Wild Star (Star Quartet 3)

“Do you do that to Laurel?”

“Not for nine years.”

“I don’t believe you. If I hadn’t come into the garden, you would have—”

He cut off her words with his mouth.

She realized then that she was responding to him.

He continued to stroke her, caress her. “Have it your own way,” he said, and came up between her legs. He went deep. “Byrony,” he said, stilling a moment over her, “give over.”

She turned her face away, unaware that her hips lifted to bring him deeper. She heard him growl deep in his throat, felt his powerful body tense over her. It was the oddest feeling to be separate from him. She hated it. He was lying his full length on top of her. She could hear his ragged breathing beside her ear, feel his pounding heartbeat.

“I won’t forgive you this, Brent.”

He raised his head to look down at her. “And you’re a stubborn witch, Byrony. Would be that women were as simple and straightforward as men, then I’d know just how to treat you. You do realize, don’t you, that you didn’t hurt anyone but yourself? As I said, you’re bloody stubborn. Enjoy it. Now, you must excuse me. I have much to to. Not, of course, that I didn’t care for this most charming distraction.”

He rolled off her and rose. She closed her eyes.

“At least, you won’t be ready to pleasure Laurel for a while.”

“No faith in me. So much depends on the woman, you know, and her skill. No, I don’t suppose you’d know about that, would you?”

Byrony rolled over onto her stomach.

Brent started to say something conciliating. No, he thought, he wanted to talk to Laurel first. He wanted to know why she’d begged him to kiss her, knowing that Byrony was watching them.

“Don’t be silly, Brent. I didn’t see your little wife. It’s just that I’m lonely, that’s all, and I still have very strong feelings for you.”

“There’s certainly no reason for you to be lonely,” he said. “Drew was telling me you have all the men in the county after you.”

“It’s true. But they’re waiting, you know, to see what you do with Wakehurst.”

“Which one of them will you accept?”

“If you leave Wakehurst and don’t leave me penniless, I suppose it will be Samuel Simpson. He had two children by his first wife. They’re both boys, but quite a bit younger than you were.”

“Thank God for that,” Brent said. “I won’t leave you penniless, Laurel. Do what you want to with Simpson. Incidentally, I’m leaving Wakehurst. There wasn’t much doubt about that. Your game—no, don’t deny it—it made no difference. It just so happens that I love my wife. I think she’s mad as hell at me right now, but”—he shrugged—“life with Byrony will never be boring.”

Drew was in the midst of painting an azalea, a painstaking task that required just the right mixture of paints and the lighest of touches.

“Drew.”

Very carefully he stepped back from the canvas. “You nearly made me do in a flower, Byrony,” he said, smiling at her.

“You’re all packed,” Byrony said.

“Yes,”

“I’ll miss you.”

“And I you. Perhaps you can talk that brother of mine into traveling to Paris. You’d enjoy it there, Byrony.”

Drew watched her walk silently about his studio, running her fingertips over holland-covered furniture.

“What is it, Byrony? You’re not sill brooding on that ridiculous fiasco in the garden? Brent is an honorable man, I promise you.”

She stopped, drew a deep breath, but said nothing. Drew would stand with Brent. He was a man, after all, and men stood together. “Nothing is wrong, Drew. I merely wanted to talk to you a moment. Your azalea is very pretty.”