Before the Fire Read online

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  Kane watched as the man’s large and impressively honed body quickly recovered and jolted to an upright standing position. He brushed dirt and a few leaves from his breeches then looked over to her and blushed.

  She relaxed immediately. The man was no enemy. She couldn’t say how she knew it, but she did. Her instincts had never failed her beforehand and she knew they weren’t failing her now.

  The electronic historians had fed her the correct data on eighteenth century men’s clothing she noticed, so she hoped to Saturn that they had also outfitted her wardrobe properly. Maybe she could get this man’s opinion. Maybe they could be friends after all. Intoxicated by the idea of it, she stood up to greet him properly, a genuine smile of welcome enveloping her lips.

  Kane cocked her head as she studied him. His blush grew deeper. For what reason she hadn’t a clue, but the simple act of it left a pleasant feeling in the pit of her stomach. The intimidating physical look of the giant was out of sync with the obvious gentleness he emitted.

  The stranger was a very tall man, taller even than Timal. The primitive was at least five inches over six feet she surmised. He had wide shoulders and a broad expanse of chest beneath his waistcoat. She could also tell by the snug fit of his breeches that his legs were long and well-muscled. She grinned. The bulge between his thighs also looked long and well-muscled. Letting that observation go for the present, she scanned his face.

  The man wasn’t handsome in the classical, beautiful sense in which Timal was, but he was definitely a work of intriguing masculine art. Much more intriguing than her droid. His face was arresting with its manly curves and angles, his jaw set and stubborn. His eyes were a deep green, like the sea foam on Nero, his hair as black as the night. The man exuded power and presence.

  Kane was enraptured.

  * * * * *

  George had never been more embarrassed. The most beautiful, sensual woman he’d ever seen was lying before him in her naked glory. If he had hoped to impress the siren by subtly mentioning his title and lands after introducing himself to her in a noble, dignified manner, he could give up on that score. She would like as not ever forget that her first glimpse of him had been after he fell to the ground while spying upon her naked person.

  George sprang his sorry self to his feet and brushed away the dirt and leaves that had gathered on the seat and legs of his buckskin breeches. He was determined to walk away from this sad scene with as much dignity as he could salvage. There was no way he would attempt to approach the siren now. All was lost.

  George couldn’t stop the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that came from the realization that he’d never be able to make a good impression after this debacle. Never had a woman stirred his blood so. Yet never was also the length of time it would be before he could make her acquaintance. His thoughts were so intrusive it never occurred to him to wonder if he’d just compromised her.

  George blushed at the lady, preparing to walk away. He would collect Socrates, ride home, and then resume his solitary life. He took a deep, steadying breath as he planted his right foot away from his left and contrived to pivot around and be gone. He gazed one last time at the siren, his blush intensifying from her nakedness in spite of himself.

  Before George could bring himself to turn around and walk from the forest, the most wonderful, amazing, and completely unexpected thing happened.

  She stood up…and she smiled at him.

  Chapter 5

  Kane strode purposefully toward the stranger and offered him her hand in the universal show of friendship. She smiled vividly, piqued by the idea of actually speaking to an eighteenth century dweller. And, she had to admit, especially to this handsome eighteenth century dweller in particular. “Greetings, fellow humanoid. I am called Kane Edmonds. By what name do you go?”

  George smiled down to the siren as he took her proffered hand. He couldn’t be sure what a humanoid was, but so long as she continued to look at him thusly, he could hardly care. He drew her elegant fingers to his lips and kissed them chastely, noticing at the same time the color of her remarkable eyes. Blue. Icy blue.

  “My name is George Wyndom, Mistress Kane. I am the Earl of Blackmore.”

  Kane visibly grimaced. The Earl of Blackmore? The alleged murderer of his own wife? She shook her head. She knew a killer when she saw one and this man couldn’t possibly be of their breed. Physically he was quite capable of seeing such a deed done, but he wouldn’t without cause. Or at least that’s what her instincts told her.

