Barbara Pierce - Sinful Between the Sheets Page 5

  Ramscar caught up with him. "This is about the curse, is it not?" The warning in Fayne's lethal glance sideways made him hesitate before he asked, "I thought you viewed the Solitea curse as histrionic prattle?"

  Fayne halted and tapped the length of the one of the ash rods against his shoulder in agitation. "I do. I always have."

  "Then why are you behaving slightly more cracked than I usually credit your volatile nature?" his friend demanded, his irritation showing. "The risks you've been taking by ac­cepting those duels—" He gestured broadly at the pedestri­ans and tents around them. "And now this elaborate staging of a fight with Hollensworth, when you vowed never to ac­cept his challenge."

  "I have no intention of dueling a gentleman grieving his brother's suicide," Fayne said plainly.

  "So you say," Ramscar shouted back. "And yet you are preparing to face the man with a weapon in your hands."

  "Consider it merely a demonstration of skill."

  "Then you are undeniably mad. The second Hollensworth has a stick in his grasp, he will do his best to crack open your skull."

  Fayne would have been disappointed if the man did not give it his best effort. "Thank you, my friend, for your con­fidence in my skill in the fighting arts. As it happens, I plan on walking away from this match relatively unscathed."

  The earl did not seem to hear him. "I vow, your actions of late seem to be taunting death itself."

  "Oh, without a doubt, Hollensworth and Death will both try to leave their mark," Fayne said, his clear green eyes re-vealing his unquestionably earnest conviction that he was speaking the truth. "Unfortunately for them, they will both fail this day. I am not ready to die."

  CHAPTER 3

  "Accept the inevitable, Lord Darknell, and leave us," Kilby said in chilling tones. "Your presence is no longer re­quired." She tilted her chin defiantly and sniffed in disdain. "Or desired."

  She was also lying, not that she foolishly planned on re­vealing such a weakness to the viscount. Oh, the imperti­nence of the man! How could he refuse such a small request? But he had, blast him. Instead of giving up and re­turning to her carriage as Darknell had expected, Kilby had seized Lyssa by the wrist and practically dragged the poor woman through the crowd while she sought out Lord Ursgate.

  Kilby was not acquainted with the baron. Her interest in the gentleman was purely speculative. She had noted his name in one of her mother's letters before Archer had snatched the papers from her grasp.

  Was the man her father?

  Kilby muttered a very unladylike expletive. She was chasing a phantom. This was ludicrous. She had had a father. A wonderful, loving father! If Archer's plan was to torment her, he was far more brilliant than she had credited him.

  Nonetheless, they were already here. What harm could be done if she just took a look at the gentleman?

  It had been Lord Ordish who had discreetly pointed the gentleman out to her one evening, when she had casually mentioned that he had been acquainted with her mother. If the earl had been curious about her interest in Lord Ursgate, he had been too polite to ask. Besides, it was hardly a secret that Lady Quennell was seeking a husband for her. Kilby was immensely grateful for the earl's assistance—unlike a certain gentleman whose name she refused to utter.

  “Damn it all, Fitchwolf!" Darknell cursed and charged up behind them. "Be sensible. This is for your own good."

  Breathless, Lyssa was also beginning to tire of their fierce pace. Twisting and testing Kilby's firm grip on her wrist, she said, "I was not aware you had signed us up for a race, Kilby. For the next one, I am insisting on a horse."

  Full of remorse, Kilby halted abruptly, face pinched with concern. "Forgive me, Nunn. It is not fair that I have placed you in the middle of this. I just—"

  Darknell grabbed hold of Lyssa's free arm to ensure they would not escape again. He glared at Kilby. "Stubborn chit! Put aside your harebrained notions for once, and use the good sense I know you possess." He took a deep breath and tried to lessen the anger in his voice. "You and Nunn cannot be traipsing through the fairgrounds un­escorted. There are undesirable aspects to these amuse­ments that only invite trouble."

  • "I had an escort," Kilby snapped, tugging Lyssa closer to her side. "A pity he turned out to be an unsympathetic, uncompromising boor!"

  "Kilby!" exclaimed Lyssa, shocked by her friend's anger. Neither Kilby nor Darknell seemed inclined to back down, leaving Lyssa torn over her allegiance.

