I look up to his face at once, searching his eyes for a clue about his intention. “Are you mocking me, My Lord?” I whisper.
He takes up my challenge, closing the distance between us on the bench. “A little, perhaps,” he answers. “But then I know better about what really drives you, do I not, Lydia?”
I blush then, feeling the heat spreading around my cheeks. “My Lord!” I say in a hushed tone. “Should we speak of such things here?”
His hand leaves my palm, rising slowly up my body until it catches against the underside of my chin. It pauses here, tipping my face north and ensuring I maintain eye contact with him. “Are you not mine, Lydia?” he asks me. “Can I not speak of these things wherever and whenever I choose?”
I shut my eyes at his words, feeling the warmth of his breath against my skin. “Yes, My Lord,” I answer meekly.
Something about my guardian affects me in such an absurd and carnal way. I have never known it before, and wonder what defence there can be against it. I have never been so compliant to a gentleman before, and until this week I would not have thought it possible for me to be so.
“Open your eyes,” he whispers, and I do so without complaint. He is right there next to me, smiling at my expression. “What a most fortunate gentleman I am,” he muses.
I inhale deeply, trying to regain even the most basic control over myself once more. “How so, My Lord?” I ask.
He smiles. “I had no idea, Lydia,” he begins, using his long thumb to stroke my heated left cheek, “when I agreed to be your guardian, that any of this should transpire. Had I known how beautiful you were to be, and how beguiling, I would surely have consented in a heartbeat.”
My own heart pounds at the compliment. “I do not know what to say, My Lord,” I reply honestly. “Is it right for this thing between us to blossom?”
“Lovely Lydia,” he laughs, pulling away from me slightly. “You are always so concerned about what is right!”
I feel myself prickle at his words. “Is that not the correct thing to concern myself with, My Lord?” I ask, trying to suppress the disdain in my voice.
He throws me a warning glance, and instinctively I want to move away, but the hand at my chin moves into my hair, drawing me closer instead. “Until now, perhaps,” he says evenly. “But now you must trust in me to decide what is right—for you and for us. Can you do so?”
The fingers in my hair are not painful, but I imagine the unholy mess they are making of my styled locks nonetheless. “I will try, Thomas,” I answer.
This softens him a little, and his grip relaxes. “I do so enjoy the sound of my name on those lips,” he says, eyeing my mouth intently.
My lips part at the statement, as though his eyes have commanded them to do so. “I am sorry if I sounded disrespectful before,” I tell him, wanting to address the issue before it lands me back over his lap again. “I find that I am most confused by the way I feel though.”
“The way you feel about me?” he demands, those almond-shaped orbs drilling into me.
“Yes, Thomas,” I reply, swallowing hard at the utter intensity of the moment. “I had thought initially that you would be little more than a father figure to me, perhaps not even that…” I continue.
“And now?” he probes, willing me on with his smouldering expression. “And now, what do you think of your guardian?”
All of a sudden I can barely take a breath. “I do not know,” I say breathlessly.
“Come now!” he snaps, the change of tone making me flinch. “I expect your honesty, remember, Lydia? In all things, but especially in these matters. Tell me, what do you think now?”
I still, able only to meet the intensity of his gaze for just a few moments. “Now, I am enthralled,” I say, squeezing my eyes shut at the honesty. “I do not hope to understand it, Thomas, but the way I feel around you is not what I had expected.”
“I concur,” he responds from just beyond me. “The experience is most curious, and yet it is powerfully evocative. Lydia?”
The sound of my name is enough to coax my eyes open, and I find him now just a few inches away from my face. “Yes, Thomas?” My words are barely audible over the sound of my excited heartbeat.
He is so close now; so close that I can smell the heady scent of his cologne and feel the heat of his breath against me. “I know that I should not, and yet I find that I desire to kiss you.”
I gape at him, hearing his words over and over again in my mind. I desire to kiss you. I desire to kiss you. Time seems to stop as we process his words, neither of us daring to speak at this moment for fear of splintering the excited bubble of reality we appear to have slipped into. His hand loosens in my hair, but urges me forward, toward his tall, hard body.
