Three Lovers For Lucy

by S. K. Yule

  Nudging her forward, he pinned her between his body and the veranda. She shivered as the hardness of his cock pressed intimately against her bottom. He rocked against her, leaving her in no doubt as to his intentions. She was losing her good sense, as she had done with Kendall. Anyone could walk out and find them, yet she scarcely cared. He rotated his hips against her, and his deep groan thrilled her. She gave an answering moan as he gathered the fabric of her gown in his hand, pulling it up slowly.

  The cool breeze tickled her calves through her silk stockings, and she imagined how easy it would be to lean forward in surrender and let him take her. Her wetness drenched her thighs and she realized she must stop this now or he would be inside her.

  “Sir, we can’t do this.” The huskiness of her voice made it nearly unrecognizable to her own ears.

  “Why not?” he whispered against her skin, his fingers finding her nipple and teasing it.

  “Because someone might catch us.” She moaned.

  “Lock the door.”

  “No,” she forced herself to say. “I’m the host. My disappearance from the party would be noticed.”

  “God, I don’t want to stop,” he pleaded. “I’m aching to be inside you.”

  “No,” she whispered, hearing it come out as a plea.

  He let out a breath that tickled the hairs at her nape. He gave her breast a last tender caress, pulled her sleeve into place and let the bunched fabric of her gown fall back down her legs.

  “Thank you.” She turned around and finally faced him.

  “Don’t thank me. I’m no gentleman, my lady. If I thought you’d have given in, I’d never have stopped.”

  “That’s why you’re a gentleman.” She smiled and left him.

  Inside the house, she ducked into the empty morning room to compose herself. Her face felt hot, and she lifted a porcelain vase, resting her cheek against its cool surface. What a predicament she’d got herself into! How could it be that she liked Talbot as much as Weston? Could a woman fall in love with two men at once? And if not, how did one choose?

  Chapter Six

  Lord Lincoln’s voice attracted Lucy’s attention as she rejoined her guests. Fortunately, they seemed to be enjoying themselves enough not to notice her absence. A card game was underway in the library, and it was from there that Lord Lincoln’s wheezy tones issued. As Lucy passed the parlor door on the way to the library, she spotted Courtenay. He’d just taken a glass of golden liquid from one of the server’s trays. He looked annoyed, and she had a feeling she knew why. His turn. But even as she smiled at The Trio’s supposedly secret game, uncertainty made her pause. What if Lord Courtenay had the same effect on her as Weston and Talbot had?

  Surely not. Even though he was as handsome as his friends. He was big—the strongest of the three—and his wild, black hair was longer than Weston’s and Talbot’s. His green eyes sparkled, but his full lips were drawn in a tight, annoyed line. Pretty, he was not. Yet, his vitality had a primal appeal. His coat and trousers hugged his big frame, defining muscles in his arms and thighs, and the broadness of his chest. Instinctively she sensed he was the most dominant of the three. Strange how these men tugged her instincts to the forefront.

  She made eye contact with him. To her surprise, his expression remained the same—sulking. No fake smiles or pretenses of gallantry from him. He simply returned her look, inviting her to speak with him if she cared to. She knew she had no business doing so. If she didn’t get to business soon, her old men would be muttering and snoring in their bedrooms. She had only the weekend to make her decision, not the entire decade.

  Turning for the library, she nearly ran into a young, blushing couple. They laughed merrily, openly holding hands as if love were their right and no trouble could ever deny them their full due. She felt the wistfulness of her own smile. To be that youthful and carefree again!

  But she would never see such cloudless days again. The pressure to marry weighed so heavily she could swear she felt it on her shoulders. You’re not being forced, Lucy, she reminded herself sternly. You could simply let the manor go and live comfortably somewhere else for the rest of your days. But she’d never be able to make that choice. She couldn’t lose her home. It meant too much to her. And to lose it to Bernard? Inconceivable.

