by Lorna Read
Lucy could not believe what she was hearing. His tone was full of doubt and hope. He was gazing at her now, waiting for a response, an expression of encouragement – or perhaps even a horrified rejection!
She seized his hand. “Philip Darwell, if only you knew!”
She stopped. How could she tell him of the hours of torment she had suffered, wanting him, loving him? Carefully, she asked, “Whatever made you think I did not feel anything for you?”
His reaction was instantaneous. Words of guilt and remorse burst from his lips as if he had been storing them up for weeks.
“After the way I treated you in the stable when we first met? And the things I made you do for me? How do you imagine I felt? Like the most unworthy, low creature that ever lived!
“I denied my feelings for you, I hid them, but I could not let you go. You do not honestly think that I thought you had murdered my father, do you? I'll admit I was upset at first and said some unforgiveable things, but after I had got over the shock of his death and calmed down, I realized none of it was your fault.
“Letting you think I blamed you was all I could think of doing to keep you with me a little longer, so that I could see you and be near you. I might have seemed callous and cruel, Lucy, but there is a fault in my nature that makes me terribly slow to realize things about people. I trust too easily. And –” he touched her lips lightly with his own – “I fall too hard.”
“And so do I,” Lucy whispered, kissing him back.
“It took me years to recognize the truth about Adam,” he continued, once their kiss was over. “Martha and Matthew could see the terrible jealousy in him, the mean, vicious streak, and they did their best to change his nature, teach him to be kinder and more forgiving, but I was blind to it all.”
He reached up and stroked her hair gently. “And I was even blinder about you, Lucy. It took me so long to realize that … that I love you. Could you possibly love me in return?”
There was a strange singing noise in Lucy's ears, and a weightless, soaring feeling in her body, as if she were about to float right up to the ceiling. He loved her! Was this really happening?
“Yes, Philip, yes. I do love you.”
He lowered his lips, Lucy raised hers. Their mouths mingled, their kiss grew more passionate.
When they broke off, Philip suddenly looked serious again. “I have another question for you,” he said. “Were you really married to Rory McDonnell?”
There was a brief pang inside her, the dying spark of something that had once been hot and strong and but now was like a speck of ash in a grate, crushed by Rory's double betrayal of her. “No,” she said. “No, he was never my lawful husband. I can explain everything, but not right now.”
Lucy raised her arms to embrace his strong, firm body, and the emerald ring glowed in the lamplight.
“Philip?” she murmured. “This ring. I must give it back to you.” She tugged it off her finger and held it out to him.
He closed his fingers round hers. “Not yet. There is something I must ask you first.”
“There is something I must ask you, too!” Lucy said, her heart racing. “Why would you not give it to me when I first asked you for it? You said I could have any of the jewels I wanted, but you made me choose something else instead. You said it was your mother's, so why put it on my finger now?”
He reluctantly drew his lips from the soft warmth of Lucy's neck and replied, “It is a family custom of ours that the emerald ring is worn only by the wife of the Earl of Darwell.”
“Then why have you given it to me?”
He took her right hand, gently slipped off the emerald ring and replaced it on the third finger of her left hand. “Lucy Swift, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”
She gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. She tried to answer, but no words would come and all she could do was gaze at him, hoping her eyes would reveal her answer … hoping her heart would not leap right out of her chest.
He frowned. “I realize the timing is bad, with my dear father not yet buried. We will have to wait a decent while to announce our betrothal. That is, if you agree to accept me?”
Philip pressed her hand and his grey eyes searched hers, waiting for her reply. Joy surged within her and with it came certainty that now at last she was doing the right thing and that when she gave herself to Philip, it would be for the truest, most powerful reason of all: love.
“Yes, Philip,” she whispered, her heart too full for speech as she planted her lips on his, opened her mouth to him and drew him down to her, allowing his hands to roam freely over her body.
At first he responded passionately, then he broke off, looked around him and muttered anxiously, “No, not here. Whatever would you think of me? We should go back to the Manor.”
“Why not here?” Lucy gazed at him, knowing her desire for him was burning in her eyes.
“Because – oh God, Lucy Swift! I've desired you for so long!”
“Then why wait any longer?”
Immediately she had said it, her hand flew to her mouth. Oh, what had she done? He would think she was no better than a common slut! But she wanted him – oh God, she wanted him, far more than she had ever wanted Rory. That whole episode now seemed like a distant dream.
Philip was real, he was here and her desire and her love for him was like an all-consuming flame, one she had no control over; no means of putting out even if she had wanted to. When was he going to answer her? What was he going to do? Had she, by five thoughtless words, destroyed his respect for her and his desire?
She felt herself begin to shake. Tears sprang to her eyes. “Philip,” she whispered. “I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry.”
“Ssh.” He reached out and brushed her curls off her hot, damp forehead, then took her in his arms and pushed her firmly back on the hay bale. His lips closed on hers, his hands swept her body, awakening vibrant surges of desire that radiated from her loins to the outermost reaches of her body, like the intense, scorching rays of an August sun. She felt his body quivering with a need that matched her own in intensity and urgency.
“You're right, my darling,” he murmured, as his seeking hands slowly smoothed her skirts away from the trembling warmth of her thighs. “Why wait one second longer?”
THE END
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