He gazed at the white expanse of her delicate neck where the pulse fluttered ever so gently. He lowered his head to that spot on her creamy skin. She was as soft and decadent as he’d ever imagined as he closed his eyes and savored the taste of her on his lips. When he pulled back and looked into her eyes, he was lost as she stared at his mouth as if she wanted to taste him as well.
The water to his bath was getting cold, and his shoulder was aching from the way he was supporting her weight. As if sensing his discomfort, or perhaps feeling a bit of her own, Caillen gave him a weak smile. “You can release me, Simon.”
“To be honest, I’m not sure I can.” He looked down at her wet dress, molding to her beautiful form. “I’m afraid you are soaked to the bone.”
“I will clean up the mess I make.”
He scowled down at her. “You will not. I will tell the staff to clean it up.” He shifted her body. “There, put your hand on the edge of the tub and pull yourself up while I assist you at the same time.”
Within seconds she was standing over him. It did not escape him the way her eyes traveled to his manhood before she turned her back on him.
“You won’t say anything about Dorian, will you?” She asked, pausing as she began to dry her gown.
“It will be our secret, but does anyone else know? You showed no signs of being in a family way while you were at my mother’s residence and you had servants with you.”
“I trust my maid, Jane, explicitly. As for my driver and the outriders who were your footmen Charlie and John, they were paid handsome bonuses for their discretion and were advised that my son had been cared for while I recovered. The innkeeper and his wife were very grateful, and their daughter has been hidden away since they found out she was with child. She is very fragile at the moment, but she’s with a patient man who loves her.”
“Do you believe that to be true?”
“I believe her parents love her and they believe it to be true. I can only trust in that.”
He nodded in agreement, although she did not see it as she wrapped a linen around herself and continued to soak up the water from her skirts.
“If you’ll excuse me.” Caillen walked into his bedchamber, and he began washing the rest of his body while wondering if she’d continue walking right out of his life for good.
Nine
Whispers of the Ton
This Earl is on Fire
Dearest Reader,
It is with the greatest pleasure The Whispers of the Ton Press introduces a new segment of our paper certain to scandalize society. The mere brazen nature of our latest endeavor will have husbands and fathers rushing to hide our reports from their wives and daughters. However, after much consideration for the sensibilities of our female readers, we have determined it to be in the best interest of the masses to experience the real-life etchings of some of the ton’s most prestigious gentlemen.
We will not subject our readers to the raw caricature drawings of a less than skilled hand, but rather the talented renderings of a trained artist, who depicts, dare we say, her subjects in their truest form and in their own private residences. The artist has requested anonymity. One wouldn’t want all her secret talents exposed while she gives us a glimpse into the private lives of the most sought-after gentlemen who have graced our pages and the ton’s ballrooms.
Readers may have heard about the fire at the Earl of A’s townhouse. What they may not have realized, until our talented artist brought circumstances to light, was the presence of the Earl of A in Town at the time of the blaze. Feast your eyes on our very own rakish earl, who has always been a favorite subject of this author, clad only in his silk banyan, with a cast upon his leg as he was being carried down the stairs on a palanquín by six strapping young footmen. The details of the earl’s parrot flying above him and the scantily clad lady nurse keeping watch have been verified by this author.
Could there be a more a sensually exotic depiction of a god than the Earl of A? And dare this author ask our readers for the identity of the scandalous lady?
—The Whispers of the Ton published in April 1813 with a drawing of the deliciously masculine Earl of Astley with his hair mussed, and his clothing in limited supply. His muscular chest was bared and his legs uncovered. The ‘chair’ was substituted by a palanquin, and the lady was hardly standing guard as she was being tackled to the floor, but the dressing gown that slipped off one shoulder while flames engulfed the nearby wall was a romantic addition.
Simon had dressed with difficulty. His body was stiff and his mood was sour. It didn’t help that his trousers were loose, and his shirts seemed to sag. His once rakish style of clothing was now a season out of fashion, and he looked like a teen attempting to wear his father’s clothing to play at being the earl. He didn’t fill out his own damned clothing.
He stared at the book on the table and went over the information in his head that he needed to tell Sir Williamson, for what seemed like hours.
“Lady in the house,” Charlotte interjected into his musing.
“I should have believed you on so many occasions. My apologies, Charlotte, but this time I know you’re wrong. I haven’t heard a peep in the entire house. I pushed her way.”
“Who did you push away and what kind of peep were you expecting to hear?”
He looked toward the feminine voice, and his heart lifted more than he thought possible. “Charlotte said you’d left,” he lied as he watched Caillen move across the room followed by a servant who set a tea tray on the table next to him.
She grinned. “Charlottethought I’d left.” She turned and addressed his traitorous bird. “Charlotte, did you really say I left the house?”
“Lady in the house,” Charlotte said before beginning her routine of grooming her feathers.
