The Second Shot (The Dueling Pistols) (36 page)

After a couple of hours she had seen the last of them in their carriages—well, the last of them except the Lungren sisters, who had decided to wait until everyone was gone before having the body of their sister removed. Lord Algany had been carted outside. In spite of his curses at the servants, they managed to load him in his carriage without banging his splinted leg. Though she had yet to see the Davieses emerge from her upstairs bedroom, the house was relatively empty of guests.

Her parents had gone to bed muttering about the disintegration of society, and Felicity no longer cared if they stayed to watch it fall or not. Her first ton party, and she'd had a guest break his leg, another shot, and another unmasked as a murderess and then stabbed to death. Quite a success.

For all her carefully laid plans, she had quite lost control of the evening. If it were not for her obligation to find Diana a husband, she'd go back to the country tonight. She climbed the stairs, just wanting to check on Charles before she found Tony.

She could see a dim light under the door of the nursery as she approached. Charles had probably been unwilling to go to bed without a night-light. When she opened the door, the first thing she could see was that Charles was not in his bed. Her heart jolted.

It was quickly soothed by the sight of Tony in a chair, his eyes closed, his scarlet jacket unbuttoned, and Charles in his lap, leaning limply against Tony's chest. Her son was obviously sound asleep.

Tony's arm was curled around Charles, holding him securely. The sight brought tears to her eyes. Charles undoubtedly had missed having a father, and Tony—how could she have doubted that he wouldn't have made things right if he had known? Tony looked like a father should. Solid and fearless, a sure source of security and comfort when a little boy was scared. Especially when a mother was soft, weak and fearful, and in need of comfort herself.

"If you'll lift him up, we might get him to bed without waking him," he said.

Felicity met Tony's pale blue eyes. He seemed distant, unapproachable. She swallowed hard. She had no reason to fear Tony. He had never mistreated her, never done anything to make her fear him. It wasn't fair that Layton's sins should be visited on his head.

"I'm not sure we should move him. He looks quite comfortable there."

"It is time for me to leave, and I'm afraid I'll not be able to stand with any grace."

Felicity moved across the room. She didn't want him to leave. Did being in control matter so much when she couldn't allow herself any pleasure? She wanted to tell him that she'd decided to have an affair with him, marry him if she must. Yet he seemed cool, remote. Did he no longer want her?

She lifted her sleeping son off Tony's lap and carried him to his bed.

Tony stood. "Is everyone gone now?"

Felicity tucked Charles under the covers. He didn't wake. "Lieutenant Randleton is helping the Lungrens get their sister's body home, and Mr. Bedford has been sent to bed by the physician. The Davies, I believe, are still occupied in my room." She brushed Charles's tawny curls back. "He must be exhausted by all the excitement."

"You must be ready for bed," said Tony. He awkwardly leaned over and pressed a kiss on Charles's forehead.

Felicity found his gesture heartrending. He had missed years of this, and Charles had only ever had his mother's kisses before now. Perhaps through their son they could rebuild the love they had once had. Perhaps Tony could once again love her. He had loved her once, now he loved their son.

"I hoped to sleep in my own bed tonight."

Tony looked out the window. "Of course. Once I have helped Randleton see the Lungrens home, I'll return to my own apartments. No need for me to stay here, now that there isn't any danger. Bedford has let his place go, but he should be able to find another soon."

"Tony." She would have to spell it out for him. Her stomach knotted, and she feared he might still leave.

"I shouldn't have brought her here into your home. I wasn't sure which sister was the killer, but I knew one of them was. You were right in that I made decisions without enlisting your support beforehand. I assure you I see the folly in that. I am not your commanding officer, nor do I want to be."

She put a hand on his arm, and he stared at her hand. "Tony, I haven't asked you to go."

He slowly raised his eyes from her hand and looked her in the eye. Confusion clouded his features. She stripped off her glove and raised her hand to cup his cheek. "You were not this dense years ago. Do you no longer want me?"

