Josie Dennis (3 page)

Frederick thought his father had been a prick of the first order, but he wouldn’t say so. The man would never take such criticism, even from his favored son. “That is putting it mildly.”

The general scowled. “In any event, I extended the invitation to include Thorne and his new wife.”

As his father refilled his glass Frederick thought about the Morris girl. When she was here last year both Thorne and his brother Henry had sniffed around her skirts. He wondered if the two of them ever fucked her together. Surely they now had the freedom to indulge so at Thorne Manor. If they were both enthralled by that little nobody Catherine Morris at least he didn’t have to worry about Henry coming to fancy Isabella Thorne.

Isabella Thorne. That girl’s innocent kisses still burned in his memory, remarkable as that seemed to be. He’d wanted to seduce her, to overwhelm her until she begged him to take her. He’d never stopped himself with a girl before, neither a chit with marriage on her mind nor a pretty new maid at the abbey. But there was something about Isabella. Something he’d never before encountered. His father’s harsh behavior had sent all of them away before he could decipher just what it was about that girl. Perhaps that was a blessing, as her defection had left him free to return to his previous debauched behavior. Strange, but every woman he’d fucked since that night had golden hair very nearly like hers.

“Thorne’s sister will accompany them,” he heard the general say.

Frederick kept his expression neutral despite the jump in his pulse. “Oh?”

“I had hoped that Henry would take up with her after Thorne thankfully took the Morris chit, but it is apparent now that will not transpire. Not if it hasn’t by this time.” His father shrugged. “No matter. She would make an excellent wife for you.”

Frederick waited for the panic such a statement should elicit, but it was curiously absent. He was in no hurry, however, to step into the parson’s trap. Not with Isabella nor with any other woman. “I have no wish to marry at present, General.”

His father fixed his steely gaze on him. “You sold your commission. You are my heir and yet you show no sign of taking over the running the abbey.”

“You are far from an old man,” Frederick pointed out. “As you said, I just sold my commission. I am in no hurry to take another, thank you very much.”

The general set his glass down with deliberation. “James Morris is attending as well, Frederick. The man has much to recommend him. A modest inheritance to be sure but a sterling character.”

Frederick knew little of this brother of Catherine’s. “What can that matter to me?”

“Perhaps Miss Thorne will go to him.”

For some unknown reason Frederick didn’t want to think about Isabella going to any other man. He flashed his customary sardonic smile. “Perhaps she already has.”

The general shook his head and turned toward the door. “I thought you were more like me.”

Frederick felt the sting of that barb but shook it off. He
was
his father’s son. That was clear to him from the time he was in short pants. Henry was allowed to go his own way, but Frederick was meant for the military. Well, he wouldn’t let his father toss him toward an heiress to satisfy his own quest for appearances and social standing. Frederick had no burning desire for either.

Now in solitude, he sat and stared at the fire crackling behind the grate. No doubt the general was off to diddle one of the maids. In the recent past Frederick would have joined him in that secret chamber he kept for clandestine trysts. The two of them had shared many women since Frederick reached adulthood, employing the fine leather straps and tethers and whips to everyone’s pleasure. Hell, just last month they’d instructed the newest maid on the ways she was to serve the men of Norrington Abbey. She’d sucked the general deep down her throat as Frederick had plowed her from behind. Just last week he’d taken another maid in the dark, dank cellars, splayed wide against the stone wall as he’d first licked her then fucked her high and deep. Those women were still within the abbey’s walls, he knew. If he all but pulled the bell cord he could have all the pussy he wanted.

Tonight, however? Tonight he could only think of one woman. A gorgeous, blonde woman with a body to tempt a man beyond sanity. A temptress bent on teasing and flirtation yet charmingly naïve about the workings of a sexual nature.

God, she’d been so sweet. She had the prettiest mouth he’d ever seen. He’d wanted her to suck his cock, to lick and stroke him until he let himself go. He’d touched her pussy, felt her wet heat suck at his fingers. He’d made her come hard as she sweetly cried out his name.

