The Cynfell Brothers Collection Read online

  “Yes,” he said, encouragingly. “Yes, Viola.”

  She clamped her fingers tight around his and scrunched her eyes shut. The pulse of him inside her and the strength of him on top of her threw her over the edge. She held her breath—in fact forgot to breathe—as the throb of ecstasy ebbed through her. When she opened her eyes and took in lungfuls of air, she saw the tension in his hands, the way the veins in the back of them stood out. He gave a harsh groan and withdrew, spilling onto her bottom.

  Nothing about Julian had been the way she’d expected it to be. Not from the way he dressed to the way he made love. But she did not mind that one bit.

  Chapter Eleven

  Afterward, they lay in the flickering light of the fire for what might have been hours. Julian didn’t care. He could lie with her forever. He watched the way the reflection of the flames danced about her skin, casting it into a beautiful golden colour. Viola Thompson was worth more than gold, more than jewels. He had likely loved her from her first letter but now there was no doubting it.

  He skimmed a hand down her shoulder and side before drawing up the blanket he had stolen from one of the chairs. She twisted to lie on her front on the rug and moved her head to face him. With one hand tucked under her face, she looked entirely too charming. He longed to run his fingers through her mussed hair, skim his hands up and down her body and find her sweet, wet heat so he could bring her more pleasure. For surely that was all Viola Thompson deserved. All the pleasure in the world.

  It shouldn’t have happened. Making love to Viola had been a mistake. Yet how could he regret such a thing? For the first time in a long time, he felt alive. In fact, simply spending time in her company did that to him. And look at her. She glowed. Not just from the light of the fire. He hoped he had gone some way to convincing her she wasn’t ruined or unwanted. Hell, if the hot arousal coursing through him at the sight of her bare back was anything to go by, she was very much wanted.

  Julian pressed away some auburn locks from her shoulders and propped himself up on an elbow to trace circles on her back. He followed the bumps of her spine and pressed down the blankets to skim a fingertip over the hollows above her rear. The slight curve of her bottom peeked out and his mouth watered.

  “That tickles,” she protested.

  He stopped for a moment before trailing a path back up. “I cannot resist touching you.”

  “You don’t have to.” She gave him a satisfied smile.

  “I should have resisted.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugged. “I forget now.”

  Viola laughed. “Then don’t.”

  “Viola, I...” Words clogged in his throat. He shouldn’t say it. He wasn’t sure he knew how to anyway. It would complicate things, give her hope. But it was also important for her to know how much he cared for her. He did not want her leaving him, thinking he had done this out of simple lust or believing she wasn’t worth anything.

  “What is it?”

  “I...” He drew in a breath and stared at her creamy back.

  “Why do you not write it?”

  He stared at her. “Write it?”

  “Yes, you always express yourself so well in letters.”

  “Well... I...” Yes, she was right. He always had been better with the written word, even as a boy. But to now he felt a fool. He turned his focus back to her beautiful skin and the way it warmed his fingertip. “Dear Viola,” he began, tracing the words on her back and feeling idiotic.

  She simply gave a small sound of satisfaction and watched him as he wrote his letter.

  “You will never know how much your letters have come to mean to me. In my darkest hours, you were there, shining a light. Like an angel, you saved me from many a grim moment.” He continued to trace the swirling letters on her skin and noted the way the rise and fall of her body increased as her breaths grew heavier. “I have little to offer a woman. Yes, I have riches and a title, but I am not a man of soft words or actions. I have a temper and I am set in my ways. If I was a better man, a different man, I would offer you the world. But, for the moment, I must tell you...” His mouth grew dry.

  “Yes?” she prompted.

  “I must tell you that no man has ever loved a woman like I love you.” She made a little oh sound but he didn’t dare look at her. “You carry me through every day. If I could, I would spend the rest of my days on my knees worshipping you. For me, you are like air, like water. I cannot survive without you.” He finally gave in and looked at her. Tears sparkled in her eyes. He sank down beside her, skimmed a tear from her face and kissed her cheek. “Just know that you are loved,” he told her softly. “Whatever happens in your life, know that.”

