by Dayna Quince
“Do not compare yourself to Lady Lucy. You will be found wanting.”
She sucked in a breath and bared her teeth at him. “How dare you.”
“You were right earlier. She is to be my wife, and I won’t tolerate your filthy presence around her. Leave.”
She glared at him with hatred. “You’re lying.”
“It isn’t official. I’ve only just begun to court her. I will speak to her father tonight.”
“She can’t have you, not until I’m finished with you,” Lisbeth spat and walked away.
Dean leaned on the table as a wave of disbelief swept through him. Dear God, what had he done?
Lucy stood as dinner was announced and turned to follow the group into the dining room. She nearly jumped out of her slippers when Winchester appeared at her side and put her hand on his arm.
“I will escort you in,” he said quietly.
She blinked. “If you insist…”
“I do. After all, I will be asking your father for permission to court you this evening.”
Lucy looked forward and her eyes widened so far the corners burned. Happiness sang inside her. “That was a rapid change of heart.”
“I’m only doing as you suggested,” he whispered as they slowly followed the others far enough behind to speak quietly.
Her joy deflated. She yanked him to a halt. “You cannot ask my father permission to pretend to court me. Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds?”
“Yes, but I can’t not ask him permission when it becomes obvious that I am courting you. How will we explain that?”
Lucy sighed. “You’re right.”
“This plan is horrible enough as it is, but I will not pull the wool over your family’s eyes. They trust me, and I intend to keep that trust.”
“Reluctantly, I admire that about you,” she grumbled.
He chuckled beside her, and it made her feel warm. After all they’d been through and expressed toward each other, somehow they’d accomplished an odd sort of friendship. She’d never mention it to him. He’d deny it vehemently.
They entered the dining room and took their places. She made eye contact with Jonathan and Thea. She hoped that was sufficient to pass along the new situation. Jonathan raised a brow in question and Lucy sighed. At times, her brother was brilliant, but others…
As for Lady Lisbeth, Lucy gave her a friendly smile. “You look radiant, Lady Lisbeth. Is that a new dress?”
“Why, yes, Lady Lucy. I noticed you wore that same adorable blue frock last season. It suits you so well.”
“Thank you, Lady Lisbeth. It was a gift from my father.” Lucy kept her smile as Lady Lisbeth’s faltered. If she meant to insult Lucy by pointing out last season’s dress, her insult felt flat. Lucy cared not for the wasteful practice of only wearing a dress once. She chose her wardrobe with care and love. Each piece she wore for years regardless of the current fashions. She took part in a charity with her mother that refashioned and repaired dresses for women less fortunate. If it no longer fit her, or needed significant repair and resizing, she donated it, sometimes doing the sewing herself.
Dinner was served and the conversation moved to safer topics.
Chapter 17
The women retired to the drawing room while the men shared cigars and port. Lucy sat beside her mother while Thea tinkered on the pianoforte. Lady Lisbeth was surprisingly quiet and sat motionless while staring at the fire.
“How are you feeling?” Lucy asked her mother.
“Tired, but I am enjoying myself. Missing the season has made me long for company and the chatter of friends.”
“There is always next spring,” Lucy murmured. She hadn’t missed the season at all. She barely thought of it since her banishment. All her friends had remained cloistered away with new husbands or far away with family. Only Thea would have remained, but she had been allowed to stay with Lucy. Her family relished the opportunity to not fund another season.
“I’ve noticed the attention Lord Winchester pays you,” Her mother said quietly.
“What?” Lucy was pulled from her thoughts.
“Lord Winchester,” her mother clarified. “He pay’s you marked attention. Haven’t you noticed?” She laughed lightly.
“No.” Lucy shook her head. “It’s not what it seems.”
Lady Heath tilted her head to the side. It was her skeptical look.
“Really, Mother. He and I…” Lucy lowered her voice, “he claims we are too different.”
Her mother brightened. “Then it has been acknowledged?”
