Nicola Cornick - The Notorious Lord

Rachel hit the ball far too hard, jamming her cue into the top of the table. The ball leapt, jumping off the end of the table and bouncing on to the wooden floor. Cory heard Rachel swear, which in itself was a most unusual occurrence. He picked the ball up and held it out to her.

‘Would you like another go?’

Rachel was struggling to control her temper. She looked like an infuriated child.

‘No, thank you. And if you sabotage me again like that you will feel my cue between your ribs!’

Cory caught hold of her arm, pulling her close to him. He could sense the genuine distress beneath her childish anger and it was like a blow to the heart.

‘Pax, Rachel,’ he said. ‘I am sorry.’

She looked up at him and he could see the conflict in her expression. She was aware that something had changed between them but she did not understand what was happening to them. Swiftly, briefly, unable to resist, Cory lowered his head and kissed her. It was not much different from the comforting caresses he had occasionally offered to Rachel when she had been younger and had bumped her knee. The images in his head were of consolation and reassurance, but such thoughts fled as his lips touched hers and the kiss transformed itself into something entirely different. Rachel’s lips parted for him with a trusting innocence that incited a rush of desire and swept all memories away. Suddenly he was kissing her with a fierce heat that almost pushed all common sense beyond his reach. Rachel’s lips were soft and helplessly accepting beneath his and he drove one hand into her hair to hold her still so that he could plunder the sweetness still further.

The billiards cue fell with a clatter beside them and they both jumped. Cory let Rachel go so suddenly that she almost fell and had to put out an instinctive hand to steady herself against the billiard table.

‘Sorry,’ Cory said. He caught Rachel’s arm to help her regain her balance, flinching as he saw the way she pulled away from him.

‘I’m sorry, Rachel,’ he said again. He did not regret what he had done, but he was obliged to admit that he could have shown considerably more finesse.

Rachel’s eyes were blank for a moment, then expression slowly returned to them. She put up a hand and touched her lips gently. ‘What…what was that?’

Cory felt his stomach drop at the bewildered note in her voice. ‘That,’ he said, ‘was a kiss between friends.’

Rachel nodded slowly. ‘I remember you saying the other night that a kiss between friends was a mistake. Now that it has happened, do you think it is true?’

Cory did not think so, but equally he did not want to frighten her further. He could see how shocked she was at the way their comforting friendship had so abruptly shifted into something far more dangerous. Even though there had been intimations of such a change over the previous weeks, the suddenness of it had startled her as well as aroused her.

‘What do you think?’ he asked.

Rachel’s hazel gaze focussed on his face. ‘I think it was the inevitable consequence of getting too close to a rake,’ she said.

Cory laughed ruefully. ‘I cannot in all honesty deny that,’ he said, ‘although I think there was probably more to it than that. Do you mind, Rae?’

Rachel gave him a brief glance. He sensed that she felt shy with him, which was an unusual state of affairs between them.

‘No,’ she said slowly. Her brow puckered. ‘I suppose I ought to mind.’

Cory took her hand. He could feel her pulse racing beneath his fingers and the way she trembled beneath his touch. It lit a savage male urge within him. At its most primitive, it made him want to throw her down on the billiards table and make love to her there and then. He took several steps away from temptation, drawing her with him by the hand and forcing himself to be gentle.

‘So you did not mind it.’ Cory kept his tone soft. ‘Could you even go so far as to say that you enjoyed it, Rae?’

Rachel pursed her lips. Cory wanted to kiss them again.

‘It was quite pleasant,’ she allowed, withdrawing her hand from his, ‘but it was a mistake all the same.’ She unconsciously pressed her fingers to her lips again. ‘If we are to remain friends, Cory, I do not believe that we should kiss each other.’

Cory drove his hands into his pockets and tried to hold on to his self-control. ‘Is that what you want, Rae-that we remain friends?’

Rachel nodded vigorously. ‘I think that we should pretend that it never happened.’

Cory raised his brows. ‘Do you think it will be as easy as that?’

Rachel hesitated. She looked a little bewildered. ‘Is it not that simple?’

‘I suppose so.’

But it was not. Cory knew it. Something had been transformed between them and time could never be turned back. More importantly, he did not want it to be, but he knew not to press the matter now. For all her retreat into friendship, Rachel had admitted to enjoying the kiss. More than that, she had responded to him with a sweetness that had stirred his blood.

