Chapter Fourteen

S tepping out onto the balcony of his room in his dressing gown, Felton inhaled the cool, night air. There was no moon, which was why his mother had chosen earlier to reveal her lit garden. Many of the guests had not experienced his mother’s faerie garden, as she titled it, and they raved about it until well after midnight. No doubt she would be in a pleasant mood on the morrow.

He studied the open field, trees, and the once-lit gardens. Though Lady Dorothea had been through some of the courts before, she had seemed to enjoy them on the arm of Lord Dearling. He wasn’t ignorant that three men were becoming far more interested in her. Lord Dearling made it ridiculously obvious. Lord Manning was more subtle about it but no less persistent. Mr. Retfield also appeared interested but didn’t jockey for position with the other two, simply stepping in when they were absent.

This should please him. It did please him. It also infuriated him, which was baffling. This was what he wanted, for a student of the school to be sought after. She had taken his advice and had become popular among the bachelors. He should be feeling victorious, not frustrated.

It must be that he didn’t know which man she preferred. If he could have a private conversation with her, she would assuredly tell him. He didn’t doubt that at all. But having a private conversation with her was becoming more difficult by the day. He could enlist the aid of Lady Sommerset, but then he’d have to explain why he needed to talk with Lady Dorothea. He wasn’t yet ready to reveal his part in her success. She had done the work of curtailing her conversation. He had simply guided her in the right direction.

He sincerely hoped she didn’t choose Retfield. The man’s reticence to show his interest made him far too weak for her. Dearling would do anything for her, at least until his mother asked him to do something else. They all knew the man’s mother would have the final say. Would she approve of Lady Dorothea? Manning was the most fitted to her. The man had strong character, was a marquess, and he wasn’t afraid to fight for time with her. But could he appreciate the honest Dorothea?

And there was his concern. That must be why he kept replaying scenes of her with the other men. That was the question that wouldn’t let him sleep. Could any of the men appreciate her as she truly was, and not the lady she was succeeding at presenting herself to be because she changed how she spoke? The answer was obvious. They couldn’t. Very few men could. He’d known that before he’d started this challenge. But did she know it? If she did, would she accept that?

His irritation melted into defeat. She would. She had no choice. It wasn’t as if her mother would curtail her amorous activities. If the countess had cared a wit about her daughter’s prospects, she would have been at the least more circumspect, but she was whispered about at White’s. Her dissatisfaction with her husband seemed to be growing as she’d been spotted leaving two events with a gentleman not her husband in the final week of the season. She either grew careless or purposefully wished to damage her husband. Neither of which aided in making a match for Dory. It was as if the woman had sent her daughter away to forget about her.

The sound of a latch moving broke the quiet night. He turned to see if Sommerset also couldn’t sleep. Instead, a shadowy figure appeared on the balcony just beyond his. Dorothea.

She stepped to the edge, laid her hands on the balustrade, and peered into the darkness. Her white shift moved slightly from the gentle breeze, which also brought the scent of lemon drops to his nose. Something in her stance told him she was troubled. He must have observed her more than he’d realized to understand such a subtle posture.

Her hair lay long against her back, slightly tangled while the breeze gently lifted the strands against her cheek. Her profile in the limited light accentuated her high cheekbones and turned-up nose.

Suddenly, as if she sensed his gaze, she turned her head and looked directly at him. He couldn’t see her eyes, but her hand came to her chest. “You.” Though the word was whispered, it broke the silence of the night.

“Yes. Could you not sleep?” He kept his voice low as a balcony lay between them.

She cocked her head as if she couldn’t hear, which made sense since the light breeze carried her words to him, but not so his to hers.

Without a second thought, he jumped up onto the balustrade closest to Sommerset’s balcony and stepped across the two-foot space to the balustrade neighboring before quietly stepping down. He continued across the empty balcony to the balustrade closest to her and jumped up once again. When he stepped across the abyss between the two balconies, her intake of breath registered before he stepped down.

She had backed up to allow him room and stood frozen, her hand over her mouth.

“I thought it best we talk quietly,” he whispered.

Her eyes widened before she dropped her hand and her brows lowered. “By the beard of Zeus, you scared away two years of my life. You could have fallen. Have you no brains?” The last word ended in what could only be called a hiss.

It took him a moment to answer before understanding set in. She had been afraid for him. “There was no need to worry. I’ve been walking these balconies since I was half a score. It’s always been the easiest way for causing mischief for my sister.”

