One Forbidden Evening (Zebra Historical Romance) Read online

  Cybelline collapsed. When she tried to bring her legs together and satisfy the need that he would not, he stopped her by holding one knee. “Please,” she whispered. “Release me.”

  “Release you?” He bent his head again so that his mouth was at her ear. “Or give you release?”

  “Yes.” She heard him laugh softly, deeply, his breath hot against her cheek. The sound of it seemed to steal under her skin, made her feel tender and raw and tingling. When he raised his head she couldn’t look away. She could tell he was gauging her response, studying her breathing, the pulse in her neck, the flutter of her eyelashes. She tried to do the same, to anticipate when he would touch her, but he surprised her again, and she thought her skin could not possibly contain the intensity of sensation.

  She contracted around the two fingers he pushed inside her. Her hips rocked as he withdrew and thrust and…paused. He poised her on the edge of pleasure again and again until every one of her senses was finely honed. The scent of him filled her nostrils. She could still taste him on her lips. There was a gentle roar in her ears that sounded very much like the thrumming of her own heart, though it might have been his. She saw nothing beyond him and felt nothing so deeply as the exquisite tug-of-war between pleasure and pain.

  “We fit here,” he said.

  She nodded, then cried out softly as he left her a second time. Before she could comprehend the loss, he was moving to lie between her open thighs. He reached above her head and loosened the binding on her wrists. She immediately snaked her arms around him and sunk her nails into his back.

  “And here,” he told her.

  Cybelline held her breath. He entered her with a carefully measured stroke. It was only when he was fully seated inside her that she allowed herself to breathe again. That first unhurried expulsion of air was part sigh, part moan, and all of it about her satisfaction.

  When he began to move, she joined him, her body a counterpoint to his. She raised her legs and pressed her heels into the backs of his thighs. Her fingertips made a trail to the base of his spine, held there, then went lower, following the curve of his buttocks.

  She knew the headiness of her own power when he groaned deeply, then made his next thrust harder. She teased him with low, husky laughter until he trapped it in her throat with his grinding kiss and she returned his heat. One tail of the linen stock was still wrapped around her wrist. She caught the other end and drew it up his back to keep him close. It was his low laughter that taunted her now, and the sound of it was enough to trip the first shiver of pleasure.

  She tried to hold back, ride the crest until he was ready as well, but he urged her on, and she was helpless in the face of what he wanted for her. She screamed a little then.

  For Ferrin, it was a promise fulfilled. He absorbed her shudders first, then her cry. Their cadence changed, quickened. He felt her body’s pulse and the rushing of his own blood. She never entirely abandoned him for her own pleasure; every one of her responses brought him closer to crisis, and when it was upon him she simply let it be.

  He lay heavily on her a moment, then carefully lifted himself and rolled onto his back. Cybelline slowly came up on one elbow and regarded his profile. His lips were parted, and his breathing was soft, though faintly uneven. His eyes were closed. A lock of hair had fallen across his brow. When she made to push it back he caught her wrist and brought her hand to his mouth. He held it there, folded in both of his hands, and pressed his lips to her knuckles.

  With his own hands clasped around hers, it seemed to Cybelline that he’d made her part of a prayer. It was not only his kiss that he pressed to her fingers, but also words so softly spoken that his mouth simply moved around them.

  Why had she ever doubted that she could trust this man’s heart?

  She watched him set her fist near the center of his chest. Her fingers splayed open, and she could feel his heartbeat under her palm. She leaned into him and kissed his shoulder.

  “I love you, you know,” she said.

  “I know.”

  His acknowledgment made Cybelline smile. He’d made the admission softly, not arrogantly. It was a matter of fact, something as obvious to him as a flower turning to follow the sun’s path or the constancy of the North Star.

  “There is something else,” she told him.

  “Hmmm.”

  “I trust that you love me as well.”

