by Monica Burns
Frustrated, she sprang to her feet to pace the carpeted floor. What was she going to do? Lucien might not have recognized her, but staying at the keep could be the most dangerous thing she’d ever done. She’d given in to impulse the night of the Black Widows Ball, and it wasn’t something she wanted to repeat, no matter how deliciously wicked it had been. The memory of that night filled her thoughts and flooded her senses as she halted her restless prowling.
Closing her eyes, she was in Lucien’s arms again, and the sensations were strong and powerful. Behind the mask she’d worn that night she’d ceased to be Constance. Instead she had been Isis, goddess of fire and passion. She’d given more of herself to Lucien that night than she’d ever given in her marriage. Shocked, she shook her head. No, that couldn’t be true. She had loved Graham. How could she have held anything back from her own husband?
But she had kept a piece of herself hidden from Graham. He had loved her in spite of her gift, but he’d never been comfortable with it or her use of it. It had been his quiet disapproval that had stood between them. Keeping her gift buried so deep beneath the surface would have eventually taken its toll.
Now, the thought of exposing herself like that again, even for a brief affair, made her decidedly uneasy. A small gasp parted her lips. She was so concerned about how the earl would react to her unique talent, that she was treating the notion of an affair with him as if it were a commonplace event.
For her it was anything but ordinary. She understood why most of the Set conducted love affairs outside of their marriages of convenience. Everyone needed to feel loved, but what she’d shared with Lucien was beyond anything in her experience, even with Graham. The raw intensity of it made her ache for his touch again. Her breath hitched as her skin tingled from the memory of his caress. Her special talent had taught her the art of discretion. Would it be such a terrible thing if she were to give in to temptation?
Flustered by the idea, she dismissed it immediately. It didn’t matter. Her gift would guarantee she’d earn the man’s scorn. The Earl of Lyndham wasn’t the type of man to believe in ghosts or spirits. No doubt he’d denounce anyone who professed an ability to see or talk to the dead. He was a man of action, a scholar, and her gift was as far removed from science and the academic world as it could be. And since he no longer wished to retain her services, all her angst was moot.
With one last glare of frustration at her reflection in the vanity table’s mirror, she left her room. The hall carpet deadened the sound of her shoes as she walked, her gown a mere whisper in the cold, stone corridor. At the main stairwell, she hurried upward toward the nursery. Jamie was probably worried about her, and she wanted to reassure him. On occasion her gift made her appear disoriented, but she’d always managed to explain away the incident. This time her experience had been far more debilitating.
Explaining her gift to her son was something she’d not done yet. Every time she considered doing so, something stopped her. She knew Graham would not have approved. She stopped outside the nursery door, surprised to hear loud laughter coming from within. Quietly opening the door, she stared at the sight of the Earl of Lyndham stuck in a comical pose. Shoulders hunched upward, he had one arm crooked so his hand was at a ninety-degree angle to his forearm, while his opposite hand was at the same angle, his palm facing upward. He resembled a terrible imitation of an Egyptian hieroglyphic.
Seated in front of him, Imogene and Jamie were laughing with boisterous glee, encouraging him to do more. Complying with their demands, he quickly changed his position and became a one-legged bird about to take flight. The ridiculous pose forced her to suppress a laugh, and in that moment, a pair of cerulean blue eyes met hers. The penetrating look he sent her pulled her body as taut as a violin string, and she found it difficult to breathe.
Had he finally guessed? Did he realize who she was? No, he couldn’t have. Their time together that night had been too short. A small voice reminded her how easy it had been for her to recognize him. She refused to consider the possibility. It was an absurd notion. She was being far too arrogant to think the man even remembered or cared about the woman he’d been with for such a brief moment. Averting her gaze, she saw Jamie leap to his feet and run toward her. His arms wrapped around her waist, he hugged her tightly. When he stepped back to look up at her, he eyed her with a worried expression.
“Are you all right, Mother?”
