The Leopard Prince

  HER BROTHER HAD TO BE the one person in all the world a woman didn’t want to meet directly after a night of ecstasy. George fiddled with the ribbon at her neck.

  Tiggle batted her hand away and set a last pin in her hair. “There you are, my lady. As ready as you’ll ever be.” At least the maid was no longer sending her mournful looks.

  Instead, she was now commiserating. Did everyone know what had happened last night? She really should’ve been more discreet than to spend the night. George sighed and contemplated feigning a headache. But Tony was nothing if not stubborn. He might not drag her from her room to interview her, but he’d be right outside the minute she tried to emerge. Best to get it over with.

  She threw back her shoulders and marched downstairs like a Christian going to meet a particularly irate lion. Greaves sent her a sympathetic look as he held the breakfast room door for her.

  Inside, Tony was standing by the mantelpiece, staring down his bony nose into the fire. He evidently hadn’t touched the food on the sideboard. Tony was the spitting image of their late father, tall and angular with a face dominated by prominent cheekbones and heavy eyebrows. The only difference was the auburn hair he’d inherited from their mother. That, and the fact that he was a much nicer man than Father had been.

  Usually, anyway.

  George noticed that Violet was conspicuously absent. She had a very good idea why, too. She’d corner the minx later.

  “Good morning, Tony.” George strolled to the sideboard. Buttered kippers. Even Cook knew. She helped herself to a large serving. She was going to need her strength.

  “George,” Tony greeted her coolly. He advanced swiftly to the door and flung it open. Two footmen looked at him, startled. “We won’t be needing you. Make sure we’re not disturbed.”

  The footmen bowed. “Yes, my lord.”

  Tony closed the door and yanked down on his waistcoat to straighten it. George rolled her eyes. When had her brother become this stuffy? He must have been practicing in his room at nights.

  “Are you having breakfast?” she asked as she sat down. “Cook has made some lovely kippers.”

  Tony ignored her pleasantry. “What could you have been thinking?” His tone was unbelievably dour.

  “Well, really, if you want to know the truth, I wasn’t thinking at all.” She took a sip of tea. “I mean, not after the first kiss. He does kiss very well.”

  “George!”

  “If you didn’t want to know, why ask?”

  “You know very well what I mean. Don’t play the flibbertigibbet with me.”

  George sighed and put down her fork. The kippers tasted like ashes in her mouth, anyway. “It’s no concern of yours.”

  “Of course it’s my concern. You’re my sister and you’re unmarried.”

  “Do I poke into your affairs? Do I ask about what ladies you see in London?”

  Tony crossed his arms and stared down his large nose at her. “It’s not the same and you know it.”

  “Yes”—George poked a kipper—“but it should be.”

  He sighed and took a chair opposite her. “Maybe so. But that isn’t how the world works. We don’t deal with how society ought to be but rather how it is. And society will judge you rather harshly, my dear.”

  She felt her lips tremble.

  “Come back to London with me,” Tony said. “We can forget about this. There are some fellows I can introduce you to—”

  “It’s not like choosing a horse. I don’t want to exchange a bay for a chestnut.”

  “Why not? Why not find a man from your own class? One who could marry you and give you children.”

  “Because,” George said slowly, “I don’t want just any man. I want this one.”

  Tony slammed the flat of his hand down on the table, making her jump. He leaned over her. “And the rest of the family can just go to hell? You’re not like this. Think about the example you’re setting for Violet. Would you want her doing what you’re doing?”

  “No. But I can’t live my life as an example for my sister.”

  Tony pursed his lips.

  “You don’t,” George accused. “Can you honestly say that with every action you take, you stop to think, ‘Is this a good example for my brothers?’ ”

  “For God’s sake—”

  The door swung open.

  They both looked up in surprise. Tony frowned. “I thought I said to admit no—”

  “My lord. My lady.” Harry closed the door on the two harassed footmen outside and advanced into the room.

  Tony straightened away from the table. He was easily half a head taller than Harry, but the shorter man did not break stride.

  “Are you well, my lady?” Harry spoke to George, but his eyes never left Tony.

