Unlaced (Undone by Love Book 1)

by Kristina Cook

  “What’s so funny?” she asked.

  “You, my sweet. You should have seen yourself, racing the wind like a jockey at the Derby, your skirts flying up. I’ve never seen anything like it,” he said with a chuckle.

  “Oh, dear, do you think anyone else saw? Aunt Agatha will be cross with me for certain.”

  “Surely the ladies are all resting, and if any gentleman happened to witness that...well, if they did, I’m sure they’re too busy savoring it to complain.”

  Lucy’s cheeks burned. “I was so angry I didn’t even think. I just...rode.”

  “That you did, and quite well, if I might say so. Thunder is not the easiest mount to manage.”

  “He’s wonderful.”

  “Have you any idea how much I want to kiss you again, Lucy?”

  She flushed. “We shouldn’t, my lord. Remember?”

  “I remember. But right now I’d like to forget.” He reached for the bouquet she still clutched in her hand and pulled out a rose-colored bloom. He moved to her side and gently tucked it behind her ear. “There. You look like a goddess.”

  “And you look like a god. Truly, my lord, you are beautiful.” She blushed, surprised by her own candor. It was true, though. She chewed on her lower lip. Perhaps they could forget, just for a moment. She tenderly set the bouquet on the ground and peeled off her gloves. With trembling hands, she reached up to his face. He stood motionless as she caressed one cheek with her bare palm. His skin was so dark, such a dramatic contrast to her fair hand. She ran her fingers lightly across his brow before moving lower to trace his lips with her fingertip. She heard his breath hitch in his chest. His lips were full and sensual, and Lucy ached to feel them against her own. Without thought, she rose up boldly on her toes and brought her mouth to his.

  He groaned and crushed her against him as she slipped her tongue inside his mouth and then withdrew it teasingly, issuing a challenge he was obviously eager to meet. Before she knew it, he had doffed his coat and dragged her to the ground, his body held rigid above hers as he devoured her mouth. She arched her back, pressed her breasts against him with a hunger she didn’t recognize as he explored every cranny, every crevice of her mouth with his tongue.

  She wanted the kiss to go on forever.

  “Lucy, my Lucy,” he whispered against her mouth. She felt his breath, warm against her ear, as his tongue trailed a path down the nape of her neck. She gasped as he nibbled her earlobe, sending shivers of delight down her spine. Seemingly involuntarily, her hands moved to his chest and her fingers flew over the buttons of his waistcoat, then his shirt. Soon his sculpted torso was bared to her curious hands, and she lightly ran her fingertips across the smooth planes. He was perfect. She lightly stroked her palm across his breastbone and felt him shudder against her neck as her fingers made contact with one hardened nub. She knew this was wrong, even dangerous, yet she couldn’t stop herself.

  Abruptly he pulled away, breathless. “Not here, Lucy. There’s an abandoned cottage not a half mile away.”

  Sudden awareness shot through her, and she pushed him away and struggled to sit. “No, we mustn’t. I must return at once, it’s close to dinnertime.”

  He dropped his head into his hands. “Bloody hell, you’re right. We should get back before someone comes looking for you. By God, Lucy, I can’t seem to control myself around you. Here, let me help you up.” He reached for her hands and helped her to her feet where she swayed dizzily against him for a moment.

  Lucy reached a hand up to her temple. “Perhaps it’s best if we’re not seen riding back to the house together. Why don’t you go on, and I’ll be on my way shortly.”

  “I’m sure you’re right.” He eyed her sharply as he buttoned his shirt and reached for his hastily discarded coat. “Are you certain you’re well?”

  “Of course, my lord. I’m perfectly fine.” She knelt to retrieve her gloves and pulled them on. “Go on, I’ll see you at dinner.”

  “Yes,” he said with a mysterious smile, “I’m willing to wager my sister has seen fit to make you my dinner partner.” He bent toward her and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “Until then, my sweet.”

  Lucy couldn’t help but admire his muscular form as he swung easily onto his mount’s back and spurred it toward the great house. She watched him go until he was nothing more than a speck in the distance, and then she retrieved the bouquet, swung up onto her own horse, and followed suit.

  When she reached the stables, she dismounted and walked Thunder to the waiting groom.

  “How was he, miss?”

