Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“ W hat are you doing here?” Barbara hissed at Ambrose as he opened her balcony door.

She had just sent her handmaid away and had sat at her vanity to brush her hair when she had heard a scuffle at her balcony. Just as she had reached for the handle on the French doors, hairbrush raised to defend herself, Ambrose opened it from the other side and stepped inside.

He smirked as he eyed the raised hairbrush, then his eyes slid down to her as he raised an eyebrow. “Just what are you going to do with that?” he asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Barbara looked at the hairbrush then back at Ambrose, then quick as a released arrow, she swatted his left butt cheek with it hard. A surprised growl rumbled in his chest as he snatched the hairbrush out of her hand, but Barbara sprinted away in her nightgown, moving behind a sofa for safety. Amusement attempted to tunnel through his aggravation, but it did not make it very far.

“I do not see you for a week, and then you enter my quarters through my balcony like some scoundrel?” Barbara hissed, completely unapologetic for the swat she gave him.

“I am here because you made a mistake,” Ambrose growled, taking a step toward her.

It was not true at all. Barbara had executed every move that night flawlessly—even the pre-dinner dance had been accepted by the gathered socialites due to its graceful execution. But he could not stay away. Not after watching her all night be the perfect woman for Kenneth. The moon-eyed dandy. The viscount would have no idea what to do with the real version of Barbara. The fierce, loyal, intelligent woman who lurked behind the mask Ambrose had forced her behind.

“Accepting that dance was careless,” Ambrose only said when she began to argue. “The man is looking for a wife, but if he does not choose you, such a display will immediately knock you off the most eligible ladies list!”

“I disagree entirely, Your Grace,” Barbara shot back quickly, her tone dripping with sarcasm as she stated his honorific. “I believe that I performed so well that I have not only sealed my fate with Lord Gerville, but if I truly choose not to accept his proposal, there will be many others to take his place.”

“Sealed your fate?” Ambrose scoffed, trying his best to shake the thought of her in a sea of suitors off his mind. “You believe he will propose, then?”

Barbara crossed her arms as she lifted a cocky eyebrow. “He asked to escort me to the village tomorrow before dinner even ended,” she replied confidently. “And even when his two dances were through and others approached me to dance, he came back to talk to me every time. There was not another woman in the manor that he gave his attention to. He wants me, Ambrose. Just like we hoped.”

Something sharp and painful gripped Ambrose’s stomach as she said this. Yes, we. He had wanted Kenneth to fall for Barbara, did he not? That was how his debt was going to be settled. That was the only way. So why did he now want to run Kenneth off like a lecher?

His mood darkened as he realized his mistake in coming to see Barbara. He had told himself not to. To stay away and let the plan play itself out. But as the night had worn on after the party had ended and the house had fallen quiet, Ambrose found himself unable to relax. He’d barely been able to focus on anything anyone was saying, not even Morgan, who was usually the great jester of their group and was often grabbing everyone’s attention.

“You risked everything for a dance, Barbara,” Ambrose ground out.

“And that risk came with a great reward,” Barbara shot back, taking a defiant step toward him. “Lord Gerville will propose by this week’s end, I am sure of it.”

“How can you be so sure?” he retorted, closing the space between them to stand nose to nose.

Barbara only peered up at him as he glowered down at her, her small, pert nose so close to his that if she just swayed forward, they would touch.

A smile slowly spread across her lips as she gazed at him coolly. “Because when I was leaving tonight, he nearly pulled me into a kiss.”

The heat from Ambrose’s anger froze in his veins as he envisioned Kenneth’s lips pressing against Barbara’s. How would he touch her? Hold her? Would he make her back arch like he did? Would he make her whimper his name in a repeated plea for more?

“I have greatly appreciated your lessons, Ambrose,” Barbara continued, “but it seems I have graduated from your teachings. Perhaps now that I am to be married soon, you can allow Helena to do the same, and then you’ll finally find and marry your perfect duchess.”

