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  Sounds of Love

  Marilyn Kelly

  Wanton Widows, book one.

  Widowed baroness Cathryn Sibley craves financial security, scholarly recognition and passionate love equal to that of Fanny Hill. To marry Julian Ahlquist, the forceful earl who promises to fill all her lustful needs, she must break a marriage contract to a distant baron who promises only grief. But when the baron reveals her one major sin and spoils her chances for love, Cathryn must forgive herself before she seeks exoneration from Julian. In the meantime, a light-fingered duke sets his sights on her and she hasn't the power to refuse him.

  Julian has his own past to shed—he’s been in love with his father’s beautiful mistress for twenty years. Cathryn soothes his old wounds and frees him to love again, but he discovers her secret in a distressing manner. A matchmaking novelist shows him the error of his ways and he humbles himself to secure Cathryn’s freedom.

  A Romantica® historical erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave

  Sounds of Love

  Marilyn Kelly

  Dedication

  To my husband, partner and hero, Dana. Our love will Not Fade Away.

  To my talented critique partner, Lynn Gutierrez, who nurtured this book along with me. Her own stories will delight you, as they do me.

  To my family and friends who encouraged me during the long journey to publication. Historical romance is a genre I love, but I’m not offended if it’s not your cup of tea. Someone you know is going to love my books.

  Acknowledgments

  To all the fabulous female writers and characters who have enlightened us throughout the ages and continue to inspire me.

  “Golden-minded, eternal Aphrodite,

  Daughter of Zeus, enchantress, I now implore thee,

  Don’t pierce my spirit with pain and anguish,

  Exquisite lady of love.”

  Hymn to Aphrodite by Sapphos (author’s interpretation)

  “There’s a kind of natural attraction at work on earth which draws men to women and women to men. This isn’t a social law but an instinct of the flesh: stimulated by carnal desire, it makes the two sexes love each other in a wild and ardent way. Neither sex has any idea what it is that causes them to fall for each other like this, but they succumb in droves to this type of emotion, which is known as passionate love.”

  The Book of the City of Ladies by Christine de Pizan

  “Truth! stark, naked truth, is the word; and I will not so much as take the pains to bestow the strip of a gauze wrapper on it, but paint situations such as they actually rose to me in nature, careless of violating those laws of decency that were never made for such unreserved intimacies as ours.”

  Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure by John Cleland

  Chapter One

  University of London

  Monday, September 24th, 1838

  “What word would you use to describe the sound mmm?” Lord Ahlquist read flatly from the letter in his gloved hand but there were crinkles around the corners of his hazel eyes. Although he fought a smile, the earl’s tone held no hint of mirth, and the dozen members of the British Philological Society followed his suit and maintained a decorous manner suitable for the austere, ancient meeting room.

  Cathryn straightened in her chair and studied the handsome wordsmith carefully for further signs of ridicule. His lips twitched upwards and confirmed her suspicions. Clearly, he did not take the question seriously. She glanced around the mahogany table and noted several gentlemen nearly smirking. Her heart sank, and she hoped they never learned of her involvement, however indirect.

  “A sigh?” offered one robust gentleman.

  “A throaty sigh?” amended a second equally stout aristocrat.

  A man near Cathryn raised his hand, and a waft of stale tobacco drifted her way. “A hum?”

  Ahlquist paced at the head of the table, shaking his head at each suggestion. “I think not. Although throaty sigh is close, it is not a word, and not always accurate.” His eyes met hers and he addressed her in his deep, baritone voice. “Lady Sibley, have you any thoughts on the matter?”

  Cathryn’s face heated as if she’d been caught reading one of her naughty French novels in public. She wished the influential man had asked her a more intellectual question after a year of steady attendance at the academic meetings, but she managed to say evenly, “I don't believe such a word exists as of yet, Lord Ahlquist, or the person requesting it would have found it by now.”

  Ahlquist glanced at the missive. “Mrs. Burns—the novelist—yes, I see your point. She has certainly searched for such a word all the years she has been writing her more…well, torrid scenes.”