  Opening his eyes, Ferrin turned his head just enough to make a study of her face. He wanted to remember her always as she was in this moment, perfectly composed, without fear or wariness, accepting at last what he’d known almost from beginning as his own truth. He saw that understanding now in the serenity of her smile and in the steadiness of her gaze. Her splendid blue-gray eyes did not dart away from his, and her smile never faltered. A wash of pink color tinted her cheeks. No line appeared between her eyebrows.

  She showed him contentment, not expectation, and he held that close to his heart as her most intimate offering.

  “I do love you,” he said, squeezing her hand. “I wasn’t certain you would ever allow me to confess it.”

  “I never stopped you.”

  He merely cocked an eyebrow at her.

  “Oh, very well. I did not invite you to say so. Is that better?”

  “It will do.” Releasing her hand, he unwound his stock from her wrist and let it slip over the side of the bed. They shifted together, wrestling with the tangled covers until they were under them.

  Cybelline remained turned on her side. She watched the play of candlelight on Ferrin’s three-quarter profile. He was amused by her study, but he didn’t turn away from it. “I told my brother I love you,” she said after a moment. “Ah, you did not expect that, did you?”

  “No.”

  “Then I am not entirely predictable.”

  “Bloody hell, no.”

  She nodded, satisfied. “Good. That remark stung a bit.”

  He glanced at her. “Have I apologized for it?”

  “No, but then I haven’t apologized for giving you cause to say it.” She kissed the corner of his mouth. “I should not have asked you if you never tired of being right. That was not well done of me. I meant to provoke you.” She saw him start to respond with his own regrets, and she stopped him. “Enough has already been said.”

  Ferrin did not agree immediately, but gauged her sincerity first. “All right. As you wish.” He felt her leg slide over his as she turned in to him. He slipped one hand under the blanket and absently caressed her hip and thigh. “When did you make your confession to Sheridan?” he asked.

  “Upon our arrival. You were still standing beside the carriage.”

  “So that is what you whispered in his ear.”

  She nodded. “Does it seem odd to you that I could admit to Sherry what I could not say to you?”

  “You did not have to trust him to be anything but discreet, and I assume you learned long ago you could depend on your brother for that. He’s never betrayed you.”

  “No,” she said softly. “But neither have you.”

  “I think I did.” His hand continued to make a gentle sweep of her thigh. “The moment I began looking for Boudicca…that was a betrayal. I cannot even make amends for it, because I have no regrets.”

  “And I’m glad of it. I have none of my own.” She swept back a heavy fall of hair that lay over her shoulder. “Will you marry me, Christopher? If I go to my brother and tell him that I very much want you for my husband, will you have me? I find that being your lover is satisfying after a fashion”—she adopted his wicked smile when his own expression turned wry—“but I am persuaded that being your wife will be infinitely better.”

  “If you are persuaded, I would be a fool to argue.”

  “Then you will marry me?”

  “Of course.”

  “But why was there never a proposal?”

  “There was,” he said. “You just made it. Did I not say it was inevitable?”

  Cybelline turned suddenly so
that she lay fully on top of him. “Do you mean you’ve been waiting all this time for me to make it?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “But you’ve known for weeks that I would accept yours.”

  “And I was very glad of it.” He grinned up at her. “It gave me hope that you could be brought around to just this end.”

  “You manipulated me.”

  “I gave you time to learn the bent of your own mind.”

  She snorted lightly. “What I am learning is the twisted disposition of yours. You will have to answer for tying my hands.”

  “As always, I am optimistic.”

  Cybelline laughed. “Do you know, my lord? So am I.”

  Anna clapped her hands together as Ferrin entered the nursery. “Up!” she demanded. She abandoned her mother at the tea table and tipped over her little chair in her haste to reach him. “Up, Misterlee!”

  Ferrin’s glance at Cybelline was a shade guilty. “I suppose she will have to learn to call me something else.” He bent, swept her up, and launched her into the air. She fairly screamed her delight. “Goodness, poppet, you sound more like your mother every day.”

