One Forbidden Evening (Zebra Historical Romance) Read online

  “A gross exaggeration.”

  “I don’t think he is given to those. He also seemed disappointed that you have not lived up to your intellectual promise.”

  Ferrin chuckled. “If he knew about my patents, he would call me a tinker and dismiss my work out of hand. He would not look favorably upon the manner in which I’ve applied science. It is precisely the sort of endeavor for which he has no regard.”

  “He was not favorably impressed with your licentious behavior, either.”

  “You will have to trust me. Like my mother, he would be less impressed with the fact that I am in trade.”

  “I believe you. It is exactly that sort of thinking that I find so distressing.”

  “We are returned to that, are we?”

  “Would you prefer to discuss the impending interview with my brother?”

  “God, no.”

  “Careful. You almost tipped the chair.”

  Ferrin saw she was not trying to temper her amusement. “You know, he might well call me out.”

  “Call you out? Oh, I doubt that. I don’t think you should expect that Sherry will make any sort of formal challenge.” She waited just long enough to see a shadow of relief pass over his features, then told him, “He’ll shoot you where you stand.”

  In a single, fluid motion, Ferrin set his chair down on all four of its legs, dropped his heels from the bed rail, and rose to his feet. “You enjoyed that a little too much, I’m thinking.” Leaning over her, Ferrin kissed Cybelline hard on the mouth. She was a bit breathless when he drew back, but he was smiling with perfect satisfaction. He returned to the chair, propped his heels on the rail again, and resumed teetering on the two back legs. “I am credited to be a decent shot myself.”

  “I am very glad to hear it.”

  Ferrin was tempted to kiss her again. She served up considerable sauce with her cool tone and prim demeanor. “Sheridan has always impressed me as someone not given to acting hastily. I believe I can depend upon him to give me a fair hearing. It will be a bit of a shock, I suppose, when I arrive instead of Wellsley, but when he understands that I have never deceived you, it will all be made right.”

  “You are very confident.”

  He shrugged, then collected himself as the chair wobbled. “I find that men are infinitely more willing to engage in reasoned discourse than—”

  Cybelline arched one eyebrow and waited.

  “Well, than monkeys or magpies.”

  She nodded approvingly. “Impressive. You do very well in extracting your foot from your mouth.”

  He snorted softly.

  Smiling to herself, Cybelline smoothed the blanket lying across her knees. “Do you mean to stay the night?”

  “No.” He did not ask if she would allow it. That was implied in her question. “I merely wanted to know that you were all of a piece.”

  “Why did you think I wouldn’t be?”

  Ferrin cast her a look of patent disbelief. “Let us say that you conceal some things more successfully than others. I know that you asked Sir Richard to come here, but I think you hoped he would not accept your invitation. You may have even regretted extending it.”

  Cybelline’s long sigh confirmed Ferrin’s thinking. “I did not invite him here at the outset. I encouraged him to visit my London residence and make an appraisal. I was quite willing to conduct our business through correspondence, and it occurred to me that having the matter set in writing was better than a gentleman’s agreement. When he finally did reply, I decided I would not be inconvenienced by him and offered him the opportunity to discuss the purchase here. I admit to some surprise when he accepted. Do you regret that his arrival keeps us from Granville?”

  “I regret that his arrival keeps us apart. I am not in so very great a hurry to renew my acquaintance with your brother.”

  She chuckled. “Sherry is everything reasonable. You must not anticipate that he will make it difficult for us to marry—in the event there is a proposal, you understand.”

  “I understand.”

  She waited, and when he remained silent, watching her with faintly mocking eyes, she said, “Well, it seems there will not be one this evening.”

  “Disappointed?”

  “As if I would admit to such,” she said in prim accents.

  Ferrin set his chair down and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “How did you choose me, Cybelline?”

  She blinked. “Pardon?”

