Wicked Under the Covers, page 17
Fayre started to crawl off the bed and retrieve the chemise he had thrown. Unwilling to let her go, he grasped her wrist. “I do not regret our lovemaking. I suppose I should wring my hands and bemoan my uncertain fate,” she said, mocking her troubles. “I cannot, Maccus. I refuse to feel shame for desiring you.”
“A healthy outlook. Come closer and I will reward you,” he coaxed, pulling her nearer until she surrendered and plopped down next to him on her side. In deference to her modesty, Maccus grabbed a section of the blanket and covered her to her hips. For selfish reasons he left her breasts exposed.
The look of sleepy contentment had disappeared with her growing agitation. “Being here with you jeopardizes the stance I have taken against Lord Standish and Lady Hipgrave. For now, not everyone believes Standish is telling the truth. There are many who hope he is because my family has made enemies over the years. Regardless, both sides are clamoring for details. I cannot bear to think what might occur if Standish found out that we are lovers.”
If she continued to worry about Standish and what he might do, Fayre was likely to convince herself to end their affair before the night was over. Maccus was determined not to let that happen. “Fayre,” he said, stroking her hair. “We can be discreet. Standish will not learn about us. Besides, I have taken steps to switch his focus elsewhere.”
She looked positively gleeful at the prospect of Standish suffering. “What have you done?”
“I am not ready to share the details yet.” He suspected she would find some aspects of his plan disagreeable. “And rest assured I have not forgotten about the countess. I am still working on a proper revenge for her.”
Fayre frowned, unsatisfied by his response. “We are supposed to be working on this together.”
“Some things need to be independent of the other. It would not do for you to publicly attack them. Let them think they got away with it.”
She bit her lip, mulling over his advice. “Perhaps we should distance ourselves in public?”
Maccus understood her fears, but she was not going to escape so easily. They had a bargain and he intended to hold her to it. In an attempt to distract her, he rolled her on her back. “Later on, it might be advisable in order for my plan to work. But never,” he said, kissing her chin, “ever in private.” His hand caressed her stomach and slid down to the springy curls between her legs. Maccus rubbed the swollen nubbin hidden within her feminine cleft. Still sensitive from his love play, her hips jolted at his touch. His cock, which had never quite settled, jerked on his thigh. Pulsing with blood, the turgid flesh firmed and lengthened in readiness. Moisture coated his inquisitive hand as he probed the entrance of her channel. “Can you take me again?”
“I do not know.”
Maccus did not have a doubt. Pushing away the blanket partially covering her, he parted her legs and positioned himself above her. “Let us see?”
He only meant to tease her, a nudge against her cleft to test her readiness. As he prodded his cock persuasively against her, Fayre lifted her hips and opened her legs wider for his entry. Her sheath, still damp from their love-making earlier, made his foray swift and complete.
Maccus held himself still, reveling in the sensation of her body cradling him. He wished they had the entire evening to explore each other’s bodies, but propriety demanded that he leave her bed soon before her family discovered his presence. Even so, with dawn hours away Maccus could not resist remaining a little longer.
“So, my untamed lady, care to indulge in another adventure?”
Fayre responded by guiding his face to her breasts. Lost in the sorcery of their own creation, neither thought of his leaving again until the sky lightened, hinting that dawn had arrived.
13
One of the footmen from the Solitea household knocked on Maccus’s front door the next morning. The servant handed a sealed note to Hobbs, explaining that he was to await Mr. Brawley’s reply. Hobbs left the footman waiting in the front hall, while he sought out his employer in the library.
Maccus was seated at his desk when Hobbs entered the room. He shook his head in a puzzlement at his manservant’s odd manner, unaware that the older man was imitating the footman’s overly polite demeanor and stiff stance. Hobbs presented a silver salver with a note. Taking the note, Maccus rubbed his thumb across the Solitea seal. He had discovered last evening that Fayre had a bolder nature than he had ever imagined. However, sending one of her father’s servants was akin to putting a public notice in the papers. He doubted she was that daring.
