Chapter Six

A volcano lay under Miss Peppiwell’s cool surface. Anthony had seen it, experienced it, last night. The ice had cracked and what peeked from under it, he’d not expected. Her eyes had glittered with ire, and her cheeks had flushed so becomingly at the audacity of his intimate touch. But there had also been raging hunger, one that had spiked an uncontrollable need inside of him. He could imagine what she would look like in the throes of passion, his cock sinking into the tight heat of her, encouraging her to take all of him.

God, he wanted her.

He had not intended for their kiss to traverse the path it had taken, but the readiness she had responded with roused and enthralled him. Her wet heat at his intimate caresses had only drawn him more. He’d watched the expressions chase across her face in rapid flicks of emotion—anger, bemusement, desire, then embarrassment. She had been clearly mortified by her vivid response.

He found her incredibly enticing.

Despite his enchantment, he had no bloody reason to push her so hard and so soon. Lord, the look on her face when he’d released her from their intimate embrace. Her confusion and humiliation had made him feel like a complete heel. It had been a while since he’d been so relaxed and free with a young lady. That was the only excuse he could think of for his ungentlemanly pursuit. No matter how hot or fast her body had accepted his advances, he should have been more mindful of her sensibilities.

He frowned, hands in his trouser pockets, staring out the window at the newest crumbling estate that was now his. Why was he so drawn to her? Her beauty was frigid, so unlike the women he was normally attracted to. And yet, she possessed a sensuality that shimmered beneath the chill, like a desert mirage.

But it was more than her beauty and sensuality that attracted him. He was curious about her. Such a bundle of contradictions, she was.

What had placed such icy reserve in her eyes? Why did Orwell pursue her?

A fork of lightning speared through the sky, startling the horses being led to the stables by his groom. He pulled himself from his musings. He had been too immersed in understanding the confounding Miss Peppiwell.

Dozens of gardeners, workmen, and tradesmen worked tirelessly to restore the massive Palladian manor house he stood in. He had found it several months ago during one of his visits to Lord Calvert’s estate in Hampshire, and had taken steps to purchase it. Something about the lonely beauty of the place had struck a chord inside him.

The huge structure held over two hundred rooms. The mass of weeds and vines that had choked the lawns had already been cleared, but the manor itself had a long way to go.

His brother’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “This is a solid investment.”

Anthony had been so deep in thought he’d not heard Sebastian enter. He glanced at him, noting the approval glowing in his brother’s eyes. “Yes. I’ve always thought this area the best place in Hampshire to acquire property.”

Sebastian strode into the breakfast room, arching a brow at the glass in Anthony’s hand; then went straight to the sideboard laden with scrambled eggs, bacons, sausages, kippers, muffins, toasted bread, sweet cakes, and several pots of tea.

“How did you convince Hutchinson to sell?” he asked around a mouthful of bacon after he’d seated himself at the table.

Anthony shrugged. “He had a price, and I found it.”

“It is impressive, the work that has been accomplished in a month. The only issue is your staff. Your butler is an ornery cuss,” Sebastian grumbled.

“I have no idea where Mother found him. I gave her full rein in hiring for the estate.”

Coolness chased his brother’s features at the mention of their mother. He did not deign to acknowledge Anthony’s mention of her.

“I gave Constance leave to decorate as she wished as well,” Anthony added.

“I noticed the dragon motifs embroidered into the drapes. I must confess I am pleasantly surprised by its beauty.”

Anthony laughed. “She insists that dragons are our coat of arms. I fear we regaled her with too much ancient dragon lore, growing up.”

Sebastian nodded with a grin. Anthony took in his windswept hair and the carefree way he appeared. It was a rare day when he looked so relaxed. Sebastian needed a steady woman, a mistress, given his views on marriage. A willing female body would go far to soothe the edginess the duke displayed more days than not. However, Anthony did not broach the topic, knowing how Sebastian felt about mistresses. The scar that flayed his left cheek was reminder enough of why he categorically refused to acquire another. It must be a dilemma—eschewing both temporary and permanent liaisons. Anthony did not know how he managed.

Cobalt-blue eyes met Anthony’s. “I’m returning to Norfolk. Care to join me?”

Norfolk was where the Calydon ducal estate and his brother’s home, Sherring Cross, lay.

“No, I have business to take care of in town.” He frowned at the reminder. “What do you know of Lord Orwell?”

Sebastian’s brows rose. “Not much. His father died while he was away at Eton, so he inherited the earldom quite young. But instead of squandering his inheritance like most young bucks, Orwell managed to grow it. He takes part in several ventures that we have also invested in. Why do you ask?”

Anthony hesitated for a moment; then confessed, “He is pursuing a young lady I am interested in.”

“It is not like you to squabble over a mistress. Let the lady choose,” Sebastian said mildly.

Anthony snorted, swallowing his drink in a gulp. He rolled the glass between his fingers. “I am referring to a young lady.” He glanced at Sebastian, now frozen with a mouthful of eggs, and chuckled at his stunned expression. “I fail to see why you are so shocked, Your Grace.”

