“It warms me to hear my mother boast prideful accolades.” His comment sliced the air in a most chilling tone.
“Why shouldn’t I experience the same thrill? I thought my assignation with Laurence would end when he completed the portrait, but the blasted man insists he’s fallen in love.” This time her laugh sounded nervous more than contrived. “The last thing I desire is another scandal produced by rabid gossipmongers. Your grandfather…” Her voice trailed off on a note of melancholy.
“I’ve hardly been away from London and you’re asking me to return.” This time he visited the sideboard, poured a brandy, and swallowed the amber liquor in one gulp. The welcome burn eased his distemper. “What do you want? Shall I threaten the man? Break his brushes, spill his colors?”
“How dare you make light of this.” Her voice rose and eyes narrowed. “You, the master of aimless pleasure pursuit.”
“I respect all my commitments, every one of them. I’m just more particular and cautious before I give my word. I am loyal to a fault.” He paused, but only for a breath. “Am I an immoral pleasure-seeker? Perhaps. Yet I’ve never pretended to be anything other. And here you are on my doorstep asking for help. If you’re expecting some kind of apology you will leave empty-handed. I am careful in all decisions and therefore never have need of the words I’m sorry. I’ve never said them and never will.” He strode across the room, his steps heavy on the carpet until he towered over her small frame, his anger at the forefront. His parents should beseech him to accept their mistakes, not the other way around.
“You are my son.” She stood her ground, matching his glare with one of her own.
“You are hardly a mother.” He would not acknowledge the ragged regret in his voice.
“Then this shall be the last request I make of you.” She sniffed as if accepting the consequences of her careless behavior. “Mr. Laurence is threatening exposure. He claims if I do not continue our affair he’ll inform the rags.”
“You’ve managed to bear the brunt of societal scandal before, I doubt this artist—”
“He’s threatening to confront your grandfather.” This time her words were a vehement whisper, though a thread of desperation penetrated her plea.
The Duke of Acholl would not countenance another scandal. His grandfather had taken his father to task and would do the same to his only daughter were she not more prudent about her decisions. What a hornet’s nest his mother had created.
“And what do you propose? That somehow I persuade this fellow that my mother’s licentious attentions aren’t worth his undying affection?” He found his first smile since entering the house. Love was an emotion entertained by fools, propagated by idiots, and avoided by the intelligent.
“I’ve found an easier path.”
Every fiber of his being was alerted.
“You excel at the gaming tables and Laurence has a penchant for Hazard—perhaps more akin to an obsession. After our sessions, he plays through the night and laments about the outcome the following day. He rarely wins but he believes his success is imminent, and I daresay he’s been bitten, the fever hot in his blood. Unlike your skill with the game, he lacks control, which could explain his exuberant fascination with me. More than once, he’s mentioned his desire to improve his skill, but his funds are lacking. I believe he wishes to impress me, or perhaps, acquire enough money to prove he’s worthy of my affection.” Her mouth lifted though no true happiness showed. “You could happen upon the table where he’s playing, win his every shilling, and then once you hold his vowels, persuade him to abandon his attentions in exchange for the accommodation note.”
“It will become another scandal.”
“Only if you lose and cause a scene.”
“I don’t lose.”
“Precisely.” She offered one of her conciliatory smiles.
“You’ve put a lot of thought into this, haven’t you?” He eyed the brandy and considered pouring another glass if for no other reason than to wash away the suspicion in his tone.
“I’d label it consideration.”
“For yourself, no doubt.”
“It’s a good plan that leaves all participants unscathed. Laurence will have his debt forgiven and I will avoid censure for an inadvertent assumption. I’m here for one night only. Tomorrow I’ll begin travel to London, with or without you.”
Her expression eased and he searched for any sign she regretted her actions. Any of them. But he saw only what she chose to show him. “Hazard is a game of chance. Any money Laurence loses reverts to the house. There would be no opportunity to accept his vowels. Your plan has more holes than a sinking ship.”