“I’m much better, thank you, my darling.” She bent over and kissed his cheek. “There’s nothing to worry about.”
“Have you eaten?” Lucien’s deep voice was a stroke of seduction teasing her senses as she realized he’d moved to stand at her side. Muscles wound tight with tension, she shook her head.
“I had thought I would eat downstairs, but I wanted to visit Jamie first.”
“Ah, then it’s fortunate you came here before going to the dining room. My grandmother was tired, so I sent her to bed. Imogene is playing hostess for the evening’s meal.” His hand captured her elbow and pulled her toward a nearby table. “We’ve already eaten, but there’s plenty left to satisfy even the heartiest of appetites.”
Beneath his touch, her skin grew warm until it sent a wave of heat washing over her entire body. Unable to look at him without remembering the past, she sat at the table. The presence of Imogene at her side offered a welcome relief from the strain of being so close to Lucien.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better, my lady.”
“Thank you, Imogene.” She smiled at the dark-haired girl. “The meal looks delicious. Did you make the selections yourself?”
“Yes, but Jamie helped. He insisted on having strawberries and cream for dessert. He said you would like that.”
“Jamie knows me too well,” she said with a laugh. “Strawberries are my favorite fruit.”
“Uncle Lucien likes them too. So be careful that he doesn’t steal them all from you.” Imogene grinned at the man who had seated himself opposite Constance at the table.
“Incorrigible imp.” Lucien grinned back. “Off with you now. Go play that game I brought you from Cairo with young Lord Westbury.”
Dark curls bouncing against her shoulders, Imogene hurried back to the fireplace where Jamie was rolling some dice in front of a pegboard with odd sticks. Turning back to the table, Constance saw that Lucien was busy preparing a plate with roast chicken, baby new potatoes and carrots, which he set in front of her. Suddenly aware she was hungry, she picked up a fork and lifted a bite of chicken to her mouth.
She ate in silence, while Lucien’s steady gaze slowly escalated her level of discomfort. Midway through her meal, when she could no longer endure his gaze on her, she laid her fork down and sent him a direct look.
“Is there something wrong, my lord?” The sharpness in her voice was easy to hear, but she didn’t care. He was unnerving her considerably.
“My apologies, Lady Westbury, I was simply trying to remember where we’ve met before.” His words sent ice sliding across her hands as she stiffened.
She didn’t like the small smile touching his firm lips. It was unsettling. One minute she was certain he hadn’t recognized her and the next she was terrified he had. Uncertain how to respond to his observation, she simply stared at him in silence. Seconds later, his attention shifted toward the door across the room, and she exhaled a silent breath of relief at being free of his dark, penetrating gaze.
Turning her head, she saw Nanny Burke enter the nursery’s main room. The short, rotund woman wore a cheery expression, and Constance had liked the woman from the first night of Jamie’s stay at the keep. Nanny Burke’s charges were well loved and cared for.
“Well now, my darlings. Did you enjoy your meal with his lordship?”
As the woman spoke, she glanced over in the direction of where she and Lucien were sitting. A look of delighted surprise on her plump, cheerful face, the woman hurried forward as the earl rose to his feet.
“Master Lucien! I had no idea you were still here with the children.”
With a laugh, Lucien moved forward to envelop the woman in a big hug. “Well, Nanny, you’re still as beautiful as ever.”
“Pshaw! Go on with you now,” the woman scoffed, but her face revealed how much she loved the compliment. Her hands on his biceps, she held him at arm’s length and frowned. “You’ve lost weight.”
“Have I? I hadn’t noticed,” he said with an amused chuckle.
“You can’t fool me, Master Lucien, I always could see through that devil-may-care attitude of yours. Pining over a woman I’ll wager.”
Heat warmed her body as Lucien sent her a quick glance over his shoulder.
“Perhaps, but that’s a confession you’ll not hear from me.”
