Chapter Fourteen
A Late-Night Encounter
Upon arrival at Merrick House, Richard went immediately to his library. Hansen followed, moving toward the tapestry pull in the corner.
“I’ll ring for John, my lord.”
Richard nodded, wincing. “And send for a decanter of whiskey and some water, Hansen. Miss Valentina is fetching medicine.”
“Is it a bad one, sir?”
He grimaced. “Damnable. And it came on suddenly. Please, no candles…just light the fire.” Once the majordomo left, he collapsed with a groan in the overstuffed armchair by the fire, covering his eyes.
A knock sounded at the door and Valentina entered, carrying a small bottle of laudanum and a glass of water. She set the tray on the sideboard and opened the bottle, holding the dropper over the water.
“Three or five?” she asked sympathetically.
He gritted his teeth. “Five. God, I detest the stuff.”
“Richard, I wish you would take things slower. You carry all the responsibility for the estate and this family and have done so since your youth.”
He downed the glass of water and looked up with the glint of a smile. “Are you telling me I am no longer young, Valentina? Thirty-two is not exactly the end of life.”
“That is not what I meant, and you know it. But you always stay so busy. When you aren’t attending to business, you never relax at home.
It’s always shooting, boxing, driving. Or gambling at your club.
And now you have taken over the guardianship of a ward in addition to everything.
Don’t you think all of this contributes to your headaches? ”
“I don’t know,” he answered wearily. “But I have little choice in my responsibilities, and I enjoy my outside pursuits. They keep me sane.”
“Perhaps if you let Mr. Falworth hire a secretary to help with the estates…”
“Not now, Valentina, I beg you. We will speak of it another time.”
“I will hold you to it,” she said firmly. “Something must change.” She looked as if she would say more, but to his relief, the valet’s entrance interrupted the discussion.
“I can leave the laudanum,” Valentina offered, smoothing a few errant locks back from his forehead.
Richard covered her hand with his. “No, Val, take it away. I should not take any more, even if I am tempted. One dose is enough.”
She bent and kissed his brow. “Try to get some sleep. Perhaps I should call on Fiona to play some soothing music,” she suggested.
“No!” It came out far more emphatically than he intended, and she looked at him with curiosity. “Company is the last thing I require. Go to bed; you must be exhausted.”
For Fiona to see him like this, especially after his shocking behavior this evening, would be mortifying. Richard stood wearily and allowed his valet to remove the tightly fitted jacket and rumpled cravat.
He had tempted the boundaries of good sense, thinking he could hold her again without consequences.
His unfortunate arousal during their waltz had blindsided him.
On the dance floor at Almack’s, no less.
What was it about this woman? She was annoying and headstrong, perplexing as hell, and so vibrant and natural in her beauty that every woman seemed paler in comparison.
He pulled the thin lawn shirt loose from his breeches, tossing it aside, but avoided bending over to remove the rest. John motioned for him to sit, and took off Richard’s buckled shoes, then carefully rolled the white stockings down his calves.
Perhaps he might have controlled the situation if she had not responded so deliciously to his nearness as they danced.
In her innocence, Fiona wouldn’t have recognized her quickened breath and the rapid rise and fall of her perfect breasts as signs of arousal.
But Richard knew better, and his body reacted of its own volition.
It didn’t help that six months had passed since he ended the lengthy affaire with Eleanor. But that excuse would not do. He always had control of his appetites. Richard stood, and John slipped a maroon dressing gown over his loosened shirt and dress breeches.
Thank God, the stabbing agony in his head was beginning to lessen, although he dreaded the dizzy, floating sensation the opiate left behind. Hansen appeared, bearing decanters of whiskey and water. A glass of whiskey on top of the laudanum generally left the earl drowsy enough to sleep.
“Shall I help remove your breeches, my lord?
“No, thank you, John. I shall see you in the morning.” He craved only solitude after an evening full of noise and crowds. The valet bowed and left the room, but Hansen stayed, looking at him with concern.
“Leave the door ajar, Hansen; I find it stuffy in here. There is no need to attend me further; I will go to bed on my own.”
The majordomo obeyed, still looking doubtful.
Once alone, Richard bowed his head, massaging the back of his neck.
He was not ready to retire yet, though the pain had abated and a warm cloud of the opiate settled over his limbs.
