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Chapter 6
He didn't come. As the clock in the hallway chimed two, Lucinda stared at her closed bedroom door. She had stayed dressed, fully expecting Garrett Lynch to come to her room that night, and equally determined that he'd never make it past the threshold.
She had been prepared for an all-out seduction, given their wordplay at dinner. And that kiss in the hallway! Enough said.
Yet as the hours passed, no knock came at the door. Obviously, moving the dresser in front of the door would have proven unnecessary, even if she hadn't discarded the notion for fear of servants' gossip. She should be relieved. After all, had Garrett come to her bedchamber as he had implied he would, the outcome could have been disastrous.
Completely disastrous, she repeated to herself firmly.
She let out a deep sigh and leaned back in her chair. Her shoulders were stiff with tension; the anticipation—no, anxiety!—had robbed her of all composure. Sleep would surely elude her this night, unless she did something to calm her tattered nerves.
The thought slipped into her mind as innocently as a rose petal fluttering to the ground. Her mother had always sworn that a drop of sherry could calm the most rattled composure, though such a measure should be saved for drastic circumstances.
Lucinda rose to her feet and opened the door. A bit of sherry was just what she needed. She would slip down to the drawing room for a moment, while the household was still asleep. After all, it wouldn't do for the servants to be gossiping about how Mrs. Devering imbibed spirits in the wee hours of the morning!
* * *
Garrett grinned around the unlit cigar clenched between his teeth as he mounted the stairs from the servants' quarters, counting the money he had won from the footmen. They'd been hesitant about playing cards with the crazy American, but the bottles of fine whiskey that Garrett had produced changed their minds rather quickly. He imagined that footmen generally did not have access to such high-quality spirits. The whiskey had also smoothed over any hard feelings about Garrett walking away with the lion's share of the winnings.
He hummed a tune as he tucked the money into the pocket of his coat, draped over his arm. Then he straightened his waistcoat and finger-combed his hair. After all, he didn't want Lucinda to reject him for looking slovenly when he presented himself at her bedchamber.
Despite her claim that she desired a husband, he was sure she was only playing coy. Why else would she have engaged in such flirtation with him at dinner? When he thought of how her delicate fingers had caressed the wineglass, he couldn't help but become aroused.
Some women enjoyed being pursued, and Lucinda Devering was apparently one of them. That was fine with him; he didn't mind seducing her, if that was the game she wanted to play. As long as he ended up in her bed.
No doubt she had fretted the night away, waiting for him to break down her door. He chuckled as he continued up the stairs to the main level of the house. If she had fallen asleep, he doubted she would mind being awakened. He just hoped she wasn't too angry with him for taking so long to come to her.
He tucked his cigar into the pocket of his coat and whistled softly as he passed through the grand foyer and headed toward the staircase. He imagined the things he wanted to do and the positions he wanted to do them in, arousing himself further. Pausing before the staircase, he adjusted the demanding flesh straining at the front of his trousers. It wouldn't do to arrive in the lady's boudoir as hard and horny as a bull. He had no intention of rushing anything, and he meant to make sure both of them enjoyed this night thoroughly.
A sound, like glasses clinking together in toast, drew his attention. He moved away from the stairs and looked down the darkened hallway. A sliver of light peeped from beneath the door of the drawing room. Then a woman's voice softly uttered, "Blast it!"
The voice was not Meg's and sounded too youthful to be Lady Agatha's. Unless one of the maids had taken to nipping the duke's spirits in the middle of the night, that left one possibility.
Lucinda.
* * *
Lucinda stared at the small stain spreading across the skirt of her favorite dinner dress. Between her earlier anxiety and her fear of being discovered, her hands were shaking so much that she'd spilled the sherry. She had no idea how she would explain it to her maid. Perhaps she could say it was wine spilled at dinner. Yes, that would work.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Was she really worrying about something so trivial as explaining a stain to her maid? Sweet heaven, she had to get control of herself! Her entire life was falling apart. She was backed into a corner, and only fulfilling her agreement with the duke would get her out of it. That meant teaching Garrett how to win Lady Penelope Albright. She opened her eyes and lifted the sherry to her lips.
"Well, well, Mrs. Devering. I would never have taken you for the type to drown your troubles in drink."
Her hand jerked at the sound of his voice, and she spilled more sherry on her gown. Clenching her fingers tightly around the heavy crystal glass, she slowly turned her head to look at him.
Garrett lounged in the doorway, his cravat dangling around his neck and his shirt unbuttoned at the throat, revealing a hint of black chest hair. He still wore his waistcoat, his coat was folded over his arm, and his well-fitted dark trousers emphasized his lean hips and long legs. His hair hung loose and wild to his shoulders. He grinned at her, a pirate's grin, his blue eyes sparkling with mirth.
Her knees felt as if they had turned to pudding. Why did the man persist in going about half naked? She wondered that he even dressed at all!
"What are you doing here?" Her voice might have sounded strident, but it was difficult to tell, as her heart was thundering in her ears. Why, why, why did her body always turn wanton whenever she saw him? The infamous Northcott dignity crumbled in his presence.
