The Secret Life of Lady Lucinda: A Summersby Tale

by Sophie Barnes

  He licked her again, and her hips rose to meet him. She felt that same aching need begin to build and knew that she was once again restless for more. If this would send her plummeting straight to the pits of hell, then so be it. She was damned if she cared.

  Lifting his head, William moved his body forward until he was resting directly above her. His breath was heavy, the muscles in his arms straining as he held himself suspended. “This is bound to hurt a little,” he murmured, “but it will be over quickly. I promise.” Settling himself between her legs, he then eased forward slowly.

  Lucy felt herself tense but caught his gaze, and as she held it, began to relax, for he was telling her not with words but with his eyes that this would work—that it would be all right. As if to reassure her even further, he gave her all the time that she needed in order to adjust to the new sensation. And then he kissed her, plundering her mouth as he drove her to the brink of madness—to a place where she forgot what he’d just told her, to a place where all thoughts of pain vanished and only bliss existed. She flinched momentarily as he buried himself deep inside her, a sharp pain tearing itself through her until she feared she might be ripped apart. But then it passed, and whatever sounds of protest that she might have made were swallowed by their kiss.

  He moved out a little, and she instinctively gripped his shoulders in an attempt to bring him back against her. Without hesitation, he obliged her, kissing her a moment longer. Then, raising himself above her once more, he looked her straight in the eye and said, “Move with me, Lucy.” And she did. Wrapping her legs around him, she followed his lead until she found herself moving in perfect time to his rhythm.

  Heavenly—absolutely heavenly.

  “God, you’re beautiful,” William muttered before lowering his head against her breast to flick his tongue against her nipple.

  Feeling the same tingling heat from earlier begin to build once more, Lucy clung to him more tightly than before. “William…” His name was faint upon her breath, and yet he seemed to know precisely how to respond. Picking up pace, he plunged harder and deeper until she felt the first ripple of pleasure tickling her insides. Another followed swiftly after, and then she shattered as she cried out his name.

  With one last forceful push, William let out a guttural groan before dropping his head against her chest. He remained quite still for a while after—his breath hot against her skin—before turning his head to place a reverent kiss upon each breast.

  “That was . . . far beyond any of my wildest expectations,” she whispered a short while later when they both lay wrapped in each other’s arms.

  “Mine too,” he told her, adding a tender kiss to the top of her head.

  “Perhaps we can do this more often?”

  William offered her a mischievous smile. “We can do it as often as you like, love—preferably several times a day.”

  “Heavens!”

  “Indeed.” He turned on his side and began trailing his fingers over her hip. “But right now, there’s a ballroom full of guests downstairs, and since you’ve claimed a headache, I believe it falls on my shoulders to return to them as host.”

  “Dear me, I’d completely forgotten.”

  “But perhaps later…after they’ve all gone?” He leaned forward and gently kissed her.

  “If I’m asleep,” she said, already eager for him to return so he could ravish her once more, “wake me.”

  “I promise,” he said as he chuckled, climbed from the bed, and began to retrieve his clothes. “But until then, I suggest that you try and rest, for it promises to be a very long night indeed.” And then he sent her a wink that she feared would likely melt her heart, but as he left her with the promise that he would soon return, her soul felt heavy with the burden of the secret she was now forced to keep from him. The man who’d killed her parents was not only a guest in her own home but had deliberately sought her out, threatening the people she cared about most.

  Settling back against her pillow, she drew the covers up to her chin and stared back at the darkness surrounding the bed. Whatever the assassin’s plan might be, she had to try and fight him if she hoped to remain at William’s side. Forcing back the fear and allowing her six-year-long hatred for the man to settle in its place, she made her decision. Tomorrow she would find a suitable weapon. One thing was certain, he’d already taken so much more from her than she’d ever been willing to give.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  * * *

  Only a numbing silence surrounded her, as if perhaps her ears had been filled with water. Her feet felt wet and cold, and as she looked down at them, she realized that the ground she stood on was covered in blood. Bending forward, she glanced at the reflection that stared back at her, only to discover that it was that of a child—a younger version of herself.

