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Authors: Emma Wildes

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BOOK: Our Wicked Mistake
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“Don’t look so arrogant, Altea,” she retorted, but her laugh was breathless and her fingertips drifted down his spine.
“I’m always arrogant.” He kissed the side of her neck, his lips lingering. “I thought you knew.”
“I might have noticed.” She arched back to give him better access to the point where her pulse still fluttered.
“Don’t women like confident men?”
“It depends on the level of the confidence and how it is expressed.”
“I see.” He nibbled his way up to her mouth, murmur ing against her lips, “What if I told you I am confident I can keep you up all night?”
It could be true. He was still hard, the long length of his cock rigid between them, as if he hadn’t just spent himself. Madeline kissed him, a long, leisurely meet ing of their mouths and tongues, the play more delicate and teasing now that the first burst of passion was past. “Uhm . . . I’d say you would have to prove that to me.”
“It would be my pleasure to do so.” He lifted the edge of the sheet and wiped the residue of his seed from her skin.
“And mine.” She drifted her fingers through the silk of his hair.
“I’ll do my best, my darling Madge.”
She gave him a light, exasperated slap on the shoul der, though the disapproval was feigned. When he spoke that way, with the heavy intonation in his voice, her en tire body tingled. “No one calls me that but you.”
There was no sign of repentance in his grin, and his silver eyes glimmered. “Good. Madge belongs to me alone, then.”
Had he not begun to take her again, in subtle, slow strokes of withdrawal and invasion, she might have pon dered that possessive statement more, but the beguiling rhythm disordered all cognizant thought, and later—hours later, as he promised—when she drifted asleep in his arms in exhausted contentment, she dreamed of ro mantic, sunlit glades and crystalline seas, and soft, warm summer breezes.
 
Luke dressed quietly, sitting down on an embroidered chair to pull on his boots, his gaze fastened on the woman in the disordered chaos of the bed. Madeline slept on her side, her face peaceful, the glory of her lux uriant hair cascading over her slender, bared shoulders. Her maid, he knew, as he stood to button his shirt and tuck it into his breeches, would know someone had been with her mistress, but the least he could do was spare Madeline the embarrassment of having him still in her bed in the morning.
She was enchanting.
Sensual, artlessly responsive, intelligent enough to challenge him as an equal, but secure enough to not feel the need.
Her intellect not in question, he still wondered if she was experienced enough with public censure to realize what came next. Had she truly thought about the reper cussions of this night? When the whispers started . . . how would she feel then? She had a son to consider also.
Regret was a commodity he usually disdained, but not everyone felt that way. A beautiful young widow with dozens of potential suitors eager for her favor had a lot of options. She didn’t have to settle for illicit pas sion with a man who had no intention of doing more than offer transient pleasure.
He wished he could, he realized as he stood there in the semigloom, just watching her sleep, his throat curi ously tight.
He very much wished he could.
And that was a disturbing revelation.
Chapter Nine
 
 
 
