For the Sake of a Scottish Rake

by Anna Bradley

  “I have an idea.” Ciaran took her hand, his large palm swallowing her fingers. “It’s not ideal, but it would protect you from—”

  “No.” Lucy already knew what he was going to say. “I won’t leave London, Ciaran.”

  “Listen to me, Lucy—”

  “No! What do you suppose my uncle will do to my aunt and cousin if I leave? He’ll take his fury out on them. I’m certain of it.”

  Lucy thought of the way her aunt had tried to help her tonight, of the fear in her eyes when Uncle Jarvis had spoken to her so harshly. Then there was Eloisa, who’d become as dear to Lucy as the sister she’d always dreamed of having. What would become of her? Uncle Jarvis might drag them out of London, and whatever hopes Eloisa had of Lord Vale would be destroyed.

  Eloisa had looked so pretty tonight, with her pink cheeks and bright eyes. She might pretend her heart wasn’t bleeding, but Lucy had seen the way her cousin looked at Lord Vale. The more Lucy saw them together, the more persuaded she was Lord Vale loved Eloisa in return. Eloisa had had precious little joy in her life. Didn’t she deserve her chance at happiness?

  When she raised her gaze to Ciaran, tears were burning behind her eyes. “I can’t leave them, Ciaran. I w-won’t leave them.”

  Before Lucy knew what was happening, Ciaran closed the tiny sliver of space between them. He wrapped a warm hand around the back of her neck and eased her head down onto his shoulder. “Hush. I know you don’t want to leave them, but it wouldn’t be for long. Just a few weeks, until your birthday. Vale will keep an eye on them until then. Your aunt and cousin want you to be safe, Lucy.”

  Lucy curled her fingers into his coat. It wasn’t at all proper to let him hold her like this, particularly when they were alone in a dark carriage, but she didn’t draw away. She sagged against him and nestled her face into the hollow of his shoulder. “But where would I go?”

  Ciaran didn’t answer right away, and Lucy felt his chest move beneath her cheek in a long sigh. His hand slid away from the back of her neck and that huge, warm palm stroked over her hair.

  Dear God, it felt divine. He felt divine. She squirmed closer, melting into the strength surrounding her. Her senses reeled as the seductive scent of clean linen and something else filled her nose. She inhaled deeply, trying to place it.

  Warm skin, clean linen, a faint hint of leather…

  She wouldn’t have thought it possible, but Ciaran smelled even better than he felt.

  His soft breath stirred the wisps of hair at her temple, tickling her skin. “I’ll take you to my brother’s country seat in Buckinghamshire. Once you’re there, you’ll be under his protection. Even if your uncle or Godfrey find out where you are, there’s a good chance they wouldn’t dare to challenge the Marquess of Huntington.”

  “I can’t flee to Buckinghamshire, Ciaran. Your brother and the rest of your family don’t even know me. I can’t simply appear on their doorstep and beg them to take me in.”

  “You won’t have to. I’m coming with you, of course. How can you think I’d let you tear off to Buckinghamshire alone? I told you I’d protect you, Lucy, and I meant it.”

  “You want me to leave London—to flee my uncle’s protection—with you?” Lucy’s head was spinning. What he was suggesting didn’t make sense. “It’ll cause a scandal, Ciaran! Everyone will think we’ve eloped.”

  Ciaran let out a short laugh. “We will have eloped. Whatever scandal there is will be short-lived, because as soon as you’re of age, I’ll marry you.”

  Lucy went utterly still, a strangled breath trapped in her throat. She should have pushed away from him then. She should have raised her head from his chest at once and put some distance between them. Instead, her first impulse was to tighten her arms around him.

  Her second impulse…God help her, but her second impulse was to leap into his lap and tell him she’d marry him. Somehow, all her promises to herself, her decision never to marry seemed to dissolve like dew in the morning sun. “You want to m-marry me?”

  But of course, he didn’t want to. He was offering his hand, yes, but not because he loved her. Not in the way a husband should love a wife. They were simply friends, nothing more. His strong arms around her, the solid warmth of his chest under her cheek had confused her, made her wish for things she knew could never be.