She was to visit Norrington Abbey once again. With her brother and his wife, true. Not to mention Henry and James Morris. Frederick didn’t worry over James’s interest in the girl, though he was sure the man was interested. He couldn’t imagine a man spending more than five minutes in her company and not wanting her desperately. James Morris wouldn’t have her, however. Frederick would see to that. She would belong to him. For how long, he wouldn’t worry over at present. He would take her this time, however. He would fuck her every way he desired and make her crave only him.

For the first time in years a true smile curved his lips.

Isabella stared up at the imposing edifice of Norrington Abbey. She still found it hideous, all dark stone and jagged edges. Though not far into Gloucestershire, it appeared to have come from another time. She knew Catherine had been charmed by the rough-hewn structure, but that was before General Tilman treated her so abysmally. As for Isabella? She’d hated it on sight.

“Let us get the obligatory social niceties over with,” she heard John grumble.

She nodded absently and trailed behind the others. James looked as uncomfortable as she felt, though she attributed that more to the awkward ride from Somersetshire than the prospect of an extended visit at the abbey. To be sure,
he
had no disturbing memories of this place.

The cold wind raised her skirts and cloak, chilling her. Would Frederick be inside, waiting for the guests with his father? How could she face him? Her nerves were stretched taut after enduring the past few days ignoring James at every turn. Just the thought of his dark head nestled between her thighs as he drove her mad was enough to send tingles of delight and shudders of shame through her.

The interior of the abbey belied the ancient-looking exterior, thankfully. The general preferred all things modern, at least where guests would gather. Smooth plaster hid the rough walls, and expensive carpets covered the stone floors. The guest chambers reflected this partiality as well, though she’d heard whispers of dark corridors where torches still lit one’s way to perdition.

The maids surely believed she was like other women of her station, finding the servants so far below their notice, for they had spoken freely during her last visit when she was within earshot. She had gleaned that the general apparently kept a stark chamber of sensual delights somewhere in the great house. Frederick had alluded to the place as well, on that long-ago night when he’d given her the first orgasm of her life.

“Henry, welcome home,” the general said as they entered the parlor. The man stood beside the marble fireplace, his dress as austere as the expression on his handsome face. He looked much like Frederick, though the lines on his face appeared harsh where his son’s looked striking. “And your guests are most welcome as well.”

Isabella couldn’t keep her gaze from flitting about the room. Where
was
Frederick? She longed to get this initial contact over and done with so she could better withstand this interminable visit. Out of the corner of one eye she saw that James watched her as well. Was he reliving that night in her chamber at Thorne Manor? Well, that was most unfortunate for him. She might have welcomed him into her bedroom, but she wouldn’t do so here. Not with her wild attraction toward Frederick to contend with as well. It was far too much to consider.

“Ah, the prodigal son has returned.”

Her heart skipped as she felt her body tense. That drawl could only belong to one man. Frederick.

She watched as he sauntered into the room, that familiar twist on his beautiful mouth. His dress was impeccable, though as usual he seemed to give not one thought to it. Sable-colored jacket topped snug, buff breeches and shining boots, but his dark hair was tousled. He looked as delectable as he’d ever appeared in his uniform. His new station suited him. He appeared supremely comfortable in his clothes and in his home.

His eyes settled on her, and she couldn’t catch a breath. He dipped his head toward her then faced the other guests. She paid no attention to the stilted conversations, unable to keep her gaze from darting between Frederick and James. They were so very different yet they elicited the same heat within her. For his part James stood at her side, though a bit in front of her. A glance at his face showed his proprietary stance. What cheek!

“General, I am honored that you included the rest of us in your invitation to Henry,” she said.

General Tilman arched a brow, his expression of surprise mirrored on his eldest son’s. Was she not to speak in their company unless addressed first?

“It is my pleasure that you’ve come, Miss Thorne.” He smiled at Frederick. “Isn’t it delightful she is one of the party, Frederick?”

