Lords Of Desire Part 36

"Attacked?" Christobel could barely believe it.

"Yes, and she stumbled out for help, her dress in tatters. Thank G.o.d Mr. Leyden is an early riser and happened upon her when he did. She told him what happened and..." Edith trailed off, covering her mouth with a trembling hand. "It's dreadful, isn't it? His references were sterling; there was no hint of it, or we'd never have engaged him. I feel so...so responsible. The poor girl's mother." A fat tear rolled down Edith's cheek.

Christobel clutched her sister's hands in her own. "Please don't cry, Edie. It can't be good for you, not in your condition. Come, you must go lie down. Where's Mother?"

"Not yet arisen, thank goodness. I...perhaps I should go lie down. The doctor should be here any moment. Perhaps after he sees to Marie, he'll look in on me."

"Of course," Christobel said, rising from the settee and leading Edith toward the stairs.

"I hope Mr. Leyden has taken care of the...the situation with the footman," Edith said, her voice tremulous.

"I think he has." And dear Lord, how she'd wronged him. The things she'd said...Christobel shook her head, her cheeks burning with mortification. How would she ever apologize? If only she'd known, if only she'd minded her own business and hurried inside like any proper lady would have done when faced with such a scene.

But no, she had to champion what appeared to be an injured party, as was her habit. Only in this case, the injured party was some poor girl named Marie, not the servant boy.

Christobel let out her breath in a rush, feeling like a fool.

"Come, Edith. Let me help you upstairs. Shall I call for some tea?"

"No, I already had my tea in bed."

Edith looked entirely discomposed, slightly dazed as Christobel escorted her up the stairs and down the corridor toward her bedchamber.

Once they stepped inside, Edith's maid helped her undress and settled her into bed.

"Shall I read to you?" Christobel offered, reaching for the slim, leather-bound book that sat on the commode beside the bed.

"If you don't mind. Anything to take my mind off the situation belowstairs."

And so Christobel opened the book and began to read aloud.

Hours later, Christobel sat on the bench in the front hall, waiting for Mr. Leyden to appear. After she'd left her sister's bedside and had her bath, she'd changed into a simple lawn skirt and blouse and had her hair put in proper order by Simpson. Still, she felt anything but orderly as she sat waiting for what felt like an eternity.

At last Mr. Leyden stepped out of Jasper's study and closed the door, headed down the corridor toward her. Twisting the handkerchief she held in her lap, Christobel rose to face him.

Mr. Leyden stopped short when he saw her there. "Miss Smyth," he said coldly.

Gathering her courage, she spoke quickly. "Mr. Leyden, I must have a word with you."

"No need," he said sharply, pushing past her.

Impulsively, she reached out and plucked at his sleeve. "I beg to differ, sir. I...I behaved most inexcusably this morning, and you must allow me to apologize. I had no idea of the situation, and I had no right-"

"Indeed, you hadn't." He stared down at her in his usual supercilious manner, only this time Christobel could not resent it. Truly, she deserved it.

"I...I'm ashamed of the things I said to you. You must think me an unbearable fool."

He said nothing in reply, neither denying nor confirming the accusation. Instead, he rubbed his chin with one hand, and Christobel winced at the sight of his bruised, swollen knuckles.

"I could find some bandages and wrap your hand," she offered. "With some liniment, perhaps, and-"

"That won't be necessary," he said, cutting her off.

Nodding, Christobel dropped her gaze to the floor.

"Miss Smyth, I..." He cleared his throat. "Your words weren't so very far off the mark. The idea of a man raising a hand to a woman tends to blind me with rage. I'm only sorry that you saw me in such a state."

Christobel couldn't hide her astonishment.

"I apologize for speaking so frankly, Miss Smyth. If you'll excuse me." He made to quit her company once more.

Christobel shook her head. "I insist you let me take a look at that hand, Mr. Leyden. Please. It's the least I can do."

He relented, the barest hint of a smile on his lips. "If it will ease your conscience," he quipped.

"Mother always travels with her special liniment. If you'll just let me fetch a tube and some bandages, I'll see to it straightaway."

He flexed his hand, wincing as he did so. "Hurts like the devil."

"Wait right here," she said. "No, better yet, wait for me in the library. The light's so much better in there. Go on; I'll be there directly."

Not five minutes later she found him in the library, sprawled in a worn leather chair, his long legs stretched out before him, a gla.s.s of brandy clutched in his good hand. Nothing but his familiar brooding silence greeted her, the glimmer of good humor entirely gone.

Steeling herself, she hurried across the room and knelt before him, uncapping the tube of her mother's liniment. "Let me see it," she said, leaning across his lap to take his hand in her own. He visibly flinched as she did so, as if repulsed by her touch, her very nearness.

She couldn't help but bristle. After all, she was just trying to help, to make amends. "Perhaps I should send in my maid, instead."