  The viscount tugged, jerking Lyssa a step closer to him. "What has happened to you, Fitchwolf? You have shown me nothing but teeth and claws since your arrival in London.'' His gaze swept over her, seeking the answers in her rebellious expression. "These answers you seek about your mother's past are endangering your reputation and future, Lady Kilby. At what cost, I ask you? I doubt you will find comfort in the truth."

  Pride had her straightening her spine. Darknell knew where to twist the knife. Had not the fear and uncertainty of her futile plight allowed similar traitorous thoughts to undermine her plans? She silently cursed him for speaking her fears aloud. "My lord, you have made your feelings on the subject quite clear. Pray do not trouble yourself further on my account. You are free to do as you please," she said loftily, and tugged on her friend's arm.

  "Free? How can I be free?" Darknell pulled, sending Lyssa careening into his side.

  Lyssa emitted a surprised squeak of pain. "Cease, both of you!" Shaking off their grips, she rubbed her abused limbs. She used the opportunity to frown at both of them. "If you want to continue arguing, you will kindly do it without me between you."

  "Lyssa—" Kilby began, at a loss for words for her thoughtless actions.

  The viscount grimaced, his lips forming a thin line of tension. "Forgive us, Nunn. Neither one of us was thinking about you."

  "Evidently," Lyssa said tartly, causing both her friends to wince. "Now that I have your attention, I shall offer my opinion on the subject."

  Kilby was prepared to accept Lyssa's dictates, since she felt guilty. As her lips parted, a gentleman caught her atten­tion. It was Lord Ursgate! She had only glimpsed him fleet-ingly from a distance, but he aptly fit Lord Ordish's description as "a short, brown-haired man whose waist dis­played his immense wealth." She was certain she had found her quarry. Lord Ursgate was engaged in an intense conver­sation with another gentleman. Leaning heavily on his walk­ing stick, the baron and his companion were heading east.

  Excited, she clutched Lyssa's arm. "Oh, Lyssa. It is him! We need to follow him." Kilby started after Lord Urs­gate. Lord Ordish had been the one who had suggested shyly that if she desired an accidental encounter with the baron beyond the scrutiny of the ballroom, she should seek him out at the fair. According to the earl, Lord Ursgate en­joyed wagering on sporting events, and the baron made a habit of visiting the local fairs for pugilist matches.

  Kilby glanced to her left and realized Lyssa was not be­side her. Turning back, she noted her friends had not moved. "Lyssa, if we tarry, we might lose him." She did not bother addressing Darknell since he was being so obstinate.

  Lyssa took a step forward, and then stopped. She cast a wary glance at Darknell. "Kilby, I know we discussed this earlier in the carriage; nonetheless, do you think it is pru­dent to follow Lord Ursgate? You have to admit the meet­ing with the Duke of Solitea ended disastrously. Besides, Mama says Lord Ursgate is a disreputable gentleman. She has even forbidden me to dance with him."

  "If you refuse to heed my advice," Lord Darknell im­plored, standing solidly behind Lyssa, "perhaps it would do you well to listen to Nunn."

  Underneath her defiant facade, Kilby knew her friends were right. Still, she could not stem her unreasonable feel­ings of betrayal. Neither one of them seemed to understand what her parents' unexpected deaths had cost her. Archer's unsavory plans had brought her to London in desperation of finding a husband who could protect her and Gypsy. Never once had she dreamed of gaining a husband in such a hasty, unromantic fashion! As for her attempts to dig in
to her mother's past, Darknell and Lyssa might view it as a fool's errand; however, she had to know whether or not the Marquess of Nipping was truly her father. Gypsy's welfare was at stake. Her thoughts returned to that horrible night

  "I despise you," Kilby said, circling around the man she had always considered her brother. She was careful to keep out of reach.

  Archer had the audacity to laugh at her heartfelt decla­ration. "I have no doubt. However, mark my words, Kilby. Earn my displeasure and sweet Gypsy will suffer for your defiance."

  Kilby went cold at his threat. "Gypsy is your sister, too, Archer."

  "Then I should know what is best for our sad, little mute ghost," he said with false concern. "Cross me, and I will have Gypsy locked away in a lunatic asylum. I will do it, Kilby. Do not overestimate my affection for the girl."

