by S. K. Yule
Lucy didn’t dignify that with an answer. Until her father died, her cousin had barely spoken a word to her in her life. Now, he constantly tried to stick his nose in her business. The whole affair reminded her of the saying ‘The worth of a thing is best known by the want of it.’ Bernard wanted, and wanted badly. She itched to slap that rodent smile off his fat jowls and send him scurrying back home. Bernard sidled closer to her. At the sickly sweet smell of his hair oil her stomach threatened to heave up its meager contents.
“My Lord, I must beg your pardon. It was a pleasure speaking with you.” She made a slight bow to Lord Reilly and took her leave. Even if she could have stood being near Bernard for another second, she did not want him catching onto what she was up to.
As Lucy walked away from Bernard’s sputtering at her blatant dismissal, she caught sight of Weston once again. An invisible force drew her steps toward him. When he turned, his brown eyes resting on her, she felt her skin heat under his intent gaze.
“We meet again.” She quickly perused his lithe frame, trying not to draw attention to the fact that she was admiring him. “Are you enjoying yourself?” She gave him a smile she hoped was nonchalant.
“More so now that I’m honored with the best company in the room.” He smiled.
“Somehow, I doubt you’ve lacked for company.” Lucy watched as two girls standing behind him giggled and hurriedly strolled away.
“No, I haven’t,” he admitted, glancing over his shoulder at the retreating girls. “But I said the best company. Forgive me, my lady. My taste doesn’t include unweaned kittens yearning to sink their untried claws into a wealthy husband.”
“Yes. I can understand that.”
“Can you?”
“More than you can know.” She smiled when he frowned a little. Why did men never believe a woman could have the same problems they did? Most seemed to imagine that women idled away their time drinking tea, doing needlework, and fretting over what dress to wear. She wondered what he’d say if she told him of Bernard hoping to take her fortune from her, or a father who’d loved her but had no confidence in her abilities.
“Interesting,” he said.
Lucy found the man intriguing. His eyes held a glimmer that reminded her of a mischievous boy, but he was all man. Of that she had no doubt. She’d seen for herself that he was intelligent and paid attention to what she said, although that might be part of trying to win the bet.
His coat was cut perfectly to his lanky frame and surprisingly wide shoulders. He was slender but well toned, and she wondered what he’d look like nude. Her cheeks heated at the image that flitted through her mind, and she fought hard to control her sudden desire to kiss him.
He offered his arm. “I know it is a bit chilly, but will you walk with me in the garden?”
The hunt was up? A devil in her, or maybe it was curiosity, answered, “I’d welcome some fresh, brisk air.” She smiled and took his arm.
She let him lead her out to the lawn and around to the garden. The sky was inky black, and a fat, silver moon hung lazily, dowsing the path in a soft glow. Her heart thumped harder as he led her down the path, away from the other couples who had ventured outside. She guessed what he intended, and something rebelled inside her. She wanted to follow him. She would marry for duty, but must she sacrifice all to duty?
When they reached the tall oak tree near the sculpted hedge, he stopped and turned toward her. “I must tell you that I have never crossed paths with a woman so beautiful as you.”
Other men had complimented her on her looks, but she’d never believed them, knowing their real desire might be for her fortune. This man was rich, and did not seek her hand in marriage. The Trio’s wager aspired to her body, not her property. This knowledge, which perhaps should have insulted her, only excited her. His eyes bore into her, intense, dark, daring her on.
As he had done, she brought her lips close to his ear. “I must confess, I find you to be a rather fetching man.” Her own brazen whisper sent shivers down her spine, and heat pooled deep in her belly.
He pulled back a little, his eyes widening. Odd how men could be thrown off so easily by a bold woman. Lucy was almost as startled by her own power over him. She had simpered and deferred and pretended timidity for too long. She needed this desirable man to realize she had needs, just as he did.
“May I kiss you?” Weston’s breath caught for a moment after the question.
The profligate, and yet the gentleman. She smiled, returning play for play in this heady game. “You are very direct.”
