Code of Honor

by Andrea Pickens

  "You are sweetly ready for me," he whispered as he slid his finger inside her.

  Her nails dug into his shoulders as her narrow passage adjusted to the fit. Slowly, he began moving it in and out, Her body, tight with pleasure, moved instinctively to match his rhythm.

  "Good Lord," he groaned. "I feel like a callow schoolboy about to spill my seed here and now — Alex, I can wait no longer!"

  His hand came away.

  "Sebastian! Don't stop," she cried softly.

  His voice was taut with emotion. "My sweet, the devil himself could not drag me away now."

  He lowered himself, thrusting his rigid manhood gently into her. His own sound of pleasure echoed in the room as her honeyed passage closed tightly around him. The feel of it nearly sent him over the edge. He fought to regain control, then pushed ahead slowly until he felt the barrier of her maidenhood. Withdrawing slightly, he pressed forward again, then again.

  Alex flinched slightly.

  He became still. "Did I hurt you?" he asked, his voice full of concern.

  "Only for a moment, and it is past. Now it feels... wonderful."

  Her hips rose, burying him deep within her. With a muffled groan, he brought her legs round his hips and began to move to the music of his passion.

  Alex was responding to the same glorious rhythm. Her breath was coming in rapid gulps. Each of Branford's thrusts was building a shuddering, delicious tension throughout her whole being that somehow she knew must be released, though she knew not how. Her hands roamed over the rippling muscles of his back as if seeking the answer there, and her hips rose and fell with his tempo. Sensing the burning need building within her, his pace quickened.

  She arched one more time and suddenly was aware of nothing but a surging wave coursing out from the center of her being. His name burst from her lips as she sought to merge herself more fully with him. Her hands grasped at his buttocks, urging him deeper. His own hoarse cry joined hers as he buried himself to the hilt and poured his life giving essence into her.

  The room was utterly silent save for their ragged breathing. With his full weight pressing against her, Alex felt the melding of their beating hearts. Her own body felt oddly unreal, as if she couldn't move a muscle if her life depended on it. She sensed that all the tension had drained from Branford as well, all the hard edges gone and a strange vulnerability about him. He was still inside her, and as she caressed his heated skin, she found herself wishing she could stay a part of him, help him fight off whatever demons caused him to erect such careful defenses around his feelings.

  With a deep sigh, he rolled to one side and settled her head on his chest. It was damp and the scent of his exertion made her feel almost giddy. His hand ran through her loosened tresses, which tumbled down over her shoulders onto the sheets.

  "Tis like spun silk," he murmured.

  "It's mousy," she sighed.

  He smiled. "For an artist, you are remarkably unobservant. It is a rich burnt umber, with highlights of sienna.' He held a strand up to the candlelight. "And perhaps a touch of cinnabar with..."

  "My lord, how do you know the palette so well?"

  Branford's eyebrows rose in mock consternation. "My lord, is it then? A moment ago it was Sebastian."

  Alex felt a slight flush steal over her at the thought of her unbridled physical response to him.

  "Say it again." His voice was rough with emotion though it was no louder than a whisper.

  "Sebastian, " she said, looking up into his sapphire eyes.

  "Again!"

  She said it once more, slowly savoring the sound of each letter.

  His lips came down on hers — hard, possessively — then he blew out the candles.

  Alex had no idea how long she had been asleep. In fact, as she was roused by a gentle shake, it took her a moment to realize it was not all some exotic dream. That was made abundantly clear as her hand stirred over flesh that was definitely not her own. The flat, muscular planes of the stomach. Skin roughened with hair and —

  "Oh!" She sat up.

  Branford tightened his arm around her waist and pulled her back down to the sheets.

  "Careful with your sweet caresses, little one, else you will have me starting again," he teased.

  Alex's eyes widened in surprise. "It can be... done more than once in a night?"

  He gave a throaty chuckle. "Tis a pity I cannot give my scientist empirical proof. But you must return home. It is already later than I wish."

  She sighed. "Must I?"

  He pressed a kiss on her hair, then reached up to relight the candles. "I am afraid so. Can you manage to dress without assistance?"

  "I am not some fine lady — I'm quite used to dressing myself."

  An unreadable look flashed across his features. "Make haste if you will, then, while I arrange for the carriage." He swung his long legs off the bed and retrieved his breeches and boots. He tugged them on quickly and fetched a undamaged shirt from the stately dresser to the side of the four poster.

  "Ten minutes?" He was at the door.

  She nodded, acutely aware that the sheet had pulled away to expose one of her breasts and one willowy leg. She found herself wishing she were smaller, rounder, somehow more ladylike.

  His eyes lingered on her for an instant, then he turned abruptly and was gone.