“Not acknowledged. Discussed…at length.” Lucy snorted over the absurdity of how that sounded. They’ve talked so much when all she’s wanted to do was to throw her arms around him and kiss him madly.
“Discussed is acknowledged.” Her mother nodded sagely.
“He doesn’t want marriage.”
“No man does until he meets the right woman.”
Lucy mentally stumbled on those words. How was she to know if she was the right woman? How did he? And more to the point, could she help him come to that conclusion or was she completely impotent in the matter?
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“Love is never easy to understand.” Lady Heath smiled.
“Mother!” Lucy said in a whispered gasp. “Don’t say such things.” She used her eyes to indicate the elegant form of Lady Lisbeth sitting by the fire.
“Why not?” Her mother was giggling like a young girl now.
Lucy narrowed her eyes. “How much wine did you have at dinner?”
The giggling grew louder. “I don’t remember. Not nearly enough as I usually do, but perhaps I’m a bit delicate for the two glasses I had.”
“Oh, dear. Let’s get you to bed.” Lucy helped her mother stand.
“Send me your father.” Lady Heath tittered.
Dean sat back and drew from his cheroot. The table was quiet, the women having left them to their port. Lord Heath swirled his glass and belched. Dean leaned back in his chair, alert and uneasy. He didn’t have the right words for what he was about to say, but he hoped with Rigsby’s help, he wouldn’t be thrown out of the manor.
“We should discuss Lady Lisbeth, my lord,” Dean began.
“I know she is a viper.” He leaned back in his chair and stretched. “I don’t know why my wife is entertaining such a woman.
“She’s here because of me, and for that, I apologize.”
“We’ve all got pasts.” Lord Heath took a sip of his port. “What do you plan to do about it?”
Dean hated what he was about to say next. He looked to Jonathan for encouragement. Jonathan shook his head.
Lord Heath looked between them. “What the devil is going on?”
“Nothing.” Jonathan shrugged.
“It’s not bloody nothing if Winchester here is all tied in knots about it.”
“We’ve devised a plan,” Dean began.
Rigsby coughed and it suspiciously sounded like the word no.
Dean exhaled. “I’m going to court Lady Lucy in front of Lady Lisbeth to drive her away.”
Rigsby slapped his hand to his forehead.
Lord Heath’s eyes lowered to slits as he looked between the two men. “You call that a plan? It sounds like something Lucy would concoct.”
“That is because she did,” Rigsby admitted.
“You want to toy with my daughter’s affections to drive away your nasty mistress?”
Dean swallowed. He could feel the heat of shame climbing his throat. “No, sir. She is aware of the fabrication. It was her idea to pretend so that Lady Lisbeth will concede defeat and move on.”
Lord Heath turned to his son. “You thought this was a clever idea?”
“I did. I don’t now,” Rigsby blundered.
“You boys have a lot of growing up to do.” Lord Heath stood from his chair. He faced Dean first. “I do not give you my blessing to fake a courtship with my daughter.” He turned to Jonathan. “Protect your s
ister. Even from herself. I’m going to bed.” He turned and left them in stunned silence.
“I feel like a flogging would have been less painful.” Rigsby rubbed his face. “What did he mean ‘protect her’? I do protect her.”
“He means from me.” Dean cursed himself.
“He said from herself.”
Dean stared down at the floor. He felt like a pile of horse droppings. “I’m going to retire. Perhaps tomorrow I will leave, and then Lady Lisbeth will leave as well.”
Rigsby shook his head. “Bloody hell. Maybe I will just throw her out. Half the ton already doesn’t care for her.”
Dean stood and put out his cheroot. “Goodnight, Rigsby.”
Dean climbed the stairs in a daze wishing he could fall into bed, close his eyes and wake up with a plan to fix everything. He turned down the hall, and his eyes fell upon the shadow of a woman leaning against the wall.
“Curse you to hell, Lisbeth and leave me alone.”