H
er brother might have shaved and changed his clothes, but Elizabeth wasn’t fooled when Luke strolled into the sunny breakfast room. She was a light sleeper and she’d heard him come in just as the first streaks of light touched the horizon. Her suite of rooms was opposite his, and she had most definitely heard the sleepy voice of his valet and his answer, and then the closing of the door. It was now midmorning, but if he’d slept more than a few hours she’d be surprised.
“You look cheerful for someone who was out carousing all night,” she observed in a dry tone, since it was just the two of them. Miles had risen early to meet with solicitors and bankers over his precious shipping company. Uncle Chas and Aunt Gloria had returned to the country estate in Berkshire, and their mother rarely rose before noon.
Arched brows rose, clear amusement in his eyes, as he chose a seat opposite. “I wasn’t aware my arrivals and departures were so closely monitored.”
She passed him the rack of toast. “You left the Masterses’ gathering quite early but didn’t come home. Miles said you weren’t at your club either.” Elizabeth studied him openly. He did look somewhat tired, but not quite as . . . distant. Or
abstracted
might be the right word. No, that wasn’t right either. He didn’t look as
shuttered
. That fit better.
A window had opened somewhere, and she was curious as to how and, more importantly,
by whom
, though she had a fair idea.
“Ah, your spies are everywhere, I see.” He helped himself to the rasher of sausages, and a footman unobtrusively brought in a fresh, steaming platter of eggs. “Unfortunately for you, London is a rather large city. I could have been anywhere. Perhaps you could hire a Bow Street runner to investigate my absences.”
“Very amusing. And I am not spying on you. Count it as sisterly concern.”
“Elizabeth, I survived a war. I think I am capable of managing my own life, thank you.” He stirred sugar into his coffee. “I’m
your
guardian, not the opposite.”
“
Did
you survive it?” She said the words quietly. “You are quite different from when you left.”
“I imagine all soldiers are.” He carefully set aside his spoon. “You were a child when I joined Wellington on the Peninsula. I was younger then too, and, yes, I think enduring a bloody war would change anyone.”
“I’d like to see you happy again.” She paused delicately. “Did Lady Brewer inspire that particular smile you wore when you strolled in here?”
“I was afraid there would be gossip,” he muttered and shook his head. “If anyone noted, she left alone in her own carriage.”
It was interesting he hadn’t answered her question. “She’s very beautiful,” Elizabeth murmured as casually as possible. “I assume you’ve noticed.”
“I am still breathing, I believe. Yes, I’ve noticed. Can we change the subject? For instance, can you tell me why Lord Fawcett sent me a missive requesting an audience this afternoon?”
It was her turn to be discomforted. She concentrated on smearing marmalade on her toast. “He’s been very attentive.”
“Yes,” her older brother confirmed dryly. “The fragrance of roses has become rather cloying lately if one passes the drawing room. Your feelings on his lordship, should he wish to offer a proposal?”
She wasn’t sure. The marquess was charming and handsome enough, she supposed, and she’d never heard rumors that indicated he was a scoundrel or gambled and drank excessively. Of the eligible bachelors openly looking for wives this season, he was certainly considered to be a catch.
“He did not confide his purpose to me.” She took a bite of eggs. “I was unaware he was going to call until this moment.”
“Well, I assume he will state his business to me.” Luke touched his napkin to his mouth. “Care to be a bit more clear on the matter? What if he should suggest a marriage between you?”
She shrugged. “I think he is nice enough.”
“And what does that mean?”
“No,” she admitted, dumping more cream—too much—in her coffee.
“No, you do not wish to marry him?”
“No, I do not wish to marry anyone whom I just think is nice.” With a certain gloom she stared into the swirling liquid in her cup. “Surely I can do better than
nice
.”
“Or worse,” Luke pointed out.
“I am not interested in settling for a man who inspires nothing but ambivalent feelings of casual friendship.”
“Then I will tell him you are not yet ready to make a decision.”
Elizabeth gazed at her brother in exasperation. “I just said I was not interested.”
“And I heard you quite clearly. But make no mistake; males have just as delicate feelings as females.” His smile was wry. “I will put him off, he will understand eventually, and no one will be hurt.”
She drummed the fine Irish linen tablecloth with her fingertips, mouth slightly pursed. The brightly shining sun laid long blocks of light on the rich, patterned indigo-and-ivory rug. “That is better than the truth?”
Luke nodded, his eyes suddenly holding an odd weariness. “At this stage, yes. You’ve not passed flirtation. I assume you’ve done nothing to lead him to believe a deeper bond exists, correct?”
At least she could honestly say she hadn’t. “No.”
“Then he is better off not knowing you don’t fancy his attentions. I like him well enough, so I’ll just diplomatically deflect his offer.”
“Humph.” Thoughtfully she eyed her brother across the table. “Do you reserve such solicitude for just your gender? I ask because rumor has it you’ve broken hearts all across England.”
“Rumor is an extremely fallible medium for information.”
“Is it, now?” She clearly recalled Lady Brewer abruptly excusing herself and leaving the dinner party the evening before, and, or so she heard later, having a rather impassioned discussion with Luke before getting in her carriage. Elizabeth rather liked the viscountess, with her gracious charm and lack of pretention. The question was,
how much does Luke like her?
“It is.” His defensive tone was tempered by a slight smile. “So, if we are done debating my possible foibles and Fawcett’s unwelcome suit, can we move on? Where is Miles?”
Like she kept a diary of her cousin’s movements. “Something about his solicitors,” she muttered, picking up her toast.
“Perhaps it would be best if you two didn’t go out alone again.” Her brother said it in a nonchalant tone, spearing another sausage.
What?
“What on earth are you talking about?” Elizabeth didn’t intend to sound so abrupt, but quite honestly, the suggestion took her off guard.
“I just said to not go alone. The other day I believe he took you to the milliner.”
He had, quite naturally, because his favorite tobacco shop was on the same street. “We ran an errand. How ridiculous to take two carriages if we are bound in the same direction.”
“Yes, well, though I agree, society sees it quite differ ently.”
“We’ve caught eels alone also. Would society whisper about it if they found out we’d engaged in that activ ity together? One is about as romantic as the other. I picked out a hat, and he purchased a new pipe.”
Luke was irritatingly unperturbed at her acerbic tone. “I am assuming that you, as a proper young lady, have left your eel catching days behind you. Miles is a grown man, and he is not really our cousin. I hope you do realize it.”
It was true, of course, but what the devil did it mat ter? Elizabeth set down her knife on the tablecloth ac cidentally, heedless of the marmalade, and stared at her brother. “I hadn’t ever really considered it, to be honest. Why does it matter?”
“Trust me. It does.”
So? She and Miles were not related. Set aside all those childhood larks, the peccadilloes that landed them in so much trouble, the endless fights, but also the way they’d stood with each other in every instance of trou ble, and it was true: they were not related by blood, but by a much closer bond, actually. She had first cousins on her mother’s side she’d never even met.
What an odd revelation. More slowly, she said, “Surely you don’t mean I have to take a chaperone when I am with
Miles
.”
“For the sake of your reputation, I would prefer it.”
“But—” She stopped, not sure how to feel about this . . . this ridiculous new restriction.
“You were also seen walking with him in the park the other day.”
“Of course.” For whatever reason, her cheeks heated. Why would she blush? This might be the most inane conversation of her life. “I was with Amelia, and he happened to be there as well. What was I supposed to do, pretend I don’t know him? I think he and I have taken a bath together.”
“When you were two years old.” Luke looked bland, and he could do bland very, very well. “You aren’t two any longer.”
“This is absurd.”
“This is London society, Elizabeth. The censure exists. Take my word for it. I trust Miles, you know that. I am as fond of him as you are. I’m merely pointing out that your association needs to be entirely appropriate.”
“Take
my
word,” she muttered. “There are times I am not all that fond of him.”
Luke lifted a brow. “Perhaps, but for all your constant quarreling, you were inseparable as children. I know it seems very natural to continue the habit of a lifetime, but in this case, I caution you to be aware of how others might see it.”
Inseparable. Hmm. Yes, she supposed it was accurate, but they weren’t that much apart in age, after all. She and Miles had specialized in being wild and daring: pirates, taking over a mythical ship that was really a beached float on the lake on the estate; highwaymen who accosted innocent travelers . . . in their case, the gamekeeper who always pretended to be properly terrified when they popped out of the bushes, and offered up his nonexistent purse on a regular basis. . . .
BOOK: Our Wicked Mistake
12.99Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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