Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Remmy woke with a moan and the need to take his cock in hand. A few strokes, and the moan became a curse as he spilled his seed all over the rumpled bed. Ignoring the mess, he laid, eyes closed, on the mattress, unwilling to give up quite yet the image that had woken him.
Tessa. Not even naked. Primly garbed and teasing him with kisses.
In the dream, he’d dropped to his knees before her and kissed her where he’d touched her last night.
In that dreamlike way, the creamy expanse of her thighs had been shadowy, and the taste of her cunny vague.
He’d known the impression of intense pleasure—enough to wake him with a cockstand of epic magnitude—but not the reality.
“‘In that sleep what dreams may come,’” he mumbled, slinging his legs over the side of the bed, “will bloody well kill me.” What a mess.
All of it. He rested his elbows on his bent knees and scratched his fingernails through his hair.
What was he doing? He’d touched Tessa last night, kissed her, let her ride his leg to seek her pleasure.
He’d sell his soul to watch her shatter.
He should have known as soon as he’d seen her at the Folly. He’d run from his heart, hidden it deep, but it was still there, thumping for Tessa.
He’d gone mad, hadn’t he. He should leave.
He’d seen his father, said happy birthday, shown the entire house party how much of a rogue he was, set every tongue wagging.
Time to return to London and see if the Belle’s column had done good work yet.
No telling what he’d do if he stayed. Ruin her entirely. Tell her he lo—
No. He’d never do that again. One moment of humiliation was enough.
But retreat also wasn’t an option. This was his home, his family, and his pool of potential patrons.
By the time he was dressed and descending the stairs, the fever heat of his Tessa dream had receded a bit. He’d likely live with the memory of it hot and alive in his veins till the day he died, but he could cut through it enough to consider next steps.
A scene. He needed a scene. But what sort? Should it involve nudity? It would fit what the Belle had written about him and might grab Tessa’s attention. Would she blush to see him without a shirt? A pretty rush of pink over her lovely cheeks?
“Remmy! Remmy, wait!” A small body crashed into him from behind, and he turned to whoosh his younger sister Aria into the air.
At thirteen years of age, she was certainly light enough to do so with little trouble, but she scowled and swatted his shoulder.
“Do put me down. I’m too old for that, Remmy. ”
He set her on her delicate little slippers and ruffled her dark hair. “Of course you are. Do forgive me, my lady.”
She grabbed his hand and tugged him away from the door. “I need your help. Only you can do it.”
“Do what?”
“There’s a young woman crying in the music room because of a man. I saw the whole thing. He was nasty to her.”
“How did you see the whole thing?”
“I cannot help it if people do not see me. I was trying to find a piece to play on the pianoforte when they stormed in. I hid. It would have been awkward for them if they knew I’d overheard the argument.”
“And how do you think I can help this crying lady?”
“By playing Romeo.”
“Playing… Romeo?”
They stopped outside the music room, and behind the closed door, he could hear the soft sobs of distress.
“Yes,” Aria whispered, “do that charming thing you do that makes ladies melt and feel good about themselves.”
“I do not do that.”
“You do!”
“Aria, I—”
She opened the door, pushed him inside, and slammed the door behind him.
The crying woman looked up. She had yellow hair, a few shades darker than white, and her face was tear-streaked and pale.
Remmy ran a hand through his hair. “I, erm, do apologize for interrupting. I can leave.” He put his hand on the door.
“No, I’ll leave, Mr. Ives.”
He took a step closer to her. “Are you well, Miss…”
“Carter. I’m Miss Carter. Yes, I am well.”
“I can see that. I’m almost speechless.”
“Are you?” She ducked her head and wiped a tear out of her eye. “How so?”
“Beauty does that to a man.” Her cheeks flushed prettily, and he moved closer. “Tell me, how many suitors do you have? I like to know my odds.”
“Oh.” Her smile was small but growing. “One. I think. Perhaps not even that.”
“Good odds then. Excellent.” He crept even closer.
“Oh no, Mr. Ives, your odds are horrible.”
“Are they? I don’t see how.”
“I am in love. With a man other than you, and even if I were not, I do not think it wise for women like me to associate with men like you.”
He sighed. “I suppose if you are in love, my odds are nonexistent. A pity. You’re too pretty for whatever boot brain has succeeded in stealing your heart.
A true flush rushed across her cheeks. She was pleased. “Thank you.”
“If you’re in love, why are you here alone and distressed?”
“I… I will not burden you with my disappointments.”
“Oh, I’m happy to be burdened. But I think… we might burden someone else instead?” He offered her his arm. “Do you know where your suitor is right now?”
