Library

Chapter 10

Killian had never been so desperate for release. His cock was harder than steel. His balls were drawn up and aching. Hearing her ask to watch him almost unravelled his control.

He flicked open the buttons on his placket, and his cock sprang free through the opening of his small clothes. He groaned at the release of pressure.

Hannah leaned forward. She bit her lip, and he almost spent just thinking about her mouth pressed against the pulsing head of his cock.

He gripped himself, hoping not to scare her with such a rude display. Her breaths were coming faster, and her eyes were fastened on where his hand held his hard flesh. Seed already seeped from the tip. Killian used the moisture to aid his task as he rubbed himself in firm, fast strokes. Seeing her consuming gaze fuelled his lust.

He was so close, it only took a few jerks of his hand. The burning coalesced in his spine, pulsing out in a powerful wave of pleasure as seed spurted on his belly and chest. Pressing his heels into the carpet, Killian let the heat consume him in searing flames that pulsed with his heartbeat as Hannah's eyes widened in wonder.

The crackle and pop of the fire blended with the sounds of their breathing. Killian closed his eyes, still riding on the ebbing tide. He had forgotten what peace felt like, but this echoed that old comfort.

‘It's quite messy, isn't it?' Hannah's voice brought him back to the present.

He opened his eyes and laughed. ‘Yes, I suppose it is.'

She stood and walked to the dressing table where a pitcher of water and shallow bowl sat. Pouring the water over a cloth, she squeezed out the excess water and brought it to Killian. Her hand shook slightly as she handed him the square of flannel. Her eyes flicked over to his cock, spent and softening.

‘So, it just… deflates?'

Killian laughed again as he cleaned himself. The material was cool against his hot skin. ‘Generally, that isn't something a man wants to hear, but yes. We would get very little done if it didn't.'

‘Can it get hard again?'

‘Oh, yes. But usually not immediately.' He put himself to rights, tucking his penis away before she could make any more observations.

This was an incredibly odd conversation to have and not something Killian had experienced before. Never had someone analysed every aspect so minutely. The women he bedded in the past were professionals, well versed in the act of fucking, and rarely interested in the details.

But Hannah made the details so important, granting each moment a new intensity.

This wasn't fucking. It was something else entirely. Killian had never seduced an innocent. He should feel shame, but he didn't. He was proud to have brought her pleasure and more than a little protective of her. If his guess was correct, she had just experienced her first orgasm, then watched him tug at himself like a randy schoolboy until he found his own release. This would be a vulnerable moment for anyone. ‘Are you alright?'

Hannah didn't answer immediately. She wrapped her robe around her in a gesture that was becoming familiar to him. As though the piece of flannel were some kind of mythical shield keeping her safe.

‘I'm… I don't know. When you kissed me earlier, it was wonderful. Everything sort of rose up to some kind of culmination. I had no idea I could feel that way. But then watching you do that just now created a new ache inside of me. A hollow pulsing.'

‘Perhaps you ache to be filled as much as I ache to fill you.' And he did ache. Not in the usual places. This new pain emanated from his chest, thumping along with his heart, and echoing in that hollow vessel.

Hannah wouldn't meet his gaze. ‘I think this has been quite enough flirtations for one evening. You should leave now. Please.'

‘I fear we have far exceeded flirtation. Are you upset? Did I go too far?' He rose from the couch and walked to her, getting down on his knees and ducking to catch her gaze. The thought of hurting her was untenable.

Her eyes filled with uncertainty. She shook her head, and copper hair fell from her neat braid. Curls spilled around her face. ‘No, I just need to think.'

He reached up and brushed his knuckles against her cheek, skirting the edge of her scar. ‘I promised you I would stop when you asked. That will never change. Of course you want time. Take as long as necessary, but don't pull away. There is more, Hannah. So much more.' Killian had never questioned his course, but if she pulled back now, he wasn't sure what he would do. Need, desperate and fierce, surged through him.

A spark of curiosity brought the fire back to her eyes. ‘More?'

‘Infinite mysteries waiting to be solved.'