He put his hand over hers. The heat of it came through hers, burning a path to her heart. "But—"

She put her fingers over his lips. She didn't want to think about reasons they shouldn't make love. She didn't want to remember that he had loved her years ago but now just wanted to be her lover, at best. Undoubtedly the only reason he was still around this time was because of Charles. Nonetheless she could pretend for tonight, at least, that he loved her. "Don't talk," she whispered.

"Are you sure?"

She smiled with the bittersweet memory and echo of that question from years before. Then she had been able to do no more than nod, her heart in her throat. This time she stared at him a long while and said slowly, "Absolutely."

His lips found hers, and there was no more talking except whispered compromises about getting from the nursery down a flight of stairs to her bedroom.

"I should carry you."

"You cannot," she whispered back, and her heart filled with tenderness and yearning. He cared enough to want her to feel romanced, seduced, wanted.

She put her bare hand in his, and he raised it to his lips and pressed a kiss on it. She led the way to the stairs and to her old room. Once in the bedroom, she felt shy and uncertain. Out of practice.

She stepped into the room and turned away from the bed. Tony rummaged in his things.

She felt awkward and wondered if he had expected her to remove her clothes and lie down on the bed. She hoped that the noises she heard behind her weren't of him stripping down. She wanted to ask him to go slowly for her but knew it was a stupid request, a stupid thought. He had had not hurried with her the first time. She had no reason to think things might be different now, except that she knew tenderness could evaporate in a haze of lust. His concern for her wellbeing could disappear in a heartbeat.

Finally, Tony stepped inches behind her. She could feel the heat of his body, his breath on the nape of her neck a second before he pressed his lips there.

She shuddered, his gentle kiss burning through her.

He pulled back and then put his hands on her shoulders. "Quite a night this was."

His distance made her want to close the gap. Yet she was frightened, frightened that her memories of her one night with Tony were an illusion born of a desperate woman's dreams, that the harsh reality of her marriage with Layton was what relations between men and women were really like: progressing rapidly from kissing to demanding use of her body without preliminaries.

But this was Tony, not Layton. Tony, whom she had once loved and trusted with every fiber of her being. She stepped back against his body...his strong, lean, hard body. "And it is not over yet."

He turned her around and looked for a long time into her eyes. "You're frightened of—"

She pressed her lips against his before he could finish the sentence. She was frightened, scared out of her mind, by everything. Of letting go of control, of assuming he would make the right decisions for both of them, of trusting he wouldn't wound her. Even as she now knew his refusal to let her join him in Spain wasn't because he didn't care that she was pregnant, but that he'd been afraid for her.

In spite of his claim of understanding, believing he'd always consult her was a stretch even for her. But she knew he'd try, and she'd stand him down when she needed to.

His moan was half protest, half pleasure, and she strained up on her toes, touching the tip of her tongue to his lips, entreating him, begging him to continue, to help her forget her fears.

Her body remembered. A warm flow of remembered excitement shimmered along her skin, under her skin, and straight to a growing tightness between her legs. Her protests had been stupid—a denial of her own need—and to keep him walled away from her.

His arms came around her, and he sought her mouth with his. His breath mingled with hers, his taste filling her mouth, and she nearly sobbed with relief.

She pressed up against the hard length of him, wanting to draw courage from him. "Don't talk. Please don't talk. Just make me feel the way you did the other night, please, Tony," she whispered.

He kissed her deeply and buried his hands in her hair, pulling out pins and dropping them to the floor. With each ping on the floor, sparks raced through her.

He lifted her up, she wanted to protest the abuse to his leg, as he carried her the four feet to the bed. Laying her down on the coverlet, his eyes held hers, still questioning.

She nodded. "I want this. I need this. I need you."

He sat to remove his shoes. His scarlet jacket, then his shirt, followed. He turned and bent over her, his lips pressing against her forehead before he moved back to the soul-deep kissing that had her panting, clutching at his firm, broad naked shoulders.

