He stood back, holding her shoulders, devouring the sight of her magnificent bosom rising in creamy swells above her shift and stays. The dull gray light from the window beyond outlined her lush form, the curve of her waist and the curve of womanly hips.
As if suddenly conscious of her nakedness, she wrapped her arms across her body, hiding, the way she hid behind shawls and ruffles. Now she would tell him to stop. His cock pulsed a protest.
"Caro, do not do that." His voice sounded hoarse.
A startled expression crossed her face, her breasts rising and falling with each ragged breath. "What?"
A broken laugh erupted from his chest. "You are spoiling my view. Let me see you."
Scarlet cheeked, she averted her face, but let her hands drop.
His heart soared at her boldness as he drank in the view of her voluptuously firm breasts veiled by the sheerest of linen chemises above her stays and the enticing dark triangle set in smooth rounded hips.
Caro took courage from the admiration in his eyes and dared to reach up and run her hand across his brow, sweeping a dark lock off his forehead. She wanted to feel him against her, warm and vibrant, the husband she would give up. Just once, she wanted him to belong to her.
She ran a tentative hand down his back, feeling the strength of his torso, hard muscles rippling under her touch, hot through the fabric of his fine lawn shirt. She yanked it free of his waistband, and he pulled it off over his head and tossed it aside with a hiss of in-drawn breath.
Then he smiled, lopsided and wicked, teasing and promising, his dark eyes alight with a fire she had kindled. It made her feel hot and shaky. She smiled back.
"Turn around," he growled. She complied. Swift fingers tore at the strings of her stays. Her heart thumped in her chest. Would he turn away like before?
As she turned with deep trepidation to face him, he captured her face in his hands and kissed her hard and deep. She poured her soul into returning the favor.
Gentle and tender, he picked her up and deposited her on his bed. She stretched out, leaving herself open, vulnerable to his gaze and his touch, flushed, but daring his scorn for this one chance to be loved. Risking ridicule.
She forced herself not to grab for the covers.
His mouth began a long slow seduction of her body, a kiss at her collarbone, light licks between her breasts, a swirling tongue around her fabric-covered nipples. They sprang to attention, demanding his notice.
Liquid fire ran through her limbs, leaving them boneless. Trembling, her hands slid down the length of his warm, silken back, caressing and gliding over muscles of steel.
He raised his dark head with a mischievous smile and ran one finger under the edge of her chemise. A cocked eyebrow asked for permission. She managed a nod of assent.
First he grabbed the tie in his teeth and tugged the bow undone with a growl.
She laughed, and he grinned. He eased the straps over each shoulder, one at a time, and down over each breast. She watched his expression as he cupped her flesh in his hands, weighing and measuring. A strained look filled his face. "Perfect," he breathed.
"Perfectly enormous," she quipped, suddenly fearful.
"Perfectly, gloriously gorgeous," he murmured, his eyes filled with awe. "A gift from the gods. Do you not understand that the sight of such beauty leaves me speechless?"
Beauty. She read truth in his beloved face.
Although it seemed to please her, Lucas thought the word far too weak to describe her lush figure. A gift from the gods indeed.
The creamy flesh of her bountiful breasts was softer than a feather pillow, smoother than the finest silk. They overflowed his palms. His cock hardened at the sight. He nuzzled into the valley between them, losing his mind at the feel of her firm, warm flesh against his cheeks. How long had he wanted to be here, reveling in the glory of a body made for love?
He nibbled and licked his way to one dark budded peak, groaning as it furled tighter at a touch from his tongue. He kissed and suckled and drew as much as he could into his mouth and there was still more to knead and to worship with his hands.
He glanced up at her mewl of pleasure, saw the liquid heat in her gaze, felt her hands grip his shoulders convulsively in a silent plea for more. He almost lost control. The desire to lose himself deep inside her, to sink into her softness, to greedily suck at her nipples until she screamed for release beat hard in his blood.
But he had waited too long for this moment. And to rush headlong to the culmination of pleasure would be the worst kind of betrayal. If he could not say the words that would lay his soul bare, he could try to show her with his mouth and his hands, his adoration of a body that had tormented his dreams and his love for a wife whose loss had left his days feeling empty and his nights cold.
They had always been friends, but this was his chance to demonstrate his desire and want and, if he dare, his deep-seated need.
He rose over her, bending to meld his mouth with hers. She parted her lips to his kiss with such sweetness it made his heart ache. He deepened the kiss with a thrust of his tongue, his joy darkened by longing.
His heart leaped as she responded to him with a need of her own, her hands clenching in his hair, dragging at his scalp. The pain tightened the pull at his loins.
