Kimberly Nee - The McKenzie Brothers Page 2

  Drew climbed up to settle across from her, beside Danbury. Neither man said anything and the silence put her on edge, made the darkness feel that much thicker, and she didn’t like it. Why didn’t someone say something?

  With a lurch, they set off, the coach bouncing across the cobblestones. The back and forth jostle was uncomfortable at first, but as the cobblestones smoothed out, the steady beat of the horses’ hooves soothed her.

  They swayed around a turn, rocked straight a bit more, and she turned to watch the black, lightless windows grow cleaner and more elegantly dressed as they made their way closer to Grosvenor Square.

  Finally, they stopped and the driver’s shoes thudded against the stone as he hopped from his perch to tug open the door. Drew went first, then helped her down. “Shall we?”

  “I bid you both good evening,” Danbury said before the driver closed the door on his grinning face. Drew returned the sentiment, but the coach set to moving again before she could find her voice.

  The fog was cool on her face as she lifted her head to stare up at the black edifice rising from the darkness. Lights were on in the townhouse’s uppermost floor, and all but one lower window were dark.

  “Come along.” Drew took her valise in one hand, and caught her by the elbow with his other. “Jameson is most likely still awake. He’s a bit of an owl.”

  She didn’t know who Jameson was or why he was a bit of an owl, but she had no chance to ask. No sooner did Drew open the front door, before a tall, elegant-looking man with a full head of silver hair materialized from the darkness with a flutter of emerald linen.

  “Good evening, Captain McKenzie.” The man bobbed his head at her, strangely unperturbed by her presence. “Miss.”

  “Sorry to disturb you so late, Jameson.”

  “No apologies, Captain.” Jameson took the valise from him, a friendly smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “Is the lady to be put in the servants’ quarters?”

  That explained his utter lack of surprise about her presence. He thought she was another housemaid. Of course, that led to the question of who hired domestics in the dead of night? But if Jameson found nothing odd about it, neither would she.

  She glanced up at Drew, surprised when a dark flush crept up his cheekbones. A smile tugged at her lips. His explanation should be most interesting.

  He regained his composure and smiled. “That won’t be necessary. You go back to your quarters, Jameson. I will see Miss Morgan settled.”

  The manservant’s heavy iron-gray brows rose sharply. “Are you certain?”

  “Positive. Good evening.”

  Jameson bobbed his head and turned. He retreated into the darkness, but his muttered, “Odd American,” carried toward them.

  Drew offered his arm. “Shall we?”

  Her mouth now dry, she nodded and accepted, resting her fingertips on his forearm. Beneath the fine wool of his frock coat lay firm muscle, solid to the touch. Surprisingly so.

  He led her into the darkness toward a narrow staircase, and Heather tried to ignore the pounding in her temples as her heartbeat raced with a mixture of fear and anticipation. Her hand tightened on his arm, and she winced as she instinctively bit the raw patch inside her cheek.

  “There is nothing to be afraid of, Miss Morgan.”

  She flinched. “Of course.”

  He released her long enough to enter the room and light a lamp.

  She stood on the threshold, unsure of what to do. Was she going to stay in his room, with him? Or would she be shown to a guest room instead?

  “Captain McKenzie?”

  He turned, his eyes widening as if he was surprised to find her still standing on the far side of the threshold. “Why are you still out there?”

  She stepped into the room. “I wasn’t sure where I was to be.”

  His brows lowered. “And did you just address me as Captain?” He waited for her to nod, then shook his head. “I’ve already told you that won’t do.”

  “I cannot call you Drew.”

  “Of course you can. It is my name, after all.”

  “Yes, but — ” She scowled as a low chuckle rumbled toward her. “It isn’t funny, sir. Not one bit.”

  “Well, Heather, let us get one thing straight. I am not a sir. My name is Drew and I prefer it to sir.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Drew,” he corrected gently.

  “Drew.”

  “Much better.” He set her valise on the floor at the foot of the bed, then turned back to her. “Much better, indeed.”

