The Delicate Matter of Lady Blayne (4 page)

She spent her nights in an agony of lust.

Desire wove in and out of her dreams, making her restless, making her toss and turn and kick the coverlet off.

So they dosed her with generous amounts of laudanum.

They watched her. They never left her unsupervised at bath time. And later, when she came to bed to sleep, they watched her. Mrs. Tibbs slept beside her. The woman seemed to sleep with one eye open, alert for the slightest sign of impure behavior.

A stolen moment like this was her only chance.

Tingling heat went twisting through her belly. Oh heavens, seeing James again. Now that was something bound to give any woman wicked thoughts.

Her flesh clenched again, more fiercely this time. Wetness flooded from her core. She closed her eyes and tried to force down the thoughts. Crossed her legs and tried to choke off the sensations.

But she could still see his face, lean and handsome with his strong jaw and sensual yet firm mouth. He was so strong. His hand had gripped hers so firmly. He had held her fast, not allowing her to escape.

She hadn’t wanted to run.

She had been glad, very glad that he had held her there, if only for a few moments.

But that had been wicked!

Oh, oh, oh…
wave after wave of tingling heat went surging through her belly. Into her sex. She rolled onto her back then hugged herself. Her nipples beaded and her breasts ached and ached and ached. For touch.

She couldn’t hold the tide back. Wetness flowed between her legs. Just the feel of it, the naughty feel of it, aroused her further.

She put her palms flat on her stomach.

She shouldn’t do it!

Only a few more moments and her maids would be back and she would have to stop.

She should hold back. Bloody chance…

She touched her wet, heated flesh, pressing her fingers into herself.

A feeling of warmth swelled deep, deep in her belly. She arched her hips and gasped, moving her fingers faster as anticipation made her breaths come faster. Wetness drenched her fingers.

What was it like to have a man do this with his cock?

Oh, oh, oh…

Was that what it took?

Was that what she needed?

She hated her virginity as never before. Frustration bore on her as never before.

Need pounded through her, her heart’s violent beat making her feel as though her ears would explode.

She spread her fingers, trying to make them feel like a man’s width. She pressed up against her walls, finding that one place where it felt the best.

Now, now, now…yes, now!

It was really going to happen.

Yes, yes, now
…

She pressed the fingers of her other hand to her straining nub, rubbed fiercely whilst still stroking herself inside, her movements becoming faster and faster. She licked her lips and swallowed back a moan. Her flesh began to pull tighter and tighter. Oh, she hadn’t felt excitement like this in a long, long, long time. Not since…

No!

Don’t think…

Just feel.

Feel.

Yes, yes…pleasure quivered through her, so intense that it took her breath. Then she was breathing faster and faster, helplessly cast higher and higher and higher into that familiar swirling vortex.

It was coming, oh God, it was really and truly coming this time—

“Sunny.”

She froze, startled, as the cultured masculine tone, both familiar and dear, registered in her pleasure-dazed mind. On a choked gasp, she opened her eyes.

Chapter Three

Freddy sat beside her on the bed, the firelight casting shades of orange on his fair hair.

Freddy…

Dizzily, she reached up to him. His image wavered, moving just out of her reach, no matter how she angled her hand.

Never could she touch him. She could only see him.

He moved farther away. Distant, yet watching, his expression disapproving.

Sunny’s blood went cold. All the glorious tension inside her turned to that ache she knew so well.

Too well.

She dropped her outstretched hand and then rolled on to her side.

Away from Freddy’s watchful eyes.

But it was no good. The moment was spoiled.

“No, no!” She groaned and beat her fists into the featherbed and kicked her feet as the misery settled over her. Oh God, she had been close, so close.

Closer than ever.

Why?!

Why couldn’t it just…just
happen?

She was broken now. Broken forever.

It was fitting punishment for her wickedness.

Oh, but I cannot bear it!
Tears rolled down her cheeks, wetting the sheets.

The knock at her door brought her out of her self-pity. She scrambled over to the edge of the bed, reached down and jerked the coverlet up and over her nakedness.

A futile move. She knew that the chamber smelt of her sex, her arousal.

Shame burnt into her.

But more than shame, a dry-mouthed, weak-legged sensation crawled over her. Her stomach quavered.

They were always watchful for signs that she had misbehaved. They would know instantly what she had been about. The telltale scent of her arousal, the flush on her cheeks. They would know.

Oh God, they would call for Dr. Meeker.

She had known, too, that it would come to this. But she could never stop herself from
trying.

She longed for release so badly. She ached constantly from the longing.

She was broken that way.

No matter that she hadn’t come. That she never did.

