One Forbidden Evening (Zebra Historical Romance) Read online

  It was she who was maddening now, and he told her so. He was not surprised when her low laughter held a hint of wickedness, and she repeated his own words to him: “I’m learning that you think so.”

  She helped him out of his frock coat and stock and required no encouragement to unbutton his waistcoat and lift his shirt away from his trousers. Ferrin’s breath caught as her hands moved under his shirt. He would not have objected if they’d slipped under his skin.

  It was like that anyway. She moved over him and seemed to burrow inside. First there was the way her lips caught his earlobe and her teeth worried it, then there was her sultry breath at the nape of his neck. She seemed to glide across his chest, but it was only her fingertips that marched from his navel to his throat and left a trail of prickly heat behind. When she did the same with her mouth, the trail only got hotter.

  She cupped his erection through his trousers and massaged it much as he had done with her neck and shoulders. Her fondling made him want to grab her wrist and force pressure into her palm. Instead, she found what he needed on her own, gauging the strength of her caress by the sounds that escaped the back of his throat. She listened to him in a way no woman had before. Her touch was light when he could bear her teasing and firm when he could not. She seemed to know precisely when to stop her carnal assault and when to resume it. There was no artifice, no faked interest. She was openly curious, perhaps as much about her own power as she was about his response, and Ferrin knew himself grateful to be the subject of her inquiry.

  She released the buttons on his flies and drew him out. He had to set his jaw when she took him in hand and began to stroke him along the length of his shaft. Her fingers squeezed around him, mimicking the contractions of her body when he was deep inside her.

  And when she made to take him most intimately between her lips, Ferrin held his breath in anticipation of the hot and humid suck of her mouth, then he gave in to it.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Cybelline was late coming to breakfast. Sir Richard had already served himself from the sideboard. She greeted him and began to investigate what dishes Mrs. Minty had prepared for their guest’s pleasure. She choose coddled eggs, sweet sausage, and two triangles of toast with orange marmalade, then joined Sir Richard at the table.

  He was reading from a London paper that was several days old but only recently delivered to the Sharpe house. He set it down to come to his feet as Cybelline was seated by the footman. “I wasn’t certain if you would take your breakfast with your daughter,” he said, returning to his chair.

  “It’s often my habit to sit with her in the nursery, but I slept later than I intended.” The words came coolly to her lips, but it was heat that she felt everywhere else. When she breathed deeply she caught Ferrin’s scent on her skin even though she’d bathed this morning. She did not dare close her eyes for long, sure she would see him as he’d been last night, hovering over her, taking her breast in his mouth, then marking a damp path from her throat to her navel with his lips and tongue, then dipping lower still until he tasted the wetness between her thighs.

  “Is something wrong?” Sir Richard asked.

  Cybelline blinked, flushing a little as she realized that inspite of her best intentions she had not been attending to her guest. She observed that Sir Richard was watching her with narrowed eyes and a stamp of vague disapproval on his mouth. “No, nothing’s wrong. I am feeling very well, in fact.”

  “You appear somewhat flushed.”

  “Do I?” She put a hand to one cheek. “Mayhap it is because I overslept. And you, Sir Richard? Did you pass the night comfortably?”

  “I did, yes. I read until quite late. Thank you for permitting me to take a book from your library.”

  “It’s hardly a library,” she said. “But I’m gratified to learn that you found something of interest.”

  “Indeed. A number of titles intrigued me. I chose Pride and Prejudice.”

  “Really?” She was pleased to discover her voice did not quaver. The book belonged to Ferrin, not her. She wondered what other books or journals he might have left behind. She hoped that Berzelius’s Theory of Chemical Proportions and the Chemical Action of Electricity was not one of them. “Is that not an odd choice?”

  “Why do you think so?”

  Cybelline knew she was being baited, so she replied carefully. “I would have thought the society of so many women would not recommend itself to you. Mrs. Bennet, in particular, is a twit.”