She liked that directness. Instinct told her this was a man she could trust, a man who would tell the truth no matter how harsh it might be. She’d learned to trust her instincts. They’d never led her astray.
“When I find something I want, I go after it. The worst that can happen is I won’t get it.” Weston traced his knuckles gently down her cheek.
Lucy sighed and leaned slightly closer to his warm touch. But she managed a rejoinder. “Some might prefer indirection.”
He pulled his hand back and she nearly groaned in protest. “Please explain, my lady.”
“Do not most men relish the chase? The prize always seems richer if one must work to gain it.”
He glanced at her quickly, but if he’d felt her strike home, it did not daunt him. “The chase is indeed exhilarating. I merely stated that I do not believe it necessary to deceive.”
“Touché.” So Weston had adeptly avoided confessing to the wager, yet he refused to lie about it. She liked that.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Which was?” She remembered the question, but she wanted to hear him ask it again.
“May I kiss you?” His lips were full and she wanted their touch. He leaned closer, his mouth a mere breath away from hers.
“No.”
“What?” He pulled back to look at her.
“I said no.” She caught the lapels of his coat, stopping his retreat. “I would like to kiss you.”
His nearness lit sparks that threatened to flare to fireworks. “What is the difference?”
“I assure you there is one.” She heard her own laugh, surprisingly deep and raspy. “May I show you?”
“I’d be an idiot if I said no!”
The pure spontaneity of his answer thrilled her. As she leaned in, her breasts lightly brushed his chest, and her nipples tightened almost painfully. She reached up to burrow her fingers in his hair. It felt even softer than it looked. She dragged her nails gently along his scalp. He lowered his head toward her.
She put her other hand over his mouth. “I said I would kiss you,” she whispered breathlessly. “Don’t move.” What was it about this man that turned her into such a wicked, reckless wanton?
His brows rose, but he didn’t move another muscle. She removed her hand from his lips, her fingers tingling where they had touched him. She was not short, but she had to stand on her tiptoes to reach him.
She nibbled at his lower lip and heard him groan. Encouraged, she traced the seam of his mouth with the tip of her tongue. His strangled gasp hinted at a frustration and desire that aroused her more. He was as eager as she for the kiss. She circled his neck and entwined her fingers behind his nape.
When their mouths met again, her bones felt as if they were melting. She pushed her tongue at the join of his lips once again, and this time he opened his mouth to her. He was a man who was probably used to taking charge, yet he was excitingly, endearingly willing to allow her to lead. Their tongues danced, his clean scent tickled her nose, and the faint taste of brandy made the perfect complement to his spiciness.
She’d kissed a few times, but never with a man who’d made her burn like this. A tiny voice in the back of her mind whispered that she could easily love him. When his hands came up to brush the hardened tips of her nipples through her dress, she realized the kiss had changed. So lost was she in her thoughts, the feel of his lips on hers and his tongue in her mouth, she hadn’t noticed that
he had taken control.
Yet, that also aroused her. She groaned when he rolled the stiff peaks of her nipples between his fingers, creating a delicious friction against the fabric of her grown that shot pleasure all the way to her core. His mouth left hers, nipped its way along her jaw, then down to her neck where he nibbled and licked the sensitive skin.
She moaned, and when he dropped to his knees in front of her she thought she might faint. His hands stole slyly, but delicately, under her gown. He caressed each calf upward to her knees. She strained toward him, his touch eliciting a pleasure so intense she could not put it into words. He pressed his cheek to her stomach, and she held his head to her, enjoying the sweet, tortuous upward journey of his fingers. Just as he was about to explore the place she was dying most for him to touch, a giggle rang out close to them.
Eyes flying open, Lucy tensed. She tugged at his hair.
“No. Tell them to go away. I must have you, my lady,” he panted, his whisper husky.
“Sir, stop. If we have not been caught, we are about to be.”
He groaned in surrender, reluctantly stood and smoothed down her gown seconds before a young couple came upon them.