She eyed him doubtfully, her hand swinging back and forth. “You crossed these balconies to cause mischief? You must understand that is difficult to imagine.”

He smirked as memories flooded his mind. “I was quite good at it, actually. Ask Rose about the time she found a frog in her bed or when her favorite dress had a mysterious, purple stain in the middle.”

“You did that by jumping balconies to slip into her room? Why not use the inside corridor?”

He loved that she pictured and analyzed his story so quickly. “I did it at night, while she slept.”

Once more, her eyes widened. “Do you mean to say that she woke up with the frog in her bed?”

He grinned. “At least it wasn’t a dead frog.”

She squealed but quickly covered her mouth, still giggling behind her hands.

“Mother was sorely disappointed in me, but I think my father was rather proud.”

She dropped her hand and gave him a stern look, or tried to. “What a terrible brother you were.”

“Yes, I was. But to be fair, Rose was just as terrible as I…and still is. Though no one would ever know.” The sudden thought that she might have to lose her mischievous nature once married sobered him, leaving behind a sadness he didn’t quite understand.

“It sounds like you much enjoyed playing pranks on each other. Do you not anymore?”

“No. We must become proper adults.”

She wriggled her nose as a smile lifted her lips. “Rose hasn’t, at least not in private.”

That was true. He didn’t have to think long on when he’d stopped. It was when Belinda had passed. There just hadn’t seemed a point to it, or anything else, for that matter.

“Does she not call you anything besides brother ? I never hear her call you by your name.”

The question brought his good humor back. “Ah, yes, as for that, she does not like my name, especially my title. She says it sounds like I’m in charge of a forest filled with rabbits. When she was just a child, she named me ‘the King of Bunnies.’”

“Oh, I do like that. Would you mind terribly if I—”

“Absolutely not.” He made his quiet voice as stern as he could.

She sighed. “Alas, if not that, then I must find another name to call you, at least when talking to Rose. I will now never be able to say Lord Harewood without thinking of all those cute bunnies.”

Her comment reminded him of her penchant for creating images in her head, and he groaned. “Then I must insist on approving said name.”

“That is acceptable. I shall endeavor to create a number from which you can choose.”

That she would go to the trouble, not only of giving him a nickname, but also of allowing him to decide with her, filled a small void in his heart he hadn’t realized had been there. “I would enjoy that.”

Even in the darkness, it was easy to see at such close proximity that her eyes lit with pleasure as she spoke. “This then is something else that will make you happy. I do believe we are finding quite a number of things, and this one is the first that is not about winning.”

Her observation struck him. Was winning truly his only happiness? If he succeeded in helping Belinda’s school gain a good reputation, it wouldn’t be winning, would it? No, it would be succeeding in keeping her name on a pedestal, where it belonged. That very thought brought him back to the reason he had jumped the balconies. “There is something else that makes me happy, and that is your success here at Sunnydale. You have done very well to curb your conversation, yet here you are on your balcony in the middle of the night when you should be abed.”

She glanced behind him as if someone would overhear. “I’m troubled. My thoughts are a muddle.”

It was smart to be cautious. Anyone could step out onto their balcony and find them together and then all their efforts would have been in vain. If he remembered correctly, her muddle was a tangle of yarn dropped into a puddle, which did sound serious. “If you would like me to assist you in untangling your thoughts, I suggest we move into your room to discuss what is causing such a ruckus in your head.”

“That would hardly be proper.” Her more formal tone change reminded him of his sister’s regular switches in character.

Dory may not be able to see him well, but he raised his brows. “Do you think someone is more likely to see us in your room or out here on the balcony? Or if you prefer, we can discuss your quandary on the morrow. Perhaps at dinner?”

She hesitated then moved to her door, motioning for him to follow.

As he stepped over the threshold, misgivings filled his head. Her room was lit by no more than one lantern and the fire in the fireplace. An embroidery loop lay on a chair and a book sat on the end table next to the bed. The atmosphere was intimate and comfortable. Being here could prove his mother right about him and society right about Dorothea. This was not the best place to converse. He needed to leave.

“It’s about Lord Dearling.”

At her words, all thoughts of leaving vanished. “You are troubled by Lord Dearling?”

She stood next to the post at the end of her bed. The lantern provided enough light to see that she was confused about the man. “I believe he holds me in high esteem.”

