There would be no reconciliation.
The challenger appeared loose and ready to fight. Stephen was glad that Marcus was in attendance. He’d taken it upon himself to keep Flavion from tensing up, giving him pointers and encouraging him to stretch and loosen his muscles. When Stephen rejoined them, it was time for the duel to begin.
Placing one hand on Flave’s shoulder, he met his gaze directly and spoke with great conviction. “You can do this, Flave. I have every confidence in you.”
Flave nodded. He seemed slightly more confident than he had last night. Stephen wondered if his cousin felt any guilt for his dishonorable actions. He hoped so. If Flave lived through this, perhaps he would reexamine his character. “Come along then.”
Flavion removed his coat and handed it to Marcus before taking the sword Stephen held out to him. He’d wrapped a handkerchief around his fighting hand, as had Lord Griffin.
Stephen and the other second marked off the standing spot for each combatant and then stepped away. Flavion and the baron, both with their left hands behind their backs, held their swords to the ground and awaited the signal to fight.
Glancing at the other second and receiving a nod, Stephen gave the signal. “Allez!” he shouted firmly.
Both men tarried at first, testing each other with experimental lunges and thrusts. But as the fighting continued, the engagements gradually became more and more aggressive. And although Flavion had been somewhat tentative at first, he seemed to gain confidence as the fighting went on. His parries and passes became more and more agile, his attacks stronger as the older man began to tire.
And then, with swords clashed tightly against each other, Flavion made a quick motion with a strong twist of his wrist and threw the other man’s sword off to the side.
Griffin was without his weapon. Stephen held his breath and hoped against hope that his cousin was not too caught up in the fighting to do anything dishonorable now.
Flavion held the tip of his sword just below the baron’s chin and then, with a smooth flourish, swiped it upward, barely nicking the man, but drawing a very small amount of blood.
Griffin’s second held his cane in the air to indicate the end of the fighting.
The baron, breathing heavily and backing away, glared at Flavion.
Flavion laughed. “Next time, old man, you might wish to at least make a fight of it.” Turning his back on Griffin, he sauntered toward Stephen and Marcus to receive his congratulations.
As relieved as Stephen was for his cousin, he was once again disappointed in him and worried.
“I’ve changed my mind,” Flavion said jovially. He had thoroughly recovered his swagger and confidence. “I wish to fight the colonel with swords as well. You haven’t yet arranged for pistols, have you?”
“I spent all of yesterday with Griffin’s second. I will be meeting with the colonels second this afternoon.” Stephen had not arranged for pistols, yet. He wasn’t certain which weapon could be most favorable for Flave. From all he’d heard of the colonel, the man would have an advantage regardless.
Taking a few swipes at the grass with his blade, Flavion was quite full of himself suddenly, like an overgrown puppy, exuberant and rambunctious. “Swords it is then!”
Stephen could not help thinking that such an easy victory had not been a good thing for his cousin. He also had a grudging admiration for the older man, for making the challenge in the first place. He did not like Flavion’s attitude upon winning. Griffin had been defending his daughter. Flavion had been in the wrong.
As Stephen easily swung into his saddle, he sought the right words to contain Flavion’s celebration. “Your fitness did well for you, cousin. Your reposte was efficient but you were slow with your redoublement. You will have to be quicker with the colonel. The man has been a killer all his life. You would do well to remember that.”
“The colonel is old,” Flavion said. “I should not have been so worried this morning. I shall have to find Daphne and assure her that all is well.” Steering his horse away from Stephen, he tipped his hat jauntily. “I shall see you late this evening at Nottinghouse then. Wouldn’t it be a coup if the colonel called off upon hearing of my victory this morning?” With a wink and a laugh, he turned his horse and headed off to God knew where.