  A short while later, Alex slanted a sideways glance at Branford as the carriage made its way through the darkened streets. He seemed lost in thought, his brow slightly furrowed as he stared, unseeing, at the curtained window. She felt a knot form in the pit of her stomach. Was he regretting the whole evening? Why, she had as good as thrown herself at him. Men, she had heard, had different... needs. Had she fanned some fire he had wished to leave unlit? Or worse, had he formed a disgust of her, thinking her no better than a.... Dear God! A tremor ran through her and she shrank back into the leather seat.

  "Are you chilled?" he asked softly.

  It was the first words he had spoken since they had entered the carriage.

  She shook her head, not trusting her voice to mask her anxiety.

  He gave a faint smile but made no move to bridge the gap between them. No comforting shoulder to lean on this time, no solid warmth from the feel of his arm round her waist.

  The carriage pulled to a halt. Branford alighted and helped her down. They were in a side street, far enough away from the flickering streetlight that they would appear as mere shadows to anyone passing by.

  "You are sure you need no accompaniment..."

  "As you have said, the less risk of being observed, the better. I can manage quite well."

  "Your shoulder..."

  She waved him silent. "It is not a matter for concern. As you saw yourself, it is hardly more than a scratch." She took a deep breath. "Thank you for your... assistance tonight." She was aware of how painfully stilted the words sounded, but she was too confused to know what else to say or do. "Good night—" she paused slightly, then added — "my lord."

  "Good night, Miss Chilton."

  She looked as if to say something more, then turned quickly and passed through a small side gate. He watched her cross a narrow garden and disappear into the back of the house. Letting out a ragged sigh, he climbed back into the carriage.

  Branford pressed his head back against the squabs. What was happening to his vaunted self-control? He hadn't meant for things to turn out as they did. But when she had looked at him with such frank need, why, he couldn't keep his own desire in check. And her response to him! His groin tightened at the mere thought. She had wanted him. Not his title. Not his fortune. Not the excitement of his reputation. There was something achingly sweet about the way she had looked at his nakedness, had cried out his name as he brought her to climax.

  He raked his hand through his hair. He hadn't dared touch her again — nay, he had hardly even dare look at her again — for fear that he wouldn't be able to let her go. Scandal was the last thing he would allow to come down on either of them. Yet it had taken all
of his willpower to deliver her back to her aunt's house.

  A disturbing thought struck him. She had been so quiet during the ride. Was she regretting her actions? Had he taken advantage of her heightened emotions? Good God, she had narrowly missed death! Perhaps she would have embraced anyone to affirm she was alive. His jaw clenched as the idea of her touching any other man the way she had touched him. Not bloody likely! She was his, irrevocably his — though, he smiled ruefully to himself, she might need additional convincing of that.

  What did he mean by that? His jaw stayed tight. He wasn't sure he could even admit to himself what his feelings were. Since his cousin's death he had worked so very hard to have none.

  Such haunting questions would no doubt plague him for the rest of the night. He let out another sigh, then rapped on the trap and gave orders to proceed to his club. He wasn't ready to face an empty bed, still redolent with the passion of their lovemaking. If he couldn't have the fire of her kisses, he would have to settle for the fire of some strong spirits. Maybe that could douse the fire in his loins.

  "Get hold of yourself," snarled Hammerton.

  Standish's hands were still shaking though he had just downed his second brandy. "How did he know?" There was a note of rising panic in his voice.

  "No doubt he followed the chit. Tis a pity your aim is not as good as mine."

  Standish poured another glass from the decanter on the sidetable, sloshing some of it over the polished mahogany surface. Hammerton regarded him with disgust.

  "Do you think she's... dead?" asked Standish after taking a hurried gulp.

  Hammerton shrugged, his lips turning into a bloodless smile. "Impossible to tell. But that would work out just as well — perhaps even better. Branford would have a great deal to explain. A lone female, a deserted part of town — why he might even be tried for murder. Everyone would believe it possible." His eyes closed briefly in contemplation of such an event and the smile became entirely real.

  "Why, that's devilishly clever thinking on your part," said Standish slowly. The spirits were finally beginning to take hold and he relaxed enough to break into his own wolfish grin. "No doubt you are right."

  "Try not to forget that, Arthur," replied Hammerton. "Trust me. Our plans will not be thwarted." He took the glass from Standish's hand and put it down on the table. "I think it is time you return to your lodgings."

  "But I plan to go on to..." whined Standish.

  "Not tonight, Arthur," ordered Hammerton. "In your current state, your tongue would no doubt be flapping as wildly as the sheets. We cannot afford such a thing — is that clear? You will retire until you have rein on your emotions."

  Standish's eyes flared, but he said no more.

  They began to leave the private room when the sound of a voice caused Hammerton to grasp his cousin's shoulder and pull him back.

