Barbara Pierce - Sinful Between the Sheets

by Barbara Pierce

  "Christ, you would think the beast would have had its fill," he lamented, shaking his head, chagrined at his unruly body.

  She collapsed into giggles. The man was a satyr, and he reveled in his wicked devilment. "You could not possibly want—"

  He brushed a kiss on her open mouth. "Yes. I do." Fayne pushed her onto her feet. "Always and often. Unfor­tunately, we have a schedule to keep. We need to get you dressed, a proper breakfast, and then we are off." He swat­ted her backside to get her moving.

  "What schedule?" she asked, working the hairbrush through her snarled hair. "Our trip was unplanned."

  Fayne said nothing.

  She sighed. What had she been thinking? The man was always making plans. The problem was he kept her in the dark until she was soundly caught up in his schemes. Kilby paused her brushing as another thought occurred to her. "Are you worried that Archer might discover Gypsy's where­abouts? Is that why we are leaving so early?"

  Fayne took the hairbrush out of her hand before she hurt herself. He resumed the task of smoothing out her hair. "Stop fretting about your brother. Nipping has no say re­garding either you or Gypsy."

  Fayne gave her a quick hug and handed the hairbrush back to her, and then headed for the door. "What is keeping the servant? I've ordered some hot water so you can wash. Someone should have delivered it by now."

  "Wait! You never told me," she called after him before he disappeared behind the door. "If you are not worried about Archer or Gypsy, why are we leaving the inn within the hour? Is there something you are not telling me?"

  He glanced pointedly at his crotch. If anyone looked at him too closely they would see a hint of his waning arousal. "With you in my arms, I could have stayed here for a month. As for where we are traveling to, you will just have to wait and see, my curious little wolf."

  It appeared Kilby's curiosity was no match for the rhyth­mic rumbling and creaking of the coach as it traveled down the dirt road. Not even fifteen minutes had elapsed before her lashes fluttered closed and her relaxed figure slumped against him. Unable to resist, Fayne cuddled his sleeping wife in his arms. He had worn his duchess out, he thought with bone-deep contentment. Yesterday he had bound Kilby to him legally. Those ties satisfied the church and the law. Fayne, nevertheless, desired more.

  There were other alluring ways a man could bind a lady to him. From their first kiss, the initial indiscernible threads had been cast around Kilby without her knowledge. Their lovemaking had strengthened those subtle bindings, tempt­ing the lady into risking her heart and very soul.

  His seductive games with Kilby had begun in light-hearted amusement. Her beauty had captivated him and the lady herself had exasperated him. Fayne had desired other women. A few had fallen in love with him. Nonetheless, when the passion had burned itself out and the moment came for them to part, Fayne had sauntered away with no regrets and his heart intact.

  Kilby was different.

  All the while he was seducing her, he in turn had been seduced. A man had never been caught so completely in his own trap. He could not even pinpoint his initial aware­ness of this intriguing development. Maybe she had be­witched him the night he had picked her out of the crowded ballroom. What he did know was that from the instant he had touched her, Fayne had been driven to stake his claim on her.

  His father's death and meeting Kilby had urged him to contemplate his future. Thoughts of the damn Solitea curse also lingered in his thoughts. With the title weighing on his shoulders like a mantle hewed from granite, he knew the time had come to embrace his responsibilities and fate. Marriage was a natural step. His mother had been urging him for several years to cease dallying with his mistresses and to find a proper bride. A new Solitea heir was needed, and Fayne was happy to dedicate himself to the pleasur­able task.

  The coachman called out to the team of horses, alerting Fayne that they had arrived at their destination. Although he was eager to introduce his new bride to his friends and the ton, he and Kilby deserved a few days of solitude, giv­ing her time to adjust to her new circumstances.

  "Wake up, love," Fayne said, stroking her face. His fin­ger traced the small bruise on her cheek. It angered him that he had not gotten to her before Nipping had laid a hand on her. Last evening when he had removed her nightgown he noticed the tiny bruises on her arms and two semicircular teeth marks near her right nipple where the bastard had bit­ten her. Taking Kilby and her sister away from Nipping was just the beginning. As far as he was concerned, his dealings with the marquess were far from finished.

