Fanning the Flame (36 page)

Her hands trembled as she touched him, explored a flat copper nipple, felt the shudder that rippled through him. Very gently he cupped a breast, his fingers warm where they rubbed across her nipple. Very thoroughly, he kissed her. A slow, erotic, sensual kiss, and yet it was achingly tender.

He kissed his way down her neck, pressed his lips against her collarbone, trailed kisses lower, and took the weight of her breast into his mouth. The small bud at the crest puckered and tightened. She trembled at the feel of his lips and teeth, at the slickness of his tongue circling her nipple. Heat enveloped her, swelled inside her like the building storm.

He moved lower. His tongue ringed her navel and she shifted restlessly on the mattress. Her body felt hot, her skin tight and flushed. He moved down her body, eased her legs apart, and settled himself between them. He kissed her belly, found the soft thatch of dark red curls at the juncture of her legs, and kissed her there, slowly kissed the insides of her thighs.

She moaned as his hands slid under her bottom and he lifted her, pressed his mouth against her softness. Her hands slid into his hair and heavy black curls wrapped around her fingers. She trembled as he parted the folds of her sex with his tongue and she couldn't believe what he was doing, couldn't believe it could feel so impossibly good. Need encompassed her. Her thighs fell open and her hips arched up. She fisted the sheets and bit down on her lip to keep from crying out at the sheer, sweet pleasure pouring through her.

He took her with tenderness and endless determination, using his mouth and hands, making the need swell until she could no longer control it. Her climax came swift and hard, flooding her with a deep, drenching pleasure. Her flesh pulsed and heat sliced through her like lightning.

In the flickering orange glow of the fire, his eyes looked nearly black as he came up over her. Her fingers dug into his shoulders and she felt the muscles bunch as he surged inside her, filling her with a single deep thrust.

She moaned at the fresh heat stirring to life inside her. Muscles that were limp and sated coiled and tightened with renewed desire. Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled. Her hands smoothed over the wide, sleek muscles in his back as he began to move and she thought that nothing had ever felt so good, so right. She loved him completely and forever, and tomorrow she would lose him.

The tempo of his movements increased, the deep thrust and drag of his shaft, the powerful drive of his long, lean body. She could feel his muscles tightening, rippling, straining for control. His rhythm increased, carrying her toward the pinnacle that she had reached before. Adam drove faster, deeper, harder.

"Come with me," he whispered, and the rough, erotic cadence of his voice spun her over the edge.

I
love you,
she thought.
I
love you so much.

Afterward, they lay together. After all they had been through these past terrible weeks, exhaustion claimed them and they slept for a while. Near dawn, cradled spoon-fashion against him, she felt him stir, felt the growing hardness of his arousal. He made love to her slowly, with great care and tenderness, and so thoroughly that when he was finished she slept again and didn't hear him leave.

By the time she awakened late in the morning, Adam was gone.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Jillian's heart felt leaden as she tossed back the covers and eased from the bed. Her body ached in places it never had before and a slight headache pounded at her temples. She flicked a glance at the bed, wondering when Adam had left her, missing him already. She barely heard the knock at the door before Maude bustled in and threw open the curtains.

Outside the window, the rain had stopped but sullen gray clouds hung over the city and a heavy mist hung in the air.

"’Tis time to be packin' yer things," the Irishwoman said, scurrying toward the armoire. " 'Tisn't every day a lady gets invited ta stay with a duke."

Jillian suppressed a twinge of despair. She was leaving the home that had been her place of refuge for the past four weeks. She thought of little Christopher and how much she had come to love him. She remembered Adam's heated lovemaking last night.

She thought of how much she loved him, thought of all she was leaving behind, and a cold knot formed in the pit of her stomach. She was free again, cleared of the charges against her. But as Maude continued to pack her things, sadness settled like a heavy black cloak around Jillian's heart.

Maggie Hawthorne shoved open the door to Adam's greenhouse the following morning and stepped into the warm, humid interior. Through the leafy foliage, she caught a glimpse of Adam's hair, the same raven black as her own, as he bent over a purple ruffled orchid.

"Good morning," she said, walking toward him. He turned at the sound of her voice. "Reggie told me you were out here."

He smiled as he came to his feet—a wide, full, generous flash of white, the kind of smile she hadn't seen on her brother's face since he was a dashing young student at Oxford.

He brushed the rich black soil off his hands. "You're looking lovely this morning. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Maggie sighed. "The gossip in town is rampant. The
Chronicle
says Howard Telford shot the Earl of Fenwick, that he admitted it just before he died."

"Yes, thank God."

"The article said you were there with Rathmore and Jillian when Madeleine Telford shot him."

"I'm afraid that's also true."

God, she'd been praying it was a mistake, that Adam hadn't been anywhere near this latest scandal.

"Does that mean Jillian no longer faces charges?"

As he finished washing his hands, Adam flashed another winning smile. "She's been completely exonerated of any involvement in Fenwick's murder."

"I never believed she did it. She simply isn't the sort."

Adam's features held a longing Maggie had never seen before. "I'm going to marry her, Maggie."

Dear God.
The blood in her face completely drained away. Sweet Jesus, this couldn't be happening. "Then you must . . . must be in love with her."

His eyes sparkled, seemed a brighter shade of blue. "I didn't realize it at first. But Jillian's different, gentle and loving, courageous and loyal. When I'm with her . . ." He shook his head. "I don't know . . . she makes me feel like the man I was before I went to war."

Maggie's heart tugged. She loved her brother. During his years in the army, he had suffered more than his share of pain. She wanted him to be happy.

She had never imagined that happiness would come at the cost of her own.

She pasted on a smile and walked toward him, went into his arms, and gave him a long, warm hug. "I'm happy for you, Adam. I'm so glad you finally found someone to love."

