The Many Sins of Cris De Feaux (Lords of Disgrace 3)

‘As you are doing here,’ Tamsyn pointed out.

‘I don’t like men who try to get what they want by intimidating those who can’t fight back.’ He winced as she closed her fingers rather too tightly. ‘I know you can stand up for yourself, but you shouldn’t have to. I told you I wouldn’t stay long. I must go home, settle down, stop doing things like this.’

She found her fingers had curled into claws. Cris closed his eyes as she let them rake gently over his hot flesh instead of digging them in. ‘What exactly is this?’

‘Making love without commitment.’ His hand tightened over hers, moved.

‘There is someone you should be settling down with? Someone to whom you should be committed?’ She kept her voice light, surprised by the sharp lance of envy.

‘No, there is no one.’ His face was slightly averted, she wished she could read it. ‘There should be. Duty. Responsibility again, I suppose.’ His hips rose as she stroked down and up. ‘Ah. That is so good.’

‘If there is no one, then you are not being unfaithful.’ She thought his face tightened, but that might simply have been the effect of what she was doing to him. ‘I believe you are simply experiencing the melancholy and introspection that sometimes comes after lovemaking.’

‘La tristesse, the French call it. Well, I’m not suffering from melancholy now.’ He kicked away the blanket, reached for her and held her so he could torment her right nipple with teeth and lips. Then he suddenly let go and she collapsed on to the bed with him in a tangle of limbs and kisses, and forgot jealousy, and worry, in bliss.

*

‘Tamsyn, dear, have you been sleeping properly?’ Aunt Izzy peered anxiously at her over the fruit bowl in the middle of the breakfast table. ‘You look a trifle heavy-eyed.’

‘I am sure Tamsyn is perfectly relaxed, dearest,’ Rosie said before Tamsyn had a chance to collect herself from her improper rec

ollections. Her aunt’s smile was bland. She knows.

As for the expression on Mr Stone’s face, the man was looking so innocent that it was bound to be false. Presumably he was quite well aware what had passed last night between his friend and herself.

‘Too much time spent with the account books, that is all I am suffering from,’ she said. ‘I am looking forward to our picnic lunch. That will wake me up.’

They went their separate ways after breakfast. The two men strolled down to the waterside, deep in conversation, presumably to do with whatever business had brought Gabriel Stone there in the first place. Aunt Rosie went for her hot soak to get herself, as she said, ‘In prime condition for my jaunt.’ Aunt Izzy shut herself in the kitchen with Cook to create the perfect picnic luncheon and that left Tamsyn staring at the farm’s feed bills and trying to focus.

She had to get the accounts straight in case they were sent any more invoices following the mischief with the bank and the damage to their reputation for creditworthiness. It was important and urgent and every time she smoothed her hand over a page in the book all she could feel was Cris’s skin under her palm. When she nibbled the end of her pen, all she could think of was his mouth on hers, and once she let her mind wander along those paths, then the heaviness settled low in her belly and the little pulse started its wicked beat between her thighs, and her breasts ached.

I want him again. Now.

It frightened her, a little, the intensity of the need. She had been celibate for all the long months since Jory had died, that must be it. She was a young woman, used to lovemaking. Of course she missed it, even though she had submerged the need as deep as her grief for Jory. That was why last night had been so magical. She took the word, turned it in her mind, shivered. There was something charmed about the way Cris had come to her out of the sea, almost out of the jaws of death, something other-worldly about his blond beauty, those haunting blue eyes. If she was not an adult, modern woman she might start imagining things, supposing he had come from some mysterious world of Celtic legend to help her. She had read Scottish tales of Selkies, seal people who came out of the sea to seduce human beings. They would always return to the water, leaving their earthbound lovers desolate.

That was a depressing turn of thought, but of course Cris would leave, she accepted that. Whoever he was, whatever his life at home and in London, he was a man who moved in circles far removed from her rustic, unsophisticated world. Even if he had wanted her in any other way than for this brief, amorous, encounter, then he would not when he knew the truth about her. All men wanted heirs. She realised her hand was resting over her stomach and snatched it away, angry with herself for still yearning, still grieving for what she had lost and could never have.

She had never had illusions about men. Jory had loved her in the only way he knew, as a familiar part of himself. They had married out of desire and because she had loved him in so many ways, although none of them was the romantic love she had always dreamed of. He had wanted to keep her safe because he was fond of her and she was one of his possession. And she had wanted to feel safe, a ridiculous illusion with Jory, who did not know the meaning of the word when it applied to himself.

She propped her chin on her cupped palm and stared out of the window overlooking the garden, trying to shake the mood, and saw the men were pacing back and forth along the long seawall at the end of the lawn. Then they broke apart, faced each other. Gabriel Stone drew the sword from the scabbard that seemed to be permanently at his side and she was half out of her seat before she realised that he was demonstrating something. He parried, Cris moved fluidly to one side, then in a blur of movement was behind him, reaching for his sword arm. Stone disengaged, moved out of trouble. They faced each other again, armed against unarmed. Then Cris shifted again, she saw Gabriel’s head turn, he recovered, just too late and the sword went spinning out of his grasp and speared point-down, quivering in the grass.

He flourished an elaborate bow, retrieved the weapon, wiped the point carefully and sheathed it. Cris draped one arm around his shoulder and they began to walk up and down again.

Tamsyn sat down with a thump, closed her mouth, which was inelegantly open, and frowned at the two men. That had been disgracefully arousing and it had also been a demonstration of speed and skill and of complete trust. There would have been no fencing button on the point of that sword. One slip and Cris could have been badly hurt. Or if he had been less accurate, his friend might have been wounded in the disarm. They obviously knew each other very, very well.

She wondered why Gabriel Stone was armed with a sword. Gentlemen carried pistols with them in saddle holsters, or in their carriages when they travelled, but usually these days only military officers wore a sword at their hip. It suited him, she decided, went with the slightly sinister presence, the dark, mocking eyes. If Cris trusted him, then she must, but he unnerved her.

Whereas Cris confused and delighted and confounded her. She indulged herself by watching the tall figure sauntering along, silhouetted against the sea, then made herself look down and wrestle with the columns of figures once more.

*

The picnic expedition set off at eleven o’clock. Aunt Rosie was helped carefully into the chair, the men stepped between the carrying handles, ducked their heads under the leather straps, took a firm grip and lifted. Tamsyn mounted Foxy, Aunt Izzy was helped on to her placid hack, Bumble, and Jason loaded the pack pony with the rugs and hampers.

As Gabriel Stone mounted his own horse, Tamsyn looked down at Cris. ‘You are going to have a long walk, I’m afraid.’

‘Collins is saddling my horse. Didn’t you realise he’s been in your stables eating his head off ever since Collins brought the carriage over?’

‘No one mentioned it and I’ve been too busy to visit the stable yard.’ Which just went to show how distracted she had been by Cris’s presence. Normally nothing stopped her from doing the complete rounds of the house and outbuildings daily.