  “How did you choose me? At the masquerade, I mean. Was I a deliberate selection or a chance one? If Wellsley had stepped away from the card table before I did and taken you in hand, would you still have suggested seduction?”

  Cybelline wondered if their positions were reversed if she would have the courage to pose the same question. “I imagine you have given considerable thought to whether you are prepared to hear whatever I might say.”

  He nodded. “As long as it’s the truth.”

  “I will give you that,” she said quietly. “The first time I saw you was not at your sister’s presentation. It was months earlier, in June. You were standing outside your gentleman’s club, conversing with two young women. One of them was tugging on your sleeve very coyly, while the other was mounting her own coquettish assault. You appeared to be quite entertained by their antics—at least for a time.

  “I was seldom gone from my home, so it was the merest chance that I spied you that day, but because you were oddly familiar to me, I asked my companion if she knew you. She did, and she proceeded to regale me with every bit of gossip she’d ever heard about you. I also observed that your conversation with the young women took some sort of unpleasant turn, and you left them abruptly—with considerable coldness, in fact—and sought the certain sanctuary of your club. The young women looked as if they’d been set adrift. One called after you quite plaintively. I thought she might begin to cry. It seemed to me that everything my friend was telling me about your character was borne out by what I had witnessed.”

  Ferrin’s mouth curled to one side, and he shook his head slowly as disbelief warred with amusement. “So you had some knowledge that I was a spoiler of young women, is that it?”

  “Yes.” Cybelline had the grace to flush. “What I did not understand then was that you spoiled those two women in a very particular fashion.”

  “Oh?”

  “They were your sisters: Mrs. Branson and Miss Wynetta.”

  “I see. Your companion neglected to mention that.”

  “I don’t know if she was aware of it, either. She never suggested to me that she was acquainted with you, only your reputation. You must take responsibility for that, my lord. Her notions were precisely what you meant to foster.”

  “Hoist by my own petard,” Ferrin said. “Very well. When did you discover the women you saw me with that day were my sisters?”

  “At the masquerade. It made me wonder if I was mistaken in my other beliefs about you. I engaged you in conversation about rakes and libertines, and you confirmed to me that you were such a person.”

  “Bloody hell,” Ferrin said under his breath.

  Cybelline simply nodded, then her eyes darted away as she continued the more difficult part of her explanation. “I could not have approached just any gentleman. He had to be a man without exacting scruples, one who would welcome an evening’s diversion and make no further demands. Certainly he should be the sort of man who would not trouble himself with inquiries afterward. It seemed rather more right than not that it should be you. You had the look of the man who’d been coming to my bed for months, the one I tried to pretend was my husband, but was not.”

  “Your dreams,” Ferrin said, more to himself than to her. His eyes narrowed slightly as he regarded her averted face. “Look at me, Cybelline. You dreamed of me?”

  She turned, forcing herself to meet his eyes. “Not precisely of you. Not at first…someone like you…then after I saw you on the street…” Cybelline took a steadying breath. “After I saw you, yes, it was y
ou in my dreams.”

  “I see. And I made love to you?”

  “Not always.” Her eyes darted away again. “But often.”

  “Did it make you afraid?”

  “Sometimes. Sometimes it made me sad.”

  Ferrin nodded. “You had begun to receive the letters from your husband’s mistress by then, is that right?”

  “Yes. The first one arrived on the day that would have marked the fifth anniversary of our marriage. I must believe it was purposely done. Ten days earlier was the anniversary of Nicholas’s death. I have often wondered if it was that that prompted his mistress to send the first letter.” She shrugged. “I don’t suppose that it matters.”

  “No,” Ferrin said quietly. “I don’t suppose that it does.”

  Cybelline impatiently swiped at unwelcome tears. Composure was hard-won, but when she began to speak, it was in a matter-of-fact tone that distanced herself from the actions she was explaining. “That I attended the masquerade at all was certainly Aunt Georgia’s doing. She brought the affair to my attention when she received her invitation. As she was encouraged to bring a guest, she decided that I should be the one to accompany her. I was not in the least interested, you understand. It was just this sort of thing that I took great pains to avoid.”

