The Surrender of Miss Fairbourne (16 page)

Her reactions astonished her. Frightened her. Her body and her essence grew achingly aware of him, and of that touch. Quivers moved down in a sensual blush. It was far more powerful than the sensations that had confused her thus far.

He is going to kiss you
. The thought came to her one second before his finger left her lips.

Then he did kiss her, as if her thought had been a request.

The kiss enchanted her. She did not even think about resisting for what seemed a long time. Then his hands cradled her head and the kiss deepened and a cascade of wonder defeated any attempts at forming words of denial.

He pulled her into an embrace and the tiniest part of her mind knew she had erred in not speaking. She should push away now, but oh, the warmth, the human touch and masculine strength and scent seduced her into compliance. The pleasures streaming through her were distraction enough, but the poignant intimacy was what really made her heart sigh.

She did not have to stand alone in that embrace, or be strong. There was no sorrow while those kisses pressed her lips, her face and neck, and no worry or calculations. No thought at all, just the delight of new, fresh sensations, much like feeling the first warm spring breeze after a hard winter.

She did not kiss him back, or embrace him in turn. She merely accepted, awed by how he transformed her world for a few moments. Only when his hands moved, and his
embrace became caresses, did her sense reassert itself. She knew then that she had proven too compliant, and that this man assumed more agreement than she had realized she gave.

Still, she could not stop it. She did not want to. His hands did not shock her. Instead they felt wonderful. Necessary. Their firm pressure formed connection after connection that raised compelling, almost frantic urges inside her, especially very deep and very low where a heaviness full of delicious anticipation grew.

He moved her from the path, but she had no awareness of how. She noticed only the leaves above her head now, and the privacy afforded by shrubs and trees. Most of her senses centered on his shockingly intimate kisses and his hands and how both drove her to the brink of insanity again.

A new embrace, encompassing. A new kiss, burning into her neck. A new caress, finding her stomach and side and finally closing on her breast. Madness truly beckoned then. She succumbed when he intensified the pleasure with artful touches that made her gasp. She surrendered to a luscious sensuality full of excitement and need and deepening passion.

She thought she might dwell there forever. She hoped it would never end or change, but even as she accepted it, the urges increased, driving her, demanding more. An overwhelming ache began transforming the pleasure into a primitive, carnal hunger.

She sensed the danger, but even so she was not the one to stop it. Rather, a voice did, calling her name. The sound penetrated her daze.

She recognized Obediah’s voice seeking her. Southwaite heard it too. That voice served as a strong slap that forced them both to find some control.

One sweet final kiss, and Southwaite set her away from him, releasing her. One deep look in her eyes, then his gaze lowered to her body. The angles of his face hardened.

His fingertips brushed the black frill at the neck of her black dress.

Her glorious arousal had not yet faded, but she stepped away, because of course she must. She walked into the sunlight and sought Obediah’s face at a window. “I am here,” she called. “You must tell me every word that Herr Werner said.”

W
hat the devil was wrong with him?
The question shouted in Darius’s head while he trailed Emma into the building, and kept chanting while Riggles gave a report and answered Miss Fairbourne’s many questions.

Thwarted desire did not sit well with him, and he heard little of what she said to Obediah in response. He had to make an effort to keep his eyes off her.

You have been an ass with her and now you are being an idiot.
Had he not sworn to himself, repeatedly, to close Fairbourne’s? Had not long thought always led to the conclusion he should, even must? Instead today he had played the knight to a lady in distress and all but bribed Herr Werner to consign those damned paintings here. And instead of laying down a few laws when he met her in the garden, he had come very close to seducing her, and still wished Riggles had left them alone.

Arousal led his thoughts to places they really did not need to go now, if ever. He could not help but reflect that she had not seemed very experienced. That was bad news on several counts. It indicated apologies were in order, when he could summon no inclination to make them. It suggested that he should feel guilty, when he did not in the least.