  “She is, but I find much to admire about Mr. Darcy.”

  “As do I.” Cybelline cut her sausage and speared one bite. “I believe I will walk after breakfast. Will you join me?”

  “No, thank you. I am prepared to make my offer, Mrs. Caldwell, and not press upon your hospitality longer than necessary.”

  “Oh, but it is no trouble to have you here.” The wonder of it was, she thought, that she did not choke on those words. “Surely, you do not mean to leave today when you have only just arrived.”

  “Tomorrow,” he said, “I will be sufficiently rested to make the journey to Cambridge. My driver assures it will be the same for the horses, and the carriage is in good order.” He lifted his coffee cup and drank before he went on. “Again, I must caution you that my offer is not final until I have appraised the pieces, but I am prepared to offer you one thousand pounds. If you will include the spear, my offer is three hundred more.”

  Cybelline did not hesitate, nor did she try to put her refusal delicately. “No. That is unacceptable. I have it from my husband’s own journal that you once appraised the shield at a thousand pounds. I had hoped that you would not think me such a great fool that I did not have some idea of the worth of the collection, but apparently that is not the case. You will have to do better, Sir Richard. Your offer does not make me think you are truly interested.”

  A wash of crimson color rose higher than Sir Richard’s intricately folded neckcloth. “Are you clever, Mrs. Caldwell? Or merely sly?”

  Cybelline did not dignify the question with an answer. She lifted a triangle of toast to her lips and bit gently. The marmalade lay pleasantly on her tongue; the sweet and slightly tart taste of it reminded her of Ferrin’s kisses. She would have orange marmalade at every breakfast from this point forward, she decided, and was very pleased with herself for thinking of it.

  Twin muscles jumped in Sir Richard’s cheeks as he ground his teeth together. “Your late husband thought you were clever,” he said. “It has always been my opinion that you are cunning.”

  It had never occurred to Cybelline that Nicholas might have discussed her with Sir Richard. She wondered if she could trust Sir Richard to be telling her the truth. Such behavior seemed out of character for her husband. “I am certain you each had your reasons for thinking so,” she said evenly. “Frankly, your good opinion is of no import. It is your offer that must come up to snuff.”

  Sir Richard smiled thinly. There was no evidence of humor in the line of his mouth. “I have always had it in my mind that you do not care for me, Mrs. Caldwell, and it seems I am correct. I have asked myself what offense I gave you; I even put the question to your husband. Was there an offense? A slight? Or is it that I remind you of someone who has given such? Your husband had no answer for me, and I find myself at a loss to explain it.”

  “You disrespect me,” she said. “And you have always done so. I can say it no plainer than that. If I required more proof, your offer supplied it.” Cybelline’s chin came up, and she did not avert her gaze. She refused to be moved from her own table. Indeed, she was hungrier now than when she had joined him. She took a bite of her coddled eggs and chewed with evident pleasure.

  Sir Richard set down his coffee cup and picked up the paper. “You will excuse me, Mrs. Caldwell. There are matters to which I must attend.”

  Cybelline nodded politely, hoping that one of the matters involved recalculating his offer. When he was gone from the room, she smiled to herself, well satisfied with the outcome of the exchange.<
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  Ferrin dismounted as soon as he saw Cybelline walking through the woods toward him. “Have you lost your bearings?” He pointed to the northeast. “The Sharpe house is that way.”

  “I know precisely where I am. I found you, didn’t I?” She stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the mouth. His laughter made his lips vibrate and tickled hers. She dropped to her heels and pressed her forehead against his shoulder. “I didn’t hear you leave this morning. I wish you had waked me.”

  He cupped her chin with his forefinger and lifted it. “I do not think the explosion from a Roman candle could have roused you. It was still dark when I left, and no one saw me go.”

  “Sir Richard is leaving tomorrow. We will be able to leave for Granville the following day.”

  “If you like.” He slipped his arm through Cybelline’s. “This way. We’ll not be disturbed.” He dropped Newton’s reins and let him trail behind. “Sir Richard’s offer was acceptable, then?”