A cold knot of fear took hold of Stephen. Overconfidence was the last thing in the world his cousin needed. Flave had shown some proper technique and a good amount of fitness and strength with Lord Griffin, but that would not be nearly enough to defeat the colonel. In addition to these concerns, Stephen was doubtful the colonel’s second would agree to a fight to first blood. The colonel was out to avenge the dishonor Flavion had done his daughter. A nick to the skin was not going to accomplish that.
Fatigue settled on him. He urged his horse onward in the hopes that he could catch a few winks before his scheduled meeting that afternoon. He’d only managed to lie abed a few hours before it had been time to alight that morning. And much of that time had been spent conjuring up his memories of a night spent with Cecily.
If he found her awake when he arrived at Nottinghouse, Stephen would inform her of Flavion’s success that morning. It would have been unlikely for her not to have heard of it, what with all of the servants privy to the information. It was nigh impossible to keep word of a duel quiet. In fact, he was surprised more of an audience had not shown up to gawk this morning.
Yes, a meeting with Cecily was called for. She would wish to be informed that she was not yet a widow. She was still a wife.
UNABLE TO LIE in bed awaiting news of the duel, Cecily summoned Sally to assist her in dressing. She wore one of her new dresses, a floral print on ivory linen with a tight bodice, long sleeves slightly off the shoulder, and a full skirt with a gathered waist. She and Madam Chantal had worked on the design together, and the overall effect raised her spirits.
But not much.
For her imagination would not allow her to rest easy. Until she knew the outcome of the duel she could hardly think of anything else.
What would they do if Flavion got himself injured, or worse? What would Stephen do? She cursed Flavion and then the next moment said prayers for him. Her churlish, ungrateful husband did not deserve her entreaty, but his loyal cousin did.
She sat in the morning room sipping coffee, attempting to pen a few brief notes to Sophia, Rhoda, and Emily when she heard the front door open and close. Pausing in order to listen intently, she heard Stephen’s voice inquiring as to her whereabouts. As he entered the room, she feigned a nonchalance she was nowhere near feeling.
His steps were heavy, his brow stitched with worry. He looked even more strained than usual as he bowed stiffly before her. “My lady, I have news of your husband’s success.”
His words afforded her some relief, but watching Stephen, she could see that his mind was already on the duel scheduled for the following morning. His brow was creased, and there were circles under his eyes. “Please, sit down, Mr. Nottingham,” she said with equal formality. “You need to eat something.“
After a moment’s hesitation, he took a plate from the sideboard and piled on some eggs, bacon, and toast. Cecily dismissed the footman who had stepped forward and then poured Stephen a cup of coffee. She felt the tension from him even more acutely as he sat down beside her.
“This was the least dangerous of the two duels, I take it?” Cecily asked cautiously.
Stephen swallowed the bite he’d taken and set his fork down before answering her. “Every duel is dangerous… but yes, I had deemed it to be the easier of the two. And now… and now Flavion is quite confident in his ability to annihilate the colonel tomorrow.”
“The second duel is with a military man? A colonel? Did Flavion dally with Miss Alice Benning?” At Stephen’s silence, she presumed this to be the case. She’d met the lady in question and her father as well.
Flavion didn’t stand a chance.
Feeling her mouth go dry at this revelation, she could not keep herself from asking,
“Is it a duel to the death?”
Stephen picked up his fork again but then seemed to lose much of his appetite as he only took one small bite and sat it back down. “I haven’t negotiated the terms yet. I’ll attempt to minimize the danger for Flavion when I do so later this afternoon.”
He nearly broke her heart all over again when he pushed his plate away, put his elbows on the table, and rested his forehead in his hands.
“He is overconfident now, and I fear he is not…”
Seeing this stalwart of a gentleman at a loss for words caused her to push back her own seat and walk around behind him.
His head must be pounding again; she could tell by the strain in his eyes. He was anxious, and afraid for his cousin’s life. She put her hands on his shoulders as she’d done before and massaged the tight muscles there. “You are only one man.” she said softly by his ear. “All you can do is your best. No one can be responsible for the actions of another adult. Flavion is lucky to have you for his cousin. I cannot imagine many men would be so forgiving, nor so loyal.”