  “Ferrin!” Cybelline quickly looked around to see if Rose’s nurse had heard the exchange. The woman’s attention seemed to be all for her young charge and the pink bottom she was liberally dusting with cornstarch. Nevertheless, Cybelline flushed deeply and glared at Ferrin.

  He merely grinned and launched Anna again.

  Suspicious of his mood, especially that he seemed impervious to her admonishment, Cybelline came to her feet and set her hands on her hips. “What have you done, my lord?”

  “I took the liberty of speaking to your brother.”

  “You did?” Her militant stance dissolved. “Already? But he has not yet had his breakfast.”

  “What does that signify? Neither have I.”

  “I was going to speak to him afterward.”

  “I’m certain he’ll be glad of it, but regarding the matter you broached with me last night, well, there are some things that are better discussed first between gentlemen.” Giving Cybelline his back, he carried Anna into the hallway and out of hearing of Nurse Pinter. When he turned, Cybelline was standing toe to toe with him, just as he’d known she would be. He set Anna on his shoulder, then proceeded to back Cybelline against the wall and kiss her thoroughly. It was Anna’s small fist yanking on his hair that made him end it.

  Amused by Anna’s jealousy and having no pity for Ferrin, Cybelline let her daughter pluck a few strands before she rescued him. She lifted Anna from Ferrin’s shoulder and set her on the floor, then gave her a gentle push in the direction of the nursery. Anna attached herself to Ferrin’s leg instead.

  Neither Ferrin nor Cybelline tried to pry her loose.

  “Did you think I wouldn’t go to him?” Cybelline asked.

  “No, I was afraid you would.” He brushed her cheek with his fingertips. “I needed to present myself to your brother, Cybelline, and make my intentions clear. There is a proper manner for doing such things, and I found myself unwilling to abandon it. You are worthy of that respect, and frankly, so am I.”

  She smoothed the lapel of his black wool frock coat. “Thank you for honoring both of us. It is the sort of thing that does not go unnoticed by Sherry.”

  “That was also my sense.”

  “He was receptive?”

  “He indicated he would be if you are also agreeable.”

  “Then that is what I will tell him after he’s broken his fast.” She watched Ferrin pat Anna’s hair as her daughter chewed on his nankeen breeches. Shaking her head, she bent down and removed the fabric from between Anna’s pearly teeth. There was a bit of protest, but that subsided when Cybelline picked her up. “If you did not meet in the breakfast room, then where did you find Sherry so early?”

  “At the stable. I invited myself to ride with him.”

  “Of course you did.” She sighed. “That was clever.”

  “I don’t know. He saw through to my purpose almost at once.”

  Cybelline’s eyes danced. “Sherry is clever, too.”

  The final missive that Cybelline gave her brother he read at a glance. Watching him, she repeated the words to herself:

  My dear Mrs. Caldwell,

  When will you tell your daughter that you mu rdered her father?

  Always

  Setting it down on his desk, Sherry took a moment to compose himself before he addressed Cybelline. “I wish you had come to me immediately.”

  She did not look away. “I understand, but I am not as certain as Ferrin that I should be here now.”

  “Thank God he has sense enough for the both of you.”

  “It does not surprise that you think so, but I would like to know what either of you think can be done.”

  “We will find her, of course, and end it.”

  “Yes, well, I wish you luck with it. I have racked my brain for something that will make her reveal herself to me and have nothing but the occasional headache to show for it.”

  “Then you’ve never considered Webb.”

  Cybelline sat back in her chair as if she’d been pushed. Consternation etched a tiny vertical crease between her eyebrows. “I don’t…that is, it wouldn’t be proper to speculate…I can’t…” Impatient with herself, she took the offensive. “Where did you come by such a peculiar notion? No, don’t answer. I can imagine. He told you so.”

  “If by he you mean the man who only a few hours ago declared himself, then yes, he would be the one.” Sherry paused long enough to stack the letters and square off their corners. “Apparently he would also be in the right of it.”

