London's Wicked Affair

by Anabelle Bryant

  “You can’t learn to swim from the bank.” His voice overrode a meadowlark’s call.

  She dared him a slight smile, then returned to the large willow amidst the center of overgrown limbs where the leaves formed a lazy curtain of privacy. She removed her gown, folding it with care as her mind worked methodically to determine which undergarments to remove. With belated awareness, she amended her plan. She’d never learn to swim encumbered by too much clothing. Stripped to her chemise and pantalets, she emerged from cover.

  She crossed her arms over her chest at Lunden’s odd expression. He appeared angry, or at least disgruntled, and she waded to her hips, the chilly water sending a shiver straight up her spine. She’d never gone farther, even as a child, and now her desire to accomplish her fear and learn to swim forced her feet forward until the waterline wet the bottom of her breasts. Lunden remained a distance away and she wondered at his silence. Did her eyes reveal the frantic beat of her heart and paint the portrait of a coward?

  “I’m not frightened.” The words meant to banish any doubt he harbored at her dedication to the task and fortify her effort to continue.

  At last he spoke, his voice gruff. “I would never suggest it.”

  He swam closer. Each stroke of his muscular arms sliced through the water with a precision that barely disturbed the surface. He stopped within a few feet and narrowed his eyes as if he considered her with great deliberation. When she dropped her arms, he averted his gaze. Confused by his regard, she bent her knees, lowering her body until the water brushed her chin, although she ventured no deeper.

  “Give me your hand.” He sounded furious, the angles of his jaw hard and unforgiving.

  He extended his reach forward and droplets of water raced down his firm muscles, the tanned skin reflecting the sheen of the morning sun. Amelia wanted to touch him. To run her palms along the lines of his biceps, trace the outline with her fingertips, feel the warm skin beneath the cool water.

  She reached for his hand, but he needed to lean closer before their fingers twined and locked. Then he yanked her forward, off the muddy bottom and into deeper water. Her pulse beat triple time and her breath caught as she fluttered her feet to regain footing.

  Nothing was there.

  Frantic, she grabbed his shoulders with unexpected panic. His muscles tensed at her touch and she shot her eyes to his face, curious to his reaction. She swore one side of his mouth hitched in an approximation of a smile. It would be a first.

  “We should begin this lesson in shallow water.” She pointed out his error with hope he’d return her to the shore and solid security.

  “We don’t have all day and you’ve hardly dipped your toes in this puddle. We need to begin.”

  His deep commanding rasp sent a shudder of pleasure straight through her. How would she view him in the parlor, dressed in finery, after experiencing his smooth skin, the flex of every movement now inscribed on her memory? She’d never forget until she scrubbed her brain clean of the image.

  Water dripped from his hair to her forearms where she clasped him tight around the shoulders. She yearned to thread her fingers through the damp waves, push them out of the way in a familiar gesture, but she remained silent and still. She’d never touched a man with such intimacy. No matter the kisses or embraces she’d experienced in her years, never once had she been so close to a barely clothed male.

  And Lunden looked magnificent.

  In wait of his next instruction, she held him tighter.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Bloody hell and blazes. What devil prompted his agreement to this torture? Shouldn’t cold water decimate his arousal? Instead, the sight of Amelia’s erect nipples visible through the flimsy cotton of her chemise caused his cock to tighten and strain inside his smalls, no matter the temperature of the lake.

  He needn’t lie. He was lost as soon as he spied her wading at the water’s edge, as mystical as a wood sprite. He’d watched her from afar, an enchantress in the violet dawn, her dark hair and green eyes all lovely, wild beauty, and he’d grown hard as stone.

  Now as he steeled himself to her touch, the effort proved useless. Cold water did nothing to soothe his condition, and the tentative stroke of her fingers combined with the trusting clasp of her palms against his shoulders made him ache with misplaced desire. How he would teach her to swim and also maintain dignity confounded him.