Stephen groaned and leaned back into her hands. “For Christ’s sake, Cecily,” he said in tight voice. “You cannot touch me like this.” Turning in his chair, he pushed her hands away and grasped her wrists.
LOOKING INTO HER eyes, he could see that he’d hurt her again.
And yet she stood there, innocently tempting him in a delicate floral gown. The sleeves were slightly off her shoulders, showing off the fragility of her collarbone and the creaminess of her skin, and yet the material covered the entire length of her arms. Golden red hair was piled high atop her head, with wispy tendrils caressing her chin and neck. And her eyes. Her eyes offered him sanctuary.
Suddenly everything in his life took on a new meaning. Family, money, health… all of it was vulnerable. None of it could be counted on to offer security and comfort indefinitely. He’d not known true joy, true happiness, until he’d let himself love Cecily Nottingham.
And what of passion? Of passion and love? Would he ever feel this way again, for some other woman far in his distant future?
He doubted it. Considering that it had taken him thirty years of living to find Cecily.
Unable to stop himself, he pulled her into his lap and turned her face toward his. He did not give her the chance to pull away; instead, he covered her lips with his covetously.
He’d said he would not. He’d told himself it was impossible, immoral, and yet he was like a starving man, feasting on the only person who could assuage his hunger. “Cecily,” he murmured into her mouth.
She’d entwined her hands around his neck and pressed her body closer to his. Her mouth was warm and inviting as he tasted all around inside of it. He had a few hours before his appointment with Colonel Benning’s second — just a few hours before he must dedicate himself once again to his uncle’s son.
But this moment was his.
Settling her securely in his arms, he rose and lifted her with him. He would be utterly selfish. He was going to take what Cecily would give him and create a reservoir of memories before walking away from her forever. For regardless of what happened to Flavion, Stephen could not stand himself otherwise.
Pushing the door open with his hip, Stephen had no difficulty at all carrying this little minx up the stairs and into his own chamber. Having broken their kiss when he’d first stood up, Cecily buried her face in his neck. The warmth of her breath brushed the sensitive skin behind his ear.
“One more time?” Cecily asked as he lay her down upon his bed.
She was either a present from heaven or temptation sent by the devil himself. Stephen imagined she most assuredly was a little bit of both.
Nodding, he watched as she reached behind her head and removed the pins used to keep her hair in place. With each motion, he watched, mesmerized, as long silky lengths fell past her shoulders, over her breasts, and all the way to her waist.
When she stopped, a pile of jeweled pins sat beside her on the dark blue satin counterpane. Stephen scooped them up, and placed them upon the bedside table.
“Surely, we shall both go to hell for this.” He could not silence his thoughts. She was his siren. A siren he would gladly die for, but for whom he could not sacrifice his honor indefinitely.
She rolled off the bed, stood and presented her back to him. Wriggling her shoulders a little, she lifted one hand to show him where the buttons were. As his fingers began unfastening the long line of pearls, she finally said, “There is a certain hell awaiting both of us anyhow. Let us experience heaven while it is in our grasp today.”
She was glorious.
All traces of his earlier fatigue left him as he slowly revealed, inch by inch, her petticoats, corset, and chemise. The material of her clothing floated down to the floor as he unbuttoned, unhooked, and untied this most precious of gifts. As he revealed her skin, he pressed his open lips to her shoulder and tasted. She stood naked before him, while he was fully clothed.
He wore his superfine dark green jacket, perfectly tailored waistcoat, buff-colored breeches, and his newest Hessians. He’d been quite somber as his valet had assisted him in dressing that morning.
God, how she took away the feelings of powerlessness he’d had since the duel. He stepped back and drank in the sight of her. But not for long. Parts of his anatomy demanded he divest himself of his own clothing now. His desire had flared into a fully raging fire. Not capable of waiting even a second longer, he went to remove his jacket, only to find that it was too snug for him to do so without assistance. Trapped by the fashions of the day, he could only tilt back his head and groan.
