Barbara Pierce - Sinful Between the Sheets Read online

  Cadd shoved him boisterously on the upper arm. "Sweet Christ, she is the one, isn't she?" Realizing his voice had drawn the interest of nearby guests, he leaned in closer. "The lady your father was tupping when he—" The earl illustrated his point by clutching his heart and staggering.

  "Nice one, Cadd." Everod smirked, shaking his head at his companion's insensitivity. "Perhaps later we can break into the abbey and crack open Solitea's crypt for a lark."

  Fayne rubbed his brow in exasperation. He wished Ramscar had joined them. The earl was a better mediator when his demented companions started fighting than he was. Personally, he was tempted to let them come to blows. A bloody match would keep them from prying into his business.

  The marquess glared murderously at Everod. "Very amusing, you horse's arse. I was just saying—"

  "I know what you meant, Cadd," Fayne interjected, re­signed that his friends had guessed the truth. He was sur­prised they had not figured it out sooner. "Yes. The lady I demanded a favor from at the fair was with the duke when he died." He gave them a harsh look. "This is family busi­ness, gents. If I hear Lady Kilby's name uttered in connec­tion with my father, I will know the source and deal with you both accordingly."

  "Don't be an arse! You have our oaths if you require them. I just thought you had a hard rule about not fuc—" Everod halted and grimaced. Recalling where he was, he cleared his throat, and said in a quieter voice, "A rule about not dallying with any of your father's mistresses."

  "I do," Fayne snapped, not liking that his friends were reminding him that he was not abiding by a rule that ages ago, he had deemed not only sensible, but necessary in keeping the peace among the Carlisles. The duchess and his sister would have been devastated if father and son had come to blows over a mistress. His father had quietly hon­ored his side of the unspoken bargain, as well.

  "The rule applied when my father was alive," he said, switching his gaze from Everod to Cadd, daring either one of them to argue. Christ, he could not believe he was get­ting lectured by a man who bedded two ladies in one night! "Now that the duke is dead, I see no reason why his former mistress cannot find solace in my bed."

  Unapologetic, the viscount grinned at him. "You do not have to convince me, my friend. Lady Quennell introduced me to Lady Kilby Fitchwolf when she first arrived in town. The wench has a bewitching face and a lithe body to tempt even the devil himself," he said, his enthusiasm for his sub­ject reflecting on his handsome features.

  Fayne glowered at his friend. Everod had no business looking at Kilby.

  "I'll admit that I have considered calling on the Quen­nell residence," Cadd confessed, surprising both of his companions. "The viscountess has high hopes of marrying the girl off this season. A man could do worse for a bride."

  It was worse than he thought. Fayne not only had to worry about Lady Quennell finding some insipid, foppish suiter for Kilby, but he had to watch out for his friends' amorous intentions.

  Fayne let his companions feel the impact of his unwaver­ing green gaze. "Forget about courting Lady Kilby, gents. She's a Carlisle woman, whether she knows it or not."

  Everod stepped in front of him, blocking his view of the doorway. "You have bigger problems than worrying about someone usurping your place in the lady's bed."

  Cadd glanced in the general direction and swore. "Hol­lensworth. I thought the man left town."

  Damn. Fayne was in a tense, volatile mood. It would not take much prodding from the baron to incite him to vio­lence. "I hope this business between us is settled. If he per­sists, I might have to kill him."

  "Nay," Everod drawled, clapping Fayne on the shoul­der. "He hasn't seen you. Nor does he have to, unless you want to openly challenge him." The viscount was always ready for a fight.

  "We could distract him while you leave the ballroom," Cadd offered, subtly shifting so Fayne was effectively hid­den from view from the doorway.

  Fayne broodingly contemplated his options. If Hol­lensworth was still seeking a fight, he was willing to oblige him. Or... his second option was more appealing. He could go after Kilby. Enough time had passed since she had quit the ballroom. If anyone noticed his departure, he doubted they would connect his leaving with Kilby's.

  "Distract him," he ordered his friends. His green eyes heated as he thought of the impending chase. Once he had bedded Kilby, she would understand the full extent of his claim on her. "I have a little wolf to tame."