  Cathryn’s mouth went dry at the attention and she moistened her lips—instantly regretting it as Lord Ahlquist’s eyes darted her way. She struggled to maintain the floor. “The sound is often used beyond passionate encounters, as you well know.” Taking a deep breath, she again regretted her action as several men allowed themselves to stare at her rising bosom, but she persevered, determined to take the slim opportunity offered to participate. “That would seem to be pertinent to the difficulty of attributing a single name to such a diverse sound.”

  “Indeed. Well, this needs no further discussion. I shall notify Mrs. Burns that no word has been coined for the elusive vocalization.” He started to put the letter aside and Cathryn felt that she, and Mrs. Burns, were being unfairly dismissed. Her ears pricked and her flush shifted from embarrassment to indignation.

  “I believe Mrs. Burns is asking more of this meeting.”

  All eyes were again on her, and she hunched her shoulders slightly in an attempt to minimize the effect of her overlarge breasts, glad for the wool cloak she wore in the frigid room. “I believe you said she had coined a word, and she is asking for the Society’s approval.”

  Ahlquist glanced at the letter, and Cathryn could see his struggle to take the situation seriously. She suspected that if she had not been present, the men would have either ignored the communication completely or made a mockery of it and the author. He’d chosen a lightly attended meeting to discuss the letter, with Parliament adjourned and most of the members having left London to return to their country estates. Perhaps that was why he invited her to speak for the first time.

  “Murr.” Ahlquist said it with a lazy drawl and the sound emerged as a rather feline purr. A twitter passed around the room as the gentlemen imitated him. Englishmen took great delight in downplaying the accomplishments of women, and Melina Burns’ public success was undoubtedly a thorn in their egotistical sides. In fact, the rise of the female writer in the last hundred years could not be easily ignored, but these scholarly men seemed intent on doing just that.

  Ahlquist’s eyes met Cathryn’s and the challenge was tangible. “Can you imagine us recommending such a word for Dr. Johnson’s dictionary?” He shook his head. “No. I believe Mrs. Burns is asking for us to help her define a common utterance, and we must reject such a request.”

  He’s never been quite so arrogant before. What’s come over him? “I beg to disagree, Lord Ahlquist. We have moan, groan and murmur in the current dictionary. Murr,” she said with deliberate diction, “seems a very reasonable addition.”

  The oak-paneled room fell silent as Ahlquist turned the full force of his masculinity on her and growled, “Reasonable?” He resembled a lion disturbed from slumber as he shook his head slowly. His distinctive mane of thick auburn hair, kept long and loose in an obvious touch of vanity, seemed to grow even wilder as he moved. He stepped away from his podium in an agitated manner, and Cathryn could not resist a small smile of amusement. Was he really so threatened by her?

  “Yes. Reasonable.” She was intent on holding her own now that she had the floor, and she rose to meet him when he arrived
at her seat. He was only a few inches taller than she was, but he appeared twice her size, with his voluminous tan greatcoat settling around him as he came to a halt.

  A bust of Shakespeare on a shelf behind him gave her inspiration. “The great bard himself coined dozens of words—bump, foppish and zany amongst them.” Several men chuckled aloud and Cathryn repressed a triumphant smile. Her hobby had just paid a great dividend. How she loved making lists of words.

  Ahlquist glanced at the marble sculpture, and his demeanor softened a tad. “I believe you’re correct.”

  The letter hung in his hand, and she braved another round. “May I see her correspondence, please?”

  He moved closer and she could feel the warmth that radiated from him. Common sense told her to back away, but a stronger attraction pulled her towards him. His clean, masculine scent clouded her senses as she reached out and gingerly took the vellum from him. She pretended not to notice his glare as she scanned the contents of the letter, nearly identical to the one she’d received from Mrs. Burns last spring.