“If I don’t receive a bit of assistance over here, sweetheart, I’m afraid this will all end far earlier than either of us has in mind.”
Giggling, she stepped around her own clothing and went behind him to tug on the extremely tight-fitting jacket. The harder she tugged, the more she giggled.
“And I thought a lady’s clothes were preposterous,” she finally managed to say once she’d freed one of his arms.
As she went to release his other arm, he could not help but to pull her closer to him and cover her mouth with his once again. He loved the feel of her giggling against his lips.
She’d loosened the sleeve enough so that he could shake it off and wrap both arms around her without tearing his mouth away. “What a delightful valet you make, my lady,” he said, feeling rather rakish.
Unable to stifle her giggles, she pulled away from him and began unbuttoning his waistcoat. “Surely, this cannot be as fitted as the jacket,” she said, examining the garment curiously. When she finished divesting him of his waistcoat, she looked down at his boots and laughed outright. “Perhaps in the future, Mr. Nottingham, it would be best to remove your clothing first. There is very little dignity, I’m afraid, to be had by a person while removing a gentleman’s boots…” Getting down on her knees before him, she grasped his Hessians. “…unclothed, might I add?’
Watching her kneeling before him, he felt himself growing harder, if that were possible. As demurely as could be, with her knees together, and her hair covering her breasts, she tugged determinedly at one snug leather boot.
“Come. Off!” she said as he felt the boot begin to give way.
Reaching down to give her some assistance, he braced her arms, and the offending Hessian finally came free.
Tossing it over her shoulder, she pushed her hair away from her face and hastily set to work on the other one. When she gave a mighty tug on this one, and it came free quite easily, she toppled backward into the pile of clothing on the floor.
At this point neither of them could contain their laughter any longer. Feeling quite feral, Stephen dropped to the floor and covered her with his body.
“I’d imagined a more romantic scenario than this, Cecily,” he said, with mock sternness, gazing into her eyes.
She shook her head and furrowed her brows. “I don’t need romance today, Stephen,” she said a bit breathlessly. “As long as I hav
e you.”
He was in awe. Painfully aroused, but in awe, nonetheless.
“Then have me, you shall.”
He’d intended to draw out their lovemaking. He’d intended to flirt, play, and seduce. He’d thought he would bring her to completion several times before burying himself in her sanctuary.
But that was before he’d had her naked and on the floor.
Reaching down to unfasten his falls, he did so without once taking his eyes from hers.
“And you shall have me,” she said as she cradled him between her thighs. “If you can manage to remove your breeches without the assistance of a valet.” Her words were accompanied by a devious grin.
Growling, Stephen tugged at his breeches and buried his head on her breasts. “I’ll remove them myself, you lusty wench.” He could not believe he was laughing.
Making love to Cecily today was to have been one of the most bittersweet events of his life, and here they were, lying on the floor, laughing.
And kissing.
And fondling.
Until he could hold back no longer. Moving his mouth back to hers, his hunger changed to tender affection. His hand was between them, his cock poised to enter her soft opening. “Oh, God, Cecily.” He breathed into her. And then with one hard thrust, he slid into her welcome warmth.
Her head thrown back, she wrapped her legs around his waist as he began moving slowly, surrounded, reveling in her wet velvety softness. As he pushed into her, each time deeper, he could not get quite close enough. He watched her lips as she gasped, feminine little mewling sounds. He hadn’t noticed that before. She was adorable, and amazing, and he could… Not. Get. Close. Enough!
And then he was.
And she was there.
And they shattered into a thousand pieces together.
Her inner muscles clutched at him, even as he spent himself completely. Both of them were slick from their efforts. With a shift of his weight, he slid onto the floor beside her. She turned with him, not yet willing to be separated.
Hell Hath No Fury (Devilish Debutantes Book 1) Page 20