High esteem? The man had almost made a fool of himself over her that very evening by jumping up to escort her in to dinner, even though they would not be sitting near each other. “I would agree.” He held back listing the man’s faults. For all he knew, she found every one of them endearing.

“Oh, good. Then it makes sense that he kissed me in the gardens tonight.” She nodded in understanding.

“He kissed you?” His voice rose as fury ignited inside him, almost obliterating all thought but retaliation.

“Shhhh.” She held her finger to her lips and stood absolutely still.

His hands clenched into fists of their own accord. How dare the man take such liberties while at Sunnydale? One word to his mother and the earl would find himself halfway home by the time they broke their fast. Or would she assume that Dorothea had enticed him? He squeezed his hands harder, frustrated as well as angry.

She removed her finger from her lips and whispered. “Yes, he kissed me. But I didn’t feel anything. He’s such a nice man and very accommodating. But it wasn’t like when you kissed me.”

He swallowed hard to stay in control of his voice when he wanted nothing more than to roar. “What do you mean? What was it like when I kissed you?”

She leaned against the post and wrapped her arm around it. “It was terrifying and exciting, like falling from this very balcony while naked onto a large pile of thistledown feathers covered in soft furs that touch every inch of my sensitive skin.”

Her description struck him like a thunderbolt, his body reacting as he envisioned it all. This time, he couldn’t even swallow.

“When you kiss me, my thoughts fly and all that occupies me is physical feeling.” Her brows furrowed. “It’s not just my skin, but inside of me too. It’s as if fire is dancing in my veins, but it feels wonderful. It’s all so…so freeing.”

Even as she spoke, her face flushed and her gaze softened.

He should leave. He must go. But his feet refused to move.

Then she looked toward the fireplace, her brow furrowed in confusion. “But when Lord Dearling kissed me, I felt nothing. My thoughts kept moving about. His lips were not nearly as commanding.”

Rage filled him. A need to wipe the man’s kiss from her mind sent lightning racing through his body. It was barely three strides before he had her in his arms, his mouth demanding she open to him.

She complied at once, leaning into him, her plump breasts through her shift pressing against his thinly clad stomach. Her body instinctually molded to his, stoking his desire for her. He could barely think as her innocent tongue delved and dipped in his mouth, exciting him more than any experienced courtesan. Warmth radiated from her that was far more than heat. Her honest reaction to him sparked something inside he’d long thought dead. He moved his hand down her back to the curve of her backside and, unable to resist, squeezed.

Her breath caught, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, her arms, which held him about the waist, moved and her hands grasped him in the same way.

He would have laughed if she hadn’t just sent desire racing through his groin. Grasping her waist to set her back, he found himself instead kissing her neck, inhaling the distinct scent of lemon and something else, something purely feminine. He tried to gain control of his actions, but a burning need pushed him on until he’d lowered the neckline of the modest shift down off her shoulder and his mouth found her hardened nipple. Without a thought, he latched on and sucked gently.

A small moan escaped her before she grabbed his head and pressed closer.

Obeying her silent command, he sucked harder and her hands left his head to grab on to his shoulders as she arched, giving herself to him.

She let out another moan that changed into a word. “Fen.”

He drew back, confusion allowing his brain to function on more than a basic level. What was he about? He carefully set her limp body on the bed and stepped back.

She lay there, eyes closed, her breast still exposed to his view, causing his body to harden. She finally opened her eyes and gazed at him beneath hooded eyelids. “That is wonderful.”

His groin tightened, but he shook his head silently, unable to find the will to speak, too confused by the need to take her. His mind told him he couldn’t, but the craving wouldn’t leave.

She sat up, her bare legs dangling over the side of the bed, her hair now partially covering her nakedness. “You make me feel…” She cocked her head. “I feel exponentially alive. Please. Don’t stop.”

His conscience told him to walk out the door, yet his body hungered for her and would not let him leave. Her plea was too hard to resist, but she knew not what she asked. He tried to form the words, but it took all his control to remain where he stood.

She frowned. “I already know what happens. I just didn’t know it could feel like this. My body feels like it’s on fire from the inside.” She scooted off the bed and stood.

If she touched him, he’d be lost. He had to turn and leave, somehow. He forced himself to take another step back but froze.

She lifted her shift up and over her head, tossing it on the bed behind her.