  She gasped then and drew back, her eyes roaming across the vast expanse of emptiness that stretched to infinity around her. There was nothing but her; not a tree or a bird could be seen. She had no idea how she’d gotten there, but she knew that she had to find a way back home. Mama and Papa would be worried about her. But there was so much blood…it was deeper now, almost reaching the hem of her nightgown. With a deep breath, she stepped forward and began to walk, and as she did, buildings began to rise on either side of her until she found herself once again in that awful alley, a scream splitting the silence as a masked stranger appeared before her. “Where are you going?” he asked, his voice dark and menacing.

  Swallowing hard, she tried to stop herself from glancing up at the window that she knew she’d find, but her eyes failed to listen, and as she turned to look she saw her mother’s body turn around and fall away.

  “You can’t stop me, Lucy. I’m cleverer than you,” the assassin warned as he took a step closer.

  She wanted to kill him, but with what? She had no weapon, and besides, she’d promised her mother she’d run. So she did—or tried to at least, but as she spun away and started to move the blood held her back. It was up to her hips now, making it impossible for her to do anything but wade forward. She looked back and saw that he was gaining on her with an efficiency that she couldn’t possibly match, and as she readied herself to start swimming, she felt the chilling grip of his hands upon her shoulders pushing her down. She wanted to scream but found that she couldn’t. Something was covering her mouth…his hand perhaps? In desperation, she started to struggle, but his weight was holding her firmly in place, and she suddenly realized with startling clarity that the dream was gone and that this was real—her very own living nightmare.

  “Open your eyes, Lucy,” he told her in a dangerously low whisper. “You and I need to have a little talk.”

  Terror sprang to life once more, but she still couldn’t scream—not against the cold, leather-clad hand that was firmly pressed against her mouth. She dared not look, and yet she feared what he might do if she disobeyed him, so she slowly opened her eyes into two small slits, only to come face to face with that awful, black mask—one side shrouded in darkness, the other reflecting the flickering flame of the oil lamp that stood next to her bed. She did scream then, her eyes widening against her own volition as she tried to free her arms from his grasp, but his hand muffled whatever sound she made, and his weight, as he straddled her, made all her attempts at escape futile.

  “I must admit that I’m a bit disappointed, Lucy.” His voice was leering and cold. She couldn’t recognize it, but then again she suspected that he’d probably intended it that way. “I was hoping for a bit of a warmer welcome after such a long time. At least I was gallant enough to send you a present.”

  Lucy blinked. Was this it then? Was she about to be brutally murdered while her husband, his family, and guests enjoyed their Champagne downstairs? It hardly seemed fair, and though she’d no desire for this brute of a man to see her cry, she simply couldn’t hold back the hot tears that threatened behind her eyes.

  “Oh, Lucy,” he said, “don’t be so sad. It’s not over yet, you know. However, I did
come here to give you your final warning.” He stroked his thumb slowly across her cheek—a caress that would have seemed loving had it come from anyone else. Gooseflesh rose along her arms in response to it. “You aroused too much attention today with your little episode out there on the moor; we can’t risk that happening again. As it is, you’re lucky that you were able to explain the matter away, but the minute I begin to feel threatened…Well, you read my note, but just in case William and Lady Ridgewood aren’t enough of an incentive for you to keep quiet, I thought I should warn you that I may decide to take my anger out on someone else entirely…on little Vanessa perhaps.”

  Lucy stilled. He couldn’t possibly mean to harm an innocent child. Nobody could be that cruel. But then, she’d been an innocent child once.

  “Doubt me all you want,” he said, as if reading her mind, “but you’ll be the one risking the lives of those around you, and just so we’re clear, I have indeed just added Mr. Summersby’s daughter to the list.”

