What in God’s name am I doing? Thomas flitted his gaze from the huge fireplace, complete with enough foliage to hide a lion, to the sideboard containing enough greenery to feed an army of locusts. If this was what it meant to be wealthy in the city, he could think of nothing he wanted less.
The décor in Adam Lacey’s house was as bizarre as the costume the man had been wearing on the billboard outside the theater.
Thomas looked down at his hat and turned it around in his hands. He’d yet to ask Monica what had happened at the solicitor’s office, but sensed something had gone very wrong, not just for her, but the entire family. Foreboding rippled through him, just as it had when he’d first set eyes on Monica outside the hotel forty minutes beforehand and saw the look of pure anger on her face.
He suspected whatever she’d been told by the solicitor had ignited a motivation inside her that would undoubtedly singe anyone unfortunate enough to be caught in its path.
Lifting his head, he looked to Monica and Jane where they sat on the settee. Monica stared back at him, her cheeks flushed and her eyes wide with an almost maniacal gleam. God help us if that look in her eye is anything to hold measure by.
The severity of her mourning clothes added to the aura of wildness emanating from her. She was a woman on the edge and he sensed it was only a matter of time before he, and maybe everyone else in the room, were made aware of what was rushing through her body and intelligent mind.
He widened his gaze in question, but she merely shook her head before staring toward the closed parlor door. Frustration pinched hot at Thomas’s cheeks. He looked to the mirror above the fireplace in an effort to tamp down his desire for her, as well as the curiosity burning inside him.
Despite the void between him and Monica, the sexual tension still lingered and he longed to have her. Even for a single time. To see her head thrown back in abandon and her clothes torn from her body would surely satisfy his need to know if he could make this woman discard her independence whenever she was with him.
From her bright blue eyes to her glossy black hair pinned in such a way to conform to decency, Thomas wanted her. For the love of God, just to see that glorious mane of hair loose and free over her shoulders and naked breasts . . .
His cock hardened and shame infused him. Didn’t he have more to worry about as far as Monica was concerned than laying with her?
His findings from talking to the right people that afternoon had left little doubt of Baxter seeing Bath’s streets as a free man anytime soon. Yet, Thomas’s brief satisfaction all too quickly gave way to possession, and reinforced his need to make love to Monica how she deserved—with love, attention, and heart-wrenching desire.
She deserved a man’s passionate love above all else; he sensed she would reciprocate his caresses with an ardent intensity that would serve to send him near mad with lust. Her kiss in the garden had been just a sliver of the ardor he suspected her capable of.
The parlor door opened and Adam Lacey strode in, his gaze immediately falling on Monica as though no one else were in the room. “Monica. It’s so good to see you.”
Monica leaped from the settee and Thomas stiffened. Her previous, seemingly permanent frown was obliterated by her wide smile and shining eyes. She exhaled. “Adam.”
She stepped into Lacey’s open arms and they embraced. Thomas clenched his jaw as displaced jealousy rippled through him to see how easily Monica laid her head on her costar’s shoulder, her eyes closing. He shouldn’t care it couldn’t be him who comforted her that way . . . as long as someone had the right to hold her, nothing else should matter.
Thomas turned to the woman who had followed Lacey into the room. Her gaze met his and she smiled. Thomas straightened his shoulders. There could be no mistaking the wisdom in her eyes. Had his feelings for Monica been etched on his face? The woman came toward him, her hand outstretched. “Laura Lacey, nice to meet you.”
There was no denying the astounding beauty of Lacey’s wife. Her violet eyes were astonishing, her distinct South West accent interesting. This was not a woman born to the high life or paid education, yet here she was married to one of Bath’s most admired actors. Thomas dipped a shallow bow and took her hand, his head whirling with questions of Mr. and Mrs. Lacey’s story. “Thomas Ashby, ma’am.”
She smiled widely, the teasing in her eyes still bright. “Well, nice to meet you, Mr. Ashby. We had no idea Monica would go away for a few days and return with such a handsome beau.”