A primal, angry sound was all the warning Ambrose gave before his arms shot out to Barbara’s waist and he hauled her to him. Just as desperately, Barbara reached for his neck, sliding her arms tight around his nape as their lips fused together. Muffled whimpers and groans intertwined with a jumble of unbalanced footsteps and smacking lips as they stumbled backward together onto the bed, Ambrose’s back landing on the mattress first. Need burst through him as her thin nightgown did little to hide the way her curves fit so perfectly against his hard body.

“Wait,” Barbara gasped as she landed atop his chest.

She ripped her lips from his as she untangled her arms, using her hands to push herself up. Ambrose grabbed for her, but she evaded his grasp, nearly stumbling to the floor as she did so.

“We should not do this again. We agreed. This is… this is…”

Ambrose said nothing as he rose from the bed. Yes, they had agreed. But if she was right, if she was about to be married and entirely committed to another man for the rest of her life…

As if they both had the same realization, they met one another’s eyes before they flew back to one another.

Barbara’s nails dug into his already half-unbuttoned shirt, tugging it out of his trousers as his hands gripped the sheer fabric of her dressing gown and dragged it down her arms. Their mouths met and parted needily as they undressed each other, neither of them being gentle, and when the last scrap of fabric had been ripped away, Ambrose wrapped his one arm around her waist, the other cupping her backside, and lifted her onto him.

With the grace of a feline, Barbara leaped onto him, her lean thighs keeping her sex pressed tight against his rigid manhood. Their lips parted from one another as they moaned, and they pressed their foreheads together as they drew in steadying breaths. Barbara’s inner thighs were already slick with need, and she bathed his cock in it as they held one another. They both needed a moment. A moment to steel themselves against the natural need to simply thrust and be joined with another.

Both of their thighs began to vibrate as they stayed locked like that for several more breaths. Then, with more resolve than he had ever gathered, Ambrose slowly lowered her onto the bed. Each small movement filled him with a painful pleasure, and when he finally drew his manhood away from her mons, they both let out sounds of tense, regretful relief.

Drawing his hands down to her knees, Ambrose parted her legs until her knees almost touched her ears and she was completely on display for him. His mouth watered as he took in her dark pink glistening petals and the swollen, tight, little bundle of pleasure protruding from its protective folds. Letting his lips part, he dragged his gaze up to Barbara’s and let his saliva dribble from his bottom lip.

He groaned aloud when he saw desire flash in Barbara’s eyes as his saliva landed directly on her clitoris, and she began to writhe her hips. Suddenly, a wicked, vengeful idea formed in his head, and, with his eyes still locked on hers, he lowered his head to her mons and swirled his tongue slowly around her quivering bud. Barbara’s back arched deliciously as her lashes fluttered and her head lolled back.

Ambrose nearly abandoned his plan once he tasted her on his tongue. He would never forget how delicious she had been the last time, but tonight was a reminder that even his memory did her no justice. It took all he had to pull away and deliver the sharp, swift slap of retribution to her sex, but the moment he did so, he was glad he did it.

Barbara’s eyes flew open from the shock of the slap, and she twisted her core in a way that caught him off guard. So much so that when her nimble body contorted out from under him, he had no time to think before his back was slammed down onto the bed and her thighs straddled his chest as her hand delved into his hair.

Fury, desire, and triumph shone in her eyes as she looked down at him with an evil smirk and tugged at his hair in a way that had his cock bobbing against her backside.

“You are going to pay for that, Your Grace, ” she warned in a silky voice.

Ambrose smirked back at her as he grabbed her backside and pulled her forward. “Thank God for that,” he growled before sinking his teeth into her thigh.

He was rewarded with a deep, needy moan from Barbara’s lips, and then their talking ceased as they grappled with one another. The bed became ruined as their desperate kisses found every inch of one another’s bodies, occasionally wrestling one another into submission so that they could devour one another.

Finally, their strengths weakened, they found equal ground by Barbara sliding her chest down his chest, her sex splayed open before him as she took him greedily into her mouth.