  Kilby had strayed far from the ballroom in search of an empty room. The house was large enough that most of the staff was stationed in the wing where the ballroom was located. Where she had wandered was lit, but she had en­countered very few people.

  Initially, she had gone upstairs to find an uninhabited bedchamber to relax in. The three rooms she had checked had definitely been occupied. She had seen enough of one gentleman's bared backside that she could not bring her­self to open a fourth.

  She went down one landing in the opposite direction of the ballroom. The hall split, giving her a choice in direc­tion. Kilby chose to turn right, but quickly discovered this way opened into a kidney-shaped room. On the paneled walls were so many mirrors of differing shape and sizes, it must have been a collection. The odd-shaped room was furnished with gilded black chairs softened by green cush­ions, scarlet sofas with frills, and gold fauteuils. She started to step into the room, noticing a mosaic center table as she entered.

  The sound of a lady's voice had her quietly backing out of the room.

  "I almost declined Lady Sallis's invitation," the un­known woman continued. "Last week I noticed her cheat­ing at cards. Can you believe it?"

  "My word, no," was her friend's faint retort.

  "My companions, naturally, begged me not to confront the pathetic woman. I was prepared to cry off when I heard Carlisle was planning to attend."

  She realized the woman was talking about Fayne. She glanced in one of the mirrors and immediately recognized the tall, voluptuous blonde. It was Mrs. Du Toy. Her com­panion was a darker blonde whom Kilby was not ac­quainted with. A swift insight had her bringing a hand to her mouth in horror. If she could see the lady in the mirror, Kilby could be seen, too. Silently, she retreated farther down the hallway.

  The darker blonde spoke, but her voice was not as dis­tinct as her companion's.

  "Oh, he is feigning reluctance," Mrs. Du Toy said in re­sponse. "Our parting was frightfully violent. It was my fault, really. I devastated poor Carlisle when I announced I was accepting Du Toy's offer of marriage and could no longer continue our affair."

  The lying fiend! Kilby fumed. He was only distantly ac­quainted with her, he had implied. He had not seen, the lady in years. Ha! That rude woman had been his lover. How many other ladies that the duke considered his distant friend were present at the Sallises' ball? she wondered. She took another retreating step. Jealousy was an ugly emotion. Kilby despised both Fayne and Mrs. Du Toy for evoking it within her.

  "To be expected, the tragic death of his father has upset him."

  The other woman spoke. Kilby thought she heard her utter, "Solitea curse," although she was not positive she had heard the woman correctly.

  "Do not believe the gossips. The Carlisles never do. They are an amazingly arrogant clan," Mrs. Du Toy said, laughing. "Then most dukes are. If Carlisle behaves him­self this time, I might even let him convince me to become his duchess."

  Kilby had heard enough. She retraced her steps to the intersection and then continued straight down the unex­plored hall. Even if Fayne had told her the truth about him not seeing Mrs. Du Toy in years, the widow had apparently made up for lost time after Kilby and Priddy departed Lord Guttrey's house. His former mistress had lofty ambitions of becoming his duchess. She wondered if Fayne would be pleased by the news.

  Kilby tried the first door on the right and discovered it was locked. The second closed door opened. She stepped inside, and not too soon, for she heard the voices of Mrs. Du Toy and her companion as they left the mirror room. Listening to t
heir footfalls through the crack in the door, she finally allowed herself to breathe again when their voices faded off in the distance.

  "Close the door, my lady of mystery."

  Kilby visibly started at the command. She turned around to see Lord Tulley sitting on an indigo and crimson striped sofa with a flask in his hand. The room she had stumbled into appeared to be a small parlor.

  "Good evening, my lord," she said, curtsying. "Forgive me for disturbing you. I thought I was alone."

  "Did you?" the man drawled lazily, urging her to sit be­side him on the sofa. He tucked his flask in an inner pocket of his frock coat. "Earlier, I could not help but notice your keen regard while I sat contemplating my cards. I antici­pated that a lady who watched a gentleman so boldly would also defy propriety by approaching me. When you did not, I decided to seek you out. I thought a private setting for our introduction would be more to your liking."