  If he’d been any other man, or if she’d loved him any less, she might have agreed to marry him. But he was Ciaran, and she loved him far too much to let him give up everything he wanted for her.

  Dear God, how selfish she was. She never should have allowed him to remain in London with her. He felt responsible for her now, unable to leave her behind. It would hurt her to see him go, but it would hurt her more to see him sacrifice his dream of returning to Scotland, just for her.

  Lucy swallowed the lump in her throat. “I can’t marry you, Ciaran.”

  She lifted her head from his chest and began to gently disentangle herself from his embrace. For a breathless moment his fingers tightened in her hair, as if he wanted to keep her against him, but then he sucked in a breath and released her. She pressed herself into the corner of the carriage, putting a few precious inches between their bodies, and tried to gather her wits.

  “Don’t do this, Lucy.” Ciaran’s tone was gruff, but he held out his hand to her. “Stop this, and let me help you.”

  Lucy didn’t take his hand or move toward him, but it was as if he’d wrapped her in his arms once again. Warmth flooded her, and it felt as if her heart were melting in her chest. “I told you before I never intend to marry. You teased me for it at the time, but you see, it was the truth. I haven’t changed my mind.”

  “Not even for me?” His voice was low and hoarse, filled with hurt. “You won’t change your mind even for me?”

  Oh, she couldn’t bear it, that break in his voice.

  Lucy did move then. She leapt straight into Ciaran’s arms. “How dear you are,” she whispered, cradling his face in her hands. Then, without a second thought, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his cheek. “How dear you are, Ciaran.”

  He seemed to freeze against her, but then his fingers wrapped gently around her wrists. He didn’t move her hands away from him, but he leaned back a little so he could look into her eyes. “I’d do anything for you, Lucy.” Again, his voice was gruff, but the lines of his face had softened, and one corner of his lips quirked in that half-smile she’d come to treasure.

  They stared at each other without speaking, long silent moments ticking between them. Ciaran didn’t pull away again, and Lucy kept her hands on his face. His skin was warm, and the light prickle of his emerging beard tickled her palms.

  Her gaze roamed over his face, coming back again and again to his mouth. A faint smile curved her lips. One had only to look at that obstinate jaw, that stubborn lower lip to see how determined a man he was. She’d seen those lips pressed together with irritation more times than she could count.

  But not as many times as she’d seen them curved in a grin.

  How had she ever managed to resist that full mouth? How had she looked at his beautiful face dozens of times without giving in to the need to touch his lips? She stared, suddenly mesmerized by them. Slowly—so slowly she wasn’t sure she even moved—she slid her thumb across his cheek and dragged it over his lower lip.

  “It’s so soft,” she whispered. She’d never imagined a man’s lips could be so soft.

  Ciaran said nothing, but his blue eyes went as dark as a midnight sky, and then, without warning his lips parted, and he pressed a warm, wet kiss against the tip of her thumb.

  A hot ache unfurled in her belly, and Lucy’s eyes slid closed.

  “Open your eyes, Lucy.” Ciaran’s voice was rough, husky.

  Lucy did as she was told. His gaze held hers as slowly—oh, so slowly—he raised his hand to her face and, very gently, touched a fingertip to the middle of her
lower lip, opening her mouth for him. Then he leaned toward her, and before she had a chance to draw a breath, his mouth took hers.

  Lucy had never kissed a man before. Never stroked a man’s skin, or held his face in her palms. Was it always this sweet, this perfect? Or was this kiss different than any other she’d ever have, because it was her first?

  Or was it different simply because it was him?

  I didn’t know. I didn’t know.…

  She’d fallen in love with Ciaran weeks ago, but it wasn’t until his lips found hers that she understood how badly she wanted to kiss him. That she’d been thinking about how he’d feel, how he’d taste since the first time they’d stood together on the beach in Brighton, with cold water dripping down her back and Ciaran’s nose gushing blood.

  It was a soft, tender kiss. Hesitant, his lips merely brushing against hers, almost as if he were asking a question.