“Shall we go back inside?” Lucy took his offered arm.
“This isn’t over,” he whispered.
“I’d be a liar if I said it was.”
“No woman has ever been so bold with me. It’s refreshing, my lady. I must warn you to beware.”
“Why is that?” She batted her eyelashes innocently at him.
“Because I might just decide the hell with everyone, throw you down right here, and take you.”
“Now who is bold?” How she yearned to let him to do what he said!
Her excitement grew and wetness dampened her thighs. Rebellion rose in her again. She was a consenting adult. What she chose to do with her body, and who she chose to share it with, was her own concern. No man would be condemned for doing such a thing. Yet, she might be. Through the throbbing of her pulse, sanity slowly returned. She might play the innocent flirt, but if she cared for Levegne Manor, she dared let no breath of scandal touch her. At least, not until she was married.
Chapter Five
Lucy felt Weston’s eyes watching her—practically felt the heat of his gaze on her back—as she walked away from him. He hadn’t been happy when she mentioned her obligation to make her rounds amongst the guests. A few had already retired, but those didn’t matter. All four of her quarry remained.
A smile curved her lips. She understood Weston’s feelings. Her own body still burned from his touch. Had she been weaker, at this moment she would be naked and in his arms.
She spied Lords Fredericks and Laughton talking together and started toward them, but Talbot caught her eye. Would he be as adept a lover as Weston? As straightforward? How had this Trio that until tonight she had avoided all her life so quickly turned her logical, no-nonsense mind into a conglomeration of wicked abandonment and curiosity?
She thought she was going to the two old men, but her feet took her to the small group Talbot occupied. He turned his blue eyes on her. He was the shortest of the three, but still had her by a few inches. Though his build was more solid than Weston’s, he was just as enticing. His blonde hair highlighted a golden complexion, and he struck her as being almost pretty. Yet, for all that, he was entirely masculine. She wondered at her observations, especially so soon after leaving Weston’s arms. Yet, their wager had opened the door on such thoughts. This man, too, was available to her.
“I hope you’re enjoying your evening, sir?”
“Yes, my lady. I’m enjoying myself.”
“I’m pleased that’s so. I need fresh air, myself. If you will excuse me, I think I’ll take myself onto the veranda.” She didn’t wait for a response.
With no surprise, she heard Talbot pardon himself from the group and follow her. She knew she played with fire, but it had been ages since she’d felt so alive. She was thankful to find the veranda vacant. She pulled the doors provocatively shut behind her, but made sure to leave one cracked open. She strolled to the rail and gazed over the moonlit lawn as if deep in her own thoughts. Within moments, she heard the door open and close.
Heart beating fast, she kept her back to him, intensely curious what his next move would be. She did not start when warm hands rested upon her shoulders.
“I thought you were occupied, Lord Talbot.”
“How did you know it was me?” He sounded genuinely puzzled.
“Call it woman’s intuition.” Back still to him, she smiled at the moon. Call it the oldest game of cat and mouse in creation.
“I’ll call it alluring.” He chuckled.
“Why, whatever do you mean, sir?” So. He, too, was clever. He knew exactly what she was up to.
While all three of The Trio were rumored to cavort with a fair share of women, Talbot was the one most often whispered about. Married women, single women, young women, older women, none were supposedly safe from his charms. Yet, if that should have given her pause, her newfound rebellion approved. Such a man could hardly hope to limit a woman’s freedom.
“I know when a lady is leading me.” She expected him to step beside her, but he remained at her back. “I assure you, wherever thy fair heart leads, I will follow.”
“A predictable compliment, sir. I’ve been told you’re a ladies’ man.”
“Predictable?” She heard smoothness give way to genuine indignation. “If there is one thing I am, it is not predictable. Predictability withers the very essence of life.”