They would still send for Dr. Meeker. Because ladies did not do such depraved things. It was for a man to give or withhold pleasure. A husband.

Dr. Meeker would try to fix her. There would be an increased frequency of treatments for this lapse.

Oh God!

Waves and waves of horror washed over her. Shaking her to the pit of her belly. Sickening her and freezing her to the bone.

From a distance, Freddy still watched her. She didn’t need to look to know he was still there.

She could feel him.

But she knew he wouldn’t stand in the doctor’s way. He never did.

A wicked girl like her deserved this. And more.

Punishment without ceasing.

* * * *

Steaming fragrance wafted up from the roast beef. It was crispy and brown on the outside, just the right color of pink inside. James sliced through the tender meat with his knife and juice poured forth, spilling onto the fine china plate. Succulent, enticing. He speared a forkful of the meat, lifted it and placed it into his mouth. He chewed slowly, waiting for the pleasure to register.

It didn’t. He might as well have been eating salt pork and hardtack.

The lady across from him laughed again at something her companion had said. Too loudly.

The sound grated on him and he looked up.

Eyes the color of whisky caught his. She fluttered her lashes. He caught a glimpse of flashing diamonds and emeralds against ivory bosoms swelling above a daringly low bodice. Her eyes held his.

A blatant invitation there.

For the new Baron Blayne, of course. He was suddenly quite the eligible titled bachelor. And he must choose a bride from these silly highborn chits, the same ones who would have considered a mere naval officer a lesser choice.

Oh God, save me from the triteness of it all.

This dinner party had been held in his honor. To welcome him home. But the other people around him, the polite chatter and restrained laughter, it was all so distant.

As though drawn by his attention, Donna turned to him. Her full, lush wine-colored lips curved into a smile and her large eyes sparkled with pleasure. She moved closer, her lavender-rose scent settled over him, a beguiling fragrance.

This evening, his first night back home amongst friends, he had been looking forward to enjoying many things. Especially the fine food.

His emotions were in a whirl.

His world had been shattered.

He had yet to come to grips with it.

Before he had left Blayne House, his aunt had been all aflutter. Catriona was overset and she would not be able to attend supper but must be sent a small, light meal on a tray.

What did you say to her? What did you do?! I warned you about how fragile she is now!

Aunt Frances’ words still rang in his ears. He had upset Sunny that much? His chest constricted and vague queasiness twisted his gut. The last thing he had wanted was to upset Sunny’s peace.

The sound of Donna delicately clearing her throat pulled him from his tormented thoughts.

Automatically, he returned her smile, feeling his face stretch painfully as though it were suddenly turned to hardened leather.

Her smile widened and her eyes brightened even more.

“Lord Blayne, we have missed you so much.” Her voice was soft. Her claret-scented breath wafted up to him.

“Ah, Donna, it’s no longer Lord Blayne. ‘Tis the Earl of Greythorn now. Our good friend is soon to be a mighty English peer.”

James forced a smile, though it felt his face would crack with the effort. He waved at Sir Carson dismissively. “Not yet.”

Sir Carson raised his bushy blond brows. “But soon.”

“Soon. However, I have yet to become accustomed to being called Lord Blayne.” He frowned. “Somehow that will always make me think of Freddy.”

James hated himself for his pettiness. He hated having feelings he couldn’t control. But he detested feeling as though he were walking in Freddy’s footsteps in any way, shape or form.

But others wouldn’t understand that. Murmurs of sympathy and platitudes rumbled in the wake of his words. Cousin Freddy had been a handsome, charming, well-liked young man. Raised as the heir, he’d been petted and spoiled by his arrogant, English-born mother. He’d grown up selfish, unable to deny himself even when it meant consigning Sunny to a life as wife to an invalid and an early widowhood.

Freddy had begun courting Sunny when she was only fifteen. He had ingratiated himself with her. Had insinuated himself into her affections before she knew her own mind. Not to mention the heaps of obligation and loyalty that Sunny had been encouraged to feel toward Aunt Frances.

By the time James had met her, she was eighteen and fully committed to being Freddy’s wife.

She hadn’t ever had a fair chance at making her own choices. Leading her own life.

She hadn’t even been allowed a Season.

Not even a Season.

The thought tore into his heart.

“I suppose you prefer Rear-Admiral Blayne?” Carson asked, pulling him out of his thoughts.

