The Complete Regency Bestsellers And One Winters Collection. Rebecca WintersЧитать онлайн книгу.
belly.
Surprise hit him fully as he hardened again, the clenching surge of it taking breath as he turned her against him and pinned her motionless—slowly this time, listening to the rhythms of the long and silvered night. She cried out as his fingers found her desire and brought her with him.
‘My Hawk.’
His name, determined and possessive.
Then sleep came, borne upon the wings of exhaustion.
He woke her as the dawn climbed into the eastern sky, the first flush of pink reminding him of the colour of her skin. He had not slept at all, watching her lie against him, safe and quiet, her hair changing tones as the day bloomed.
‘Aurelia. Wake up.’
Blue and brown snapped open. Disorientation. Fear. And then acceptance. He liked the way her fingers curled into his own, a trusting touch.
‘It is nearly morning. If others are not to know of this…?’ He left the rest unsaid, but already she had risen, her hair falling to her waist as she pulled the bodice up and the creases in her skirts down.
‘Your servants?’
He knew what she asked. ‘Are asleep still.’ He had his own shirt in place by now and his trousers.
‘You cannot come with me, Stephen, back to Braeburn House. I need to go alone.’
With her shoes and stockings on and her hair bundled into its more familiar plait, Aurelia looked impatient to be gone.
‘My cloak will hide any damage,’ he heard her say as they walked back down the stairs, the colour in her cheeks high, but he could not let her go like this. Carefully he took one hand in his own.
‘Thank you.’
She smiled then, a full honest humour across her eyes, and allowed him to hold her fingers as they made their way through the front door to hail a hansom cab. After seeing her into it, he stepped back, his figure receding as she was driven the road.
She was home again in her room, the clock only just striking six and not a movement in the house.
Nothing had changed and yet everything had. She was a scarlet woman, a fallen woman, a woman who had seen a chance that she wanted to take and had taken it, in the bed of a lord who had transported her to heaven and back.
Between her thighs was the wetness of their coupling and her lips were swollen. Crossing to her mirror, Aurelia saw how his loving had marked her, branded her, making real that which she might have otherwise thought she imagined.
The scarlet silk highlighted everything. Her hair. Her pouting mouth. The swell of her bosom where his hands had lingered.
What next? What would happen when she saw Hawk again in the light of day at some soirée with all the manners and expectations of the ton swirling about her? What if she saw him in Leonora’s presence or in Cassandra’s? Would he say something? Would he hold her hand and expect…recognition? Would those about them perceive what she was certain would be in her eyes and on her face, her cursed blushes more prominent now than had been noticeable as a maiden?
She had unstoppered a genie that was both magical and terrible. Lust burnt in her eyes, the glitter of memory having an effect on her stomach and on the places between her legs where he had touched. Throbbing. Craving.
Outside, the first dawn calls of the birds surfaced and the sky was lightening. A new day and a new life. Closing her eyes, she smiled.
Leonora pressed into her side as Rodney Northrup went to find them each a drink.
It had been two days and nights since her…folly? She could conjure up no other way to put it and she had not heard a word from Stephen Hawkhurst since.
‘I love these large affairs,’ her sister was saying. ‘I love the lights and the dresses and the dancing, but most of all I love Rodney.’
Aurelia had to nod in agreement. Cassandra’s brother was gracious, charming and attentive. He had called in at Braeburn House almost every morning since Hawkhurst’s ball and his composure and temperament had never faltered. ‘You are most fortunate to have caught Northrup’s eye, Leonora, though I am certain he would say the same about you.’
‘You truly like him, Aurelia? I can’t tell you just how much that means to me, for I think if he asks me to be his bride I shall say yes.’
Her voice wavered as she looked across the room. ‘Is that not Mr James Beauchamp, Lia? I had asked Rodney to point him out to me once and I am certain that is the man speaking with Lord Hawkhurst.’
A tightening in her throat had more to do with the name of Hawkhurst than the mention of a man who would be her father’s successor and she felt her fingers grip her reticule with a sudden strength.
‘You look pale, Aurelia, but do not worry. All your efforts with Papa have paid off and I have never heard even the slightest of whispers…’ She stopped as the two men looked to be coming their way. Three, now, for Nathaniel Lindsay was also at their side.
‘Mrs St Harlow, Miss Beauchamp.’ Hawkhurst spoke first, the polite smile on his face alluding to none of the secret hours that they had shared in the moonlight. Allowing a good space between them, he introduced James Beauchamp, the mask of cordial social discourse firmly in place.
Her father’s heir was nothing like Aurelia had expected. He looked younger, for a start, and was more convivial. Taking her hand warmly, he bowed in respect.
‘I had hoped to be introduced to you since my return from the Americas a good three months ago, Mrs St Harlow.’
‘Indeed.’ She did not look over at Hawkhurst at all. What was he playing at? She had warned him not to interfere and yet here he was and in a venue where she couldn’t refuse to at least offer politeness.
Leonora had taken her once-removed cousin’s presence much to heart, however, and was impressing upon him the importance of meeting with Harriet and Prudence. Nathaniel Lindsay watched the proceedings with interest.
‘We did not see you last evening at the Coopers’, Mrs St Harlow. There was a musical interlude and I thought you might have been interested.’
‘I had a quiet evening, Lord Lindsay.’
‘The influenza is still troubling your father, then?’
Forced into another lie she nodded, catching the hint of humour in Hawkhurst’s face. Cassandra had come amongst the group and as a waltz began she ordered Hawkhurst to ask Aurelia to dance before leading her husband on to the floor, James Beauchamp and Leonora following.
When Hawkhurst’s arms came about her all she could remember was the wonder of their night together, though she tried her hardest to appear as nonchalant as he was.
‘Your nemesis is not a bad chap and as he was pestering Nat for an introduction I thought to do the honours myself. His own abode is supposedly bigger and more prepossessing than Braeburn House.’
‘Oh.’
‘He is rich, Aurelia, and congenial. In the scheme of things an introduction to one of your sisters might not be too bad a thing—easier than stalking another aristocrat, at least.’
When she did not answer he continued. ‘The world is not always crouching to strike, my love.’ The unexpected endearment had her looking up. ‘Perhaps if you gave it a chance you might end up surprised.’
Of a sudden Aurelia had no real grasp of which issue he spoke on.
‘I missed you last night.’ He whispered this so that there was no possibility of being overheard.
To one side of the room she noticed Elizabeth Berkeley and her group