“You always did like to keep your secrets.” With another laugh, the older woman wagged her finger at him as he grinned.
Turning away, she uttered several sounds of encouragement as she urged her young charges to say their goodnights. Protesting loudly, Imogene and Jamie did as they were told. Together they bid Constance and Lucien goodnight before being shuffled off to bed by the good-natured nursemaid. As the children left the room, Constance realized there was no longer a buffer between her and Lucien. The thought propelled her out of her chair with lightning speed.
She froze as she realized he had anticipated her movement and blocked her path. Leaning forward, he reached around her for something on the table. He was so close, she could breathe in the spicy leather scent of his cologne. Rich and earthy, it teased her senses with its tangy aroma. As he straightened, his mouth came close to her ear, and she trembled at the fire that skimmed through her veins to spread heat throughout her body.
“Leaving so soon? I thought we might talk a few moments.” The murmur of his voice tightened the coil of tension inside her.
“I…I have packing to do.”
“Ah, a minor detail I should have addressed already.”
He didn’t look at her, but focused his attention on the strawberry he held in his hand. With deliberate movements, he brushed off the top of the berry and removed its green leaves. When he finished, he raised his gaze to meet hers, a seductive smile curving his mouth. The white of his teeth were a sharp contrast to the bright red fruit as he bit into it. For such a simple action, the effect was highly erotic. Her chest tightened as he finished off the strawberry.
“After you left the library this afternoon, I reviewed the cataloging you’ve done so far with my collection. Your work is most impressive.”
Surprised, she tipped her head to one side, uncertain she’d heard him correctly. “I beg your pardon?”
“Your attention to detail in cataloging each artifact is excellent. Even more impressive was the knowledge included with that detail. It’s of a caliber I’ve only seen at the British Museum.”
Pleasure mixed with skepticism as she sent him a dubious look. “Thank you.”
“Naturally, it made me realize that I couldn’t possibly allow you to leave without completing your task.”
“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” she said quickly as a knot swelled in her throat.
“Why not?” He shrugged. “What’s changed other than my opinion of your work?”
Something about the innocent note in his voice set her nerves tingling, and she shook her head. “My own opinion of the work has changed, my lord. I’m no longer convinced I’m right for the position.”
“I see. And is there a particular reason for this change of heart?” Leaning forward again, he picked up another strawberry from the bowl on the table.
His close proximity was a fire sweeping over her skin. Struggling to ignore the wild sensations stirring in her, she fought to consider his words carefully. What had changed? Nothing and everything. The man might not be a murderer, but there were secrets in this dark structure he called home. Secrets she wasn’t sure she wanted to delve into. Normally, the spirits she encountered didn’t affect her adversely, but the ghosts and the grief in the keep were a powerful combination of energy. If she stayed, she would have to battle that on a daily basis. No, that wasn’t the reason. She was lying to herself. He was the reason why staying would be so dangerous.
“I can offer you nothing specific, my lord. Simply my instincts. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll say good night.”
Without waiting for him to speak, she flew toward the door. In a flash he followed her. Before she could even touch the doorknob, his large hand was braced against the door, holding it shut. Heat engulfed her as he towered over her, his chest pressing gently, but firmly, into her back. The intimacy of the position made her pulse rocket out of control. Warm lips nuzzled the side of her neck, and she struggled not to give in to the hedonistic pleasure cascading over her. He made her feel out of control, and that made him more dangerous than any man she’d ever met.
“Turn around and look at me, Isis.” The hoarse command pulled the air from her lungs as her body went rigid against his.
He knew. He knew who she was.
Unable to move, she trembled as his hand cupped the side of her neck then slid downward across her shoulder. It was a lover’s caress. She didn’t resist as he forced her to turn and face him. With her back pressed against the door, she looked up into his blue eyes. Desire flared in his gaze as he trailed the tip of his finger across her cheek before tracing the edge of her jaw.