I am pliant, compelled to do as he chooses, and yet secretly yearning for the same. “Well,” I whisper at last. “You must do as you desire, My Lord.”
His eyes darken at my brazen reply, and my own body too betrays the urgency we share. Beneath the confines of my stays, I can feel the buds of my breasts growing hard and aching for Lord Markham’s attention.
His gaze lowers, scanning my shoulders and chest as though he can feel their call. “Not without your consent, Lydia,” he says, his voice almost a painful growl.
I swallow down the desperate need I feel, concentrating solely on his words. He wants my consent… Raising my eyes again, I contemplate his lips, wondering how they will feel against my own. “Please, Thomas,” I implore him. “Kiss me.”
For a moment he says nothing, and I am filled with the deepest dread that I have made a huge mistake, somehow misinterpreting his words. Then all at once, his hand, still buried in my hair, moves my head toward him, at the same time that his own face descends upon mine. My eyes slide closed as our lips collide in the most sensual way, and instinctively I open for him, allowing him to control this most precious moment—as he has done so many others already.
He kisses me with the same urgency which his eyes had betrayed, pressing his full, hungry lips against my own, before his tongue snakes gently inside me. I groan at the intrusion, overawed at the sensations it creates throughout me, culminating at the summit of my thighs. Hearing my response, he moves closer, pressing himself against me. His resting hand moves against my gown, drawing me closer to his own body, as he draws my head back with his right hand, exposing my neck. His lips leave my mouth, moving south toward my nape. I gasp at the exquisite contact, feeling him nip and suck at the sensitive skin, devouring me as though his very soul depended upon the act.
“Thomas!” I groan, hearing the sound of the rasping voice, and yet barely recognising it as my own.
He pushes me south toward the seat below me, twisting my body so that he can lean almost wholly against me, whilst pinioning me against the carriage. The whole time his lips are on me. I feel them trailing soft caresses below my jaw and across my collarbone, until slowly, they rise north to find my mouth again. I open my eyes to find him over me, green orbs searing into me, as he pauses to catch his breath. “I swear I could devour you, Lydia,” he purrs from over me.
My mind swirls with our combined passion, knowing it is wrong for us to act this way, and yet utterly incapable of resisting the desire any longer.
“My Lord,” I begin, unsure how I can ever articulate the things I am feeling at this moment. “I…”
I am stopped short by two hard knocks on the carriage roof above me. Thomas stills at once, panting over me as he contemplates the meaning of the interruption. “Damn it,” he sighs, drawing me up gently from the seat.
“Thomas?” I ask, not immediately understanding his response.
“We are nearly arrived,” he explains, brushing away my untidy hair from my shoulders. “The Pembrokes’ mansion, Cranningford Hall, is upon us.”
Chapter Twenty: Pembroke
We approach from the west, the long driveway of Cranningford Hall appearing before us. I am giddy, startled at the range of emotion
s Thomas has awakened in me with our first kiss.
He straightens his cravat, turning to me and smiling. “Are you well, My Lady?”
“Thomas, I do not know…” I answer, reaching for him as we turn the corner and begin the journey down the long driveway.
He catches my gloved hand and steadies me. “All will be well, Lydia,” he says soothingly. “You and I will speak of this again later.”
I nod at his words, still barely able to respond in any proper way, and not knowing what I should say at any rate. There is silence as the carriage arrives, and by the time we are met by the footman, both Lord Markham and I are back in our original places, seemingly unaffected by our journey.
Thomas was right about the mansion. If Markham is grandiose, then Cranningford Hall is nothing short of regal; its exterior architecture is as imposing and lavish as I have ever seen. We disembark the carriage, and are greeted by the butler, who regards Lord Markham fondly.
“Welcome back, My Lord,” he says, his tone deep.
He turns to me, as Thomas steps forward. “Mannington, it’s good to see you!” he says, stepping to one side. “May I introduce my ward, Lady Lydia Franklin.”
