by Olivia Drake
The sound of footsteps faded into the distance, followed by the squeak and slam of a garden gate. Lucas scowled at her. She had stepped out from the murky depths of the tree and he could see her better now. In the faint light of the lanterns, her features appeared taut with distress. She folded her arms beneath the pale mounds of her bosom and hugged herself.
“This time?” he prodded.
She nodded shakily. “That was … Stefano.”
The name plunged a spike into his chest. Stefano was the rogue who had seduced Rory. The married Italian diplomat who had stolen her virtue.
Fury so choked Lucas that he needed to punch something. He had to settle for striking his fist into the open palm of his other hand. “Dammit, Rory! Why didn’t you say so? I would have laid him out flat for what he did to you!”
“What purpose would that serve? He’s gone and that’s all that matters.”
“No, it isn’t all. You slapped him. What did he do just now? If he tried to force himself on you again, by God, I’ll hunt him down like a dog.”
“He only kissed me. There was no harm done.”
“No harm.” The thought of that slick Romeo daring to lay a hand on her made Lucas clench his jaw. “Heed me well. If he comes near you again, I’ll kill him.”
“Truly, it was nothing. I wasn’t in any danger.”
“Stop defending him. What was he doing here, anyway? Tinsley wouldn’t have invited him. And why did you come out here to meet him after the reprehensible way he treated you eight years ago?”
A shiver rippled through her body. She covered her face with her hands and drew a shuddering breath. “I just thought … Oh, never mind. You wouldn’t understand.”
Awareness of her anguish broke through the hot mist clouding his judgment. He immediately regretted having shouted at her. He had never seen Rory look so despondent. She was always pert, witty, bold. Never miserable and beaten. The sight stirred a mawkish softness inside him.
Closing the distance between them, Lucas enfolded her in his arms. It was both agony and ecstasy to feel her soft bosom pressed against his chest, to embrace her warm, womanly curves. She could never be his. Yet, in defiance of logic, his groin tightened with merciless hope.
That Rory snuggled so easily into his embrace was a testament to the distraught state of her emotions. She tucked her face into the crook of his neck and wrapped her arms around his waist. He bent his head close to hers, the better to breathe in her elusive flowery scent and to feel the silkiness of her hair against his cheek. The urge to kiss her bedeviled him. Hell, he wanted much more than kissing. He wanted her naked beneath him in bed.
But then he would be treating her as cavalierly as Stefano.
He could never do that. Yet it was frightening, this rush of emotion that surged through him. He had a fever for her that was far more intense than in their youth. These past few days with Rory had only strengthened his attachment to her. He would give his life to keep her from being hurt again.
“Come and sit down,” he murmured.
She didn’t resist when he guided her to the stone bench beneath the flowering tree. A cool breeze scattered white petals as if to celebrate a wedding. The lilt of a waltz drifted from inside the house. He recognized the danger of the romantic setting. He sat down beside her, anyway, keeping one arm firmly looped around her slender waist.
He nudged up her chin so that she would look at him. Her face was barely discernible in the darkness. Being so close to her made him dizzy, as if he’d imbibed too much wine.
“Tell me everything,” he said, striving for normalcy. “Did you just happen to run into Stefano tonight? Or had you made prior plans to meet him here?”
“Prior plans? Of course not! He was lurking behind a vase of ferns in the ballroom. He asked me to come out to the garden so we could talk. I didn’t see any harm in it.”
Lucas clenched his jaw. “Did it not occur to you that he might have forced himself on you out here? With the loud music and noise inside, no one would have heard you scream.”
“I was never in any danger. I can assure you of that.”
The defiance in her voice perversely pleased him. He hadn’t liked seeing her look so defeated. But she was delusional if she thought such a sorry excuse for a man wouldn’t try to overpower her. “How did he know you would be here?”
“He didn’t. Apparently, he’s been sneaking into balls and parties, looking for me for the past fortnight.”
“The bastard is lucky I didn’t spot him. I’d have sent him on the next ship back to Italy with his teeth in a bag.”
