Barbara Pierce - Sinful Between the Sheets

by Barbara Pierce

  Fayne was often struck by his sister's beauty, which was a harmonious blend of both their parents. Her hair was curlier than his, but they shared the same unusual cinnamon hue and the Carlisle green eyes. She was elegantly attired in a depressing black crepe dress, a stark reminder of the fam­ily's loss.

  Brawley came around his desk to formally greet Kilby. His genial expression hardened into suppressed anger as he noticed the faint bruising on her cheek and the ruined state of her dress. "Carlisle, tell me you are not responsible for this young lady's condition?"

  Embarrassed by Brawley's intense scrutiny, Kilby brushed the strands of hair tickling her cheek and clutched the edges of the blanket tightly to her chest.

  Fayne glared at his brother-in-law. "Of course not. Her lunatic brother is responsible." Kilby was already skittish about being in his sister's house. He did not need Brawley to send her out the door with a careless comment. "Stop fussing," he ordered her gruffly. "You are still beautiful."

  "Ha," was her soft retort.

  His compliment prompted his sister and Brawley to pri­vately exchange knowing looks. It was totally out of the or­dinary for Fayne to introduce his family to the ladies in his life. Equally odd, he supposed, was the noticeable protec-tiveness he felt for Kilby.

  “Tem, perhaps you should introduce us to your friend," Fayre said, her delicate brow lifting as she reminded him of his lapse.

  Fayne caught Kilby's arm and held her at his side be­fore she could take a panicky step away from their hosts. "May I present Lady Kilby Fitchwolf," he said, his narrow­ing green eyes daring either one of them to say anything untoward.

  Brawley threaded his hand through his scalp. Shaking his head, he wandered away from them laughing. No doubt the man thought he was playing some kind of twisted prank on the family.

  His sister stared at Kilby in astonishment. Fayne was certain his sister could not reconcile the vulnerable woman who stood in front of her with the image of a mysterious temptress who had seduced their father in his final hours.

  Finding her tongue, his sister pinned him with an inci­sive glance. "I need a moment of your time, Fayne," she crisply said, using his given name. It was a definite sign of her annoyance at him. "Now."

  "Here," Mr. Brawley said, dangling a glass of brandy in front of Kilby's face. It was the first time the man had spo­ken directly to her since Fayne had pushed her into a chair, imperiously commanded her to stay, and followed his sis­ter out of the study.

  Kilby slouched even lower, wishing she could disap­pear, too, preferably right out the front door.

  "I do not drink brandy," she said softly, feeling thor­oughly intimidated. She and Fayne were also going to have private words after she survived this awkward incident.

  "Neither do I," Mr. Brawley confessed. "Still, you look like you need it. Think of it as medicinal fortification."

  Kilby accepted the glass and took a tentative sip. As with most panaceas, the brandy tasted foul and burned her throat. Taking another sip, she grimaced and shuddered. "Thank you."

  Mr. Brawley grabbed the edge of one of the chairs and dragged it until it was positioned beside hers. He sat down, his gray eyes contemplative. "Was Carlisle telling us the truth about your brother? Is he responsible for your—injuries?"

  The man was being kind and Kilby appreciated that he had bothered. "I am afraid so . .." She trailed off, fighting back the tears. "My apologies, it has been a horrible day. I do not want to contemplate my fate if Fayne had not shown up when he did."

  Mr. Brawley raised his brows at her mentioning Fayne by his given name, but he did not comment on her famil­iarity with the duke. "Why don't you tell me what hap­pened?" he generously invited.

  Kilby cast a wary glance at the door. She imagined that brother and sister were just beyond the door. Lady Fayre was probably flaying her brother alive for bringing their dead father's mistress into her house. "I should not be here. I told him it was not proper, but he refused to see reason on the matter."

  Mr. Brawley snorted. "That is a common flaw in the en­tire Carlisle clan, I fear."

  Kilby started at the sound of a muffled thump. She gave her host an apologetic smile. Ever since Archer's arrival in town, she had become so jumpy. Through the door, she heard Fayne's voice and his sister's sharp reply. Their words were indistinct; however, their angry tones were not.