  “Yes, thank you, Harry.” She’d assured him back at the cottage that Tony would never hurt her, but he must have decided to see for himself. “Would you like a kipper?”

  A corner of Harry’s mouth twitched upward, but Tony forestalled his answer. “We have no need of you. You may go.”

  “Tony,” George gasped.

  “My lord.” Harry inclined his head. His expression was once again carefully blank.

  George’s heart felt like it was breaking into tiny pieces. This isn’t right. She started to rise, but Harry had already turned back to the door.

  Her lover left the room, dismissed like a common servant by her brother.

  NOTHING LEVELED A MAN QUITE like being unable to protect his woman. Harry jerked on his tricorn and cloak and strode to the stables, the heels of his boots kicking up gravel. But Lady Georgina wasn’t really his, was she? She wasn’t bound to him by law or society. She was a woman who’d allowed him to make love to her. Once.

  And maybe only that once.

  It had been her first time, and inevitably, he’d hurt her. He’d given her pleasure before, but was it enough to make up for the pain afterward? Did she understand that only the first time was painful? Maybe she wouldn’t let him prove that he could give her pleasure with his flesh inside hers.

  Harry swore. The stable hand holding his mare’s head eyed him warily. He scowled at the boy and took the reins. The fact that he wanted Lady Georgina didn’t help his mood. Now. Under him or above him, it didn’t matter; he just wanted to sink his flesh into hers and feel the world fall away again.

  “Mr. Pye!”

  Harry looked over his shoulder. The Earl of Maitland was hailing him from Woldsly’s steps. Jesus Christ, now what?

  “Mr. Pye, if you’ll wait while my horse is brought around, I’d like to accompany you.”

  He didn’t have much of a choice, now, did he? “Very well, my lord.”

  He watched the earl stroll up while stable hands ran to do his bidding. Even if the other man hadn’t introduced himself at the cottage this morning, Harry would have known him. His eyes were his sister’s—clear, piercing blue.

  A saddled horse was brought, and both men mounted. They rode out from the stable yard without saying a word. At least the earl was discreet.

  Dark clouds glowered overhead, threatening yet more rain where none was wanted.

  They were nearly to the gates when the earl spoke. “If it’s money you’re after, I can give you a pretty purse to speed you on your way.”

  Harry looked at the earl—Tony, Lady Georgina had called him. His face was stony, but his lips curled ever so slightly at the corners, giving away his distaste. Harry almost felt sorry for him. “I’m not after money, my lord.”

  “Don’t take me for a fool.” Tony’s nostrils flared. “I’ve seen the hut you’re living in, and your attire doesn’t bespeak even modest wealth. You’re after my sister’s money.”

  “You see no other reason for me to seek the company of Lady Georgina?”

  “I—”

  “I wonder if you realize how close you are to insulting my lady,” Harry said.

  A flush spread over the other man’s cheekbones. Harry remembered that the earl was Lady Georgina’s
younger brother. He couldn’t be more than, what, five or six and twenty? His air of authority made him seem older.

  “If you do not take my money and leave her alone, I’ll see that you’re dismissed without reference,” Tony said.

  “I’m employed by your sister, not you, my lord.”

  “Have you no pride, man?” Tony pulled his horse up short. “What kind of a cur preys on a lonely woman?”

  Harry halted his horse as well. “Do you really think your sister wouldn’t see straight through a man trying to take advantage of her?”

  Tony frowned. “You’ve put her in danger. Violet says our sister was attacked while in your company.”

  Harry sighed. “Did Lady Violet also tell you that Lady Georgina fired a pistol at the attackers?” The other man’s eyes widened. “Or that if I’d had my way, she wouldn’t have been in the gig with me in the first place?”

  Tony winced. “Rode roughshod over you, did she? She does have a persistent streak.”

  Harry raised one eyebrow.

  Tony coughed and started his horse. “Be that as it may, a gentleman doesn’t continue to press his attentions on a lady who can’t return them.”

  “Then, as I see it, you have two problems, my lord,” Harry said.

  Tony’s eyes narrowed.