‘Infinite is quite a lot.'

She couldn't refuse a challenge. So, Killian would give her one. ‘I shall leave you with this secret, Miss Simmons. There is a delightful little treasure hidden in your quim. Find that pearl. I dare you. At our next meeting, I imagine you might have some new questions about all the ways a woman can find release.'

She narrowed her eyes. ‘That's not possible. You are teasing me. How could I not know about a treasure in my… surely you jest.'

‘See for yourself. If you are brave enough to explore.'

Hannah's eyes widened before she pressed her lips together and shook her head. He was certain he heard her mumble something close to ‘insufferable man' before crossing her arms over her chest. ‘Good night, Your Grace.'

‘Good night, Miss Simmons. Sweet dreams.' He pressed a kiss against her lips, then rose and walked to her door.

‘I won't do it, you know. Just because you dare me to doesn't mean I will.' Hannah's chin was up, and her arms tightened over her unbound breasts. Sitting in her chair with her hair around her shoulders and her wrapper pulled close, she was impossibly beautiful.

‘Liar.' Killian grinned as he turned and opened her door, shutting it quietly behind him.

The next morning, Killian arranged a meeting with Lord Cavendale and his son. He would not run from his responsibilities any longer.

The butler showed Killian to Lord Cavendale's private study. Lord Cavendale was behind his desk, and Alfred sat on a leather couch with an unopened book beside him. Both men rose upon Killian's entry.

‘Lieutenant General Killian, welcome.' Lord Cavendale stepped from behind his desk to shake his hand. ‘Would you like a drink? Coffee, perhaps? Or something stronger if you prefer. It's a bit early, but we won't judge.' He winked at Killian. For a wild moment, Killian was reminded of his own father. Grief and longing washed over him. He cleared his throat, attempting to regain his composure.

‘Coffee would be fine.' Killian wasn't thirsty, but it would be a welcome distraction during what promised to be a difficult conversation.

‘Williams, would you send up some coffee, please.' Lord Cavendale glanced at the butler, then gestured to the sitting area where Alfred stood stiffly, one hand clasped behind his back, the other tapping the book against his thigh.

Killian unbuttoned his jacket and chose a wingback chair in deep jade upholstery.

‘Is there anything else, Your Grace?' The butler asked.

‘Just the coffee,' Cavendale never turned away from Killian. ‘I must say, we were hoping you would speak with us.' He sat in the brother to Killian's chair, leaving the leather couch for his son. Alfred sat last, placing his book on a dark oak coffee table separating him from Killian.

It struck Killian again how similar Alfred looked to Patrick. But he was also a copy of his father. Unfortunately, Alfred inherited his father's double-chin. Patrick had been spared that feature. Perhaps it would have developed over time if he had been given the chance to live long enough. Killian pushed down the guilt and focused on his task.

Lord Cavendale smiled at Killian, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening. ‘Thank you for taking time to speak with us about such a painful topic. It may seem masochistic for me to want details, but sometimes imagination can be a cruel monster, creating the worst of scenarios.'

Alfred made a noise in the back of his throat like a choked cough. ‘Please. Are you really thanking the man responsible for Patrick's death?'

‘Alfred!' Lord Cavendale turned on his son, his mouth tightening as white brackets formed at the corners of his lips. His face grew red with anger or embarrassment, perhaps both.

Alfred couldn't be more different than his father in manner. Lord Cavendale was courteous and kind; his son was a battering ram.

Alfred glared at Killian, not bothering to mask his hostility. Killian knew anger and grief were twins born from the same pain. He couldn't blame Alfred for his disdain, but the man's rudeness still chafed.

‘I won't sit here and pretend to be grateful to this man, Father. Unlike you, I hold no kind feelings toward a leader who failed to protect his men.'

The bullet hit its mark, and Killian clenched his hands to stop them from shaking. He had failed so many.

‘Silence! I won't have any child of mine behave like a savage.' Lord Cavendale's voice shook as he gripped the armrest of his chair. ‘I want to know what happened to my Patrick. Lieutenant General Killian has agreed to meet with us. Control yourself or get out.'