Breaking the seal, he noticed immediately that the note had come from the duchess. It read:
My darling young man,
I pray that you enjoyed our shopping expedition as much as I. In the spirit of continuing our new friendship, I would be thrilled if you joined me as my very special guest for Lady Dening’s fête champêtre tomorrow afternoon at two o’clock. My daughter will be attending as well and if you will accompany us in our carriage, what a merry little group we will be. Do not disappoint me, Mr. Brawley!
Yrs,
S
The S for Solitea was bold and flamboyant, like the lady herself. Maccus smiled down at the note, wondering if Fayre was aware of her mother’s invitation. She had not been pleased by the duchess’s interest in him. Indeed, it appeared Lady Fayre Carlisle was feeling possessive of him. It was a flattering notion.
“So Mr. Brawley,” Hobbs said, interrupting Maccus’s woolgathering about Fayre. “What should I tell the fancy livery waiting out there in the front hall?”
Maccus gave Hobbs a sheepish grin. “Tell him that I would be honored to accept Her Grace’s invitation. Also”—Maccus winked jauntily at his manservant as he sauntered to his desk—“I have another message that needs delivering to the household.”
“You arrogant miscreant! What possessed you to use one of my father’s servants to deliver your private message to me?” Fayre demanded several hours later as she had met up with him at the park.
Riding beside him on a gray with half-stocking on all four legs, she looked magnificent in her dark blue riding habit with a wispy white plume stylishly sticking out of her hat. Maccus was in good spirits, despite his companion’s fuming over his high-handedness.
“Calm yourself, my lady. No one in the household noticed if your servant returned with two notes from me instead of one. Besides, the footman was well compensated for his efforts,” he replied easily. “It seems he is rather good friends with that sweet maid who let me in the other night when you so deliciously seduced me.” His dimples deepened at her growl of frustration. “You should be aware that several members of the staff are in favor of our courtship, so I would not fret over them ruining our friendship.”
“Mr. Brawley, befriending everyone under my father’s employ is not what I consider being discreet. The tips you will be paying out for their silence will make you a pauper within a sennight.”
“I can afford it,” he said blithely, enjoying her annoyance. In fairness, perhaps he should have acted more discreetly than to use one of her family’s servants. However, being around Fayre always seemed to bring out the reckless side he did his best to stifle.
“Ah, yes, Mac Brawley, the notorious smuggler.”
Maccus winced. Clearly Fayre and Trevor had discussed more than weather that afternoon he had found them together in his drawing room. He had always warned her that he had no interest in sharing his past with her. She had been respectful of his wishes until now. Her lapse was proof of her ire at his daring. In deference to privacy, he had chosen one of the trails less favored by the haut monde but there was still a certain amount of risk that their conversation could be overheard. “My lady, I prefer not having my name connected with that particular nefarious and illegal occupation. My business dealings are respectable now.”
“Investments, you said.” She lifted her delicate brow inquiringly.
“Profitable investments,” he corrected. Early on when he started dabbling at the Exchange, his focus had been centered more on profit than honesty. It had come as a surprise that his natural skills could be applied to legitimate ventures with rewarding results. “I would bribe your father’s entire household if it bought me another night in your arms, Fayre.”
Her eyes glowed with pleasure at his words. Fayre hastily glanced away and admired the scenery. “We should not speak of it. Not here. Not ever.” She tapped her riding crop on her horse’s rump, causing it to leap forward.
Maccus spurred his horse into a canter to catch up with her. She was an excellent horsewoman. Her spine was straight as a lance despite the jarring stride of the horse. “We can’t pretend it didn’t happen.”
Fayre glanced in his direction. “I never said I would. But our friendship complicates things between us. It diverts us from attaining your goal,” she argued. “And mine.” Her gray, sensing her agitation, shook its head from side to side.
