The Love Affair of an English Lord (23 page)

“I don't want to lose you, Dominic.”

The black velvet cloak beneath her felt cool on her bare skin. He stood over her and swiftly removed the rest of his own clothes. Chloe drank in the hard beauty of his body, the athletic grace of muscle and bone that made him every inch a dominant male and aggressor. He was built with power and masculinity from his broad shoulders to his tapered hips and heavily muscled thighs.

“When you look at me like that, Chloe,” he said with a wicked smile, “I do not know if I will find the strength to leave you.”

“Then stay,” she said, raising up on her elbows. “My brothers will help you.”

“Of all the men in the world who would understand what I have to do, it would be your brothers. Now touch me, Chloe, with those daring hands of yours, as I have dreamed you would do.”

She rose onto her knees, murmuring, “Dominic.”

He gave a shudder as she began to explore the planes of his nude body, tracing the healing scars on his chest, memorizing the ridges of solid muscle and sinew of his biceps and back. He felt warm and hard like polished wood, his heart beating against her fingertips. The thought of belonging to him thrilled her. She wanted him all to herself, wanted to feel every inch of him inside her again.

She thought of the first time she had seen him on his horse. She sighed at the memory of finding him in her room, of how easily she had fallen in love with him, of how she could not bear to see him hurt again.

She wrapped her arms around his waist, whispering, “I'm not letting you go until you seduce me, Stratfield.”

He smiled down at her.

“I mean it, highwayman. Stand and deliver.”

 

Dominic marveled at the female perfection of her form, that a woman so delicately made could harbor such a warrior's spirit. She had no idea how she had saved him. If not for Chloe, he would have lost all hope, all faith that life held any goodness for him.

She had believed in him when he had treated her with undeserved cruelty, when he had behaved no better than an animal. He had not earned her loyalty, but she had seen through his mask of pain and rage to the man underneath. When he had gone on the attack, she had stood up to him and shown him reason.

He loved the contradiction of courage and softness that made her so intriguing. He loved the way she touched him. When she pressed her palms against his belly, her fingertips brushing the arrow of hair that lay above his groin, his mind ceased to function. His lower body clenched in anticipation. It took all his restraint not to urge her hands lower to his thickening rod. His hips flexed in shameless enjoyment. The fragrance that drifted from her skin made him burn. How could the woman who rendered him this helpless have given him so much strength?

“Chloe,” he said, his spine arching, his shoulders tensing at the sexual hunger smoldering in his blood. “We don't have enough time, and I need you so badly.”

She pressed ardent kisses on his strong throat, his chest, and when her soft lips brushed the base of his penis, every muscle in his body constricted as if in pain. Fluid heat flooded him, engorged his veins. He could barely breathe, stricken with a need he had never known. Her tongue curled against the crown of his erection like a wet flame. He was stunned, his body shaking. Passion came naturally to her. She was a born seductress, this woman he loved.

“Chloe,” he murmured, his voice hoarse and uneven as he lifted her up to kiss her erotic mouth. His other arm locked around her waist, supporting her. “Chloe,” he whispered in her soft black hair. “My God, what you do to me.”

She arched upward, her belly pressing to his. His hand tightened around her waist, locking her to him. He kissed her and cupped her plump breasts in his palms. Her nipples hardened between the agile pinching of his fingers. She gave a deep moan, folding under him, vulnerable and inviting.

He was on top of her. All over her. Holding her down with one hand against her midriff, parting her thighs wide with the other. His heart pounded as he stroked the wet curls of her sex. She melted against his fingers like honey, completely open to him, moist flesh that beckoned a man's touch.

“Dominic,” she whispered, her hips moving against his fingers. “I think my heart is going to stop.”

He felt an incredible surge of power, of pleasure. He might have wished for finer surroundings for her benefit, but for himself he did not care. All of his attention was focused on Chloe, her ivory body nestled invitingly on the darkness of his cloak, her thighs spread wide to him, her blue eyes drugged with helpless passion. “What would you like me to do?” he whispered, teasing her. “If it's too much, I could stop—”

“If you dare . . .”

He had no intention of stopping. He couldn't. He was going to take this as far as he could. He brought her again and again to the brink, loving the breathless whimpers that broke in her throat. His fingers sank into the engorged folds of her sheath. He played with her until she was weeping for him to be inside her. She was his woman to worship, to please.