“Do you have any idea how difficult it is to find a beautiful widow in London?” There was just a hint of irritation in his voice as his penetrating gaze locked with hers.
Her heart skipped a beat. He really had been looking for her. Her dreams had not lied about that. The knowledge filled her with a sense of delight. Instantly, she swatted the emotion aside. Why had he been looking for her? Wetting her dry lips, she shook her head.
“Since it’s not my habit to look for beautiful widows, I wouldn’t know.” She was pleased that her voice held just the right note of amusement so as to disguise her agitation.
“It’s damned difficult,” he bit out between clenched teeth. “But I find it interesting how you managed to find me so easily.”
“Find you so easily!” she sputtered. “I did no such thing, you arrogant beast.”
“No?” he sneered. “And I suppose you expect me to believe you don’t know Malcolm Standish either.”
Infuriated by his assumption that she found him so irresistible as to deliberately seek him out, she glared up at him. The blazing anger in his gaze made her try to push herself free from the way he had her pinned to the nursery room door. It was a futile effort.
“Frankly, my lord. I could care less what you believe,” she puffed angrily as her hands shoved at his unyielding chest. “I don’t know anyone named Standish, and I most certainly did not try to find you. I had no idea Lyndham Keep was yours. If I had, I wouldn’t—”
His eyes narrowed as she abruptly closed her mouth. “You wouldn’t what?”
“This conversation is ridiculous. I wish to return to my room to pack my belongings.” She flinched at the determination in his gaze. She’d said too much.
“Answer me.”
“I wouldn’t have come here,” she snapped.
“You wouldn’t have come here,” he murmured, almost as if he were speaking to himself.
She experienced a brief moment of relief as she realized he wasn’t curious about why she would have stayed away from Lyndham Keep. His hand cupped her chin while his thumb rubbed across her lower lip. The action sent a stream of lava coursing through her veins straight to her nether regions. Sweet heaven, it was happening all over again.
With just one touch he had stirred a fire inside her. His mouth beckoned to her, and she struggled not to lean into him. Oh God, what was it about this man that made her respond to his touch so quickly?
“My lord, I—”
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“Lucien. I want to hear you say my name again.” It was another command and she tried to stifle the thrill of it. She didn’t like anyone telling her what to do, but there was something about his dominating manner that excited her.
“Lucien, please. I must pack.”
“No, Isis. I want you to say it like you did before.” Desire darkened his blue eyes as his mouth hovered over hers. “I want to hear you cry out my name in the heat of passion.”
She shuddered as his hand curled around the back of her neck and pulled her head toward him. Powerless to resist, she molded herself to his hard, muscular body as her mouth parted beneath his. In that split second, fire engulfed every one of her senses. Passion flowed hot and heavy through her as she gave in to the need gripping her body.
Her tongue mated with his with a ferocity that stunned her, but she held nothing back as his large hand slid over her bare shoulders to trace the line of her bodice down to her breasts. God, how she wanted him to suckle her again. She craved him, hungered for him with the same intensity she’d experienced that night at the Clarendon.
The desire to feel his skin against hers spiraled through her, and her fingers quickly undid the buttons of his shirt. She splayed the material open so she could caress the warm steel of his chest. Touching him wasn’t enough. She wanted to taste him too. She broke away from their kiss, her mouth edging its way along the line of his jaw, then down his throat to where his heart pounded against his breastbone. Breathing in his delicious spicy scent, her tongue flicked out to taste him. He was hot and tangy.
Dear Lord, she wanted him more now than she had that night. What power did he wield over her to make her so willing to forget everything but the sensation of his touch? Hot and wet for him, she ached for his possession. Remembering the way his thick, hard length had filled her, she slid her hand downward as she continued to taste the hardness of him.
The moment her fingers brushed over his rigid length he jerked with surprise. She wanted him—needed him inside her. With the palm of her hand, she rubbed him through his trousers. A deep growl rumbled out of his chest as he pushed his hips forward against her hand.