Desire Never Dies

by Jenna Petersen

  She crouched beside him, positioning her gown in the hopes she could keep it clean for their return to the ballroom.

  They were far enough away from the main house that the buzz of the ball did not reach her ears, but close enough that there were still a few decorative lanterns to brighten the area slightly. She peeked over the brush line to see Sansbury pacing the gazebo, checking his pocket watch from time to time.

  Lucas leaned back and the heat of his breath suddenly touched her cheek, bringing her to the stark realization of their position. Crouched down behind the shrubbery, she was pressed against his side, his leg was rubbing hers every time he moved, and she could smell the spicy hint of his shaving soap.

  “He’s waiting for someone.”

  She nodded, though it took some effort. Now that she was aware of their proximity, it was all she could think about. God, he was warm. His arm shifted against hers, and she felt the muscles flex beneath his coat. Her thoughts began to trail away to dangerous places.

  Dark and dangerous places.

  Sudden movement from the corner of her eye blessedly distracted her from those thoughts. “There,” she whispered, close to Lucas’s ear.

  Whoever had joined him, the person hadn’t come from the party. The man slipped through the heavy shadows away from the house and stepped into the gazebo.

  “Blast, I can’t hear them clearly,” Lucas breathed, craning his neck as if he would hear better if he leaned the right way.

  Ana nodded. She heard the murmur of voices, but couldn’t make out any clear words or recognize who was speaking. Still, the tone of the occasional murmur didn’t seem cordial. It was harsh, short. Angry.

  If only she could determine the identity of the man who had joined Sansbury, but there were no lanterns in the gazebo and the lights that illuminated the garden paths were dim at best. They didn’t cut through more than a foot or so around them. All she could see were the hulking shadows of masculine shoulders.

  “I can move closer,” she whispered, preparing to crawl toward the gazebo.

  “No!” Lucas grabbed her arm and yanked her back, pulling her into his chest hard enough that the air left her lungs. “They’re looking this way,” he murmured as he flattened down, pinning her half under his body.

  Ana shivered. Not from fear, not from cold as she knew she would later try to convince herself. Her tremors were absolutely caused by Lucas. His chest warmed hers, his arms around her as he lifted his head in the ready in case the two men stumbled upon them. In the dim lantern light, she saw the cords of muscles in his neck strain.

  “Lucas,” she whispered, shifting beneath his weight and wishing her body wasn’t reacting so strongly.

  “Shhh. Damn it, they’re leaving. Hold still, Sansbury is coming this way.”

  She bit her lip as she waited. Sure enough, the sound of footsteps approached on the other side of the brush, then faded as Sansbury strolled back to the house.

  “Let me up,” she ordered, a little louder now that their suspects had departed.

  Lucas looked down at her and he started, as if he hadn’t fully realized their position, her on her back, him half on top of her on the grass.

  He let her go instantly and sat up, pulling her to a seated position as they went.

  “I beg your pardon, my lady. I was more worried about not being detected than your delicate sensibilities,” he drawled.

  She pursed her lips, intent on ignoring the taunt. “Should we follow?”

  He shook his head. “No. Sansbury promised dances to several of the debutantes. There’s no point in rushing behind him to watch him woo them.” His eyes met hers. “So, does that help to clear your mind?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Clearly, Sansbury was doing something tonight.” He motioned toward the house where the other man had gone.

  Her brow furrowed. “Yes. Clearly, he was. But how does that change anything?”

  “You don’t think that lends credence to Henry’s assertions that Sansbury is involved in this plot?” His stare snared hers. “You don’t think it clears my friend’s name?”

  She shook her head. “No! And I know you realize that fully. Why are you being so bullheaded? Is it because you’re angry with me about last night?”

  He snorted out a laugh. “You’re the one who is angry about last night, Ana, not me. You’re afraid of what happened between us. Afraid of letting go of the past. And you are using a dead man to keep life away, to keep any experiences beyond the ones you control away.”

  Her lips parted in outrage. “You aren’t starting that again, are you? I have no intention of listening to your ridiculousness one moment longer.”

  She started to get up, but his hand snaked out and clamped onto her forearm like a vise. With a tug, she fell back, landing on top of his chest. His arms came around her and she was trapped.

  “I didn’t want to make love, Lucas,” she whispered, unable to meet his eyes when she was lying.

  He barked out a laugh. “Is that what you’re telling yourself now? Then why didn’t you say no?” His grip was suddenly gentler. His hands moved down her back, stroking her spine. “All the times I offered you a way out last night, why didn’t you take any of them?”

  His hands were still moving until finally he cupped her rear end and lifted, rubbing her against him. She stifled a moan. God, he was already hard as steel, pressed against her belly.

  “Why aren’t you saying no to me now?”

  He leaned up and brushed his lips against hers.

  Ana tried for just a moment to block her reaction, but her body’s wants were far more powerful, and they swept away all the protests her mind had formulated, leaving only sensation behind.

  “Say no, Ana,” he whispered, just before he speared his tongue between her lips and swirled it around her own.