She gave a cry as he slipped his hands under her bottom to enter her. She was so tight, he could have come on the first thrust. Instead, he braced his palms on the cloak and concentrated on controlling his movements, rubbing his shaft between the folds of her slick entrance before giving her what she wanted. The slow friction teased her until she was practically begging him to enter her, shuddering with lust. “Do it,” she said.

His mind reveled in the sensation of wet heat. She was completely open to him, her graceful body pinned to the floor, shaking with uncontrolled sensuality. He was going to learn how to pleasure her inside and out; he would make loving her an art. With tantalizing restraint he slowly embedded himself inside her.

“I could die like this,” he said, his head thrown back, the muscles in his shoulders contracting in pleasure.

He was lost in her. He loved how her body welcomed him. He loved the feel of stretching her to the hilt, filling her. This act he would not rush, no matter what awaited him afterward. His only thought was to sensitize her, to give her pleasure; he stroked her channel with slow, steady pressure, claiming her one inch at a time. She tensed, and he felt her inner muscles stretched by his thick member. He growled softly and rotated his hips, teasing her just a little more, sinking ever so slowly, so deeply inside her.

He watched her eyes close in enjoyment, her neck arch, her belly tremble at his relentless attack on her senses. Each thrust tested his willpower, inflamed him. He felt the exact moment when she began to shatter, her womb convulsing, gripping him until he, too, was overwhelmed by sensation, overpowered with need. The world exploded, his hips bucked as he emptied his seed into her body.

He had never known such earth-shattering eroticism in his life. He could not believe that their mating had been such a wild delight. He rolled onto his side, their bodies still joined, fragrant with the perfume of sex. He cradled the back of her head in his hands and lowered his head to kiss her. She was warm, shivering a little, but deliciously responsive. He forced himself to ignore the stirring of desire in his groin. He would grow hard inside her too easily. He wanted more of her.

“Chloe, my love,” he whispered, stroking her face. “I don't want to leave you.”

She went still, her blue eyes shimmering with tears. “Then stay.”

He brushed her black curls back from her forehead. “You have no idea how much I wish I could, how you tempt me. Be strong. When Edgar is exposed, my life will return to normal, and nothing will keep me away from you.”

“Except four arrogant brothers and a sister who faints in shock when someone drops a knife from the dinner table.”

He grinned. “I'll help you put on your costume. It sounds as if confronting Edgar might be good practice before facing your family.”

They finished dressing in absorbed silence, Dominic distracted, aware they had been gone longer than was wise, that he always lost track of time when they were together. She's changed since I first met her, he thought. But then so had he. God knew this exile her brothers had imposed on her was not what any of them had in mind.

And now his attention must return to a darker matter. Edgar had been corresponding with a man in London or its environs. This, Dominic had deduced from the speed by which Edgar exchanged letters with this unknown person.

The person's identity? Dominic did not know. Edgar appeared to burn the messages as soon as he read them. But Dominic had found a partially charred letter in the fireplace that Edgar had drafted instructing his factor to withdraw a large sum of money from his bank.

Was Edgar planning to escape or to pay off an accomplice from his past? Was he plotting another murder?

Perhaps Dominic would never know. But he would stop his uncle from destroying anyone else.

“Chloe,” he said, in hesitation, his large hands closing around her softly rounded shoulders, “I want you to go back to London, or wherever your brothers are as soon as possible.”

“Do you think they'll give me any choice in the matter?”

His gaze darkened with concern for her. “Convince Heath you must.”

“And pray share with me the magic words that will open the iron doors of his heart to allow me home?”

Dominic's mouth tightened into a thin line. “Tell him he
must
bring you home. You can convince him.”

“I doubt it.”

“Try, damn it. When word of Edgar's treachery is exposed, there will be a scandal. Remove yourself from it now.”

“I don't care about scandal, Dominic. I care about you and what happens when you face the man who killed Brandon. Did you ever finish decoding his letter?

He looked at her sharply. “
His
letter?”

“Yes, the letter, or partial letter, you left in my room and stole back. It was written in my brother's hand. I cannot tell if it was meant for you or Samuel.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “How do you know?”