“Breaking his fast with the others.”
“I’m feeling famished. What about you?”
She blinked at his offered arm, her hand hesitant at her belly, then she capitulated and let him guide her from the room. A pale face flashed from behind a large potted plant on the side of the hallway—Aria, grinning broadly.
Remmy rolled his eyes. “Do not worry, Miss Carter. I happen to know that jealousy can be quite illuminating.” When they reached the breakfast room, he whispered, “Which one is he?”
She pointed to a young man frowning at a large pile of eggs in front of him.
“Sit across from him,” Remmy said. “I’ll bring you some food.” They parted, and he headed for the sideboard, slowing only when he saw a flash of red hair close to a golden head. Damn Tilbury. He sat next to Tessa a few places down from Miss Carter’s suitor, deep in conversation.
He would ignore them both. Aria wanted him to play Romeo, so that’s what he’d do.
He fixed two plates and joined Miss Carter, placing one in front of her. “There. Everything a beautiful woman needs to conquer the world.”
“Thank you, Mr. Ives.”
It did not escape Remmy’s notice that the man across from them was scowling. So Remmy offered his best grin. “I do not think we’ve met, sir. How do you know my father?”
“I belong to his club in London, and I’ve been lucky to share many conversations with him about England’s future. I am Viscount Jeffers. But you need no introduction. You are the familial black sheep, Remington the Rake.”
“Is that what they’re calling me? How delightful.” He peeked at Tessa.
She was scowling at Viscount Jeffers.
And while that hot-eyed stare would have singed the hair right off Remmy’s head if directed at him, Jeffers didn’t even notice. Some men were too dim for their own good.
“How do you know Miss Carter?” Jeffers demanded.
“I discovered her alone and in need of diversion, and if there’s anything Remington the Rake”—a little growling sound from down the table in Tessa’s direction—“knows how to do well… it’s divert women.”
Now Tessa huffed.
Remmy peeked at her again. She was cutting through a piece of already shredded bacon, her furrowed brow beetling in his direction. Dare he hope she was… jealous?
Tilbury put a calming hand on hers.
Now Remmy was almost growling. He cleared his throat, returned his attention to Jeffers.
“How do you know Miss Carter?” Remmy asked.
“I have known her since we were children. I’m a particular friend of her brother’s.”
Remmy pushed his plate away. His stomach felt heavy and sour, his appetite ruined. “Ah. You should take care of her kindly, then. You know how best to do it.”
Jeffers leaned over the table, eyes locked on Miss Carter. “That’s what I was telling you, Abby. Do not be angry with me.”
Miss Carter’s nose reached new heights. “I think Mr. Ives is doing a rather good job of caring for me. Better than you have this morning.” She took a bite of her eggs.
And Remmy risked another glance at Tessa, who was entirely ignoring Tilbury, who didn’t seem to notice because he was involved in a book.
A book? When a beautiful woman was so close and not paying attention and you wanted her to pay attention more than any other damn thing in the world?
Fool.
Remmy turned to Miss Carter. “I thought we might take a walk in the garden this morning.”
“I should like that. But I must tell my mama.”
“Naturally.”
“Abby!” Jeffers half jumped from his seat, and the chair screeched backward, stopping the chatter across the room.
Silence now, and in it, Jeffers sat slowly, nodding his apologies to the others.
He leaned across the table and hissed, “You cannot walk anywhere with him. You should not be sitting by him as if he were a harmless lap dog.”
“A lap dog?” Remmy chuckled. “I’m at least a good hound. A Saint Bernard, perhaps. I’m not entirely sure. Something big certainly.” He poured tea into a nearby empty cup. “What do you think, Miss King? What kind of dog am I?”
“A slobbering one,” Tessa snapped.
Miss Carter laughed.
“I will not allow you to go anywhere with him,” Jeffers said. “I’ll walk with you this afternoon.”
A moment of silence, and then Miss Carter said in the softest voice, barely heard above the cutlery, “You said this morning you could not stand to be near me.”
“I didn’t mean…” Jeffers pulled at his hair. “I meant…” He cursed under his breath, exhaled sharply, then raised rather adoring eyes at Miss Carter. “Walk with me, Abby. Please.”
Miss Carter took another bite of eggs, patted her mouth with a serviette, then rose. “We’ll see.” She marched out of the room, and Jeffers trailed after her.
Remmy sighed and leaned back in his seat. “A job well done, that.” He tucked into the cooling food on his plate.
“Remmy?” Tessa whispered.