Remembering Ardmore’s low rents, Lucian asked in puzzlement, “How did Ackleton exploit the tenants?”
“He took so much from them as his due that they scarcely had enough left to feed their families. Since his death, the Crown has continued to do so.”
“But that is not true. The tenants paid very little.”
“They paid extortionate amounts!” Angel cried. “I have seen the ledger.” She gestured toward the large leather-bound book that she had been reading when her husband had arrived. “I was shocked.”
“I saw the accounting that Goldman—” Lucian broke off. “Bloody hell, could that be why he disappeared?”
He jumped up from the table, snatched the ledger from the table where Angel had left it, and studied the amounts recorded there. They were triple the figures that the agent had submitted to London.
Shutting the ledger, Lucian said, “You are right. Goldman was collecting extortionate rent from the tenants and keeping two-thirds of it for himself.”
That was why the agent had disappeared so hastily a week ago. He had gotten the new owner’s message that he would be paying Ardmore a visit.
Lucian laid the ledger back down on the table and contemplated his wife in amazement. She had learned more about Ardmore’s people and problems in a few hours than he would have in a week. “How did you discover the people’s complaints?”
“Mary Ilton and the other women told me.”
“I am astonished they would have dared to do so.” The lower orders generally guarded their tongues most carefully around the quality.
“Papa used to say I have a knack for getting people to confide in me.”
Lucian, remembering how he had told Angel about his own father, decided that at least on this point the scientific earl was right.
“From what I learned about Lord Cardmon,” Angel said with a frown, “he is much like Ackleton in his treatment of his servants and tenants.”
“But what does that have to do with his steward spreading lies about me?” Lucian went back to the table. Instead of sitting down, he refilled their wine goblets, then picked up his own and, still standing, drank from it.
“Don’t you see?” Angel asked. “Between them, they owned almost all the land in the area. Their people could not escape the tyranny of one by seeking employment from the other, for each was equally bad.”
Belatedly, Lucian grasped her point. “But if another landlord, one less greedy, were to appear, there would be somewhere else to go.”
“Unless they were too afraid of the newcomer to do so.” Lucian studied his young wife over the rim of his wine goblet. He was startled by her acuteness—and very grateful for it. Without her, he would not have discovered the reasons for his tenants’ hatred and hostility so quickly.
Nor Goldman’s treachery.
They would not be able to leave for London in the morning as Lucian had planned. He would have to discover the extent of Goldman’s fraud. King William did not tolerate thieves, and he would demand an exact accounting of what the agent had stolen. Furthermore, Lucian needed to set things to right with the tenants and let them know what he expected of them.
When he told Angel their departure would be delayed, she was delighted. “I was hoping that you would grant me more time to work with the people I have hired.”
Angel had finished the food on her plate and was eyeing the cherries. She took a sip of wine, then unconsciously ran the tip of her tongue tantalizingly over her upper lip, sending desire coursing through Lucian.
He set his goblet down on the table and held out his hand to her.
She looked puzzled, but she took it and let him help her up.
He slipped behind her and sank down on her chair, pulling her sideways onto his lap. She threw him a startled glance but did not protest.
“‘Tis time for your first lesson in kissing,” he explained.
He settled her against him so that her head nestled on his shoulder. She was so small and delicate in his arms, like a frail china teacup. He felt himself a clumsy giant, fearful of his own strength, fearful of unwittingly hurting the fragile treasure that he cradled.
Lowering his chin, he brushed it lightly back and forth across the top of her head. Her hair was as soft as sable against his skin. He buried his face in it and breathed deeply of her unique scent, a field of wildflowers on a dewy morning.
God, but she was sweet. As sweet as the spirit for which she was named—Angel. His Angel. And after tonight she would be truly his.
He brought his hand up and threaded his fingers slowly through the burnished chocolate waves, loving the silken texture and feel.
A contented sigh escaped her lips. She relaxed against him, as trusting as a child. The provocative curves that pressed against his body, however, were not those of a child, but of an enticing woman.
“You were going to teach me to kiss,” Angel reminded him.
“But first you must be comfortable, little one. Are you?” he asked softly.
“Aye.”
“Good. It is very important that you be so for your first lesson.”
He held her quietly for another minute, his fingers still playing with her hair. Then he turned her face toward him and bent his head to touch his lips tenderly to her temples, her eyelids, her cheeks, her chin. Finally, his mouth brushed hers as lightly as a feather’s touch. Then his tongue lightly traced her closed lips. He heard her sharp intake of breath.
His hand slipped from her hair and stroked lightly, as though by accident, the red silk that hid the crest of her breast.
She shivered.
He kissed her again, gently at first, his lips teasing hers lightly. Then his mouth became more demanding, surprising a little gasp from her.
His hand slipped slyly beneath the hem of her gown and glided over her ankle and calf, up and down, in the same slow, seductive rhythm with which his tongue explored her mouth. Her muffled moan echoed into the warmth of his mouth.
He yearned to move higher still and explore the centre of her desire, but he reminded himself that she was an innocent virgin. It was too soon.