  Kilby covered her yawn with the back of her hand. "Are we in London yet?" she sleepily inquired. Her lower lip pouted in puzzlement as she pondered how she had ended up in Fayne's lap.

  "I told you that we were not traveling directly to town. I have a surprise for you." He tipped her upright and shifted her off his lap.

  The coach halted, and minutes later, the coachman opened the door. "Good afternoon, Your Grace," the man said, his fingers tugging the brim of his hat. "I trust it was a comfortable journey?"

  Kilby smiled at the coachman, accepting the extended hand he politely offered to help her disembark from the coach. "Remarkably so. Thank you," she said, sending an amused glance at her husband.

  Fayne descended the coach after her.

  The coachman approached him, carrying a satchel in each hand. He nodded at the house. "Your Grace, I'll take the bags inside and check to see if everything is in order."

  "Very good, Stevens," Fayne said, his indulgent gaze fixed on his wife. The man opened the front door and dis­appeared inside.

  “This is a lovely place. Where are we?" Kilby asked, her gaze taking in the large house and wooded landscape.

  He absently patted one of the horses harnessed to their coach. "Welcome to Carlisle Park. What do you think of it?"

  "It is splendid!" She beamed at him. "How long has it been in your family?"

  Fayne removed his hat, and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. He stared at the early Tudor and Elizabethan manor house. He had little interest in family history. However, his father had drilled into his head at a very early age the importance of knowing one's assets. "The original house goes back to the late fourteen hundreds. Before Arianrod was built, the manor was used as the family's county seat. What you see here is what is left of the southeast portion of the original house."

  The house had once been surrounded by six hundred acres of Carlisle land. When the county seat had been moved to Arianrod, interest in the property had waned. Much of the acreage had been sold off, leaving the remaining two hundred and fifty acres. For several generations it had served as a dowager house. Around 1720, the house had been renovated and from that time forward it had been used as a hunting lodge, although the application was rather generalized. The game was abundant for an enthusiastic sportsman. Fayne, however, suspected many of his father's hunting trips to Carlisle Park included his mistress in the party.

  "How long will we be staying?" she asked, returning to his side.

  Fayne put his arm casually around her waist. It had been over a year since his last visit to Carlisle Park. Ramscar, Everod, and Cadd had joined him on his two-week stay. "Three days. My father used the place as a hunting lodge. Though the upkeep has been maintained, the house is not currently staffed."

  "Oh," she said faintly, looking beset by the news. She was a gently bred lady used to directing staff, not seeing to the duties herself. "I suppose you are planning on hunting game to roast in the hearth?"

  He took pity on her. "Fortunately, we are not entirely without some assistance. Before we left London, I sent a messenger north to warn the caretaker of our impending visit. I ordered him to open the house and hire a woman to cook and clean up after us daily." He hugged her encour­agingly. "Not to worry, little wolf, I won't make you cook for us."

  The coachman confirmed the house had been readied and cleaned for their arrival. On his inspection, he had discov­ered the woman the caretaker had hired was already in the k
itchen preparing their evening meal. Her name was Mrs. Agnes Meadows. In her mid-forties, the robust woman had light brown hair and kind bluish-gray eyes. She had told them to call her Aggie.

  Kilby decided to explore the house while Fayne assisted the coachman with the horses. The house consisted of a main hall with a groin-vaulted ceiling. Huge, carved mul-lioned windows adorned the front of the house. Following an ornately carved passageway led her to a stone staircase. Upstairs in one wing was the dining room and drawing room. The other wing included an Elizabethan-style gallery and a round tower, likely a relic of the original house. As she had come to expect from the Carlisles, the house like its owners was eclectic, tasteful, and lavishly appointed.

  Fayne found her walking in the courtyard. "Having fun poking around?"

  "Yes." She grinned at him, not denying her curiosity. "I think you have a grand house."

  "I'm pleased. We shall have to make a point of coming here often."