  She wished she could simply curl up under a rock. She wanted her father’s advice, yet it was his blindness that had put her in these straits. Tears stung the back of her eyes, and one slipped down her cheek before she refused to let any more escape. The temptation to self-pity was strong, but she mentally shook herself and straightened her shoulders. You are strong, Lucy. You will do this to save your home.

  “Excuse me, but are you all right?”

  Lucy whirled, her full skirts swishing around her ankles. She’d been so deep in thought she hadn’t heard the man come up behind her. He looked about her age. He had a kind face, deep-set green eyes, and golden brown curly hair that lay in an unruly fashion about his head. She almost didn’t notice that he was leaning on a cane.

  “I’m fine, thank you.”

  “I didn’t mean to startle you, Lady Lucy.”

  “No. I was merely lost in thought, um—”

  “Lord Hayward. Edwin.” He gave her a slight bow.

  “Oh! Of course. I’m sorry, Lord Hayward.”

  She scarcely knew the earl. He had a reputation as something of a hermit, but she had invited him for politeness’ sake. His smile reached his eyes, she noticed. She liked that. Though he wreaked none of the havoc on her senses that The Trio did, he had a boyish quality about him that made him appear younger than she guessed he was. A pity he wasn’t truly old, she thought. Cane or not, he did not look like he’d be leaving the world anytime soon.

  “No need for apologies, my lady. I’m not out and about much, although I couldn’t very well miss a party thrown by the lovely Lady Lucy, could I?”

  “I’m very honored by your presence,” she answered, meaning it. She instantly liked the earl.

  “Odd, I know we’ve barely spoken before, but I feel as if we’ve known each other for quite some time. I get such feelings.” He motioned toward a bench in the hallway and waited for her to sit down before he took a seat beside her. He sat comfortably beside her, not encroaching on her. “Pardon me if this is rude, but you seem troubled. Is there anything I can do?”

  Lucy had rarely heard such a polite opening in her life. What was more, he seemed to mean it. His offer of help held none of the seductiveness of Weston’s or Talbot’s interest, and none of the ferreting of her cousin Bernard’s. The concern she saw in his face looked genuine. Looking closer, she saw something else in Lord Hayward’s green eyes, something most people probably missed, a hollowness that spoke of sadness and emptiness.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. You simply seemed in need of a sympathetic ear.”

  “I-I don’t know what to say.” She really didn’t. Surely, he wanted something from her. He was a man, and all men wanted something.

  “Is it wrong for me to feel concern for my fellow man?” His thick eyebrows shot up for a moment, and then he looked away, as if he’d said something wrong. Crossing one knee over the other, he laid the cane against the side of the bench.

  She admired the cane with its fine hand-carved wood and shiny onyx cat head perched atop, resembling a panther with sparkling green eyes that nearly matched the earl’s.

  “A riding accident.”

  “I didn’t mean to be rude. Were you badly hurt?”

  “It was fairly messy. I was only a child at the time. They said I wouldn’t walk again.” He glanced at the cane and smiled slightly.

  “But you did.”She was tempted to accept his offer and spill out her troubles. She had friends, but could imagine their horror if they knew her whole dilemma. She had Roberta, but Roberta’s willing sympathy wasn’t the same as advice. Something told her this man’s wisdom was more than any of theirs. She decided to confide what she decently could. “I find myself in a predic
ament due to my father’s will. He wanted me happily married.”

  “Ah, yes.” The earl sighed. “Let me guess. He wanted your inheritance in the capable hands of a husband who will spare your delicate nature from most of the troubles of life.”

  Her eyes widened. “How did you know?”

  “It is a problem as old as time itself. Ironic, isn’t it? Women have been in charge of households since the days when knights rode off to war, leaving the castle in the lady’s capable hands. These days, women not only run households, they are proving capable of working in offices. Yet even women who must work for a living are compelled to give way to men at every turn.”

  Lucy stared at him. She had never heard a man say such a thing.