Rory made a choked sound in her throat, and he feared he’d offended her with his language. With her, he didn’t seem to have control over his tongue. He was no longer the deliberative speaker, carefully parsing his words.
Her laughter rang out like the tinkle of bells in the darkness. “What a dreadful image. Although he does deserve it, I suppose.”
“There is no supposing about it. Only a knave would still pursue you after you found out he’s married.”
“Oh, Lucas, his wife died,” she said in a sobered voice. “He’s a widower now. That’s why he came back to find me, to tell me.”
Struck by the sympathy in her voice, he felt a vortex of jealousy suck at him. Damn! Did she still harbor feelings for that cowardly Casanova? The possibility threatened to swallow him whole. Stefano had been her first love. Lucas himself had never been able to forget his first true love—Rory Paxton.
He caught her face in his hands. Her skin felt silken smooth to the touch. “You mustn’t trust a single word out of his mouth, Rory. For all you know, his wife may still be alive. If the rogue lied to you before, he could be lying to you again.”
“But he sounded so heartbroken.”
“He doesn’t have a heart. He’s an accomplished actor, that’s all. Promise me you’ll steer clear of him from now on.”
Sassy as ever, she tipped her chin up. “There’s no need for you to fuss, Lucas. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
“Is that so?” He gave a harsh laugh. “Then you don’t comprehend the darkness that lurks inside of men.”
“Bah. What darkness do you hide, Lord Prig?”
Her taunt made him teeter on the verge of the abyss. The silvery moonlight, her womanly form, his burning desire, all conspired to snap the last threads of his resolve. The urge to indulge his craving for her swept him over the edge.
“This,” he growled.
Putting his hand to the back of her head, he brought his mouth firmly down over hers.
Chapter 17
Sheltered girls are thrust into society with little knowledge of the vices of men.
—MISS CELLANY
The kiss caught Rory by surprise. She had never expected her gibe to shatter his self-restraint. Or maybe she’d secretly hoped that it would. It had become a game to tease him, to watch those iron-gray eyes darken with desire, to make him suffer the torment of unrequited passion. From the moment he’d interviewed her three days ago, she had sensed his attraction to her. But she’d always felt safe with Lucas. He was too disciplined, too aloof, to pose any real threat.
How wrong she had been. And how glad she was, too.
Any notion of resisting him melted away at the first touch of his tongue. She had imagined this moment too often not to indulge her fantasies. Whimpering, she gave herself up to pleasure and parted her lips to invite him inside. He obliged by tasting her thoroughly and completely. Lucas kissed as he did all things, with controlled aggression and single-minded purpose.
As if she were the most important woman in the world to him.
Longing flooded her. How glorious it would be to be loved by him. The notion shook the foundation of her beliefs, for she had made up her mind that a man wasn’t necessary to her happiness. Her one brush with intimacy had ended abruptly, and afterward, it had seemed to be something she could be quite content to live without. Only now, in this moment, did she face the loneliness
hidden within her own heart.
She needed to love and be loved. She needed Lucas.
With one hand, he cupped the back of her head, dislodging a few pins from her hair. His arms felt like bands of steel around her. Yet their bodies still were not close enough to satisfy her. She strained against him, gratifying the urge to move her hands over the muscled wall of his chest and then up into the silken thickness of his hair.
Lucas. He was not the cold, stuffy prude she’d believed him to be. He was the most fascinating man she had ever met, full of veiled depths and delicious surprises. And he could kiss with a tenderness and passion that touched her very soul.
Never before had she felt so vibrant, so aware of her sensual needs. It was as if she’d been asleep these past eight years. Like the prince in a fairy tale, he alone had the power to awaken her. He alone could restore her to life after a long hibernation.
He broke away to nuzzle her face and throat, laying a necklace of moist kisses along the edge of her bodice, his tongue tasting the sensitive skin of her bosom. A weakness swept through her body. He must surely feel the rapid drumbeat of her heart, she thought in a daze. No other man had ever made her feel so splendidly alive.
