A Belated Bride

by Karen Hawkins

  “So you did.” He glanced up at the sky and dropped the broken handle into the floorboard. “Well, there’s no way we can fix this tonight. It is going to rain any minute. I saw a cottage near here on the way in.”

  He assisted Arabella out of the cart, unhooked Sebastian, and then loaded the horse with items from the cart. Before he had finished, large, soft drops of rain began to plop onto the cart in a steady tattoo.

  Arabella shivered. “Perhaps we could walk to the Marches’. Surely we could find our way there.”

  “And if we don’t? I, for one, do not fancy freezing to death.”

  As much as it galled her, he was right; the night was already frigid. The rain that fell was cold, almost freezing. It would swiftly turn to sleet and then snow. As she followed Lucien into the woods, the skies opened and the light rain became a furious storm, drenching her completely in the first minute.

  “This way!” Lucien yelled above the roar. He grabbed her hand and pulled her along until they stumbled through the door of a dark and damp cottage. Lucien immediately went back out, and returned carrying a bundle under his coat.

  Lightning lit the interior of the cottage, followed by a crack of thunder. The ground vibrated from the tumultuous crash. Arabella glimpsed their haven and it chilled her as much as the sleet. Half the roof had fallen away, the opening allowing a steady pour of rain that made a small river out the door. Broken tables and a chair lay on the dirt floor, and a single fireplace filled one small wall.

  Within an amazingly short period of time, Lucien had started a fire using the broken chairs, adding wet wood that sent smoky swirls up the chimney and puffing into the cottage. Digging through the corners of the hut, he found an old cot, barely wide enough for one person. He turned it upright, draped a wool blanket over it, and pulled it close to the fire. Arabella sat huddled on one end, her arms clasped together, shivers racking her body.

  Outside, the whole world seemed to be awash in dull, cold gray, but inside the stone and wattle walls, the fire radiated a welcome heat. “I should have known it was going to rain,” Arabella said in a hoarse voice.

  Lucien turned from stoking the fire and caught sight of Arabella’s pale face. With a muffled curse, he strode to her side and hauled her against him. As if it were the most natural thing in the world, he lifted her into his arms, sat on the cot, and opened his coat around her.

  Enveloped by warmth, Arabella pressed her cheek against his shirt. The heavy wool of his coat had protected him better than her thin pelisse, and his shirt was still warm and dry against her cheek. Gradually her shivers abated.

  He rubbed his cheek against her hair. “You are soaking wet. We must get you out of those clothes.”

  She shook her head.

  Lucien held her tighter. “You will become ill.”

  “No. I just need to get warm.” She pushed closer still, hiding her face against his neckcloth.

  He didn’t move. He just sat, holding her as the flames crackled and the thrum of rain pitter-patted through the hole in the roof. The only light came from the flickering fire. A slow tremor of awareness trickled down her spine.

  “Bella,” Lucien whispered against her temple.

  She tightened her grip, unable to release him, unable to forget next week, when he would leave once more.

  Lucien cupped her face with a warm hand and turned her face to his. “This morning, during the fire, all I could think was that I would never get the chance to do this.” He touched his lips to hers.

  Heat exploded and all the feelings she’d been stifling burst to the fore. She wrapped her arms about him and held him closer, opening her mouth beneath his. Somehow, she was no longer sitting on the edge of the decrepit cot, but lying across it, Lucien’s broad form blocking out the heat of the fire.

  But she had no need of the fire now. Her insides burned with a deep heat all their own. His hands slipped down her shoulders to her breasts and beyond, caressing the entire length of her body.

  His hand cupped her ankle and she stiffened, cold reason returning. What am I doing? He will leave and I will still be here, alone. The thought banished the last vestige of the spell he’d woven. She pushed him aside. “No.”

  He stopped, his gaze meeting hers. Green fire sparkled in the depths of his eyes, but he removed his hand, rocking back on one elbow to look down at her. “Why not?”

  Lucien trailed his fingers near the corner of her mouth and she tried to move away. Her heart pounded a furious beat, but she managed to say in a credibly even tone, “It might snow if this continues through the night. We should leave now.”

