Chapter Twenty-four

It was after midnight when Foster let the Earl of Stoneridge into the house, and Sylvester was surprised to find his household still busy, the main salons still brightly lit.

"What's to do, Foster?" He sidestepped a servant hurrying from the dining room with a tray of dirty dishes. His mother and sister kept early hours, and the household should have been abed long since.

"Oh, quite a party we've had, sir." Foster beamed, taking his cape and cane. "Quite like old times it was, my lord, to have the family all around the dinner table, and Mr. Edward, too, and Lady Clarry's beau."

He closed the front door, observing judiciously, "That young Mr. Lacey seems a nice gentleman. He and Lady Clarry will be making a match of it before Christmas, you mark my words."

He turned back to the earl, his beam fading as he took in his lordship's expression, a mixture of chagrin and acute exasperation. "Am I to understand Lady Belmont and the girls were here to dinner?" Sylvester asked slowly. "With my mother and sister?"

"Oh, yes, indeed, sir. But Lady Gilbraith and Miss Gilbraith retired early, before tea. I understand her ladyship does not approve of lottery tickets and such trivial amusements." Foster's voice was now expressionless, his face impassive, except for his eyes, where Sylvester swore he could detect a glimmer of unholy amusement.

"The family do tend to become a little noisy, of course, when playing such games," Foster continued blandly. "Many's the time I've heard Lady Belmont beg them to quieten down, but never too seriously… Will I lock up now, my lord?"

"Yes, I'm going to bed," the earl said curtly, striding to the stairs.

"Oh, by the by, my lord. Miss Gilbraith had to be moved from the Chinese room," Foster intoned. "She found the dragons on the wallpaper made her bilious. Good night, my lord."

Sylvester's lip quivered despite his annoyance, but he managed to keep his amusement from his voice as he bade the butler good night.

He strode upstairs in a seething muddle of acute frustration and reluctant amusement. Instead of suffering a boring and thoroughly disagreeable evening, Theo had obviously had a wonderful time with her favorite people, contriving to exclude his mother and sister into the bargain. He was getting very tired of being outmaneuvered by that ramshackle gypsy.

And then he thought of Mary and the dragons, and a reluctant little chuckle escaped him. Bilious, indeed! He could imagine how his in-laws would have enjoyed it. Even Elinor would have had her quiet smile.

A thin gold line of candlelight showed under Theo's door as he went past to his own room. Presumably, she was relishing the success of her ploy. He marched into his room, letting the door bang shut behind him, hoping it had made her jump… hoping she might even be a little apprehensive, knowing he was back.

Henry never waited up for him, and his own room was lit by the banked fire in the grate and a single lamp, turned down low on the dresser. Yawning, he undressed and was about to climb into bed when he heard a chair scraping across the wooden floor in the room next door.

Theo was still awake. He shrugged into his dressing gown and softly opened his door onto the corridor, where candlelight now flickered from the wall sconces and there was the deep hush of a sleeping house. He glanced down and saw the light still below Theo's door.

He lifted the latch and pushed open the door. Theo was standing at the dresser, her back to him, a glass in her hand. She saw him in the mirror and spun around, placing the glass beside a small brown bottle on the dresser.

"Sylvester!"

"Why aren't you asleep?" he asked, coming into the room.

"I wasn't feeling very sleepy." She pushed her tumbled hair away from her face.

"Too stimulating an evening, perhaps," he observed dryly.

A slight guilty flush tipped her cheekbones. "I thought your mother might enjoy the company."

"Fustian!" he declared.

Theo's flush deepened. She regarded him in silence for a minute, then said with an air of resolution, "I am truly sorry about this afternoon, Sylvester. It was stupid and reckless and anything else you want to call it"

He strode across to her, catching her chin, saying roughly, "What you mean is that forgetting to take your pistol was all of those things. Isn't that what you mean, Theo?

"Isn't that what you mean?" he repeated when she didn't immediately respond.

"I suppose so," she confessed. "I do believe everything would have been fine if I'd thought it through. Only I didn't."

"No, you didn't, and nearly got both yourself and Edward killed." His fingers tightened on her jaw. "Well, it's not going to happen again, Theo. As soon as my mother leaves, you're going back to Stoneridge."

"Alone?" Startled indignation flared in the purple eyes.

"Alone," he confirmed. "I have some unfinished business here. When it's done, I'll come myself."

"Oh, so that's it!" She jerked her head sideways, away from his hold. "You're afraid I might dip my toes in your unfinished business! You don't understand. You just don't understand! I want to be a part of what's troubling you. I want to help you. People who care for people want to help them. But you don't understand that because you don't understand what it is to care for someone." Her voice thickened on an angry sob as she flung away from him.

"What do you mean, I don't care?" Sylvester said, taken aback. "Of course I do."

She was standing in front of the fire, and the shape of her body was outlined beneath the almost transparent lawn of her nightgown. He could see the pale swell of her breasts and the darker shadow of her nipples. His body stirred, sprang to life.

"Come here," he said softly, reaching for her hands, drawing her against him. "Let me show you how much I care."

"No!" Theo said fiercely, trying to push him away. "Don't touch me! I don't want you to touch me, Stoneridge. In fact, I don't think I want you to touch me ever again!"

"Now, that's a silly thing to say." And she knew that it was.

He caught her wrists in one hand, clipping them behind her back, pressing her body against his, his other hand tilting her chin so that she had to look up at him. Her eyes were a battlefield of confusion, need, and anger.

She jerked her head aside as he bent to kiss her.

His mouth bumped into her ear, which struck him as good a place as any other. His tongue darted, a hot, moist lance, and Theo struggled in his hold, but he laughed and tightened his grip as his tongue explored the intricate whorls of the dainty shell lying flat against the side of her head.

"I adore your ears," he murmured, his breath a warm and tickling rustle. Theo tried to pull her head free of his grasp, struggling to resist the irresistible. He knew how sensitive her ears were, how after a very few moments she would yield to the tormenting, arousing stimulation that would spread from the spot where his tongue danced right down to her toes.

His teeth nibbled her earlobe, and she bucked and jerked in his hold, every sinuous wriggle increasing his determination to transform her resistance to passion. She was too slender and light to have much muscle power, and he knew her strength lay in the way she could use her body. Swiftly, he adjusted his hold so that he held her sideways across his thighs. She was now unbalanced and could get no leverage. He swung a leg over hers, imprisoning her legs just in case she was contemplating one of her devastating high kicks, and then, confident that he had her firmly secured, he smiled down into her furious, flushed face.

"That's better. Now, are you going to let me get on with giving us both pleasure, or shall we wrestle some more?"

There was something different about him, she thought. Something carefree and impulsive, as if he'd shed some restraints. Desire danced in his eyes, and she could smell brandy sweetness on his breath as he laughed down at her.