  “Not at all. It was insulting.” Cybelline repeated the exchange she’d had with Sir Richard. “Really, he put me out of all patience with him. I don’t know if he’ll make a second offer, but if he does, it is certain to be more agreeable than the first. I told him I had Nicholas’s journals. My husband kept meticulous records of his discoveries.”

  “So that’s how you knew their worth.”

  She nodded. “He even noted which items were appraised by Sir Richard, and I have it here.” She tapped her head.

  “Clever.”

  “Yes,” she said, smiling up at him. “I am.”

  Ferrin veered off the path suddenly and took Cybelline with him. He backed her against a tree trunk and kissed her hard.

  Her arms lifted around his neck, and she kissed him back. The chinchilla collar of her pelisse framed their faces and warmed their cheeks. Ferrin unfastened her coat and slipped his hands inside, pressing them against the small of her back. He brought her as flush to his body as their heavy clothes would allow and held her there.

  Last night seemed so long ago, and yet every spark that was fired came from that same fuse. The intensity of the heat between them had not cooled even a few degrees. When they were able to break away, it was their breathless, slightly embarrassed laughter that still bound them together.

  “Oh my,” Cybelline whispered.

  “Indeed.”

  “Mayhap it was not a good idea for me to come this way.”

  “It was an excellent idea.” He stepped back and began to fasten her pelisse. “Come, I will let you continue your walk unmolested. Unless you are provocative, of course, then I cannot answer for what will happen.”

  Amused, Cybelline simply shook her head and allowed Ferrin to take her arm again. They chose a route that took them toward the brook, then they followed its meandering path. Behind them, Ferrin’s mount made snuffling noises and occasionally thrust his nose hard at Ferrin or Cybelline to move them along, but mostly he was content to follow in the persistent manner of a loyal, but very large, hound.

  “You never told me how you entered my home last night,” Cybelline said. “I know the doors are not often barred or locked as they are in London, but I am imagining that you were not so bold as to simply walk in the front door.”

  “I can be that bold,” he said, “but not that slow-witted.”

  “The distinction is important?”

  “I think so.”

  “Very well. Impress me.”

  “I walked in the tradesman’s entrance.”

  Cybelline chuckled. “My, that is inventive.”

  He shrugged. “Your rose trellis is all rotting wood, and there was nowhere to set a pulley that might have easily lifted me. I never mastered stilts. I did want to reach you alive, so that necessarily narrowed my options.”

  “Thank goodness. Sir Richard mentioned that he read quite late. Pride and Prejudice, if you can credit it. Could you tell if he was still up?”

  “No. But I didn’t go near his room. I used the stairs at the rear. Before you inquire, the Lowells were also undisturbed by my going and coming.” Ferrin’s steps slowed, then stopped. He brought Cybelline up short as well. “What did you say he was reading?”

  “Pride and Prejudice.”

  “A book he brought? You don’t own a copy of that.”

  “No. I gave him permission to take what he liked from the small collection of novels in the study. He made a point to comment that the room hardly deserved description as a library.”

  “Then it was my book that he read.”

  “I assume so. I didn’t realize you’d left it behind.”

  “I allowed Nanny Baker to borrow it. She must have put it with the others to keep it out of Anna’s reach.”

  “At least it was not one of your scientific journals. That would have been difficult to explain.”

  “So Sir Richard did not ask why my name was scrawled inside the book, because that would have been difficult to explain as well.”

  Cybelline stared at him.

  “You didn’t know, did you?”

  She shook her head. “You read the book to me. I never looked at it. Are you certain you put your name inside? Perhaps you are thinking of some other book.”

  “I mark all my books in the same manner.”

  “You are meticulous, then.”

  He smiled a little because she made it sound like a character flaw. “Yes. It has seldom been a problem.”