  She cast a glance at the bed. A mistake. She knew what would happen in that bed in a very short time, and it sent something odd coursing through her. It wasn’t exactly fear, but a combination of fear and anticipation. Sally had been to three auctions. She made mention that several of the ladies had been through at least three. There had to be some benefit for them to keep putting themselves out there.

  Yes, both Sally and Ophelia assured her, she could find pleasure. Their tales were a far cry from the barest of basics talk her mother gave her when she was a girl. Either way, she would find out soon enough.

  “Come in, Miss Morgan. Sit.” Drew stretched a hand toward the maroon leather chair nearest the fire. A pair of trousers and a shirt were draped over the chair’s back, so with a grin, he added, “And try not to mind the mess. It would seem the maid had no time to tidy up in here.”

  The room was large and most definitely masculine, with its dark wood trim and furnishings and a color scheme of mostly browns and dark greens. Even the drapes were dark — a stormy gray, tied back with gold braided cord.

  She looked up at him, her pulse now pounding through her temples. How she wished someone had told her what else to expect. Was she to approach Drew or wait for him to approach her? Drat it all! Sally knew she didn’t have a clue; why didn’t she say anything?

  “It’s chilly in here.” Drew rubbed his hands together for emphasis.” I think you’ll be more comfortable by the fire.”

  Feeling immensely stupid, she bit the inside of her cheek again and figured the best course was to simply confess. “Perhaps if you told me what you’d like…” She forced herself to hold his gaze when all she wanted to do was stare at the floor. “I’m afraid Mr. Coal did not tell me what would happen once I left his establishment.”

  “What I’d like.” He spoke slowly, as if tasting the words before they left his mouth. “I’m not even certain what I’d like. I’ve never bought a mistress before, you know. Looks as if this is a first for us both.”

  Some of that idiocy faded. Perhaps she wasn’t so stupid after all. His admission did much for her spirits, and for the first time in a long time, her smile was genuine. “So then you don’t expect anything?”

  “Expect? No. But, would I like something?” His smile turned devilish as he closed the space between them, and trailed the tip of his forefinger down over her cheek. “That’s another matter right there.”

  She didn’t start at the unexpected caress, but sucked in a sharp breath at the shiver fluttering along her spine.

  He skimmed his finger along her jaw, down the side of her neck. Her skin rose into goose bumps beneath his touch, tingling as he caressed over her collarbone. They were barely touches, just grazes but they reverberated through her entire body. The drowsiness was unlike any she’d ever felt, making her eyelids so heavy she could barely keep them raised. When she lost that fight, the pleasure of his touch intensified. Unable to see where he moved his hand, his fingers on the other side of her neck caught her by surprise. And what a surprise it was! When had her skin become so sensitive?

  “Oh my…” She didn’t realize how breathless she was until those airy words rose from her lips. She tilted her head away, exposing a bit more skin, allowing him to brush his lips against her.

  A damp warmth pressed against her skin. His lips. Soft. Gentle. Oh, good heavens, did that feel wonderful! He kissed along the same path his finger had just traced. Her pulse beat louder through her h
ead, the sleepiness growing, twisting until it became something else altogether.

  His arm eased about her waist, tightening to pull her into his chest. As his lips moved over her jaw, Sally’s words of warning echoed in her head. She mustn’t allow him to kiss her.

  She stiffened as his lips teased the corner of hers. He tried again and still she didn’t respond.

  He drew away, his brows knit in a confused frown. “I promise you, you can relax. I’ll not hurt you.”

  “That would be silly. I didn’t think you would.” Again, should she confess Sally’s advice?

  Bloody hell.

  He grinned. “I’ve yet to receive any complaints about my kissing, you know. In fact, I’ve been told I’m quite proficient at it.”

  Heather lowered her lashes so she could sneak a peek at his lips. Of course he was proficient at kissing. How could he not be, as handsome as he was? She had the feeling he would not disappoint her. Or course, her experience with kissing was limited, so she wasn’t exactly sure how he could disappoint her.