  She sat gingerly down on the sofa, keeping a respectable distance between them. His profile did not do Lord Tulley justice. Age had added lines around his murky blue eyes, but he still retained the handsomeness bestowed upon him in his youth. His dark brown hair on closer inspection was feathered with fine strokes of silver. It did diminish her initial impression of his male beauty. Nevertheless, there was a hardness to his features that was absent at a dis­tance.

  "Lord Tulley—" she began.

  "Ah, I see you are aware of who I am," he said, pleased he had correctly deduced her interest. He also had not re­leased her hand.

  Kilby hastily nodded. "Yes. Since we are alone, permit me to introduce myself. I am Lady Kilby Fitchwolf. I was under the impression you knew my parents, the Marquess and Marchioness of Nipping."

  The earl frowned upon hearing her parents' titles. "Nip­ping." He digested her revelation. Recognition sparked in his blue gaze. "You are Ermina's daughter? I had not real­ized she had had a child."

  "Two daughters, actually." Kilby fidgeted, wondering how she could extract her hand without offending the gentleman. "My sister Gypsy recently turned eight." She doubted Lord Tulley would be interested in her family's problems.

  "Awful news about Ermina's and your father's deaths," he murmured, coincidentally picking up her melancholy thoughts. "You and your sister have my condolences." He bowed his head and tenderly caressed her hand.

  Kilby shuddered, concealing the revulsion his light touch provoked. The heavy scent of the spirits he had been imbibing before her arrival had her nose wrinkling.

  "If you know my name, then I can assume you are aware that I too have suffered an indisputable loss," he said, his downcast gaze moving up the graceful line of her arm and lingering speculatively on her bodice.

  Her expression softened with empathy. She understood loss intimately. "Forgive me if speaking of it has stirred your sorrow. Yes, I was told you lost your wife eight years ago."

  "Are we not a pair?" Lord Tulley laughed bitterly. Shak­ing his head, he said, “Two unhappy souls mourning what we cannot have, and refusing to accept solace when it is so sweetly offered."

  A thread of fear vibrated in her spine like the plucked string of a harp, when the earl lifted his lowered gaze to her face. Not caring how he interpreted her actions, Kilby rose off the sofa, tugging her hand free from his grasp.

  "Perhaps you misunderstand me, my lord." She walked away from him, pretending to study one of the small paint­ings on the wall. "I am happy. While I might grieve for my loss, I continue to embrace life. That does not mean I have forgotten them." She seized the moment to explain why she had sought him out. Being alone with Lord Tulley was disconcerting, and she wanted to leave him to his solitude. "It was why I had wanted to meet you. I was told that you knew my mother in her youth. I had hoped that you might share what you recall of the lady you knew."

  The earl had the stealth of a sleek jungle cat. Kilby sti­fled her squeak of surprise when she realized he was stand­ing behind her. She turned, attempting to put a respectable distance between them. Her efforts found her flat against the wall with the earl holding her in place with his body.

  Lord Tulley smiled; his eyes gleamed in anticipation of his nefarious intent. "Why discuss the past, my lady, when the present is so fascinating?"

  Where has Kilby run off to? Fayne wondered crossly for the thousandth time. The Sallises' town house was too large for a cursory search. He stood on the second landing and peered up into the shadowy stairwell, wondering if Kilby had ventured upstairs. Before he left his friends, he had noted that Lady Quennell was still in the ballroom, chatting with several of her friends. Kilby would not have left the house without alerting her chaperone to her plans.

  A muffled scraping sound overhead was his only warn­ing of the impending disaster. He threw himself backward seconds before a large piece of plaster struck the railing he had been leaning over and shattered. His heart pounding, he glanced up at the blackness and then down at the broken remains of a muse's face that had adorned the ceiling sev­eral stories higher.

  A precise blow to the head, and that hunk of plaster might have killed me.

  It was a sobering thought. "I wonder if Sallis knows his bloody house is falling apart!"

  Staying clear of the stairs, Fayne continued toward the opposite side of the house, assuming Kilby was trying to put distance between them. It frustrated him that she refused to acknowledge the unbidden passion that electrified the air whenever they were in proximity of each other. Hell, he did not even need to see her. Fayne had reclined in his bed alone night after night, craving the violet-eyed witch. When the yearning overwhelmed him, he closed his hand around the rigid ache she had caused, stroking his cock until his seed pumped vigorously into his palm. It had been simple for him to conjure her beautiful face during that blinding moment of ecstasy, to imagine his straining cock was pumping into her wet, tight sheath.