  And she spoke the truth. They needed to return to shallow depths so he could instruct her on proper form, but his own foolishness had taken control, wanting to hold her close and simultaneously conceal her delicious body, all softness and curves beneath the flimsy cotton garment. He could only imagine how she’d appear now, the fabric, wet and transparent, outlining her full breasts, the tips rosy pink and hardened beneath the sheer veil. Lust-filled images of Amelia rising from the lake, nude as a goddess, inviting him to taste, touch, indulge, bombarded his mind and demanded attention. He swallowed hard and pulled his body farther from hers, his current problem increasing with each passing breath.

  Amelia fluttered forward, anxious in the deep water, and misreading his movement as abandonment. He needed to begin the lesson. Now. Before his body imploded.

  “Have you mastered floating?”

  She startled at his sudden question. Then she tilted her head, offering a flick of emerald-eyed torture, though she did not answer.

  “On your back? As a child? Were you able to relax and float atop the water’s surface?” He blew out a breath and mustered a tolerant grimace. Conversation eased the ache of his arousal and he willed his body into compliance. What would he do when he needed to exit the lake if he could not control his absurd reaction, as raw as a boy fresh from boarding school?

  “No. Never.” She shook her head in the negative and a few rebellious curls fell across her brow.

  He watched as she struggled with the circumstances, unwilling to release his shoulders to clear her line of vision. She tossed her head twice, and a third curl joined the others. He fought amusement. In no hurry, he lifted his hand from the lake and shook free the dripping water, before he gathered the silken curls in his fingers and tucked them neatly behind her right ear. His hand paused, his palm pressed against her cheek as their eyes locked. Her lips parted as if she wanted to say something and he was struck with the impulse to lean in to her lush mouth, lick her lips, taste her tongue. A shot of erotic fantasy tightened his groin, but his brain interrupted. What was he thinking? Amelia was the sister of his closest friend. He needed to begin the lesson, his misplaced desire be damned.

  “We best get on with it then.” He treaded water with ease and towed them to a shallower depth.

  Her smile lit the sky as she regained her footing in the waist-deep water. She released his shoulders and the small action left him bereft. He dropped his eyes and groaned. His earlier fantasy, Amelia wrapped in the gauzy outline of her chemise, materialized with more impact than his imagination conjured. In a desperate scramble, he summoned thoughts of poverty and hardship, the anguish of his brother’s death, but nothing could replace the erotic display before him.

  The realization she was untouchable, the sister of his most loyal friend, evaporated. With truth he hadn’t considered it with sincerity in a long time. It had grown cold from abandonment and ceased to exist in nothing more than an obligatory, fleeting notion. Now his yearning intensified, white hot and urgent.

  “Amelia.”

  “Yes?” Her skin caught a soft sheen in the delicate rays of the rising sun.

  “I cannot teach you to swim.” He paused to gauge her reaction.

  “But you promised. How else will you be rid of me? We have an agreement, do we not?” Her bottom lip protruded in a slight pout, but her eyes flashed fire.

  “I . . .”

  “I will do better. I’m determined. Don’t misconstrue my slight panic for anything more than initial hesitation. I’m ready to learn.” She edged past him and ventured into the deeper water, resolute to prove she was a willing parti
cipant in the lesson. “I’m not afraid. I—”

  She lost her footing on the moss-covered bottom and he vaulted to save her before she slipped under. He captured her in a tight hold and dragged her into the shelter of his chest, her braid whipping against his shoulder in the process, her eyes wide with fear. She clung to him with a ferocity she would regret later. He was sure of it. But he would not object now, her breasts pressed flush against his chest. He wrapped his arms firm and brought her closer as the rub of her silky body stroked his ardor, her mouth no more than a whisper away.

  “Lunden.”

  She said his name, dulcet and reverent, and the last thread of control snapped. He looked into her eyes and like quicksand he sank deeper, unable to save himself no matter how he fought against delicious temptation.

  Bloody hell and damnation.

  Devil deuce it.

  He captured her mouth, crushing his lips to hers, and letting loose the undeniable urgency of passion scorching his blood, fever-fierce.

  Amelia.

