Taken by the Earl (Regency Unlaced 3) (7 page)

Fliss had never been manhandled this way before. Nor did she think she should find quite so much delicious pleasure in it, or in seeing the earl so incensed.

Except, to her shame, she did. Another shiver of anticipation now ran the length of her spine as she wondered how he would punish her for disobeying him.

For so long, she had been the dutiful daughter, the Honorable Miss Felicity Barnett. Then the loyal wife, Mrs. Stephen Randall. Now the respectable widow, Mrs. Felicity Randall. At all times, and as all of them, she had been completely above reproach.

Sin had shown her a different side of herself, both last night and again this morning.
He
saw her as something other than any of those roles of respectability.

That he was furious, she had no doubt. That his fury was directed at her was also in no doubt. She should be resisting his hold on the top of her arm as he dragged her along beside him. Should be furious at his high-handedness in dragging her about at all, in this less than ladylike manner.

Instead, it was excitement which now thrummed through Fliss’s body. A delicious thrill that hardened the already sensitive tips of her breasts and caused a slick heat to suffuse the plumpness of her nether lips.

She had known so much pleasure beneath the ministration of this man’s mouth and hands already, and she now hungered for more of the same.

She was utterly shameless in that hunger.

Wanton, even.

“Whatever you want or are expecting, I do not have the time for right now,” Sin growled as he threw open the door to Fliss’s bedchamber. He pushed her into the room and then followed her inside. The door closed behind him with a decisive slam.

Fliss stumbled as he released her. “You are not a gentleman, sir.” He dressed as one, had the public demeanor of one, but he was assuredly not one. Fliss rubbed the spot where he had gripped her arm so tightly, she could already see the marks of where his fingers had been.

Sin crossed his arms in front of his chest as he leaned back against the door. “What did you not understand about my instruction earlier, to return to your bedchamber and stay there?”

She bristled. “I am a grown woman and not answerable to you or any other man.”

“Really? To me, your behavior seems more like that of a petulant child.”

Anger burned in Fliss’s cheeks at the rebuke. “I merely saw an opportunity and took it. I do not see what is so terribly wrong in that.” She was not about to explain, when Sin was so unreasonably angry, that it had not been her idea to linger downstairs in the breakfast room.

“And did this
opportunity
offer any further insight in that you have recognized the voice of my would-be assassin?”

“Not as yet. But—”

“My groom and horse are both likely to die, and
you
take delight in defying me?” he spat out in disgust. “Who knows where or at whom this madman will strike next, or when?”

Fliss’s eyes widened in shock, her anger forgotten. “You do believe they were struck down deliberately, then?”

“I have no certain proof of that as yet, nor does the head groom here. Only that he has never seen anything strike so swiftly and virulently.” Sin pushed away from the door to begin pacing the bedchamber. “We will need to go over the conversation you overheard at the Woodrows’ ball more carefully. To see if there are any clues there to point to the reason someone wishes to harm me. And, it would seem, those around me,” he added harshly.

“I have already told you all I know—”

“Then you will tell me again,” he snapped.

“And this time you will listen?”

Sin sighed at the unspoken rebuke, knowing it was wholly deserved. “This time I will listen.”

Listen he did, but to no real avail. Fliss had obviously given this matter considerable thought during the weeks since she’d overheard the conversation, and her recall of detail was meticulous. Except she still had no idea who the lady or gentleman might have been. Nor did Sin have any idea why he should have incited these murderous feelings in the first place.

All they knew with any certainty was the place where Sin’s murder was due to take place.

Eckles Manor.

Chapter 7

“Where are you going?” Fliss frowned as Sin moved to her bedchamber door.

He shot her a glowering glance. “I only came back to the house to change out of these clothes and into something more suited for the stable. My groom is sick,” he reminded her as she looked at him questioningly. “The doctor has been called to attend to him, and so I am needed to attend to my horse.”

This
was what he had meant earlier when he told her
whatever you want or expect, I do not have the time for right now
.

What had he thought she wanted or expected?

Exactly what
had
she wanted? To feel the full weight of his anger before that anger turned to other, more pleasurable pursuits?

Yes.

What was wrong with her? What sort of woman had she become in the twenty-four hours since her arrival here?

A woman she hardly knew, Fliss realized, as a heaviness settled in her chest. A woman who had thought only of her own pleasure when a man and horse were possibly dying. Poisoned, she had no doubt, even if Sin did, by whoever wished to kill the earl.

She looked at him sharply. “You should not stand vigil alone. I will—”
 

“I will not be alone. The Eckles’s head groom will be with me.
You
will send word down to our hostess that you are indisposed,” the earl informed her flatly. “Then you will remain here in your room until I return.”

“But that could be tomorrow morning,” Fliss protested. “What am I supposed to do shut in here all day?”

He shrugged. “Read a book. Until yesterday, it appears to have been your favorite pastime,” he taunted.

Until yesterday? What—

Fliss turned away from the scathing mockery she could see in Sin’s expression.

He
knew
, damn it.

How she now hungered and ached inside to feel more of the pleasure he had already given her. Of how her disappointment in his leaving had only increased that ache.

Her humiliation was complete.

Fliss raised her chin. “I would appreciate it if you would send word if—when, there is any change in either your groom’s condition, or your horse’s. I will worry otherwise,” she said as Sin looked at her enquiringly.

Sin’s initial anger at finding Fliss at the center of a handful of flirting fops when he had clearly instructed her otherwise now abated, to an extent he realized he had perhaps been a little harsh with her.