He looked startled. "If you'd prefer, Miss Smyth. I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable."

Christobel sat back on her heels, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. Truth be told, she hadn't the slightest idea what she was doing. It wasn't as if she'd ever treated an injury like this before-his knuckles might be broken for all she knew.

"I don't quite see the humor in the situation," he muttered.

"I'm only laughing at my own inept.i.tude. But must we always quarrel?" she asked, shaking her head. "We're nearly family, you and I. Some sort of cousin-in-law, I suppose, if such a relation exists. Would it be so very wrong for you to call me Christobel? Miss Christobel, perhaps, if it felt more comfortable?"

John shifted uneasily in his seat, taking a sip of brandy to avoid replying. Christobel remained at his feet, looking up at him hopefully. Her skin was flushed a delicious shade of pink, the sooty lashes above her green eyes fluttering prettily as she awaited his reply. Devil take it, how lovely she was. How he longed to call her by her Christian name; how he wanted that intimacy.

But d.a.m.n it, the rational part of him must prevail. She did not desire such intimacy with him, of all people. No matter his money, his success, nothing could give him the breeding that she was born to, that his cousin Jasper was born to. She thought him uneducated, uncultured, uncouth- "Mr. Leyden?" Christobel asked, peering up at him with drawn brows. "You must let me see your hand."

"Go on, then," he grunted, giving himself up to her ministrations.

He ordered himself to ignore the feel of her bare fingers against his; to ignore the way his skin warmed to her touch; to ignore the fact that his c.o.c.k swelled and pressed painfully against his trousers-proof that he was every bit as coa.r.s.e, as base as she believed him to be. b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l.

It was no use; the battle was lost. In one swift motion, he reached for Christobel's wrist and dragged her into his lap.

CHAPTER 4.

Mr. Leyden's mouth m.u.f.fled her gasp of surprise, his lips hard and unyielding against hers. For a moment she thought to scream; instead, she pressed her fists against his chest, trying to push him away. As if fueled by her protests, his tongue sought entrance to her mouth, dancing along her lower lip-teasing, testing.

She could have bit him then. Should have. It was no less than he deserved, the brute. Instead, she yielded. G.o.d help her, but her lips parted and her own tongue met his, warm and alive. Next thing she knew she was kissing him back, as roughly and thoroughly as he was kissing her. A soft moan escaped her lips and his grasp on her wrist tightened in reply.

For a fleeting moment she thought he might be punishing her, yet she didn't care. She couldn't care. Couldn't think. Couldn't feel anything but the warmth that spread through her body, making her heart beat a wild rhythm, her limbs suddenly weak.

And then she did bite him, just a nip on his lower lip. A low growl tore from his throat and his body tensed beneath hers, but he did not push her away. Instead his kiss deepened, his body straining against hers, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s now pressed flat against his coat.

Her nipples had stiffened, her undergarments abrading them, the sensation both wicked and welcome. Beneath her, she felt his arousal, hard and firm, pressing against her bottom.

I should stop this, her mind screamed in protest. Now, before it was too late, before- Mr. Leyden abruptly released her wrist and struggled to stand, nearly toppling her over in the process. "Good G.o.d, I-"

"No," she choked out, humiliated beyond belief. "Don't...don't say anything. Please." Not till she got her wits back-not till she could think clearly and rationally.

"Devil take it, your wrist," he said, his voice hoa.r.s.e.

Shaking her head in confusion, she glanced down at the wrist he'd held captive just moments before. The marks his fingers had left behind were faintly visible on her skin. "It's...it's nothing," she stammered.

He raked a hand through his hair, a muscle in his jaw throbbing as he did so. She'd never before seen him so discomposed, so thoroughly vexed. "You must forgive me," he said, his voice wavering slightly. "d.a.m.n it all, I've no excuse-"

"Please, Mr. Leyden. I...I must go." Without waiting for his reply, she turned and fled from the library, her vision blurred by the unexpected nuisance of tears.

Christobel stepped into the drawing room and found Edith standing by the window, gazing out on the lawn below.

"Have all your guests arrived?" Christobel asked. She'd been out in the garden sitting by the pond, listening to the steady procession of carriages and the occasional motorcar in the drive.

"They have. Everyone is settling into their rooms at present, but I expect them all to a.s.semble outside before the hour is out. I thought we'd enjoy some lawn games before tea."

"That sounds like great fun."

Edith looked toward the hall with a frown. "Have you by any chance seen Mr. Leyden today? I vow, I've seen neither hide nor hair of the man since Wednesday. Odd, isn't it?"

Christobel felt the heat rise in her cheeks. He was avoiding her, hiding from her, and she knew exactly why. That d.a.m.nable kiss. Meant to punish and humiliate her, and it had done exactly that. How could she ever forgive herself for succ.u.mbing to it, for kissing him back the way she had?