“Are we racing?” he mildly asked. She groaned and signaled her horse to slow to a walk. “I have several goals. Which one are we concentrating on today?”
“Being a gentleman. If you recall, you asked for my assistance on the matter,” she snapped. Her exasperation at his continued teasing was provoking her anger. Determined to ignore his playful manner, Fayre had chosen to dedicate herself to the business between them. “The duchess clearly likes you—”
“I’m a very likable person,” he quipped, earning another icy stare from her. “This invitation to the Dening affair does not trouble you?”
“Why would I be troubled?” she replied, perplexed.
He was not fooled. “Yesterday afternoon, I could have sworn the duchess’s adoration had incited a smidgeon of jealousy on your part.”
“I was as jealous as you were of Lord Hawxby’s attentions to me.”
“Oh, so you were that jealous,” he said, grinning when she swiped at him with her riding crop and had no chance of hitting him.
“Will you be serious, Mr. Brawley,” she said sternly, a line formed above her brow. For the sake of propriety, she addressed him formally to prevent any accidental slips in public. “You desired my assistance to help you move about in polite society. My influence is abysmally limited in comparison to my mother’s. With her stamp of approval”—Fayre fluttered her lashes at him, her face cast with a sardonic expression—“and the duchess was obviously impressed with your inexhaustible charm, you will draw the interest of many members of the ton. You will soon have your pick from the multitude of unmarried ladies who will worship your face almost as passionately as your annual income.”
“That sounds rather mercenary,” he grumbled, thinking she did not have to sound so enthused about marrying him off to some unknown miss. Fayre was probably celebrating her liberation from their bargain. “And a very cynical view.”
“Perhaps because I was raised in this world you crave and understand its nature. I am the Duke of Solitea’s only daughter,” she said indifferently. “I could look like an old hag and fortune hunters would still trip over themselves to vie for my hand in marriage.”
Maccus had seen how the gentlemen of the ton reacted to Fayre. They buzzed around her like faithful, irritating drones, filling her glass of punch while they filled her ears with flattery. She was eighteen years old and had already been abused. He could not condemn her for her cynical outlook. “Well, my lovely Fayre, no one would ever mistake you for a hag. I have seen your potent effect on the gentlemen with whom you associate, myself included, and you can’t convince me the gentleman who marries you will have done so solely for your family connections and dowry.”
“I have yet to encounter such a gentleman. When I do, we can celebrate at Gunter’s,” she teased, but the humor of her inflection did not gleam in her eyes.
“And this is the fate you have been polishing me for?”
“You selected your course long before we ever met, sir.” She craned her neck and squinted at something ahead of them. “It is my task to help you achieve it, and with my mother’s help—” Something caught her interest. “Egad, could this day get worse? I should have burned your note unread the moment the footman delivered it.”
Two riders were approaching them. From their attire, Maccus deduced one of them was a woman. “Friend or foe?”
Fayre shot him a look of disbelief. “You can judge for yourself. Lord Standish and Lady Hipgrave are also enjoying an afternoon ride.” She tightened the reins in her hand inadvertently and her gray whinnied. “I swear they are stalking me. Of late, I cannot go anywhere and not glimpse the countess’s patronizing face.”
Her distress slid beneath his skin and constricted his pumping heart. “You are not alone.”
“In this, I am,” was her inaudible reply.
Fayre fought down the urge to strike the haunches of her horse and gallop off before the couple joined them. She wanted to yell at Maccus. Blame him for giving them an excuse to taunt her. Nevertheless, her current predicament was her fault. When Maccus’s note arrived, her initial reaction had been joy. The night they had shared together had surpassed all her expectations. The pleasure he had built and coaxed from her body had revealed that Lord Standish might have breached her maidenhead, but he had left her a virgin. It was Maccus who had truly been her first lover.
“Good afternoon, Lady Fayre,” Lord Standish said, his gaze lingering on her with misplaced affection. The simpleton was smiling at her as if he had done nothing wrong!