  He was doing something he knew he mustn’t, but the knowledge fueled his desire more. He cupped her bottom and pulled her against his arousal, their bodies separated by nothing more than the thin barrier of wet cloth.

  A small sound escaped her throat, neither plea nor objection, and he answered with a low rumble of appreciation, his mouth slanting to take hers more fully. She returned his eager petition.

  Her kiss was tart with spirit, sweet with femininity. Not the angry defiance during their shooting lesson or the seductive entreaty in the closet. This kiss aimed at spilling his soul’s secrets. It shot straight through his heart. How she managed to find the damned thing, he’d never know; still her affection sliced the lost organ to ribbons.

  Heat pumped through his veins, settling in his lower half. He gripped her waist, cool under the water, his touch a brand upon her skin. He wanted her with a blind madness he’d never experienced. He was a fool, but he wouldn’t stop. Just this once. Here. Now. One memory to assuage him for all the long, lonely days of his future.

  His kiss grew hungrier and she answered him with wild abandon, her tongue anxious to stroke, eager to compete, holding back nothing in the rebellious behavior she flaunted. A leap before she looked.

  He wouldn’t consider the consequences. Lost in her, he abandoned logic. She slid her hands across his shoulders, skimming the water from his skin in a slick, smooth glide. Her fingers pushed into the hair at the nape of his neck to grasp his head and hold their kiss firm. She wanted this. The awareness fed his greedy possession.

  With care he coaxed her to the left side of the lake where reeds and cattails shrouded them from view, her legs fluttering behind as he swam through the water. She could stand with no effort, but Amelia melted against him, her body pressed tight, the tips of her breasts an erotic reminder of all she offered as their kiss continued, each delicious stroke of her tongue against his delivering a jolt of sensation straight to his groin.

  He tore his mouth away, coasting persistent kisses across her cheek, farther to her neck and down her shoulder, his mouth hot against her water-cooled skin. The ribbon of her chemise fell open by the determined nip of his teeth and he moved his lips to the slope of her breast, the rise and fall of her hurried breathing an erotic aphrodisiac. She clung to him, her embrace a balm to long-lost emotions buried deep under recrimination and regret. He ignored their awakening and kissed her again.

  * * *

  Amelia gasped against his mouth, her body a mad rush of delicious sensitivity. His intense passion drowned her in sweet pleasure, and she wanted no rescue. Everything was new, an exotic adventure, and the heat flooding her veins reminded it was real, hers for the taking. She splayed her fingers against Lunden’s back, anxious to explore the strong contours of his skin, discover the sharp angles of his shoulder blades, the male body a mystery. His muscles jerked beneath her touch and he groaned, the deep growl an encouragement to continue.

  He dragged his mouth from hers and traced her collarbone to the pulse at the base of her neck, where he flicked his tongue and licked the indentation. She shivered with the intimate caress.

  “You’re not cold.” He breathed the words into her ear and she shivered again.

  “Not at all,” she whispered, although he posed no question.

  He lowered his lips to her breast covered by only a thin layer of cotton and the heat of his exhale against her skin heightened the anticipation of his touch. His kiss, gentle at first, then persistent, lingered near the edge of her chemise, and she wondered at his sudden hesitation. She threaded her fingers through his hair, and brought him closer, granting permission. The briefest quirk of his lips against her bare skin confirmed his pleasure.

  He hooked his finger in the neckline of her shift and lowered the wet cloth, his hand at her back bringing her to his mouth in a rush of water and desire. She nearly cried out with pleasure.

  He took her more fully, his lips holding her breast in velvety heat while his tongue, rough and persistent against the sensitive tip, stroked and caressed with divine pleasure. Like a maddening miracle, the cool water combined with his hot mouth awakened every pinnacle of sensation. Her heart hammered in a frenzied beat. He touched her with reverence but the effect radiated through her body with pulsating urgency. She gave a little unwilling cry, unsure how much more she could endure, while her heart begged he never stop.

  Gunshots echoed across the lake and broke through their romantic haze.