  Did she want to kiss him? Did he want to kiss her? Were they simply friends, or had Ciaran been right all along about desire turning friends into lovers?

  Lucy didn’t know the answers to any of these questions. She knew only she found herself balancing on a precipice, her feet edging closer to midair with every stroke of Ciaran’s lips over hers.

  She was moments away from tumbling over the side, and once she did, once she did…

  She’d either fall, or she’d fly.

  That was the trouble with love. Until you leapt, you didn’t know which.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Even before his mouth took hers, Ciaran knew Lucy would have the softest, sweetest lips he’d ever kissed. Even before he coaxed her to open for him and stroked his tongue against hers for the first time, he already knew how she’d taste.

  Wild and sweet, ocean air and green apples.

  It made no sense he should know this, just as it didn’t make sense his mouth against hers felt inevitable, as if he’d been waiting all his life to kiss her. It didn’t feel strange, kissing Lucy, and that didn’t make sense, either. Shouldn’t it feel strange to kiss your friend?

  Because this—this wasn’t a friendly kiss.

  It was deep and hot and maddening, and it was everywhere at once. First a tingle in his lips and then lower, a sweet, pulsing ache in his belly, and higher, spreading inside his chest, wrapping tightly around his heart.

  “Lucy.” It was more a groan than a word, and so needy, so hungry Ciaran hardly recognized his own voice. His lips were still clinging to hers when he reached out to capture a long, red curl between his fingers. “Lucy.”

  His head was spinning, his body burning with desire. He could only say her name, the words low and ragged, and hope it was enough.

  That she’d understand all the words he couldn’t say.

  Her mouth curved under his, and for one breathless instant he let his tongue trace her lower lip. He tasted her smile until he coaxed a soft whimper from her throat. Her arms twined around his neck, her fingers sinking into his hair.

  All it took was that touch, the light, sensual stroke across the back of his neck and Ciaran was lost to her. “Closer,” he begged, his lips against her ear. He wrapped his hands around her slender waist to hold her still against him. Tighter, tighter, until he could feel the soft swell of her breasts against his chest and her curved hips filled his palms.

  She shivered at his touch, a gasp catching in her throat as he took her mouth again, ravenous now, his tongue flicking and teasing at her red lips until with a sweet sigh of surrender, she opened fully for him.

  Ciaran didn’t hesitate. He surged inside with a low growl, his tongue stroking against hers. Once, then again and again until he released her mouth with a tortured groan, certain he’d go mad from the hot, wet caress of her tongue.

  He let his forehead rest against hers, his chest heaving as he tried to make himself let her go. He had to let her go, to ease her away from him. Desire was clouding his brain, so thick and seductive he couldn’t speak, couldn’t think…couldn’t find a single reason why he shouldn’t tumble her onto her back on the carriage seat and let his body cover hers, their legs tangling together.

  “Lucy.” He braced his hands on her shoulders and began to ease her back, away from him. “This is…we can’t…we have to—”

  “Not yet.” She kissed her way from the corner of his mouth to his cheek, then his jaw, and then—dear God—his earlobe. Her soft lips slid over his throat and the heated skin of his neck, nipping and teasing until she stole every breath from his lungs. He arched against her, his hands sliding over her ribs to drag her closer, urge her harder against him.

  She was so close the loose strands of her hair brushed against his neck, the soft tickle driving him mindless with desire. So mindless when her mouth found his again Ciaran closed his eyes with a groan, his head falling back against the seat, his lips opening helplessly under hers.

  The kiss seemed to go on forever, and yet it hadn’t gone on nearly long enough when at last she drew away and let her face fall against his chest. Ciaran went still, panting, his chest heaving as he dragged one desperate breath after another into his lungs. He kept his hands firmly wrapped around her waist to keep them from wandering again while Lucy lay motionless against him, her fingers still buried in his hair.

  She slid her palm over the sensitive skin of his neck and dragged her fingers down to his chest. She stared down at her own hand resting against him, then looked up into his eyes with a shy smile. “Your heart is beating so quickly.”

  “It is.” Ciaran covered her hand with his to keep it pressed to his body. “Is yours?”

