by Monica Burns
Strong hands pulled her upright as he sought her mouth again. Base emotion skittered through her as another rush of heat dampened the area between her thighs. Clinging to him, she moaned softly, taking pleasure in the shudder that ripped through her body. The delight coursing through her only increased the ache he’d created inside her with his touch.
Incendiary kisses singed her lips before heating her skin as his mouth glided across her cheek toward her ear. The moment his teeth nibbled on the soft flesh of her ear lobe, she whimpered a sigh of pleasure.
Cupping her face with his hands, he found her lips again, his tongue probing the warm cavern of her mouth in a raw imitation of what he intended to do with her in the near future. Damn, she tasted good. Even better than that night at the Clarendon. Her mouth was sweet and warm like fresh honey. Was she as hot now as she’d been then? Roughly, he pressed her against the door with his body, while his hand hitched her skirt up enough for him to stroke a warm thigh. She was just as luscious as he remembered. A gasp parted her lips, and he swallowed it as his fingers slid through wiry curls to find her sweet cream. Christ Jesus, she was drenched with passion. His thumb pressed on the button of her sex, and she arched her hips toward him with an eagerness that made him growl in anticipation. Her eagerness excited him, and the way she was rubbing his cock made him painfully hard with an ache that only her hot cunny would ease.
He slid one finger inside her. Immediately, she jerked against him, her body tightening with delicious spasms of arousal. He remembered well the way she’d clenched around him that night, and he needed to have her do so again. Slick desire coated his fingers as her musky heat mixed with her exotic perfume. It created a sultry scent that flexed his body with a pull that was undeniable. Damn, but he wanted to taste her cream on his tongue. Warmth grazed his cheek as her hard, fast pants of excitement parted her soft mouth. She was hot velvet against his hand as he continued to stroke her in the same way he intended to do when he buried himself between her legs.
“Oh dear God. Lucien.”
The plea in her voice nearly undid him. It was the heartfelt cry of passion he’d demanded of her just moments before. God help him, but he hadn’t needed a woman this badly in his entire life. He stiffened as the thought gave him the sensation of having been doused with icy water. Stunned by the realization that he was out of control, he twisted away from her and put several feet between them. Glancing at her over his shoulder, he grimaced at the way his body responded to her.
Framed against the door, her face glowed with desire, and her mouth was rosy from his kisses, while her eyelids were half closed from her aroused state. She was a delicious temptation that urged him to cast aside all restraint and carry her off to his room where he could immerse himself in her lush curves.
No. Doing that at this moment in time was far too reckless. It was one thing to desire, but to do so without control was far too dangerous. He needed to maintain a tighter hold on his emotions when he took her to his bed. And there was no doubt in his mind that he would have her again. He simply could not afford to lose his head when he did so. Something he was close to doing at this very moment.
He’d been blind to everything around him when he was caressing her. Pleasure was something he could only afford if he kept his head. From across the small space that separated them, he watched her slowly gather her wits. Dismay and embarrassment darkened her lovely eyes as she looked at him. Clearing his throat, he took a step toward her before reminding himself of his resolve. Patience. If he touched her now, he’d be lost, and that was far too risky. He refused to give in to the emotions that had driven his father and brother into the abyss.
“You have a way of going to my head, yâ sabāha,” he muttered as he shoved his hand through his hair.
“I think…think I should go to my room.” Eyes large in her face, she averted her gaze from him as he studied her.
“I’ll walk you there.”
“No.” Her expression was closed and unreadable as she shook her head fiercely. “I’m more than capable of finding my own way.”
Stepping forward again, he paused as she darted to one side and opened the door. Almost as if she feared he might stop her, she didn’t take her gaze off him as she fled the room. The moment she was gone, he was encased in a morbid silence that set him on edge.
He needed a drink.
The thought propelled him out of the nursery with a forceful stride, the door slamming shut behind him. He winced at the loud noise. Nanny would have his head if he’d disturbed the children’s sleep. Quick and sure, his steps carried him downstairs to the one room in the keep that had always troubled him.
Candlelight illuminated a large portion of the library, and a small fire crackled in the grate. The horror he’d witnessed here on his twelfth birthday had taunted him night and day for years. It had taken him almost seven years before he could even cross the threshold of the room, let alone stay in it for any length of time. After Katherine’s murder and Nigel’s death, he’d remodeled the library in one final attempt to rid himself of the past. It had failed, but he no longer feared the room.
Going to the sideboard, he poured himself a healthy dose of whiskey then tossed it down in one gulp. Just as quickly he refilled his glass and drank it in quick succession, the liquid burning its way down his throat. It had been a long time since he had imbibed so freely.
With a grunt of restlessness, he grabbed the neck of the decanter and took a seat by the fire. Perhaps if he drank himself into a stupor, he’d be free for a short time. Free of the pain that haunted him every day. There was so much of it.
Grim images rose up out of the dark corners of the room to mock him with their grisly horror. The sight of his parents slaughtered like cattle. Katherine’s brutal murder at the hand of his brother. The terrible sound of Nigel’s scream as he threw himself from the North Tower in atonement for killing his wife. The sight of Imogene as a toddler crying for her mother, and the grief that had weakened his indomitable grandmother.
