He narrowed his eyes then deliberately set his glass on the small table beside him before crossing over to her. The look in his eyes made her question her sanity for provoking him. He drew her up until she was standing in front of him.
She’d wanted him to kiss her, but she hadn’t been prepared for the heat that burned in her belly, in the air between them, in his eyes.
“Magic,” he murmured, stroking the pad of his thumb along her jaw. Sparks followed in its wake, sending shivers along her skin. “I choose magic.”
…
It was a warm summer night of a kiss at first. Gentle. Romanic. It matched the dreaminess he’d seen in her eyes when she talked about lovers bathed in starlight.
She couldn’t know what she did to him when she had peered up at him, a mixture of sweet innocence and curious desire all at once. He had waged a war within himself. He should leave, he’d thought. If nothing else in his life remained true, he was a gentleman. And gentlemen did not ravish young innocents in their guardian’s library.
But when her milky skin flushed pink, he’d lost the battle. Even their talk of consequences had done nothing to tamp down the need that consumed him. For just a taste.
Just a taste.
She moaned, though, her fingers digging into his shoulders, and he wanted more. His hand tangled in her curls, the other finding the soft flare of her hip.
Only then did he lower his mouth to hers, closing the distance between them so that they were body to body with no space in between. She clutched at his shirt and sighed into the embrace.
The kiss turned deeper when she walked her fingers up to his shoulders, and used them as leverage to press even closer to him. Their tongues danced against each other, a slick slide. She shivered in his arms when he licked his tongue against the roof of her mouth, before pulling back to nibble on her plush bottom lip. Her whimper when he sunk his teeth in was the most alluring sound he’d ever heard
He pulled back to study her. Her eyes were glassy, her lips freshly plumped from his attention. A flush rode along her high cheekbones.
“All right,” he murmured. “I shall help you with your research.”
She was dazed, and he watched her clever mind work to catch up. She smirked once it had, with a womanly arrogance that hadn’t been there moments earlier. “Oh, how noble of you, my lord.”
He glanced around as if he were taking in some scenery. “You’ll have to use your imagination. The real dark walks are shrouded in shadows and secrets. A far cry from a well-lit library.”
“It is a good thing I have such an expert with me,” she said. “I’m sure you’ll be able to set the scene.”
He laughed and shifted so that when he sat back on the couch she followed into his lap. He had needed that lightness to help him regain his control. There had been a moment when she’d mewled after he’d bitten into her lip that he’d been genuinely worried about disgracing himself like an eager schoolboy.
Even now, as her bottom settled against him, he wondered if he would go mad before the night was out. When she dipped her head to kiss him, he thought he might already be there.
“Do you hear the music?” he whispered against her neck. She tipped her head back and he knew she wanted his mouth on her.
“I only hear the fireworks,” she murmured, and he groaned, giving into her wishes, his tongue teasing the delicate skin beneath her jaw.
“Mmm, beautiful. Do you smell the roses?” He moved lower, his lips finding the dip of her clavicle, the curve of her shoulder.
“They smell so sweet,” her voice was muffled as her face was buried in his hair.
The delicate sleeve of her dress put up no resistance as he nudged it from his path. He made quick work of the other side, until the fabric pooled at her waist. She wasn’t wearing a corset, and he thanked God for her unconventional soul as he took in the sight of her in his lap.
He couldn’t breathe. Her skin was firelight. It was with reverence that he reached out to cup her. He almost didn’t want to touch. Didn’t want to mar her perfection. But he slid a thumb over one of her nipples, and she gasped. She liked the raspy slide of calloused fingers over silky skin. He repeated the motion, and then he bent to take her in his mouth.
Rational thought fled. All he had left was the feel of her. The hard tip against his lips, the murmurs that escaped, the pulse that raced against his hand as he cupped her. His whole world narrowed down to the sensation of having her.
He pulled back, desperate for control. “Do you see the stars?”
She met his eyes. Something shifted there. Something he couldn’t decipher. “All I see is you.”
The words struck him like a blow. She wasn’t flirting. She was laying herself completely bare for him. Making herself utterly vulnerable. And he knew in that moment she was much braver than he would ever be.
It was the last straw. “Gemma, do you want this?” He needed to know, needed to make sure. He wondered if she truly realized what this would mean.
She nibbled her lip, but didn’t take her gaze off his. “Yes.”
That was all it took. He shifted, laying her on the couch and ridding her of her dress in one quick movement.
Her hands tugged at his shirt. “Not fair,” she muttered. He was amazed he could laugh in that moment. He stripped out of it, but kept his breeches on, not wanting to overwhelm her. He went slow. Trailing his fingers up her calf, dipping into the space behind her knee, sliding up the silk of her thigh until he cupped her warmth. She was wet already, and he groaned into her neck. Fingernails bit into his bare back as he nudged at her. His mouth was on hers then, swallowing her gasp as he pushed one finger in. So tight. So ready. For him. He strained against his breeches, his hips pressing against the couch, desperate for friction.
His thumb found and toyed with her most sensitive spot, and she turned molten beneath his machinations. A second finger joined his first, and she clutched at his shoulders. She didn’t know what she needed. But he did.
