Cavendish Brothers 02 - To Enchant an Icy Earl (3 page)

They walked at a leisurely pace,
moving amongst the revelers however he saw fit. More than once,
Calista thought they were sure to bump straight into a random lady
or gentleman, and yet just before they arrived, the obstacles moved
out of the way. It was like the parting of the Red Sea, the way the
people shifted out of their path, and all Lord Fordingham need do
was exist to cause such an occurrence. Every eye in the room
remained trained upon the pair of them, and goose flesh traveled
along her spine from their curiosity.

They’d made a quarter-turn of the
elaborate drawing room in charged silence when he placed his hand
softly yet securely over hers as though locking her into place at
his side. How could such a simple touch seem so possessive, so
confidently certain? Her pulse kicked through her veins, racing at
such a rapid pace she feared she might trip over her own feet from
the sensation.

As they turned the corner, still
neither had said a word since leaving Louisa. Calista’s youngest
sister Penelope caught her eye as they drew near where she was
speaking with a group of young ladies. There was a clear question
in Penny’s eyes, but Calista gave a very slight shake of her head.
She couldn’t very well explain what she was doing when she didn’t
rightfully understand it herself.

Fordingham led her on, past Penny,
past the line of gawkers whose heads swiveled as they moved, past a
row of tables and chairs, until they stood next to the wall. They
were still in view of anyone in the room, so it could hardly be
considered inappropriate for them to be together as such, but the
shadows cast by the candlelight left them in near
seclusion.

Then he stopped.

That was when Calista’s pulse
increased to a roar in her head, to a gallop through her veins. He
turned to face her, staring down into her eyes with arctic
intensity.

“
Now you’ll tell me why
you’ve arranged this.”

Those stunning, blue eyes widened even
further than they already had been. Miss Bartlett’s lips parted,
and the breath she took lifted her chest before she slowly let it
exhale. He breathed in the sweet scent of her orgeat as it wafted
over to him.

None of these signs of her reaction to
him were surprising. He’d always had a certain effect upon people,
as though he were terribly intimidating, or perhaps even
frightening to some, like Lady Marston. He didn’t intend to scare
people generally, and yet it had never bothered him that he did.
Never before now, at least. Fordingham was not so certain he wished
for Miss Bartlett to be afraid of him.

But what
did
take him by surprise
were the words that rushed forth from her mouth, despite her
obvious discomfiture at his behavior.

“
I would like for you to
court me, my lord.”

Court her? Fordingham was certain he
must have misheard her.

No proper young lady, and
certainly not a young lady who appeared to be a vision from a
dream, an angel who’d somehow fallen into his path after being
whisked straight from the depths of the Greek Sea, wanted him
to
court
her.
Young ladies such as that wanted nothing to do with him and often
ran back to their mamas if he so much as stepped foot within their
general vicinity.

They did not seek him out and beg him
to seek an introduction.

They most certainly did not request
that he court them—not under any circumstances he could
imagine.

When he was still staring at the
delightful blush coloring her cheeks after several moments without
responding in any way, she averted her eyes from him. “You must
think me fast. I apologize.”

“
No,” Fordingham rushed to
say. Before he knew what had come over him, he was reaching out his
hand and tilting her chin upward so that he could yet again see her
eyes. He could happily get lost in them…a rather disconcerting
thought. There were quite few things in this world that he would
do
happily
.

She did meet his eyes again, staring
up at him so he felt as though she’d revealed her every thought to
him by doing so. She meant what she’d said. He believed it with an
utter certainty due to the sincerity in her gaze.

He wanted to tell her there was no
reason she should apologize. He ought to say that he could never
think of her as fast or loose, or anything other than absolutely
perfect. A small voice in the back of his mind wished to reveal
that he’d never been so completely flummoxed by another living soul
as he was by her at this precise moment in time.

There were a thousand things he could
and should say, and yet the words which came out of his mouth were
far from anything he should ever have said to any young lady, least
of all the one who’d caused him to rethink everything he’d ever
known about the world, all in mere moments of their meeting. “You
will join me for supper tomorrow at Fordingham House.”

An outraged gasp sounded directly
behind him. “She most certainly will not! You will not tell my
sister what she is to do, and you absolutely will not take her to
your home, you rotten scoundrel.”

Fordingham dropped his hand, quickly
securing it to the other behind his back as he spun around to face
the accusatory voice—a voice which belonged to a dark-haired,
smaller version of Miss Bartlett. This smaller Miss Bartlett held
both hands planted firmly upon her hips and bore a scowl fit to
shame the devil himself.

He’d lost his mind. That was the only
excuse for what he’d done.

The Earl of Fordingham did
not defile innocents. He did not ruin young ladies’ reputations.
Never would he, as a confirmed bachelor, ask an unmarried lady to
his home, let alone
demand
her presence there.