  “That man is unnatural.”

  Sherry’s eyebrows lifted. “I hope you do not mean that. I am finding I rather like his company.”

  “That is because he does not pluck the thoughts from your head the way he does mine.”

  “No, Lily does that. You and I are rather predictable, you know.”

  Cybelline came very close to throwing something at him. The fact that the only thing within reach was a porcelain bowl that Lily admired kept her from acting on the thought.

  “Calm yourself, Cyb, and pray, do not throw that bowl at my head.”

  What she did was throw up her hands. “Yes,” she said. “I have entertained the thought that my husband’s mistress was my maid.” Pushing herself out of the chair, she walked to the window and stared out. Patches of snow dotted the lawn and there were still mounds of it in the shade of the hedgerow. “It doesn’t make sense to me precisely. Webb was with me years before I met Nicholas. I cannot imagine how they might have had an opportunity to become acquainted except through me, yet neither can I dismiss the notion. I tell myself that it is unfair to her—and it is—but when I look about for someone to take her place, I invariably return to her. You cannot imagine how I despise myself for thinking it.”

  “Perhaps I can,” Sherry said quietly. He did not elaborate. “Ferrin says there is someone in Penwyckham who seems to have a romantic interest in Webb.”

  She nodded. “Mr. Foster. He is a decent man. Very kind.”

  “And if she marries him, you hope the letters will stop.”

  “It occurred to me.”

  Sherry shook his head, but Cybelline was still turned away toward the window and didn’t see. He picked up the letter opener on his desk and balanced it between the index finger of each hand while he considered what must be done. “I believe we will have to cast a wider net, Cybelline. There is something that we have failed to recognize that will explain the whole of it. We must discover what it is. Where is Ferrin?”

  Cybelline glanced in Sherry’s direction. “In the schoolroom. Lily entreated him to make a voltaic pile for the scoundrels. We shall be fortunate if no one is struck by lightning.”

  “That would be impressive.”

  She sighed. “It is.”

  He tempered his chuckle behind a polite cough. It seemed to him that she was speaking of elec
tricity of a different sort, but there were things a brother could not properly ask. “I’ll send Wolfe for him. I think Ferrin should be here.”

  “Very well, though I don’t know what any of us can contribute by further discussion.”

  Sherry didn’t challenge her thinking. He rang for the butler and requested Ferrin’s presence. Wolfe nodded and handed him the morning post on a silver tray, then disappeared. Sherry left the doors open and returned to his desk. He idly sifted through the letters as he set the tray down. His fingers paused when he had gone halfway.

  “Sherry?” Cybelline’s heart lodged in her throat as soon as she saw him hesitate. “It’s from her, isn’t it?” He didn’t have to say anything; she knew she was right. “Let me see it, Sherry. Do not open it.”

  He began to remove it, and that was when he saw there was a second one addressed by the same hand. “There are two.” Cybelline was already at his side and reaching for them. She had them in her grasp before he could think better of it. He laid one hand over her wrist and entreated her, “Read them here, Cybelline. Please don’t leave.”

  “Wounded animals are allowed privacy to lick their wounds. Would you deny me that?”

  Sherry could say nothing for a moment. The ache he felt for her warred with his anger toward Nicholas and his mistress. “No,” he said finally. “Go on. You can take them in the gallery. Ferrin and I will be waiting when you are ready.”

  She nodded once, clutched the letters against her breast, and fled the room.

  Sherry was splashing whisky into a tumbler when Ferrin arrived. “Before you judge me harshly, you should know that two more letters came. Cybelline’s in the gallery reading them now. Perhaps she is right about Webb.”

  Shaking his head, Ferrin closed the pocket doors behind him. “It might be better if she were,” he said. “I was on my way to find you when your butler met me. I have learned the identity of Nicholas Caldwell’s mistress.”

  Sherry paused in lifting his drink to his lips. “You learned it?”

  Ferrin nodded. “Only minutes ago.”