  He dipped his head until his lips were but an inch from her ear. “It would be a pity if we were trapped here. For days. And no one knew where to find us.” The low sound brushed across the delicate lobes of her ears like raw silk.

  She rolled to her side, almost falling off the cot in her haste to get away. Tripping a little over the edge of the blanket, she went to the window and peered out into the swirling darkness, shivering at the cold. “The rain will stop soon and it will—”

  “Begin to snow.” In a deep, rich voice, he said what she both wanted and feared to hear. “We have no choice but to stay until morning.”

  Arabella looked over her shoulder. A slow smile curved his lips. He rolled up on one elbow and lifted the corner of the blanket in invitation. “Come back to bed, Bella. It’s much warmer here.”

  She looked at him, at the finely muscled sinew of his arms, at the bronze column of his throat. He was right: It did look warmer. So warm that she wondered if she would melt if he took her in his arms again.

  But her other option was to freeze to death by the inadequate fire, alone and cold during an interminable night. Some choice: death by ice or death by fire. The only problem was, she wasn’t sure which would hurt the least.

  Chapter 20

  Arabella turned back toward the fire, afraid to look too long at the tempting picture of Lucien in bed, waiting for her. “Surely this weather will clear and we’ll be able to find someone who can help us….”

  The closest cottage was much too far away to attempt in the middle of a cold black night. The freezing rain continued to pound on the broken roof and drip steadily into the little stream that flowed out the door.

  Lucien met her gaze, a slow, almost slumberous smile curving his lips. “What’s wrong, Bella? Afraid?”

  She clenched her hands into fists. She could not deny that she was aware of him, of his every move, of his scent, the strong line of his jaw, the burning shimmer in his green gaze. Lying in bed, his hair damp, his gaze fastened on hers as if she were the only woman in the world, he appeared a fallen angel, darkly handsome and intent on gratifying her every desire.

  Arabella fought a wave of hot excitement. She plucked nervously at her buttoned pelisse. The thin wet wool hugged her body and made it difficult to breathe.

  She sent a careful glance at Lucien, caught by the sensual line of his mouth. She knew that mouth, had tasted it and felt its heat. She ran a nervous tongue over her own lips. Every part of her yearned for him, craved his touch, desired the feel of his lips sliding over her mouth, her cheek, her neck, her breasts.

  A rumble of thunder shook the cottage. Arabella shivered, fighting off the sensation that she was drowning in a swell of desire.

  “You are cold.” Lucien rose from the cot to pull his coat snuggly around her shoulders. He gathered the front, his hands brushing against her throat. He smiled when she sent a glance up at him, and for an instant his gaze darkened. Arabella couldn’t breathe. She just waited, awareness stretching, her lips tingling with imagined pressure….

  Muttering a fierce curse, he turned away and bent to tend the fire.

  Disappointment washed over her in waves. Arabella sank onto the edge of a broken chair and hugged the heavy wool coat to her. It enveloped her with his warmth, even as the intriguing scent of his cologne rose to envelop her senses. Arabella pulled the material closer, dropping her chin into the rough wool
so she could savor the feeling of his presence. But that was all she would have; he was leaving in a week. “Perhaps I can ride Sebastian home.”

  He turned to look at her, his brows slightly raised. “What?”

  “I could ride Sebastian—”

  “You aren’t going anywhere. Someone tried to kill one of us this morning, and I’ll be damned if I let you go jaunting about by yourself. We will stay here, where we are warm and safe.”

  She wanted to argue, but the memory of the fire was too fresh. She couldn’t shake the feeling of helplessness that had gripped her as she lay on the floor of the shed, choking for breath. What would Robert do without her? And Aunt Jane and Emma? Lord Harlbrook would waste no time in presenting his notes, and all would be lost. And now, with Aunt Jane’s gaming debts, Sir Loughton would also have a claim to the estate.