  If she had any sense, she would just get up and leave. Fayne was not resolving anything by bullying his grieving sister into helping a lady she was already prepared to hate. She could return to Priddy's house. From there she would travel to Ealkin. Fayne was welcome to join her if he caught up to her in time. She could leave him a note.

  "The Carlisles are also prone to violent outbursts," the man added sympathetically, observing that she had shifted to the edge of her seat and was poised to flee. "Give them a minute or two and they will settle down."

  "Mr. Brawley, there is no point in my remaining here."

  "Of course there is," he said reasonably. He took the glass of brandy out of her hands and placed it on the nearby table. "Carlisle brought you here because he thought we could help. And we will, because we're family. Do not let flaring tempers or harsh words convince you otherwise. You have too much pluck to skulk away without discussing your decision with him."

  Chagrined by his calm reasoning and subtle charm, she said, "I was never his mistress, you know."

  "Who? Fayre's father?" He studied her face as if the truth were glimmering just beneath the surface. Mr. Braw­ley nodded. "Of course you weren't. Carlisle is many things, but he would never intentionally hurt his sister."

  She had never expected anyone connected to the Carlisles to blindly accept her word. Her nose began burning with suppressed tears. "Mr. Brawley?"

  "Call me Mac," he entreated, clasping her free hand within his. "While we are waiting for my wife and Carlisle to join us, why don't you catch me up on what has been happening?"

  "How could you be so inconsiderate, Tem?" Fayre railed against her brother. “To bring her above all ladies into my house. What if Mama had been visiting?"

  They had adjourned to a small reading room that had connecting doors to Brawley's study. Fayne picked up a book on one of the chairs. Casually glancing at the spine, he discarded it on the floor and sat down.

  "You underestimate the duchess's tolerance regarding these matters. How many former mistresses of our father's do you think she encounters in a single evening? If she were as sensitive as you claim, she would have to retire to the country." Fayne crossed his arms over his chest and stretched out his legs. He was willing to allow his sister to throw her fit. Nevertheless, he was very aware of the tick­ing clock and Kilby's impatience. "Besides, I know once Mother has met Lady Kilby Fitchwolf, she will adore her."

  Fayre stared at him as if a pair of homs had sprouted on his forehead. "You expect too much from our mother, and you demand too much from me. If you love me, you will remove this woman from my house."

  "I have not demanded anything from you, sister mine," he said, disappointed that his sister had condemned Kilby out of hand. "Yet." Fayne grimaced, realizing he had done exactly the same thing. "Kilby was never our father's mis­tress."

  "Is that what she told you?" She sneered, throwing her hands up in disgust at what she perceived as her brother's gullibility. "Have you considered that since our father es­caped her clutches, she is striving to get her hooks in you?"

  Fayre had gone too far.

  "Enough!" Fayne bellowed, slamming his palm on the arm of the chair. "There was nothing between Kilby and our father. I know!"

  Stunned, Fayre sank into the nearest chair. "What have you done?" she demanded, her voice rich with accusation.

  Fayne looked away. He was uncomfortable with his confession, but he needed his sister's backing. "Kilby was as innocent as you were when Lord Thatcher Standish seduced you. I should know since I was her first lover."

  She pinched the bridge of her nose as if it pained her. "My word, Tem, you are
not saying that you bedded this woman out of revenge?" Fayre paled at the thought.

  "Christ, do you think me so despicable?" he fired back, jumping up when she did, stepping into her path so she had to dear with him.

  Discussing Lord Thatcher Standish was difficult for his sister. Fayne had only mentioned the bastard because he knew she alone understood intimately how gossip cruelly distorted the truth, how easily a young innocent's reputa­tion could be ruined. He had not counted on her believing that he and Standish had been cut from the same cloth.

  His green gaze locked onto hers. "I seduced Kilby be­cause I desired her. I did not care if she had been with the duke or a thousand men. I wanted her in my bed." Using both hands, he smoothed the hair back from his face and sighed. "From the very beginning, she denied being the duke's mistress. I didn't believe her, until..." He let the word hang in the ensuing silence.

  "Good grief, Tem, when you make a mess of things you do not do it by degrees." Fayre groaned in frustration. She was not happy with Fayne. He had adeptly neutralized her unkind opinion of a lady she had been prepared to hate, and actually had her feeling sympathetic toward her. She lightly punched him on the shoulder. "You are fortunate I love you. How can Maccus and I help Lady Kilby?"