‘I already know what happened.' Alfred stood and tugged roughly on his jacket. He strode around the low table, stopping several feet away from Killian. He jabbed his finger at Killian like a sabre. ‘You, sir, are why Patrick is dead, and no amount of bills passed in the House of Lords for wounded soldiers will absolve you of your crime.' Unshed tears shone in the younger man's eyes.

Alfred's words were a guillotine severing Killian's hard-won composure. Both Alfred and his father deserved to hear at least some of the truth. Something to ease their pain. If Killian could offer a moment of peace, he must do it.

Rage and grief sometimes amalgamated into something else entirely. A raw need for revenge that would never be fulfilled. A madness with no cure, and he loathed for either of these men to embrace that monster. Killian forced his voice to soften. ‘I do not seek absolution. But I would offer you some comfort if I can. Patrick fought bravely. You should know he died with honour.' The lie tasted bitter on his tongue, but he did not regret it.

Alfred's skin mottled red, contrasting against lips pressed so tight, they were a single white line. ‘I don't need you to tell me that my brother was brave or honourable.' Alfred's voice broke. ‘Patrick was always perfect. Even in death.' He cleared his throat and spun around. ‘I'll take my leave.' He strode from the room without another word, slamming the door behind him.

Lord Cavendale wiped his hand over his mouth. ‘Allow me to apologise for my son. Older brothers are supposed to be an example for their younger siblings. But Alfred followed along behind Patrick from the moment his younger brother could walk. I think Alfred's lost now, without Patrick to lead the way.' Lord Cavendale laughed, but there was no joy in the sound. Killian wished he could say something to help, but words failed him.

Lord Cavendale leaned back in the chair, his sharp gaze taking in details Killian wished he could hide. The sheen of perspiration on Killian's brow. The way Killian couldn't hold Cavendale's frank stare. The black halo of disgrace that covered him.

‘Alfred is wrong about you, son.' Cavendale nodded at Killian in wordless affirmation. ‘Patrick's death is not your fault. Poor Alfred has always tried so hard to be the kind of man Patrick was. Tried and failed. When Patrick joined the military, his brother went out and joined one of those secret societies of all things. As if that was the same.' Cavendale tapped his fingers on the chair's arm. ‘Don't let Alfred upset you, Lieutenant General. He doesn't understand men like us. Men like my Patrick.'

Killian couldn't imagine how difficult it must be to lose a son like Patrick and try to guide another like Alfred. He wanted to ease Lord Cavendale's embarrassment about Alfred's behaviour. ‘Grief does strange things to people. And Alfred is right. It was my job to protect the men under my command. Including Patrick. I failed in my duties.'

Lord Cavendale harrumphed, an oddly comforting sound. ‘Bollocks! I followed the campaign, you know. You did the best you could in an impossible situation.'

A footman entered carrying a silver tray laden with various pots and dishes. He set up the coffee, cream, sugar, and cups on the table and then exited.

Lord Cavendale poured two cups of steaming, black liquid. ‘Please, join me.'

Killian leaned forward to take the offered cup, inhaling the rich aroma. Lord Cavendale's study was large enough to be comfortable without seeming ostentatious. Killian glanced to his left where three bay windows looked out onto the grounds. His entire body tightened. A distinctive leather boot, too small for a man's, poked out from underneath the forest-green curtains of the far-left window.

Impertinent woman!

Hannah must have been snooping in the study. She wouldn't have assumed Lord Cavendale to be conducting business so early with guests in his manor. All Cavendale needed to do was glance to his right, and she would be discovered.

Killian stood. Lord Cavendale raised a surprised eyebrow but was forced to join him.

Killian cleared his throat. ‘I know you have questions about Patrick, but I would like to have this conversation when Alfred is present. You both deserve to hear the details. Perhaps I can speak to Alfred privately and ease his anger.' He grasped for a line of conversation that would get them out of the study. ‘I have been told he has an interest in horses and that you have quite an excellent array of specimens in your stables. Major General Drake and I were hoping you would give us a tour. It might give me an inroad to winning over Alfred.' He gestured toward the door.

