One Whisper Away (8 page)

“Don’t be long, my lord.” Valerie smiled and stretched her body in a voluptuous arch designed to showcase her breasts—and they were spectacular, he had to admit. He ducked behind the screen to wash with the tepid water in the basin. He took his time, wondering just how to handle this less than ideal situation, tearing a small strip of cloth off his discarded cravat and wrapping it around his injured upper arm.

The cut stung, but the uninvited lady in his bed was a much larger dilemma.

He actually hadn’t been with any woman since before his journey to London, but this wasn’t how he had pictured ending his celibacy. As far as he was concerned, there was a strict line drawn over bedding another man’s wife.

It was unconscionable. Rules existed in his world, no matter how much Lady Irving might feel like sampling the Savage Earl. Because, he thought sardonically, splashing water on his face and arms and reaching for a towel, that was the basis of this determined seduction. His unusual lineage titillated the sophisticated ladies of London society. He’d discovered that almost at once. Her taste for the exotic might be an amorous adventure for her, but for him it was crossing a self-imposed boundary.

As he swabbed his face and torso clean, he decided the English did not hold the standard of their self-proclaimed honor very high if infidelity was so acceptable. Still, his sisters need to be launched into society, and he hardly wanted to insult a very prominent hostess with ties to the royal family.

One devil of a problem.

When he emerged, she regarded him from across the room with a languid look. “Why don’t you come here and demonstrate the wild edge everyone speaks of? I must admit that when you walked in, wet and only half clothed, I was more attracted to you than ever. Is that how you dress in your . . . native environment?”

“Native?” He repeated the word with full irony. “I take it we are not talking about the refined streets of Boston and New York but longhouses and birch canoes.”

The furrow of her brow told him she wasn’t quite sure, but she pictured him all too easily in an environment that was less civilized than the earl’s suite that they currently occupied together.

His breeches were still soaked, but when he’d briefly debated removing them and putting on his dressing gown, he decided that it would be too intimate. Now, how to tactfully get rid of his unwanted visitor, though she’d surely been less than tactful with him and he wasn’t sure she deserved his solicitude.

She ran her hand suggestively over the generous curve of her naked breast and shifted her hips just a little as she pinched her nipple. “Do not make me start without you, Augustine.”

Displayed on the luxurious sheets, she resembled a courtesan, deliberately perfumed and ready, her nipples already peaked, her face flushed. He had to wonder if she hadn’t started without him anyway, enjoying his bed in his absence and quite frankly, even if he didn’t have scruples about her married state, the invasion of his privacy annoyed him. Still, he kept his tone modulated. “I’m sorry, Valerie, but without me it will have to be. I have a strict rule about married women. That aside, my daughter is just down the hall.”

She rolled over to her stomach playfully. It presented the rounded curve of her bare bottom, which was, he had to admit, a sight any man would enjoy. The countess was extremely attractive physically, and he wished he could say nothing about her aroused him, but that aside, he wasn’t going to touch her. “My husband doesn’t mind,” she murmured, crossing her ankles, her hair spilling in a dark wave over her back. “And aren’t children asleep at this hour?”

She had several offspring of her own, if he wasn’t mistaken, but undoubtedly they were taken care of by a retinue of servants.

“
I
mind.” Jonathan ran his fingers through his damp hair and sighed. “Don’t misunderstand, you’re very tempting, I won’t deny it. But I’m not interested in an affair, and I don’t need the chance of another wave of whispers attached to my name.”

“You mistake
me
, my lord.” Her smile had a feline curve to it. “I don’t want to have an affair. I want you to fuck me.”

And here Jonathan had thought he was beyond the age and experience when he could be shocked. Even his considerable worldly psyche took issue with the bluntness of that declaration.

Then, suddenly, he understood. While the men placed public bets on everything from horseracing to the ridiculous obsession of speculating on what he might have said to Lady Cecily, women were no better. Plenty of them were inveterate gamblers. It was a fashionable pastime. “How much did you wager,” he asked outright, not sure if he was insulted or just amused, “that you could get me to bed you first?”