He let go of her, his mood a little pensive. "I never really thought I would. Not after Caroline."

Maggie kept her smile in place, though her heart was beating with a rhythm that was almost painful. She refused to think of Garth and what his family would say about the Earl of Blackwood marrying a woman of Jillian's reputation. She knew any hope she had of marrying Garth would disappear the day her brother wed.

"Where is Jillian? I didn't see her when I came in. Have you asked her yet?"

"She's staying with Kassandra and Clay. The gossip has been vicious enough already. This afternoon, I'm going to look for a ring. I thought on Saturday night the four of us would go out for a very proper evening. I want to take her somewhere special. A private room at the Golden Chalice, perhaps. She's never been properly courted. I want her to have a night she'll remember. I thought I would ask her afterward, in the gardens at Rathmore Hall."

She caught the edge of nervousness in Adam's voice. Did he actually believe Jillian might refuse? It was obvious she was in love with him, and the evening he planned sounded wonderfully romantic.

Garth's golden-haired image popped into her head. She could almost hear his deep laughter, feel the heat of his mouth moving over hers. Maggie blinked back a sudden sheen of tears.

Adam tilted her chin up. "You're not crying, are you?"

She forced her lips to curve. "I'm just so happy. Be sure to tell Jillian how very pleased I am."

And part of her was. She had worried about Adam for years. She had seen his loneliness and the hard protective shell he had built around himself. She had hoped one day he would find someone who could break through that shell and bring his loneliness to an end. And she liked Jillian, she really did. Under different circumstances, she would have been overjoyed at her brother's choice of wife.

Leaning toward him, she kissed his lean cheek and hoped he didn't notice that her lips were trembling.

"I know you're going to be very happy, Adam.  Now, I'm afraid I've got to run. I expect to hear all the details after everything is official."

Adam nodded, smiled again. She couldn't remember ever seeing him smile so often. As Maggie climbed into her waiting carriage, she thought of Garth and fought not to cry.

He hadn't been to see her. Undoubtedly, he was aware of the shooting and that Jillian and Adam had been there that night. Every tongue in London was wagging and it was bound to go on for years.

And Madeleine Telford's trial still lay ahead. Adam would have to testify, perhaps Jillian as well. For generations, the Dutton family had kept itself aloof from any sort of scandal. If there had ever been a chance that Garth would want her for his wife, that chance was over now.

Once the coach arrived home, she managed to make it upstairs before she started to cry, but the minute she closed the door, a flood of tears erupted. She pulled the strings on her blue silk bonnet and tossed it aside, then crumpled down on her big feather bed.

She wanted her brother to be happy—she did— but dear God in heaven, she hadn't expected his happiness would destroy her own. She swallowed past the tight knot in her throat, thinking of Garth, thinking how desperately she had come to love him.

Wishing that she had never met him.

How could she have been stupid enough to fall in love?

"Margaret?" The sound of her niece's bitter sobs echoed across the bedchamber. Sophie felt a jolt of alarm. "Margaret, whatever is the matter?"

Curled in the middle of her big feather bed, her niece sat up on the bed. She madly wiped her eyes but they looked red-rimmed and damp. There was simply no way to mistake Maggie's misery, and worry hastened Sophie across the room.

"Come, dear one, tell me what is wrong."

Maggie dragged in a shuddering breath. "Oh, Aunt Sophie, I feel so absolutely wretched!" She started weeping again and Sophie opened her arms.

"There, there, my dear. Surely it can't be as bad as all that."

"It's worse than that, Aunt Sophie."

"Come now. We'll sit down in front of the fire and you can tell me all about it." Sophie led her to a settee and chairs grouped around the hearth, then went over and tugged on the bell pull. In seconds, a chambermaid appeared with a silver tea tray. As soon as the maid left the room, Sophie poured them each a cup.

"Now. Tell me what is wrong." She handed the cup and saucer to Maggie, who grasped it with trembling hands.

"What's wrong is that I'm a stupid, silly fool. I've fallen in love with Garth Dutton and there is no way on God's green earth he is ever going to marry me."

"That is completely ridiculous. The man is obviously smitten. It is only a matter of time before he makes an offer."

Maggie's eyes filled with tears and Sophie handed her a handkerchief. "Even if he wanted to, his family would forbid it. You know how well-respected the Dutton name is. Garth is in line for the barony. He'll be expected to marry someone with a name as old and revered as his own."

Seated in a blue velvet chair across from her niece, Sophie steadied the cup and saucer in her lap. "I realize our family has suffered a bit of scandal over the years. Your brother's involvement with that woman—Miss Whitney—certainly didn't do us any good, but at least she has been cleared of the murder. Allowing her into his house was in the worst possible taste, but I'm sure he'll move her out now that this is over."

"He already has. She is staying at Rathmore Hall with the duke and duchess."

"There, you see? Matters are improving already. Men are always allowed their little indiscretions, and even should the affair continue, you know the way your brother is. It won't be long before he grows tired of her."

Maggie's eyes filled with tears. "Adam's going to marry her, Aunt Sophie."

Sophie's hand shook, rattling her cup. "Good Lord, you can't be serious."

"He's going to ask her on Saturday night." Her niece looked even more miserable. "Jillian's going to be the next Countess of Blackwood."

"Oh, dear, oh, dear."

Maggie sniffed back tears. "I like her, Aunt Sophie, and I want Adam to be happy. I just wish I didn't have to lose Garth."

Sophie straightened her spine. "Garth is a strong, independent man. Perhaps this won't make any difference."

But they both knew it would, that the chances of an offer had dwindled the moment this latest story had hit the papers. They would dissolve completely the day Adam and his latest mistress wed.