“I wouldn’t know what happens within hells and pleasure gardens, places men go to ruin their reputations and soil their titles.” She eyed him with a gleam of warning. “But I’m sure you’ll contrive a plan to stop Laurence’s aggression.”
“And what will I gain for this valiant manipulation?” Sarcasm fell heavily on the last two words.
“My promise to avoid scandal in the future, of course.”
“I’ve received that promise before and it’s never been kept.”
“I can’t take responsibility for the unfortunate turn of events that plague me. Your father holds that honor.”
Kellaway was too clever to engage in a debate as to where fault lay in consideration of his parents. His mother had taught him all the wrong emotions and his father had proved them true. Years before he’d reached his majority their deficient guidance fell into obsolescence. He was a self-made man in every respect, whether the qualities proved admirable or reprehensible. He’d assist his mother this final time and then cut loose from the web of lies she’d tangled around their family.
Chapter Nine
Angelica awoke from the dream, the nightmare, confused and panicked, her heart thumping a frantic beat. She pushed the coverlet aside with haste and sat up, fumbling for the lantern key on the bedside table, exhaling in relief as the soft glow chased away the remnants of fear and trepidation. It couldn’t be late. She narrowed her eyes and focused on the clock on the mantle, measuring her breaths with the mark of passing time. The hands displayed half ten.
She’d gone to bed early and claimed fatigue when Grandmother inquired, simultaneously hiding the truth that she wished to escape the temptation of Benedict’s proposition.
If you seek experience, I’ll aid you in your quest.
A thrilling shiver passed through her and she pulled the coverlet up to her chin, closing her eyes tight.
I’ll show you pleasure, ease your tension. I sense your unrest, see it in every inch of you.
Here was the adventure she wished to embrace, if only she possessed the courage…
Shaking her head, she dismissed her wayward thoughts and focused on the nightmare that had caused her to wake. Her father had been angry, his voice raised and walking stick tapping the floorboards as he demanded she obey. Why wouldn’t he listen to her? Why wouldn’t he see reason?
He loomed above her, his shadow a portent of misery, and she cowered from his outstretched hand, a silver key on his palm gleaming as she winced at his overbearing demands and refused to accept the key, much to his anger.
Then her sister appeared half hidden by her father’s shadow and far in the distance. Helen looked distraught, her voice a haunting echo as she urged Angelica to take the key and run. But still Angelica stayed crouched on the floor near her father’s feet, frozen with indecision and kept at bay by the end of that wicked walking stick, prodding the ground as if poking holes in her confidence and resistance.
Slowly the darkness increased, the voices faded, and Helen shrank as their father burgeoned larger. Angelica wavered between the two. Paralyzed and unsure, unable to act, her hands trembling and her heart beating hard. At last, the chaotic emotions of the nightmare startled her awake and set her free.
What did it all mean? Was it her fear of the unknown that consumed her while she slept? Surely it could only be troubled emot
ions over Helen and the imperious interference of her father that caused the lingering disturbance. The single time she’d forgotten her familial distress and found a semblance of peace was when she’d kissed Benedict.
Benedict.
Even his name sounded like a peaceful prayer and psalm of salvation…a benediction. What harm could be found in one more kiss? If her thoughts were so burdened with worry and apprehension that nightmares prodded her awake, perhaps she needed a talisman to cling to as she navigated her future. She hardly knew him, only a few days, but it would be heavenly to find comfort in his embrace and the strength of his arms as she indulged in one last kiss. It was an act of desperation, she couldn’t ignore, the need and unrelenting desire to walk to the beach and into Benedict’s arms. It didn’t matter he was a stranger she’d never see again. He could offer her a vital memory to cherish in her heart no matter what the future held. Her father might force her to bow to his decision but in this moment, she possessed free will. This was her choice.
With the solidifying realization, all contrariness evaporated. She slid from the mattress and gathered her slippers and wrapper, only pausing to drape the blanket around her shoulders before she tiptoed downstairs.