"Investigating a mysterious sound in the middle of the night." He shrugged away from the doorjamb and sauntered into the room. "I thought to find a thief, but instead I found you."
"Keep your distance, Captain," she demanded, holding out her free hand as if to stop him.
He halted, still grinning, the rogue. His appreciative gaze swept her from head to toe and left her tingling. "Whatever the lady wants." He casually seated himself on the arm of a sofa, tossing his coat over the back of it.
She watched him warily, as she would a wolf about to spring, and took a slow, steadying sip of sherry. "What are you doing up at this hour, Captain?"
"I was just going upstairs." His gaze dropped to her lips as she licked a drop of sherry from them.
She set down the glass, then realized she didn't know what to do with her hands and picked it up again. "It's very late. I shouldn't want to keep you from your bed."
"You won't, as it wasn't my bed I was going to."
She bobbled the glass, just barely keeping the last of the sherry from spilling on the carpet. "Excuse me?"
He rose to his feet. "I was coming to your bed."
The breath whooshed from her lungs, and her heart stopped.
"Surely you knew that." He stopped in front of her and gently stroked her cheek, his smile not fading as she stepped away from his touch. "I told you I would be back."
"I told you no," she squeaked, finding her voice at last. "I thought you understood that."
"I understand you just fine." He shrugged. "Many women like to make a man chase them. I don't mind."
He stroked her cheek again, and this time, she caught a whiff of whiskey. "You're foxed!" she pronounced with a combination of horror and relief.
"Not exactly. Just very, very...warm."
She slapped his hand away. "I don't care how warm you are, I shall not be the one to offer you relief!"
"You're trembling," he said.
"Did you hear what I said? I have no intention of having an affair with you, Captain."
"Are you cold?" His hand slid down her shoulder and stroked across her nipple. It immediately peaked, and triu
mph lit his eyes. "Seems that you are."
"Captain!" she gasped.
"Let me warm you." He slipped his arm around her waist and scooped her against him, his palm still cupping her breast, and kissed her.
Desire roared forth like a beast released from a cage, and drowned the small voice of reason that was trying to make itself heard over the clamorous demands of her body.
She should protest. She would protest. In a minute.
His mouth seduced hers with a gentleness that was just as powerful as the passion of their first kiss. He nibbled at her lips, tasted her, took his time savoring the delicious tangle of their tongues.
She sighed and relaxed in his arms, just for a moment. His hand kneaded her breast with a firm pressure that contrasted with the soft play of his lips, and the swell of pleasure made her want to stay in his arms forever. The tugs of desire made her feel like a real woman, attractive, wanted. And for the first time since Malcolm, she honestly and truly wanted a man.
The thought terrified her.
With a forceful push, she broke off the kiss, straining backward when he would have rejoined their mouths. The last time she had been attracted to a man, it had ruined her life. She'd vowed never again to let her heart rule her head. And even if she wanted Garrett Lynch, she couldn't have him.
"Stop," she whispered. "We can't."
"We can." He pressed his erection against her stomach. "In fact, I bet I 'can' more than once."
Her face flushed with heat as desire streaked through her belly. Good Lord, the man had no shame at all! Someone had to set an example for him, and the duke had declared that she should be the one.
"Let go of me, Garrett." Once more, she strained backward in an effort to free herself. Heaven help them if any of the staff heard them and came to investigate! She pushed at his shoulder with her free hand, uncomfortably aware that he still fondled her breast in a distracting and arousing way that almost made her forget the duke and Lady Penelope and her own name.
He leaned down and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her throat, since he couldn't reach her mouth.
Her knees almost collapsed out from under her. She was going to explode from the overflowing passion that had been restrained for the last ten years, and that would only lead to disaster.
He tugged at the bodice of her dress, stringing kisses down her throat to her—
"Stop!" Desperately she threw the last of the sherry in his face, then shoved hard, pushing him away from her. She stumbled backward and hit the sideboard. The sherry decanter wobbled precariously, but she caught it before it fell to the floor.
"Argh! Woman, are you mad?" Garrett pulled his wrinkled neck cloth from around his neck and dabbed at his eyes.
"You aren't listening to me, Captain. I have no intention of sharing your bed. None. At. All."
He blinked at her through the sherry dripping from his hair. "You're serious."
"Of course I'm serious!" She gave a sweeping gesture with her free hand. "I've been trying to tell you that all evening!"
"Then what was going on at dinner? Did I imagine that you were flirting with me, Mrs. Devering?"
She colored. "I don't know what possessed me to do such a thing. You were just making me so angry with your persistence."
"So you were flirting with me."
She lifted her chin. "Only in self-defense."
"And what about this?" He gestured at her breasts, her nipples embarrassingly prominent beneath her gown. "How do you explain those?"
Feeling as if her face were on fire, she crossed her arms across her chest. "It's cold in here."
He gave a derisive snort and swept his wet hair back from his face. "You are the damnedest woman."
"I told you in the hallway that I am looking for a husband, Captain, not a lover."
He slid her a glance that made her pulse skip into double time. "I could change your mind."
She stiffened her spine. "I very much doubt that."
