A Necessary Husband

by Debra Mullins

  Charlotte was not the only one who stared at Garrett with her mouth hanging open. Lucinda recovered herself quickly, unlike poor Charlotte, who blushed and stammered as she accompanied Garrett out to the dance floor.

  Lucinda watched them go, her heart melting in her chest. She could see that Garrett made an effort to charm Charlotte, whose mother would no doubt be in raptures once word got out that her daughter had danced with the Duke of Raynewood's grandson. Garrett kindly overlooked it when Charlotte made a misstep, and he smiled at her as if she were the most beautiful woman in the world.

  His kindness to the shy young girl slipped past Lucinda's defenses. Her heart seemed to squeeze in upon itself as she watched Garrett laugh at something Charlotte had said. Good heavens, what was she going to do? He made it more and more impossible to resist him.

  "Good evening, Lucinda," came a voice from behind her.

  She stiffened. She knew that voice as well as she knew her own, and the sound of it brought dread to the pit of her stomach. Slowly she turned to face the smiling blond man behind her. "Good evening, Malcolm."

  Malcolm Devering, Viscount Arndale, kept his expression pleasant, no doubt so that anyone looking their way would note simply that the viscount regarded his sister-in-law with polite affection. Only Lucinda was close enough to see the greedy light in his pale blue eyes as he ran his gaze over her body.

  "You are looking well, dear sister-in-law," Malcolm purred. "Good enough to eat, in fact."

  "What do you want, Malcolm?" she demanded, ignoring his sexual by-play.

  He looked wounded and placed a hand over his heart. Dressed in stark black evening attire that emphasized his blond good looks, with an ancient title and considerable fortune behind him, he was every young girl's dream of the perfect husband.

  But all Lucinda saw was the man who had tormented her for eleven long years.

  "Why, merely to pay my respects, my dear," Malcolm said. "After all, I haven't seen you in weeks."

  "And it has been peaceful," she retorted. "I know you too well to believe that you have approached me simply out of duty. What do you really want, Malcolm?"

  "You know what I want," he murmured, low enough for only her to hear. "I want what I have wanted for the past eleven years. You, dear Lucinda, in my bed."

  Revulsion filled her, but years of experience allowed her to keep that from showing on her face. "My answer is the same as it always is. No."

  "Come, Lucinda, you know that is not what I want to hear." He took her hand in an unyielding grip and placed it on his arm. To anyone else, the gesture no doubt looked brotherly. Only Lucinda felt the caress of his fingers along her bare arm as he began to lead her along the edge of the dance floor.

  She walked because she had no choice, but she kept her eyes on Meg. "I cannot go far. I am here with the Duke of Raynewood, and I promised Lady Agatha that I would watch out for his granddaughter."

  Malcolm smiled at an acquaintance and murmured, "So you think you have found shelter with the duke? You cannot stay there forever, my dear. At some point, you will have to deal with me."

  "I will get the money to pay off Harry's debts," Lucinda whispered icily. "I shall never share your bed, Malcolm. Accept that now, and leave me alone."

  "I cannot," he replied, nodding at yet another acquaintance. "I have dreamed of having you ever since we were interrupted all those years ago, Lucinda. I saw the fire in you, and I mean to have it for myself."

  She couldn't suppress a shudder at his words. Never.

  "You know you have no choice," Malcolm whispered. "It is only a matter of time before someone discovers your financial difficulties. They are already discussing your lack of children."

  "You started that rumor," she returned with barely controlled anger. "You know very well why Harry and I did not have any children."

  "Indeed," he said with a chuckle. "A man has to visit his wife's bed in order to conceive a child—which Harry did not do. However, all society sees is a woman who was married for ten years and produced no offspring."

  Color burned her cheeks. Harry had not visited her bed after their first year of marriage due to mutual agreement. Why, oh, why had Harry confided such an intimate secret to his brother?

  "Just leave me alone, Malcolm," Lucinda hissed. "I won't let you win."

  He chuckled at that. "I will have you, Lucinda, one way or the other. Who's going to stop me?"

  She opened her mouth to reply, but another voice entered the conversation.