Monica laughed. “Thomas is . . . sorry, was, my father’s groom, Laura. Stop teasing him so.”
“I’m sure Mr. Ashby can shoulder my ribbing as much as the next man. Isn’t that right, Mr. Ashby?”
Thomas dragged his glare from Monica and forced a smile. “Indeed, I can, Mrs. Lacey.”
She frowned. “Laura, please. I’m not one for standing on ceremony, am I, Adam?”
Lacey laughed and released Monica’s hand and came toward Thomas. “My wife can’t abide airs and graces, Mr. Ashby. I hope you feel the same.” He offered his hand.
Thomas took it and some of the tension left his shoulders. Lacey’s eyes were welcoming, but there was no denying his quiet appraisal. He met Thomas’s stare directly. Two men who knew Monica, who cared about her . . . even if only one of them could embrace her so lovingly in public. Thomas nodded. “It’s nice to meet you, sir.”
“You too, Thomas.” Their gazes remained locked for a moment longer before Lacey turned to Jane. “And you must be Monica’s sister. Such a pleasure to finally meet you.”
Laura joined her husband in greeting Jane and their joyful chatter faded into the background as Thomas looked at Monica. Her blue eyes danced with undisguised happiness and her smile hitched at his heart. He hadn’t seen her so relaxed the entire time she’d been at Marksville.
She walked to his side and gazed at Lacey and Laura as they talked to Jane. “Aren’t they lovely?”
Thomas dragged his gaze from her hair to stare at the Laceys. “They seem nice.”
She snapped her head around and arched an eyebrow. “Nice? Oh, Thomas, they deserve so much more than nice.”
He shrugged. “You know I like to get to know people before I give judgment.”
“Well, I suggest in this case you rely on my judgment.” The mischief and pleasure in her eyes yanked at his gut as she left him to rejoin the Laceys.
Thomas stared after her and a smile tugged at his lips as she laughed with Laura before the two of them pulled Jane into a group embrace. Adam Lacey smiled fondly as he watched them . . . and then he faced Thomas.
The expression on Lacey’s face was clear. He was a man protecting his clan; a warrior in disguise who would think nothing of snatching a knife into his hand and plunging it deep into the heart of anyone who dared to hurt those he loved.
Thomas’s smile dissolved and he stilled as a potent feeling of fate burned inside him. He nodded his understanding. Lacey could be trusted with Monica’s welfare and to do the right thing. Learned lessons smoldered in Lacey’s gaze as though the man had fought a war to be where he was today.
A feeling Thomas understood only too well.
Lacey returned Thomas’s nod and approached his wife. “Mrs. Lacey, will you please put down your friends and get that fine backside into the kitchen where it belongs. We need tea, woman.”
Thomas raised his eyebrows and fought his smile. God, what he wouldn’t give to try that methodology on Monica. Laura slowly pulled from the circle of Monica’s and Jane’s arms and faced her husband. She crossed her arms and glared. “Pardon me, Mr. Fancy Pants Lacey, you know where the kitchen is. You want tea, go and get . . . Adam!”
Lacey lunged forward and yanked her to him, deftly tipping her spine over his arm. His wife gripped his biceps. “Don’t you dare.”
“Oh, I dare.” He emitted a guttural growl before covering her jaw and neck with impassioned kisses.
Monica laughed as Jane stood stock-still beside her, her cheeks aflame and her eyes wide. Tho
mas’s stomach shook with suppressed laughter until he couldn’t hold it any longer. The sound was alien to his ears, but the feeling that accompanied his laughter was worth every second of the wide-eyed stares Monica and Jane directed at him.
He grinned. “What?”
Monica smiled. “You’re laughing.”
“And?”
She shook her head, her eyes shining. “I like it. I like it more than you’ll ever know, Thomas Ashby.”
Chapter 15
The theater was alive with music and laughter as the orchestra readied the bustling audience for the play’s beginning with snippets from its score. Monica inhaled and released her breath on a shaky exhalation.