Frederick ran his dark eyes over her, making her feel as though she was stark-naked in front of a room full of people.

“I daresay I could not envision a more delightful guest at the abbey, Father,” he said.

James narrowed his gaze toward Frederick, and she could almost see the animosity between them. The next instant it was gone, but she sensed the residual tension as they were shown to their rooms to ready for dinner.

She dressed with her usual care, though the maid given to her charge seemed to watch her warily when she thought Isabella’s attention elsewhere. Was she used to harsh treatment at the abbey and expecting the like from her? There was no mistress of the grand home, true. Whom did she serve?

The gossip she’d overheard when last here whispered through her mind. Something about the general and Frederick exerting their power as masters over their servants. She would put nothing past the general. That was certain. He was as cold and stern as any man she’d ever encountered despite his apparent acceptance of her in particular. She didn’t doubt he would treat his servants like chattel. Would Frederick take liberties with…No!

Isabella watched the girl more closely as she finished with her hair. Had the maid done the things with Frederick that Isabella had nearly done? She was fresh-faced and pretty. The hair she glimpsed beneath her cap was as blonde as her own, if styled austerely. Her figure within her simple gown was buxom. She was situated at a far-flung estate with only males to serve.

“Miss?” the maid asked, her brows drawn together. “Are you not satisfied?”

Isabella shook her head to clear it. “Quite. Thank you.”

The girl dropped a curtsy and left without another word. Isabella stood and studied her reflection for a long moment. She looked beyond presentable, her bodice dipping low but not too low for a girl of her twenty-one years. She was still a maiden, though barely. Once again that stab of hunger pierced her center. With both Frederick and James here at the abbey she doubted her virginity would persist. Did she even want it to? The thought came unbidden. Was she finally willing to choose a man to be with forever?

“Pity I can choose only one,” she murmured.

She left the room, bound for the parlor to await dinner with the other guests and their hosts.

* * * *

“Whatever could you be looking for, Miss Thorne?”

The masculine whisper caused bumps to raise over her flesh and a heat to infuse her. Isabella sucked in a breath, smelling the unique scent of Frederick Tilman. Bold, masculine with a hint of spice. The cigar he’d had after dinner and the brandy he’d imbibed. It was a complex, heady flavor and one she longed to taste.

The hour was late, most everyone gone up to their chambers. She herself had escaped to her guest room, only venturing out to seek something to help her find sleep. Perhaps she should have shocked everyone present and drunk down the brandy the men had shared while the sexes had separated. As it was, stone-cold sober, she’d taken a turn and ended up in a dark corridor in the family’s wing of the estate.

She licked her lips and turned to find Frederick staring down at her. “I merely went for a walk, Mr. Tilman.” She squared her shoulders. “I couldn’t sleep, not that it’s any concern of yours.”

He gave a short laugh. “Tell me you aren’t thinking about it right now.”

“About what, pray?” His lips, his touch, his… “I am afraid I cannot catch your meaning.”

One dark brow arched. “You cannot? Come, Isabella. You remember our encounter when last you were at the abbey.”

She swallowed, her throat tight. “A great many things happened during that visit, Mr. Tilman. Including indulgences on your part, though perhaps that subject is best left alone.”

He laughed, a low, rasping sound. “Spreading tales? Do not believe everything the staff says.”

She stepped away from him. “Your behavior is of no consequence to me, I’m sure.”

“But what of your brother’s?” His eyes grew dark. “Or my brother’s?”

“What?”

“Why, do you not know about our brothers’ relationship with your friend—ah, I should say ‘your sister’?”

She couldn’t form a word. There was something among the three of them, a closeness and affection that John, Henry, and Catherine shared. But that was something so sweet and tender that this scoundrel could never countenance it.

Frederick came closer. “I wager they’re with her right now. Fucking her together.”

She gasped, at his words and what they evoked. “No.”

“Yes. You may be innocent of the notion, but I know much about two men sharing a willing woman.”

She blinked. “Then you and the general…”