  Cathryn could feel the tension among the gentlemen and knew the earl was not used to being challenged. She didn’t want to make an enemy of him, or any member, and she considered her next words carefully. The letter gave her the answer. “It seems Mrs. Burns is anxious to speak with representatives of this esteemed society and has offered to host a gathering at her estate, Gorham House.”

  A buzz circled the room.

  Cathryn knew that these erudite men might dismiss Mrs. Burns as a dilettante, but their wives all read her works and there would be the devil to pay if they knew their husbands had ruined their chance to visit the reclusive novelist.

  Cathryn met Ahlquist’s eyes. Rage simmered there below civil good humor like fireflies in a glass jar, primal yet contained. She gave him her most charming smile, and the lightning in his eyes flashed brighter. Not certain such a reaction was desirable, but unable to stop her momentum, she persevered. “I should like to visit her, Lord Ahlquist. With your permission, of course.” She faced the influential men seated around the table—any one of them could help her find a publisher for her works. “Perhaps we could go as a group. It would provide an opportunity to discuss the deficiencies of our current dictionaries at length, in what I’m told is a rather unique setting.”

  Gorham House was a rambling mansion rumored to have some of the most decadent accoutrements in England, including spring-fed bathing chambers where men and women cavorted together and a Greek folly where nudity was encouraged in warm weather. The country estate only four hours from London was a tribute to the self-indulgent Regency years, which were remembered fondly by many in attendance.

  An uncertain fascination flickered around the table.

  Cathryn could sense their weakening. She searched for the argument that would tilt them in her favor. Shakespeare had no more insight for her, but an oil painting of hounds chasing a fox sparked a thought. “Mrs. Burns is said to be a most magnanimous hostess, with the finest hunting in England.”

  The group burst into agreement. Hunting. That was the key. She’d given them all a respectable, manly reason to join her venture.

  Ahlquist leaned over her and snatched the letter back. For an instant his broad chest brushed her shoulder and she felt rather rudely accosted. The respect she held for him as president of the society diminished as she turned and pushed him away.

  The assembly was chattering loudly, so she muttered, “What is vexing you, sir?” He hadn’t moved far and she gasped at the sparks in his gold-flecked eyes as he glowered down at her. Even the dimple in his chin quivered slightly. The smell of heated wool and starched linen emanated from him, and she wondered briefly if his skin would be hot to her touch.

  He wanted to subdue her—that was now clear.

  And she wanted to touch him, to cool his savage nature with a soft caress. She brushed aside the flirtatious thought.

  “At the moment, you.” His voice was low and rough. He gave her one final glare before returning to the podium and calling the meeting back to order.

  A few gentlemen seemed to have noticed the heated interaction and now shot her furtive glances. Cathryn resumed her seat and settled her dark cloak around her. She knew she must be red as beet soup, and she struggled to relax.

  Why was he so irritated?

  Oh, yes. He’d just told her, quite frankly.

  Perhaps she had been a bit heavy-handed. That trait wouldn’t help her gain full acceptance into this society, and that was her ultimate goal. Today was her first day out of dreary mourning clothes—perhaps the new dress made her act so bold. A month’s savings well spent, even if the rust-colored gown hid under her dull brown cloak.

  Ahlquist put one hand on either side of the podium and looked straight at Cathryn. “This request is outside the charter of our society, but I bow to the ladies’ wishes. Lady Sibley and I will make the arrangements with Mrs. Burns and notify each of you.” He glanced down at the papers in front of him without waiting for her reaction to his announcement. “I believe that will conclude our business for this meeting.” He scanned the men at the table. “Unless one of you has something further to discuss?”

  Not a word. Even Cathryn bit her tongue.

  “Remember to forward your nominees for society president to Lord Waldemere. We meet here again in two months, gentlemen, baroness. Meeting adjourned.”

  The men gathered their things and slowly began to file out of the room, with many of them discussing Mrs. Burns’ appealing offer. A dapper gentleman seated at Cathryn’s right placed his hand on her arm and spoke in a voice so low that she had to lean in to make out what he was saying. “Beware of Ahlquist, Lady Sibley.” This seemed an overly dramatic statement until he added, “He’s set his sights on you now, and he has a quick temper.” He bowed his blond head. “Out of deference for your late husband, whom I considered a friend at Oxford, I’m warning you. Be wary of the earl.”