What was wrong with him? Even now, as the conversation between Riggles and Emma began to penetrate his brain, most of his mind was back under the trees hearing her surprised gasps of pleasure and feeling her supple warmth against his body.

“You will write to him,” Miss Fairbourne said to Riggles. “Tell him that after deliberation, you are prepared to take a smaller commission on the sale. Make it very clear that you rely on his discretion in the matter. We can’t have him telling
the world about that. Other collectors will want the same terms, and it will ruin us.”

She was no longer pretending that Riggles managed things, now that her secret was out. If Riggles himself thought that odd, he did not show it. He nodded dutifully, and went to the office to compose his letter.

Miss Fairbourne in turn strode to the storage. Darius followed because he had things he was supposed to say. However, a part of him—the dishonorable, hungry, larger part—instead calculated how to continue what had started in the garden.

She plucked an apron from a wall hook and put it on. “I confess that I am almost happy that you know the truth, Lord Southwaite. I have much to do during the next weeks, and it has been very inconvenient evading you while you interfered here.”

“How much did you do while your father lived?” The question came from his better half, the half not picturing this woman out of those mourning clothes, and lying naked on the surface of that desk, her blue eyes filmed by the ecstasy of pleasure the way they had been mere minutes ago.

“I helped with the catalogue of large auctions. Silver and objets d’art mostly. I consulted with him on paintings, however. He did not dismiss my views, if you are wondering if I overstate my abilities.”

“And the management? The accounts and the consignments? Did you help there as well?”

“That was my father’s role alone. Especially the consignments. That was too public for me to be involved.” She faced him with an expression both severe and exasperated. “I deceived
you
because I need to deceive the world. You know that no one would accept that my expertise is good enough. No one would patronize Fairbourne’s if they knew a woman’s judgment made the decisions on anything, especially authenticity.”

He was glad that she had not been aware of the past consignors, since he was sure some of those lots had been
suspect at best. “There is no law that says a woman cannot have a good eye for art.”

She moved some silver to the table and pulled a sheaf of papers from under a tray. “Oh, tosh. If you had known the truth during our first conversation, I could never have convinced you not to sell the business at once instead of allowing this sale.”

“I do not remember your convincing me to allow anything. I said I would decide after determining if Riggles was up to the management.”

She froze. She glared at him. “And now you have concluded he is not. Well,
I am
.”

Desperation entered her eyes. If he had not kissed her less than an hour ago, that might not have touched him as it did. Since he had, the urge to reassure her swept him and he came close to promising her whatever she wanted to hear.

He feigned a connoisseur’s interest in the objects piled in the storage room, but in truth he saw only her, felt only her. Wanted only her. “There will be a Raphael, you said.”

Her expression softened with relief, beautifully. “Yes. A superb one.”

“From the collection of an esteemed gentleman, I assume.”

“Most esteemed.” Her conspiratorial smile lit up the chamber, and his damned blood began heating again.

He reached for the door latch, lest he reach for her instead. “Perhaps I will buy it, if it is as good as you say.”

He finally left, too long after he should have. He was on his horse before he remembered that he had lingered in order to apologize for what happened in the garden, but had neglected to say the words.

Just as well. He was not opposed to saying the right things for the right reasons. This time, however, if he had expressed apologies or remorse, it would not have rung true at all. Reassurances to behave better in the future would have definitely sounded hollow, since he already doubted he could carry through on the promise.

“I
may get the count’s collection,” Emma confided to Cassandra.

“You required a meeting at nine o’clock to tell me this? In a damp park? I dare not step off this path lest the dew ruin my skirt.”

Emma kept them hugged to the Serpentine’s edge. Cassandra had been sweet to agree to this walk at all and had a right to her annoyance with the hour. Given a choice, Emma would have done this differently.