  Mr. Brawley, or Mac as he had insisted that she call him, had been correct about his wife and Fayne. Their private argument might have gotten rather spirited, but it was blessedly brief. When Fayne and Lady Fayre returned, his sister actually apologized for her rudeness. Kilby dis­creetly glanced at Fayne, wondering what he had revealed to his sister to change her opinion.

  Since she had explained to Mac the unfortunate circum­stances with her brother, the men immediately began to form a plan.

  "Someone needs to ride to Ealkin and collect Gypsy be­fore Nipping thinks to use her against Kilby," Fayne ex­plained to his family. "With your permission, I'd like to send one of your servants off to get a message to Ramscar. The man is responsible and good with children," he added, hoping to ease Kilby's concerns. "He could slip Gypsy out from under your brother's nose if need be."

  "Wait." There had been a sudden change of plan and Fayne had failed to discuss it with her. "I thought we were going to collect her? Gypsy might not go willingly with a stranger."

  Both men ignored her. Lady Fayre shrugged and patted her hand sympathetically. Clearly she was used to these overbearing males. "I have my maid preparing a bedcham­ber for you," the other woman confided to her.

  Kilby tore her gaze away from the gentlemen, who were arbitrarily making plans without consulting her, and tried to concentrate on what his sister was offering. "You are too gen­erous, Lady Fayre. However, I would not want to impose."

  "It is no trouble," Lady Fayre assured her. "I am also having her lay out a few dresses."

  "But—"

  Before Kilby could refuse, the other woman glanced knowingly at the blanket that concealed the damage done to her bodice, and wrinkled her nose. "Do not argue. You can­not continue your journey wearing a ruined dress. The blood splattered on the front will draw unnecessary notice."

  "Forget Ramscar," Mac was telling Fayne. "I'll collect the girl."

  "Do I not get a say in this matter? I am, after all, Gypsy's sister," Kilby testily reminded them. Had they forgotten she was in the room?

  Mac winked at her. "Trust me, Lady Kilby. Your sister will be safe in my care."

  Fayne was taken aback by his brother-in-law's offer. "There is no need to involve yourself. Once I contact Ramscar—"

  "There is no time to track down your friend," Mac said tersely. "I'll retrieve little Gypsy from Ealkin, and then bring her back here. No one will' think to search for the child here."

  It was a very generous offer. Still, Kilby did not under­stand why they could not go to Ealkin themselves. "Fayne, why do we not col—" She gritted her teeth, when he si­lenced her with a gesture.

  "It was not my intention to involve you and Fayre so deeply," Fayne admitted, though he seemed relieved. "Nev­ertheless, we are grateful."

  Mac accepted Fayne's thanks with a courteous nod of his head. "You are family, Carlisle. Besides, Fayre and I could use the practice."

  Kilby glanced questioningly at Lady Fayre, who was blushing profusely.

  A huge grin broke across Fayne's face. Whooping, he crossed over to his sister and picked her up. "And you said nothing, you little minx!" He hugged her tightly and spun her around.

  "Easy, Tem. My stomach is always unsettled these days," Lady Fayre warned, her green eyes sparkling with joy. "I take it you are pleased with our news?"

  Fayne gently placed his sister on her feet again. He kissed her lovingly on the forehead. "You are making me an uncle. I cannot think of any better news."

  Unexpectedly, Lady Fayre looked over at Kilby. "Oh, I am positive you will come up with something," she said enigmatically.

  Fayne extended his hand to his brother-in-law, and they shook. "Congratulations, Brawley. Good thing the duke did not manage to shoot you, after all, eh?"

  "Something for which I am eternally grateful," Mac said wryly.

  Kilby rose from her chair. "Best wishes to you both," she said to the Brawleys. She was tired of Fayne's ignoring her and she meant to do something about it. "Your Grace, I am concerned about the time."

  Fayne always knew she was annoyed at him when she started addressing him formally. In an attempt to appease her, he came over and put his arm around her. Kilby blinked in surprise that he would so boldly declare their in­timacy. She had only told Mac about her brother, and had been deliberately vague about her relationship with Fayne. What had the man told his sister?