  She nodded and drew in a noisy breath. “As are you.”

  Julian’s chest felt fit to burst. At that moment, nothing mattered but that. He would hold onto that, treasure it, nurture it. Even if she got married and stopped writing to him, he would remember that and that would be what would take him through the rest of his days.

  “Come here,” he murmured, coaxing her onto her side and then over to straddle him. He gazed at her sweet breasts and raised a hand to cup them both.

  Earlier had been too frantic. He had not had the chance to appreciate her fully. But now was that chance. He circled her breast, feeling the weight of it before rolling her tight nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Her startled inhalation made him grin. Around and around, he played his finger, drawing it into an even tighter nub. Then he coaxed her forward and took that bud into his mouth, drawing it in with his tongue. She wound her hands into his hair and moaned.

  He turned his attention to her other breast, then back to the other. Back and forth, left and right. He tasted her until she wriggled against him. Her wet heat made him clench his jaw, but he had to savour this. He would not give into the animalistic instinct that begged him to grip her hips and ram himself up into her. Viola would be leaving him soon, and he had to make the most of her.

  When he pressed her back, he let his gaze linger on her pert breasts as her hair left little auburn trails over her porcelain skin. Julian turned his attention to the apex of her thighs and brushed a thumb through the curls there. She closed her eyes, her lashes fanning against her skin. Bloody hell, he’d never seen anything like it.

  She moved into his touch, released a low breath that he should not have been able to hear over the crackle of the fire. But he did. He was aware of everything about her from the way her body ebbed and flowed with his touches to how her skin pimpled when he brushed just so at her sensitive folds.

  He took the time to touch her, watch her movements, learn about her body. Then, with his hands to her rear, he coaxed her forward and touched his tongue to her centre.

  “Julian—”

  He cut off her strangled protest with a strong lick and she relaxed into him. He held her there with strong licks, tiny nibbles and gentle kisses to the insides of her thighs. When he shifted back to her core, she moved with him and cries fell from her lips.

  While he tried to be patient, his arousal throbbed desperately for release. As she began to chant his name, his restraint broke and he shifted her down to thrust up inside her. He took her in one smooth motion and watched her eyes widen. Julian did not think he could ever get used to being inside her. For him, it would always consume him. The sensation was too like that of a meeting of souls.

  Viola moved her hips in circles in an experimental manner and he gritted his teeth. “Lord Almighty,” he hissed, grasping said hips.

  Taking control, he showed her how to move atop him. From this position, he got to watch himself enter her. The sweet sensation bubbling through his veins turned to fire. He felt as though he were a steam train simply waiting to unleash all its power and might.

  She picked up speed and Julian gave himself up to his impatience. She was too hot, too tight, too beautiful. How could a man be expected to control himself around such a woman?

  “Oh, Julian,” she panted.

 
He thrust and thrust and gripped her hips until she tensed about him and collapsed forward. With her body pulsing around him, he eased her off and onto the rug. Joining them again, Julian plunged mindlessly into her. There, on the rug, in his favourite room, he let the bliss carry him over until he spilled onto her stomach. She gazed up at him and their gazes connected at the last important moment before his orgasm consumed his body. At that moment, he knew he’d love her forever.

  Chapter Twelve

  Viola groaned. Her body ached all over and something pinned her down. She drew open one eye and groaned again. Thick streams of light shimmered into the room and hurt her eyes. She flung an arm over her face and peered out from underneath it. The prickle beneath her reminded her that she lay on a rug. The strong arm across her belly made her recall who lay next to her.

  And exactly what they had done last night.