Lord Cavendale's eyes brightened. ‘Clever idea! I admit, I hoped you and Alfred might strike up a friendship. He would benefit from your influence.' He clapped a hand on Killian's shoulder. Killian felt a strange warmth, something close to acceptance emanating from the older man. Lord Cavendale smiled at Killian, his crooked teeth lending an endearing quality to the expression. ‘Yes, quite. I would be happy to show off some of Alfred's prime stallions. His hobby is an extravagance, but he keeps telling me there's profit to be made in quality horseflesh. Perhaps we can convince him to join us.' He stepped forward.

Killian glanced behind him. The boot disappeared behind the drapes. Just as he reached the door, he paused. ‘I must return to my room to get my gloves. Shall we meet in the stables in fifteen minutes?'

Cavendale nodded his agreement, and they turned in opposite directions. Killian slowed his pace and listened to the older gentleman's boots echoing down the hall. When he could no longer hear them, he spun and retraced his steps. Moving swiftly, he snuck back into the study just as Miss Simmons emerged from the drapes.

‘You sneaky little minx.' He shut the door behind him and enjoyed watching Hannah's face transition from surprise to annoyance.

‘How did you know I was here?' Her dark brows furrowed, creating a crease between them.

Killian's cock twitched to life. Ridiculous. To be aroused by a forehead wrinkle. ‘Your boot was showing. And as you are the only woman I know who insists on wearing men's footwear, it was not difficult to determine your identity.' Tsking, he shook his head. ‘Really, Miss Simmons. Such a disappointing lack of discipline.'

‘I am the only woman you know who wears sensible footwear. Men shouldn't be the sole benefactors of adequate shoes.' Anger heightened her colour and quickened her step as she swished toward him. She was wearing brown. Instead of diminishing her beauty, the simple dress highlighted her trim figure and contrasted with the dramatic colouring of her red lips and pearl skin. ‘I wouldn't have to hide if you didn't organise a meeting in Lord Cavendale's study.' She stopped in front of him, a finger pointed at his chest.

‘You can't possibly be blaming me for this,' he sputtered.

‘Why not? It's clearly your fault.'

‘What exactly were you hoping to find?'

‘Hah!' She dropped her accusatory finger and put her hands on her hips. ‘Like I would tell you.' Her gaze dropped to his lips, and she licked her own.

Killian stepped closer, delighted when she didn't back away. ‘Shouldn't you be focusing your attention on Lord Bradford? What do you think you'll find in Lord Cavendale's study of all places?'

‘Did you not hear me the first time? I'm not telling you anything.'

‘I bet I could find a way to convince you.'

Her breathing accelerated, and he watched her cotton dress expand and contract. He wanted to see her naked in the sunlight. To see every detail of her bathed in brightness as her body quickened with desire.

‘I dare you to convince me of anything,' she refuted. She never backed down. He'd not met a woman so willing and ready to spar. It was intoxicating.

Killian raised an eyebrow. ‘Speaking of dares. Did you take me up on mine?'

Hannah's skin flushed rose, and her eyes darted away from him. She bit her lip. Her citrus and vanilla scent filled his lungs.

He wanted to taste her mouth, to trace her full upper lip with his tongue. Instead, he settled for seducing her with words. ‘You did, didn't you? You found your treasure. Tell me, did you play with that sweet little pearl? Did you think of me while you were touching yourself?' The image of her delicate, tapered fingers delving deep into the pink folds of her cunny almost destroyed him.

She returned his gaze and narrowed her eyes in a stubborn expression he was growing to crave. ‘You are despicable.' She huffed out a breath. ‘How did you know?'

‘You can't resist a dare, Miss Simmons. And neither can I.'

‘Now I know how to bring myself to culmination, what further use do I have of you?' She raised an eyebrow, her amber eyes flashing in challenge.