Her curves were far more than he’d expected. Well-rounded breasts led to a respectable waist, only to curve over wider hips and healthy thighs that begged a man to explore. Her pear-like shape enticed him beyond his control, but he managed not to move, his arms stiff at his sides.

She walked two paces to stop before him, and without asking, she untied the belt at his waist, revealing exactly how much he wanted her.

“Oh.” She stepped back.

Her reaction finally snapped his immobility, and he quickly strode toward the door to the balcony.

“Fen?”

He halted at the word but didn’t turn around. “What is that word?”

“It’s my nickname for you. Is it acceptable?”

His heart pounded, forcing him to suck in deep breaths. Fen. Understanding how her mind worked, it was easy to see that she’d devised it from compacting his name, crushing the letters together as it were. Not Felton. Just Fen. That was what he was to her. He’d never been that for anyone.

Her hands wrapped around his waist. “Do you like it?”

Cursing his own weakness for being merely a man, he turned in her arms and held her close. “I do…Dory.”

She lifted her face from his shoulder, smiling shyly. “Will you suck me again?”

Swallowing down a groan, he nodded. He was a fool, but he couldn’t deny her. He just had to deny himself…somehow.

Taking his hand, she led him back to the bed. “Do I sit again?”

“Lie back.” His voice came out so gravelly that her brow puckered, but she did as he instructed.

He climbed on the bed and lay next to her. As he did so, she lifted her arms over her head, no doubt to make it easier for him, but the supplication was innocently seductive. Unable to resist what she offered, he leaned over and stroked her hardened nipple with his tongue.

She lay completely still, as if she feared he would leave her. How little she knew and should remain ignorant of, but failure that he was, he couldn’t stop. Her soft, white skin begged for his touch. He moved his mouth over her tautened peak and sucked gently, taking in more.

Arching into him, she kept her hands above her as a small moan sounded deep in her throat.

Continuing his homage to her breast, he took her other between his fingers and gently squeezed.

“Yesss,” she hissed softly, bending one knee before letting it fall to the side.

The scent of her excitement was too much an invitation to ignore.

*

Dory moaned again as Fen switched and sucked her other breast, his hand replacing his mouth on the opposite one. She’d never imagined she could feel this way, so alive to every touch, with fluid flames filling her inside. An ache started between her thighs, which must mean she was ready for completion, but he seemed bent only on her breasts. Surely, there was something at the end of all her feelings.

His mouth started to lightly nibble at her nipple and new shocks of excitement shot through her. She grasped the pillow with both hands to keep her hands out of the way, but the heat between her thighs was so intense that she spread her legs.

Then his hand left her breast and moved over her belly. She opened her eyes to watch as he smoothed his way down to the patch of hair that hid her very core. His fingers slid through her auburn curls, and she held her breath.

With his hand resting on her mons, he angled himself up with his other arm and looked down at her. “I will not ruin you for your future husband. Do you understand?”

She felt her cheeks heat. It meant he would not take her for his own. Though disappointment wafted over her at his intense stare, she could only nod. Her body didn’t care what he did as long as he continued. She raised her hips with his hand, silently asking for his touch.

As if he knew exactly what she wanted, his fingers moved into her wet folds. She widened her eyes at the intense sensation, unable to do anything but press her hips upward.

His nostrils flared at her reaction. “Kiss me.”

At his command, she realized it was what she wanted. She wrapped her arms around him and did as he commanded.

His tongue swept into her mouth, demanding she surrender as he played with one spot between her legs, the feelings growing stronger there. She found herself holding on to him, his lips, his body, as she spiraled out of control, his touch taking her beyond mere reality to another realm of existence. Just when the sensations seemed as good as they could possibly be, she exploded into ecstasy, finding a bliss she’d never known existed. He held her there, her pleasure unimaginable, exciting and satisfying at the same time. Finally, the feelings slowly subsided like leaves falling from a tree in autumn, leaving her limp and tired as she had never been before.

His lips left hers, and she opened her eyes to gaze at him with pure gratefulness, but she couldn’t seem to muster the energy to speak.

As if he knew how she felt, he rolled away, pulling the covers over her from the side as he did so, leaving her in a warm cocoon. He stood gazing at her with no expression, as if contemplating something of great importance. Then he turned and strode out of view, the belt of his dressing gown dangling from his waist.

She closed her eyes and smiled. She no longer felt she was in a muddle. No, everything was crystal clear. She loved the Earl of Harewood, and though he may think her fit for another man, he would see that he loved her back. All would be well.