  He loved her. She drew away her arm and eyed him. His hair lay slightly across his face which was scrunched against the rug. Viola grimaced. A rug was all very well for making love on but not for sleeping on. Who could blame her though? Julian had thoroughly claimed her body. She ached a little there too but in the most pleasant way.

  Squinting at the mantel clock, she tried to decipher the time but could not tell what hand was where. When she tried to push Julian’s arm away from her, he grumbled. It really was an adorable sound. The temptation to stay and watch him sleep was great but what if someone came in and found them like this? Admittedly the scandal probably wouldn’t follow her to New York but she still didn’t wish to suffer the embarrassment.

  New York. It seemed a world away from this house in the country. Yes, she missed running water and warm rooms. She wasn’t too sure she liked the creaking sounds the old house made at night and it really did seem to rain a lot in England. But none of that mattered when she was with Julian or out roaming the countryside. Even when it rained, she wanted to run about in the open fields and climb over trees and explore ruins. She couldn’t do any of that in New York.

  However, Julian had not made her an offer. Would he? After all, he loved her. He spoke with such passion yesterday. Could he really send her away? She didn’t wish to leave. She would marry him in an instant, she knew that for certain. But he’d talked of her writing to him. That meant he wished her to leave, did it not?

  The sound of hooves on the gravel outside made her scowl. She pushed his arm again. “I think there’s a visitor.”

  “What?” He lifted his head and gazed sleepily at her.

  Viola fought the desire to pull him down for a kiss. No doubt a marquess wouldn’t much like to be thought of as adorable but he really was. “Julian, there’s someone outside.”

  There was no doubting it now. She heard voices and the sound of carriage wheels.

  He lifted his head again, kissed her and pressed up to sitting. “Fine, I shall see who it is. It’s probably only a delivery.” Then, gloriously naked, he strode over to the window.

  Viola bit her lip as she eyed the taut roundness of his backside. She wished she had been able to take more time to appreciate it last night. Still, if she could persuade him he wanted her around, she could take all the time in the world to enjoy it.

  He peered through the curtains and the muscles in his back stiffed. “Damn it.”

  “What is it?”

  He faced her, his expression grim. “My mother.”

  She felt her eyes widen. Ice water ran through her veins. Julian had spoke a little of his mother and her exacting standards. And here she was, naked, in a blanket. What a way to meet the woman she hoped to make her mother-in-law.

  “Oh no.”

  She scanned the room for her clothes. Her skirts remained in a puddle on the floor and her undergarments had been flung to the winds. Scrabbling to her feet, she found her bloomers and tugged them on. Julian did the same, drawing on his pants and stuffing his bare feet into his shoes. She discovered her corset hanging off a ladder and groaned. There was no way she could put it in time and he had damaged most of the lacing.

  “Leave it,” he said. “There’s no time.” He looked out of the window. “She’s entered the house now.”

  “Oh Lord.” Viola scrambled into the rest of her undergarments and flung the corset aside. She stepped into her petticoats and skirt and dragged the heavy dress up. Oh no. He’d ripped that too. How could she have forgotten?

  A commanding female voice echoed through the house and her palms grew clammy. The dress would stay on well enough but if she turned, it would be clear that it was not laced properly. Not to mention how crumpled it was. And her hair. Oh, dear Lord, her hair.

  She rummaged through it in search of pins and darted a glance at Julian. He had his shirt and waistcoat on and was frantically doing up the buttons. He looked presentable—at least more so than her. She found a couple of stray pins still left in her hair and managed to pin up a few strands to keep it back from her face.

  “Julian,” she motioned to her back, “my dress.”

  He glanced at it and grimaced. Footsteps cracked down the hallway outside and her heart ricocheted in time with it.

  “It’s too late now. Come here.” He motioned for her to stand at his side and he put a protective arm around her. She wasn’t sure if that was better or worse.