  “Wonderful, thank you.”

  “Eh, Miss Abbington?”

  “Yes?”

  “This is a bit awkward, you see, but I heard tales that yer a bit of an animal healer, and well...ye’ see, miss, I was hopin’ that you’d be of mind to take a look at ol’ Red ‘ere.” He cocked his head toward a stocky roan in the stall behind him.

  “Of course. What appears to be the problem?” She set down the bouquet and pulled off her gloves, wiped her hands on her skirt, and followed the groom into the stall.

  “Well, milady, the head groom’s been away a few days, sick he is, and I jus’ dunno what to do. This horse ‘ere stopped eating his feed in the last day or two, and I can’t see what’s the problem. Don’t appear to be colic.” He shook his head. “I jus’ dunno.”

  “Well, let me have a look then.” She crossed to the horse and laid her hand on its nose. She stroked the rough mane for a minute until he appeared at ease with her. Then she pried open his mouth and peered inside. She ran a finger lightly along his teeth and gums, her mouth pursed and her brow furrowed. And then she felt it.

  “No, it’s not colic, you’re correct on that count. It’s his tooth here. The enamel’s broken, chipped away, likely from a stone. Probably hurts him too much to eat his grain. I’ll have to pull it.”

  “Pull it? Can you do that yerself, miss?”

  Lucy laughed at the young groom’s skepticism. “Of course I can. Just give me a moment to go inside and collect some things and I’ll take care of it straight away.” Beaming delightedly, she headed toward the house, her mind on nothing but the task ahead.

  The bouquet lay on the ground beside her gloves, all but forgotten.

  ***

  Henry couldn’t wipe the smile off his face as he hurried down the stairs, hoping to join Frederick for a glass of sherry before dinner. He was sure he looked like an idiot, grinning madly to himself. But he couldn’t help it, not with the memory of her kiss so fresh in his mind. He strode past the salon and was headed toward the study when he heard Miss Abbington’s name and stopped short.

  “No, Lady Charlotte, come now,” a voice was saying. “It can’t be true. An animal healer, you say?”

  “I tell you, it is true. I’ve no idea why Lady Worthington would invite such a girl into our company.”

  Damn it to hell, it was Charlotte Haverford, trying to poison some gossiping biddy against Lucy. Henry clenched his fists and moved closer to the doorway, straining to her hear the whispered conversation.

  “Pulling a horse’s tooth, you say?”

  “That’s what I was told,” Charlotte said. “I saw her come in myself, her frock filthy, wearing no gloves. It’s a disgrace. Mr. Avondale says he saw her out this afternoon, riding astride with her skirts flying up about her ears. Can you imagine? The poor Rosemoors. It must be so humiliating to find themselves sponsoring such an embarrassment. Lord Rosemoor is a generous soul indeed.”

  “If it’s true, then she is no lady, that’s for certain.”

  “I’ve known from the moment I laid eyes on her that she was no lady,” Charlotte said. “Certainly not fit for polite company.”

  Henry stepped into the doorway, his face livid with rage. “You, Charlotte, are not fit for polite company. I’ll ask you to watch your tongue in my sister’s home or you’ll find yourself out on your ear.”

  “Lord Mandeville,” she gasped, and Henry saw her companion, Miss Merrill, blush fu
riously. “Please excuse us, my lord. I didn’t realize you were listening. Nonetheless, you can’t expect us all to pretend as if she’s a lady.”

  He stepped toward Charlotte, his finger pointed at her menacingly. “You, Charlotte, are no lady. Miss Abbington is ten times the woman you are, and I’ll ask you never again to speak of her such or I’ll—”

  “You’ll what, Lord Mandeville? Are you threatening me? I can’t understand why a man in your position would stand up for a piece of baggage like her.”

  He advanced toward her and saw Miss Merrill shrink back, her eyes wide and mouth agape.

  “I’m sure you can’t, you’re not quite clever enough,” he bit out. And with that he turned and strode out, afraid he might physically assault her if he remained in her presence one more second.

  He stormed into Frederick’s study and poured himself a brandy.

  Damn her.

  This was his mother’s fault, inviting Charlotte here against Eleanor’s wishes. He’d managed to avoid his mother thus far, but he knew he would be forced to suffer her company at dinner. He hoped Eleanor was wise enough to seat them as far apart as possible. Otherwise, he’d likely...