The need to orgasm raged inside Barbara’s body as she drew her tongue from the base of Ambrose’s ball sack all the way to the tip of his cock, then swallowed him whole. His tongue felt too good, his hands held her too securely to his mouth. The pleasure of it all was far too intense for her to ignore, but she would not give in. Not until she had Ambrose at his very feral edge, until his muscular thighs and calves lifted them both off the bed and his seed pumped down her throat. That was his punishment for the slap—not getting her release first.

She could tell by the way Ambrose’s hips and the muscles in his abdomen began to tick that his release was close, so close, and he was fighting it as much as she was fighting hers. Her thoughts were confirmed when his hands suddenly and somehow gripped her cheeks harder, pulling up her lower half so that he could point his tongue and begin to lower her up and down on it.

Something like a cry left Barbara’s lips as her thighs quivered and another gush of her juices trickled down her folds, her release so close now that it seemed unavoidable. Then, just as she felt her end grow near, a scene from one of her favorite borrowed books flashed in her head. Drawing one of her hands from his thigh, she dragged her nails lightly down the taut, muscled flesh of his backside, and gently circled her fingers around his sac.

She took him deeply in her throat one more time as she tugged at the delicate bundle between his legs, and with a bestial growl, Ambrose erupted. His trimmed nails bit into her plump butt cheeks, holding her tightly to him as his teeth sank into her inner thigh and his final thrusting motion lifted them off the bed. Barbara swallowed spurt after powerful spurt of his release as his frozen position kept them levitated.

Only when the last drop of his seed welled lazily from his exhausted member and coated Barbara’s waiting tongue did his body shakily fall back down to the mattress. Barbara released him from her mouth then, a triumphant smirk on her lips as she made to turn around.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Ambrose growled, his chest still heaving as he wrestled her down into the bed.

His eyes glittered with fury as he pinned her wrists above her head, but all Barbara could see was her juices glistening on his swollen lips so prettily. Triumph roared up within her again, and she jutted her chin in defiance.

“You did that on purpose,” he accused, a bite to his desire-filled tone.

“I told you that you were going to pay for that little slap of yours,” she replied defiantly.

“You owe me a release,” he growled, lowering his body over hers, his eyes glittering with challenge.

“And I wish you the best of luck with that, Your Grace,” she purred.

Those dark blue and gray flames, the ones she so learned to love seeing, flickered in Ambrose’s eyes again, and she felt pleasure and readiness surge through her as he silently accepted her challenge. Keeping one hand on her wrists, he reached for the golden rope on the nearby bedpost and untied it. The heavy dark blue and gold curtain it held back fell over the left side of the bed, blocking out the candlelight and shrouding them in darkness.

“You owe me three,” Ambrose said in a low voice. This time, he sounded a bit more composed as he wound the rope around Barbara’s wrists.

“What happened to one?” she asked, trying and failing to sound bored.

She could not even pretend to be so. Her need to climax had not abated but worsened since he had withdrawn his tongue, and pure misery threatened to overtake her body if he did not do something soon.

“Your mouth earned you two more,” he said tersely, emphasizing the word mouth as he tightened the ropes.

He looped the remainder of the rope through the wrought iron design of the headboard, securing it there.

“In fact,” he went on, trailing his fingertips from her palms to her breasts, “I may not stop until I hear you apologize.”

Ambrose pinched her nipple as he finished his sentence, making her whimper. His mouth replaced his fingers before she could recover from the sensation, and her sarcastic comeback died on her tongue.

No longer holding on to her grudge, Barbara gave in to Ambrose’s touch and let the world fade around her. Her last thought as his lips trailed past her navel was that she might never utter an apology again.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

It was late. The candles about the room had melted into nubs, and the balcony doors had been flung open to let in air. Barbara was sprawled unceremoniously across Ambrose’s torso, her head on his chest as she gazed up at the ceiling. Unable to help himself, he had started to stroke his fingers lazily through her long, brown tendrils. Seven. He had counted seven releases from Barbara this evening, and he thought that he would feel better about that. But he didn’t.