Kellaway waited in the dark. He’d brought two lanterns, but he hadn’t lit them. He’d also brought a blanket. Tonight a full moon graced the sky. He’d indulged in a bit of tranquility with his telescope before coming down to the ocean. The moon’s glow lit his path as if it were a beacon to providence. Gypsies considered the full moon a sign of good fortune. Indians likened it to a gold coin and believed it was a sign of prosperity. Kell didn’t believe in such omens, singularly appreciative for the light it provided as he made his way to the beach.
He’d downed one drink, an accomplishment, after agreeing to his mother’s request, then mulled over the proposition that he’d be bound for London come morning. After which he whiled the time in his bedchamber before he yanked the coverlet from the mattress and headed out. Bitters would have many complaints. Perhaps London wasn’t a poor choice after all.
Now, he waited. Like much of his life, he bided time. Would the lady appear? Happenstance had provided him three unexpected exchanges with her. It proved pure selfishness to wish for more, but he did. He was a man who wanted what he wanted and at the moment he wanted to kiss a mermaid, if only the lady would appear. Unfamiliar doubt settled with ill ease.
Life hadn’t been kind. Past experiences shaped him into an enigma among his peers. Anyone who knew him accepted his shortcomings and thought better than to mention them. A wry smile turned his lips. Returning to London provided him the opportunity to speak to Jasper. He hadn’t attended his friend’s wedding and harbored deep regret over how he’d handled the discovery Emily Shaw was his half sister. Now Emily was his best friend’s wife. He needed to make peace and mend fences.
A whisper in the wind grabbed his attention and he bent to light one of the lanterns waiting in the sand near his boots, discarded as soon as he’d arrived. The soft glow of light did little to reveal who approached until a distinct silhouette came into view.
At first he mistook the stranger for a man, broad shouldered and with a cumbersome gait, but he soon deciphered his mermaid, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, the clumsy addition making her strides uneven as she advanced across the beach.
“This is reckless more than restless.”
“Are you trying to frighten me away?” she whispered, and it amused him.
“Not in the least. I’m noting something we have in common.”
She stood motionless, unsure, he surmised. No sudden rainstorm prompted their swift response and for a long stretched silence, they stood three paces apart and utterly quiet, though a tension danced between them as if a flash of lightning had all at once been unleashed and was searching for a place to settle.
Before she could change her mind he took the initiative and reached out his hand, relishing when she placed her cool fingers within his. He had no idea what the lady intended, but he’d grant her a boon and see where the evening led. Romantic challenges always proved interesting.
“My education is lacking in the subject of merfolk and how long one can exist on land. I should taste your kiss now before you disappear into the night.”
A soft laugh escaped, the sound unbearably erotic in the darkness, and he all at once wished for more than the implied promise of an embrace. Who was this woman who’d appeared in his life to tempt and tease him? Her innocent kiss consumed his thoughts with an underlying energy more powerful than any courtesan or wanton he’d bedded, yet she embodied a sensual timidity that demanded he explore, teach, and discover every nuance of her beautiful body. How far would she allow his expedition?
“Or perhaps you’re a goddess of the sea?” He removed the blanket from her shoulders and led, lantern in one hand, her trust in the other, to where he’d spread the coverlet across the sand, far away from the water’s edge and out of view of the cottage, his action indicating a bold assumption.
She didn’t object.
This area, shielded by a rocky escarpment, offered the perfect location for a romantic tryst. He regretted the absence of a bottle of wine, yet he’d never bothered with romantic notions. The women who usually warmed his bed didn’t require coaxing or coddling, only payment in some form whether that be a flaunt among society or jewels delivered in a velvet box, and he obliged, content to avoid the stranglehold of emotion.
Yet deep down, in a dark corner of his soul he rarely visited, he kept the truth. A secret locked away behind the walls of his heart. He wanted love. Ached for it. Needed it more than the air he breathed. Craved it more than title, reputation, or wealth and had no words to express the force of this desire, so he dared not confront it. Perhaps, someday.