  He turned his head toward the sound of voices gathering in the drawing room, preparing to go in to dinner. He supposed he should join them. As he set down his glass and strode reluctantly toward the gathered guests, he couldn’t help but wonder what other unpleasant surprises he’d be in store for as the evening progressed.

  ***

  Hours later, Henry sat on a wide leather chair in his chamber, a smile dancing across his features and his heart singing merrily. Dinner had proven to be far more pleasant than he’d anticipated. Lady Charlotte hadn’t joined them, claiming a sudden headache had incapacitated her, and his mother had been seated so far from him that he could barely see her, let alone speak to her. Being the highest ranked peer in the assemblage, he had gone into the dining room first, and, as he had supposed, his sister had broken with propriety and asked him to escort Lucy in. He had swelled with pride as he had taken Lucy’s arm and led her toward the elegantly laid table. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen and every unattached man in the room had looked at him with envy.

  The ease and speed with which she could transform herself never ceased to amaze him. It hadn’t been more than two hours since he’d seen her last in her girlish white frock, her hair falling out of its pins and onto her shoulders. She’d looked lovely then, yes, almost angelic in a virginal, pure way. But at dinner...at dinner there had been nothing virginal about her appearance, nothing at all.

  The cornflower-blue silk had hugged her every curve, her uplifted bosom straining against the fabric enticingly. A band of cream-colored lace crossed between her breasts, forming a deep V neckline that further accentuated their fullness. She’d worn her hair in an arrangement he’d never before seen her wear, but it suited her to perfection. Twisted at the crown, her hair spilled down her back in loose waves, down the train that fell from her shoulders and swept gracefully out behind her.

  He hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her as they had settled into their chairs and waited for the rest of the party to join them. He’d picked up his water goblet and sipped, his lustful gaze meeting hers over the rim. He heard the beating of his heart in the silence, and for a moment worried that he’d find himself unable to catch his breath.

  Was that what they meant by the phrase take your breath away, he briefly wondered, untying his cravat and tossing it carelessly to the floor.

  Even the evening’s conversation had pleased him. He smiled at the memory, savoring the pride he’d felt at Lucy’s pluck in the face of obvious disapproval.

  “Miss Abbington,” Mr. Avondale had said, “I heard the most preposterous rumor. Word has it that you actually pulled a horse’s tooth yourself this afternoon in Worthington’s stables. Ridiculous, isn’t it?” The conversation ground to a halt as all eyes turned curiously toward Lucy. Henry was surprised to see her smile as she laid down her fork.

  “I’m afraid it’s no rumor, sir,” she said. “You heard correctly.”

  There were several audible gasps, and Miss Merrill turned to her nearest companion and whispered furiously in his ear.

  “You see,” Eleanor said, “Miss Abbington possesses unusual skills with animals. It’s quite amazing, if you ask me.”

  “Just what kind of skills, Miss Abbington?” Lady Stanley asked with a frown. “Is it true that you are some sort of healer?”

  “I wouldn’t call myself a healer, your ladyship. I dabble a bit in veterinary arts.”

  Lady Stanley placed her napkin on her plate and studied Lucy with narrowed eyes. “Just what do mean, you ‘dabble a bit’?”

  Lucy tipped her chin in the air. “I mean that I diagnose and treat injured or ill animals.”

  “Yes,” Jane added, “and she’s gained a bit of a local reputation at home in Nottinghamshire.”

  “She’s the most accomplished woman I’ve ever met,” Colin interjected, his face suddenly stormy.

  “That’s fascinating, Miss Abbington,” Selina said. “I’d love to hear more.”

  “Isn’t it a bit”—Lady Stanley loudly cleared her throat— “unseemly?”

  Colin’s silver clattered noisily to his plate, and he shoved back from the table menacingly.

  “I think it’s grand,” Mr. Nickerson put in, and Jane flashed the man a warm smile.

  “As do I,” Eleanor added, and Frederick nodded in agreement.

  “Tell me, Miss Abbington, do you charge fees for your services?” Miss Merrill inquired, her face flushed.