They strolled along a deserted path in Hyde Park. Even as she chatted with Cassandra, Emma’s gaze swept the surrounding park land. At this hour, very few visitors could be seen, and all appeared to be men. Most rode horses, taking advantage of the open spaces to give their mounts exercise. Over near the chestnut trees men in uniform clustered, probably preparing for the spectacle of the volunteer unit review planned for midday. Back near the start of Rotten Row, a small collection of riders gathered for what looked to be an impromptu race.

One of them, on a large white horse, caught her eye. Was
that Southwaite? She fancied that the man held himself much like the earl. She could not tell for certain from this distance, but the mere possibility had her all but stumbling.

It was very annoying that she could not even think about him without getting flustered. She had probably flushed too, and hoped that Cassandra would think it was because of the crisp breeze and the exercise. The problem was that thinking about the earl meant thinking about the garden, and that only confused her.

She had not gotten far in sorting out what had happened, and why. The latter part was the bigger conundrum. She could not deny she had enjoyed every kiss, but she had no confidence Southwaite had been swept away by pleasure and passion too. He wasn’t inexperienced, was he? He was not likely to be mesmerized by the sheer novelty of all that human warmth and sensation. She suspected that when she finally mustered the courage to analyze why he had kissed her, she would not much like the conclusions she would draw.

In the meantime, she would rather not see him.

“I apologize, Emma. I should rejoice at your news, and not notice how the air chills me. I have been hopeful for your success with Herr Werner, but I confess I thought it unlikely that Mr. Riggles could convince him,” Cassandra said.

“He had help.”

Cassandra lowered her head and gazed up through her dark lashes. “I thought you were not going to allow anyone to know that you now managed affairs there.”

“It was not me. Southwaite was visiting the auction house when Herr Werner came by. His patronage reassured Herr Werner, I think.”

“I am sure Herr Werner dared not be other than impressed, if Southwaite required it.”

Cassandra’s tones and words never spoke well of Southwaite. Emma ached to confide more about that day Herr Werner had visited, but it would be embarrassing to describe how she had succumbed without a murmur of protest to a
man she was not even sure she liked. Worse, Cassandra might want to start scheming for Southwaite’s comeuppance.

“You really do not like the earl at all,” she said.

“Nor should you. He is a hypocrite, like most of the rest. For example, everyone knows he has had a series of mistresses, but he makes very sure his affairs never fuel more than vague whispers. Hence he feels free to criticize others for their scandals, but he really is no better.”

Cassandra referred to her own scandals, Emma assumed. After Cassandra refused to marry a man who had compromised her when she was a girl, society had noted every one of her subsequent diversions off the virtuous path through life.

Emma could not disagree with her friend’s assessment of the earl, even if she inexplicably found herself wanting to defend him.

Southwaite had said he was a master at managing discretion and avoiding scandal. He had
not
said he did not
do
anything scandalous. Indeed, he had even lured her into bad behavior. Yet he had raised an eyebrow over her friendship with Cassandra.

“You sound bitter, Cassandra. Has someone been cruel to you recently? You know that you only have to return to your brother’s household to avoid such cuts. All will be forgiven once he takes you back.”

“I could not bear being the prodigal sister. He and his wife would watch me like hawks if I returned, and make me know I was dependent on them for my reputation as well as my board. He would probably want to marry me off to some dull man in order to make all the gossip go away. No, as long as my aunt will have me, I will stay with her.”

Part of Cassandra’s notoriety came from those living arrangements, however. Cassandra’s aunt had collected a few scandals of her own. That she now lived as a recluse meant that Cassandra had too much independence.

“He is radical, so one would expect less rigidity on the social rules,” Cassandra said after they had walked a bit more. “I am speaking of Southwaite. He is a Whig, and has spoken for reform in the past. With the war, no one does
anymore, lest they be seen as sympathetic to the revolutionaries in France.”

“Perhaps he bides his time.” Emma rather liked hearing that the earl had spoken for reform, even if he no longer dared. It suggested he was not a slave to expected ways of thought even if he conformed to those regarding behavior.