Mastered by Love (Bastion Club 8)

That had been Margaret’s voice; he could hear her rus tling and puffing as she toiled up the main stairs behind him, along with some other lady.

Taking a firmer grip on his temper, he turned, and saw that Aurelia was Margaret’s companion. “Wonderful.”

The muttered sarcasm reached Margaret as she bustled up, but only confused her. He waved aside her puzzled look. “What is it?”

She halted a pace away, glanced at Aurelia as she joined her, then, hands gripped before her, looked at him. “We wanted to ask if you would be agreeable to us inviting some others up for the fair.”

“It used to be one of the highlights of our year when we lived here.” Aurelia lifted her chin, her cold eyes fixing on his face. “We would like your permission to hold a house party, like Mama used to.”

He looked from one hard, arrogantly aristocratic face to the other; he knew what those simple words had cost them. To have to ask their little brother, of whom they’d always disapproved, for permission to hold a party in their childhood home.

His first impulse was to tell them he’d rather all the visitors left—freeing him to pursue Minerva through the day as well as the night. But no matter his view of his sisters, this was their childhood home and he didn’t feel justified in barring them from it—which meant having others about was necessary for cover, and to distract them.

Neither Margaret nor Aurelia was at all observant, and while Susannah was more so, not even she had yet divined the nature of his interest in Minerva. She was his chatelaine; they assumed that was the reason behind every word he and she exchanged.

Aurelia had grown restless. “We’d thought to ask no more than ten extra—those already here will stay.”

“If you allow it,” Margaret hurriedly added.

Aurelia’s thin lips pressed together; she inclined her head. “Indeed. We thought…”

Tempting as it was to let them do more violence to their feelings, he’d much rather listen to Minerva gasping, sobbing, and moaning. He spoke over Aurelia. “Very well.”

“You agree?” Margaret asked.

“Keep it within reason—nothing more than Mama used to do.”

“Oh, we will.” Aurelia’s eyes lit, her face softening.

He didn’t want to feel the spark of pity that flared as he looked at them; they were married, had position, houses, and families, yet still they were searching for…happiness. Nodding curtly, he turned on his heel. “Speak with Retford, then tell Minerva what you want to do. I’ll warn her.”

His sisters’ thanks faded behind him as he strode into the keep proper.

Anticipation mounting, he headed for his rooms.

When, more than an hour later, he closed his hand about the knob of Minerva’s door, frustration was riding him hard. He’d assumed she’d left the gathering early so she could slip into his rooms unseen; he’d expected to find her there, in his bed, waiting. As he’d walked through his sitting room, the image he’d expected to see had filled his mind…

Instead, for some misbegotten reason, she’d retired to her bed. Turning the knob, he stepped quickly inside and shut the door. She was leaning against the side of the window; arms folded, she’d been looking out at the night.

As he crossed the room, she pushed away from the window frame, with one hand pushed back the heavy fall of her hair, then delicately smothered a yawn. “I thought you’d be up earlier.”

He halted before her; hands rising to his hips, he looked down at her. She appeared faintly tousled, her lids already heavy. He wanted nothing more than to haul her into his arms, but…“I was up earlier.” He spoke quietly, but his tone made her blink. “I expecte

d to find you gracing my bed. But you weren’t there. Then I had to wait for all the others to go to their beds before I came here. I thought I’d made it plain which bed we’d be using.”

She’d straightened; she narrowed her eyes on his. “That was last night. Correct me if I err”—her diction attained the same cutting precision as his—“but when engaged in an illicit liaison, it’s customary for the gentleman to join the lady in her room. In her bed.” She glanced at her bed, then looked pointedly at him.

Lips thinning, he held her gaze, then nodded curtly. “Perhaps. In this case, however—” He stepped smoothly around her and swept her up in his arms.

She gasped, clutched his coat, but didn’t bother asking where he was taking her as he strode for the door.

He juggled her, reached for the knob.

“Wait! Someone might see.”

“They’re all in bed. Someone’s bed.” Enjoying themselves. “They won’t be playing musical beds just yet.” He grasped the knob.

“But I’ll have to get back here in the morning! I never wander the corridors in just my robe.”