  “I imagine Lady Rivendale was insistent.”

  “She was, but I still could have said no. It was when I realized that the invitation was initiated by you that I began to waver. I wanted to meet you, and I could not conceive that another opportunity would present itself. I am not speaking euphemistically when I say that I desired to make your acquaintance. An introduction was all I wanted. I thought I would be able to dismiss you then.”

  Cybelline touched her fingertips to her temple and massaged lightly as an ache began to form behind her eyes. “I cannot say precisely when my thinking changed, only that it did. Certainly it happened before my arrival at the masquerade. All my preparations were in aid of seducing you.”

  “Am I permitted to be flattered?”

  She discovered she had the wherewithal to smile. “Only a little. Please recall that I was trying to cut you from my life.”

  “You were trying to cut me from your dreams. There is a distinction there that I think you failed to recognize. In point of fact, you invited me into your life.” Standing, he motioned to her to move toward the center of the bed. When she complied, he made himself comfortable in the place she’d occupied, leaning back against the bedhead and stretching his long legs in front of him. He extended one arm to the side, curving it around Cybelline’s shoulders and drawing her closer. “It never fails to astonish how well we fit,” he said. “Lean your head back here…against my shoulder. That’s right. Close your eyes.” He began to massage her temples in the manner she had been doing and was rewarded with her heartfelt sigh of contentment. “Better?”

  “Mmmm.”

  He smiled. “Do not become too much at your ease. I would have the rest of your story.”

  “You are fiendish, my lord.” She felt his fingers pause. “Christopher,” she said softly. “You are a fiend, Christopher.”

  “Much better.” He resumed his gentle massage. “Tell me how the shepherdess with the green ribbons became Boudicca.”

  “I discovered that Aunt Georgia had no intention of escorting me to the masquerade. I overheard her tell the dressmaker that she would not be requiring a costume of her own, then confide that she was certain she would not be feeling at all the thing that evening. It was all in support of pushing me out of the nest. She was fearful that I was too often alone. She was also worried that I still grieved so deeply for Nicholas. It’s understandable since I told her nothing about the letters nor shared any of the bitterness in my heart.

  “When I realized she meant for me to go alone, I considered not attending at all. It came to me slowly, though, that I could enjoy anonymity that her presence would have denied me. That is how Boudicca was conceived. Webb and I made the costume. The torc, bracelets, and spear were already in my possession.”

  “The mask?”

  “No. I owned nothing like that. I had it made for the occasion.”

  Ferrin’s fingers strayed to her hair. “And this?”

  “Henna.”

  “You told me at the masquerade you chose Boudicca for her ruthlessness. Was that true?”

  “You cannot doubt it. She was not at all a convenient choice.”

  “So the shepherdess could not have proposed seduction.”

  “I don’t think so, no. In spite of how it must have appeared to you, that proposal did not come easily to the warrior queen, either.”

  “It seemed you were more often tempted to use your spear.”

  She smiled a bit drowsily. “That’s true.”

  Ferrin chuckled and kissed the crown of her head. “There never was a friend wearing the shepherdess costume?”

  “No. I left my home wearing it and returned in the same fashion, but I was only ever Boudicca at the masquerade.”

  “Did you accomplish what you set out to do, Cybelline? Did our anonymous coupling in the servants’ stairwell remove me from your dreams?”

  She flinched a little at this description of their encounter, yet she acknowledged that it was mostly accurate. “It was not entirely anonymous,” she said. “I knew who you were.”

  “You knew my name, my title, and something about my reputation, but you did not know me.”

  “No, you’re right, I didn’t. And no, it did not remove you from my dreams.”

  “You left London to put distance between us.”

  “I knew I was leaving London before I attended the masquerade. My departure did not hinge on the outcome of our introduction, or even on whether we met at all. I meant to leave because the letters had not stopped, but I would be less than honest if I did not admit that shame compelled me to make a more hasty departure.”

