Sharing Adam (8 page)

“I think that’s unlikely.” Was it wrong of him to wish for every man who’d ever shown the faintest spark of interest in Charlotte to show up at the de Vere estate tonight? Tremulously, Alastair took the ring and slipped it onto the tip of his finger. It would make a curiously perfect fit around the slender digit. “I don’t believe she has any other remaining suitors.” Maybe she had once, but not anymore. Jude was all any woman would desire. His cousin’s hold was firmly set.

Nausea swelled in Alastair’s belly at the thought of the pair together. He’d have to take himself off somewhere, perhaps as far as India. He knew he couldn’t stand to be around them, knowing they were sharing a bed. Unconsciously, he rotated the golden band with his thumb, counting the embedded sapphires. Eight, one for each month of their friendship. Their blue a perfect match for his cousin’s eyes.

“Do you love her, Jude?” He had to know the truth.

Jude curled his hand over the top of Alastair’s fingers and reclaimed the ring. “Is that a prerequisite to your approval? You’re a hopeless romantic, de Vere. It’s all that gothic nonsense you read. I’ll wager you believe in love at first sight and happily ever after too.”

“Maybe.”

His companion laughed. “Love grows, what you experience first is lust. Sticky, sensual, all-consuming lust. No wonder your mama despairs over you ever finding a bride.” He clapped Alastair upon the shoulder and squeezed.

“It’s hardly imperative that I marry. The burden of inheritance lies with Alexander.” Alastair turned away, feeling distinctly peaky and unable to mask the emotion. He did believe in love in first sight, had done so from the very first moment he’d stared into Jude’s hazel-green eyes and felt his world shift. Perhaps that’s why the dismissal hurt so much, nothing to do with Charlotte.

“You don’t require my approval, Jude. Just my uncle’s.” Which was probably just as well, as he’d never be able to give his. He couldn’t pretend he wanted to see his friend wed.

Charlotte was as delightful as she was fair. And with her broad hips would likely produce scores of hearty babes to delight the de Vere and Leveson mamas. But he wanted Jude for himself. All to himself.

“It’d be nice to think you at least wished us well.” Jude’s hand pressed against the front of Alastair’s coat.

The touch ignited sparks. Nerve bundles fired together and stoked a fire in his groin. Each and every contact with Jude was both unbearable agony and unparalleled bliss. His body screamed for more, even as his head told him flee, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to break free. For a few fleeting moments, he imagined instead, the feel of Jude’s arms around him, holding him. He pictured them both stretched upon the carpet below, Jude upon his back with the neck of his shirt open so that a tempting sliver of skin showed. He didn’t resist as Alastair pushed his hand inside the narrow opening and spread his fingers possessively wide, although he jerked upwards releasing a sharp gasp as the caress encroached upon one nipple.

“Alastair.” Jude’s hand remained pressed against his coat. “You do wish us well, don’t you?” He let his palm drift uncertainly downward.

“Of course.” Alastair summoned a grin. “Of course.”
You godawful liar
, he cursed himself.

Just shy of the west tower door, Jude cast a wary glance over his shoulder at Alastair’s drawn face. So much for a night of fun and laughter! His friend was typically as stiff as a parson in a buttonhole factory, and getting him to relax always took a great deal of port and effort, but this evening he was wound tighter than usual. What should have been a night of ghoulish idiocy was going to be darned long and painful if he didn’t settle himself soon.

Jude twisted the tower door ring, but the latch still didn’t budge. God help them, maybe Alastair would be less spooked once they were comfortably settled and had cracked a few more bottles of that excellent elderberry wine. He gave the catch another wrench, this time putting his shoulder to the door. Finally, the rusty latch gave, sending him swinging into the room.

Somebody really needed to spruce this old place up a bit. It was downright shameful to let it rot. But the rest of the family seemed to have the same reserve towards the place as Alastair. Maybe he could stipulate something in the marriage negotiations to help see the place opened up again.

“Maybe we could hold the wedding breakfast in here,” he mused aloud. The remark only intensified Alastair’s scowl. Still swinging with the natural rhythm of the door, Jude surveyed the dingy surroundings. Splintered shutters covered all three windows, blocking out most of the fading daylight, although enough red pierced the gloom to allow him to discern what few furnishings remained.

Dresser, wormy sea chest, bed. That was it. There weren’t even any curtains left on the bed, just more tattered cobwebs. Weirdly, he hadn’t spied any spiders yet, though they’d certainly been busy about the place.

“Shall we take this one, or progress to the next?” he asked. He couldn’t honestly say he wished to sleep here, considering the fusty miasma rising from the bed.

Alastair stuck his head over the threshold and shook his head. “I’d rather take the downstairs carpet. It reeks of mildew in here.”

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About the Author

Madelynne Ellis is a multi-published British author of erotic romance. Her novels and short stories have been published by a variety of houses both in the UK and US, and have been translated into German, Spanish and Norwegian. She is best known for her Regency set novels for pioneering British erotica publisher Black Lace, but also enjoys writing contemporary and paranormal settings. Her aim is to deliver scorching, character-driven stories that enchant, torment and don’t shy from darker aspects of life.

Madelynne lives in the UK with her partner of 20 years, their two adorable children and a chocoholic rabbit. When not writing she enjoys live role-playing, solving puzzles and hanging out online.

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