“I have never seen you show a marked interest in any young society miss before. You have been blathering about marrying lately, but I did not realize someone had caught your attention.”

Anthony hadn’t spoken to him of Lady Jocelyn. A good thing. His brother would scold him for his behavior, which bordered on unchivalrous. He must absolutely remember to send her a note tonight, before he left for London. He couldn’t make himself call on her in person. He would feel too guilty over the disappointment in her eyes. He consoled himself that her distress would be strictly over losing his fortune, not Anthony himself.

He came back to the present, and Miss Peppiwell. “She is an American heiress, new to our shores these six months past.”

“And Lord Orwell courts her. But you are interested in making her an offer?”

Anthony contemplated his brother’s words, his eyes gazing unseeing out to where the gardeners were working furiously to clear brambles and thistles from the eastern side of the property. He studied the expanse of his estate with emotional detachment, and tried to do the same with Phillipa. He poured himself another drink and sipped his brandy before answering, carefully composing his thoughts.

“Under the circumstances, I do not plan to offer for anyone until I have given my tenuous social position more thorough consideration.”

Sebastian scowled and started to comment, but Anthony cut him off.

“And no, Orwell doesn’t court her. He hounds and presses himself upon her at every opportunity. I have seen her at more than one ball, and he is always there watching her. If he is not watching, then he is touching her aggressively.” Anthony’s voice grew terse. “You should have seen his face when she fled into the gardens, escaping his lecherous advances. His rage was almost tangible.”

“So, he is not a jilted suitor?”

“I have asked the lady, but she is closemouthed. Yet, I am concerned.”

Sebastian put down his fork to study him. “What are you going to do?”

“Your man of affairs, Hawke. I’d like him to put a tail on her.”

“Are you afflicted?” Sebastian snapped, his mouth parting in shock.

“I am worried about her. And it would be from a discreet distance.” Anthony swirled the liquid in his glass before swallowing its entire contents. He grimaced at the burn going down.

“Very well. I’ll see what I can do.” Sebastian rose from his chair and strode to stand beside Anthony at the windows. They stood in comfortable silence overlooking the mysterious beauty of his land. “How long will it take for full restoration of the estate to be completed?”

Anthony glanced sideways at his brother. He knew it was not what Sebastian wished to probe, and he was grateful for his restraint. “Three months, give or take. Thankfully, I will escape the sawing and banging for the most part. I return tonight to London.”

“Why not retire with me to Sherring Cross?”

Anthony made a face. “I do not want to look upon the countenance of the old man any more than I must.”

“I will gladly remove the paintings.”

“I find I am also curious to explore Miss Peppiwell.”

Sebastian chuckled. “Miss Peppiwell, is it?” He then narrowed his eyes. “Explore? I thought you said she’s a young miss?”

“She is. Nineteen or twenty, I wager.”

“Then, what makes you think she will be open to your explorations? And is it wise, considering you don’t plan to offer for her? I never thought of you as a despoiler of virgins, Anthony.”

Anthony ignored the severe disapproval in his brother’s admonition. Desire lanced through him instead as he remembered the hunger in her response—her moans and gasps, and the tightness that had clasped his finger. He could imagine how she would squeeze his cock.

However, he also wanted to know her beyond her bedding responses. “I assure you, I’ve no intention of ruining her. Merely…testing the waters.”

She interested him. Considerably. What he intended to do with that interest was another matter, which he needed to carefully contemplate before acting to land himself in trouble he did not want and she did not need.

Sebastian’s gaze drilled into him. “You told me Georgina broke down and cried at what she labeled the ‘depraved desires’ you made her feel. A young, sheltered chit would surely run screaming from your brand of exploration.”

Anthony grunted. Georgina, his former mistress, was a widow and more than open to a man’s advances. The first night he had taken her, she had orgasmed until she lay limp, unable to twitch. He had been somewhat shocked on his next visit at the recriminations she’d heaped on his head. The lady had claimed not to enjoy the wanton desires he so clearly made her feel. With less than a month together, he’d moved swiftly to dissolve their attachment, impervious to her tears and pleading. Apparently, she’d enjoyed him more than she wanted to admit to herself.

But Anthony wanted a woman who wasn’t appalled by physical pleasure, and sought it eagerly.

Something he suspected was true of Miss Peppiwell. No, something he knew.

He prowled to the breakfast sideboard, heaping kippers, scrambled eggs, and bacon high on his plate. He poured more brandy into his glass.

“So, tell me more of this young lady,” Sebastian invited.

Ah. So, not restraint. Merely delay.

Anthony shrugged, resigned to the interrogation. The duke was singular-minded when he chose to be. “There is really nothing to tell.”

“You are heading to meet our man of affairs to spy on her. Even I realize the madness in the notion. Don’t tell me there’s nothing behind that.”