‘Pleasuring oneself is akin to scratching an itch, don't you think? Quick, efficient, perfunctory. But what we create together, increasing the ache until it throbs, sharpening the pleasure until it cuts, fanning the blaze until it consumes…' He stepped closer with every incendiary word until they were a breath apart. ‘I promise I can be very, very useful. I propose a new game for us to play during our next flirtation. It would seem you have details about Sarah Bright that I need. For every piece of information you share with me, I shall kiss, lick, suck, and nibble that sweet little pearl of yours. Interested?'

Her mouth fell open in shock. He took advantage and nipped at her bottom lip.

Footsteps echoed in the hall. They both froze. They turned in unison, their gazes on the door. There was no time to hide. If Lord Cavendale or Alfred returned to the study, they would be discovered. The footsteps approached the door, then continued down the hall.

Killian and Hannah exhaled loudly in shared relief.

Hannah took a large step away from him. ‘We should leave. Separately. I'll go first.' Not waiting for Killian's response, she walked swiftly to the door. He admired the sway of her hips as she retreated. ‘And yes, I might be interested.' Without a backward glance, Hannah opened the door and slipped out. Almost as if she were conceding a battle. Almost as if he won this skirmish.

Hannah dressed carefully for the mid-morning activities. They would be riding horses to a picturesque valley next to a river. The household staff would already be there, preparing a picnic for the party.

If Hannah ever wondered what outfit she would die in, now she knew. A borrowed riding habit from Ivy Cavendale's middle sister. Hannah was terrified of horses, and they loathed her. Every. Single. One.

‘Miss, if you keep twitching your leg like that, I'll never finish. Please, could you sit still?' Poor Betty had to re-twist Hannah's hair for the third time. Hannah's frantic leg shaking threatened to exceed the limits of her maid's extensive patience.

‘You have always been remarkably silly when it comes to horses.' Philippa sat on Hannah's bed, slapping a riding switch against her leather boots. She eschewed the respectable riding habit for a pair of split skirts, fitted vest, and tailored greatcoat. On any other woman, it would cause a scandal, but Philippa made the entire ensemble look quite dashing. She finished the outfit with a tall riding hat.

‘Unlike certain duchesses, I was never given the opportunity to learn as a girl.' Hannah heard the sharpness in her tone. She hated feeling inadequate and sitting astride a horse, she wasn't just insufficient. She was woefully inept.

‘Yes, and despite many attempts from a certain duchess to provide lessons, you never took the opportunity to learn as a young woman. So, this is what you get.' Philippa thwacked the riding crop against her boot again.

‘Thank you so very much for your empathy.' Hannah ignored the precarious dip of her stomach.

‘You're welcome. Now, did you learn anything from snooping in Lord Cavendale's study?'

Hannah would not blush. She refused to be embarrassed. She wouldn't think about her encounter with Killian in the study.

‘You've gone quite flushed. What happened?' Philippa stood from the bed and narrowed her gaze.

Bloody hell!

‘Nothing happened. Well, I was interrupted by Lord Cavendale, his son, and Lord Killian.'

‘Really? Interesting. What exactly were they meeting about?'

For once, Hannah didn't want to share all her information with Philippa. Alfred Cavendale blamed Killian for his brother's death. And for some reason, Killian seemed to agree. She hadn't seen their faces, but she heard the accusation in Alfred's words and the shame in Killian's response. For reasons she refused to examine, she didn't want to share Killian's disgrace with Philippa.

Hearing the undisguised hatred in Alfred's voice as he hurled insults at Killian made her hope Alfred was the killer. She wanted an excuse to hurt him. What kind of woman wanted to hurt a grieving brother? Most probably a very bad woman.

Hannah forced her thoughts back to the conversation with Philippa. ‘Lord Killian was speaking about Patrick, the youngest Cavendale son. Apparently, Lieutenant General Killian was Patrick's commanding officer and was there when he died. Alfred was incredibly rude about the whole situation. It's all rather complicated. It seems Alfred always held his brother in high esteem. He even joined some secret society when Patrick entered the military. Lord Cavendale did his best to make up for Alfred's ungentlemanly conduct toward Killian.'

