Desperate and Daring 01 - Desperate and Daring (14 page)

A few mornings later, Heather was surprised to find she was home alone. Her mother had taken her sisters to their final fittings. Heather’s wardrobe was already finished with only a couple of dresses due to arrive any day. She was about to return to her room for a lazy hour of reading when the front door opened and a familiar masculine voice was heard. Her nerves instantly came alive, and she rushed to the railing to look into the foyer. It was Fallon, and Cantour was informing him that the young ladies of the house were presently out, which was not correct, but would work perfectly for her purposes. Fallon looked disappointed, but then proceeded to tell Cantour he would be in the Study.

Heather wanted to dance in excitement. Fallon moved up the stairs and Heather moved back and out of sight. She grimaced when she saw Cantour following Fallon and ducked into the Library. She could hear the rumble of their voices, and then thankfully, Cantour departed. Heather waited a moment more as Cantour passed through the hall and down the stairs. There were butterflies dancing in her stomach, but this was an opportunity for them to be alone that could not be missed. She tiptoed out of the Library and waited in the doorway of the Study. Fallon, with his back to the door, was looking through papers on the desk. He had already removed his coat and thrown it over a chair. Heather admired the way his waistcoat pulled across his broad back. She took a steadying breath and knocked on the jam.

“I have all that I require presently, thank you.” He stopped as he turned his head and caught sight of her. He straightened. “Heather? Did you just return?” He smiled in welcome.

“I never left.” She strolled into the room. “My mother and sisters are doing final fittings. My presence wasn’t necessary.”

Something flashed through his eyes, and Heather hoped it meant his mind had wandered in the same direction as hers.

“We’re alone?”

“It would seem so if you don’t count the legion of servants you employ.”

He walked to her, resting his hands on her hips and looking down at her, then his face blanked. “Contour will return any moment with a lunch tray.”

Heather’s hopes fell. “Oh.”

“Would you care to dine with me?”

“That might be crossing a line. He thinks I’m not here, and even though we are betrothed, we shouldn’t be alone together like this.”

“But,” he trailed his fingers up and down her arm, “I’ve been dying to be alone with you.”

Heather felt her heart stumble into a quicker rhythm. “I have, too.”

She saw his pupils dilate as he looked down at her.

“What do you suggest?”

“I’ll wait in the Library until he is gone.” Excitement shivered through her.

“I’ll tell him I don’t wish to be disturbed for two hours.”

Heather nodded. She wanted to giggle madly but resisted. She quickly retreated, relishing the slide of his hands down her sides as she pulled away. Once again in the Library, she grinned like a fool. What would they do for two whole hours? She was thrilled to find out. She didn’t have to wait long. The rattle of a tray could be heard ascending the stairs, and it was only a few minutes more before Cantour departed. Heather peeked from behind the Library door until Cantour was out of sight. She tiptoed back to the Study, and Fallon was waiting by the door.

“I hope you’re hungry, this sandwich is large enough for two of me.”

“I already ate,” Heather said regretfully as she let him take her hand and lead her to the chairs before the desk. They both sat and awkwardness descended.

“Please eat,” Heather urged when he made no move toward the plate.

“It feels rude.”

“It’s not a bother.” She assured him

He took a tentative bite, and then ate with gusto. “I guess I was famished.”

Heather smiled and stood to look about the room. It was just like the others, except that the curtains were thrown open to emit sunshine. The painting above the mantel was a hunting scene, a reprieve from the endless walls of sour faces throughout the house.

Heather peeked over her shoulder at him and smiled. He was devouring his meal. She couldn’t have eaten if she wanted to—she was far too nervous. She made a slow circle of the room and returned to her seat at the desk. Fallon was wiping his mouth with a napkin. He took a sip of what looked to be lemonade.

“Satisfied?”

“Not even remotely,” he said gruffly.

Heather glanced at the empty plate. “Do you want to ring Cantour for more? I can wait in the Library.”

He stood slowly and extended a hand to her. She gave him her hand and pulled her to her feet, his arms sliding around her. I’m famished, Heather. For you.” He dipped his head and took her lips. Heather rose up on her tiptoes, eager to show that this time she would do much more than coldly accept his kiss. She looped her arms around his neck and opened her mouth. She wanted to taste him as she did before, to feel the magic of his kisses again.

He didn’t deny her. His tongue swooped in and met hers. They teased and caressed each other with their tongues, their hands holding tightly to each other. Fallon lifted her off her feet and walked to the large chair by the fireplace. He scooped one arm under her legs and sat, holding her against him with her bottom nestled into his groin.

Heather had no complaints. She twisted at the waist to keep kissing him and she loved the tingling fire she felt every time she pressed her breasts against his chest. There was always something new to be felt when she was with him. He had one hand curved around her hip and making slow circles to her derriere. He squeezed firmly. It was possessive and exciting. She wanted to moan with abandon, but she didn’t yet have the confidence to completely let go. She focused instead on the exploration of his mouth and on the silkiness of his hair sliding between her fingers.

Fallon prayed Heather wouldn’t be spooked by his ardor. Her curves felt heavenly curled up against him, and he knew she would soon feel the evidence of his desire. He couldn’t get enough of touching her, the arch of her back, and the curve of her hips. He wanted more, he wanted bare skin under his hands, but he knew he couldn’t go that far. Having her completely naked under him would have to wait until their wedding night.

However, that didn’t mean he couldn’t further her experience with passion little by little. Perhaps it would even help prepare her for their wedding night. He’d heard stories of women approaching the marriage bed blind to the art of lovemaking, their heads filled with old wives tales and fears. Fallon was no Casanova, but he had enough experience to understand what pleased a woman, and how important her enjoyment was to the overall success of the act. And this was Heather—his Heather. He wanted her to feel no fear, no reservations. He wanted her to want him as much as he wanted her.