  No, she had no doubt that Archer would do exactly as he had promised. Ceasing her pathetic attempt to evade him, she stopped and gestured helplessly at him. "What do you want from me, Archer?"

  "Offhand, this will do nicely." Without giving her a hint of his intentions, Archer lunged for her. Enclosing his hand around her neck, he pulled closer and sealed his awful promise with a brutal, punishing kiss.

  Kilby shuddered in disgust, recalling how it felt to have Archer's lips pressed tightly to hers. No, her friends did not fully understand the urgency compelling her, her willing­ness to risk everything to prove Archer wrong and escape his tyranny. Determined to have her way, she executed a graceful curtsy. "Very well. I shall go on alone."

  "Solitea, about time you made an appearance," Cadd greeted them cheerfully. "I feared you ran off to leave me and Everod to make your apologies to Hollensworth."

  "Not likely," Fayne said wryly. "The pair of you would never let me live down such a disgrace."

  Ramscar nodded at Cadd. "Has Everod arrived?"

  "Aye," the marquess said, gesturing toward a line of car­riages that circled halfway around the makeshift stage. Cupping his hand close to his mouth, he yelled, "Everod, where did you run off to? Present yourself, sir!"

  Until then, Fayne had not paid much attention to the surrounding area. When he had approached the proprietor of the stage earlier, there had been very few spectators milling about. Now he estimated the number had increased to close to a hundred. There were also fifteen carriages parked nearby filled with ladies and gentlemen of the ton. No doubt Cadd and Everod had been spreading the news that Fayne had agreed to meet Hollensworth. Delightful. He could well imagine the lecture his mother would deliver once she learned of this latest confrontation. After his duel with Crynes, she had been sending him curt missives daily, demanding an explanation, all of which he had ignored.

  "Ho, Solitea!" Everod called out, his head popping into view between the seventh and eighth carriages. "Over here, Your Grace. Several lovely devotees require an audience with you before you bash Hollensworth's skull into thick paste."

  Fayne shoved the small bundle of ash sticks into Cadd's arms and went over to join Everod before his friend's boasting goaded Hollensworth into a murderous frenzy. Fayne glowered at the grinning scoundrel, who was acting rather pleased with himself. It was a pity Everod had not learned the art of discretion. The company he was keeping was proof enough.

  "Lady Spryng," Fayne said, reaching for her out­stretched hand and bowing gallantly over it. He released her hand. Taking up her friend's, he repeated his greeting. "Lady Silver. What a surprise." He turned slightly, giving Everod a private glimpse of his displeasure at being lured to the side of these two particular ladies. "You have strayed far from your usual haunts this afternoon."

  Velouette Whall, Countess of Spryng, and Lady Silver Meckiff were as different in appearance as they were in dis­position. What they shared in common was Fayne. Everod was reacquainting him with his former mistresses. Fayne smiled politely at them, while he contemplated his friend's murder.

  "Tem," Lady Spryng said huskily, using his family's af­fectionate abbreviation of his marquess title. "When we learned of this terrible business with Lord Hollensworth, neither Lady Silver nor I could think of anything else."

  Lady Spryng was a rounded, dark-haired beauty. Her flawless dusty skin and large dark brown eyes were a charming legacy from her Spanish mother. Her mother's blood ties to the royal line had ensured a respectable match for the lady at age sixteen. The marriage had lasted four years before Lord Spryng had perished from lung fever. Loneliness had the countess yearning for someone to com­fort her while she mourned her husband. Fayne had been eager to satisfy the young lady's unspoken needs.

  "Ladies, there is no need to concern yourselves," Fayne assured them. "Hollensworth and I are engaging in a sim­ple match of skills. Nothing more."

  Lady Silver leaned forward, her shawl slipping out of place to reveal the generous swell of her bosom. "You are so brave, my love. Everod has told us all the sordid details about how the baron attacked you."

  The daughter of an earl, Lady Silver Meckiff had been married to Colonel Perry Meckiff when she invited Fayne to share her bed. Almost six inches taller than Lady Spryng, she was blessed with the soft, curvaceous figure that Fayne generally preferred in his lovers. Lady Silver had hazel eyes that were more brown than green. She had very white skin that she was always careful to protect from the sun with veiled bonnets and parasols. Her curly hair was a luxuriant brown. It was her husband's long absences and rumored infidelities that had prompted Lady Silver to flirt outrageously with Fayne to gain his interest. They had remained lovers until her husband's return to England had ended their liaison.

