He surged toward her, intent on kissing her until she was dizzy, but instead of turning into the pool of pliability she’d been during the night, she gasped, “Oh!” and sat up. The movement was so abrupt that her shoulder hit his jaw, knocking him firmly out of his cloud of lust.
“What?” he asked, sitting with her. His eyes honed in on her exposed breasts—gorgeous, heavy orbs that he instantly imagined himself kneading and suckling and even fucking until he came in a string of pearls around her neck—which she didn’t bother to cover.
“Georgette,” she said, her sweet face hardening into a mask of determination as she attempted to scoot through the tangled bedsheets to the side of the bed. “I have to find her. I have to warn her.”
Fabian reached out, hooking his arm around her waist and tugging her flush against him. “You don’t have to go anywhere at the moment,” he said, raising his hands to fondle her breasts as he looked down at them over her shoulder. He shifted so that he sat with his back against the headboard and positioned Alice between his legs, his cock pressed tightly against her luscious backside.
She attempted to say something that came out as an incoherent sigh and tilted her head back. “I can’t think when you do that.”
“Good,” he said, kneading her breasts with slightly more pressure. “I don’t want you to think, I just want you to feel.”
“But Georgette,” she started, then gasped when he pinched her nipples. The gasp turned into a squeal. “Ooh, why do I like that so much when it hurts?”
Another surge of lust pounded through Fabian, and he jerked his hips against her backside. “Because it’s not dangerous pain,” he said. “You know I’m not trying to hurt you. A little sting only makes the pleasure better.”
She made another incoherent sound that might have been agreement or a plea for him to give her more. The way she wiggled her backside against him certainly led him to believe she wanted him buried deep within her. But still she managed to form the words, “Georgette. I have to warn her not to trust—oh!”
Fabian bit her shoulder gently to stop her worry. Her breath came in tight pants and heat radiated from her. He slipped one hand from her breast, across her belly, and between her legs to test her. Sure enough, she was as wet as a rainstorm over the ocean.
“I’ll tell you what,” he purred against the side of her head. “I’m going to bend you forward and fuck your tight, wet pussy until we both come. Then I’ll let you get up, dress, and go in search of Georgette to tell her whatever you want to.”
She answered with a mewling sound, sucking in a breath as he rubbed her clit, and nodded.
The beast was back in command. Even if he’d wanted to, Fabian wasn’t sure he could have waited. Sometimes long and slow was the way to go, but in that moment, fast and hard was right.
He tipped her forward until she spilled, head down, across the bunched quilts. Her body was loose and submissive as he lifted her hips and spread her legs. The sight of her so open and at his mercy, the slick, pink folds of her pussy gaping open for him, beckoning, was almost more than he could take. He positioned himself on his knees behind her, grasping her hips and jerking her back toward him.
He slid deep within her easily, her pussy a tight sheath around him. It felt so good that he groaned with pleasure as he jerked into her. His entire groin tightened as he thrust mercilessly, hinting that he wouldn’t last long. It didn’t matter how quick he was, knowing that she was his and that soon he could have her this way—and a hundred other, sinful ways—whenever he wanted fired his blood.
“Oh, oh, oh, oh!” Her cries of pleasure were delicious, each one more desperate, as if his thrust were bringing her to orgasm as fast as he was rushing there. “Oh! Oh! Fabian! Oh!”
“Alice!” Her pussy convulsed around him just as pleasure exploded through him, from the base of his spine and out through his cock into her. He didn’t usually come so hard, but something about Alice doubled every pleasure he’d ever felt before. His world narrowed down to the pleasure throbbing through him, then softened into a feeling of absolute bliss as he drew back and collapsed, spent, onto the bed.
The urge to sleep followed hard on the heels of his contentment. “Gorgeous,” he managed to pant as he splayed against the sheets. “Perfect.”
She flopped back to lay at his side. “I never knew that was possible.”