Not even Stefano. Especially not Stefano.
His name was a discordant note in the sweet melody of her desire. How was it that after such a long dry spell, she’d been kissed by two different men in a matter of minutes? Doubts encroached on her pleasure. Did Lucas think her fast? Maybe he expected her to succumb to him as she’d done to Stefano. Maybe he viewed her as a ruined woman ripe for plucking.
She drew back slightly, pressing her palms to the front of his coat. “Lucas…” His name emerged on a gasp as she struggled to catch her breath. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”
“Yes we should.” His words low and throaty, he pressed kisses over her face, then nibbled her ear. “I want you, Rory. You can’t imagine how much.”
The torment in his voice called to her soul. She wanted him, too, with every fiber of her being. The craving coiled inside her, a twisted knot that ached for release. For the first time in many years, she felt needed, desired.
But he’d said nothing of love. Nothing of a future together.
She forced herself to speak. “You want Alice Kipling, not me.”
He went still, his breath hot and harsh against her neck. His fingers flexed around her arms as if to deny her words. Slowly, he straightened up to gaze down at her through the darkness. “Not in the same way that I want you.”
He might as well have dashed a bucket of ice water onto Rory. She froze, for his intentions were now clear. He wished to take Alice as his wife. And to keep Rory as his mistress.
She pressed backward against his grip. “I refuse your unsavory offer, my lord. There, I’ve saved you the trouble of making it.”
“I didn’t mean…” Lucas paused to run his fingers through his hair. He released a harsh breath. “Oh, hell. I don’t know what I meant.”
The growl of his voice held an undercurrent of frustrated confusion. A frustration she felt as keenly as he did. When he unlocked his arms, she scooted back on the bench. Instantly, she felt cold without him. Cold and incomplete.
He bent down to hunt for something on the ground beneath the stone bench. The strains of a lively country tune drifted from the house. It was peculiar to think that people were dancing inside the ballroom as if nothing had happened, when Rory’s whole world had just been turned upside down.
“You lost these,” he said.
Lucas dropped something into her palm, the pins that had fallen from her hair. Distractedly, she patted her coiffure to assess the damage, finding and securing several curls that had fallen loose.
Her throat felt painfully tight. “Go back to the ball,” she said coolly. “We mustn’t be seen walking in together.”
“I’m only staying long enough to bid farewell to my mother. Then I’m leaving for Newcombe’s house.”
Rory dropped one of the pins. “What? Why didn’t you warn me? I could have asked Aunt Bernice to take over my duties for the evening.”
“I’m going alone. You’re to stay here under my mother’s protection. Newcombe’s party will be a den of iniquity. It’s no place for a lady.”
She glowered at him through the darkness. “I suppose I should be glad that you consider me a lady. A minute ago, I’d have thought otherwise.”
“I won’t apologize for something we both enjoyed. But it’s best that we forget this ever happened.”
Forget? Did he think she’d run blabbing to Alice Kipling? How like a man to take his pleasure and absolve himself of all accountability! “Fine.”
“Well, then. I’ll let you know tomorrow what I find out from Newcombe.”
Rising, he gave her one last piercing stare. Then he started toward the house, his tall dark form holding her obsessive attention. She watched until he vanished through one of the open doors.
With the toe of her shoe, Rory kicked at the white petals that sprinkled the ground. Beastly man! If he thought she would be content to twiddle her thumbs while he did all the investigating, then he had a big surprise coming.
She was not about to let him steal the glory of nabbing the blackmailer.
* * *
An hour later, Rory mounted the steps to Lord Ralph Newcombe’s town house and grasped the lion’s head knocker to rap hard on the door. It opened almost at once. A manservant in crimson livery blocked her entry.
He was a shady-looking character with shifty black eyes who gave her a sharp stare. “Your invitation, miss.”
“Invitation…” She pretended to search through her beaded reticule, then made a rueful face at him. “Why, I seem to have forgotten it.”
“I’m sorry, you can’t come in.”