  Lucy wondered if a place worse than hell existed. She hoped so, for this man deserved a far harsher fate than to merely burn for all eternity.

  “Now, I have to leave you, unfortunately, but we’ll meet again soon enough. You mustn’t worry about that, Lucy.” He leaned a little closer, and when he spoke again his voice sounded hollow. “I have no choice but to let you go, but hopefully our little conversation has made you realize that I’ll succeed in my task by all means necessary. Do you promise not to scream?”

  With tears blinding her eyes and her breath coming in rapid bursts, Lucy quietly nodded. “Why are you doing this?” she asked, as soon as she was free to do so. He still pinned her down, but at least he’d removed his hand from her mouth, allowing her to breathe normally again.

  A moment later, he was across the floor with his hand resting on the door handle. He turned back to face her and merely shrugged. “The same thing that gives most people an incentive to work—money.”

  “This was a…a job?” She couldn’t believe that she was having this conversation, but she needed answers, and he was the only one who could give them to her. But this time he didn’t reply. Instead he quietly cracked opened the door, looked out to ensure that no one was coming, and then exited her room without another word or backward glance.

  Lucy wasn’t sure how long she’d been lying there under the covers before the shock of it all had dissipated enough for her to move—half an hour most likely, although it felt like much more. With shaky hands, she pulled back the covers and sat up. She couldn’t let him win. The thoughts of revenge that had crowded her mind for so long came flooding back. This was it, she decided. He might have sought her out instead, but that didn’t mean that she had to cower helplessly in a corner while he threatened everything around her. Yes, he terrified her because she had no doubt of what he was capable of, but she also knew that her only way forward would be to stop fleeing and to turn around and face him.

  Drawing a deep, resolute breath, she stepped down onto the floor. She could no longer wait until tomorrow in order to obtain one of the daggers that she’d imagined she’d borrow from William’s collection in the study. Now that the assassin had visited her in her bedroom, she realized the imminent danger and the importance of being able to protect herself.

  Shivering from the cool night air that surrounded her, she padded across to her wardrobe to retrieve her dressing gown. The fact that she’d been completely naked beneath the covers while that beast of a man had held her down and threatened her was not a thought she cared to entertain at the moment. Instead, she forced it back as she began slipping her arms through the sleeves, pulling the garment tight around her waist as if she hoped it might somehow shield her from harm.

  She couldn’t go back downstairs now—not like this and certainly not with guests still milling about. She hadn’t checked the clock, but if William wasn’t back yet like he’d promised he would be, then that could only mean that he was still busy entertaining their friends. Her eyes settled upon the door that connected her room with William’s; it was standing slightly ajar. Surely a man like him, trained to be a soldier and a spy, would keep a weapon close to where he slept.

  Without another moment’s hesitation, she crossed the floor, picked the oil lamp from her bedside table, and pulled the door wide open. She then paused for a moment on the threshold, knowing that with one more step she would violate William’s privacy, betraying his trust yet again. A deep breath strengthened her resolve. She could turn to no one for help in this matter and was therefore forced to protect herself and her loved ones by whatever means necessary.

  Her movements were quick and determined this time as she walked through to her husband’s sanctuary—a room she’d visited on only one previous occasion. Her eyes went directly to the couple of chairs where they’d sat and shared a glass of brandy together two days earlier. She doubted that he’d be inclined to share anything with her again if he discovered her rummaging through his things like a thief in the middle of the night.

  Turning about, she wondered where to start. It was one thing to be in his room without permission but far more difficult to actually open a drawer and peek inside. It would also be a lot harder to explain such an action if she got caught.

  With a forceful mental shove, she pushed her misgivings aside and carefully opened the top drawer in William’s dresser. Peering inside, she found some handkerchiefs, all neatly folded and stacked on one side. Next to them were his cravats, and next to them, a few different accessories—pocket watches, a monogrammed cigar case, three pairs of gloves, and a couple of leather wallets. Closing the drawer back up again, she moved on to the next one, finding only crisp, white shirts this time. By the time she was done looking, she was forced to concede that if William did have a dagger or a pistol hidden away in his room, then it had to be somewhere else.