  “One, that the lady does, in fact, return my attentions, and two”—Harry turned to meet the earl’s gaze—“I am no gentleman.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Violet, open this door!” George held her breath and applied her ear to the wood. Nothing. “I know you’re in there. I can hear you breathing.”

  “You can’t.” Her sister’s voice came petulantly from inside.

  Ha! “Violet Elizabeth Sarah Maitland. Open this door at once or I shall have Greaves take the hinges off.”

  “No, you won’t. The hinges are inside.” Violet sounded triumphant.

  So they were, the little minx. George inhaled and gritted her teeth. “Then I shall have him bash the door in.”

  “You wouldn’t.” Violet’s voice was closer.

  “I don’t believe you should count on that.” She crossed her arms and tapped one foot.

  There came a scraping from the other side; then the door cracked open. One tear-stained eye peeped out.

  “Oh, my dear.” George pushed the door the rest of the way open and walked in, closing it behind her. “Time to cut line. Whatever possessed you to write to Tony?”

  Violet’s lower lip began to tremble. “That man has you in his clutches. He’s beguiled you with his caresses and his carnal wiles.”

  Caresses and carnal wiles? George knit her brows. “What do you know about carnal wiles?”

  Violet’s eyes widened. “Nothing,” she said much too fast. “Well, only what everybody hears.”

  George stared as her younger sister blushed. It always was a problem, trying to lie with fair skin. “Violet,” she said slowly, “is there something you want to tell me?”

  Violet let out a squeaking wail and flung herself into George’s arms. Oh, dear.

  “There, there, sweet.” She stumbled back—Violet was an inch or two taller—and sat in the cushioned window seat. “It can’t be as bad as all that.”

  Violet tried to speak, choked, and cried some more. George rocked her, murmuring the inanities one whispers to a distressed child, and brushed the hair back from her sister’s damp brow.

  Violet inhaled, shuddering. “Y-you don’t understand. I’ve done something really awful.” She scrubbed her eyes with a hand. “I… I’ve sinned, George!”

  George couldn’t help the twitch of her lips—Violet was always so dramatic—but she firmed her mouth at once. “Tell me.”

  “I… I’ve lain with a man.” The words were indistinct because Violet had buried her head, but George couldn’t mistake them.

  She immediately sobered, dread clutching at her throat. “What?” She pried Violet away from her breast. “Look at me. What do you mean?” Perhaps her sister had mistaken the matter somehow; confused an embrace for something more.

  Violet raised a ravaged face. “I gave my virginity away to a man. There was blood.”

  “Oh, my Lord.” No, not Violet, not her baby sister. George felt tears prick at her own eyes, but she willed them away and framed her sister’s face with her hands. “Did he force you? Did he hurt you?”

  “N-no.” Violet choked on a sob. “It’s almost worse. I did it of my own free will. I’m a wanton. A… a harlot.” She broke down again and hid her face in George’s skirts.

  George stroked her sister’s back and waited and thought. She had to handle this well the first time. When Violet had calmed again, George said, “I don’t think we can go as far as saying that you’re a harlot. I mean, you didn’t take any money, did you?”

  Violet shook her head. “Of course—”

  George held up her hand. “And as for being a wanton, well… it was only the one man. Am I correct?”

  “Y-yes.” Violet’s lower lip trembled.

  “Then, I think you will have to forgive my bias in saying that it is at least as much the gentleman’s fault as yours. How old is he?”

  Violet looked a bit mutinous at having been demoted from wanton. “Five and twenty.”

  Five and twenty! The seducing, lecherous… George inhaled. “And do I know him?” she asked calmly.

  Violet pushed away from her sister. “I won’t tell you! I’ll not be made to marry him.”

  George stared, her heart stopping in her chest. “Are you increasing?”

  “No!” Violet’s horror was unfeigned, thank goodness.

  George blew out a relieved breath. “Then why do you think I would make you marry him?”

  “Well, maybe not you, but Tony…” Violet got up and paced around the room. “He’s been writing me letters.”

  “Tony has?”

  “No!” Violet turned to glare at her. “Him.”

  “Oh, him.” George frowned. “What about?”