Angelica followed Benedict across the sand to where a wall of rock lent privacy, the effort needless considering the dark hour and obscure location. Even the lord of the house on the cliff dreamed on his silk sheets by now.
Her escape to the ocean had cleared her mind of the nightmare and instilled a spirit of self-examination. Liberation grew stronger with each step upon the path. It wasn’t rebellion in any form, more so the only gift she could give herself, and for the first time in her life she felt powerful. Suddenly it was all that mattered.
By the time she’d reached the sand, her confidence and determination overcame all hesitation. What use did she have for virtue? To keep the quality safely locked within when her father’s plan ensured she’d never experience true love or passion.
Tonight, lit by the golden glow of the full moon, she could taste forbidden magic, the rush of emotion her sister had described as worth any cost. Benedict would provide exactly what she coveted: an experience to remember before her father shut her away in a convent. His talks with the vicar were endless and determined, Helen’s fate determining Angelica’s once her sister had fled. How complicated and twisted, the choices and consequences.
She wouldn’t label her sister unfairly. Helen had taken control of her future. To her credit she hadn’t crumbled once her secret was discovered, her beau forced to leave London. Their father proved a wicked adversary for a man so religiously devout and pious, but then title permitted indiscriminate actions that were often swift and unjust. Without doubt, Angelica lacked the courage Helen possessed, but she could claim this moment, no matter her future days would be composed of bleak prayer and solemn regret.
Tonight, she wasn’t Angelica Curtis, daughter of an earl. Tonight she lived a fantasy. She created the rules and made each choice.
Blinking twice to clear the vestiges of contemplation, she focused on the man in front of her. Benedict had dressed for the occasion, his shirt tails free in the shallow breeze, his boots and socks discarded. The lantern placed by his bare feet illuminated a large coverlet made wider by the blanket he worked to lay flat. Exactly what did this pirate expect from their meeting? The question raised a wave of anticipation equivalent to her tremor of impetuous in
decision.
But neither took root as he pulled her close with a swift, unexpected tug, until her body nestled against his, perhaps to create a buffer from the outside world. He had captured her within his embrace to hold her safe. But no, she was wrong. No safety lay here.
His mouth found hers, hot and insistent, and she whimpered with the sudden onslaught, surprise fast transforming into desire. This was why she’d come to the beach. This man, his kiss. It may be foolish and perilous, as reckless as he taunted, but nonetheless worth the price. If only to lose herself for one evening.
His hands framed her face as if he meant to keep her imprisoned for his pleasure. His kiss was deliberate, fraught with barely contained restraint. She laid her palms flat on his shoulders, the solid strength of his broad physique the perfect anchor to steady the tide of emotion daring to carry her under. She smoothed her hands around his neck. The satiny stands of his long hair brushed across the back of her palms, sensual and evocative, and her nervousness eased a little, lost in pure bliss, though her heartbeat battered the inside of her chest.
He licked across her lower lip as if to entreat her surrender, and her lips parted in a silent gasp. His tongue—hot velvet—brushed against hers, his kiss rippling through her to reach each nerve ending. The tips of her fingers were lost in the silk of his hair; the soles of her feet burrowed deep in the sand. Her breasts became heavy and tight, her knees weak, and between her legs, in her most private, intimate place, she grew wet and sensitive as if each stroke of his tongue against her lips, jaw, neck, was a stroke against her core. The reaction alarmed and thrilled her, every pinnacle of sensitivity new and invigorating.
Her breathing stuttered. She struggled not to drown in the onslaught of sensation, this unknown raw desire that promised an abyss of pleasure. He slid his hand slid down her spine, tracing the curve with the pressure of his thumb to settle on her backside where his palm gripped her buttocks, pulling her closer against his body. Benedict represented pure masculinity: strength, daring, confidence, and she drew from him, followed his example, any timid inhibition abandoned in the heat of their embrace. He offered the very things she’d yearned for throughout life and she sank further into his arms, her breasts pressed shamelessly against the firm muscles of his chest, his shirt parted so where her neckline edged, her skin touched muscle—hot, smooth and hard.
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