He slid even lower, his lips trailing down the soft curve of her belly until he was where he always wanted to be.
“Lucas?” He heard the nervousness in her voice.
“Shh, love,” he murmured, and then dipped his head until his lips were placed where his thumb had just been. She went taut, her hips rocking against his mouth. He was thankful she had enough of her wits about her to bite back the cry he’d heard start in her throat. “That’s it. Beautiful.”
She was building toward her release; he could feel her on his fingers, beneath his tongue. His lips nuzzled her inner thigh, and he bit down slightly against the soft skin. This time she wasn’t able to silence herself. He’d had an inkling she’d like that. But he couldn’t torture her anymore. For that was just torturing himself, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he’d last with her taste on his tongue.
“There we are, love. Just let go,” he murmured against her, feeling the muscles tighten. “I want you to see the stars, Gemma.”
She was whimpering, her fists balled against the couch, her eyes shut. He almost came from the sight.
Control it.
He dragged in a ragged breath then nibbled at her sensitive nub. She arched back and then shattered around his fingers.
He shifted over her, undoing his breeches with an unsteady hand. He pushed into her as the last waves of pleasure washed over her. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he knew it was unavoidable. He leaned down, his mouth against her ear. “I’m sorry, love,” he murmured before breaking through the barrier of her innocence. His vision blurred and faded at the edges as he sank to the hilt. Sweat beaded along his spine. Everything in him told him to move. But he couldn’t hurt her.
He met her gaze. She was biting her lip, but she didn’t appear distressed. More curious. He, on the other hand, had lost the line between pain and pleasure. “Are you all right, Gemma?” he gritted it out.
A little wrinkle furrowed her brows. “I think so,” she said. Then, as if she hadn’t already tortured him
enough, she rocked her hips against his.
“Gemma.”
“Did I hurt you?” she sounded genuinely concerned.
He groaned into a laugh. “No. Just hold on.”
He began moving. Slowly. Letting the friction build again for her. He watched her carefully with each shift, keeping them deep and even. He watched as her eyes drifted closed in pleasure. He watched as her breath caught and she bit on her lip. And when he saw the flush of desire deepen her skin to rose, he reached between them.
“Look at me, Gemma,” he said. It was all he could manage. Her eyes locked on his and he pressed his thumb against her just as he buried himself to the hilt. When she shivered around him, he finally let go.
He saw the stars.
Chapter Thirteen
Lucas was brooding. He was ensconced in his corner of the carriage as it hurtled through the busy streets toward Lord Rathburn’s house. He had not said more than a handful of words to her since he had collected her at precisely ten o’clock. She wondered if she should feel affronted that he was not lavishing her with poetry and romantic words following the events in the study. He had not said much to her the night before, either. They’d both realized he couldn’t linger. If anyone in the household had come upon them, there would be no hiding what had occurred.
He’d kissed her, though. Right before he left. He’d pulled her to him, and his mouth had played over hers in a way that was more caress than passion.
“We’ll talk tomorrow,” he’d murmured. Then he’d laid his lips against her forehead. The affection in the gesture had tripped at her heart, and she hadn’t been able to reply. She’d simply nodded.
She wondered if he was regretting their night, now they were in the harsh light of day. If anyone should be having second thoughts about their interlude, it was she. She was effectively ruined after all. But she couldn’t muster up the will to care.
All she could think about was the way it had felt so completely right to be in his arms. The way it had felt like home, in a way that she’d never had before.
And she refused to regret that.
Gemma grimaced as a sudden thought crashed into her. He might even be feeling some sense of responsibility to follow through with their engagement after last night. She would burst from mortification if Lucas felt pressured into marrying her. She had specifically forbidden it when they had first made the damnable agreement. Her back went ramrod straight.
“Please tell me that you are not thinking about doing anything rash after the events of last evening,” she said, unable to tamp down the fires of rising panic that the notion fanned. It was not that she thought marriage to Lucas would be a disaster; in fact, she could see the prospect being quite diverting. But he would view it as something he had to do rather than something he wanted to do, and that she could not bear.
He considered her for a moment, his eyes roving over her face. “I rarely do anything rashly, my dear,” he finally drawled, confirming her worst suspicions.
“I knew it!” she cried out. She would not be a burden or a frivolous debt of honor. Society might insist that a man marry the woman he had despoiled, but she refused to participate in such idiocy. Why should a man sacrifice his freedom and happiness for a lunatic social nicety? She would not have another man bound to a life with her as his burden—even if she had to sacrifice her own happiness to save him. “You are no more responsible for last night’s actions than I was. I dare say even less so.”
He arched an elegant eyebrow, the picture of arrogance. “Is that so? How is that, my dear?”
“I seduced you.” She blushed as the words seemed to expand and fill all the space in the carriage, but she refused to show weakness on the matter. She knew he would pounce if she did.
“Well, then, I believe it is you who needs to make a respectable offer to me this morning,” Lucas said, without a hint of irony in his deep voice.
“Oh, be serious. I know you are feeling responsible for me now, but there is no need. Our…encounter was my decision, and I am not your problem to solve,” she said.