  She didn’t know how long she’d sat there, staring into the fire, when Lucien stooped beside her. He put his arms about her and gently turned her to face him. “We don’t need to think about what happened this morning, Bella. Or last night or ten years ago. We are here, tonight. Just us.” His voice ran along her senses, melting everything in its path. “Kiss me, Bella.”

  She shook her head.

  “Then let me kiss you.” He brushed the tips of his fingers along her cheek, leaving a trail of delicate fire. “Just say the word, Bella mia. Tell me what you want.”

  What did she want? She swallowed, aware that he was deliberately seducing her. And why not? a voice inside her whispered. Why not let emotion overtake you just this one, last time? Perhaps this was her last chance to experience again the heat of true passion, the pleasure of true…She caught herself a moment before she committed the worst sin of all—believing herself in love once again with Lucien Devereaux.

  It was a good thing she was older and wiser, and had far too much sense to get emotionally entangled with a man who did not know the meaning of the word commitment. Which, a naughty voice whispered to her, is why it makes such perfect sense to succumb now. Only with Lucien did she feel the wild surge of excitement, this heady power, as if she could do anything she wanted. And it was time she did something just for herself. Something so sinfully selfish that it would warm her memories forever.

  “Bella,” he murmured. He took her hand and placed the pad of her forefinger against his lip. With the tenderest of touches, he bit the pink end of her finger, swirled his tongue over the imaginary wound, and then gently closed his teeth over it again. Jolts of shocked desire traveled through her.

  His eyes darkened and he slipped her finger into his mouth. Heat swelled as his tongue stroked her flesh. Need pooled between her thighs, and she clenched them together to still the ache.

  He withdrew her finger and placed a reverent kiss on it. “I want you with me, beneath me,” he whispered. “Do you want me, Bella?”

  In answer, Arabella twined her arms about his neck and pulled his mouth to hers. His lips were hot and demanding, his hands cupping, stroking, exploring her as if he’d never touched her before. He groaned as she raked a hand through his hair, holding him to her.

  The coat dropped to the floor and suddenly touching him was not enough. She wanted to taste him, to fill her senses until there was nothing but Lucien. A wave of longing slammed into her heart, and the walls she’d built to protect herself began to crack. Lightning flashed across the skies and thunder shook the ground as Arabella lost herself in the taste of him—his mouth possessing hers, the hot feel of his lips on her skin, the sensuous thrust of his tongue in her mouth.

  The edge of the cot pressed against the back of her legs, and Lucien broke the kiss long enough to look down at her. “I want you,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’ve always wanted you.”

  “And I want you.” So badly that she didn’t care anymore what anyone thought or would say. All she cared about was the feel of his hands as he molded her to him. His fingers slid through her hair, down her throat, to the top button of her pelisse. He tried to unbutton the wet wool, but it fought him. Cursing, he yanked at it, ripping the material.

  Arabella reached to help him. Together, they tore the clinging wool away, revealing her wet gown beneath. Lucien’s hands closed over her shoulders and he held her away, his gaze brushing over her body where the gown was plastered to it. “Beautiful,” he murmured. “So beautiful.”

  A flush of power surged through her. With trembling fingers, she undid the lacing on her gown, her breasts pushing against the cold material, her nipples hardening.

  His face was a mask of torment and she reveled in it. His breath harsh, he reached for her, but she stayed him with a single word. Slowly, never unlocking her gaze from his, she undid her lacings and pulled the gown off, dropping the petticoat to the floor. Nothing remained but her thin wet chemise. It clung to her, hiding nothing.

  Lucien moaned, his hands fisted at his sides. “Damn it, Bella. I can’t take this much longer.”

  Neither could she. Her whole body throbbed with desire and if he didn’t touch her soon, she would explode in a whoosh of heat. “Undress me,” she commanded, excited by her own brazen behavior. It would be a night they would never forget.

  Lucien knelt on the dirt floor. He looked up at her, his head even with her chest. The sight of his sensuous mouth so near her nipples caused them to pucker as if he had touched them. He lowered his hands and placed them on her calves. Slowly, ever so slowly, he slid them up, over her knees, to the swell of her hips, past her waist, over her breasts, and to the thin straps of her chemise. With hands that trembled slightly, he pushed the straps aside. The air brushed her with cold tingles.