She pouted with convincing drama, full red lips drawing into a playful moue. “That’s remarkably arrogant. How could you even—”

“How much?” he interrupted, his voice mild but commanding. He crossed his arms over his bare chest and leaned a shoulder against one of the heavy carved bedposts, his brows lifted in inquiry. “What is the current prize for an interlude with Earl Savage?”

Lady Irving sat up in an indignant flurry of dark hair, a faint scowl on her beautiful face. “That’s none of your affair.”

“Odd. Considering our circumstances, my lady, I think it very much my affair.”

“You really aren’t going to do this, are you?”

“Going to fuck you? Isn’t that how you put it in your very genteel English way? No, I really am not.”

She gave a small frustrated sigh at the definitive tone of his response, but then slid off the bed with pragmatic promptness, her heavy breasts swaying. She admitted grudgingly, “A thousand pounds to the first woman who piques your interest. And it isn’t the profit as much as the
winning
.”

“How flattering. And here I thought the purpose of a man and woman enjoying each other in a sexual way was something a bit deeper than a superficial competition. I can expect more midnight visits from your competitors, I take it? I’ll start locking my door.”

At least the countess proved to be a good sport, for she shot him an arch look and picked up her chemise. “It isn’t just the wager.” She deliberately ran her gaze over his bare chest. “You
are
somewhat of a novelty, my lord. Are all the men of your”—she obviously searched for a word that wouldn’t offend him—“breed so barbarically handsome?”

In answer, he picked up her discarded gown. Any sense of affront had been blunted in his time at university, since his father had insisted he attend a prestigious school, and even back in America prejudice existed. He’d been insulted often enough before over his unusual bloodlines. “Let me help you dress.”

“Does this refusal have anything to do with Eddington’s daughter?” Lady Irving’s voice was petulant.

For a moment he paused as he lifted the frothy volume of the fashionable garment, the lilac material spilling over his arm; the question was not all that surprising, he supposed, considering the gossip, but what took him aback was that he wondered for a glimmer of a moment if it just
might
have something to do with Cecily Francis.

Instead of answering, he said as neutrally as possible, “Allow me to play maid.”

Obligingly, he fastened buttons and retrieved her slippers, grateful that she wasn’t more vindictive over the rejection, and he even saw her safely outside, where her driver—no doubt used to his mistress and her nightly habits—waited down the street. Once they had rattled away, Jonathan went back up to his room and removed his wet breeches, donned his dressing gown, and poured a brandy.

A novelty. So far he wasn’t having much success in fulfilling his quest to play the respectable earl in order to get his sisters settled and his affairs in order so he could return to his life in America. Though, he did remind himself as he wandered over and sat down by the remaining glow of the fire,
this
particular debacle had not been his fault.

What would I have done
, he pondered in wayward contemplation,
if it had been the duke’s glorious golden-haired daughter naked in my bed?

Had that unlikely scenario been what he’d come home to from his midnight ride, he wasn’t sure he would have played the gentleman no matter the consequences.

The realization was infinitely disturbing.

H
er father sat back in his chair and regarded her with a look that could only be described as . . . as . . .

Well, she couldn’t describe it actually. It belonged to him alone and had certainly intimidated grown men. Roderick called it the “Eddington stare.” Cecily, who had always basked in the warmth of her father’s affection, was not sure how to handle the icy ducal disapproval.

He folded his hands on his desk. His hair was going from blond to gray gracefully, his attire, as always, was impeccably tailored, and the spectacles that he refused to wear in public rested on the pile of correspondence in front of him. “Explain to me why Viscount Drury would not make a suitable husband.”

It was a relief to discover this summons had nothing to do with the unconventional Augustine and all the whispers, so she feigned nonchalance and shrugged. “I’m sure he would, just not for me.”