But he also most certainly did not
cower before chits who tried to tell him what he could and could
not do.

Granted, he and Miss
Bartlett did not currently present the picture of innocence they
ought to, with his hand having been on her chin as though in a
caress. No, not as though. It
had
been a caress. Fordingham couldn’t remember ever
having caressed anyone or anything before in his life. And he
wanted to do it again. Wanted it desperately, as a matter of fact.
He wanted it more than he knew how to manage.

“
Calista, what on earth do
you think you’re doing?” the younger beauty hissed, interrupting
him from his disturbing line of thought. She kept her eyes trained
upon her sister, never touching his person with her scandalized
gaze.

His
Miss Bartlett—and when had he begun to think of her in such a
way?—appeared devastated, with her eyes dropping to stare at the
floor as though in defeat. “Miranda, not now,” she
uttered.

“
Not now?” the sister
repeated. “Do you even realize who you’re with?”

Though the sisters had kept their
voices low, the threesome was beginning to attract a crowd of
onlookers in the darkened corner Fordingham had chosen for their
private discussion. Of course, said discussion was only meant to be
for two, not for three. It was inevitable that they’d attract
unwanted attention.

To his recollection, this was the
first time in his life a girl hardly out of the schoolroom had
imposed herself into his conversation without his express
permission or invitation.

He couldn’t allow this to continue. It
might set a precedent.

“
Miss Bartlett knows very
well who she is with,” he interrupted drolly. “One might wonder,
however, if
you
recognize who I am, or that you’ve now insulted a peer of the
realm. A good evening to you, miss.”

She huffed indignantly, but Fordingham
ignored her. He took the elder Miss Bartlett by the elbow and
guided her along, leaving the younger behind without a backward
glance.

“
I know perfectly well who
you are, my lord, and I promise you’ve not heard the last from me,”
she said to their retreating backs. When Fordingham neither slowed
nor allowed Miss Bartlett to pause, she called out, “Calista,
please
think
about
what you’re doing.”

Think
.

He couldn’t allow Miss Bartlett to do
that. If she took the time to think, if she realized what she was
doing, surely she would turn away and never look back, just as
everyone else he’d ever cared about had done throughout his entire
life.

So rather than allow her time to
recognize the folly of her actions, Fordingham kept Miss Bartlett
walking until they’d left the main drawing room where all of the
guests were congregating. He pressed on, even rushing his pace
until she was struggling for steady breaths as her shorter legs
raced to match his stride.

One of Godfrey’s footmen tried to
speak to him when he made for a doorway leading to God only knew
where, but Fordingham leveled him with a stare and the servant
opened the door without so much as a squeak of protest.

It led to a dimly lit corridor with
sconces lining the walls between gilt-framed portraits of the
long-dead previous Lords and Ladies Godfrey. He did not hear the
click of the door closing behind him, so Fordingham pressed on
until they reached the other end of the long hallway, the opposite
end of the house…until they reached privacy.

When he finally came to a stop, he
well and truly turned the final corner into madness. He pulled Miss
Bartlett around to face him, cupped her face between both his
hands, and kissed her like his life depended upon it.

For as quickly as his life had upended
itself, that might not be such a drastic stretch of the
truth.

Despite his rather lackluster
objections to the contrary, there wasn’t a doubt in Calista’s mind
that Lord Fordingham thought her fast. And at the moment, she might
agree with him.

His hands held her head captive as
thoroughly as his fevered kisses captured her heart. He had seemed
so controlled, so subdued even when he ought to have been angered
by Miranda. Calista had had no idea that his restraint concealed
such unbridled passion.

With his tongue, he traced the seam of
her lips. Then he pressed inside her mouth and tilted her head to
the side for less-restricted access, kissing her in a way she’d
never been kissed before. Indeed, she’d never even imagined Lord
Ellis kissing her in such a way. Fordingham’s tongue stroked hers
and his solid body pressed against hers, each hard plane angling
into her softer curves. His heat raced through her body and settled
at her fluttering stomach. He let out a growl, feral and
animalistic, as again and again he drank from her, stroked his
tongue against hers, filled her with his sandalwood scent and rich,
port taste and wild, maddened energy.

A shuddering need to draw closer to
him assaulted her, and she moved in, grasping each of his wrists in
her hands so that she would not fall over from the waves of
unfamiliar sensation coursing through her body.

She finally took a breath when he
separated from her momentarily. Her breath turned to a gasp of
shock when he settled his lips over the throbbing pulse in her
neck, nibbling ever so lightly against her flesh. He dropped the
grip which had imprisoned her head, moving his hands down to wrap
around her back, drawing her ever closer to the inferno that was
the hard muscle of his body.