He ran his palm over her distended nipples, rolled them in thumb and forefinger, heard her sigh of pleasure, and filled his hand with her ample, delicious flesh before trailing into the dip of waist beneath her ribs and over the curve of her sweetly rounded belly, beneath the sheer fabric of her chemise. He rubbed gently, caressing the soft yielding flesh before dipping one finger into the deep crevasse of her naval.
Erotic.
Lust jolted his control. He had to see all of her. "Caro," he breathed. "This has to go."
His thigh, hot, heavy, and rough with hair, lay heavy on Caro's. His sculpted chest pressed against her breasts. She buried her face in the curve of his neck. But shyness could not stop her need, and she dared to peek.
Fascinated and trembling, she watched his long elegant hands torturously slide her chemise up to her hips. He bent to trail his hot lips in its wake.
Unable to bear the slow torture any longer, she found the strength to wrest the fabric free and pull it over her head. Too long she had dreamed of this moment. She would not be denied. She made a grab for the buttons on his breeches.
With a groan mixed with a laugh, he came up on his knees and then sat on the side of the bed. "If the lady is impatient . . . it is my duty to oblige." He stripped off his boots and breeches.
The sight of his erection, dark with blood and as proud as any stallion, held her attention. Something low in Caro's belly drew in tight, painfully, pleasurably. She licked suddenly dry lips. "Lucas."
His warm hands ran over her sensitized flesh, caressing and teasing, sending desire straight to the place between her thighs in rippling, throbbing, pleasure-filled waves.
Once more, he dipped his head and suckled at one puckered nipple while he teased the other.
A shivering sensation drove straight to her core. She gasped.
Half-lidded and sultry, his gaze rose to her face. She smiled when his triumphant glance tangled with hers.
"You are the most gorgeous woman in the world," he murmured.
And in that magical moment, she believed him.
He moved over her.
She swallowed her maidenly fear.
He spread her legs and settled between them, his dark gaze tender, his delicate touch in her inner thighs reverent. His rampant male arousal pressed against her mons.
"Please, Lucas," she begged.
He reached between them, his fingers gently probing, fluttering inside her. The sensation was so unbearably wonderful she raised her hips seeking more. She knew there was so much more.
He made circles with his thumb, and agonizing pleasure arrowed outward. She shrieked his name.
"Mmmmm," he murmured. "It feels good, doesn't it?
"Yes," she gasped.<
br />
"And this?" He moved a finger inside her and sent a wild burst of pleasure streaking through every nerve.
"Yes," she cried, not quite sure the word covered what she felt.
Rising up on hands planted each side of her head, his dark gaze locked with hers. He teased her entrance with gentle probes of his erection. "And this?"
It felt so amazing she couldn't breathe; her limbs melted with pleasure. "Yes."
Hard and hot, he slid slowly inside. Her body stretched to accommodate his length and width. The muscles inside her clenched.
"Sweet Lord," he muttered, his breathing ragged. "Hold still. I don't want to hurt you."
He eased forward, and sweet torment built to unbridled lust. "Lucas." His name rang in her ears.
Need wracked her body. Her hips thrust up to meet him. There was a pinch of pain and then mind-numbing pleasure with each plundering thrust into her body. Nothing mattered but reaching for some far-off land. An ocean of pleasure swirled her in giddy circles.
The maelstrom crashed over her, a boiling tide of surf and spray. And then the tide subsided, leaving eddies of bliss and heat. Glorious. She surfaced to find herself in his arms, as he caressed, praised, and gently kissed her lips and the hollow of her neck. His chest rose and fell with hard breaths.
She closed her eyes and drifted.
Later, much later, eyes closed against the real world, cradled in Lucas's embrace, she lay sated. The scent of cologne and their lovemaking filled her nostrils. The warm weight of his arm draped over her ribs filled her with a sense of protection.
She wanted to stay here forever. She opened her eyes. The daylight had faded, and she realized she must return to reality. She slid from beneath the sheet he must have pulled over her while she slept and began to dress.
Almost done, she stood up and fumbled with the fastenings down the back of her gown.
"Where are you going?"
She jumped and swung around. Lucas lay on his side, his head propped on one hand watching her.
"I'm going home. The girls will be waiting for dinner."
"I hoped you might stay and have dinner with me."
The sensual timbre in his voice tightened her breasts and started a fire in her blood. She hadn't expected desire to return so swiftly. She had thought once would be enough to satisfy her needs. Apparently, desire was fathomless. "That would be a mistake."
He recoiled. "The hell it would be."
She turned away. "I mean, it is perfectly all right because we are married. But soon we will not be. It must not happen again."
"You mean to go through with the divorce?"
Aware of his gaze on her back, she shrugged. "Why not? There is nothing to keep us together. We both have all the money we need."
"And this, today? What was that?" His voice sounded tight.
"An error of judgment," she said. Or thought she said. Her head felt so unpleasantly light.