“Why not?”

“He isn’t my preference.”

“I’m asking you again, why?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” she equivocated, unwilling to reveal Eleanor’s hidden infatuation. It really wasn’t her secret to tell, and truthfully, her sister hadn’t admitted it to her either. If Cecily was wrong—yet she was certain she wasn’t—it would be an unforgivable error. If she was right, still unforgivable. If Elle wanted to tell their father, that was entirely another matter.

“I beg to disagree. I am not unintelligent or lacking in understanding of this world. I might even venture to observe that my time in it far outweighs your own, so, out of respect for me as a parent and setting my rank aside, tell me why you would refuse such a very promising prospect if he offers marriage.”

For a normally easygoing—if a bit distant—parent, he certainly was being uncharacteristically intent.

“Does it sound naive to point out I don’t love him?” Cecily endeavored to seem as neutral as possible.

“Naive? I have no idea. Impractical, yes. A young woman should choose a husband based on qualities more important than whether or not he inspires some fleeting and hard-to-define emotion. In Lord Drury’s case, he comes from a very highly regarded bloodline, has a solid fortune, and is considered to be respectable and even-tempered. What else could you ask for, pray tell?”

The resulting silence was uncomfortable as she weighed her answer.
How can silence be loud?
Cecily wondered, yet somehow the quiet rang in her ears. The ducal study was a little overpowering as well, with towering bookcases and dark, heavy furniture and paintings of her father’s favorite horses lining the paneled walls.

To a certain extent her father was right. She knew that in his mind he
believed
he was right. He hadn’t even mentioned that the viscount was also quite handsome—if you liked fair coloring and a pleasant smile, but she preferred men with long, dark hair and a dangerous reputation . . .

Goodness, this was
not
the time to think about the controversial Jonathan Bourne. She shouldn’t think about the man at all.

Eventually, she said, “I find his lordship agreeable enough, I suppose, but—”

“Good, because I am very much in favor of this marriage. I wish for you to accept his proposal. Eleanor was remarkably stubborn her first season, and she is still unmarried as a result of it. I had several perfectly respectable offers for her hand, but she refused. I worry I’ll be too lenient with you.” He cleared his throat. “Especially considering the circumstances.”

Oh, dear
.

“What circumstances?”

“I’m told there are people talking about you, and not only do I not like it, but I will not sit by and let it affect your future. Drury is a good choice. I suggest you make it.”

Damn, this
was
about the controversial Augustine.

Speechless, Cecily went very still in her chair. This was not like her father—or at least not the man she remembered as a little girl. Only, she acknowledged with wooden practicality as she tried to assimilate this new development, she wasn’t a child any longer. The distance between them had lengthened as she grew older, and she hadn’t thought too much about it because life had changed so quickly as she and Eleanor had entered society, not to mention that he was, as always, a busy man.

In retrospect, Roderick had tried to warn her, but it would have been better done stated bluntly that their father had this intention. Now she was off balance.

And what about Elle?

“I—I—” It wouldn’t do to stammer. She took a deep breath and composed herself. “I don’t
wish
to marry Lord Drury.”

“I get that impression. Why?”

A vision of Jonathan Bourne came to mind, with his silky dark hair and a glint of wicked humor in his midnight eyes . . .

But she could hardly say so.

“The newly arrived Earl of Augustine has a less than perfect reputation.”

Wonderful. Now her father could read her mind. Moreover, his steady gaze told her he’d specifically heard the details of the champagne incident. Not that she’d thought it would simply slide past him, but he did spend a lot of time taking care of his business ventures and she’d
hoped
it would. At least she could say in perfect truth, “I barely know him.”

How true. Jonathan had never even asked to be formally introduced to her.

“As far as I can discern from the rumors, he rides the streets at all hours.”

“Hardly a crime,” she said, wondering if she should even be defending a man she didn’t know all that well.

“But unusual, you must admit.”