  As he exposed her bare skin, he kissed each spot until his tongue trailed a heated path between her breasts. She tangled her fingers in his thick hair, pulling him closer. He shoved the material down, baring her breasts to the chilled air. Lucien’s unsteady breathing aroused her further, causing the damp place between her thighs to ache.

  His mouth closed over one peak and heat sluiced from her breast to below. Arabella gasped as he pushed the chemise down to her hips, his mouth again following the skin he now laid bare.

  She writhed against him, her hands moving wildly over his neck and shoulders. His tongue played along her stomach—and then her chemise dropped to the floor.

  For an instant, neither moved. Then slowly, ever so slowly, Lucien leaned forward and placed a kiss in the tangled curls that beckoned. Arabella moaned, her entire body rigid.

  He gently pushed her back onto the bed and placed his hands over the top of her stockings. Slowly, deliberately, he rolled them down, his hands warming the chilled skin as he went.

  “You are so beautiful,” he murmured. “So incredibly beautiful.” He reached up and gently touched her nipple.

  Arabella clenched her hands into the wool coat that lay beneath her. “Don’t,” she managed to get out through her parched lips.

  “Don’t what?” His mouth curved in a devastating smile. “Don’t do this?” He flicked the tip of his finger across her breast. “Or don’t do this?” He bent his head and laved her peak, his hot tongue flooding her with sensations. His eyes glinted as he moved back, his chest rubbing across her belly, his shirt rough against her skin. His hands trailed over the delicate skin of her thigh. “Or perhaps you don’t want this.”

  He dipped his head low, then lower still, until his tongue touched her very core. Arabella gasped and involuntarily thrust her hips forward, pressing his mouth further against her womanhood. He moaned, his hands closing over her bottom as his tongue danced in and out, sending her spiraling madly out of control.

  “Lucien!” The world exploded in a thousand colors and pushed her over the edge of passion and into a whirlpool of melted desire.

  Hungrily, Lucien watched as she found her release and her breathing returned to normal. Then he stood to remove his boots and undo his breeches. Arabella’s warm brown eyes never left his. She lay completely naked, her thighs slightly parted, her skin pink and passion-kissed.

&
nbsp; It was like a dream, one he’d had a thousand times since he’d left her all those years ago. Yet this time, there would be no leaving. There would only be him and Arabella, forever.

  Like a man starved, he yanked off the rest of his clothing and leaned down to join her on the narrow cot. He expected her passion to be spent, to have to seduce her back to the point of excitement, but he had no sooner put his lips to hers than she pressed herself against him, thrusting her tongue into his mouth in invitation.

  He’d meant the kiss to be gentle: his promise to care for her always. But she was beyond gentle. Arabella threw her arms about his neck, pressing against him, fanning his lust to flames. The kiss deepened and she moaned against his lips, begging for more, begging for release.

  He rolled her to her back and positioned himself over her, straining against the fierce desire that urged him on. Slowly, carefully, he lowered himself into her, keeping her eyes locked to his. Her lips parted as her breath tore between her lips. Her fingers curled, her nails biting into his arms. “I want you, Lucien,” she whispered hoarsely. “Please….”

  He thrust home, plundering her depths. She gave a startled cry, her head thrown back, her hips arching to meet his. Again and again he thrust, each stroke ecstasy, each departure an agony.

  She lifted her legs and clasped his hips tightly, her body writhing in a sensuous dance beneath his. He could feel her need building as she arched into him, his own emotions barely under control, his body aching with the torture. One more time, he pleaded wordlessly. As if she heard him, she stiffened beneath him, her body arching so wildly that Lucien had to wrap his arms about her to hold her to him.

  Pleasure crashed through her and across Lucien and his passion finally exploded to meet hers. He collapsed against Arabella, cradling her to him. God, but she could drive him to heights no other woman could. He didn’t know what it was—her natural warmth, the passion she embraced life with, or the completely uncontrolled way she reacted to his touch—but it was almost more than he could handle.