He cocked his head, studying her. His lips parted on a reply, but he glanced out the window before the words escaped. The carriage slowed, and she turned her attention to the street as well. They’d arrived. Their carriage rides really did have horrible timing.
“We shall discuss this topic later,” he said without even looking at her. She wanted to continue the argument even though she knew he would be stubborn about it, but they couldn’t sit outside Rathburn’s house bickering in the carriage. She reluctantly gave in and kept quiet as he turned to exit the carriage.
Side by side, they studied the door for a beat before heading up the short flight of stairs in lock step. The stony-faced butler who greeted them did not seem happy with their appearance on his doorstep at such an early hour. He plucked the calling card out of Lucas’s hand and studied it before admitting them.
The entryway was dark and oppressive. The little hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and she inched closer to Lucas. She couldn’t explain her feeling of unease, but she realized most of the windows were shrouded with heavy black curtains and supposed that could be one of the reasons. She nudged Lucas with her elbow, and he dipped his head in acknowledgment. Not all was right in the Rathburn household.
“Milord will see you now,” the butler intoned in a heavy, resonating voice. Her first, slightly hysterical thought was that his funereal demeanor fit the setting. They followed him into a dark room off the side of the foyer.
Rathburn was standing at the window, his back to them even as the butler announced their names. He gazed out at his garden, a dark silhouette against the bright morning sun that streamed in through the glass.
They both sat as the butler went for tea and closed the door with a soft click. Only then did Rathburn turn from his post. The man had aged well, Gemma thought, and must have been quite a rakehell in his younger days. He had raven hair threaded with silver that somehow made him more handsome and distinguished. His sharp eyes pierced her as he raked them over her person. Although she recognized his attractiveness, he gave her an uneasy feeling. She wanted to flee the room and his gaze. She set her jaw and kept her hands folded firmly in her lap as she felt Lucas shift closer to her. She dared not betray her unease any further to him, for she feared he would cut the interview short if he knew she was uncomfortable.
“You have come about the girl,” Rathburn murmured without any preamble, sliding into the lush, velvet-cushioned chair behind his ornate desk. “I knew she would cause us trouble eventually.”
Gemma felt herself tense, like a mouse stalked by a cat. She knew she could not show her reactions, as Rathburn was watching them both, a thinly veiled, predatory hunger on his face. She sensed instantly that he was about to attempt to manipulate them. Uncle Artie had taught her about venomous snakes; Rathburn fell into that category. The only way to operate when facing one down was to show no fear. And then cut off its head.
“Indeed,” Lucas said, and Gemma knew from his neutral tone he had read Rathburn’s conniving countenance at least as quickly as she had.
A stout woman entered the room with the tea service, and the air stilled as they waited in silence for the housekeeper to leave.
“You look like him,” Rathburn said once they were alone again. “Your father.”
“I’ve been told.”
“Yes. Well. I suppose you’ve received letters as well?” Rathburn reached smoothly into his drawer and tossed a bundle of envelopes onto the desk. His willingness to share information with them, having just met, seemed too good to be true and put her on edge, but she had to restrain herself from snatching up the notes. Lucas didn’t even glance at them.
“I have, yes. Although it looks like he has devoted more time to you. I have only received a handful,” Lucas said, not taking his eyes off Rathburn. The tension between the two men was suffocating to her. She felt as though they were two beasts about to leap at each other’s throats. Had Lucas ne
glected to fill her in on anything? Thinking back on their conversations, she was certain he had not indicated he’d had close contact with the man. Perhaps it was just a gut reaction, she thought. Rathburn certainly had not put her at ease, either.
“The ramblings of a madman, I assure you,” the man drawled, flicking a dismissive finger at the letters. Lucas finally reached forward for the bundle, untying the red ribbon with a distinct lack of urgency.
Rathburn lounged in his chair, watching Lucas. An aura of power and arrogance cloaked his every gesture. She could see why Rose had kept his company for so long. They both had a steel edge to their beautiful smiles.
Lucas flipped through a few before handing them to her. She recognized the handwriting and paper immediately as she began reading them. The first few began with vague threats and promises of revenge that escalated in the later notes.
“I know what you did to her, you will pay. You will pay for the life you took. Inveniam viam aut faciam,” she murmured as she read one of the earlier letters. “What does he mean, ‘the life you took’?”
Rathburn’s eyes tightened briefly at the corners before his face relaxed into a careless expression. “Like I said, ramblings. I’ve never so much as hit a man outside the boxing ring, let alone taken a life. It is some madman’s vengeance fantasy gone wrong.”
“None of these contain blackmail threats,” Lucas finally said, looking up at Rathburn. For the first time since they’d been shown into the study, Rathburn looked off guard. He stood and turned toward the window again, as if restless. Gemma guessed he was instead masking his surprise.
“No, that does not seem to be the goal, does it? I believe the intent is clear: the man wants my life, not my money,” Rathburn said without looking at them, his hands clasped behind his back.
“You do not seem overly concerned with the threats,” Lucas commented.
Rathburn turned toward them, one sardonic eyebrow raised. “No,” he said simply. “So, you are being extorted, then.”
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