  Although she no longer unquestioningly heeded Linder’s warning that Blackmore was a killer, Kane still wanted to hear the earl deny the allegation from his own lips. She would know then, without hesitation, whether or not her instincts had aimed true with this man. “Lordling Blackmore, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Now please tell me if it is true that you murdered your first wife.”

  George blinked a few times in rapid succession. His jaw fell agape. Talk about coming straight to the point. Of course, a lady who could stand naked in front of a gentleman without so much as a hint of a blush was a lady who could also be blunt enough to ask him about Nina’s demise.

  Not that he minded. Hell, Miss Edmonds was the first person he’d met, male or female, who had brought the question out in the open and given him the opportunity to deny the charges. Those who carried on in society never did that. They whispered behind a man’s back instead, never giving him the chance to clear his good name. George welcomed this change in protocol. He drew himself up to his full six feet five inches and looked her straight in the eye. “No. I most certainly did not.”

  Kane nodded, satisfied. As usual, her instincts had been on target. “I figured as much, lordling. You hardly look the murdering sort.”

  George inclined his head politely, pleased that she had faith in his word without requiring a lengthy explanation as to the events of that horrid night.

  Though he knew it wasn’t proper, George’s gaze ambled down the length of Kane’s body. She stood so close to him now. It was torture being near her, yet not being able to take her into his arms and love her the way he wanted to. His approving stare meandered downward toward her breasts, stopping to admire them for an over long moment. The tightly erect coral nipples still stood proud, as pebbled as they had been minutes earlier when the lady had been basking in the sun.

  George’s gaze dropped further, to the perfect triangle of hair between Kane’s thighs. He had a sudden urge to run his fingers through it, to prove to himself that the pelt was as feathery-soft as it looked.

  When his shaft began to stir within the confines of his breeches, George realized he had to end this maddening perusal of the siren’s body. He coughed discreetly into his fist and looked away. What had he been thinking, ogling her body like that?

  Kane rummaged through the eighteenth century data that had been stored in her brain along with the nineteenth and twentieth century. If only she knew what was what, she would feel more confident engaging this humanoid in conversation. He fascinated her, for reasons she couldn’t describe, and she wanted to know more of him.

  However, a calculated retreat seemed the better idea at the moment. She could always learn more later. “Pray forgive me daddy-o,”—there, she would cover her tracks by mixing in a little lingo from each century—“but I must return to my bachelor pad in posthaste. I have much work to see to this day.”

  George snapped out of his reflective state and regarded Kane through curious eyes. Lordling? Daddy-O? Bachelor pad? The strange words she used could send a man straight to bed with the headache in an attempt to decipher them. From what land did this lady originally herald?

  George scratched his head and sighed. Who cared of her origins? He just didn’t want her to leave. Not yet. “I understand, Miss Edmonds. Mayhap you will allow me the privilege of escorting you home?”

  She shrugged her acquiescence. How much could she possibly mess up in her speech between here and the primitive cottage? “Thank-you, lordling. It
would be welcomed.”

  Kane turned around and bent over to retrieve her eighteenth century lady’s gown. George watched her bend over, then wished he hadn’t. He got a very close up and painfully arousing view of the pink folds of her womanhood. He gritted his teeth, grinding them together. He would not disgrace himself. He refused to disgrace himself. He simply would not spill his seed here and now after he had somehow succeeded in miraculously salvaging his mottled reputation in the lady’s eyes. Damn his penis anyway. The little bastard had better cooperate.

  George closed his eyes and forced himself to visualize Lady Harriet naked and wanting him. He pictured himself having to lie with her, kissing her on her hairy upper lip. When that worked only partially, he threw in an image of bedding Lady Jane and her odious mole while watching Lady Irma dig at her upturned nose.

  George sighed in relief when his staff lowered to quarter-mast.