The bedchamber just behind the study seemed far away.
He often spent a night battling his headache on the long damask sofa behind him, but tonight, he was satisfied with the comfortable leather chair.
Even though the tight bands constricting his head were easing, it still throbbed. He reached for the whiskey on his side table and poured a healthy portion. Richard sipped it slowly, leaning back against the cushions and allowing the hazy relief of the alcohol to take hold.
His mind wandered into a dreamlike reverie. He was dancing with Fiona, and they were waltzing. Her lithe body teased his erection, but this time he moved closer rather than drawing away, his rigid length pressing against her stomach and thigh.
The ballroom faded, and they were alone in his room.
She smiled enticingly, slipping the satin bodice of her dress down her bare breasts.
They were pale as cream, and the coral tips ruched like tiny rosebuds.
One by one, he pulled the pins from her elaborately styled coiffure and it fell in raven waves about her bare shoulders.
“Richard,” she whispered, pulling aside the curls. “I’m afire for you. Kiss me.”
His hand moved to the fall of his breeches and followed the rigid outline of his cock. He groaned, slowly stroking the erect shaft. The drug seemed to intensify his arousal and it ached unbearably.
A soft knock echoed in the quiet room.
“Damn it, John, I told you to go to bed,” Richard growled.
“My lord, it’s Fiona. I’ve brought something for your headache.”
Without waiting for his answer, she slipped through the door he had foolishly kept ajar.
He blinked, trying to clear his foggy mind.
She stood in her evening dress, though her hair was now bound by a green ribbon in a loose pile on top of her head.
She wore no jewelry and stood like a vision in the middle of his library.
Richard rubbed his eyes but the image remained.
And like some ancient handmaiden, she carried a small pot of dark-blue glass.
*
Fiona waited for Richard to stand and acknowledge her, but he continued to sit by the fireplace. The flame that flickered in the grate was the only light in the dim room. His brow furrowed in a forbidding expression, and he stared as if she were someone he had never seen before.
She paused, wondering if it had been a mistake to interrupt him, but it was too late to repair the damage. “I’m sorry if I disturbed you, but I’ve brought an ointment that will soothe your headache, my lord.”
He remained motionless, each hand gripping the armrest. His eyes were unfocused and slightly confused. She hurried to fill the awkward silence. There was tension in the room she did not understand, as if he were angry at her for something.
“’Twas made by our housekeeper in Barbados and contains herbs that reduce aches and pains. I thought perhaps some on your temples…or the back of your neck…” A muscle twitched in his cheek and her voice trailed away.
“Fiona?” He regarded her with a deep frown.
The silence stretched between them until a log fell on the fire with a whoosh of sparks. He started, and his gaze sharpened on her. She noticed the pupils of his blue-gray irises were huge, but he looked a bit less bemused.
“Thank you.” He got to his feet unsteadily. Was he drunk? The heavy silk dressing gown he wore gaped open to reveal a white shirt, partially unbuttoned over a dusting of dark hair. He was barefoot and certainly not expecting a visitor.
A flush crept up her cheeks as the intimacy of the situation struck home, and she wanted to bolt out of the room.
Instead, she held her ground and squared her shoulders.
She wouldn’t run like a scared rabbit, perhaps just make sure he was well and then leave.
Besides, she was curious as to why he was acting so strangely.
“I hope you are feeling better, Lord Richard. I was concerned for you at the ball.”
“Yes.” He scowled, blinking rapidly and running a hand across his face. The pain must be very bad indeed to warrant such a taciturn reception.
His shirt opened further as he lifted his arm and she glimpsed the ridged lines of his abdomen. Would his entire body be as fine as that? Fiona sensed that she was toying with fire not to leave immediately but couldn’t help herself.
“And I wanted to thank you for tonight. I’m sure the success of my debut is due to your orchestration—”
She broke off, aware that he was staring at her. Not at her face, but lower. His gaze was transfixed on the decolletage of her gown. She should have been shocked. Instead, her breasts tightened painfully, the nipples beading against the thin silk.
A muscle worked in his jaw and he looked up, his eyes glittering with some unreadable emotion.
Fiona held out the jar, dismayed to see that her hand was unsteady. He continued to stare. What was wrong with the man?
“If you would try some ointment—”