The lady stepped into the light and he stilled.
“That is not very nice, I agree with the sentiments, but it still isn’t polite.” Lucy waited for him to come nearer, but he’d stopped. “Perhaps you think I’m a ghost?” She stepped further into the light, moving closer to him until he put his hand up to stop her.
She bit her cheek. After what her mother had said tonight, after all that had occurred between them before and during their stay with Aunt Harriet, Lucy had a new plan and it didn’t involve talking.
“What are you doing here?”
“I escorted my mother to bed and thought to walk the halls for a bit. Thea retired too, so there is only Lady Lisbeth downstairs.”
He closed his eyes. “You should go.”
“Why?” She stepped closer now that he wasn’t looking.
“I spoke to your father and he declined to bless our fabricated courtship. I think that is answer enough.” He opened his eyes.
“That isn’t surprising. My father doesn’t enjoy larks the way I do or my mother does.”
“Your mother?” He cocked his head to the side.
“Where do you think I learned my wildness? It’s hereditary. My father tries to pretend to tame it, but he loves it.”
“What are you doing here, Lucy?” Dean asked again.
“I’m proving a point,” she said coyly.
“What point is that?”
She bit her lip. Was she nervous? Good. He wasn’t in the mood to play the gentleman, not when he could still feel the sting of her father’s words. He shouldn’t care. It was all for pretend, but deep down he knew the truth. His sins still followed him. For the first time in a long time it made him feel sullied. He could try to be a better man, but in the end he was only as good as his past deeds. She stood before him, the embodiment of temptation. She knew it, he knew it. What would he do? He felt a surge of lust and irrevocably a surge of anger. He wasn’t good enough, that’s what he’d always been told. He shouldn’t touch her, but the devil inside him wanted to, it demanded it. Damn the consequences.
“If you dare, come a little closer…” It was his turn to tempt her. He remained completely still as, predictably, her arms came around him and she pressed her lips to his.
He folded his arms around her, lifting her off her feet. It was time he gave her a real kiss. He wasn’t allowed to court her—or pretend to, as it happened to be, but dammit, he was going to kiss her for real this time. Tomorrow, he would begin again as a good, honorable gentleman, but tonight, he felt like the rogue he claimed to be, the unscrupulous bachelor, and that meant he could kiss a noble daughter and not think about the consequences. He could kiss her until she lost her will to stand, until she saw stars behind her eyes.
He moved down the hall until the shadows hid them. He lowered her slowly to her feet, sliding her down the front of his body and enjoying every inch of it. He cocked his head to the side and deepened the kiss. She opened her mouth for more, and he eagerly claimed it, tasting her at last. Their last kiss he had purposefully starved himself. He had resisted the enjoyment for fear of loving it too much. But now he feasted. He didn’t care about the emotions involved. He wanted to sweep her off her feet, claim her as his, if only for a night.
He pushed her against the wall, unwinding her arms from his neck and pinning them above her head. He pushed his knee in between her legs until her skirts gave way, she parted her thighs, and he could step in between with just one leg. He held himself against the length of her body, experiencing her. Each panting breath, each heavenly sigh. He laid claim to all of them.
He pressed his thigh between her legs until she rode upon him, coming to her toes. She needed him to hold her up now, and all the pressure of her weight was centered to the delicate treasure between her legs. She shivered and broke away from the kiss to gasp.
He pressed his lips to her neck, licking the soft skin, tasting the essence of her on his lips. He explored her neck all the way to the small lobe of her ear, taking it between his teeth and softly biting. Her breath shimmered out in a sigh, exactly like he’d heard from her before. He relished it. He relished knowing that he could give her more pleasure than she could dream of. He could be the only man to do so, the only man to own her, heart, body, and soul.
He closed his eyes, breathing deeply against the valley of her breasts, taking in the scent of her and searing it into his brain.