Much as he wanted her, the thought of hurting her was so repugnant to him that he regarded their first mating with almost as much unease as she did. He knew that he was swelling to an uncommon size, and he could do nothing about it.
But neither could he bear having her stiffen and cry out in pain when he took her.
He would have to be very, very careful. And very, very patient.
Lucian forced his reluctant hand to retreat from beneath her skirt.
Her head slipped back a little, breaking the contact between their lips. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with wonder and awakening passion. “So that is the proper way to kiss. You were right. I did not have the faintest notion of how to do it.”
He smiled down at her. “But I have only begun to teach you.”
“There is more?”
“Oh, yes, my sweet, much, much more. Let me show you.”
His mouth returned to pleasuring hers, and she was oblivious to his fingers as they stealthily worked at the lacings of her bodice.
He longed to make this night perfect for her. He did not ask himself why he should feel so strongly about this, He was too intent on how he could make that happen to wonder why he should want to do so. He only knew that he was determined to give her a night to remember with wonder and joy for all the rest of her days.
Lucian’s slow, sensual exploration of Angel’s mouth was so enthralling that she was unaware that he had unlaced her bodice until his hand slid beneath the red silk.
Angel gasped and shuddered at the luscious feeling of his big, warm hand tenderly cupping her breast. His thumb lightly rubbed the rosy peak, ignoring her brief feeble effort to repulse him. It felt so good. She had never realized how sensitive she was there.
Lucian lifted his mouth from hers and parted the silk of her bodice. He slid both her stomacher arid her shift down, baring her breasts to his eyes, now as
hot and liquid as molten silver.
For a moment, he silently drank in the sight. She knew that she should be embarrassed, but the wine had made her languid and bold and relaxed. His expression thrilled her.
“Exquisite,” he murmured.
The way he said it made her feel beautiful.
Her body ached for his mouth, for his touch.
Lucian gave her a lazy grin, as though he knew exactly the stunning effect he was having on her.
His mouth moved down her neck in a series of hot, sucking kisses, then dipped to her breast. His tongue began to circle her nipple as though he were licking some particularly delicious sweet. She trembled in pleasure.
When he lifted his head, she gave an involuntary moan of protest.
“A man kisses a woman with his fingers as well as his lips.” Lucian’s voice was low and husky. “I will show you.”
His hand moved beneath her skirts again, and his head dipped to her other breast, drawing its tip into his mouth. His hand was caressing her ankles, her legs, then her thighs.
Awash in sensation beyond her imagining, Angel could not comprehend what was happening to her. Just above the apex of her thighs, a throbbing ache was building within her. She could not imagine where the embarrassing wetness that flooded her there had come from.
Despite that mortifying moisture, she pined to have his hand stroke her there, instinctively sensing that it would relieve the painful tension.
But he did not touch her there.
She must be utterly shameless to want him to.
But she was past caring.
Then his hand glided past that spot and his fingers began to caress her belly. His touch was as light and soft as swansdown. She writhed beneath it, yearning for something, for some relief that she sensed only he could give her.
Then suddenly his mouth and his hand were withdrawn. She was bereft. He surged to his feet with her in his arms and carried her to the bed.
He set her on her feet beside it and swept back the bed- covers. Then his mouth recaptured hers and held her in such thrall with its sensual rhythm that she paid no heed to what his busy hands were about until her gown, petticoat, and shift all fell about her ankles.
Her startled exclamation was not quite lost in the warmth of his mouth.
At last he broke the kiss and swept her off her feet, laying her on the bed. He pulled the covers over her, bent down, and kissed her eyelids shut.
“Promise me you won’t open your eyes until I tell you to.” His mouth was so close to her face that his warm breath teased her cheek.
It remained there until she promised him. Then it was gone, and she sensed he had moved away from her. She missed his mouth, his hands.
After a long minute had passed, she asked impatiently, “Can I open my eyes now?”
“Not quite yet.”
The seconds ticked by. The bed groaned beneath an added weight. Her eyes flew open. He was lying beside her, the covers pulled up to the middle of his muscled, bronzed chest.
He raised himself on one elbow and gave her that wicked, devilish grin of his. His hand pushed the blanket to her waist as his head dipped, and he laid a blazing trail of kisses along the column of her neck and down to the crest of one breast.
His fingers began to trace abstract patterns on her belly, and he drew her nipple into his mouth, suckling her as a babe might at his mother’s breast.
But what Angel felt had naught to do with an innocent babe. She gasped with shock and pleasure at the sensations that coursed through her.
“Sh-h-h, little one. It is my hand’s turn to kiss your body.”
At last his fingers buried themselves in the curls where she had been aching for him to touch her.
As though he understood the storm that was engulfing her, his finger suddenly found the very spot that was driving her wild, and she groaned aloud at the bliss she felt. She hoped he would never stop.
In time, he did, but only to slip that magic finger of his deep within her, where she was drenched by some rich, mysterious dew.
She gasped at his invasion, then gasped again as he moved his finger provocatively within her.
“So small, so tight, so sweet,” he muttered thickly.