“I am as ready as I shall ever be, I suppose,” Barbara sighed, her eyes still to the ceiling. Then her eyes flicked up toward his, and she smiled wickedly.

“Though I will be a bit saddened to see this part fade away. It was quite a bit of fun.”

Ambrose opened his mouth to what he thought was a laugh, but instead, a bitter sound came out as something inside of him hardened.

“Fun?” he asked, stilling his hand in her hair.

Barbara’s brow perked up at his new expression, and she pulled herself up to a sitting position, wrapping a sheet around her.

“ Fun,” she repeated. “Relaxing. Perhaps just a tiny bit infuriating but still rather delightful all the same.”

Ambrose felt the strange hardness that had formed in his chest start to grow and become painful. Fun. Fun was not the word he would use, though, if pressed, he would not be able to find the proper adjective.

“Why are you getting upset?” Barbara asked, her brows drawing down.

Ambrose shoved himself off of the bed, immediately going for his breeches.

“I am not upset,” he replied tersely, yanking his shirt on.

Barbara too pulled herself from the bed, abandoning the sheet for a robe. Even through his sudden foul mood, Ambrose could not help but halt and watch Barbara for the brief seconds it took to perform the change. God, he thought, his body immediately responding all over again, she is perfect.

Ambrose scowled at his thoughts and, realizing Barbara had said something replied with a sharp “What?”

“I said that you were impossible to understand,” Barbara shot back, her voice low and full of venom. “What else was this supposed to be besides fun? Or enjoyable.”

Then, in a voice so practical and calm she asked, “Were you planning on marrying me, Your Grace?”

Anger shot through Ambrose as he replied tightly, “That is not fair. You do not want that and neither do I.”

An emotion- Ambrose could not identify, flickered through Barbara’s eyes as he said this, and he suddenly wanted to take it back.

“I mean, I-”

“I believe what you said was quite clear, Your Grace,” Barbara retorted, her voice tight.

“Barbara-”

“Since I am not worthy of being married to you I must get my beauty sleep,” she cut him off, pointing toward the open balcony doors. “You went to great trouble to catch a proper husband for me. I would hate to destroy everything we have worked for and get your debt settled just because I did not get proper sleep.”

Ambrose’s mouth opened but he only shut it as he searched for impossible words. Her words bit into him like snake fangs full of poison, churning his stomach and making his blood cold. Yes. That was why they were there, was it not?

“Apologies,” Ambrose murmured darkly, heading toward the door.

“I shall leave you to it.

“Tell me, Lady Barbara, is your father with you on this trip?” Kenneth asked.

The two of them—plus Lydia, who trailed a respectful distance behind—had just left the bookshop. Not one but a small trunk of books had been purchased for her by the viscount and were now being readied to be delivered to Alice and Duncan’s estate.

The morning had been wonderful, though Barbara’s thoughts seemed to drift toward last night’s tryst- and then an argument with Ambrose every third second, and she had found herself genuinely, if not a little distantly, enjoying her time with her new suitor. His question, though, nearly made her stumble.

“Uh, no, my lord, he is not. He much prefers our house in London.”

Barbara felt relief as Kenneth simply smiled and nodded. And it was not a lie. They did not have a country home anymore, but it was still true that her father always preferred their London home anyhow.

“Would you be opposed if I sought his council?” Kenneth asked next.

Behind her, Barbara heard Lydia’s sharp intake of breath. Her heart began to thud as her nerves, for the first time, began to unravel just a little. This was a pointed question, certainly. What other reason would he want to speak to her father other than to negotiate a marriage contract?

Gather yourself, this is what you have been working toward!

“Not at all, my lord,” Barbara replied. “But might I ask why you want to confer with him?”

Kenneth paused, turned around, and gave Lydia a kind smile. “Pray, dear Miss Lydia, would you permit us this one brief moment of privacy? There are people in the street across to watch us, and even if they were not, I assure you that I would never chance staining Lady Barbara’s honor.”

Lydia only gave him a nervous smile before she turned to Barbara with an expectant look.