  Lucy hesitated, then she closed her slender fingers around his wrist and pressed his palm against the pulse beating in the base of her throat. “Yes.”

  Long, quiet moments slipped by. Neither of them moved, and everything faded to oblivion around Ciaran except her hand on his chest, her heartbeat fluttering against his palm.

  “You have to go, Ciaran,” she whispered at last. “My aunt and Eloisa will be here any moment. They can’t find us alone in the carriage.”

  “No. I won’t go without you.” Ciaran brushed a stray wisp of hair back from her face. “You can’t return to Portman Square. It isn’t safe. Please, Lucy. Let me take care of you.”

  “I—I want to, Ciaran, but I can’t.” A slow, shaky breath shuddered out of her, but she met his gaze without flinching.

  Ciaran’s hands tightened around her waist, helpless anger and fear rolling over him. “Yes, you can. You have to.”

  “No, I can’t. Not without my Aunt Jarvis and Eloisa. Call on me tomorrow, won’t you? As early as you can. I’ll be fine until then.”

  “You don’t know that, Lucy. By then you could be the Countess of Godfrey.” Ciaran blew out a frustrated breath. “Come with me tonight. Please.”

  Lucy was as worried about her uncle and Godfrey as he was—Ciaran could see it by the furrow in her brow, the uneasy way she bit her lip, but she shook her head. “No. I won’t leave them.”

  “Damn it, Lucy—”

  “Go, Ciaran.” She squirmed free of him and shifted to the other side of the carriage. “Quickly. You’ll only make it worse if my aunt catches you alone with me.”

  Ciaran hesitated, but short of tossing her over his shoulder there wasn’t much he could do. He dragged a hand down his face and threw open the carriage door with a curse. “Tomorrow, then. I’ll come early. Be waiting for me, Lucy.”

  She nodded. “I promise.”

  Ciaran leapt down from the carriage. He took one long, last look at her before closing the door, his heart twisting at how small and alone she looked, huddled in her dark corner.

  It was less than a day. She’d be all right for such a short time. That was what Ciaran told himself as he took the stone steps leading into the Weatherbys’ townhouse two at a time. He’d come with Vale and Lady Felicia, but they’d likely left by now—
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br />   “Women are a bloody nuisance.”

  Ciaran stopped halfway up the steps. That voice—and on occasion that sentiment—belonged to Vale.

  “Can’t think why I came to London for the season in the first place. Dozens of silly chits on display, being towed around by their marriage-minded mamas. Well, what do I want with a wife? Wouldn’t know what to do with her if I had one.”

  Ciaran turned and bounded back down the steps. He found Vale and Markham a short way down the street, standing under a tree that shielded them from the guests streaming in and out of the Weatherbys’ townhouse. “What are you two doing out here?”

  “Waiting for my bloody carriage.” Vale gave the branch hanging over his head a vicious slap with his walking stick. “What do you think, Ramsey?”

  Ciaran ignored Vale’s ill-humor. “Where’s Lady Felicia?”

  “Went off with Mrs. Jarvis and Eloisa.” Vale scowled. “No doubt they’ve told each other all their darkest secrets by now, too.”

  Ciaran raised an eyebrow. Eloisa? Vale referred to Miss Jarvis by her Christian name?

  Markham let out a short, hard laugh. “I’m surprised you agreed to let your sister out of your sight, Vale. She’s gotten herself into more mischief this season than I would have thought Lady Felicia capable of.”

  “I don’t know. I’d say Lady Felicia’s done well enough for herself,” Ciaran said, feeling compelled to speak up for her. “Nash is a good sort.”

  Ciaran’s tone was mild, but he slid a curious glance at Markham. Markham was a decent man, but a bit arrogant, not to mention oblivious. Everyone could see Lady Felicia was in love with him—everyone but Markham. Ciaran couldn’t blame her for torturing him a bit.

  Markham cast him a withering glance. “Good for what? Not a husband for Lady Felicia, I can promise you that.”

  “Well, someone has to bloody marry her, because I’m not coming back to London for another season,” Vale snapped. “If I never set foot in London again, it’ll be too soon.”