He was tempted to laugh. More than tempted. The world seemed absolutely right and everything was as it should be. He should have taken Alice in his arms and kissed her tenderly, praising her for her bravery and sensuality. Instead, he fell fast asleep.
When he awoke an unknown amount of time later, she was gone. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Alice had been clear that she had some sort of mission where his step-sister was concerned. But he felt her loss all the same. It pushed him out of bed and over to his washstand. The maid had been in at some point to relight the fire, and the day seemed well and truly started. He dressed as fast as he could, a smile on his face, then headed downstairs to seek out his bride.
She wasn’t at the table in the breakfast room, though at least a dozen of his mother’s guests were. Everyone was chatting happily as the scent of cinnamon and tea filled the air. Fabian’s stomach growled, but he walked out of the room moments after entering it. He wanted to find Alice, thank her again for the beautiful night and awakening, then lavish affection on her by feeding her sweets and waiting on her every need for the rest of the day. And that required that he find her.
He wandered the house until he heard her voice as he approached the library.
“…which is why it is of vital importance that you listen to me,” she was in the middle of saying.
Fabian smiled. She must have found Georgette after all. He paused just outside of the library, pressing his back against the wall and giving her a final few moments to complete her business.
“I can assure you, my friend, you have nothing to worry about,” Georgette said, a smile in her voice.
“Don’t I?” Alice asked, clearly anxious. “Marriage is a trap that women cannot escape from.”
Fabian’s grin dropped and the muscles in his back and shoulders stiffened.
“My father’s marriage machinations have proven to be nothing but disaster,” she went on. “He has caused misery and ruin at every turn, and I would rather die than see you forced into an untenable position the way my sisters and I have been.”
The tension gripping Fabian ratcheted up and he frowned. Was the thought of marriage to him truly that miserable to Alice?
“Truly, you have no need to worry on my behalf,” Georgette went on. “I am flattered by your father’s attentions, but I would never consider marriage to him.”
“You must be on your guard, though,” Alice rushed on. “It is not as easy as all that to avoid marriage, even when one does everything right. Believe me, I know.”
“I do not doubt it,” Georgette said cautiously.
“You must learn from the plights of me and my sisters. All three of us had husbands thrust on us against our will simply to feed our father’s ambition and lust for money, though Imogen was fortunate enough to wiggle out of her sentence. Lettuce and I have not been so lucky.”
Fabian’s frown hardened into a scowl. Was that what Alice thought? That their forthcoming marriage was a prison? How she could still feel that way after moaning like a harlot for him as he took her from behind not more than three hours ago wasn’t just a mystery, it was an insult. He wouldn’t stand by and let himself be spoken of like that.
“Beware of spending too much time in my father’s company or of being left alone with him,” Alice went on.
Her words ended with a sharp gasp as Fabian stepped into the room, glowering and certain he looked like the devil come to snatch her.
“Fabian.” Georgette stepped away from the fire, where she and Alice were talking, and crossed the room to greet him. Her sisterly smile dropped to concern as soon as she saw his expression. She glanced over her shoulder to Alice, a lig
ht of understanding glinted in her eyes, then she turned back to him. “I’ll just leave the two of you alone,” she said before rushing out of the room.
Fabian nodded as she hurried past him, then fixed his stare on Alice. His reluctant bride’s face had gone pink and her eyes wide, but he couldn’t tell whether her expression was fear or desire or alarm. Perhaps it was all three.
“So I am a trap set by your father, am I?” he asked, getting right to the point as he marched up to her.
“I—that is—oh.” She wrung her hands in front of her, darting a glance toward the door as if she might bolt.
“You didn’t seem to think marriage to me was such a prison sentence last night,” he growled, hurt getting the better of him.
“It’s not that,” she said, clearly flustered. She bit her lip and glanced pleadingly up at him.