  Her stomach fluttered as a thought occurred to her. By evening, they would have the house to themselves. Aggie intended on returning to her own household each night. As for the coachman, he would reside in the stables. The large building also included sleeping quarters for the grooms.

  He caged her with his arms. "Have you settled in yet?"

  Kilby sniffed at the ridiculous question. "There was not much to the task since I left town with little more than the dress on my back," she retorted, slightly amused by their spontaneous adventure.

  She had never embarked on a trip with so few dresses and accessories. Nor had she had so much fun. With Fayne, it was easy to forget the problems that awaited them in London on their return.

  While the Brawleys had seemed to accept Fayne's news that they were eloping to Gretna Green with gracious ease, Kilby still had not met his mother. Privately, she was dread­ing the meeting. Despite Fayne's assurances, she doubted the dowager duchess would eagerly embrace, the woman she considered her dead husband's mistress.

  There was Gypsy to consider, too. A stranger had re­moved her from the only home her sister knew. If she had been in her sister's predicament, she would have been terri­fied. Still, there was no help for it. At least Gypsy was safe from Archer's machinations. As for keeping her brother from retaining custody of Gypsy, Fayne had promised her that would never happen. For some reason she believed him.

  When had she started to trust him?

  Fayne brought her hand to his lips and kissed her fin­gers. "What are you pondering?"

  "My brother," she confessed, hating to spoil their quiet time together. "You keep telling me to stop worrying. Nev­ertheless, I cannot seem to help myself."

  "Your brother is a perverted arse," Fayne said. His anger over Archer's attack on Kilby had not diminished. "Why your father trusted him to see to your protection is be­yond me."

  "Archer and my father had an awkward relationship," she said carefully. "My brother stayed away from Ealkin unless he was summoned. Despite their differences, my fa­ther would have expected Archer to take care of the family if he could not. I doubt he even glimpsed the twisted man his son had become."

  Fayne placed his hands on her shoulders and laid his forehead affectionately against hers. He sighed. "I wish I possessed the words to calm your fears."

  Kilby rubbed her palm against his chest in a soothing manner. "You took me away from him. That is what mat­ters," she said, praying he would not come to regret it.

  "When I confront him again, I will crush him," Fayne said, the ruthlessness she had witnessed the day before shining in his harsh green eyes. "Until then ..."

  She shook her head questioningly. "What?"

  He lowered his lips to hers. "I will have to dedicate my­self to the task of keeping you wholly distracted."

  Kilby offered him her mouth, willingly accepting the satisfying oblivion of Fayne's kisses.

  CHAPTER 18

  The next two days passed too swiftly for his comfort. This time alone with Kilby had been extraordinary. Fayne had never been so aware of a woman before. She was so responsive in his arms. He had thought it impossible that a jaded rake like himself could be taken to such new incred­ible heights. He did not want the enchantment to end.

  Fayne wanted to prolong their stay at Carlisle Park.

  "Guess what?"

  Kilby had found a scenic spot near the lake under an old willow tree to read a book she had found in one of the rooms in the house. Lost in her story, she peered up at him with a vague smile on her face. "I beg your pardon?"

  Fayne plopped down beside her. He was dressed infor­mally, wearing only his shirt and breeches. "We are alone."

  She rolled her eyes heavenward at his declaration. "We have been alone for days, Your Grace."

  He nimbly plucked the book out of her hands and tossed it aside.

  "I was reading that!" she said crossly.

  He tugged on the ribbons tied into a bow under her chin. "You are not supposed to smile at me when you scold me." Fayne peeled off her bonnet and it landed on top of the book. "Stevens just departed. It appears Brawley's coach­man is rather bored in our company. He went off to search for livelier fellowship. We might not see him for a week."

  Sensing his mischief, she rolled away from him with the intent to escape. He lunged for her ankle. Dragging her to­ward him, Fayne rolled Kilby onto her back and pinned her with the length of his body.

  "That is unfortunate," she said, squirming for her free­dom. "I thought we were leaving tomorrow?"