“I recognized Brandon's handwriting, and, well, I made a copy of it to decipher. He seems to be referring to something Edgar planned to do. I shall give you the translation when I finish.”

“You are an amazing woman, Chloe.”

“I shall be amazingly miserable if anything happens to you. Why won't you let me help you confront Edgar?”

“No.”

“Am I supposed to sit by and do nothing?”

“If anything happens to Adrian and me, it will be up to you to get your brothers involved.”

Her heart missed a beat. “What are you going to do to Edgar?”

“Convince him to do what is right.”

“And if he refuses?”

“I'll do whatever I must.”

She pulled away, her blue eyes a little angry, bright with anguish. On another woman the winged fairy costume would have looked airy, ethereal. But Chloe more resembled a Roman goddess about to start a war. Strong rather than insubstantial. Frail on the surface only. The sort of woman some stuffy old earl would love to indulge, to spoil, to show off on his arm. The thought turned his stomach. He didn't want to lose her to another man. He wanted to triumph and claim her for himself.

He gripped her hand, drawing her back from the door, his body close to hers. “I will come back for you,” he said, his gray eyes glittering. “One way or another. Don't go kissing anyone behind carriages or in hallways again. Be mine always. I
will
come back.”

She bit her lower lip. Her face was pale. He had the oddest feeling she wanted to hit him. “Just make certain when you do come back,” she whispered, hiking up one of her rather mangled wings, “that you are not a ghost.”

Chapter 21

When Chloe emerged from the room, she found that the receiving hall was still crowded with guests who did not care to dance, chatting over a glass of lemonade. The band was just beginning another set, but the last thing she felt like was whirling around after what she and Dominic had just done. She felt light-headed enough as it was. She wanted to be alone, to ponder what was happening between them, to steady herself. To be ready in case he needed her help to finish this thing with his uncle.

Perhaps she should have been more concerned over the loss of her virtue and her fallen status. She wasn't. What was gone was gone. She simply wanted to sit quietly for a while and relive every decadent detail before she began worrying about what would happen to him. Would tonight be the night he would finally confront Sir Edgar? What was he going to do if Edgar did indeed have an ally waiting in the wings? What if he and Adrian failed? Her throat closed at the thought.

“Well,” one young woman murmured, bumping into Chloe's back, “my mama says that if the Stratfield Ghost has his way, there won't be a virtuous lady left in the village.”

Chloe released a wistful sigh and adjusted her wings back over her shoulders. If she had her way, Dominic's haunting days would soon be over forever, and his vices would be reserved for one woman alone.

“I do not believe there is a ghost at all,” a disgruntled gentleman said in a loud voice. “I think the whole thing is nothing but female hysterics. What is your opinion, Lady Chloe?”

Chloe glanced around at his unfamiliar florid face. She didn't even know his name; he was one of Justin's cohorts, which reminded her that she hadn't danced with Justin all night. He had completely ignored her. Not that she minded. In fact, she hadn't even thought of it until—

“Ah, so there you are, Chloe.” She looked up to see her uncle elbowing his way from the refreshment room. “I wondered where you had gone.”

“I was here,” she said vaguely, glancing past him.

“Here?”

“Well.” Oh, she hated being deceitful. “I thought to fetch my fan. Silly me. I had it on my wrist all along.”

His gentle eyes looked thoughtful. “Silly you.”

“Yes.” Her pulse began to pound. “Silly me.”

“Has your Lady Dewhurst had any more luck laying our naughty ghost?” a guest asked with a grin from behind the older man.

Sir Humphrey turned away from Chloe to answer, and she felt a profound if temporary sense of relief. He might have suspected something was off in her reply, but he wasn't going to press her. Chloe was thankful for that. She despised lying to one who had been as kind to her as her uncle.

He placed his hand on her arm. “Let me get you a glass of lemonade, Chloe. You look a little flushed.”

Lord. If only he knew why. He wasn't
that
kind as to accept what she and Dominic had been doing. She would rather die than to distress him, to disappoint her one champion in the house.

“Lemonade would be perfect, Uncle—”

She stopped cold. She had just noticed Sir Edgar Williams emerging from the cloakroom, elegant in black evening dress and a flawlessly white linen neckcloth. Obviously no one had informed him this was to be a masquerade ball, or he considered himself too dignified to appear in costume. But then, Chloe thought, his entire personality was a facade. A heartless killer disguised as a knight of the realm, a gentleman with gutter instincts.