  “If you would be so kind as to open your eyes, lordling, I could use your help buttoning up the back of my gown.”

  “Of course, Miss Edmonds.”

  George opened his eyes slowly, afraid that she might still be naked. He breathed a sigh of relief when his gaze shot over a fully clothed body that needed only to be buttoned up in the back. Ten minutes ago he would have found buttoning a lady’s dress too scandalous to consider. Odd what seeing a chit naked could do to a gentleman’s sense of propriety.

  George eyed the gown appreciatively. It was fashioned from silk of the first quality. Obviously the siren was the daughter of a wealthy merchant. He found himself wondering again over her origins. She was unlike any woman he’d ever known in both speech and mannerisms. Not to mention the only woman he’d every met of any station in life to walk about naked as though that was the way of it. “Tell me Miss Edmonds, from what country do you herald?”

  “Country?” She mulled over the word for a moment, smiling when recognition finally struck. Colony. The nearest semantic equivalent to Lordling Blackmore’s word in the twenty-fifth century would be “colony”. Not that “country” and “colony” carried the same literal meaning, but she sensed that it was as close to his meaning as she would get. “Houston.”

  “Houston?”

  “Yes. It is located in what the primit—uh—to what you refer to as America.”

  Ah. An American. That explained much. “So tell me,” George asked as he reached for the next tiny button on the back of Kane’s gown, “what brings you to England? And specifically to Blackmore?”

  She thought about her answer for a long moment even though she had mentally rehearsed it at least a thousand times in case such a situation as this one arose. “I’m here to search for a special plant, a flower.”

  George chuckled, bemused. “You and your family sailed all the way from America to search for an English flower?”

  “Only myself. My, uh, family did not join me on this mission.”

  George furrowed his brow as he finished buttoning the last of the miniscule buttons. He shook his head in disbelief and not a little annoyance. The lady had ventured across the seas alone? He could scarcely credit such a notion, yet why would she lie over trifles?

  Had the Edmonds family gone mad? Americans were known for their primitive outrageousness and their snubbing of English values, but had the lady’s American family no care at all for her reputation? Naked bathing escapade aside, it truly would be in tatters by the time she returned home, travelling without another woman as escort.

  Perhaps she had a woman servant with her. George mentally shrugged. It would be easy enough to solve that riddle once he escorted her to wherever it was she was staying. “Let us go, Miss Edmonds. I shall walk you safely to your destination at once.”

  She nodded. “Thank-you, lordling. I am ready.”

  * * * * *

  Kane plunked down onto the horribly uncomfortable English chair and winced. It was a nice change, being able to be stressed to the point of near insanity without having to endure robotic fists jabbing at one’s backside, yet the sensory chairs exported by her Houston colony were undeniably more comfortable. Especially when they worked properly.

  Kane smiled at the earl as she regarded him through eyes of savage feminine appreciation. By the galaxy, he was everything she desired of a humanoid lover! Tall, strapping with muscle, breathtakingly terrifying, yet gentle all at once. He was yin and yang, night and day, earth and heaven rolled into one. And he wanted her to accompany him back to his estate.

  “My lordling—”

  “’Tis lord, sweet Kane. Just lord. But please, do grant me the honor of calling me George as you’ve allowed me the priviledge of addressing you informally.”

  Kane nodded her head in acceptance, while simultaneously filing away the new datum in the recesses of her brain. It was lord, not lordling. “Very well, George. I thank-you for your extreme kindness and for your concern regarding my wellbeing and my…uh…what did you call it again?”

  “Reputation.”

  “Ah yes, my reputation,” she slowly enunciated, savoring the new word as she spoke it. “As I said, I appreciate the concern, but I could not possibly impose upon you.”

  George held up a silencing hand. “I assure you, mistress, your presence in my home would do anything but impose upon me. I shall give you a guest chamber far grander than the whole of this cottage. You’ll have servants at your disposal, a carriage at your beck and call, and access to my private library. Just think how much faster you can find this flower of yours with all of this at your fingertips.”