  Fayne got up and pulled Kilby to her feet. "I've changed my mind. With my sister and Brawley looking after Gypsy, I have the notion of keeping you here longer just to satisfy all my private whims. I estimate that should take a year or so," he said, stalking her as she backed away from him. What he enjoyed about his wife was that she was game for anything.

  "Ha-ha." Kilby made a silly face at him and danced out of his reach. Unbeknownst to her, she was moving exactly in the direction he desired. "And we are not alone. Aggie is still at the house."

  Fayne slowly shook his head. "I respectfully must dis­agree. I dismissed her. I assure you, my dear duchess, we are alone. Not a single soul will hear your screams."

  Kilby halted at his odd comment. "Why would I—"

  Fayne exploded into action. Throwing her over his shoulder, he headed straight into the lake.

  "Oh, my God, you would not dare!" she screeched at him as she pounded on his back. The water was up to his waist and he was showing no signs of stopping. "Fayne. Truly, the water is cold. You would not—"

  Kilby screamed as Fayne dove into the water. Taking them under, he playfully rolled their entwined bodies be­fore surging to the surface.

  She came up gasping for air. He had not taken them out too far. Kilby was able to stand with the water level barely covering her breasts. He leered at her, liking how the water had molded her dress to her body. Angling her hand, she splashed an arc of water at him. "You idiot! I had my mouth open. I swallowed half the lake when you dunked us."

  "Half the lake, eh?" he asked, laughing at her exaggera­tion. "As much as that?"

  She stifled a giggle, since she was pretending to be vexed with him. "Yes, you rat!"

  They were a sight to see with their clothes plastered to their bodies like a second skin. A steady stream of droplets dripped from the sodden mass of hair pinned high on her head, making it seem as if her head had sprung a leak.

  Kilby began to trudge through the water away from him toward the embankment, but Fayne seized her arm. "Where are you going? I'm not finished with you yet."

  "Oh, you have done enough, Your Grace." She pushed back the wet hair plastered to her face. Her coiffure was listing to one side. "I intend to remove my soggy clothes and put on the remaining dry dress I have in my posses­sion." She reached into the water and pulled off her shoes and stockings. Stuffing the hosiery into the toes of her wet shoes, she hurled the pair onto the dry bank.

  For a lady used to changing her attire several times a day, her extreme
ly limited wardrobe was a nuisance. Fayne commiserated with her. He had only borrowed a spare shirt from Brawley before they had departed London. "Our clothes needed a good washing anyway."

  She laughed at his odd logic, and shook her head. "No, I am not going to encourage you."

  Yet she already had with the coy tilt of her head and a seductive smile on her lips. "Stand still while I finish this," he ordered, opening the panel at the back of her dress.

  He made quick work of the cloth tapes. Ignoring her protests, he shoved the wet fabric down over her arms. "Step out of the dress. This is tricky business doing this task in the water."

  She held on to his shoulder and let him free the garment from her legs. Kilby had not put on a corset or petticoats this morning. The remaining chemise was too sheer when wet to protect her modesty. Immediately she crossed her arms over her breasts. "No, I cannot possibly—someone might see us," she said plaintively.

  He bundled her dress into a wet ball and threw it in the general direction of her discarded shoes. "I told you. We are alone. Do you believe I would allow another man to see you so?" He stripped her of the chemise and she sank deeper into the water to prevent him from seeing her.

  "I never know what to think," she replied, pouting sul­lenly. "You always seem to be one step ahead of me at every turn."

  His white teeth flashed at her as he smiled. "Why, thank you, little wolf. I do believe you mean that as. a compli­ment." As Fayne stripped down, his shirt and breeches plopped on top of her garments in quick succession.

  "Not really."

  Fayne waded deeper, closing in on her. He and his sister had spent countless summers swimming in the lake. "Did anyone teach you how to swim?"

  As her expression dimmed, her eyes conveyed the sad­ness his question evoked. "Archer taught me when I was seven."

  Taking her into his arms, he silently cursed. Fayne did not want her reflecting on her brother. He threaded his fin­gers through her hair, shaking her loose coil of hair free of its hairpins. She whirled around, trying to rescue the pins as they vanished into the murky depths of the lake.