  Fayne cursed, forgetting the potency of his idle thoughts when they centered on Kilby. It was going to be awkward explaining away his arousal if someone happened upon him in the hall.

  Just minutes earlier, he had nearly collided with Morri­gan Du Toy and her friend. Like a thief, he had ducked into a shadowed corner and prayed he would escape unnoticed. The ladies had walked by him, gossiping about their hostess.

  The hallway he now strode down split off to the right and left. Fayne heard a muffled thump coming from the left. Assuming he had nothing to lose, he headed for the source of the sound. Perhaps Kilby was hiding from the women, too.

  Opening the door, Fayne was unprepared for neither what he stumbled upon nor the eruption of the rage that had been simmering just below the surface. Inside the small parlor, an unidentified man had Kilby pinned against the opposite wall with her arms over her head. He seemed to be devouring her mouth as his hips rhythmically thrust against her.

  Kilby moaned, and Fayne wanted to throttle her. The lady had been denying him for days, and yet she spread her thighs for this stranger. It was ridiculous to feel betrayed, but his feelings toward the deceitful bitch had never seemed rational. He wanted to tear the man off Kilby and demand explanations he never would have asked from his former lovers.

  Kilby turned away from her lover and gasped. "My lord ... please ... let go!"

  Glowering at the entwined couple, Fayne almost backed out of the room. The lady had made her choice. Carlisles never begged. However, her words echoed softly in his head.

  Let go.

  Fayne had held Kilby in his arms, tasted her desire. She might have told him to stop, but she had never begged him to let go of her. He marched up to the straining couple. If he was wrong about the situation, he was gentleman enough to apologize for his error. If her lover's honor demanded satisfaction, Fayne would gladly put a bullet in the smug bastard's chest.

  Grabbing the man by the shoulder, Fayne pulled him away from Kilby. The man staggered out of reach. He col­lided with a chair and both went tumbling.

  "Fayne, thank heavens!" Kilby sobbed, sagging against the wall. Her relief was so evident, he fe
lt physically ill to realize that he had so badly misjudged her.

  "Did he hurt you?"

  She shook her head, too overcome to speak. Her hand went to her throat. The skin around her neck was reddened as if the man had been strangling her to gain her compliance.

  Fayne was going to kill him. Hauling the man to his feet, he recognized Lord Tulley. The fact the earl seemed to match Kilby's preference for an older lover only made Fayne want to punch the bastard harder.

  "Fayne! No!" Kilby cried out.

  It was the wrong thing to say. He slammed his fist into the earl's jaw, sending the man sprawling. Fayne was mad at himself as much as he was at the earl for believing even for a minute that Kilby had chosen this man to be her lover. As for Tulley, he was the unfortunate focus of Fayne's pun­ishing ire.

  "Get up!" he curtly ordered.

  When Tulley tried to roll onto all fours, he kicked the man in the underbelly. The earl grunted, curling his knees into his chest. Nothing was going to save the man for touch­ing Kilby.

  He pulled the man up by his cravat. Using the fancy knot to hold him in place, Fayne repeatedly struck the man in the face until his fist was slick with blood. Tulley's eyes rolled upward until only the white was showing. Distantly, he heard Kilby frantically calling to him.

  "Stop! You are going to kill him!"

  Fayne felt Kilby's hand on his arm. He shrugged off her touch and dragged the earl to the door. "Tulley, can you hear me?" He impatiently slapped the man in the face to make certain he was paying attention.

  "Yesh," the man said, slurring the word.

  Fayne kicked open the door with his foot. "Good. Con­sider yourself challenged. My seconds will call on you to­morrow."

  He threw the man out of the room, watching dispassion­ately as he crashed into the wall opposite the door. "Tulley, do me the courtesy of not coming to your senses, and issu­ing an apology. If I hear word that you have linked Lady Kilby's name to our regrettable disagreement, I will make certain the bullet I fire into your worthless body is posi­tioned so that you languish for days in feverish agony. Do I make myself clear?"