  Colin was suddenly apoplectic. “Why, I won’t listen to such—”

  “No, of course not,” Lucy interrupted. “Although the villagers often insist I take a basket of eggs or a side of mutton in exchange. I don’t do it for the compensation—I do it because I enjoy it.”

  All eyes turned toward Henry, as if they awaited his judgment on the matter. He cleared his throat then looked to Lucy with honest admiration. “I’ve seen Miss Abbington at work, and trust me when I say it is truly a sight to behold. She’s exceptionally skilled, and my own stables have benefited from her talents. I allowed her to treat my favorite stallion and aided her in a breech foaling. I believe Miss Abbington sets a fine example for what can be accomplished by a lady when one chooses to put her mind to more useful matters than fashion or gossip.” He looked pointedly at Miss Merrill.

  Lucy looked to him, her eyes shining. “Thank you for those kind words, my lord.”

  And then he’d changed the subject, as smoothly and neatly as possible.

  Clearly, the majority of his sister’s guests had been scandalized. This didn’t surprise him—he’d been a bit scandalized himself at first. But truly, what was the harm in offering her his support? Particularly since his words had visibly infuriated his mother. He relished the memory of her barely concealed anger and self-imposed humiliation.

  His sister had forced him into this situation. He hadn’t wanted to come, but now that he was here he was going to enjoy every last moment of Lucy’s company. After all, what harm was there in enjoying this little interlude with her? It would be his last opportunity. Once he returned to London he would offer for Lady Helena. No use putting it off.

  Rather then think upon it further, he reached for his sketch pad and charcoal and began scratching away at the paper, creating from memory a likeness of Lucy. He worked silently for nearly an hour, toiling away to make each detail perfect. The curve of her neck, the tilt of her chin, the swell of her breasts. As he painstakingly re-created the dress she’d worn that night, he couldn’t stop his thoughts from straying to what those yards of fabric concealed—that perfectly formed figure of hers. Had she really allowed him to partially undress her in the carriage that night? Perhaps, what? Six weeks ago? It seemed so far removed from the present that he could barely believe it. It teased his mind like a fleeting dream—shadowy images of ripe, round breasts crowned by petal-pink
coronets, just begging for his touch, his mouth. He groaned as he remembered the feel of her hand, boldly caressing the length of him.

  Devil take it, she was there under this very roof, lying in bed, asleep. Would she be wearing some thin, transparent little night rail, her hair loose about her shoulders? He closed his eyes and imagined himself lifting the night rail over her head, his mouth tracing the path of the fabric as it slid across her flesh. And then, as she slept on, he’d gently part her thighs and find her sweet folds with his tongue... The erotic sensation this thought provoked sent flames shooting down his groin, and he resisted the urge to grab himself and take matters into his own hands, quite literally.

  He set aside the charcoal, every inch of his body aching for her, burning with lustful desire. He reached up to wipe his brow; the room was so warm and close that he felt as if he would suffocate. He needed some air—a dousing in very cold water was what he truly needed, but some air would suffice. He closed the pad and pulled out his watch, surprised to see it was past two in the morning. Listening intently to make sure no one was about, he reached for his shirt and boots.

  Minutes later he found himself out in the humid night without his coat, his shirt tucked haphazardly into his trousers. He stood beneath the branches of a tall, curving willow and took a deep, cleansing breath, relieved to find that the heat in his loins had begun to subside. He thought to head down the lane toward the meadow, but the corner of his eye caught a flicker of light from the south wing, near the garden.

  Was it a candle? He moved toward the faint glow, squinting.

  Chapter 17

  Lucy looked at the candle she held in her hand, surprised to see how far down it had burned. How long had she been out there? She’d climbed into bed hours ago but found herself unable to sleep. It had been well past one when she’d stepped out onto the narrow balcony, hoping the fresh air would settle her a bit. But it was no use. All she could think of was Lord Mandeville—Henry—somewhere under the very same roof. Her entire body covered with gooseflesh at the thought. It was wicked, she knew, but she couldn’t help but imagine him lying in bed somewhere down the hall, bare chested, his lashes casting shadows upon his cheeks. What would it feel like, she wondered, to brush her lips across his sculpted chest? To trace a path down his stomach, and lower still, with her tongue? Her cheeks grew hot at the thought. She could feel his nearness in her very core, and it left her slightly breathless and more than a little bothered.