  He must have mistaken her silence for embarrassment, because he stepped back. “I meant no offense, Miss Morgan.”

  “You didn’t offend me.” Taking a deep breath, she looked up at him. “Not at all.”

  “Good.”

  With that, he caught her face in both hands, his fingers splayed into her hair, along her neck. He tilted her head back and her eyes closed as he brought his lips down to capture hers.

  The fluttering deep in the pit of her belly grew, stretching out like fingers to tickle her from the inside. Her heartbeat quickened, her limbs going buttery as warmth spread through her. Proficient didn’t even begin to describe his kiss. Amazing was putting it mildly.

  She started at the insistent pressure of his tongue against her closed mouth. She’d never kissed a man this way and was hesitant to let him proceed, but he was relentless. She had no choice but to part her lips and let him in.

  His tongue caressed hers, entwining with hers to draw it back into his mouth. He tasted faintly of cinnamon, with a hint of liquor, and it was a surprisingly delicious combination. It felt a bit odd at first, then her blood bubbled through her veins. Pleasure uncurled deep inside her, spiraling outward from her core to make breathing difficult.

  The pleasantness drained from her as his left hand dropped from her cheek and his fingers brushed her left breast. It came flooding back to her — what she was about to do with this man. She went completely still, fighting the instinct to move away from him.

  He was slightly out of breath as he broke away. “What is it? You seem afraid of me. I’ve already told you I’ll not hurt you.”

  She shook her head. “No. It isn’t that I am afraid. At least, not of you.”

  “Of what, then?”

  “Never mind that. It’s not important.” She took a deep breath, knowing there would be no turning back. “Now, shall we get you undressed?”

  Chapter Four

  Drew caught her wrist as she reached for the fastenings of his trousers. “Wait a moment.”

  “Yes?”

  With his other hand, he caught her beneath the chin once more, tilting her face to his. “Are those tears? Why are you crying?”

  “They aren’t.” She forced herself to hold his gaze. His face was blurry, but she refused to give into those blasted tears. If she wasn’t careful, she’d find herself back at Coal’s before the night ended. “I’m sure I don’t know what tears you’re talking about. Now, shall we?”

  He leaned forward, brushing her forehead with his lips. “No.”

  “I beg your pardon?” she asked, positive she could not have heard him correctly.

  “I said, no. It’s been a long evening for us both and a good night’s sleep is what we both need.”

  It was the last thing she thought she’d hear. He wanted only to sleep? Was that good or bad?

  She looked up at him. There were purplish smudges beneath his heavy-lidded eyes. Tired didn’t even come close to describing how he looked. Exhausted was more apt. “Did you only arrive today?”

  “No. I came in with yesterday’s morning tide.”

  The floor creaked as he moved to the washstand and reached to unwind his cravat. Perhaps she shouldn’t stare, but she couldn’t help herself as he slid the linen free and went about removing his shirt. The scene before her gripped her and wouldn’t let go as his smooth skin emerged from the linen. It was easy to see he spent much time in the sun, judging by the deep bronze of his skin. When he moved, the muscles bunching beneath that smooth skin made her mouth go drier still. Pressing her lips together was the only way to hold back the gasp that was part shock, part approval.

  He didn’t seem to notice as he shrugged free of the fabric. “Are you hungry?”

  She jumped. “I beg your pardon?”

  He grinned over one shoulder, crossed to the basket nearly overflowing with clothing and tossed his shirt and cravat atop the pile. “I asked if you were hungry. I could roust some of the kitchen staff — ”

  “That won’t be necessary.” She shook her head, “I’m fine.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Of course…” Her words died on her lips as he turned toward her. She didn’t consider herself an expert on male chests — especially bare male chests — but his was, by far, the most perfect male chest she’d ever seen. Dark hair spread from collarbone to collarbone and down over his flat belly, to disappear into the waist of his trousers.