The air was heavy with the scent of rose water and cigar smoke, oranges, and chocolate as Tess and Kitty swayed amongst the people selling their wares. Monica smiled. The smiles on their faces were so wide and welcoming, one might be fooled into thinking orange selling was their most prized vocation. She remembered only too well Laura doing the exact same thing and the day Adam first laid eyes on her.
He was smitten and entirely lost in his mission to woo her within moments.
And now her dearest friends were married and happy, blessed with a perfect baby girl. Ignoring the pang of envy that stabbed at her heart, Monica sighed and turned to Thomas standing beside her. She tipped her head back to meet his eyes and he frowned. “Are you all right?”
The question to end all questions.
She swallowed as words scorched her tongue and the need to touch him pulled at her senses. “I’m fine.” She pushed her hand into the crook of his arm before sensibility took over. “In fact, I’m more than fine. I’m happy to be home.”
His jaw tightened. “Of course you are.”
Monica’s smile dissolved. “Please don’t let us argue. Not tonight. I want to be happy until I have to face the inevitable.”
“The inevitable?”
Her chest rose and she tore her gaze from the beauty of his to stare out at the sea of spectators as they moved toward their seats. “I need to tell you what happened at the solicitors. I can’t do this on my own. I said I would, but I can’t. I need you, Thomas.” She faced him. “I feel as though I’m about to step into the dangerous unknown. I’m afraid, yet determined. Challenged, yet prepared to fight.”
She frowned. “Does that make sense? I’m so angry and confused right now, I can’t think past wanting to vent this horrible, gnawing anxiety and fly unhindered and free.” She shook her head, praying he understood her nonsensical rambling. “I just have no idea how to even start to get off the ground.”
He stared, his gaze turning fiery under the glow of the lanterns behind them. The longer he stared, the more Monica responded to his heated study. His gaze belied his gratification to her confession and as his chest expanded, his gaze moved to her mouth. Her skin tingled and she wet her lips as desire for his kiss grew. She’d lied. She knew exactly how to vent her anxiety.
“Then we’ll work out the solution together.” His voice was a slow, rough rumble from deep within his chest.
She looked into his eyes and the lust she saw there couldn’t be denied. She was no maid, and in that moment the anger at her father’s puppeteer-like manipulation, and the cheer and tension emanating from the impatient audience, built like a crescendo in Monica’s soul. Why fight their attraction? Why refute what was impossible to ignore? Yet, if she permanently returned to Marksville, would she and Thomas be able to live and work side by side and never act on their desire?
No, so they needed to lay it to rest once and for all.
She would take him now, show him she was a woman who lived and treasured her liberty; who did what she wanted to do and answered to no one but herself. She’d earned that right the moment her father demanded she give her entire being to Malcolm Baxter regardless of his abuse.
Her cheeks grew warm and her center ached. She wanted Thomas. For one blessed moment, she wanted to be free to be with this man. She snatched her gaze from his to look at Jane and Laura as they took their seats farther along the aisle. “Do you want to join them?”
“That’s the last thing I want to do.”
She turned. His eyes were full of fire and need, masculinity and possession. Excitement shivered through her body. Her heart beat fast as she thought of the scars he would see upon her body if she were to stand naked in front of him. Would he turn away? Or would the sight ignite the protective violence she sometimes sensed in him whenever something or someone he cared for might be threatened.
She inhaled. It was a risk she had to take. She loved him and for this time in Bath, she would fly free. “Then I’ll show you my dressing room.”
With her heart beating out of control, Monica slipped her hand from his arm and approached Jane and Laura. When she touched Jane’s arm, Monica’s fingers trembled. Her sister turned, her eyes alight with awe. “I am so excited to be here, Monica. Thank you for bringing me.” She laughed. “This feels so naughty when I should be concerned about the will and Mama and—”
“Enjoy yourself, please.” Monica smiled. “All too soon we’ll return to Marksville and that will be soon enough to start worrying about the future.”
Jane grinned and waved toward the empty seat beside her. “Won’t you sit down?”