  "Lord Everod exaggerates the tale, I am certain," Fayne said, placing an affable hand on the viscount's shoulder and subtly squeezing. The smile on Everod's face dimmed in sincerity, the only clue to the pain Fayne was inflicting. "Now if you ladies will forgive my rudeness, I must leave you in Lord Everod's capable hands." He bowed, stepping backward to make his escape. Fayne pivoted, and headed for the stage where Cadd and Ramscar were waiting for him.

  Everod caught up with him when he was barely out of earshot of the ladies. "Explain to me, Your Grace," the viscount demanded, sarcastically using his honorific. "What

  just happened back there?"

  Absolutely nothing. If he had any sense, he would keep away from both of them. "I was polite." Fayne halted his stride, placing them halfway between his former mistresses' carriages and the stage. He did not want Ramscar and Cadd pulled into this argument. United, the three of them could be unrelenting, and he was not about to put his love life up for a majority vote.

  Everod glanced at the two women they had left behind. Lady Silver waved at them. He nodded and gestured for her to be patient. "No, my friend, you were being an arse. Have you any idea what you have blithely walked away from?"

  Well, having known each lady intimately, Fayne had a pretty accurate vision of what he was refusing. The realiza­tion did not improve his mood. "Everod, you are aware both of these ladies were once my mistress?"

  The viscount's brow creased, revealing his puzzlement. "What does one have to do with the other?"

  Fayne slapped his gloved hand against his thigh in frus­tration. "I have no patience for this. Hollensworth will ar­rive at any moment, eager for the chance to maim me, and you are concerned about who is sharing my bed this eve­ning. Do you have any notion what has been occurring in my life, Everod?"

  The viscount placed his hand on Fayne's shoulder and leaned closer. "You can have them both."

  "I have had them both," Fayne said, rolling his eyes in disgust.

  "So have I." He closed his eyes and shook his head. "Well, no, actually I have only bedded Lady Spryng," Everod amended. His random latent honesty had never ceased to be­muse his friends. Before Fayne could walk away, he tight­ened his hold. "We could have both. This evening. Two lusty ladies who want to spend the night satisfying all our desires. Do not tell me that you are not tempted."

  Fayne rubbed the perspiration on his forehead with the back of his hand. Hell, he was tempt
ed. He and his friends had shared and enjoyed women together in the past. Lady Spryng was agile and creative in bed. Lady Silver was sub­missive, allowing her lover to dominate and play with her body in any manner of his choosing. Everod was correct. It would be a memorable evening where he could lose himself in willing female flesh and forget his responsibilities.

  Sensing Fayne was on the verge of capitulating, Everod added, "Perhaps you are not aware, but Lady Silver lost her husband over seven months ago. With a little encouragement from you, the lady is quite willing to remain in your bed be­yond this one evening. Now that you are duke, I'll wager you could have them both warming your bed each night."

  Fayne heard the envy in his friend's voice. Although it was rrare for a lady to refuse him, the notion of becoming his duchess enhanced his appeal with the ladies of the ton.

  “Solitea!" Ramscar shouted and waved for him to join them. "Hollensworth has arrived!"

  A tremor of nervous tension vibrated in his gut. He sig­naled his assent that he would join them shortly. "The baron awaits. Are you coming?"

  Everod shook his head with regret. "I promised I would sit with the ladies. They will be anxious for your answer. What should I tell them?"

  "Solitea!"

  Hearing Ramscar call out his name again elevated his agitation. "I told you before, I do not have time to think about this."

  "This isn't about thinking. It is all about taking," Everod argued. "You taking the pleasure enthusiastically offered. Just say yes. You will not regret it."

  "Very well. Yes," Fayne said, though his excitement and thoughts were focused on the match with Hollensworth rather than the debauchery of an orgy.

  Kilby was already regretting her brave boast to Darknell and Lyssa that she could follow Lord Ursgrate on her own. The viscount had been correct when he warned her that strolling about a fair without an escort held its own risks. Everything seemed threatening, from the curious stares of the pedestrians she passed to the vendors who called out for her to look at their wares. She did not know where Lord Ursgate was heading, but he did not seem particularly in­terested in any aspect of the fair.