Barbara swallowed her nerves, forced a similar smile, and gave her friend a short nod. Lydia then turned to Kenneth, curtseyed, and walked toward a bench roughly forty paces away.

“Lady Barbara,” Kenneth began as he turned toward Barbara and picked up her hands.

Just like the night before, she felt no hum, no spark. But she did not feel disgusted either like she had with Sempill. She felt… nothing.

“As I expressed to you last night, I am searching for a lady to take as my wife. I did indeed hope for a quick engagement, but the truth is, Lady Barbara, I became completely transfixed by your grace and charm the moment I saw you. I knew then I wanted more than quick with you. I wanted immediate.”

“What are you saying, my lord?” Barbara asked.

Putting her hand to her chest was no act of innocence but an intentional move to still her thudding heart. Kenneth looked at her body language, her round eyes, and smiled pityingly at her as he reached for her hand and gently pulled it back into his.

“This is not the proper order of things, I know, but I am saying that if you should do me the honor of marrying me, Lady Barbara, then I shall ride to London this very moment, speak with your father, and have us in a church by next Friday.”

“That soon?” she gasped, genuinely surprised.

“I have already been granted a special license due to the nature of my father’s will,” Kenneth replied quickly. “And the moment we are married, his wealth becomes mine, and mine becomes yours. With no need to worry about such things ever again, we can spend the rest of our lives getting to know one another better.”

Barbara’s mind went suddenly blank with shock. It was happening. Every lesson she had had with Ambrose, every part of herself that she suppressed to lure in a husband—it had all worked. The viscount was as rich as he was kind, and it was obvious by the way he doted on her that she could get the required amount to settle her father’s debt from him with no effort at all. She had done it. She had found a way to free her father from Ambrose’s debt. To free herself from Ambrose himself.

A pit opened up in her stomach as she thought of the permanent severance of their relationship once the debt was settled. She could not be around him again. Not after last night. They had both paused, declared it foolish, and had ended up in bed again anyway. Though she dreaded its timing, Barbara’s thighs clenched, and her mons grew moist as she thought of the delicious way Ambrose’s hand had delivered that deliciously stinging blow to her?—

“Go see my father,” she forced herself to say, pushing the thought far, far away. “But do not speak to him of my dowry.”

“I will not because I do not want your dowry,” Kenneth replied quickly, and calmly. “But are you saying yes, Lady Barbara?”

Though it was not great or romantic, Barbara felt a swell of affection for the man. This time, she smiled genuinely.

“I am,” she replied softly, dipping her head in a bow toward him, “most happily so.”

Triumph, pride, and perhaps even affection shone in Kenneth’s eyes as he looked at her with a smile so wide that she feared it would split his face. Then he pulled her hand to his mouth, kissed it softly, and bowed low before her. Guilt rose inside her as she patiently waited for him to rise, not daring to look toward Lydia or any of the other people she knew were now staring at them.

“I cannot tell you how happy this makes me,” Kenneth said as he rose again, taking her arm. “Again, I know this is soon, but you, Lady Barbara, are exactly what I have been looking for.”

“I feel the same,” Barbara forced herself to say.

Her heart was still thudding in her chest, and she was sure that it was not excitement that made it pound so. If that was not distracting enough, her dress and bonnet suddenly seemed to be positively strangling her. She raised her hand to tug at the bonnet’s strap beneath her chin, but she stopped herself at the last minute, realizing what a mistake that would be.

“Perhaps we should call Lydia back to us,” Barbara suggested, nodding toward her friend, “so that she and I may make our way back to our lodgings and you may start your journey to my father.”

If possible, Kenneth’s eyes lit up even more, obviously taking her suggestion as a way to say, Make haste .

“Yes, I believe you are right,” he agreed quickly, falling in step with her. “Let us not waste any time. Though, I had planned to treat you and your friend to lunch?”

“It is still plenty early for us to return in time to the duchess’s manor for that. You and I will have many lunches together once this is settled.”

“Quite right,” Kenneth replied, practically shaking with joy.