“Orwell is dangerous,” Anthony murmured. He was sure of it. The tingle in his gut and the prickle in his nape he’d felt at the rage in Orwell’s features still haunted him.

“Why is it our problem?” Sebastian asked.

“Mine, not ours,” Anthony corrected.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Sebastian growled, moving to pour tea into two cups. “Anything that affects you this deeply, affects me.”

A laugh rumbled from Anthony as he accepted the teacup Sebastian held out to him, saying nothing when his brother firmly removed his glass of brandy.

“She interests me, that is all.”

“I do not think she merely interests you. You deny you plan to make an offer, yet you are concerned enough to put a man on her. And you wish to explore her.”

Anthony grunted. “Fine. I want her, but it is a bit more than that. And I may be contemplating courting her, but not until I am certain we suit.” There. That was a reasonable excuse.

“So, you are not averse to connubial bliss with her. You are obviously attracted to the girl. Why the sudden caution? Not two weeks ago, you said you wished to—”

The studied, smooth blankness of Anthony’s face froze his brother’s words in midsentence.

Fury surged from Sebastian’s eyes. “Do not tell me you will not marry because of what you found out.”

His brother had always been too perceptive by half.

Anthony gave a stiff, mocking bow. “I am a bastard, Your Grace. My sons will bear that stain.”

“Your sons will bear your name proudly. Everything you have will be theirs, and all my unentailed property will be deeded to them.”

Anthony gulped his tea before answering, treading carefully.

“Thank you,” he said evenly, “but I have enough wealth to last several sons and daughters a lifetime. And I am damn proud to know it was acquired by my own efforts and not…his. But the stigma of my birth that would follow my wife, my heirs, and my daughters is undeniable. How could I ask anyone to willingly endure that? What woman would want a bastard for a husband?”

It was the powerful Duke of Calydon who stared haughtily back at him. “If she loves you, she would bloody well endure, and be damn happy to take you.”

The savage intensity of his brother’s exhortation soothed the tension that had been building in Anthony at the topic. It was good to be so well loved and highly valued by the man he admired most in the world.

“My rank and wealth will enable us to defy society’s precepts, if it ever becomes known,” Sebastian assured.

Anthony wondered if his brother really believed that.

“So, you swear you have not bedded this chit?” Sebastian demanded.

“I have not. Even if I wished to… The lady is an ice maiden.” He exhaled slowly. “Or…she would have you believe she is. But, indeed, I touched fire last night.”

“Ah. Enough fire to have you thinking seriously about her, despite the reservations you now feel.”

“I find myself intrigued by her reticence, and the hidden passion that dwells within her. She hides behind a facade of indifference, but I have glimpsed enough innate sensuality within her to hold me spellbound,” Anthony confessed.

“Might it be because she is American, with a different way of expressing herself? Americans are quite a different breed than the silly chits we’ve both been running from for almost a decade.”

He felt Sebastian’s speculative glance, and met his gaze with cool aplomb, knowing what was coming. “Go ahead and ask.”

His brother merely raised his brows. Anthony wondered if he had been mistaken in thinking Sebastian would have asked him how an innocent chit would handle his so-called depraved desires.

Heat sizzled in Anthony’s veins as he remembered Phillipa’s shivers and moans. He doubted he’d ever had any female respond to him with such abandon. She’d tried to bury it, but he had seen it in her face. Had felt it in the wetness clinging to his fingers from a fleeting caress.

He had lost three mistresses because of his passionate nature between the sheets. Apparently, no honorable female would behave the way he’d wanted them to. Though, they had opened their legs to his needs willingly enough for baubles and a roof over their heads. Despite her vehement protests, even Georgina had always writhed in ecstasy at being tied to the bed and spanked, crying for more even when he indulged in his darker sexual desires.

He shook his head in bemusement. Perhaps it was time he found a way to suppress his urgings. If his mistresses had been unable to accommodate his needs, he doubted a respectable wife would be willing to indulge them.

And yet, he thought Phillipa’s sensuality would be able to match him, if anyone could. And he suspected she would be more than willing to try.

But his bastardy was another matter. Any wife of his would have to contend with the likelihood of that public humiliation.

He walked over to the windows, giving his back to Sebastian, each thinking, no doubt, of their different demons.

Anthony despised the sword edge he was balanced on. He kept waiting for the knowledge of his parentage to roar through Society. Sebastian believed they had the social standing to withstand the repercussions. Hell, he believed they could crush it with sheer wealth and power alone. Anthony did not necessarily doubt that. His brother could be a ruthless man, formidable when crossed.

What affected Anthony most, and would savage Constance, was that the man they called father could be capable of such hatred and ugliness against them.

Anthony clenched his fists. The coward had held onto the secret, using death as a way to avoid the fallout, knowing exposing it would exact the cruelest revenge upon his wife, because of how much she loved her children. Now the evil wretch was safely in his grave—a place that Anthony dearly wished he could rip him from, so he could beat the hell out of him and send him back to it himself.