  She nodded as she considered his counsel. “Thank you, Lord Waldemere.” Ahlquist was standing in the arched doorway, saying goodbye to each of the members. Another confrontation loomed, and she glanced around the sparse room, attempting levity. “Is there a hidden exit out of this chamber?”

  Waldemere chuckled. “I’m afraid not.” He helped her with her chair and followed her to the door. “I would be glad to share a carriage if you’re headed west.”

  With a sigh of relief, Cathryn shot him a quick smile. “West is fine. You could drop me near Grosvenor Square.”

  As they approached Ahlquist, Cathryn felt her color rising again. He seemed larger than life guarding the door. “Lady Sibley.” He extended his warm hand and engulfed hers. “Now that we have a project to work on together, I look forward to deepening our acquaintance.” Cathryn sensed a veiled threat in his words and responded with only a nod before he continued, “Do you need a carriage?”

  She did not want to be alone with this man, certainly not now, and she was grateful a second time to her elegant blond friend. “Lord Waldemere has already offered, thank you.”

  Ahlquist shot the baron a hard look, which quickly softened. “Please relay my warm regards to Lady Waldemere, and congratulations on the birth of your son.”

  “Thank you. I am much relieved they are both well.” Waldemere cleared his throat, twice.

  A twinge of envy hit Cathryn whenever she heard people speak of their children, or show affection for their spouses. Life had been cruel to her in both regards.

  The new father seemed embarrassed by his comment and continued quickly, “I’ll notify you if you have a challenger for president, but I doubt that will be the case. You’ve done a fine job this year.”

  “Thank you. It’s a great deal of work for little gain. I doubt many would want the bother.”

  Waldemere nodded in agreement. “I know I don’t.”

  Lord Ahlquist returned his attention to her with a pleasant expression that set her blood pulsing more from longing than fear.

  Dear Lord,
he’s a handsome devil when he smiles.

  “May I call tomorrow at eleven?”

  There was no socially acceptable reason to deny him—other than his labeling her “vexing”, Waldemere’s warning and her own instincts to avoid intimate contact with him. She would ask Violet to join them.

  “Eleven-thirty would suit me better, Lord Ahlquist.” There was no conflict with eleven, but she sensed she should never give in easily to this man if she wanted to earn his respect. She lifted the hood of her cloak over her head. “Thank you for a most engaging meeting.” She ducked out the door into a blast of cold before she could hear his response, but Waldemere chuckled as he followed her down the stairs to the street.

  “You’ve done it now, Lady Sibley.”

  The icy air felt wonderful on her heated cheeks. “I doubt the man will give me another thought until tomorrow.”

  Waldemere shook his head as he helped her into the carriage. “I doubt the man will think of anything else. He’s single-minded if nothing else, and you’ve pricked his pride.”

  Cathryn tried to shake off Waldemere’s warning, but the trembling she felt was due as much to trepidation as it was the bitter weather. Ahlquist was a formidable man, and she’d clearly raised his hackles with her rash behavior. These past months she’d become more confident as she achieved some success with her articles in the London ladies’ journals. Nonetheless, she had no desire to make such a powerful enemy. A series of successful scholarly publications could pay off her mortgage, and attendance at the Philological Society was the key to securing a prestigious publisher for her translations. If she couldn’t have a family, she needed to strive for financial independence.

  She would have to appease Lord Ahlquist when he paid his call tomorrow, even if it was only the prescribed fifteen-minute visit. She would have Mrs. Lewin make those delicious rum scones, and she would defer to Ahlquist as best as she could in their short conversation. Perhaps she should offer an apology for her outspoken conduct. She wondered how he would react when she told him of her own correspondence with Mrs. Burns and imagined he would take it as a somewhat treasonous act. She planned to postpone telling him as long as possible.