  She paused to think as her eyes swept over the four-poster bed, the metallic threads on its burgundy colored quilt shimmering in the glow from the oil lamp that Lucy had placed on top of the dresser. A bedside table with a couple of drawers stood on either side. Stepping toward the one on the right, Lucy reached out and pulled open the drawer. A book was the first thing to catch her attention—Bensley’s The Officer’s Manual in the Field. A slow smile pulled at Lucy’s lips as she stared down at the leather-bound edition. Of course her husband would have such a book by his bed rather than a novel or a collection of poetry, for which she knew he cared very little.

  Reminding herself of her task at hand, she pushed it gently aside and reached inside the drawer until her hand found something cold, hard, and metallic. Her breath was one of relief as she pulled the object out, revealing a single shot Manton pistol. Careful to point it away from herself, she turned it over in her hands, studying it as she wondered whether it might be loaded. She supposed it must be in case William happened to need it in a hurry, but she couldn’t be sure. For that matter, she wasn’t even completely certain that she’d be able to figure out how to use it if she had to. With a frown, she reached back inside the drawer and pulled out a small box of shot and powder. She’d have to examine everything more closely, but she’d do so in her own room and with the door locked.

  Closing the drawer, she went back to retrieve the lantern from the dresser and was just about to exit the room when the door opened and William stepped inside, his eyes widening with momentary surprise as he spotted her. Concern abandoned his features, and he gave her a warm smile of appreciation as he started toward her, but then his gaze dropped to her hand, and he slowed until he stood completely still. “What are you doing?” A frown transformed his features into a mask of worry, though his voice remained completely calm.

  “No…nothing,” Lucy stammered as a flash of heat rose to the surface of her skin and her hands began to tremble.

  He was in front of her in a second, his much larger body looming over her as he braced his hands on either side of her slight figure, keeping her trapped. “You’ve taken something of mine without my pe
rmission—a rather dangerous weapon—and all you can tell me is that you’re not doing anything?” His voice was a low rumble. “Do you think me a complete imbecile, Lucy, or perhaps blind?”

  Unable to speak for the painful knot that now clogged her throat, she quickly shook her head.

  He drew back a little and took a deep breath. “I thought we’d moved past this, Lucy, yet here you are, sneaking about and purposefully lying. Will you please tell me what’s going on?”

  “I…” Words failed her, and when she tried to breathe, her voice quivered and broke instead, practically choking her. With a loud sob, she sank to the floor and cried until she could no longer see. What could she possibly tell him without putting everyone around her in danger? William was too observant; he’d know that she was being dishonest with him no matter what excuse she tried to fabricate.

  “Lucy?” His voice was hesitant, but a moment later he was beside her on the floor, his hands reaching around her body and pulling her toward him until her head was nestled against his chest. It was a long time until he spoke again, but when he did it was with concern marking his voice. “I can tell that something’s troubling you, Lucy. Why won’t you tell me? Why won’t you trust me?”

  Easing back a little, she raised her gaze to meet his, brushing the tears from her eyes. “I cannot,” she whispered, her eyes darting toward the dark corners of the room as if she half expected the assassin to leap out and attack them for this small truth. His eyes narrowed, and the words that she needed to say suddenly gushed from her mouth. “Please, William…don’t be angry with me. As hard as it is, you must believe me when I say that I cannot tell you.” Locking her eyes with his, she implored him to understand.

  His gaze turned contemplative. “Nobody acts like this unless they’re truly terrified,” he muttered. “Your jumpiness…your uneasy behavior during dinner last night…the incident during our ride earlier in the day…This isn’t just about your nightmares or the fears caused by your parents’ deaths, is it Lucy?”