  George sat up rigidly in the chair opposite Kane’s and waited on needle points for her answer. He wanted her close at hand. So if he hoped to convince her to stay as a guest at Blackmore, he knew he had to disabuse her of any counter-arguments.

  “And,” he added almost as an after thought, “I shall charge my mother with the caring of your reputation. I will temporarily move her from the dowager house to the main house for the duration of your stay. No one will be able to cast aspersions upon your good name if a noble woman is staying at Blackmore as chaperone.”

  George inclined his head with an arrogant nod. A very good argument he’d just given the lady if he did say so his self. He would have become a barrister had it not been below the station of a nobleman to seek entrance into the professions.

  Kane scarcely understood what the earl was prattling on about. Chaperones? Reputations? And what in the name of Neptune was a dowager? These foreign words were mind-boggling. She didn’t grasp the full meaning behind them. But one thing was quite clear: the earl wanted her at his side. She hugged the knowledge close to her heart, elated and confused by the emotions it engendered in her breast.

  Moving temporarily into the earl’s domicile could produce no end to complications. It would be difficult for her to contact Linder if she needed to. It would be even more difficult to arrive at his home with no clothing save the dress on her back, then try to explain how it was that she wore a different garment every day. She could hardly show George her laser-c and demonstrate the vast amount of uses that it had. And yet…

  Moving in with George would mean being close to him. It would mean seeing him every morning, dining with him every evening, strolling with him through his lands and chatting endlessly about everything and nothing, just as they’d done today on their walk toward her domicile.

  Kane had never been so fascinated by a humanoid male before. She’d never met one she would have chosen to mount her. Until George, there had only been Timal, a beautiful droid who appeared ugly and ordinary when compared against the virile earl. Her decision was instantly made. “I accept.”

  George’s eyebrows shot up. He was surprised by her quick agreement. “You…do?”

  Kane nodded. “I do.” She beamed a radiant smile the earl’s way as she stood up and sauntered toward his chair. “But you must promise me that I will have the joy of spending time alone with you every day as we did today. Otherwise, I will stay where I am.” She waved her hands about the room, emphasizing h
er meaning.

  George’s jaw went lax. The beauty had practically demanded his company. As if she needed to make that a prerequisite of moving into Blackmore. As if he wouldn’t give anything for even one more moment of her time. He was besotted, instantly besotted and he knew it.

  Clearing his throat and swallowing, his Adam’s apple bobbed once up and down as he slowly withdrew from his seat and rose to tower above Kane. “You’ve my word.”

  George reached for her hand, drawing it gently to his mouth. He kissed her delicately upturned palm, sending shivers of longing rippling through both of their bodies.

  Kane grew hot and moist, desiring more, but sensing that she would have to bide her time and wait. She couldn’t be certain, but she doubted that sex was exchanged as freely between humanoids in the eighteenth century as it was in the twenty-fifth. She would wait, but for the moment she needed more. Just a little more.

  Kane peered into George’s eyes, her willingness and desire blatant in her gaze. She stood up on tiptoe, parting her lips slightly, praying to every mating goddess she could name that the earl would kiss her.

  George blinked, unable to believe that the lady was suggesting what his incorrigibly aroused mind was thinking. She couldn’t possibly want for a gigantic brute such as himself to kiss her delicate red mouth. But she was standing on tiptoe…and her lips were parting…and…

  George lowered his head to Kane’s and brought his lips down to meet hers. A wave of fierce longing coursed through his gut, knocking down his senses with one swift blow, as he experienced the heady feeling of having her silky lips pliant beneath his own. She sighed becomingly, parting her lips even further, and it was all the torture he could withstand. He wrapped his arms about her, plucking her from the ground as if she weighed no more than a trite flower, and plundered her mouth with his own.