  “He wants me to marry him. He says he loves me. But, George”—Violet picked up a candlestick from the bedside table and gestured with it—“I don’t love him anymore. I did. I mean, I thought I did. That’s why I, well, you know.”

  “Quite.” George felt herself blushing.

  “But then afterward I started noticing how far apart his eyes were and that he says ain’t in such an affected way.” Violet shrugged and set the candlestick down on the dresser. “And then it was gone, the love or whatever. I don’t hate him; I just don’t love him.”

  “I see.”

  “Is that how you feel about Mr. Pye?” Violet asked. “Are you over him now?”

  George had a vision of Harry Pye, his head arched back, the tendons in his neck straining as he convulsed over her. A slow heat invaded her loins. She caught herself dropping her eyelids.

  She snapped them open, sitting up straight at the same time. “Uh, not exactly.”

  “Oh.” Violet looked forlorn. “Maybe it’s me, then.”

  “I don’t think so, sweetheart. Maybe it’s that you’re only fifteen. Or,” she added hastily when Violet stuck out her lip, “maybe it’s that he’s just not the right man for you.”

  “Oh, George!” Violet flopped backward onto her bed. “I’ll never have another suitor. How would I explain that I’ve lost my maidenhead? Perhaps I should marry him. No other man will ever have me.” Violet stared at the canopy over her bed. “I’m just not sure I can bear the way he takes snuff for the rest of my life.”

  “Yes, that would be torturous,” George murmured, “but I’m afraid I’ll have to put my foot down and forbid you to marry him. So you’re saved.”

  “You’re a peach.” Violet smiled tremulously from the bed. “But he’s said he will have to reveal all if I don’t become his bride.”

  “Ah.” If she ever got her hands on the blackmailing bastard… “Then I think you will really have to tell me his name, sweetheart. I know”—she held up her hand as Violet started to protest
—“but it’s the only way.”

  “What will you do?” her sister asked in a small voice.

  George met her eyes. “We’ll have to tell Tony who he is so Tony can convince him that you aren’t interested in marriage.”

  “But Tony, George?” Violet flung her arms wide across the bed, unconsciously taking the position of a martyr. “You know the way he inspects one so coldly down his nose. It makes me feel like a worm. A squashed worm.”

  “Yes, dear, I am aware of his look,” George said. “I was the recipient of it just this morning, thanks to you.”

  “I’m sorry about that.” Violet looked contrite before reverting to her own dilemma. “Tony will make me marry him!”

  “No, you’re maligning Tony, now,” George said. “He may have lost all sense of humor since he assumed the title, but that doesn’t mean he’ll force a marriage on a sister, especially his fifteen-year-old sister.”

  “Even though I’ve—”

  “Even though.” George smiled. “Think how useful Tony will be when he convinces this gentleman. Really, it is the only advantage I can think of to having an earl for a brother.”

  THAT NIGHT GEORGE SHIVERED and pulled the hood of her cloak tighter around her face. It was late, almost midnight, and Harry’s cottage was dark. Perhaps he had already retired for the evening? At any other time, for any other reason, she would’ve turned around. But this compulsion drove her on. She had to see him again. Except it wasn’t to see him that she’d come here so late in the evening, was it? She felt a blush start high on her cheekbones. She wanted to do more, much more, than see Harry Pye. And she didn’t want to examine too closely the reasons behind that urge.

  She knocked at his door.

  It swung open almost immediately, as if he’d been waiting for her. “My lady.” His green eyes were heavy.

  Harry’s chest was bare, and her gaze was drawn to it. “I hope you don’t mind,” she began vapidly, addressing his left nipple.

  He reached out a long arm and drew her in. Slammed the door and pushed her up against it. Shoved back her hood and seized her lips. He tilted her head back and slanted his mouth over hers, thrusting his tongue between her lips. Oh, heavens, she needed this. Had she become so wanton after only one taste? His hands gripped the back of her head, and she felt the pins falling out. Her hair came undone down her back. Her hands roamed, kneading, stroking his back. She could taste ale on his tongue and smell his musk. Her nipples were already peaked and aching as if they recognized him and what he was.