He started to close the door, but she stuck her foot in the gap. If Lady Milford’s slippers had failed to bring her good fortune in love, at least they now had a practical use. “Lord Ralph will be terribly upset if I don’t attend his party tonight. Do you truly wish to explain to him why you turned away his dear friend Jewel?”
Artfully letting her shawl drop to her elbows, Rory thrust out her bosom to give him a view of her mounded breasts. His lascivious gaze dipped to ogle her. That look made her skin crawl, but at least she achieved success. He opened the door wider.
She stepped into a dimly lit foyer with a checkered marble floor and a narrow staircase. A stench of tobacco smoke tainted the air. The rumble of male voices and a high-pitched female giggle came from upstairs.
She removed her bonnet and shawl and handed them to the manservant, gracing him with a sultry smile. “You needn’t stir from your post here. I’m sure I can just follow the sounds of revelry.”
Before he could object, she started up the stairs, her steps light and quick. She did not want the escort of a servant who would deliver her straight into the party. Not with Lucas present. Rather, she intended to skulk in the corridor and see what she could observe. Then she would find Newcombe’s study and search for the pilfered letters.
It had been absurdly easy to obtain his address. She had simply asked Kitty after her stepmother had finished scolding Rory for attending the ball. She’d convinced Kitty that Lucas was up to no good, and that he might even be planning to show the letters to the unsavory group of ne’er-do-wells here. Another word of explanation in Aunt Bernice’s ear, and Rory had been free to set out on foot to her destination, some three blocks distant.
As she reached the top of the stairs, a burst of hearty laughter drew her toward a room halfway down the corridor. The haze of tobacco smoke was thicker here, making her eyes sting. Stopping just outside the open doorway, she cautiously peered inside.
Aristocrats in fine garb gathered around a number of tables that had been set up in the drawing room. Some of the gentlemen sat and dealt cards, others cast dice in games of hazard. After each roll, roars of pleasure or groans of defeat rang out. Stacks of banknotes exchanged hands from losers to winners.
A few women mingled with the men, most appearing to be doxies, judging by their tawdry gowns and loose manners. One blond beauty had climbed onto a table to perform an erotic dance for a cluster of hooting fellows. A redhead in a peacock-green dress sat entwined with a portly man on a chaise, kissing him in full view of the other guests.
Rory stared in fascination at the party. Not even Grimshaw, with all his lurking and listening, could have ever witnessed such a debauched scene. As a debutante, she had heard whispers of such carousing among the racier set, although these events were strictly avoided by decent folk. But never before had she had occasion to see the lewd display.
Which one of these reprobates was Lord Ralph Newcombe?
She had no notion what the fellow looked like. She knew only that he’d been a crony of the previous Lord Dashell. Lucas’s father must have frequented these sordid parties, too. How different from her own honorable papa, who had been devoted to his family and his position at the Admiralty.
Rory could only imagine what it had been like for Lucas, growing up with a rakehell as a father. When speaking of the accident that had crippled his mother, he had sounded bitter about the man’s reckless nature. Perhaps that was why he himself had grown up to be so stern and starchy.
Yet there had been nothing prudish about his kiss. Not in the least! That too brief interlude in the garden had revealed the strong, sensual nature behind the cool façade he showed the world. A current of passion ran deep in him, and one kiss had not been enough to plumb those depths. She ached to discover more of him, to understand his innermost thoughts and feelings.
Nothing could ever come of her forbidden desire, Rory reminded herself. Lucas was as far out of her reach as the moon. She had no money to tempt him, and her reputation lay in tatters. She wasn’t malleable or innocent or docile, all those qualities a nobleman sought in a wife. Better she should put him out of her mind and concentrate on finding those letters.
Was he already searching for them somewhere in the house? She didn’t want him to beat her to them.
She inched closer to the open doorway and scanned the throngs of gamesters. To her relief, she spotted his tall form by a crimson-draped window. He was puffing on a cheroot while smiling at someone. With a jolt, she saw that his companion was female. A second jolt struck harder as she realized the woman’s identity.