  Lunden whipped his head up, clutching her to his chest as he swam backward into the reeds, his arms tightening in a fierce embrace that crushed her body to his, a shield from danger. She twisted her neck, chancing a glance at his expression. His eyes were hooded, his mouth pressed in a tight line, and whatever pleasure he’d experienced moments before, ceased to exist.

  “Lunden?”

  “Stay silent, Amelia.” His eyes met hers with dark severity. “Obey me in this.”

  “But I mean to—”

  He scowled, but she would not allow him control. She pushed against the wall of his chest, righted her chemise, and placed a hand on his cheek to gain his attention.

  “Father is trapshooting. There’s no need for concern.”

  He stared at her for several breaths as a series of conflicted emotions flashed across his face. Then slowly, a change took hold. His eyes, warm whisky brown as he’d embraced her, transformed from stark vulnerability to the depths of secrets he didn’t wish to share.

  A series of reports rent the air and the enchantment that once held them hostage faded with the sound.

  “You’ll catch a chill.” He drew away. “You should return to the house.”

  “But my lesson. We haven’t finished.”

  He motioned toward the far shore with a nod of his chin. “Yes, we have.”

  A trickle of dread chased his words. She’d like nothing more than to ask him to elaborate but he’d already dismissed her, his posture guarded, his expression impenetrable.

  She waited another minute before wading to shore. By the time she’d toweled off and dressed, Lunden was gone.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Lunden stormed into Bolster Hamm’s office, dust on his boots and fury in his eyes. If the solicitor had no further information concerning Douglas’s town house, he would visit the residence this evening to question the tenant and dismantle the matter. He needed to rid the city, the sooner, the better, and flexing muscle in the process held definite appeal.

  The return ride from Lakeview had been tainted by his struggle between erotic fantasy and self-recrimination, the latter claiming victory. Visions of Amelia, scantily clad, ignited his blood with a fever that would not extinguish, and her sigh, a breathless pulse against his mouth, lived in him, no matter how he struggled to blot out the sweet pleasure of her touch.

  Still the fact existed she was Matthew’s sister and far too good to be brought down by a man responsible for his brother’s death and destined for a bleak future. He wouldn’t be
tempted again.

  He rushed past the reception area and twisted the brass knob leading to Hamm’s private office. His sudden entry startled the older man, only warned by his thunderous approach and the harried objection of a secretary who trailed behind in helpless fluster.

  “It’s all right, Fullerton. I’ll see His Grace now.” The solicitor waved away his employee and motioned to the upholstered wing chair to the right of his desk. “Good evening. I’d riddle you with questions as to your unexpected visit, but by the look in your eyes, I suspect you desire answers more than interrogation.”

  Lunden sat in the indicated chair, then rose and paced away from the desk. He pivoted back, too frustrated to relax and converse as if everything could be squared away in a neat discussion. So many unknowns existed, his life a bigger void now than when he first traveled to this wretched city. Some unnamed emotion clawed at his repose from the inside out and he could only associate it with the unsettled legal matter. His brother’s unresolved testament must be the ill ease disrupting the silent existence of his soul. He wouldn’t consider other options.

  Hamm perceived his impatient repose and waited no longer. “I’ve failed to discover anyone responsible for the letter you received regarding your brother’s town house. The current occupant has been living there for over a decade. He pays his rent in advance and never causes a bit of trouble. I presume he’ll be overset when he learns you mean to sell. That is, if we can find a legal path through your brother’s contingency.” He cleared his throat and continued. “I can offer my services and accompany you to meet this illusive letter writer, but other than a complete investigation into your brother’s past, I doubt I’ll uncover the information you seek.”

  “Another dead end.” The bitter words escaped before Lunden could think better of them. He’d let too much time lapse, unwilling to regard the painful necessity of settling Douglas’s will, and the selfish choice had created an additional knot of difficulty. “I understand. That won’t be necessary. The letter could be no other than the work of a gossip-hungry villain.” He blew out a long breath of frustration. “Is there no way around the will’s stipulation?”