He splashed more amber liquid into his glass, ignoring the droplets that hit his trousers. Drinking had never provided him any solace, but it would deaden the anguish threatening to push its way through his body. Perhaps it would allow him to forget Isis. No, that wasn’t her real name. She was Constance Athelson, Viscountess Westbury.
The thought of her here, in his home, filled him with mixed emotions. The entire time he’d been searching for her, she’d been at Lyndham Keep, right under his nose. He wasn’t surprised she’d denied knowing Standish. If she was working for the bastard, she sure as hell wouldn’t admit to it.
But her anger when she’d expressed no knowledge of the man had been genuine. He was certain of that. Either she was an exceptional actress or she was telling the truth. And then there was that momentary slip of the tongue about her never coming to Lyndham Keep if she’d known he was the owner. She’d been quite adamant on that point. He winced. The blunt remark had stung, and he didn’t like how it had substantially pricked his ego.
Her desire to avoid him wasn’t all that unexpected. They’d shared an illicit moment, and no doubt she’d gone against everything she’d been raised not to do. But it was the small note of fear hovering in her voice he found so puzzling. Then there was her surprise when he’d confronted her in the library upon his arrival today.
He remembered how she’d gone pale the moment she’d gotten a good look at him. Clearly, she’d recognized him straight away, but her fear confused him. Much like an ancient script in need of deciphering, she was mysterious and evasive. She was a puzzle he wanted to solve.
Of course, he could be reading more into her reaction than he should. It wouldn’t be the first time a woman had found his scar unappealing. He touched his cheek, his fingers sliding over the rough bumpy line that marred his skin. The long white mark was a reminder of his narrow escape five years ago.
Escaping his destiny was the o
ne thing he couldn’t do. That was clear now. Tonight he’d wanted to possess Isis completely. Hold her captive until he’d had his fill of her. But fulfilling that need could have easily come at a cost. Already his ability to keep his anger in check was being tested. If his desire were suddenly to evolve into something else—
Weary of the darkness that wove an insidious path through his head, he took another long draught of liquor. He no longer wanted to think or feel. He only wanted to silence the memories. But most of all, he wanted to suppress the image of a beautiful pair of sparkling hazel eyes on the face of a temptress. And he needed to forget a seductive smile that beckoned him to push all caution aside.
With a groan, he stared into the fire, his vision growing blurred as the alcohol slowly worked its magic. Eventually, he sank deeper into his chair, and his head dropped toward his chest. He tried to watch the dancing firelight, but his vision shifted, and when logic told him the two fires he saw were really only one, he closed his eyes and slept.
The corridor he walked along was dark, and he felt very small. Ahead of him a light blazed. He didn’t want to go toward it, but something compelled him forward. The closer he got to the light, the more terrified he became. Horror engulfed him as something pushed him from behind.
Instantly, he knew where he was. The library at Lyndham Keep. His father lay sprawled on the floor beside his mother. The scent of death filled his nostrils, choking him with its foul stench. The blood sickened him. Splattered over the carpet and the furniture, the life force had spread its way across the floor, forming huge dark stains. Life’s essence ebbing out of his father and mother. His father’s lifeless body twitched suddenly before rising to turn in his direction. As his gaze met his father’s soulless look across an ever-growing chasm of darkness, a shout of horror rushed out of him.
Shooting upright in his chair, Lucien gasped quick breaths of air, his heart beating with a fury that threatened to explode in his chest. He sprang to his feet and wheeled about to survey the room. Empty. His fingers raked through his hair in a hopeless gesture. He’d not had a nightmare like that in years. A shudder racked him and he jerked at the knock on the library door.
“Come,” he snarled.
Jacobs quietly entered the room. “Forgive me, my lord, but I wanted to ensure you were all right.”
“I’m fine, thank you, Jacobs.”
“Very good, my lord. Is there anything else I can get for you this evening?”
Lucien found the question ironic. The one thing he wanted, no one could get for him. No one could relieve him of the demons he carried inside him. They waited with baneful patience, ready to take hold of him the moment he relaxed his vigilance. He uttered a harsh laugh.
“No thank you, Jacobs. Go on to bed.”
“Yes, my lord.” The butler bowed and turned to leave the room.
“Jacobs.” He frowned at the way his tongue didn’t seem to function properly. “In the morning, do not let Lady Westbury leave the keep without my blessing.”
“My lord?” The note of shock in the retainer’s voice was clear, and he winced at the man’s unspoken objection.
“You heard me, Jacobs,” he growled with irritation.
The butler stiffened, but nodded his head before he left the library. Alone once more, Lucien looked around the dark room. The candles had long since burned down to stumps, and the fire in the hearth barely lit the area where he stood.
In the darkness, he thought he saw a movement, and he peered into the shadows. For a moment, he could have sworn he saw Nigel watching him with a look of annoyance on his face. Shaking his head, he waved the image away with his hand. He was drunk. But not drunk enough to dismiss the pain that constricted his heart at the thought of his brother. He missed him. Missed all of them.