Lucy smiled. Experienced as he was, she had found a direct route to his unguarded honesty, just as she had with Weston. Score two to her. Strange, she thought, that honesty should prove as important to her desires as good looks or manly grace. Deception repelled her as much as abuse. Perhaps that was because they both amounted to disrespect. Yet, isn’t deception exactly what you intend toward those poor old men?
“I hardly know you.” His quietly resonant voice distracted her. “Yet here I am, following you because I am convinced you are not predictable. I have watched you tonight. Watched how you speak not only with your tantalizing lips but with your body, your eyes as well. You are entirely alive. I almost believe I could interpret what you were saying, what you were thinking, from across the room.”
“Really? Give me an example.” Maybe he wasn’t so predictable. She found herself curious what thoughts he’d ascribe to her.
“Earlier, when you were talking to Lady Beatrice?” A well-shaped hand moved into sight and toyed with a ringlet of her hair.
“Yes?”
“You were smiling, acting as if you enjoyed the conversation. Most would have thought you the best of friends. Yet, upon closer scrutiny, the corner of your mouth, just here,” his thumb traced the middle of her bottom lip to the corner, “didn’t quite turn up as it did as when you smiled genuinely at Kendall. Which by the way, I didn’t like in the least.”
His accurate assessment startled her. She doubted even Roberta could read her so well. The fact that he had watched her so closely sent little slivers of warmth through her veins. She felt thoroughly stalked—though not unpleasantly. A dominant tiger might stalk his mate just so, before he claimed her.
“Why should you care? Your friend is very nice.”
He laughed. “Don’t let him fool you.”
Now they were back in the realm of games. “What do you mean? He isn’t nice?” It felt delicious to have two men fighting for her attention—delicious, and naughty.
“I know you’re no fool, lady. Kendall is like a brother to me. But he is a man.” His lips neared her ear. “Friendship is constant in all other things, save in the office and affairs of love.”
“So, you are a poet, too?”
“I’d never claim so. That might be too… predictable.” He spoke the words low, his breath warm.
She closed her eyes, trying to regain her senses, but his fingers began massaging her shoulders, trailing down her back and
returning to her neck to repeat the motion. “I now know you can quote Shakespeare,” she persisted, “but I still don’t know why you don’t like me talking to Kendall Weston.”
“It’s very simple, lady. I want to be the kindle that lights your fire. I believe he and I are after the same prize.”
“Is that all I am? A prize?” She turned, confronting him directly.
She’d called him out. What would he do now?
“The ultimate prize,” he corrected, turning her gently toward the moonlight so that he stood behind her again, the length of his body so close to hers that she could feel its warmth.
“Ultimate or not, a prize is only a token.” She managed to be coherent, despite his lips teasing the rim of her ear. “A trinket won, cherished for a while, then forgotten.”
“That is where you are wrong. A prize is something you cherish. An ultimate prize is one you savor for life. I believe you are worthy of savoring for life, my lady.”
“Like the memory of a well-cooked curry.”
“No. Like an unforgettable spirit, impossible to rein in.”
“You make me sound like one of Lord Courtenay’s prized broodmares.” She chuckled.
“No, lady. A broodmare only sees her stallion once a year. That would never suit me.” He spoke the words against her neck before playfully nipping her there, precisely where an amorous stallion would nip his mate.
Goosebumps raised on her skin. The man’s lips were heaven. How could barn metaphors draw such an intense response from her? She’d thought she might be falling in love with Weston, but now Talbot was enticing every illicit thought from her wayward mind. She wanted to feel his hands roam her body. She wanted to feel his lips taste her as intimately as Weston’s had. Her fervid response to both men confused her.
She reached back and gripped his thigh, to steady herself more than in invitation, but Talbot sucked in a deep breath at the contact. As if of their own accord her fingers tightened in response. Her excitement grew, and her heart pounded when he slid one hand under the neckline of her gown and cupped her naked breast. He toyed with her nipple, then unexpectedly squeezed it, causing a delicious pain that was overridden by pleasure. Her knees nearly buckled when he slid her sleeve down and kissed her shoulder, continuing the sweet torture on her nipple.