Rachel was still looking at him as though she expected him to say something else. Cory clamped down on all the things that he wanted to say to her and waited politely.

‘Well,’ Rachel said after a moment, I suppose that I shall see you tomorrow, Cory. Goodnight.’

Cory waited until he heard the soft patter of her footsteps die away along the corridor, then he took the billiard ball from his pocket, placed it on the table, took aim and hit it viciously and precisely into the corner pocket. It relieved some of his frustrations, but not all of them. Nothing short of taking Rachel to his bed would do that, and even then he had the suspicion that as soon as he touched her he would not want to let her go ever again. Given the difficulty he knew he would have persuading her into marriage, he almost groaned aloud. Never had a rake set himself such a daunting task. Never had he been more determined to succeed.

‘Lady Sally is the most consummate hostess, is she not?’ Deborah murmured to Rachel as they stood side by side in the long gallery at Saltires a week later. ‘She promised us a ball and here we have one that would grace the ton. The Midwinter villages have not seen so many eligible gentlemen since Henry VIII came hunting here!’

‘There seems to be plenty of hunting going on this evening,’ Rachel said drily. ‘The ladies seem determined to charm the gentlemen in order to get them to agree to take part in Lady Sally’s watercolour book, and the gentlemen are not exactly resisting very hard!’

She leaned on the stone balustrade to scan the hall below. Saltires was too small to have a ballroom, so Lady Sally had cleared the Great Hall and had had a dais erected for the orchestra at one end, beneath the huge stained glass window. The iron sconces flared with candles and the stone walls were warmed with brightly coloured tapestries. The medieval atmosphere was further enhanced by a self-important little man who strutted through the guests dressed in doublet and hose, his chest thrust out like a ruffled pigeon.

‘That is Lady Sally’s tame artist, Mr Daubenay,’ Deborah commented, following Rachel’s gaze. ‘He is the one who is commissioned to paint her watercolours. Does he not affect the oddest attire? I almost expect him to bring out a lute and start to serenade the ladies!’

The artist had in fact whipped out a sketching pad and was starting to draw one of Lady Sally’s guests. As the crowd in the hall shifted, Rachel saw that it was Helena Lang. She seemed quite flattered by Daubenay’s attentions, for she was preening a little under his attentions, tossing her curls and trilling with laughter. At her side lounged a tall man with very dark auburn hair and the classic good looks of the Kestrels. Rachel caught Deborah’s sleeve.

‘Deborah, you must tell me who Lady Sally’s guests are, for I have not been introduced to them all. The gentleman with Miss Lang, for instance. He must be one of the Duke’s brothers.’

Deborah laughed. ‘That,’ she said, ‘is Lord Lucas Kestrel, the third of the unholy trinity! They say that he is even more unsafe to tangle with than his brothers because he looks a lot less dangerous!’

‘He is the one who is an army man, is he not?’ Rachel asked. She thought that Lucas looked extremely attractive. ‘I had heard that he was recently returned from India.’

Deborah snorted. ‘That poppycock! Lucas Kestrel is no more a soldier than Richard Kestrel can sail a ship. I heard the tale he was spinning you the other day about being invalided out of the Navy. I expect he trapped his hand in his desk drawer or some such injury!’

‘Oh, Deb,’ Rachel said reproachfully. She liked Richard Kestrel and thought her friend unduly harsh. ‘You are unkind!’

‘I know.’ Deb caught Rachel’s arm and turned her very firmly in the other direction. ‘There is the Duke himself, chatting to Lady Sally. You have not met him yet, have you, Rachel? He is only in Midwinter Bere briefly, for I hear business calls him back to London. A pity he cannot take Lord Richard with him!’

Rachel sighed. There was a certain air of careless distinction about the Kestrel brothers, as though just their presence bestowed a dazzle upon the proceedings. And, indeed, it was a very fashionable crowd that Lady Sally had gathered that evening. Without realising what she was doing, Rachel’s gaze instinctively sought out Cory Newlyn in the throng.

When she saw him, formal in his black and white evening clothes, her heart skipped a tiny beat as it had been doing every time she saw him since their kiss in the billiards room. It was pointless, it was annoying, but it was inescapable. Rachel had tried to cure herself of this strange affliction but to no avail. For someone who prided themselves on their common sense, it was particularly galling.