  “It’s the strong women like you who suffer most from our injustices. Yet, it’s women like you who will eventually change those injustices. Oh, it won’t overnight, probably not even in our lifetimes, but it will happen. Our society is narrow-minded indeed, and not only about women’s rights.”

  His vehement sincerity caught her off guard. What had happened to make him think so unconventionally?

  He smiled at his own earnestness and relaxed his hands on his thigh. “Excuse me for going off on such a tangent. You say your father wanted you to marry. There’s some stipulation in his will that troubles you?”

  “I must marry by my next birthday, or I will lose this manor. Worse, it’ll go to my cousin, a horrible, greedy man who’ll waste everything my family has built.”

  “Surely a beauty like you won’t find it difficult to attain a husband?”

  “It’s my house.” Lucy clenched her hands. “I took care of it while he was ill, and I’ve taken care of the house and land since then. Why must I be forced to marry, when my fool of a cousin could have it married or not?”

  Lord Hayward gave her a small, sad smile. “Don’t assume a man is necessarily free, especially one with a title who is expected to produce an heir.”

  It dawned on her. “Oh my goodness. You and I are in the same boat, aren’t we?”

  “Yes, but for different reasons than you might think.”

  She looked at him, curious.

  He stood abruptly. “I’m sorry. I must go. I’m sure I will see you later in the evening. Maybe we can talk more then.”

  “I didn’t mean to pry, my lord—”

  But he hurried off before she could finish her sentence. Had she offended him? He’d visibly paled when she’d asked him about his reasons for not wanting to marry. She wished he’d confided in her, as she had in him. She began to think she and Lord Hayward might be two peas in the same pod. A pod about to get thrown into boiling water.

  Chapter Seven

  The only place she was sure of being alone was upstairs in her room. Not permissible, so long as she had guests. For now, the card players had cleared out of the library. She found it empty. A lone candle burned, doing little to lighten the room. Gratefully she sank into the shelter of a winged chair facing the hearth. The night was not yet chilled, and an arrangement of dried flowers filled the fireplace.

  Behind her, the door opened and then closed. Hiding her exasperation, she called, “Who’s there?”

  “It’s your cousin.”

  “Bernard?” He must have seen her enter. Would he never stop breathing down her neck? “What do you want?”

  “I think it’s more what you want.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t follow your meaning.” Silently she wished him away. Preferably as far away as Madagascar.

  Suddenly his hand was on her arm, rubbing a slow circle on her bare skin. She sprang to her feet, but before she could escape, Bernard’s corpulent body was pressing intimately against her. “I’ve been thinking, cousin,” he buzzed in her ear, his breath sour. “Why not just settle all of this here and now? We’ll get married. No need to put off the inevitable until your birthday. It’ll be done and over, and we will both have what we want.”

  She gasped in outrage.

  “Why not? I’m quite the catch.”

  Yes, he was, if one had a rat trap. He pushed against her again, and she fought hard to keep from gagging. “Let me go! All you’ve done since my father died is try to steal what’s not yours. You don’t even imagine you have to hide your intentions.”

  “Why should I have to? It will be mine shortly anyway, won’t it, dear? I see no man on his knees proposing to you. Men don’t marry opinionated women, and they don’t marry flirts.”

  “What were you doing? Spying on me?”

  “Don’t put on airs with me. You don’t imagine you’re competent to handle the Levegne wealth?” He shook her. “What you need is a good thrashing to show you just what your place is.” Pinning her wrists under one arm, he drew back the other, panting in his rage.

  Lucy braced for the slap she knew was coming, but before it landed, another voice sounded in the room, low, quiet, and deadly.

  “I think the lady said she is not interested in your offer.”

  Courtenay stood in the doorway, his hand on the door he’d just opened. Bernard let her go and backed off. “Who are you?” he sputtered.

  “Does it matter? It only matters that the lady said to leave her alone. I warn you, do it now, or I’ll make you.” The menace in Courtenay’s voice was undeniable.