  “Shame, Cybelline? Do you really mean that?”

  “Guilt, then. A guilty pleasure. I had to escape.” She felt his hands move to her shoulders to stop the abrupt flow of tension there. In moments she was boneless. “But as you pointed out, there was a distinction that I failed to recognize, and you indeed came into my life. The anonymity I thought I enjoyed was only ever an illusion.”

  “You left the spear behind. What was I supposed to make of that?”

  “I don’t know. I hardly know what to make of it myself. I don’t think I did it intentionally, but I’m not as confident of that as I was before. It seems a bit too disingenuous.”

  “Do you sometimes still wish I had not found you?”

  Cybelline did not answer immediately. Instead, she was thoughtful, considering the question carefully. “Sometimes? No, not even sometimes. It seems right somehow.” She paused, lifting her head and glancing back at him, then said significantly, “It seems inevitable.”

  Ferrin merely smiled.

  “You understand, do you not, that ‘inevitable’ means incapable of being avoided?”

  “I believe I’m familiar with the meaning.”

  “You are maddening, do you know that?”

  “I’m learning that you think so.”

  She turned back and settled comfortably against him again. “I think I did not mind so much if you found Boudicca, but that could not happen, of course. It was only ever possible that you could find me.”

  “Are you so very different from her? I’m not so sure you are. I think adopting the look of her merely emphasized certain aspects of your character.”

  “The slattern aspect, you mean.”

  “I mean nothing of the kind. Boudicca was hardly a whore, and neither are you. Can you not suppose that a woman’s rage is but one facet of her passion? I thought that’s what I saw in you that night…what I still see from time to time.”

  Cybelline frowned. “Is it your intention to unsettle me? Because that is what you’ve done. It is not always necessary to share your observations, you know.”

  “I think it is,
at least on this count. I’m not afraid of your passion, Cybelline.”

  “And you think I am?”

  “Oh, yes. I know you are.”

  “You are daring me to show you otherwise.”

  “Indeed.”

  Cybelline removed herself from Ferrin’s embrace, turned, then gave him a hard shove from the side that made him teeter on the edge of the bed. It only required that she extend a foot to push him over. She was happy to put the dainty appendage to such good use. The bedside table almost toppled as he went overboard. She lurched, catching it with her fingertips before the candle fell and carefully set it right. Sprawled forward as she was, Cybelline simply peered over the bed and looked down at Ferrin. He was sitting on the floor, listing to one side as he rubbed his posterior. And to prove his point that he was not afraid of her passion, even of that aspect that was anger, he was grinning at her.

  Cybelline’s heart lurched just as she had. She was painfully aware that she would not be able to catch it. Still, she threw out a hand reflexively only to have it immediately taken up by Ferrin. She did not resist. It was fitting, she supposed, that he should have both her heart and her hand.

  Sitting up, she made a show of helping him to his feet. He could have easily brought her down on top of him had that been his desire. Instead, he came up in a fluid motion and allowed himself to be pulled onto the bed.

  “You made a great noise,” she whispered, turning on her side to face him. Her knees bumped his. “I shouldn’t wonder that someone will come to investigate.”

  “Then it’s a good thing I locked the outer door.”

  “So in spite of what you said earlier, you knew it would come to this.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not prescient, but I am an optimist.”

  Cybelline inched closer and caught his mouth with hers. “You make me hopeful. I cannot tell if I am more or less afraid because of it, only that I don’t mind so much.”

  Ferrin’s fingers curled around her loosely plaited hair and deftly unwound it. He let it slide over his hand, then gathered it up in his palm as though weighing its silky mass. He kissed her slowly and deeply, using his hand in her hair to keep her still. The movement of her mouth over his was warm and sweet, and the teasing forays of her tongue quickened his heartbeat until he knew a dull roar in his ears.