Philippa tapped the riding crop against her lip. ‘Killian?'

Hannah swiped at an imaginary speck of dust on the table. ‘Lieutenant General Killian.'

‘Hmm.' Philippa's gaze remained steady on Hannah.

Betty put a final pin in Hannah's hair. Hannah turned and smiled at her maid. ‘Well done, Betty. Even with all my fidgeting.'

‘You look ever so lovely in rose, miss. If you don't mind me saying. I don't know why you always wear such dull colours when…' Betty slapped her hand over her mouth, and her eyes widened.

‘Don't worry, Betty. You're quite right. Miss Simmons may need to re-think her wardrobe soon. Especially now she's on a first-name basis with Lord Killian. I doubt the Duke of Covington will stand for his wife being shrouded in greys and browns.'

‘His first name is Robert, as you well know. And I'm hardly a candidate to become his wife.' Hannah crossed her arms over the white bone buttons running down the front of her riding habit.

‘Then you had better be very careful about how familiar you become with the duke, Hannah.' Philippa stepped closer, putting her hand on Hannah's arm. ‘I don't want you getting hurt.'

Hannah bit her lip as a hot wave of embarrassment engulfed her. ‘You are the one who spoke to me about the tenderness one might feel for another. You asked if I was interested in Killian, er, I mean, Lord Killian.'

Philippa pulled back her hand. ‘Yes, and you told me you weren't the least inclined to find flirtations with the duke appealing. It seems your tune has changed.'

Hannah tipped up her chin and pressed her heels into the carpet. ‘As has yours. Why are you so opposed to my interests?' She rarely fought with Philippa and hated when conflicts arose between them.

‘Just be careful. Your heart is far more fragile than you think. Men can be cruel and careless when it comes to the tender parts of a woman.' Philippa glanced away, and Hannah thought of Lord Winterbourne. He had been so kind to her mother, but her suspicions about his treatment of Philippa grew darker.

‘Is this why you've taken such a keen interest in your role as chaperone?'

Philippa shrugged. She looked out the window instead of at Hannah.

Hannah closed the distance between them. ‘I'll be careful, Philippa. I promise. This is not an engagement of the heart. I just have questions he is willing to answer. Is that so wrong?'

Philippa slapped the riding crop against her hand. ‘No. It's natural. It's bloody well encouraged in men. Why shouldn't we be allowed our share of desire? If you only want a physical relationship with him, I encourage you to do it and feel no shame. But Hannah, I see how you've been looking at him. How he looks at you. Physical attraction can so easily turn into something more.'

Hannah shook her head. Philippa was worried for nothing. ‘It won't. I promise.'

Philippa held Hannah's gaze. ‘I hope you're right. Because if he hurts you, I'll kill him.'

Hannah didn't doubt Philippa's words nor the unspoken love prompting them.

‘You won't have to. I'll kill him myself and save you the trouble. But Philippa, I won't let him hurt me.' Before she could think about it, Hannah leaned forward and hugged Philippa. The older woman stiffened in her arms, dropping her riding crop. Hannah breathed in the rich scent of jasmine and something darker, frankincense or sandalwood. She released Philippa and stepped back.

Betty gulped in a breath and dropped the brush she was holding. Philippa retrieved her crop, thwacking it against her boot for good measure. Hannah smiled before sighing dramatically. ‘I suppose we should go downstairs so I can hurry up and fall off a blasted horse.'

‘Indeed.' Philippa pressed her lips together. Hannah wondered if they trembled, or perhaps her patroness was just irritated by such an unexpected display of affection. Before she could decide if she'd cracked the duchess's impenetrable shell, Philippa turned and led the way out of Hannah's room.

Comments

0 Comments
Best Newest

Contents
Settings
  • T
  • T
  • T
  • T
Font

Welcome to FullEpub

Create or log into your account to access terrific novels and protect your data

Don’t Have an account?
Click above to create an account.

lf you continue, you are agreeing to the
Terms Of Use and Privacy Policy.