I smile, and the butler, Mannington returns it warmly. “Welcome, My Lady! Please do come inside, I know the master is keen to receive you.”
I follow the men inside, glimpsing Lucy’s carriage arriving behind us. The stone steps which lead into the entrance at Cranningford are large and impressive. On either side of the doorway are grim-looking gargoyles, manipulated from the same stonework as the rest of the exterior. I step past them and over the threshold into the home of Lord William Pembroke.
“Thomas, you devil, how good to see you!” The voice penetrates my thoughts, capturing my attention at once. The greeting comes from a gentleman, waiting in the gigantic foyer of the hall. He ogles Thomas, and then me, with wild, excited eyes. As they assess me, I feel absurdly coy, and am certain that he knows of the developing romance between my guardian and me. My face flushes instinctively.
Thomas meets him in two long strides, his right hand outstretched to greet Lord Pembroke. “William!” They draw each other into a masculine embrace. “Thank you so much for hosting us at such short notice.”
Lord Pembroke laughs out loud, and the two men stand side by side, amused at their own private joke. For the first time I have the opportunity to see this new gentleman. William Pembroke is tall, yet a few inches shorter than my guardian. By contrast though, he is much broader than Thomas, but enjoys the same fine fashion as Lord Markham. My eyes scan over him, pausing at his round face. He has laughing blue eyes, and a crop of deep blond hair, which is all the more striking compared to the dark locks of his cousin.
“So tell me, old chap,” he says, turning to face Thomas directly. “Is this the new lady I have heard so much about?”
If my face had been burning before, then I swear it must be crimson by now.
“Come forward, My Lady,” coaxes Thomas from beside him. My feet take small, tentative steps toward the gentlemen, all too aware that I am thoroughly on display to them both. I veer toward Thomas, who thankfully takes the lead as I approach. “William, please let me introduce my ward, the Lady Lydia Franklin.”
I drop my head and fall into a small curtsey as both pairs of eyes drill into me. “Good day, My Lord,” I say to Lord Pembroke.
The man in front of me smiles, revealing his teeth in an almost predatory manner. “Lady Lydia,” he replies, oozing confidence. “You are most welcome to Cranningford! Please, do call me William!”
I glance up at him, trying to read his face. “Thank you, Lord William,” I answer, and he chortles at my response.
“A perfect reply!” laughs Lord Pembroke, speaking I suspect to Thomas to my right. “You must be quite the proud guardian, my old friend?”
Thomas takes a small step forward and joins his cousin in gentle laughter. “I most certainly am,” he says genuinely. I catch his eye and swallow hard at the intensity I find there.
“Is that not the voice of Thomas Markham I can hear?”
It is a woman’s voice which comes calling from somewhere above us, and all three of us turn to see its owner. She travels gracefully across the galleried landing of the first floor, her sleek blue gown and appealing face easily capturing the attention of Lord Markham. She sweeps down the length of the grand stairway, her gloved arms outstretched to greet him, and as he takes a step forward to receive her, I feel a stab of envy at the intimacy they so obviously share.
“Lady Pembroke!” cries Thomas. He takes her right hand in his, raising it to his lips and kissing her blue glove.
She radiates gladness, as well she might, before turning to me. “And who, Thomas, is this pretty young thing?”
With her attention upon me I can see the lady’s face for the first time. She is classically beautiful, with pale English skin, sky-blue eyes, and honey-drenched hair. However, her looks perhaps conceal her experience, and I decide that she must be some years older than I. Taking a deep breath, I steel myself as she approaches.
“Helena, my dear,” says Lord William behind me. “This is Lady Lydia Franklin, my cousin’s new ward.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you, My Lady,” I utter as she comes to stand just in front of me.
She smiles, perhaps sensing my true feelings on the subject. “Good day to you, Lady Lydia,” she replies. “Any friend of Thomas is a friend of ours.”
I suppress the jealousy which streaks through me at her comment, instead turning to face Lord Pembroke as she walks to join him.