  "Pardon me, Mrs. Devering, but Meg is looking for you."

  Lucinda and Malcolm turned to see Garrett standing behind them, big and forbidding in his black evening clothes. Something burned in his blue eyes, a possessive light that made Lucinda's mouth go dry.

  "Who are you?" Malcolm asked with hauteur. Lucinda almost laughed as she realized that Malcolm had to look up at Garrett, even as he condescended to him.

  "I'm Kelton," Garrett replied shortly. "And Mrs. Devering is needed elsewhere."

  "Kelton?" Malcolm repeated, startled.

  "Kelton," Garrett confirmed. He held out an arm to Lucinda. "If you please, Mrs. Devering."

  Lucinda gladly took his arm. "Thank you, my lord. Malcolm, do have a good evening."

  For the briefest instant, Malcolm's face twisted with frustration. Then the darling of the ton was back, a pleasant smile on his lips—but his eyes promised retribution.

  As Garrett led her away, Lucinda resisted the urge to laugh with joy at finally thwarting Malcolm, even in such a small way.

  Chapter 10

  Garrett reined in his anger with difficulty. Lucinda had clearly started her hunt for a husband, and the knowledge infuriated him. Why did she seek out every man but him?

  He led Lucinda away from the impeccably dressed, blond Englishman who watched her with hungry eyes and led her to the terrace doors that stood open to allow the evening breeze to cool the overheated ballroom. He knew the moment when she realized his intention. She dug in her heels in an attempt to stop his progress, but he gave a good yank of her arm that forced her to catch up with him.

  "I'm not going out there with you," she hissed.

  He halted and glared down at her. "I have things to say to you, and you would probably prefer that I say them in private. I have no problem stating my opinion in front of everyone, though."

  Her eyes widened at his rough tone, and then she glanced around at the pampered busybodies who surrounded them. Giving a slight nod, she allowed him to lead her out to the terrace.

  Once they were away from the crowd, she broke his hold and stepped away from him. "What is it you want to say to me?" she asked coldly, rubbing her arm where he had held her. "Meg is going to be looking for me."

  "Who was that?" he demanded.

  "Who was who?"

  He ground his teeth at her innocent tone. "The man you were just talking to."

  "Oh, him." Her careless dismissal didn't fool him for an instant, especially since she couldn't meet his eyes. "That was Lord Arndale."

  "And who is he to you?" Garret moved toward her, forcing her to back up until she touched the stone railing. "Tell me the truth, Lucinda."

  She stared at him. "You're being ridiculous."

  He knew that he shouldn't go off on a tirade simply because Lucinda had been talking to another man. He knew that he really had no rights where she was concerned.

  But something inside him had snapped when he saw her walking on the arm of the perfectly blond Englishman. He didn't like the greedy look in the other man's eyes one bit. Something primal inside him had made him separate her from the herd of glittering pretenders inside the ballroom to remind her that he wanted her, and intended to have her. And no pasty-faced Englishman was going to get in his way.

  He moved in on her until their chests practically touched. She watched him with those big dark eyes, her expression scandalized. Her breasts rose and fell rapidly above the low neckline of her rose-colored gown, making the pearls she wore ripple in a most intere
sting manner.

  "Captain, kindly keep your distance," she said, raising a hand to push against his chest.

  He didn't move. "You haven't answered my question, Lucinda. What is this Lord Arndale to you?"

  "He's my late husband's brother," she said impatiently. "Now are you satisfied?"

  "Not for an instant." He refused to move, though she pushed against his chest. "I haven't begun to be satisfied with you yet."

  She gave a sigh of exasperation. "Are we back to that, Captain? Didn't I make myself clear the first time that I am not interested in sharing your bed?"

  "And I thought I made it clear that it was just a matter of time," he replied. "Unless, of course, you are planning on taking your precious viscount to your bed, in which case I would have to stake a prior claim."

  She gasped. "You are a barbarian, sir!"

  "I'm just a man," he said, stroking his thumb along her jaw. "A man who wants you very badly, Lucinda. And I've been very patient these last few days."