After all, she had only come here to Eckles Manor because of him. Now he knew who her husband had been, he was aware the respectable widow of Major Stephen Randall would not willingly have chosen to spend part of her summer with a house full of debauched revelers.
 

Her complete innocence of such behavior put her in almost as much danger as she claimed him to be, if from another source entirely.

“I will send word.” He nodded. “In return,
you
will do as I say this time, and also lock the door when I leave. Your maid will deliver all your meals to your room. You are not to leave this bedchamber until I return to the house and say you may.”

Fliss gasped. “You have no right!”

Sin crossed the bedchamber in two strides before grasping the tops of her arms and shaking her. “Damn it, can you not see I am doing my best to protect you? You
will
do as I say, Fliss.” He stared down at her intently.

In Fliss’s opinion, Sin was being overly protective in expecting her to spend all of this gloriously sunny day in her bedchamber. After all, she was not the one in danger, he was.

Besides which, she had already agreed to join Lord Adam Sterling for a picnic luncheon.

“I understand,” she answered with a noncommittal smile.
 

“Good.” He lowered his head and kissed her hard on the lips before releasing her just as abruptly and stepping back. “Lock the door behind me,” he repeated firmly.

Fliss kept a half smile on her face for as long as it took Sin to leave her bedchamber. That smile disappeared as she locked the door and then pressed her ear against it, listening until she heard Sin’s firm tread disappear down the hallway.

She turned to lean back against that door, fingers lifted to the lips he had just ravaged, half of her knowing the kiss had been meant as yet another way of controlling her, another part of her not caring why he had kissed her, only that he had.

She truly had become wanton in her yearnings for Sin’s attentions.

But not his domination.
 

She didn’t care what Sin said or instructed, there were at least half a dozen gentlemen at Eckles Manor who fitted the height, build, and hair color of the man she had heard discussing Sin’s murder. If Sin was preoccupied with the care of his horse, then it was up to Fliss to meet each of those gentlemen individually. To do her best to ascertain whether or not he was the man she had overheard bargaining sexual favors in exchange for killing the earl.

Starting with Lord Adam Sterling.

Sin was exhausted as he sat in the straw beside a now standing Dante, the darkness outside the stable telling him of the lateness of the hour. But at least his stallion was back on his feet, if looking very sorry for himself, his chestnut coat lackluster.

Sin and Tom, the head groom here, had purged the stallion first thing and then suffered hours of caring for the sick beast and forcing more water down his throat to replace what he had lost.

His groom was given similar treatment by the doctor who had been called to attend him, and was also recovering. Sin intended talking to him as soon as the man was well enough to give an account of what had happened. This illness seemed to have been caused by something ingested by both groom and horse. Quite what that could have been, Sin had no idea. Yet.
   

 
It had been growing dark outside, lamps alight in the stable, when he finally felt the danger for Dante had passed and he could dismiss the head groom.

Sin rose wearily his feet to stroke and pet the equine’s neck. “I will find who did this to you,” he assured softly in the stillness of the night. “And when I do, they will pay, and pay dearly. I promise you that.”

“You would find it strange, I am sure, if he were to answer you.”

Sin turned, only the dark shadow of the woman visible on the other side of Dante’s stall. But Sin knew Fliss’s voice well enough to be sure it was her. “What are you doing out of your bedchamber?”

She gave an impatient snort as she stepped farther into the soft glow of the lamplight. “I have brought you food. Cook says you have not eaten anything all day.” She held up the wicker basket and blanket she carried before placing them down beside her.

He raised his brows. “You have been down to the kitchen to get me food?”

“Is that something else you forbid me to do?”

His jaw tightened as he heard the sarcasm lacing her tone. “If it involved you leaving your bedchamber, then yes. If a member of my ship’s crew had disobeyed me in this way, they would have felt the lash.”

“You have a ship?”

“As it happens, I do. But I was referring to my years as captain aboard one of His Majesty’s frigates.”

“You fought in His Majesty’s navy?”

“I did.”

Sin’s closed expression also told her he would not discuss the subject any further tonight. If ever. That he had already told her too much.
   

“Your horse is better?” Fliss stretched her arm over the top of the wooden stall to gently stroke the neck of the chestnut stallion.

“Much,” Sin confirmed as he stepped out into the main stable and crossed to where there was a bucket of water in which to wash.

It warmed Fliss’s heart to see the beautiful horse was at least standing. She seemed to recall her father had once said that if a sick horse lay down, it rarely got up again.

Stroking and talking to the animal allowed her to avoid looking at Sin.

She had not thought… It had not occurred to her earlier when he said he wished to change into more suitable clothes…

The earl was only half-dressed.

He wore no jacket or waistcoat and necktie. His sleeves were turned back to just beneath his elbows, and his fine linen shirt was unfastened at the throat, revealing a light dusting of dark hair on his muscular chest.

The darkness of his hair was also tousled and fell rakishly across his forehead.

It reminded Fliss that the two of them were completely alone here in the dimly lit stable. Only the snorting and stomping of horses broke the silence. The air was filled with the smell of the freshly cut straw that lined the floors of the stalls, and the heat of the two dozen or so horses stabled here.

There was something earthy, almost primitive, about their surroundings, Fliss acknowledged. A far cry from the Eckles’s comfortable public rooms, where Fliss had spent the majority of her day following her picnic luncheon with Lord Sterling, when she had singled out and chatted with one fair-haired gentleman after another. So far, she’d had no success. Nothing about any of those gentlemen reminded her of the harshly spoken man in the Woodrows’ library.