“I am more used to that.” It had been all he’d been raised to expect. And didn’t he wish he could have stayed at sea? Aunt Frances ruled over Landbrae with an iron fist—iron, albeit swathed in the finest velvet. Part of him hated to crush her pride by yanking that power from her grasp. Yes, he might have left Landbrae alone for quite a while. Until age dulled Aunt Frances’ wits and took her vigor away. But his new, sizable English estate required his management. The Greythorn earldom, once it was bestowed, would make him an English peer. He needed to take his place in the House of Lords. There was also the matter of an heir.

And now there was the thorny matter of Lady Catriona Blayne.

“Well, once again,” Donna said, flashing him a beautiful smile, “have you been enjoying your freedom since leaving the navy, Lord Blayne?”

“Immensely.” James managed to inject enthusiasm into his voice. Yet, inside, he was still caught in a whirl. Seeing Sunny had proved as painful as a blow to the stomach…

“You must tell us all about everything you have seen and done since we last saw you,” Donna said. “All your grand battles.” She flashed him another smile. “All your wonderful victories.”

“Yes, to your wondrous victories.” Sir Carson lifted his wine glass and a toast went round the table.

God help him. He wouldn’t be able to bear hearing himself speak one word about it. People romanticized it all so. They tended to treat him like he was now some Godlike being, an attitude that filled him with disgust. They didn’t know about the moments of doubt, of desperation. He’d been just a man, pitted against nature and war. He’d had to make the best decisions he could on the spur of the moment, over and over again, risking devastating consequences. But what other choice had he, or the men who had served beneath him, who put all their faith and trust in his judgment? Wars were won one battle at a time. And battle after battle, he’d done whatever he had to win.

They knew nothing of a ship being rocked by merciless assault waves of cannon fire. They knew nothing of decks washed with blood. They knew nothing of dreams full of the agonized cries of men and boys.

No, he had no wish to tell stories of bloody battles to satisfy the sensationalist appetites of people who could never understand the true nature of warfare.

And frankly, he would prefer to forget.

If he ever could.

“We followed your actions in the newspapers,” Donna said, still beaming.

Her smile was beautiful. But it couldn’t warm him one bit. In his mind, he kept seeing her.

Sunny. That stricken look that had stabbed him in the heart.

Seeing her. God, seeing her…

After all these years.

It had shattered him. He hadn’t a clue as to how to gather the pieces and put them together.

* * * *

“Is what Mrs. Tibbs tells me true, Catriona?” Dr. Meeker asked.

Reclining upon her bed, swathed from neck to ankles in safe, heavy wool flannel, Sunny glanced up. A man of medium height, his slender build and broad shoulders, as well as his dark physician’s clothing, gave him the appearance of being taller. From behind him,  a single lamp on her dressing table cast an unholy yellow glow upon his silver hair.

The shadows and dim light distorted the finer details of a face that was at once both aged yet still handsome in a distinguished way. A high forehead made to look even higher by the slightly thinning silver hair. A long, narrow nose. Thin cheeks.

Upon their first meeting, despite the vast difference in their ages, she had thought him rather attractive.

Even in the dim light, she could picture those eyes, a brown so dark that they appeared black against the whites of his eyes, cold and hard as lumps of coal strewn on new fallen snow, probing hers intensely.

Seeking to know all her secrets.

She turned her head away.

“Catriona?”

“Of course you know it is true, so why ask?”

“I don’t care for your tone.”

She remained silent.

He sighed. “You cannot hope to get any better if you continue to indulge your carnal drives. If you continue to nurture impure thoughts, you will never regain control of yourself—never.”

She rolled one shoulder but refused to return her attention to that cold dark stare.

“Feeling rebellious today, are you?”

“Perhaps I am.”

“This has something to with Lord Blayne’s sudden reappearance.”

“Well, there’s nothing sudden about it. He’s been home for months, and we’ve been expecting his visit for some time.”

“Ah, you resent that he waited so long to come from London?”

Sunny studied the ceiling. “I resent nothing.”

“The dowager tells me there was some disagreement between you and Lord Blayne, years ago. She thinks this is why he waited so long to return.”

Oh, Dr. Meeker wouldn’t give up until she told him something plausible. She searched for just the right way to put it. “He was a brash young man. He stepped beyond the bounds once and I rebuffed him. His pride was injured. It was no great matter.”

There was a long pause, then Dr. Meeker let his breath out slowly. “So, now you will keep secrets from me?”

Secrets.

Everyone kept secrets. Everyone had a right to their own mental privacy.

Except for Sunny. She had proven herself undeserving of keeping her own secrets.

Trust, once broken, was the hardest thing to earn back.

The bed ropes creaked softly as he sat near her. Once, she had taken so much comfort from his presence. His understated, refined masculinity, enhanced by his soothing voice and calm, intelligent personality, had drawn her to him.