Part of Fabian wanted to be moved by the clear misery in her eyes, but too great a part of him felt as though that misery was an unbreakable wall that would always come between them. “If this is the way you feel about marriage to me, then why not call the whole thing off?”
“On—but I—”
“You have that within your power,” he reminded her. “I cannot be the one to put an end to our engagement, but you can.”
“That’s not what I—”
“Why not, if the idea of being married to me is so odious? Why not call the whole thing off?”
“No one is calling anything off.”
A burst of prickles, like icicles falling down his back, hit Fabian as Lord Stanhope stepped out from the doorway at the end of the room that led to one of the parlors. He glowered at Alice so hard that she jumped closer to Fabian’s side, almost as if she would hide behind him.
“Lord Stanhope.” Fabian greeted the man by clasping his hands behind his back and bowing a few, sharp inches. What was the man doing there? Had he overheard the entire conversation? Had he been listening in on Alice’s conversation with Georgette?
“No one is calling off any weddings,” Lord Stanhope growled, marching up to Alice as if going to war. “Do you hear me?”
“Y-yes, Papa,” Alice stammered, shrinking a few more steps toward Fabian. She glanced up at his deep frown, gulped, then inched way from him.
A maelstrom of emotions raged instantly to life in Fabian’s gut. Alice was afraid of her father. That seemed to fit with what she’d been telling Georgette. Indeed, Lord Stanhope looked like the kind of man who terrorized women as he marched up to Alice’s side and grabbed her wrist.
“This marriage will take place,” he hissed. “You will not wriggle out of it, like your useless sister did. I demand that you live up to your duties. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, Papa,” Alice said, barely above a whisper.
“I’ll thank you to unhand my bride,” Fabian said in a threatening voice. Within seconds, he’d gone from furious with Alice for what he saw as her dishonesty and deception to ready to protect her with his life.
Lord Stanhope let go of Alice and pivoted to face him, eyes narrowed. “Christmas is in four days,” he said. “The wedding will take place on Christmas day. I won’t have you backing out of this deal either. Everything has been arranged, and it will all continue as planned.”
Fabian pulled himself to his full height, returning the man’s threatening look with one of his own. To refer to the marriage of his daughter as a “deal” was despicable. But it also brought everything into shocking clarity. Lord Stanhope wanted to profit from marrying his daughter to a wealthy and famous man. He’d always known it, but now it seemed even more despicable.
“The wedding will take place,” Fabian said, though not for the reasons Lord Stanhope wanted it to.
“Good.” Lord Stanhope nodded, then promptly marched from the room without a backward glance for his daughter.
Alice’s shoulders slumped and she sucked in a fast breath that might have been a prelude to a sob. She held herself together long enough to mumble, “If you will excuse me, my lord, I require breakfast.”
She too fled from the room before Fabian could think of anything to say to stop her. He watched her go, staring at the empty doorway with a frown long after. Something was desperately wrong. The situation between Alice and her father was worse than he ever could have imagined. He had the power to save Alice, he was sure, but at the moment, in spite of her amorous tendencies, there was a block between them that needed to be removed. And that block was clearly Lord Stanhope. The man had to be taken out.
Chapter 5
“It was uncanny and desperately wrong,” Fabian told Matthew two days later, as the two of them enjoyed fortifying nips of brandy in one of the family’s private, upstairs sitting rooms before heading down to the massive, Christmas ball.
Fabian’s mother had invited what felt like half the county to the grand, festive event. The entire house had been in a state setting up for it during the last few days. So much so that Fabian hadn’t had any time at all to address the odd scene he’d witnessed between Alice and her father in the library. He hadn’t been able to get Alice alone to ask her about it either, and not for lack of trying. Every time an opportunity presented itself, Alice would rush away from him as though he were the very devil come to steal her soul.
Of course, it wasn’t lost on him that he’d stolen something else that was precious to her. He’d lain awake the last two nights, hoping she would steal back into his room for more, rousing bedsport. His anticipation and longing for her was so acute that he’d resorted to sporting with himself, which he hadn’t done since he was a green boy at university. But Alice had stayed away, at night and during the day.