  “I didn’t mean…oh, it doesn’t matter.” Even to her own ears, Cybelline sounded impatient and out of sorts. “If he inquires, some explanation will occur to me.”

  “Will you consider the truth?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Mr. Lowell returned from Penwyckham this morning with several letters for me. My mother writes that Wynetta is in the first full throes of love, or else…let me think how she phrased it…yes, or else ‘the girl is silly beyond what can be imagined or properly tolerated.’”

  “I suppose we must hope that it’s love.”

  “Netta will only ever be marginally less silly.”

  Cybelline smiled because Ferrin said it with such obvious affection that there was no sting to his words. “Does your mother say that it is Mr. Wellsley who has captured her heart?”

  “No. She mentions several gentlemen but thinks none of them can account for Netta’s mood of late. That suggests to me that Wellsley may indeed have made an impression on my sister. Such courtship as they’ve had would have been conducted in secret. Even my mother thinks Wellsley’s retired to the country. She writes to me at Fairfield and my steward sends the letters on.”

  “It seems like an elaborate and thoroughly unnecessary deception.”

  “I believe I explained that Wellsley was foxed at the time it was conceived.”

  “I understand, but what accounts for your part in it?”

  “Friendship and a desire to be gone from London.”

  “Of course.”

  “And Boudicca.”

  “And Boudicca,” Cybelline repeated softly, warm of a sudden. “Have you written to Mr. Wellsley that you found her?”

  “No. I wrote at length about making your acquaintance instead.”

  Cybelline nodded, grateful for his discretion. “Are you telling me that you are sufficiently encouraged by Lady Gardner’s correspondence that I might tell Sir Richard you are here in Penwyckham?”

  “I am never encouraged by my mother’s letters, though I am invariably diverted. It is Wellsley’s correspondence that I depend upon for information. I see you are doubtful, but it is only when he’s in his cups that his thinking takes an unfortunate turn toward farce. He writes that he proposed to his young lady and that she has accepted his offer of marriage.”

  “But is his intended your sister?”

  “I certainly hope so. I do not like to think she’s gotten so silly over anyone less worthy than Wellsley. He planned to speak to her father soon, so I suspect he’s already had the interview by now.”

  Cybelline frow
ned. “I thought he was waiting for you to marry. Wasn’t the idea of all this that you should leap first? It seemed to me that Mr. Wellsley wanted to polish his reputation by repairing yours.”

  “That was the gist of it, but as I have already acknowledged to him that a proposal here is not only inevitable, but also imminent, it seems he has decided to storm the gates.”

  Cybelline’s attention was caught by one particular word. “Imminent?” she asked. “Can I trust that you know the meaning of this word also?”

  “Ready to take place,” he said.

  Once again Cybelline waited expectantly.

  Ferrin shook his head. “You are confusing ‘imminent’ with ‘immediate.’”

  She sighed. “Perfectly maddening.”

  Ferrin was satisfied that it was more of an endearment than an accusation. “You understand that I am counting on Wellsley’s discretion, but I also know my mother. When she realizes that Wellsley has been in town paying suit to Wynetta in secret, she is certain to corner him as to my whereabouts.”

  “Why will she think you are anywhere but at Fairfield?”

  He regarded her with disbelief. “Do you know when Anna has been up to some trick?”

  “Naturally. She cannot—” Cybelline stopped herself and gave him a sheepish smile. “Oh, I see what you mean.”

  “Wellsley will not do well under my mother’s gimlet eye. If he’s cornered, I suspect it will require only a few minutes to have it all from him.”

  “Then we are found out.”

  “Or soon will be.”

  “Lady Gardner will seek out Aunt Georgia.”

  “It seems likely. And the Viscountess Bellingham will not be excluded. It is her grandson, after all.”

  “It will be a triumvirate such as society has not known since the Roman empire.”

  Ferrin chuckled appreciatively. “I could not have explained it better.”

  “They will not descend upon us here, will they?” A thread of anxiety crept into her voice. “I don’t think I should like that.”