Justine Elyot

Secrets and Lords


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Of course. Come in now. Or do I have to come over there and get you?’

      She stepped forward and he took hold of her wrist, quickly and firmly, and drew her inside the bedroom.

      ‘Well, Lady Macbeth,’ he said, cupping her cheeks in his hands, standing far too close.

      ‘No,’ she said, trying to shake her head free and failing. ‘Don’t touch me.’

      ‘Don’t touch you? You’ve come to my bedroom in the dead of night and you’re asking me not to touch you?’

      ‘Please. Not yet.’

      ‘Oh.’

      He dropped his hands from her and cocked his head to one side, examining her through narrowed eyes.

      ‘What have we here?’ he mused.

      Edie felt as if his fingers were still on her skin, still pushing through her hair. She burned in the places he had touched.

      ‘May I sit?’

      He waved a hand towards a sofa in the corner.

      ‘I’ve brandy in the bedside cupboard if you’d like …’

      ‘No, no.’

      He sat down beside her and took her hand in his, despite her attempts to pull it away.

      ‘So, then – what is it you want to say to me?’

      She couldn’t speak at first, her courage ebbing away, but when he began to stroke her fingers, she found her nerve and blurted it out.

      ‘I don’t think you should be doing … what you’re doing … with Lady Deverell.’

      He squeezed her fingers tight and let out an incredulous little laugh.

      ‘I fail to see how it’s any of your business … what was your name again? … Edie.’

      ‘Actually, I think it is my business. I think it’s everyone’s business because we all have to live in this house and if Lord Deverell finds out …’

      ‘He won’t.’

      ‘He’s your father. And she’s your father’s wife.’

      Charles was silent for a moment, then he tapped Edie’s fingers.

      ‘Do I detect the heady scent of blackmail, Edie? Because I can assure you that you don’t want to get on the wrong side of me. You don’t want that at all.’

      ‘No. No, you’ve completely misunderstood me. I’d never blackmail anyone.’

      ‘Good.’

      He was so close to her. Their thighs touched, his in silky robes, hers in a coarse linen gown. He smelled off-puttingly masculine. His scent wound itself into her resolve, weakening it and strengthening it at the same time.

      She liked having her hand wrapped in his. She liked it so much she wasn’t sure she could stand his letting go of it. He was some kind of sorcerer, casting a malign spell on her … why hadn’t she known one could feel like this?

      His forehead brushed hers. If she wasn’t careful, she would let him kiss her before the time was right. She had already accepted, at the very depths of her, that the kiss was inevitable. But she could at least put it off until she had stated her case.

       Pull yourself together, Edie.

      ‘So you refuse to stop … consorting with your stepmother?’ she said sharply.

      He burst out laughing.

      ‘Consorting? What kind of housemaid are you? You’re the quaintest little thing. It’s rather appealing.’

      ‘Please. I’m quite serious.’

      ‘You are, aren’t you? I’m fascinated by you. Why is this of such concern to you? And why do you think you can come to my rooms and dictate whom I allow into my bed? I should smack your bottom and send you on your way.’

      Edie clenched her fists tight, including the one that lay in his hand.

      ‘You wouldn’t understand my reasons,’ she said. ‘But I see I can’t persuade you.’

      ‘Oh, you haven’t even tried,’ he said in a low voice, bringing his lips perilously close to hers. His breath smelled of mints and the traces of post-prandial brandy. ‘Go on. Persuade me.’

      She wanted to know what his stubbled cheek would feel like on hers, quite badly.

       Not yet.

      ‘I’ll make a bargain with you,’ she said, clinging on to the remnants of her self-control.

      ‘Oh, will you, by Jove?’ His voice was so wickedly low, right in her ear. ‘A deal with the devil? A Faustian pact? Out with it, then. Don’t ask me to kill any kings for you though, eh, Lady Macbeth.’

      ‘If you’ll leave Lady Deverell alone … I’ll … let you …’

       Dear God, do I mean this? Will I?

      ‘Let me…?’ His breath, hot, fanning her neck.

      ‘Kiss …’

      Too late. It was already happening. They were kissing, and she had received no undertaking from him that he would stay out of Lady Deverell’s bed.

      And now, kissing, a thing she had wondered about often in a vaguely anthropological kind of way. An act seemingly devoid of biological function. The other beasts did not kiss so why did humans? How could the meeting of mouths create a bond or inflame a desire? And what of the secretions inevitably exchanged in the course of such activity? Was it not rather unhealthy?

      No, no, it was not unhealthy, it was superlatively lovely. Heavens, how lovely. And the desire was kindled so quickly that one stood no chance of repelling it. Within seconds it had seized one, taken one’s body and laid it wide open to the ravages of passion.

      Edie had never expected the ravages of passion. She had thought they only existed in the questionable novels the maids enjoyed.

      Anyway, it wasn’t passion, exactly, was it? More a sort of revelry of the senses. Such revelry that her attempt to keep a grip on herself by means of mental commentary soon failed and she was defeated.

       His Lordship’s lips …

      They pressed her onwards, whisking her up inside until she quivered like a helpless creature caught in a net.

      When he broke off, she had to gasp for breath.

      ‘Have you ever been kissed before?’ he asked.

      She noticed that he held the back of her neck with one hand – how had it got there? Worse, her own hands were gripping the lapels of his robe as if to stop him getting away from her.

      ‘Of course,’ she lied.

      ‘I’d find it hard to believe you hadn’t. But you’re trembling so violently – as if you’ve been attacked. You’re afraid, aren’t you?’

      ‘No.’ Again, it was a lie.

      ‘Don’t fib. What are you afraid of?’

      ‘All right. I haven’t ever kissed anyone before. You were right. And I’m only kissing you so that you’ll keep away from, from Lady Deverell.’

      His hand tightened, a little painfully, on the scruff of her neck.

      ‘Really?’ He had taken mortal offence. She should have phrased it differently. ‘You’re only thinking of our dear Ruby Redford? This is an ordeal for you, then?’

      ‘No, it’s not an ordeal. As it happens, it’s rather pleasant. But I don’t care for you, sir, nor do I have any feelings of love or anything of that kind. You’re attractive, I’ll allow, and that makes this easier,