After awhile he withdrew his finger. She was dismayed. She wanted to protest, and she would have, too, had he not replaced the one with two that moved tormentingly within her, teasing, probing, stretching, while his mouth toyed with her breast until she could not catch her breath, let alone cry out.
She was panting and thrashing now and past caring about anything except the riot of sensations he was unleashing in her body. A secret spring seemed to be gushing about his maddening fingers. She had forgotten his size, her fear, everything. She was riding a crescendo of passion to the edge of some momentous discovery.
Suddenly, Lucian’s fingers deserted her and he was lifting himself over her, bracing his big body to keep its weight off her. She felt a large object pressing where his fingers had been, but the moisture from her secret spring eased its passage.
She opened her eyes. Her husband was watching her face intently. To her surprise he was sweating profusely and his face was clenched as though he were in agony.
“What is it,” she cried in alarm.
He groaned. “Don’t ask. Am I hurting you, little one?”
She felt uncomfortable, but she could not call it pain. He looked as though he were in more distress than she was.
Angel gave him a tentative smile.
He exhaled a harsh sigh and began to move slowly, shallowly within her.
He whispered, “I have kissed you with my mouth and my hands. Now, my sweet, I am going to kiss you with my body.”
His mouth swooped down and took hers just as he thrust himself deep within her. The warm recesses of his mouth swallowed up her sharp ejaculation of pain, but he groaned as though he shared it with her. He lifted his mouth a hairbreadth from hers and murmured, “I am sorry, so very sorry, little one, but there is no other way, and I will not hurt you again.”
He was holding himself very still within her, as though giving her body time to adjust to his invasion, bracing himself on his arms, holding his weight off her. He crooned soft, wordless sounds of comfort and reassurance.
Then his mouth was busy dropping light feathery kisses on her brow, her cheeks, and her eyelids.
He began to move within her, and her pain was slowly assuaged by the eternal rhythm of love. The excitement and tension built unbearably within her. It was a moment before she realized that the moans she was hearing were her own.
Then her body convulsed around his in spasms of exquisite pleasure more intense, more all-consuming than anything she had ever thought possible.
His own body stiffened and jerked, once, twice, three times, and he gave an exultant shout.
For a moment after the storm had passed he lay still joined with her, and she savoured a lingering elation and swelling serenity.
Now she understood why people smirked and whispered about what a man and a woman did behind the bedroom door.
She wanted to cry in protest when he lifted himself away from her. She loved the warmth of Lucian’s body against her own. He lay on his side and pulled her into his embrace. Then he drew his head back a little and grinned at her in a way that robbed her of breath. He looked proud and delighted. “I think, little one, that we fit very well together.”
She blushed as she remembered her fear of his size. “It seemed impossible that you ... I She trailed off.
He was looking at her as though she were some rare, remarkable creature. She blurted, “Do you no longer despise me quite so much?”
“What?” He stared at her in astonishment. “What the devil are you talking about?”
“You could not bear to bed me on our wedding night.” Seeing his blank look, she hurried to explain. “You see, Lady Bloomfield told me that there had never been a man who despised his wife so much he did not claim her on their wedding night. You must have been the fir
st.”
“Bloody hell! Is that what you thought?” He began to laugh uproariously.
“Why are you laughing?” Angel demanded. “Tell me the truth, Lucian. Promise me that you will always be honest with me.”
He smiled at her. “I promise if you will give me the same promise.”
“I do.”
He stroked her face gently with his hand, his eyes alight with amusement. “The truth is that I wanted you very much on our wedding night.”
“You did?” She was sceptical. “Really?”
“Hell, yes, I wanted you to distraction.” Happiness exploded within her at this confession. “Oh, Lucian, you do love me!”
He stilled. His smile vanished, and he withdrew his hand from her face.
“What is it?” she cried. “You promised me you would be honest with me.”
“I did,” he said gently, “but I do not think you want to hear my answer”
“Tell me!”
“Do not expect love from me, Angel. It is a foolish weakness to which I will never succumb. Do not ask me for more than I can give you.”
He was right. She did not want to hear his answer. Angel’s lip quavered. She half wished that she had not asked for honesty. “But… but you said that you wanted me to distraction.”
“Aye, and that was the truth, but that has nothing to do with love. A man can lust for a woman’s body to the point of madness but it does not mean that he loves her.”
“Lust? Is that what you meant by ‘the usual reason’ a man wants a woman?”
“Aye.
Fighting back her tears, she asked, “Then what can you give me?”
“Pleasure in bed. My care and my protection.” He gently pushed her tangled hair away from her face. “You will be safe with me, little one, and you will want for nothing.”
Except his love.
Angel turned away from him, afraid that he would see the unshed tears smarting in her eyes. He had built a wall around his heart that he would never willingly let anyone breach.
Lucian waited until Angel was asleep before he slipped out of bed and snuffed the guttering stubs in the candelabra. He went over to the table, poured more claret into his goblet, and took a long draught from it. After snuffing one of the candles on the table, he picked up the other. With his goblet in one hand and the candlestick in the other, he walked back to the bed and stared down at his sleeping wife. She looked so small and vulnerable lying there with her shining hair tumbled across the pillow. He felt like a damned scoundrel.
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