“What could be wrong about a father instructing his daughter on her upcoming nuptials?” Matthew asked, swirling the dark liquid in his tumbler. He wasn’t asking as if to dismiss Fabian’s concerns, but rather like a scientist attempting to discover the root cause of a new phenomenon.
“He was cold,” Fabian said. He swallowed the last of his brandy, set his glass on the table, then paced to the window. “Ice cold.”
Outside, the world was a perfect winter landscape. Snow had fallen during the afternoon, blanketing everything in pristine white, but it wasn’t enough to keep his mother’s guests away. They were already arriving in a line of carriages that stretched to the edge of the property. Rows of lanterns lined the drive at equal intervals, each one decorated with greenery and ribbons. Fabian could just make out the edge of the decorations around the front door that welcomed guests to the ball in the style of the season.
Everything was festive and bright, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that a deeper darkness lurked in the shadows.
“What I don’t understand,” he continued his thoughts, turning back to Matthew and pacing in his direction, “is why Lord Stanhope was listening in on his daughter from the adjoining room.”
“Are you certain he was listening and that it wasn’t a mere coincidence that he appeared when he did?” Matthew asked.
Fabian rubbed his chin, then shook his head. “The timing was too precise. Not to mention that there is nothing in the room adjacent to the library but dusty artwork and ancient furniture.
“It’s not often used,” Matthew agreed. He finished his brandy then fell into pacing with Fabian, crossing paths with him in the center of the room.
“Aside from Lord Stanhope being where he shouldn’t have been, what disturbed me about the incident was the fear in Alice’s eyes,” Fabian went on.
“She wouldn’t be the first daughter who is afraid of her father,” Matthew said with a tense frown.
Fabian knew too well what he meant. In his work designing gardens for England’s wealthiest and most influential aristocrats, he’d been privy to far too many scenes of domestic misery. Some men used their position as the head of their household to terrorize and rule over the women in their lives. The practice was far too common, and it disgusted Fabian. After all he’d seen, he’d vowed that when he became a father, he would fill the lives of his wif
e and children with love, happiness, and enjoyment. He was far more inclined to follow the models of peasant families in Italy that he remembered from his own childhood, before Bonaparte’s conquest had pushed his parents to flee to his mother’s homeland until stability returned to the Italian States. The peasants might not have had money, but they’d had laughter, they’d had togetherness, and they’d had love.
“The other thing I don’t understand,” Fabian spoke again, starting back in the opposite direction and crossing paths with Matthew again, “is why Alice continues to run from me when I am the very person who could save her from her father’s machinations.”
To Fabian’s surprise, Matthew laughed. “Friend, you realize that you are her father’s machinations.”
Fabian paused at the far end of the room, blinked, and turned to his friend. “Surely, she must see that I could be her savior.”
Matthew shook his head, walking back to the center of the room. Fabian strode over to join him. “I overheard your Lady Alice talking to Georgette yesterday. She sees you as the bait in the trap her father set for her.”
“I am not,” Fabian balked.
Matthew shrugged, almost apologetically. “But you are. As much of a catch as the greater part of the host of mamas of England sees you to be, and as much as some young ladies swoon over you, with your exotic origins and devilish good looks, Lady Alice did not herself choose to become engaged to you.”
Fabian frowned, still having a hard time accepting the possibility. “We got along quite well this summer, at Herrington’s house party. We’ve gotten along exceptionally well since this party began.” His face went hot at the admission.
Matthew answered the comment with a knowing grin. He and Fabian might not have been brothers by birth, but Matthew was like the sibling he’d never had, and Fabian had already told him everything about his night with Alice. All the same, Matthew said, “In my experience, it’s all too easy for passion and trust to be entirely separate. You said she didn’t end up in your bed deliberately—”
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