  She tried to jerk away from his touch, but with her back pressed against the stone railing, she was unable to escape him. "Captain, please," she whispered. "I need to get back to your sister."

  "In a moment. First, there is something I need to do."

  Before she could protest, he kissed her, taking her mouth with a thoroughness designed to wipe all memory of the Englishman from her mind. Brother-in-law or not, this Lord Arndale had more than a brotherly interest in Lucinda.

  Garrett intended to be the only man in Lu-cinda's life, at least until he left for America.

  Lucinda moaned softly as Garrett kissed her, and fought against the overwhelming urge to press herself against his strong body and forget about everything else. How could this man so easily breach her defenses, even when she was furious with him?

  His palm found her breast through the thin silk of her gown, and she whimpered as her body flushed with heat. Meg and Malcolm and all her problems faded away as the power of Garrett's touch took over her mind and soul.

  When she was weak-kneed and clinging, he broke the kiss but remained where he was, keeping her against the terrace railing. His breath came in sharp pants, and she could distinctly feel his arousal through the layers of clothing that separated them.

  What kind of woman did it make her that she thrilled at the knowledge that his reaction was for her, who had not been enough of a woman to keep her own husband in her bed? How could she have forgotten years of breeding to turn into a wanton who melted at a man's slightest touch?

  The wrong man's touch.

  After all, if she hadn't been good enough for the son of an earl, she certainly wouldn't be good enough for the grandson of a duke.

  But, oh, how she was tempted to take Garrett to her bed and experience full-blown passion for the first time.

  He continued to hold her, his breath brushing her temples, and she wanted to close her eyes and shut out the world. For this one moment, she had everything she ever wanted.

  A woman's giggle jolted her back to her surroundings. Realizing how it would look should anyone see her in Garrett's arms, she pushed at his chest with both hands and this time succeeded in moving him back a step. "We cannot be found this way, my lord. And I must return to Meg."

  "Don't call me that," Garrett chided gently, brushing his fingers along her cheek. "You know I hate it. Call me Garrett."

  She pulled away and ducked beneath his arm. "You called yourself Kelton when you spoke to Malcolm. I thought you had accepted your title."

  His voice tightened. "I only used my title because I knew it would intimidate that weasel... Malcolm, is it?"

  The moment of closeness was gone, both of them retreating to their corners like a couple of pugilists. "Yes," she replied.

  "Funny how you can call him by his first name, but you can't call me by mine."

  She wasn't fooled by his silky tone. "Believe me, Captain," she retorted, "you don't want to know the names I call that man."

  His sudden stillness told her that she had startled him. Good. Garrett Lynch needed to learn that he did not know as much as he thought!

  "I take it you are not overly fond of your brother-in-law?"

  "I detest him," she said vehemently. "I want nothing to do with him, but he was Harry's brother, and I cannot alienate him without doing damage to my own reputation."

  "What did he do?" Garrett demanded. "Has he ever harmed you?"

  For a moment, Lucinda was tempted to tell Garrett everything—about how Malcolm had been pursuing her for years, about his refusal to do the honorable thing and pay his brother's debts, about the vicious rumors he had started about her being barren to make sure she would never be able to secure another husband and be free of him. But from his aggressive stance and the light of battle in his eye, she wasn't certain what he would do. Drag Malcolm from the ballroom and beat him to a bloody pulp, perhaps.

  She would give her mother's pearls to witness such a spectacle, but it would certainly do Meg's reputation little good.

  "He has never physically harmed me, Captain," she assured him. "Malcolm is a man who wields his power in other ways. I have been handling him for years."

  "If he bothers you again, come and get me," Garrett commanded, his tone deadly serious.

  Fisticuffs at Lady Renfrew's ball would be in very bad taste, indeed. "Rest assured, Captain, there is no need for you to interfere."

  "Promise me," he insisted.

  She sighed. "Very well, I promise."

  A long moment of silence passed between them, and tension grew slowly, aided by the quiet chirp of insects and the music drifting out from the ballroom. Garrett watched her with eyes that hid nothing, and she couldn't suppress a shiver at the naked desire on his face.