"I see." He leaned over the side of the bed and grabbed his breeches. He turned his back to put them on. She turned hers and watched him in the mirror from beneath her lashes, the rippling muscles on his broad back, the fabric sliding up to cover his firm flanks. He was built like a racehorse, all muscle and sinew and power, while she looked like a blancmange.
It could never work.
The gentlemen in Paris hadn't seemed to mind her larger proportions, her mind whispered. Quite the opposite. And Lucas had called her gorgeous. But only in the heat of passion.
He glanced up and caught her gaze in the mirror. He shook his head.
She looked away and closed two more buttons. This strange attraction of opposites had to be lust that only appeared when they were close. Today should end it. Then why did the thought of saying good-bye leave her feeling as empty as a casket of wine after a wedding?
He hadn't once tried to change her mind, and he'd never spoken of love. She'd made her decision. She could not afford regrets.
He came up behind her, brushed her hand aside. As he closed the last fastening he skimmed his lips against her nape, a touch so fleeting and light she would have believed she imagined it without the chill of cold air in its wake.
"Come down when you are ready," he said. "I will have the carriage brought around."
Only when the door closed behind him did she permit her tears to flow in silence. One single sound, one sob, would shatter her into a thousand shards.
* * *
At the rear of the Granthams' sprawling redbrick Tudor mansion, Lucas handed off Maestro's reins to a groom. Beneath the stone archway, the door to the kitchen lay open. He sucked in a breath, fighting an oppressive tightness in his chest. Had it really been more than a year since he rode beneath that arch and carried her off? What a selfish fool he'd been.
He recalled her initial disbelief and laughter when he lifted her up. Then he'd blackmailed her into a marriage. A deal with the devil. He wouldn't let it fall apart. He'd staked his claim on his woman, but this might be his only chance to win her heart and soul.
Striding through the kitchen and into the baronial hall, he avoided a pair of footmen lugging a table across the floor. Neither bright banners nor medieval tapestries made the place anything less of a mausoleum—his mausoleum, if things didn't work out. At the far end, beneath the oriole, James waved a baton while the boys rehearsed their music. Lucas hoped to God they'd get a chance to play.
A small figure leaped up from his seat and hurtled at Lucas. Lucas grabbed a pair of bony shoulders before the lad set him on his arse. "Whoa, young Jake."
At least he'd won these fellows' trust. Satisfaction tinged with sadness caught him off guard. He tousled the lad's shock of blond hair. "Back you go. You need to practice."
James strolled over to collect his pupil.
Jake dodged him. "Is your missus here, then?"
Lucas's moment of pleasure died. He clamped his jaw and shook his head. "Later," he bit out. Maybe.
The boy winced, and Lucas cursed himself. He softened his tone. "Go and rehearse, lad. You want to be perfect, don't you?"
On the dais, Fred lifted a hand in greeting, before fixing his surly gaze on Jake. "Bloody well get over here, you young varmint." Fred looked quite the gentleman in his new suit. If he learned to control what came out of his mouth, he'd go a long way.
With a grin, Jake shot back to his companions.
Lucas glanced into James's gentle brown eyes. "Are they ready?"
"They were a bit unruly on the journey. Excited, you know," James said, his smile rueful. "Two days cramped up in a coach and a night at an inn has been an interesting experience."
The boys had the kind of high spirits Lucas's father used to hate. Tension gripped his shoulders, and he rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm sure they will be fine."
"And Lady Foxhaven?"
Lucas had unburdened some of his anxiety to the calm and wise James before he came north. "I'm not sure. I've had to change my plan. If this fails, I am scuppered."
James glanced around the room, which was filling with furniture and flowers. "It'll be a mite embarrassing if she doesna'—"
"Embarrassment is the least of my concerns. Have you see Lady Audley?"
"Aye. She were here earlier. Verra complimentary about the boys' playing, she was."
Something for which to be grateful.
* * *
Alex heaved her third sigh in a row. Caro jabbed her needle into her thumb. "Ouch! For goodness sake, Alex, if you are bored, go help Lizzie put Jacqueline and Lucy to bed."
Alex lifted her head from the paper flower picture she was creating. "I still don't see why we couldn't go to the Granthams' musical evening tonight."
Alex seemed determined to be annoying. "Because I said not." Caro pulled out the lazy daisy stitch. It had turned into a knot.
"My word," Miss Salter said from the other side of the hearth, "it is past eight o'clock. It is time you were in bed, Miss Alex." She folded her tapestry and tucked it into the workbasket beside her chair.
&
nbsp; A knock echoed through the house. Alex leaned forward to peer out of the window. "There's a horse at the front door." She put a hand over her mouth and dashed out of the room and up the stairs.
"Now what has got into her?" Caro said. She got up to look out of the window.
The knock came again, louder and sharper. The heavy tread of their footman trundled up the passage. Caro pulled back the drapery.
No Regrets Page 32