  Desire spiked in her blood and her clenched fists relaxed, flattening against his broad chest as she met his tongue with a few fierce swipes of her own. He tasted so good. He felt so good.

  God help her, she wanted him. Now. Here. Fast.

  Her legs parted, like someone else controlled them, and she straddled his waist. His hands fumbled with her gown and the fabric fell forward to bunch around her waist. And then all she could feel was his mouth as he leaned up and wrapped his lips around her nipple.

  She let out a low, hungry moan that echoed in the still, cool air. He swirled his tongue around the thrust of flesh before he pulled back.

  “Was that ‘oh’ or ‘no’?”

  She glared down at him. Bastard.

  He reached up and pulled her chemise down until the very edge of the top scraped across her breasts. She arched into the rough sensation.

  “I wouldn’t want for there to be confusion tomorrow,” he pressed, not moving any further. “So if you want me to continue, I’m going to have to hear you say it this time.”

  She whimpered, her mind warring with her body. The silky fabric stroked back and forth over her skin and her hips bucked reflexively against his pelvis. The motion only increased the burning ache between her thighs.

  “Damn you,” she rasped. “You know I want this.”

  “You want me.”

  He stared at her, his gaze glittering even in the dim light. Her breath was short, she could feel her pulse pounding, hear her blood rushing.

  “I want you.”

  He pulled the chemise down and his lips surged to catch hers. Suddenly he was sitting and she was straddling his lap, her dress caught between them as a last barrier between herself and surrender.

  But not enough of a barrier that she couldn’t feel the hard jut of his erection. But this time it wasn’t pressed against her belly. It was pressed against the juncture of her thighs, pressing, insistent against the building ache.

  She couldn’t help herself. She rocked against him, feeling the stroke through her clothes and biting her lip as the tingling increased instead of dissipated.

  Lucas smashed his mouth against hers, rou
gh and demanding, sucking her tongue, rubbing her breasts against the rough wool of his coat. And she felt a sudden thrill as she realized that he was just as out of control as she was. He, too, was spiraling into madness.

  And only she could bring him sanity.

  He cupped her backside with one hand, rocking her against him as he hitched her skirt up with the other in jerky movements. The fabric seemed to go on forever, billowing at her waist, around their legs as he got closer and closer to the heated core of her desire.

  And then she felt the stir of a breeze and shivered. He let out a low groan into her mouth before he brushed his thumb over her cleft.

  Sparks seemed to flow from his touch, lighting her on fire as he rubbed a slow circle around the bud of pleasure there. She broke away from the kiss, her neck arching as the throb of pleasure intensified.

  He brought his lips to her throat as he circled faster, harder, demanding with his touch, purposeful as he reached for her release. Her hips were rolling wildly, and she tightened her thighs around his hips.

  Her vision blurred, and she forgot to breathe as he pressed down one final time. Then she cried out, a sharp sound he muffled with his lips as the bubble of desire burst and pleasure overwhelmed her.

  Her sheath clenched, tremored and then she tensed. Lucas shifted as he tugged at the waist of his trousers. Suddenly the head of his erection nudged her slick opening. He started to move forward, but she was faster. Adjusting her position, she surged against him.

  He slipped inside of her to the hilt, and the tremors of release that had been rocketing inside her doubled in their intensity. Her body milked at him as she thrust her hips.

  Lucas shut his eyes at the pleasure of her body wrapped around him like warm, wet silk. Ana was wild, now, her bare arms wrapped around his shoulders, her hips lifting, circling. With each thrust, she bore down harder on him. Like an untamed thing inside of her had been awakened.

  He looked at her. Even in the dim light, he could see pure pleasure on her taut features. She didn’t care about the past. She didn’t care about the consequences. She was alive in the moment.

  And she wanted him.

  He bucked up, lifting her with every thrust. Her grip on his shoulders tightened as she panted out low moans. Her fingernails scraped against his coat, her pelvis swirled as she reached for another release.

  He cupped her neck and pulled her mouth to his and she found what she craved. Her back stiffened, her body trembled and her sheath clenched so tightly that he nearly blacked out from the pleasure. He groaned against her lips as his seed flowed into her.

  He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close as his breathing began to slow, return to normal. Hers still came in pants, but to his surprise, she didn’t pull away. Instead, she let her cheek droop down to rest on his shoulder as she clung to him.

  It felt almost as good as being inside her. It felt right, holding her, smoothing his fingers along her back, feeling her heart slam against her chest.

  He could have stayed like that forever.

  Except he heard the voices. Female voices, two of them. And they were coming down the path toward them.

  Chapter 17

  L ucas cursed. How stupid was he to lose track of everything but lust in the middle of a garden, for God’s sake?

  “Ana, people are coming,” he whispered.

  Her head wrenched up and she began to shake.

  “No, oh no!”

  She was off his lap like a bullet, pulling at her dress as she peered over her shoulders toward the footsteps and voices that were coming closer by the second.

  Lucas refastened his trousers, then reached for her. She flinched back and his heart sank. It seemed every time he made some headway with her, she found a reason not to trust him.