  How she wished things were different, and she could step into his arms without fear. She had the sudden urge to get him alone and show him all the passion she had been hoarding for the past ten years.

  He would never look at another woman ever again once she was finished with him, she thought, licking her dry lips.

  He must have seen something in her face, because he let out a low growl of need and took a step toward her. Just then, Knightsbridge appeared in the doorway with Meg on his arm.

  "There you are, Kelton," he said with his affable grin. "And you, as well, Mrs. Devering. Kelton and I are for the card room, if you would take charge of my charming cousin."

  "Have you two been fighting again?" Meg asked, looking from Garrett to Lucinda suspiciously.

  "What else?" Lucinda replied with a dismissive shrug. Somehow she forced her weak legs to move away from Garrett and toward Meg. "Have you been dancing, Meg? Perhaps you would care for some punch?"

  "I've already had three glasses of punch," Meg replied. "If one more gentleman brings me a glass of punch, I cannot predict my reaction!"

  Lucinda couldn't help but laugh at the exasperation in the girl's tone as they stepped back into the ballroom. "You can always refuse, you know."

  "I can?" Meg turned around and sent Knightsbridge an accusing glare. "You said I would have to accept all the glasses of punch or else I would offend someone, and then Garrett would have to fight a duel!"

  Lucinda's mouth dropped open. "My lord, you didn't!"

  Knightsbridge burst out laughing. "Just a little joke," he explained.

  "Meg, do not listen to a word your cousin tells you!"

  The girl narrowed her eyes at Knightsbridge. "Don't worry, I won't."

  He clapped a hand over his heart. "Cousin, I beg your forgiveness."

  "In a pig's eye," Meg retorted indelicately. "I know better than to believe that charming grin of yours, Algie."

  The young lord burst out laughing. Shaking her head, Lucinda met Garrett's amused gaze. The mirth faded from his expression to be replaced by something hotter and infinitely more dangerous.

  Desire.

  The heat of the ballroom suddenly felt stifling. Or was it the intent in Garrett's eyes that made it hard to breathe? Her head spun wit
h answering need, and for the first time, Lucinda wondered why she was fighting so hard.

  Why shouldn't she grab what happiness she could, and learn what passion was all about before she committed herself to another loveless marriage? As long as they were discreet, no one would care. Looking into those endless blue eyes, she couldn't think of a single reason why she should resist any longer.

  "There you are, my boy," came the duke's booming voice, shattering the moment. Lucinda jerked her gaze away from Garrett and turned a polite smile on the duke. Then the smile froze on her face. Beside the duke stood a paragon of perfection.

  The young lady with him was every inch the English debutante. From the top of her perfectly coifed golden hair to the tips of her delicate slippers, she was an inspiration to every young girl just out of the schoolroom. Every curl was in place. Her eyes were blue, her complexion the ultimate roses and cream. Her sweet features bespoke excellent bloodlines, from her evenly placed eyes and dainty brows to her straight little nose and her cupid's bow mouth. As if that wasn't enough, one tiny dimple creased her cheek as she smiled briefly at Garrett.

  She was neither too tall nor too short, and her excellent figure was enhanced by her pure white gown. Pearls graced her throat, as was only proper for a young, unmarried lady, enhancing the luster of her gorgeous skin and bringing attention to the gentle curves of her bosom.

  Garrett stared. Knightsbridge stared. It was like a carriage accident, Lucinda thought sourly. The men could not tear their eyes away.

  "Lady Penelope Albright, allow me to introduce my grandson, Lord Kelton."

  Perfect Penelope, Lucinda thought with a sigh as Garrett made his bow. Here was the best reason of all for not getting involved with Garrett.

  "My name is Garrett Lynch," Garrett corrected, smiling at Perfect Penelope. "Not Lord Kelton."

  "Stanton-Lynch," Meg chimed in.

  Lady Penelope's flawless brow furrowed with confusion. "I beg your pardon, my lord?"

  "My grandson has a strange sense of humor," the duke said, glaring at Garrett. "Lady Penelope, allow me to introduce my granddaughter, Miss Stanton-Lynch."