She'd thought of nothing else since that day in the library, her mind reduced to a muddled, confounded mess. Even Edith had commented once or twice that Christobel had seemed distracted, and how on earth could she answer that charge?

Why, it's just that John Leyden kissed me, you see. A hard, punishing kiss that I somehow enjoyed. He despises me, and yet...and yet he was clearly aroused. So was I, if truth be told.

Never in a million years could she speak such words to her sister!

"Miss Bartlett does not usually partic.i.p.ate in lawn games," Edith continued on, "and I was hoping Mr. Leyden might escort her on a stroll about the gardens, instead. Oh, there's Jasper now! I must go ask him if he's seen him. Go and change into your tennis costume, won't you? That lovely striped flannel one; it'll do nicely." Edith hurried off without waiting for Christobel's reply.

It turned out Miss Bartlett did play lawn tennis. Quite badly, Christobel decided as she stood across the net from the woman, waiting patiently for her serve. As much as Christobel would have liked to claim exhaustion and quit the match, that would mean rejoining Sir Edmund there on the patio, and she'd already had enough of the man's attentions. Not that he was disagreeable; in fact, he was quite jolly. Too jolly, perhaps. And the way he looked at her...well, it was as if he were judging livestock at the county fair.

At last, Miss Bartlett took her serve. The ball flew through the air, over Christobel's head and beyond the hedgerow behind her. A resounding thunk could be heard in the distance as the ball hit a structure, likely her sister's greenhouse.

"I'm hopeless!" Miss Bartlett cried out, laughing at her own inept.i.tude with a good grace that Christobel admired greatly. "I hope you'll forgive me if I retire to the patio for some lemonade, Miss Smyth. I'm sure you can find a more worthy opponent."

"I've had quite enough of the game myself," Christobel called out cheerily, reaching up to adjust her cap. "Just let me fetch the ball and I'll join you."

Dropping her racquet to the lawn, she headed off in search of the errant ball, poking around the bushes surrounding the greenhouse with no luck. The door was slightly ajar, so she hurried inside, inhaling the sweet, heady fragrance. She closed the door to peer behind it, then began to search the floor beneath the many pots and trellises. Wherever could it have gone?

"Looking for this?" a voice called out, startling her so badly that she b.u.mped her head on a clay pot that held a lemon tree.

"Oh! Good heavens, I think I've cracked my skull." Christobel straightened, rubbing her head as she looked about for the voice's owner.

Mr. Leyden stood scowling near a potted jasmine, the tennis ball clutched in one hand.

She couldn't help but sigh in exasperation. "Pray tell, Mr. Leyden, do you always skulk about, hoping to frighten me half to death? Whatever are you doing, hiding in here? Edith has been looking for you all afternoon."

"Which is precisely why I'm here," he answered. "Are you injured?" He closed the distance that separated them in several long strides.

"It's nothing mortal, I a.s.sure you."

He only nodded in reply, his eyes cool and guarded-an entirely different man from the one who'd pulled her into his lap and kissed her with a fierce cruelty. He showed no remorse, nor any desire to repeat such behavior.

At the very least, he should beg her forgiveness. She was a lady, after all, and...She let the thought trail off. She did not wish for an apology, not really. Instead, she wished for a hint of longing, of yearning in his eyes; for some indication that the kiss had affected him the same way it had affected her.

Yet there was nothing in his countenance to suggest such a thing. Tamping down her humiliation, she boldly met his gaze. "You're meant to be entertaining Miss Bartlett, you know. Have you made her acquaintance yet?"

"Briefly."

"Well, then, you must satisfy my curiosity," she said, endeavoring to keep her voice light and teasing. She would play the part of coquette, and play it well. "Is it Miss Bartlett you're hiding from, or is it me?"

"And you must satisfy mine, Miss Smyth," he countered. "Was there no servant to be spared to look for this"-he held up the ball-"or were you, too, hoping to escape your sister's meddling?"

"Oh!" Christobel gasped in outrage.

"No? Jasper tells me that Edith was particularly looking forward to introducing you to Sir Edmund Blake. A fine catch, Jasper called him."

Christobel reached for the ball with a sigh of defeat, wondering just why she had come after it. They had an entire basket of b.a.l.l.s, after all. There was nothing special about this one. "It would seem we're both victims of Edith's matchmaking efforts," she said with a shrug. "I have not yet formed an opinion of Sir Edmund, though Miss Bartlett does seem quite pleasant, does she not? Perhaps there's some merit to-"

"I do not need your sister's a.s.sistance where women are concerned."

"Oh? Well, then. Is there a particular lady with whom you-"

"No," he interrupted, but said no more.

"Pray, forgive me," Christobel said. "I didn't mean to pry."

A moment of uncomfortable silence ensued, and yet neither made to leave.

"I'm somewhat acquainted with Sir Edmund Blake," Mr. Leyden said at last. "He is a gentleman, and one with whom I can find no fault. Perhaps you will find his company more pleasant than mine."