  “Let me button you,” he explained, pulling the shoulder of her gown up. She swallowed, her lip trembling, but didn’t argue as she turned her back to him. He fumbled with the little circles of mother-of-pearl, fastening as fast as he could even though he could tell he wasn’t going to be fast enough. The voices were right on top of them now.

  And blast. One of them was his mother.

  Ana was shaking so hard that he could hardly button her gown at all. Guilt rushed through him. He had put her in this position by forcing her to admit to wanting him. Forcing her to say she wanted more. He should have been the one to stop the encounter, to let her go.

  But damn, she’d felt so good. Making her throw caution to the wind was one of the most powerful experiences in his life.

  One he couldn’t regret even as two women came around the bend on the garden path and walked right up on top of them.

  It was his mother and one of the women in the line of dancers who had expressed her concern when Ana twisted her ankle. Lady Westfield, he thought it was.

  “Oh my!” His mother turned her face and Lady Westfield’s eyes went wide as saucers.

  Ana jumped to her feet and Lucas joined her. She was holding her hands up to her chest like she could shield herself from what had been done, from what the two women had already seen.

  “I was—we were—” Her breath came in pants. “It…”

  She trailed off as she looked down at her twisted, grass-stained gown. “Oh.”

  Lucas took her hand. She didn’t pull away, in fact, she squeezed his fingers like he was the only thing keeping her upright. Slowly, he maneuvered her behind the barrier of his body.

  His mother stared at him, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. Then her stare darted to Lady Westfield. Both women were pale.

  “Ladies,” he began, not that he had a ready explanation for anything. He struggled to find one, but Ana’s disheveled appearance said it all.

  “They are marrying by the end of the week,” his mother blurted out.

  The other woman folded her arms as a ghost of a smile tilted one corner of her lips. “I would hope so. Er, pardon me.”

  Lady Westfield shot one final glance around him at Ana, then went toward the house. The moment she was gone, his mother’s eyes narrowed.

  “Lucas!”

  He winced at the tone of her voice, the expression in her eyes. What a situation he’d gotten himself into this time. And there was only one place it would lead.

  “A special license, Lucas.” His mother pointed toward the house. She was using her very best “motherly” tone as she marched Ana and Lucas forward. Ana had yet to lift her gaze and her cheeks darkened with every word. “You will procure a special license tomorrow. You will marry before a week has past.”

  Ana’s eyes shot up, wild. His heart sank further. This engagement had never been meant to end in an actual marriage. And now the truth of that matter was sinking in.

  The position they had put themselves in was not one he could avoid. They would have to marry now. A real marriage. For real reasons that had nothing to do with a case.

  “Not in the house, Mother,” he muttered as she started up the terrace steps.

  “What?” She spun back on him.

  He motioned with one hand toward Ana’s gown. In the brighter lights that the house provided, the grass stains on her damp dress shone clear, practically telegraphing what they had done.

  His mother nodded. “Very well.”

  Lucas led this time, taking them around to the front of the home and through a gate that lead to the drive. He found his carriage in a few moments.

  “Wait here,” his mother said with a glare for him. “I’ll join you momentarily.”

  As he handed Ana into his carriage, he sighed. “Why do I feel like I’m nine years old all over again?”

  She didn’t smile. In fact, she hardly reacted at all except to stare at him, her face so pale that it scared him a little.

  “She doesn’t mean it.” Ana shook her head. “She doesn’t mean we’ll be married.”

  Lucas shut his eyes as pain flashed through him. She looked sick to her stomach with the thought that this false engagement would soon be powerfully and irrevocably real.
He wasn’t sure what to think of that idea, himself. His mind was spinning too wildly.

  Ana’s reputation would be ruined if Lady Westfield talked. And even if his mother was correct and the other woman wouldn’t speak about what she’d seen, it was a risk he wasn’t willing to take.

  “It is one thing for a widow to have a private, discreet affair,” he said softly. “It is quite another to be found half naked in a garden.”

  He saw the light of acknowledgment in her eyes. Now that the shock was wearing off, they both knew marriage was unavoidable.

  “I can’t marry you, Lucas,” she whispered, making one last, lame attempt at an argument.

  He looked at her, still disheveled from his fingers, his mouth, his body. It was a powerful thing to recall her little moans of release, to remember the way her arms had wrapped so tightly around his shoulders as she found her pleasure.

  It was even more powerful to realize that because of their actions, he would have her in his bed every night for the rest of his life. The thought wasn’t so very unpleasant to him.

  But it was to her. Because she still thought herself in love with a dead man. Someone he couldn’t even make an attempt to compete with.

  “We have no choice, Anastasia,” he said with a shrug. “Not anymore.”

  Ana fought the childish urge to slouch back against the carriage seat and wail. Going into hysterics would not change the current situation. It wouldn’t make her feel better, at least not for long.

  What was happening…it was her fault. Lucas had given her choices. He’d offered to stop, both last night and this evening in the garden. Instead, she had let her body lead her to ruin.

  Now she would suffer the consequences. Because if she refused, not only would her reputation be shattered, but the Sisters of the Heart Society for Widows and Orphans would be too. No one would give their funds to such a woman.