As Lydia rose from the bench to meet them, Barbara’s eyes caught a familiar head of dark golden hair, and her eyes flicked to the stone steps of the nearby tavern.

He was standing with Morgan on his right and Ezra and Duncan on his left, but it was only Ambrose who looked at her. He smiled smugly, obviously reminiscing about last night, but as Lydia only returned a blank stare, his smile faded.

His brow furrowed next, followed by a quick look between her and Kenneth, and his lips pressed together into a thin line. He knew.

“That was a disappointing meeting,” Ezra said tightly, pulling a cigar from his inner jacket pocket.

“You are sure your man got the right name?” Morgan asked Duncan, his normally at-ease features drawn tight.

“Joseph Rivet was just a servant of my father’s,” Duncan replied, his tone defeated. “And you heard what the constable said—we are lucky to have even found a name at all. If it weren’t for those priest’s last rites’ records from St. Mary’s, we’d be on another useless hunt. At least we know we won’t be wasting any more time.”

Ambrose could hear everything his friends were saying behind him, his disappointment about the paltry new information being shared equally betwixt the four of them. But it was not the recent news that had his mood shift to dark nothingness. When he had first seen Barbara and Kenneth across the street, his mind had been flooded with memories of the night before.

Something selfish and possessive inside of him rumbled with glee when he saw Barbara’s panicked expression, but then something shifted in her gaze. It was subtle. Not panic, he realized. Pity. It was then he had dragged his eyes to Kenneth, saw the pure exuberance on his face, and he suddenly understood what he was witnessing.

She had done it. She had found the man who would release her from her father’s debt, from her chains, and finally set her free. A man who knew nothing about the real her or her passion or strength.

“Ambrose, are you well, mate?” Morgan asked, shaking Ambrose’s shoulder.

“I am,” he said immediately, tearing his eyes away from Barbara. “And I am not yet satisfied.”

Morgan and Duncan’s eyebrows flew up as Ezra rolled his eyes and gave him a bored look before taking a drag of his cigar.

“Really?” Ezra sighed.

“You need not worry yourselves about it,” Ambrose said, taking the time to look each one of them in the eye. “Truly. I shall handle this on my own.”

“Spurned or not, a servant would not have caused that fire,” Duncan argued in an exasperated tone. “A hammer to the head? A shot across the field? Sure. But for someone of that stature to intentionally start a fire that large—a fire that could kill multiple people including those of his own? No.”

“I am not saying this lead is useful, I am saying that I am going to keep digging into it in general,” Ambrose quipped.

“Is that really what you want to focus on?” Ezra asked, his face impassive as he looked at him.

Ambrose looked back at his friend steadily, his jaw ticking with irritation. They had not spoken much since their round in his training room, and now that he had, he felt the urge to enter the ring with him all over again.

“I am off,” Ambrose said tersely, ignoring Ezra’s question as he gave his friends a parting nod. “I want to get a ride in before the storm starts.”

As he said so, the wind around them picked up, a cool breeze pushing through the hazy heat as a distant rumble of thunder sounded above. His eyes darted to where Barbara had been standing and saw that she was now gone. After a quick and slightly panicked search, he found her and Lydia being handed into their carriage by Kenneth. His breath stilled as he watched, and he only drew another when he saw the man close the door, wave to the window, and begin to walk toward the tavern—toward him .

“Don’t go riding now, it is going to storm any moment,” Morgan insisted, tugging at his elbow. “You won’t get farther than the meadows before you have to turn back around.”

“I shall be fine,” Ambrose assured him, pulling his arm from his friend’s grip.

He needed to leave now before Kenneth caught him with his kindness and gratitude for pointing him toward Barbara. If he did so, Ambrose was not sure he could control how he would react.

“But the tavern is warm and dry,” Duncan called after him, “and has ale!”

“Another time,” Ambrose called over his shoulder.

This time, he did not stop or answer as he heard his friend’s attempt to call him back from the stables. Mounting his gelding with ease, he settled into his saddle, took the reins from the stable boy with a muttered thanks, and rode off in the direction of the storm.