  The door opened to reveal an elegant woman in a beautifully cut jacket and skirt. Stripes elongated her, making her seem taller and the raise of her chin enhanced the impervious air. Her dark hair which was streaked with a little grey was set off perfectly by the deep red of her clothing. Viola had never felt more small or dishevelled in her life.

  A dark eyebrow rose as she eyed them both. She could see where Julian got his looks from. Even at her age, she was stunning.

  “Mother,” Julian greeted. “I did not think you would be back for another month.”

  “The weather was grim and Lady Fothergill’s chest did not take well to it so we decided to return.” Her gaze ran over Viola and Julian’s grip on her tightened.

  Grateful for the warm strength of his arm around her, she leaned into him. His mother’s gaze narrowed.

  “Will you not introduce us, Julian?”

  “Of course. Mother, this is Miss Viola Thompson. Viola, this is my mother Lady Lockwood.”

  “A pleasure, my lady.” Viola dipped, aware of her dress gaping at the back.

  “You are American.” The statement near dripped with ice. The eyebrow that had remained lifted the entire time inched a little higher.

  “I am, my lady. From New York.”

  “Viola has come to see the sights, Mother,” he put in.

  “What sights could she possibly see in the library?” The woman waved a hand. “Julian, I need to speak with you.” She gave Viola a pointed look.

  How could she sneak past the woman without revealing her back? Panic clutched tight at her chest. Could this experience be any worse? All that needed to happen now was for her dress to fall completely from her and the humiliation would be complete.

  “So soon?” Julian asked. “Would you not like to take a cup of tea first? You have had a long journey.”

  “Now, Julian,” his mother barked.

  He gave her waist a little squeeze and released her. “While you are here, will you not look at this?” He indicated to a letter on his desk.

  Lady Lockwood moved over, giving Viola the chance to slide sideways without revealing her back. She murmured her farewell and gave a tiny dip before hastening away while Julian distracted his mother. Her gaze fell on her corset, hanging from a tall candelabra. Oh no. She snatched it quickly, gave Julian one last look and scurried out of the door.

  Once in the safety of the hall, she paused and pressed her back to the wall. Lady Lockwood’s disapproval of her could not be any clearer. Perhaps it was that she had caught her in a compromising position or that she was American. She suspected both. Viola recognised the way his mother had said American. As though it were a dirty word. She probably could have been English and titled and
been completely naked and won more approval.

  That didn’t matter though, did it?

  “Who is that woman?” she heard his mother ask. Viola rolled her eyes at her tone.

  “Miss Viola Thompson, Mother,” Julian told her. “I told you only a moment ago.”

  She had to cover her mouth to prevent herself from snorting at his deliberately patronising tone.

  “I am not senile, my boy, I remember her name perfectly well. But why is she here and how do you know her?”

  “She is the daughter of a business associate. She came here to—”

  “See the sights, yes I know,” his mother said impatiently. “But why is she here? In the house?” Viola could practically hear her eyes narrowing to slits. “You are not continuing on with her are you? It’s bad enough that you refuse to find yourself a wife. Do not tell me you are having an affair with an American.”

  There it was again. That bitter tone. As though she were nothing more than an insect. Viola let her lips curl in annoyance. She could not very well confront the marchioness but it took all her effort to remain still.

  “I am not having an affair with her,” Julian replied steadily.

  Well, she supposed he couldn’t really tell her they had been making love on the rug only a few hours ago.

  “She is no one.”

  No one. The words rattled like gunshot in her head. No one. Was she really no one to him? Had all her hopes been shattered once again? She pressed a hand to her chest as a great ache began to throb in it. Her throat grew tight.

  “Good. I’d hate to see you waste your time on a girl like that. These American women have no grace and manners, Julian. Half of them are very free with their favours.”

  Viola didn’t remain to hear the rest. Listening to such vitriol and being unable to respond made her want to scream and rage at the same time as double over in agony. She had proved herself to be a fool again, had she not? Hoping for something that would not happen. If his mother couldn’t accept her, no one else in England would.