  Bernard edged past him. “You know where to find me,” he flung at Lucy as he went. “You may find any other solution… regrettable.” He fled.

  Regrettable? She could imagine few things more regrettable than marrying Bernard. She sighed and sagged against the wall, exhausted. “Thank you.”

  The door shut, enclosing them both in near-darkness. “Don’t mention it, my lady.” She jumped again at his voice, which was unexpectedly near. She hadn’t heard him move, yet now she felt the heat emanating from him. Without thinking, she raised a hand.

  It met a broad chest. His clothes did little to conceal the hardness of his muscles. “Oh, no,” she murmured, close to hysterical laughter.

  In the dark, his body pressed hers, trapping her hand between them. But she felt no trace of the revulsion her cousin’s nearness had caused. She squeaked a mild protest, but his hand covered her mouth.

  “Quiet. You wouldn’t want anyone else to wander in here, would you?”

  Not knowing whether to laugh or cry, she shook her head, feeling his fingers against her lips. At once he released her.

  “What do you think you are doing?” she whispered furiously. His light, salty taste was on her lips. She tried to tell herself it was not pleasant.

  “No more than you want me to.” His whisper raked along her nerves, encouraging their dance of excitement.

  “I asked nothing.”

  “In words, maybe not. But I saw how you watched me earlier. Compared with that look, all words are idle chat.”

  Lucy was too tired for subtle games now. She had half a mind to tell him straight out she knew about the bet. But he looked too smug. “I don’t know what you think you saw, but I wasn’t after anything but a few blasted moments of peace and quiet.”

  “I don’t think I saw anything,” he returned. “You can send out one hell of an invitation with your eyes.”

  His deep, raspy voice sent delicious quivers through her. Too tired to pretend any longer, she stood on tiptoe and lightly rubbed her cheek against his, barely touching him while she let her breath out in a slow, warm stream over his ear.

  He groaned. Her nipples hardened in response, shamelessly begging for his touch. “And you’ve been watching me. Do you deny that?”

  “I don’t. I also don’t deny that I’m dying to shove my cock deep into that sweet, honeyed sheath of yours.”

  Good God! Never had a man said such a thing to her. Stranger yet, never had she imagined such a depraved declaration would excite her. Nonetheless, her knees turned weak and wetness wept between her thighs for the third time that evening.

  “I can’t believe what you just said to me,” she whispered. “We don’t even know each other.”
>
  “I don’t have to know you to yearn to fuck you. Besides, I’m the white knight. Didn’t I get rid of that piss ant cousin of yours? Doesn’t my chivalrous rescue deserve at least a kiss?” In his turn, he let his hot breath fan over her ear and along her cheek.

  Though he made light of it, he had saved her from Bernard’s violent outburst. Though that did not give him the right to speak to her so crudely, the worst thing was, she wanted him to do exactly what he said he wanted. To fuck her. But she was damned if she’d let him think he’d conquered her. She struggled for a steady voice. “Nevertheless, you shall not speak to me in that manner.”

  “Words are words.” He stepped closer again, his voice dropping to a low, husky purr. “Whether I say fuck or make love, it’s all the same. People make too much of words.”

  “Including you. You wouldn’t use words like that if they didn’t get a rise out of people.”

  He took a deep breath. Did she see him shudder slightly? “Believe me, lady, I’ve got a hell of a rise.”

  He took her hand. She gasped as he guided it right to his shaft. Her cheeks flamed, but she didn’t struggle. She wanted to touch him, and touch him she did. He was big and hard. Boldly she traced the outline of him through his trousers, and at her touch he breathed quicker and pushed, demanding more. When he released her wrist she smoothed her hand up his abdomen and over his chest to his shoulders. She felt deliciously feminine with his huge frame looming over her.

  She whispered, “Do you make a habit out of taking advantage of women in dark rooms?”