  "What did you say?" Branford drew to a halt not ten paces from where the other two men stood shielded by the half closed door.

  "Begging Your Lordship's pardon, but your man Sykes arrived not ten minutes ago looking for you, sir. Said it was urgent. I put him in the library since he asked to wait," said a nervous servant. "Did I do right, sir?"

  Branford's brows came together. "Yes," he replied absently. "Wait here."

  Sykes turned from the fire as the earl entered the room.

  "Sorry, Cap'n, but I discovered some rather interesting news in East Anglia. Rushed back as fast as I could — hope it ain't too late."

  The two of them put their heads together and spoke in low tones for a short while.

  "So you see, Cap'n, I thought you should know, seeing as how the man's on his deathbed, like. You were right..."

  "Excellent thinking, Sykes, " interrupted Branford. "You can tell me all the details in the carriage ride north. Go tell Brown we leave immediately."

  Sykes nodded and hurried from the room.

  Branford made to follow, then hesitated, a slight frown on his face. After a moment of reflection, he strode over to the writing desk behind the settee and took up a quill and sheet of paper. He hesitated again, pen poised over the blank sheet. Good lord, how should he address her that was neither too formal nor too....

  He took a deep breath. He was too agitated to polish words as nicely as he would have wished. He gave up and quickly slashed a few lines across the paper in his distinctive script:

  My Dear,

  I've been called away on a matter of grave importance. I shall call on you as soon as I am able and hope to have some interesting news for you. In any case, we have much to discuss. In the meantime, be very careful and convince Justin to do the same.

  S.

  He read it over, then folded and sealed the note. It was hardly a lover's note, but it would have to do. He forbore to add in writing that the interesting news would also include the acquisition of a special license. That, no doubt, would indeed be a matter of lengthy discussion, given her opinion on the matrimonial state.

  The servant hadn't budged. Branford paused and pressed the note into his hand, along with a few gold coins.

  "Deliver this to Miss Chilton at 30 Half Moon Street without delay."

  "Yes, my lord!"

  Branford signaled for his greatcoat and left the club.

  Hammerton waited a moment then slithered out to where the servant was still staring at the guineas in his hand, not quite believing his good fortune.

  "I happened to hear my good friend the Earl request that you deliver a message for him. As it happens, I am passing that way right now on my way home and would be happy to see it safely into the hands of the right person — as a personal favor to His Lordship."

  The man looked confused. "I don't know, sir..."

  "Nonsense." Hammerton plucked the paper from the man's hand and added another coin to his riches. "Why should you have to venture out in the dead of night when I may be of service to a friend."

  The man stared at the coins. "Very well, my lord, if you're sure..."

  "Have no fear. I shall take care of the matter"

  The note went into Hammerton's pocket.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Alex was not in the best of moods. She surveyed the crowded ballroom and realized there wasn't one soul she wished to converse with. Not even the cluster of Botanical Society members hashing over the latest lecture on flora of the East Indies held any particular interest for her tonight.

  Men, she thought acidly as she made her way to a small settee screened from general view by an arrangement of potted palms. Lord knows they were nothing but trouble. She knew it had been a big mistake letting emotion overcome reason. The trouble was, she fumed, once the proverbial cat was out of the bag, it was awfully difficult to disengage its claws and stuff it back inside.

  Her eyes roamed the room once again. He wasn't here tonight either. It was now five days since.... Bloody hell.

  Her state of mind was not improved by the thought of what else had happened that night. Any doubt that a real threat to her brother's life existed had been shattered by the crack of a bullet — but she still had no clue as to why. Or who.

  "Is something wrong? If looks could kill, you'd have done away with half the Ton tonight."

  Alex's head shot up. "It would be no great loss," she muttered as Justin sat down beside her.

  He gave her a searching look. "What has you so out of sorts? You've been in a black mood for the past few days now."

  "Nonsense," she replied, a little sharply. "I simply am tiring of the endless rounds of balls and routs and teas and morning visits — I would prefer to be back at home where it is possible to work without all the distractions."

  Justin regarded her with pointed concern. "I'm sorry. I know you are tolerating all of this for my sake, but lately I had thought that, well, perhaps you were enjoying yourself as well."

  "The Botanical Society is interesting enough," she answered neutrally. "But I have been neglecting my own work."

  Justin was silent for a few moments as he appeared to contem
plate the intricate patterns formed by the softly swaying fronds.

  "Have you seen Lord Branford?" he asked abruptly. "There is a matter I wish to ask his opinion on."

  "Has he not been around?" She hoped her voice did not really sound as brittle as it did to her own ear. "I hadn't noticed."

  Justin's brows came together a fraction. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then hesitated and let out a deep sigh instead.