  "Yes. You are so right." He nudged Kilby toward Lady Fayre. "Is everything ready?" he asked his sister.

  "I assume so. Amelie was taking care of everything." His sister extended her hand to Kilby. "Come along, Lady Kilby. Let us get you cleaned up before your departure."

  The notion of changing her dress and washing her face was appealing. Still, she could not help but feel that she was missing a critical piece of his plan. "Wait. If Mr. Brawley is riding to Ealkin, what is our destination?"

  "Gretna Green," Fayne said, kissing her on the mouth and pushing her at his sister. "You are about to become my duchess."

  CHAPTER 16

  Within the hour, Fayne and Kilby were under way. He had switched his light carriage for Brawley's larger travel coach. Although he was trading some speed for comfort, the en­closed compartment guaranteed their anonymity. If Nip­ping was searching for them, and Fayne was certain the man was, he would be searching for the Solitea crest.

  "You are serious about this?" Kilby asked. His high­handed announcement still had her reeling.

  The time she had spent alone with Fayre and her maid had significantly improved her appearance. She had bathed, removing all the blood and grime off her face. The swelling on her lower lip had disappeared and a touch of rouge on her cheeks had hidden the redness from Nipping's blow. Her long black tresses had been brushed until they gleamed and were swept up and pinned high on her head. The torn dress had been replaced with one of his sister's. Kilby wore an underdress of sarcenet with long sleeves that concealed the light bruising on her arms. On top of the underdress she had added an amaranth-colored velvet Turkish robe that was trimmed with ermine. Her headdress was made out of the same material as the robe.

  Fayne thought she was the most exquisite woman he had ever beheld. It mattered little that she was frowning at him. "Of course I am, love. In spite of the grief I feel obliged to give my sister's husband; Brawley is a good man. I would not put your sister's welfare in his hands if I did not think he was capable."

  Kilby crossed her eyes at him in exasperation. "You are being intentionally obtuse. You know very well that I am speaking of our imminent nuptials."

  He settled back in the seat. She had not screeched her refusal at him in front of his family. Perhaps it had been too much to hope that she had been resigned to her leg-shackled fate. "Oh, that. Why wouldn't I
be serious? I've already asked you to marry"

  "And I recall rejecting your generous offer," she coun­tered huffily. "If I had been the seductress you had as­sumed I was, I doubt you would have found it necessary to come up to scratch."

  "I disagree." It maddened him tremendously that her in­dignation over his one tiny mistake had not abated. More­over, was he not marrying the lady? "I believe I stepped on the flowery path to marital bliss the instant I saw you."

  Kilby looked skeptical instead of awed by his romantic declaration. "There have been so many other women in your life. Why would you want to give up the bachelor ex­istence that gave you access to an assortment of lonely widows and discontented married countesses and pledge yourself to one lady?"

  Fayne sensed that was not the question she had wanted to ask. What Kilby really wanted to know was if he viewed marriage as his father had done. She knew what a rake the duke had been. Was the son like the father? What she knew of his past was not comforting. A lady might be better off reconsidering her marriage to a gentleman if she thought she was fated to endure an unhappy life of turning a blind eye to her husband's numerous indiscretions.

  Could he be faithful to her? He honestly did not know. No lady had ever ensnared him so thoroughly that he had contemplated pledging his heart, his honor. The genera­tions of adulterous Carlisle males who came before him would attest that his family had not been born for fidelity. Still, he had sworn to be different. It was one of the reasons why he had planned on putting off marriage until he was in his forties. Meeting Kilby had changed everything.

  "Are you demanding constancy?" he warily asked. He supposed he could say the words she needed to hear. They were only words. However, it did not seem to bode well to be offering half-truths and speculation on his wedding day.

  "Many find it a virtue in marriage," she said, disap­pointed by his response. "Let me ask you, do you expect faithfulness from me?"

  "Yes!" he replied without hesitation. The thought of her turning to another man sent a need for violence rushing through his system. "I have not been intimate with another woman since our first meeting, Kilby. You satisfy me as no other who came before you. Marriage is just a legal bind­ing for the courts. It does not alter who I am, how I feel about you."