“Lady Lydia, this is my wife, Lady Helena Pembroke.”
I nod my acknowledgement, feeling Thomas move in behind me. “Thank you both for making us welcome in your home,” he says.
The doors to my left are opened, and Lucy and Buckton arrive with our luggage, led by Mannington and other Cranningford servants. “Excuse the interruption, My Lord,” says the butler. “I will get the staff settled, and then serve you?”
“Yes!” exclaims Lord William, clapping his hands in excitement. “We shall start with tea in the drawing room, Mannington.”
“Very good, My Lord,” comes the reply, and I watch as the staff behind us busy themselves with tidying the sumptuous entranceway.
“Come, Thomas!” calls Lord William. “We have much to catch up on, do we not?”
Thomas smiles beside me at his words. “Indeed we do,” he replies, “but there will be time enough for that. Let me settle Lady Lydia first, and then we shall both join you in the drawing room?”
Lady Helena laughs, a shrill sound which makes me want to shiver. “Settle her?” she teases. “How terribly valiant of you, Thomas!”
I lower my eyes from the scene, certain that she is mocking us and feeling my good manners fast eroding.
“As is my right and responsibility, Lady Helena,” replies Thomas firmly. “In which rooms shall we be staying, William?”
Lord Pembroke grins, hooking his right thumb into the pocket of his riding jacket. “In your usual, old chap?”
“You are most kind,” replies Thomas from next to me. “If you will excuse us, we shall join you shortly. Lady Lydia?”
He prompts me by name, and I look to him, knowing my wide eyes must be full of the questions I am feeling.
“Shall I accompany you, Lord Markham?” asks Mannington from behind us.
“There is no need,” says Thomas, reaching for my right hand and pulling me gently toward the staircase.
“Thomas knows Cranningford like the back of his own hand, Mannington!” laughs Lord William from behind us as we begin our ascent.
I say nothing, feeling overwhelmingly like I have been present, and yet not privy to some private joke that the others seem to know. We turn right at the top of the stairs, and follow the galleried landing from which Her Ladyship had come. Led onward by my guardian’s hand, I risk a glance to the hallway below, and find the smirking face of L
ady Helena greeting me. Flushed, I look away immediately, wishing that I had not chosen to look at all, and find that we are now in a well-lit corridor heading away from the landing.
Much like Markham, the hallways at Cranningford resemble a labyrinth, and I am soon utterly disoriented. When at last, Thomas pauses outside a set of doubled rosewood doors, I am largely relieved, but completely unable to retrace our path back to the stairs.
“This will be your room, Lydia,” says Thomas, easing back the right-hand door to reveal a light and spacious room, complete with an antique-looking four-poster bed. I peer inside, assessing the luxurious ambience, before turning back to him. “Where will you sleep, My Lord?”
He smiles, tilting his head as he assesses me. He draws me toward him, turning me slightly so that my back is now to the room I will rest in. “This is me,” he says softly, gesturing to the door directly ahead. I swallow hard, realising with some excitement that his rooms are just across the corridor from my own.
“Thank you,” I whisper, staring up at him.
“Are you content to be here?” His voice is deep and low, and his eyes spear me as he asks the question.
“I do feel a little unsure, My Lord,” I admit.
His face folds into a frown. “Why so?” he asks me, clearly perturbed by my answer.
I want to smile at his response, heartened that he cares enough to react this way, but now wanting only to reassure him. “Only that you and His Lordship obviously have a friendship which has lasted years, and I know virtually nothing of him, or Lady Pembroke. I do not wish to appear ignorant to them.”
He chuckles, drawing me into a small embrace as we stand at the end of the corridor. “Nonsense, Lydia,” he admonishes me lightly. “You are a fine and respectable young lady. You do not need prompts on how to make conversation, I am certain! You will find William and Helena to be generous and hospitable hosts, so do not think upon it.”
I nod, enjoying the physical closeness. “Yes, My Lord. Should I change before I meet you in the drawing room?”
Taming Lady Lydia Page 16