She watched Sir Edgar glance around the hallway, studying each masked guest in turn. Her heart pounded erratically against her ribs. Had he discovered that Dominic was alive? That he was here tonight? Or was his mysterious friend in attendance? It did not seem likely that Edgar would do his secret dealings in a place like this. If he made a move toward the room where she had left Dominic, should she try to waylay him?

She felt her uncle's hand tighten around her arm. Puzzled, she glanced up at his face.

“Let us get that lemonade, Chloe,” he said quietly.

She nodded, looking around to see Sir Edgar disappear into the ballroom. A lean cloaked figure in the corner caught her attention, and she felt a wave of heat engulf her as she realized Adrian had resumed the charade. He looked directly at her, gave a barely perceptible nod, then smiled down warmly at the cluster of chattering women surrounding him.

Was that nod Adrian's subtle way of telling her that Dominic had safely hidden himself? Yes. Adrian must have seen Sir Edgar, too. He would not be standing there flirting so outrageously with all those females if he feared for his friend's welfare.

She could only pray that the rest of Dominic's plans went as well.

She turned back to her uncle. “Lemonade, yes, that's just what we need.”

He stared at her for a few seconds before guiding her to the refreshment room. “It's good to see you happy again, Chloe. We've all been worried about you this past week or so. This dance appears to have done you a world of good.”

 

She did not dance again with Adrian. He was surrounded by admirers for the rest of the evening, which she took as a reassuring sign. Surely he would not appear so relaxed if Edgar's cohort had arrived. In fact, the last she'd seen of Sir Edgar, he had been in conversation with the pastor.

Neither she nor Adrian made any more attempts at conversation with each other. It would be unwise to draw attention to their association. She did not know him at all, she had not even seen Adrian's face unmasked, but he was the kind of man who effortlessly made a woman feel protected, defended, safe from danger.

Perhaps this was because he had spent his life fighting for others, using his body and his wits as a shield. In fact, he was the last man in the world one would peg as a potential duke. He looked and behaved more like the mercenary rogue he was reputed to be. His history of unconventional conduct and adventure in foreign lands was infamous, the stuff of popular fiction that Chloe and her friends devoured in the newspapers. Some of those wild tales must have been true.

Yet she could not help liking him. He was a person one trusted instantly, and if Dominic had only a single ally, she was glad that it was Adrian Ruxley.

She turned from watching him to discover Justin standing right behind her. For the first time since she'd known him, he did not smile as their eyes met, did not appear carefree and young. She felt a prickle of apprehension crawl down her spine. He looked so uncharacteristically serious.

“So it's true,” he said, shaking his head in disapproval.

Chloe blinked. She seemed to be hiding so many secrets these days that she had lost count. “What is true, Justin?” she asked guardedly.

“You're in love with him.”

“Er, him?”

“Yes.” He sniffed, nodding in Adrian's direction like a spoiled child. “Do not try to deny it.”

Chloe glanced around in embarrassment. Justin's voice was getting louder; fortunately, they were standing alone. “I have only met him for the first time tonight.”

“Which makes it all the worse,” he burst out, his sultan's turban sliding down over his forehead. “I defended you, Chloe, when everyone warned me you were fast.”

A few guests had begun to look at them. Chloe contemplated pushing him behind the potted palm. Didn't she have enough to worry about tonight without Justin throwing a public temper tantrum?

“I have no idea what you are talking about, Justin.”

He pushed his jeweled turban out of his eye. “I saw you, Chloe Boscastle. I saw you sneaking off with that duke to be.”

“For your information Lord Wolverton merely escorted me to the hall while I went to fetch my fan.”

“Ha! You were both gone long enough to take a tour of the Continent.”

“Stop behaving like an infant,” Chloe said under her breath. “I did
not
go on a tour with Lord Wolverton.” Which was absolutely the truth. She had been touring with Dominic, and if Justin did not control—

The menacing shadow of a man fell between them, saving Chloe from giving Justin that well-deserved push. The interruption might have been welcome except for the fact it was Sir Edgar's presence that stopped Chloe from committing an overt act of violence. She would gladly face one hundred of Justin's tantrums rather than this foul man.