His need startled him at times. He never thought he would feel like this, especially given the unorthodox circumstances that brought them together. But when he was away from her, she was all he thought about, and when he was near her, he was never close enough, not until she was in his arms. It was unsettling.

She squirmed against him and he became achingly hard. She had to be aware of her effect on him by now, but she wasn’t pulling away, she was kissing him eagerly. To think that only a little time ago she barely looked at him. It was time to press for more, to widen the scope of her desire.

With one arm around her to keep her delicious body against him, his other hand slid to her ankle and under the hem of her dress. He wrapped his fingers around her ankle, not wanting to startle her. She didn’t flinch or pull away, so he slipped his hand higher, slowly following the line of her leg until he reached her thigh. This time she did squirm. She pulled her mouth from his and their eyes met.

“Your skin is as soft as flower petals.”

Her cheeks bloomed to a deeper shade of pink.

“I want to touch you, Heather. May I touch you?”

She nodded and licked her lips.

He began to gather her skirts in his hands. She felt his hands gently touch her thighs, the folds of her skirt now squished between them disguising the proof of his own desire. Slowly but deliberately, he walked his fingers toward her center until his fingers touched springy curls.

She looked down and closed her eyes. He touched his forehead to hers, and even though theirs eyes did not meet, she felt connected to him.

His fingers dipped into her folds lightly, then more confidently, and Heather released a breathy sigh. It was a bit overwhelming at first, but also, exhilarating. She boldly parted her legs further, giving him permission to explore her more.

He did, his fingers playing in the sudden dampness, her most private and mysterious place. Heather gasped again. She’d had no idea she could feel like this, that this was what it was like to be intimate with a man. He massaged her, her flesh becoming sensitive—wetter still, as he finally touched her most sacred of places, a place that was a secret even to her. He softly touched the entrance to her body, using her own moisture to ease his touch and fan the flames of her arousal. He slid one finger in all the way to his knuckle and Heather bucked unexpectedly. She wasn’t prepared for the intrusion. It was both awkward and exciting. He cupped her, using the one finger to slowly penetrate her over and over and his thumb to massage the sensitive hood of her sex.

Heather felt odd. She felt feverish from head to toe. Something felt like it was building inside her, but she didn’t know what it was. She began to respond to the thrust of his fingers, her body driving her to move in time, which was both satisfying and unsatisfying. He increased the tempo and pressure, pushing her towards an inevitable limit. She squeezed her eyes shut, stars bursting behind her eyelids as a wave of hot sensation consumed her and a cry thrust itself from her throat. Her strength left her, her legs suddenly as weak as ribbons. He held her tightly and lightly kissed her lips. Her eyes fluttered opened. “What was that?” she said breathlessly.

“A taste of ecstasy, little flower.”

Heather recovered slowly after their intimacy. Her blush felt permanent now, but he didn’t question her or make her feel uncomfortable. He held her for a little while longer and then they both stood to stretch their legs. Heather was glad to have her strength back, but her body still felt like she’d spent hours in a hot bath and couldn’t be bothered with strenuous movement. Her smile was also making permanent residence on her face.

“What should we do now?”

Heather shrugged. A nap sounded divine. Out of the blue, she remembered the portraits in the attic. Should she show him? She was a little afraid to after what Mr. Faegan had said, but he deserved to know, didn’t he?

“I want to show you something,” she began. “I did a little exploring and I found something I think you should see.”

He looked cautious. “All right… Lead the way.”

They took the back stairs up to the attic. For whatever reason, Heather wasn’t concerned about being seen, but the house was quiet as a mouse, and they didn’t cross paths with anyone. She found the attic room easily and they entered. Adjusting the shutters for more light, she approached the chest and opened it. Fallon followed, kneeling behind her, and looking over her shoulder.

She pushed the cloth out of the way and held up a small portrait in the light for him to see.

“That’s me?” he exclaimed.

“At various ages, it appears.” She set the first portrait aside and retrieved another. She lined up a few in the lid of the trunk for him to see.

“But why are they here? Who did these?” He demanded angrily. He stood, looking at two of the portraits.

Heather stood anxiously. “Mr. Faegan did.”

Fallon frowned. “Faegan? Why—” His frown twisted into a furious scowl. “My father—he sent them to my father for some sentimental fool hearted attempt to reconcile that selfish wretch with a lonely boy. Is that it?” He dropped the portraits. Heather jumped as they clattered across the floor. Fallon fled the attic, his feet thundering down the stairs. Heather was frozen in place during his display of rage, but then scrambled after him. She found him in the gallery, standing before the portrait of his father, his expression blacker than she’s ever seen. She could hear the footfalls of others coming.

“Fallon,” she called out to him. She knew he would not want people to see him like this—she didn’t want him to be seen like this.

“I don’t need you,” his voice rumbled darkly.

Heather was struck by his words, but he didn’t even look at her—his eyes remained on his father.

“No boy needs a father like you. I will banish you from every part of me, and you will rot in hell knowing that everything good in my life is my doing, despite the wounds you gave me, despite you trying to exile me from my rightful existence. You tried and you failed, you bastard.”

He ripped the picture from the wall.

Heather covered her mouth with her hands. He threw the picture to the floor with such strength, the heavy gilt frame splintered into pieces. Fallon ripped the canvas cloth from the frame and tore it in half. He tossed the pieces away in disgust, his chest heaving.

Heather could feel the presence of spectators behind them, but she was afraid to move, afraid to say anything that might set him off. He was like a wild animal, cornered and injured. He looked up abruptly, looking at all of them with apathy. He pivoted and vanished behind the large double doors of the master suite.