Fayre was tempted to ride on without acknowledging the couple. Instead she signaled the gray to halt beside Maccus’s bay. She refused to give them further excuse to gossip about her. “Good afternoon, my lord. Lady Hipgrave.”
The countess wore a crimson riding habit with gold frog fasteners down the front. Begrudgingly, Fayre thought the other woman looked dazzling in the vivid color. “It is so wonderful to see you again, Lady Fayre. I was just confessing to Standish how bored I was. Seeing you has definitely improved my day.”
“You are so kind to say so,” Fayre said, trying not to gag on her false words. Their speculative glances at her companion prompted her to add, “Allow me to introduce a friend of my mother’s, Mr. Maccus Brawley.”
“I am your friend, too, my lady,” Maccus reminded her.
Lady Hipgrave extended her hand out to him. “Oh, pray, will you be my friend, as well?”
Expertly, Maccus maneuvered his horse closer and clasped the countess’s hand. “I enjoy making new friends.”
“As do I,” Lady Hipgrave purred, causing both Lord Standish and Fayre to scowl at their exchange. “Shall we ride together?”
“I fear we must refuse,” Fayre said, infusing mock regret in her tone. “There is no one near us, so trying to provoke me into a confrontation would be a waste of your time, and spoil our lovely outing.”
Lady Hipgrave glanced at Maccus. She was clearly surprised that Fayre would reveal her hostility for them so openly in front of a stranger. “You have been sharpening your claws, little cat,” she said approvingly.
“Just remember that the next time you decide to confront me. You might get more than you bargained for, Countess.” Fayre finally looked at Maccus. Although it was difficult to tell what he thought of their brief meeting, a tiny smile played on his lips. “Let us not tarry, Mr. Brawley. The duchess is expecting us,” she lied, supplying a more palatable excuse to depart than fear.
“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Brawley,” Lady Hipgrave called out to him. “Next time, I pray it will not be so short.”
Maccus did not try to soothe Fayre’s tattered nerves with worthless praise. They rode in silence while she fought to compose herself. Fayre was grateful he had been with her. His presence had given her strength, and rerunning the encounter in her mind, she decided she had departed the victor of their spiteful banter.
“A charming couple,” Maccus mused, probably hoping to get a reaction out of her. “I thought Lady Hipgrave’s riding habit most striking.”
Fayre had thought the same thing. Grimacing, she said, “The dress was hideous. The color was scaring off the birds.”
Maccus said nothing, but she sensed his gray eyes were laughing at her. His next words confirmed her suspicions. “Come along, my lady. We mustn’t be late for the duchess’s tea.”
Her Grace, the Duchess of Solitea embraced Maccus before he could settle down beside her. When he thought of duchesses in general, he imagined them as humorless, brittle creatures that rarely deigned to speak to anyone unless they were issuing orders. The duchess had surprised him. At forty-five, her vivacious nature and beauty, a variation of Fayre’s, could dazzle a man and make him forget she was old enough to be his mother. Even Maccus could not resist her warm, casual manner. Staring at his companions, he was certain the drive to the Denings’ fête would be highly entertaining. As promised, Fayre had joined them on their outing. He would have been disappointed if she had used her encounter with the countess as an excuse to avoid attending the gathering, and being alone with Her Grace might have been awkward. The older woman’s lover, Lord Crescett, would have disapproved, not to mention her husband.
Maccus wondered if his presence had not prompted Lord Temmes’s sudden decision to ride with them. He guessed the young man to be close to his brother Trevor’s age. That was where the comparison ended. He embodied everything one expected of a gentleman born into wealth and privilege. The young marquess sat beside his sister with a slightly bored expression on his handsome face. Side by side, the siblings were a striking couple. Their connection was apparent in their coloring. What spared the young man from being too pretty was the line of his jaw and his eyes. Whenever Lord Temmes fixed his stare on Maccus, the latter found it akin to gazing into shards of green ice. Fayre’s brother did not like him and was not being particularly polite about it.