His pain exploded in a fit of fury as he dashed the empty decanter he held into the dying fire. The crystal shattered into tiny fragments against the stone façade. Stumbling around his chair on unsteady feet, Lucien headed out of the library. As he lurched through the doorway, he thought he heard someone whispering behind him. He did not turn. The ghosts of the past would have to wait for another opportunity to torment him.
Chapter Five
Constance awoke to the sound of sobbing. Why did the spirit insist on waking her at this time of the morning every day? Each morning, just before dawn, the weeping started and never ended until she got out of bed.
“For the love of God, please let me sleep,” she protested as she rolled over onto her back. Although the sobbing didn’t stop, it softened to a mere whisper. A sigh of relief parted her lips. Thank God. She was exhausted and had hardly slept at all through the night. Draping her arm across her eyes, she groaned. What was she going to do?
Last night she’d been helpless to resist Lucien or his touch. If he hadn’t stepped away from her, she would have eagerly given herself to him over and over again. She’d craved his caresses with a desperation that stunned her. Even now her body ached for him. Ached to have him stroking her to a fevered pitch until she shattered against his hand. The memory of how he’d teased her into an exhilarating climax sent heat skimming across her skin.
He’d pleasured her in a way that blinded her to everything but the sensations wending their way through every part of her body. Even after he’d released her, it had taken her a moment to regain her senses. When she did, she was mortified. It was one thing to have an affair, but quite another to do so outside her son’s bedroom.
Not even the fact Lucien had called her yâ sabāha again could ease the embarrassment of her wanton behavior. Even more alarming was her wish that they’d been somewhere else more private. Leaving Lyndham Keep was no doubt the prudent thing to do before she became embroiled in an affair she knew could easily consume her. But there was something about the earl that tugged at her heart.
The memory the ghost had shown her the day before was a haunting one. Even in the vision, she’d seen the echoes of the man Lucien had become in the grieving boy. It was the thought of that boy and the deep sorrow etched on his young face that made her hesitate to leave. She’d never been one to desert those in need.
Graham had often teased her about her desire to mend the world’s problems. But Graham had drawn the line at her using her gift to help others. People would think her mad, he’d always said. The real world functioned on tangible facts, not dreams of things that might be. She’d met few people who would have disagreed with him.
All her siblings, with perhaps the exception of Sebastian, had some clairvoyant abilities. It was a Stewart trait passed down over the generations. Although the gift predominantly touched Stewart women, it also appeared in some male members of the family. Aunt Matilda rarely spoke about the Stewart gift of clairvoyance, and then only under the auspices of a family history lesson. But she’d understood the stories for the warnings they were. Stewarts throughout history had always had the ability of the sight, but most of them had paid a terrible price for their special gift.
Some had been burned at the stake. Others stoned to death. The last Stewart to use her gift had been thrown into an asylum. Hearing Aunt Matilda share the poor woman’s plight had made her cautious about whom she took into her confidence when it came to her gift.
What would the earl say if she suddenly mentioned she’d been speaking with his dead brother? The question was laughable. The earl’s reaction would be like the one she experienced in boarding school. Lonely and missing her family, she’d wanted friends so desperately that when Elizabeth Chasefield had befriended her she was elated.
Her excitement was quickly crushed when her new friend betrayed her by telling everyone about her gift. Horrified, the headmistress had summoned Sebastian to fetch her immediately. It had been a lesson in humiliation and pain. It had taught her not to share her secret with anyone.
She’d even kept her secret from Graham until he proposed. Accepting his offer without telling
him everything would have been dishonorable. To Graham’s credit he had reassured her the Stewart gift would not affect his love for her. But deep below the surface of their relationship, her precognitive abilities had always been a chasm between them.
And while Graham had never been so cruel as to openly deride her, his silent disapproval had pained her as well. No, the only thing Lucien would believe was that she qualified as a candidate for the asylum.
Frowning, she scrambled out of bed and pulled on her robe. With the sash tied snugly at her waist, she hurried toward her trunk and threw open the lid. She couldn’t stay. It was as simple as that.
“He won’t let you leave, you know.”
The sound of Nigel’s deep voice made her yelp. She whirled around to face him, her hand pressed against her breast as if that would steady her frantic pulse. Glaring at the spirit, she walked back toward the vanity table, making certain she gave him a wide berth. She had no wish for a repeat of yesterday’s incident.
“Isn’t there some other way you could announce your presence? Like rattling some chains or moaning?” she snapped.
She eyed him with irritation as she gathered several items from the vanity table before turning around to return to the trunk. As she secured the vials in the interior tray of the luggage, she grimaced as his laughter filled the room. The ghost shimmered in the early morning light as she wheeled around and sent him a cold look. He arched his eye brows and offered her a careless shrug of his translucent shoulders.
“My apologies for my abrupt arrival, but I only thought to spare you the effort of packing.”
“Then you’re wasting your energy, something we both know you have little of.”
“Touché. Still, you should know that Lucien has left orders that you’re not allowed to leave the keep.”
“He can’t keep me here,” she exclaimed. The moment she spoke she knew the statement was false. Lucien’s staff would do as they were told, and no one would fetch a carriage to take her to the train station.