  “Miss Morgan?”

  The amusement in his voice brought her back to the present and she smiled. “I’m sorry. I seem to have forgotten my manners.”

  “Don’t apologize. Ogle away if you like.”

  “Captain McKenzie!”

  He let out a low chuckle and lifted her valise to the bed to open it. “Do you have a nightdress?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” A dark gray velvet dressing gown lay draped over the foot of the bed. He pulled it toward himself to bundle into it. “I’ll leave you to your routine and will be back in a bit with some brandy.”

  He must have recognized the confusion in her stare because he added, “It’ll help if you have trouble sleeping. Strange place and all.”

  “Of course. Thank you.”

  “Please, there’s no need for thanks. As I said, this is new territory for me as well.” He offered up a smile, a roguish wink and left.

  At least her belly was calm for now, her heartbeat resuming its normal rhythm. She didn’t know exactly what to think about the captain. Certainly he hadn’t paid all that money without expecting her to actually be a mistress to him. Yet, he stopped after brushing her breast. Why?

  And why wasn’t she entirely happy that he stopped? Was that disappointment mingling with her blood?

  Odd. She shouldn’t want him to continue. This entire situation was wrong. It went against everything she’d ever been taught.

  Damn Papa. This is his doing, and his alone.

  She settled on the edge of the bed, one hand in the valise to tug free her linen nightdress. Don’t dwell. It changes nothing.

  The nightdress slid free, stretched across her lap as she stared at the blue flocked wallpaper. Perhaps Captain McKenzie thought he was putting her mind at ease, thought he was doing something nice for her. How could he know she wanted to just get this over with and be done with it? Once he bedded her, perhaps some of her guilt, some of her discomfort, would evaporate.

  She readied for sleep, staring at the bed as she emerged from the neck of the nightdress. It was odd knowing she would not only fall asleep beside this man but awake beside him as well. She’d never shared a bed with anyone before, much less a man. She’d need more than a simple nip of brandy to help her sleep.

  She only meant to close her eyes for a moment but when she opened them, it was morning and she was alone.

  She lay there, staring up at the hangings. Had she only dreamt the previous evening? No. Of course she didn’t. This bed was far more comfortable than
the one she’d last slept in, which was nothing more than a thin plank wrapped in scratchy cotton.

  Heather frowned. She didn’t want to think about that, didn’t want to remember her father’s face, the bags beneath his eyes not from exhaustion but overindulgence. Her belly curdled. So much for not dwelling.

  “Ah, you’re awake.”

  She jerked toward the sound of Drew’s voice. He stood in the doorway, dressed as if he’d been awake for hours. He closed the door behind him. “I told Jamison you weren’t to be disturbed.”

  “What time is it?” She squinted at the gold clock on the fireplace mantle. “I’m afraid I can’t see the blasted clock.”

  “Nearly noon. I didn’t know if I should worry or not.”

  His grin pushed her dark thoughts into the recesses of her mind and brought a smile to her lips. “It’s been a lifetime since I lazed about until noon.”

  “I thought that was exactly what ladies did?”

  “They do. Ladies of leisure, that is. I was not so fortunate.”

  “You are now.” He moved to draw open the draperies and let the weak yellow sunlight fill the room. “I’ve made arrangements for a seamstress to come by. I’m hardly an expert, but your wardrobe seems to be…well…lacking.”

  “But — ”

  He held up a hand. “No buts. I will be at the harbor for most of the day, but you are to get whatever you need or whatever you like. Or both, if the mood strikes.”

  The very idea of being able to shop, of buying new gowns, destroyed the last remnants of her anger. Perhaps this what why Sally and Ophelia and the others preferred being mistresses than being wives.

  She nodded. “Very well.”

  “And you are not to be conservative. I don’t know the ins and outs of the ton, but I do know you will need quite a bit. Miss Cartwright should know exactly how many and of what style. You do as she tells you and order whatever catches your fancy. Is that understood?”