Lucy shuddered as his thigh pressed against her core and tried to resist the begging of her body to move. She didn’t know if she should, but dammit, she wanted to. Sensation ricocheted inside her. Her skin tingled excitedly, her heart pounded in her chest, her head felt fuzzy, and the place between her thighs…well, that felt delightful. She tried to resist squirming, but when she moved, it was like heaven inside her, sensations so sweet she didn’t want to fight them. She wanted more.
He flexed his thigh and she gasped. “Yes…” She sighed. Yes, please. She had no command over herself when he did that. He took her wrists in one hand, and with the other, he began to lift her skirts. Unable to hold still, Lucy moved against his thigh and cried out with a moan.
“I’ve got you,” he said. His voice was deep and rough. It moved through her like a caress.
His hand reached the back of her thigh, squeezing her as wicked fingers moved to the front and slid in between her and his leg. He touched her there, and she thought she might die from the exquisite pleasure. She moaned again, deep and throaty. She’d never heard herself make such a noise. But never had she experienced such piercing bliss.
“Hush,” he said before he took her mouth again. He stroked with his fingers and with his tongue and all at once, Lucy felt like she was coming apart. She shook with the force of it, rocking her hips against his hand shamelessly, and crying into his mouth.
She squirmed until he released her arms and she collapsed against him, her body limp, but her emotions roaring to life inside her. She wanted to cry, and laugh, and smile like a lunatic. She pressed her face into his neck and breathed in the salty scent of him and shaving soap until she could regulate her breathing, and think up some sort of response for what had just occurred.
She still hadn’t recovered yet when he began to pull away.
He stepped back slowly, still holding her, letting her dress fall around her again. Lucy pressed her forehead to his chest, too scared to meet his eyes just yet. She kept them closed as he lifted her chin up.
“Open your eyes,” he whispered.
She shook her head.
“Open them, Lucy. I want to see your eyes.”
She blinked them open. “It’s too dark to see my eyes.” Her voice felt raw and dry.
“I can see them.” He lightly kissed her lips. “I will take you back to your room now.”
“No, you won’t. I can walk myself.” She gently pushed away from him, her legs feeling like soft butter, but they held her up sufficiently. She didn’t want to encourage too much talking. Actions seem to suit them far better.
“Good night, Winchester.�
�� Lucy turned down the hall.
“Call me Dean.”
“What?” She paused. He’d spoken so quietly she wasn’t sure she was meant to hear.
“The next time I have you pinned against a wall, you will call me Dean.”
She could hardly see him, but her whole body was aware of him. “Dean,” she said and turned back down the hall.
Dean watched her disappear and then turned toward his room. It was the first time he let a woman use his given name.
Chapter 18
Lisbeth sat alone watching the fire in the drawing room. She felt like the proverbial outcast.
She hated being alone.
One by one, the other occupants had dwindled, and the men never returned. This house was a bore, and the only person she wanted to see was so smitten over Lady Lucy, he couldn’t even see it. She shuddered. Love.
She’d been foolish to believe that a man like Winchester was as immune as herself. She’d been proven wrong before. But Winchester, more than others, had shown a severe aversion to the state of love. He scorned affection and sought only pleasure and satisfaction. He mastered the art of both but now love was suddenly on his horizon? She wouldn’t stand for it, not when his touch was still seared into her skin. No man would leave her until she was done, and Lisbeth wasn’t done with him yet.
She made her way to his room. The servants hadn’t been forthcoming when her maid, Agnes had inquired, but Lisbeth had Agnes figure it out herself, and now she knew exactly where to find him. The house was dark in the guest wing reserved for bachelors.
Lisbeth slinked along the hall, pausing before the single door she knew to be his. She turned the handle slowly, but it was locked.
Insufferable man.
She scratched at the wood lightly. She could hear movement within as a curse was muttered and then heavy footfalls prevailed the opening of the door. “What do you want?” He stood there, barely more than a dark silhouette.