"Is that a challenge?" He moved swiftly, crowding her backward toward the sideboard. "We Americans love a challenge."
She slapped a hand against his chest to halt his advance. His heart thundered beneath her palm. "I see you are too foxed to be reasonable this evening, Captain. Do you intend to force me?"
His smile was pure male confidence. "I don't have to force women, Mrs. Devering. They come to me very willingly."
"Not this woman." She held his gaze firmly, though her insides quaked. "Now please step back."
He did so with obvious reluctance, and she could see the puzzlement in his eyes.
"Thank you, Captain," she said softly.
"This has been... the damnedest day." He turned away and stood with his back to her, shoulders stiff and fists clenched. He sounded like a man who had reached his limit.
"I'm sorry if I misled you—"
He silenced her with an impatient slash of his hand. "It's not just you. Nothing has gone right since the day I heard that my mother died."
Silence settled over the room as she searched for a suitable reply.
"I'm sorry for your loss," she said finally. "Meg has told me that your mother was a wonderful woman."
"She was," he said softly.
Again, silence.
Lucinda bit her lip as she stared at his back. "Meg also told me that it took several months for the news to reach you."
"Aye," he replied. "That blasted letter followed me around for six months before it caught up with me. As I was in Amsterdam at the time, it took another four months for me to get home. By then, Meg was gone."
"And you immediately came after her." She paused as a thought occurred to her. "You haven't had a chance to grieve, have you?"
He turned, and she caught a glimpse of torment in his eyes. "I had plenty of time aboard ship."
"I don't think so," she said slowly, her heart going out to him. "I bet you distracted yourself with captaining your ship. And then you came home to find Meg gone to England, and you were able to distract yourself again with your anger at your grandfather."
"You think after a day's acquaintance, you know me so well, Mrs. Devering?" he sneered.
Knowing he was lashing out from pain, she kept her voice calm. "No, but Meg has talked of you constantly since her arrival here."
The ferocity faded from his expression. "What did she say?"
Lucinda smiled. "According to her, you are the bravest sea captain in the world, and the handsomest. You have women the world over in love with you, and you are the shrewdest businessman in the world."
His lips twitched into a smile.
"She loves you very much."
He sighed, his tense shoulders relaxing. "She's all I have left."
"That's not necessarily true. You have your grandfather and Lady Agatha and her grandson, the Earl of Knightsbridge."
"Meg is my family. And once she has gone to this court presentation thing and maybe a ball or two, I am taking her home to America."
"She may not want to go with you."
"She will. She knows I will not have her stay here in England."
Lucinda arched her brows. "Well, Captain, one does not always get what one wants."
"That's right. And my grandfather had best remember that."
Lucinda threw up her hands. "The both of you are too much alike, always issuing orders and expecting everyone else to fall in line with them!"
"Meg is young and impressionable," Garrett argued, clearly ignoring her comment. "Her head is easily turned by pretty clothes and fancy titles, but she'll come to her senses."
Lucinda frowned. "Meg strikes me as a very intelligent and independent young woman. Here in England, many of our young ladies are wives and mothers by her age."
"And no doubt you see the same future for Meg," Garrett snapped. "My dear Mrs. Devering, do not assume that just because you are desperate for a husband that my sister wants the same thing."
"And don't you assume, Captain, that she does not! The duke can offer her a wonderful opportuni
ty to marry quite well so that she can live in comfort the rest of her days."
"I'll see her married to a beggar before I allow her to marry an Englishman!"
"Most young ladies would kill for such a chance, yet you would deny it to your sister!"
"With my last breath," he vowed.
"And I would see her marry well—with my last breath," she retorted. "You let your own anger blind you to what is right for her."
"What makes you think you know what's right for Meg?" he demanded. "I am her brother. I'm the one who knows what's best for her!"
Lucinda took a step forward. "Meg says differently. She wants to be here, Captain. She wants to have her debut in London."
"She doesn't know what she wants," he said with a dismissive wave. "When she's had her fill of your prissy English ways, I will see her home to Boston where she belongs."
Lucinda took a deep breath. "This is getting us nowhere. You are determined to see that she goes back to Boston, and I am equally determined to see that she weds an English peer. We are at an impasse."
"The hell we are. I'm her brother. Who the hell are you to make such a decision for her?"
The cutting edge of his words wounded, but outwardly, Lucinda did not even flinch. "I am only seeing to your grandfather's wishes."
"My grandfather doesn't give a damn about Meg," Garrett snarled. "He lured her here so he could get me here, the wily bastard."
"Captain, kindly watch your language."
Garret gave a sharp bark of laughter. "I'm a man, Mrs. Devering, not one of those prissy Englishmen of yours. I talk like a man, and I have a man's needs."
"Are we back to that again?" she retorted. "Why is it, Captain, that whenever we begin to discuss your feelings for your grandfather, you try to distract me with innuendoes? What are you afraid of?"
"You're a fine one to be talking about being afraid. There is more to life than the careful rules and regulations of your precious society, Lucinda."
"An easy thing to say for a man who seems to heed no one's rules but his own! And I did not give you leave to use my Christian name, sir," she added, her spine stiff.
A Necessary Husband Page 7