“A lover's spat?” Sir Edgar asked with a wry smile. “Shall I play the neutral party?”

Chloe gave Justin a quelling look. Perhaps she could turn his outburst to an advantage. As long as Edgar was here, he could not harm Dominic. “It was a misunderstanding.”

“I'll say,” Justin muttered, but he was apparently enough of a gentleman to leave the matter at that. “You will excuse me then, both of you?” he asked, backing up several steps. “I think my mother is calling to me.”

Sir Edgar glanced down at Chloe with a resigned sigh. “Well, it is not London, is it, my dear? These country bumpkins do not understand the sophisticated art of social etiquette. I suppose you are accustomed to breaking hearts.”

Chloe watched Justin march right up to another young lady and ask her to dance. The nitwit apparently was not going to nurse a broken heart for long. Well, she'd always known that she was a little too wild for him.

“Do
you
plan on leaving for London in the near future, Sir Edgar?” she asked pointedly, her gaze avoiding his. She could not bring herself to look him in the eye. She was not a good enough actress to hide her contempt.

He shook his head. “Alas, it is taking longer to attend to my nephew's estate than anyone could have predicted. I have found—”

There was a sudden lull in the buzz of laughter and conversation around them. The house steward was about to award the prize for the best costumes. Guests swelled forward, forcing Chloe and Sir Edgar into separate channels.

He gave her an apologetic shrug as they parted. She felt awash with relief and hoped he had not sensed anything suspicious in her behavior toward him. The idea of engaging in lighthearted banter with the man who had stabbed Dominic half to death was more than she could stomach. She could murder him herself with her bare hands.

The guests were clapping wildly for each costume presented. Chloe spotted her uncle edging toward her, using his lightning bolt to clear a path. Adrian stood at the far end of the ballroom, his pose relaxed, one broad shoulder pressed to the wall. Chloe noticed him glance her way, then toward Sir Edgar, as if he were focused on keeping them both in his scrutiny.

Yes, it was a good feeling to have a friend like Adrian in one's sight, even if it was true that he had spent an entire summer on a Chinese pirate ship. Still, as long as he was here protecting her, he could not aid Dominic. Her brows furrowed in worry.

Was Adrian going to help Dominic execute the final step of his scheme? If not in physical deed, Adrian must have been involved in plotting Edgar's downfall.

How would they do it? she wondered, a knot rising in her throat. Dominic had been careful not to give her the details of his final plans. She gripped her fan tightly in her fingers. As long as he came back to her alive, she was almost glad she did not know.

 

Dominic walked as quietly as a ghost into the darkened bedchamber of his own home. He did not have a moment to lose. A quarter hour at most, to be on the safe side. He had taken a detour home from the dance. The servants had retired to their hall. He knew their habits down to the exact minute his footmen extinguished the candles in the long gallery before turning in for the night.

Adrian would do what was required to keep his eye on Edgar, but Dominic's uncle was no fool. For a week he had been questioning the servants about Dominic's friendship with Adrian, when they had last met, what they had discussed. It was clear that Edgar viewed Adrian's stop in Chistlebury with suspicion. Yet for tonight Adrian's primary function was to ensure that no harm came to Chloe. Fortunately, while Dominic's beloved might be a little rash in matters of romance, she did show good sense when it came to her survival.

Edgar's mysterious acquaintance had not shown up at the ball, after all. Perhaps Dominic's hunch had been wrong. Perhaps the dance was not private enough for their meeting. Or perhaps Edgar knew he was under suspicion and wanted to appear as normal as possible by attending a social affair. It seemed likely he had warned his contact to stay away.

Dominic would leave that matter to the agents of the Crown who dealt in subterfuge.

He laid his brother's bloodied and torn military jacket across Edgar's pristine white pillow. From the small urn in his hand he sprinkled a trail of white sand out into the gallery, all the way up to the portrait of himself on the wall. It was sand that had come from Nepal, sent by Samuel's faithful servant for the memorial service that had been held. He wondered if Edgar would know what it represented. A gauntlet thrown down in challenge.

He propped the empty urn on the floor in front of the secret passageway leading to the stygian vault that had hidden him for over a month.