The feel of his skin, hot, smooth, made her want more. She pressed her palms against his chest, feeling the crisp, springy hair, the taut muscle under his skin. He pressed his hands over hers with encouragement, enthusiasm burning in his eyes.

With slow patience he peeled off her clothes, his hands reverent and gently caressing each bare inch of her skin. He watched her with such intensity in his unnaturally pale eyes, she wanted to close them, kiss his eyelids, and yet she held his gaze. Then suddenly she knew everything was all right.

She reached down to touch the hard, heavy length of him, and he groaned, pushing against her hand. She tugged at his breeches, trying to loosen them and move them out of the way. While she fumbled with his clothes, he made short shrift of what little she had left on. She succeeded in getting his breeches down and stopped when she saw the mangled, puckered, and white-laced scars on his thigh.

Tears sprang to her eyes, and she pressed her lips together. He kicked off the last of his clothes and pulled her up, his expression growing concerned as he wiped away a tear with his thumb.

Unwilling to lessen the moment, she pushed him back and threw a leg over him. He grasped her then, holding her tight against his body. They lay there together, skin against skin, heart beating against heart, beating for a long second, and then she squirmed against him, trying to find the right position. Then she had it, his hard male member against the core of her, and she pressed home.

"Oh, Christ, stop!" he moaned.

She froze. Was she hurting him? But his hips shoved upward and completed the penetration. She bit her lips at the feel of him inside her, stretching her, filling her, completing her. Then he shoved her hips away and broke the union of their bodies.

Fear once again crashed through her. Didn't he want her, even now, when his body was hard and ready? Didn't he want her at all? He shoved up on his elbows and twisted, reaching on the nightstand beside the bed. He fumbled, knocking something to the floor before he turned back around and placed a thin, transparent sheath over his erection.

His task done, he reached for her. He ran his hand down her side and pulled her hips toward his. "No babies," he whispered as he found her lips.

Her heart pounded harder, realizing that he hadn't forgotten his promise, and that he meant to protect her even when she hadn't asked or cared, even though an unintended pregnancy would force her down the path
he
wanted.

She held him tight to her as he completed them, as he brought their bodies back together and joined them in a timeless rhythm that stretched across to the moment they had created Charles. Her heart filled with tenderness for this thoughtful and giving man. Felicity realized she'd never stopped loving Tony.

Then she was caught in a place between heaven and earth, floating, spinning out of control, yet here and now bound in the physical realm to the pulsing pleasure in her body. He was her mate, her other half, the twin of her soul, and somewhere in this haze of sensations she could feel the stars as she traveled with him through the throes of passion.

* * *

Tony stared out at the moonlight. He gripped the curtain in one hand and tilted his battered leg so he could rub it. He didn't know what had changed Felicity's mind about wanting to have an affair. Maybe it was the fascination women had for taming men they thought were out of control. No matter how he tried, he couldn't reconcile the past hour and their love-making with her abject horror earlier. She had made it clear she didn't want to talk. Didn't want to sort out their differences. And God help, he was too willing to take her on those terms, on any terms.

"What is this made of?" she asked from the bed.

He glanced over his shoulder and looked at her. He had thought she was asleep, she'd been so quiet and still in the aftermath, after their bodies had cooled and the breathing had returned to normal and he'd tucked her under the covers. Now she leaned up on an elbow, her dark hair tumbling around her lily white shoulders. The sheet barely concealed her rosy-tipped breasts, and his member grew heavy at the thought. She was examining his supply of protection.

"Sheep intestine, I understand."

She wrinkled her nose and looked at him, something between disgust and amusement scrunching up her features. He turned back to the window. How would he be able to leave her this time? How could he not? It would be worse to watch her lack of respect and dismay at him turn to repugnance and disappointment.

"Shall we use another?" She waved one.

"Of course." He dropped the curtain, lingering for a moment, looking for an answer in the mystical light of the moon. He'd offered up his heart again, and she would carve it up and serve it in bite-size pieces eventually.

"The first time we were together..." Her voice trailed off.