. “I, too, prefer coffee to tea with my morning meal,” she said before taking a small bite of her toast.
A simple thing to know about him but comforting somehow, nonetheless.
Stephen took a deep sip and then gave her his full attention. “I’ve made arrangements for an associate of mine to provide you with protection if you plan on
leaving the house today. A bodyguard of sorts. I didn’t like the way you were harassed yesterday. Having Salaam with you ought to eliminate similar situations in the future.”
“Salaam,” Cecily said, testing the unfamiliar name on her lips. She then looked around curiously. “Where is this person? As much as I don’t relish the idea of dragging somebody along with me, I must admit it will be a relief. I didn’t like the way I was harassed either.” She dabbed a bit of jam onto her toast and then took another refined bite.
“Salaam is in the study. After breakfast, I will present him to you.” Stephen turned his head and looked out the window. “Flave failed to return last night,” he said and then turned his gaze back upon her.
Cecily looked down at her napkin and sighed. “Ought we to be concerned?” she asked. “Since our wedding night, he is yet to have spent an entire night from Nottinghouse. He’s come and knocked upon my door with a rather annoying regularity, actually.”
Stephen pursed his lips. “I will track him to ground this afternoon.”
“We have plans for this evening. A few of my friends are joining us for dinner and then the theatre afterward, but if Flavion does not return, I am not certain we can attend without an escort. Do you think I ought to cancel tonight’s entertainment?”
Stephen was stacking his letters neatly in front of him. She wished he would give her some indication that he didn’t completely regret the closeness they’d shared the night before. He seemed like even more of a stranger today than he had yesterday. She really needed to become a better judge of character where men were concerned.
“Oh, no. I will escort you,” he said. And then he tilted his head questioningly. “That is if you do not mind having a mere mister as your escort?”
Was he feeling embarrassed, too? Cecily smiled cheerfully over at him. “I would be glad to have your escort… Mr. Nottingham.”
Hell Hath No Fury (Devilish Debutantes Book 1) Page 10