Monica swallowed. “I’m just taking Thomas . . .” Over my dressing table? On the floor? “. . . to get a glass of something. We won’t be long.”
“Well, hurry. I would hate for you to miss the start of the play even though you know the entire thing by heart.” Jane returned her excited gaze to the stage. “I can’t believe I will see Adam perform and can even go so far as to call him an acquaintance.”
Laura shook her head on Jane’s other side and laughed. “He does not need another woman’s adoration. He has enough female desire drowning him as it is. It’s my job to keep the man grounded now he’s a father.” Laura met Monica’s gaze and winked. She nodded to a spot behind Monica’s shoulder. “I think Thomas is getting thirstier by the second.”
Monica inwardly cursed at the knowing look in Laura’s gaze and glared. “Then I’d better see to him, hadn’t I?”
Laura laughed and shifted back into her seat. “Take all the time you need.”
Jane frowned and twisted her head from Monica to Laura and back again. “Is something going on?”
Monica forced a smile. “Nothing. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Ignoring Laura’s lewd eyebrow wiggling, Monica rejoined Thomas where he stood waiting at the end of the aisle. Monica stepped ahead of him and into the corridor. Her heart pounded and her body burned with awareness. She sensed Thomas’s gaze gliding over her from head to heel as he walked behind her, their silence adding to the tension that crackled and stretched between them.
The corridors were devoid of people, and the only sound was the boom and crash of the orchestra as the opening bars announced the start of the play. They would soon be alone and uninterrupted. They would be unobserved and entirely free of propriety behind her locked dressing room door.
Anticipation rushed through Monica’s blood—she waited for the trepidation, the fear, but nothing came. She wanted this. She wanted Thomas’s lips and hands on her skin with every fiber of her being.
She stopped outside her dressing room door and fumbled in her purse for the key. Her hand shook as she drew it out and slid it into the lock. She pushed the door open and finally turned to face him. He stared down at her, his jaw set. “You want me beside you from now on? We work together?”
Her mouth drained dry to see such fiery determination in his gaze. What could she really promise him? The house might now be hers but still she wasn’t sure she wanted any part of it. She briefly closed her eyes. “The more time I spend with Jane, Mama . . . you, the less the idea of staying at Marksville fills me with terror, but still, I can’t make you any promises. I’m so unsure of everything I want and feel.”
A muscle leaped in his jaw. “Then what is it you want fro
m me?”
She tilted her chin, her heart racing. “I want you. Here. Now.”
The fire in his eyes flared and he dropped his gaze to her mouth, lower to her concealed breasts. “Then we’ll make this time count.”
She took his hand and led him into the room. He kicked the door shut behind them and Monica dropped her purse to the floor. She reached for him and he gripped her waist, pulling her so close her breasts pushed up against the hardened plate of his chest. His mouth covered hers and their tongues met without preamble or care. Frenzied and wanting, Monica whimpered into his mouth and kissed the man who had meant so much to her throughout her life at Marksville.
Without whom she would never have survived long enough to flee and forge a life of her own making. This hot-blooded, loyal man had stood beside her when she’d left that day, had helped her onto Wilson, and waved her off as she rode into the unknown. He spoke no words of changing her mind or begging she stay. He’d known she had to go . . . yet the look in his eyes haunted her so badly, she’d shut it from her mind for her heart’s protection.
They could never be. Yet here, now, in the theater where she belonged, Thomas would make love to her for the very first time.
She pushed his jacket from his shoulders and he pulled at the buttons on her dress. Yearning stole through Monica’s body on a heady wave of desire, and their breaths turned harried in the silence of the room as they fought and tussled to undress one another. Locked gazes and stolen kisses, moans and cries ensued until Monica stood before him, and him before her, naked and free.
His body was sculpted. His shoulders were broad and strong, his chest wide and wholly masculine. She reached out and ran her fingertips over his skin, over his nipples, and lower to the defined ridges of his muscled torso. Their eyes met as he cupped one of her breasts in his calloused hand.
What a Woman Desires Page 17