Title Sinful Tales of Desirable Ladies

by Lucinda Nelson

  In the wake of his words, her face leveled out… as if she’d just realized something. She blinked at him, then her brow furrowed. “Are you jealous? Is that what this is about?”

  Henry’s face began to redden, half with mortification, half with rage. “You’re mad if you think that.”

  “Am I?” She laughed, but bitterly. “That’s it, isn’t it? You’re jealous. And you led me to believe that I wasn’t good enough for your friend because you didn’t want to admit your own feelings. You’d sooner have me think less of myself than reveal your own pettiness.” Maggie shoved against his chest, but he didn’t budge. “Move.”

  There was so much fury in her face, but also something else. Tears were filling her eyes and her mouth was a hard line. “Move!”

  She smacked his chest again, but this time Henry ensnared her wrists. “I want you to stop seeing him.” There was a fire in his eyes, but it was more than anger. There was want in him, even now when there was so much tension between them. Even now, he wanted her. He wanted her to want him.

  There were other feelings too. Every feeling he’d squashed in the past year. Maggie had opened him up, bringing fresh pain and anger. Everything he’d been numbing with alcohol and women had been hauled to the forefront.

  He thought all that feeling would break him apart. He couldn’t face it. “No,” she whispered, through gritted teeth.

  Something changed in Henry’s expression. It darkened. And whatever she saw there shattered her ferocity.

  Several weighted moments passed, with her staring into his dilated pupils. He felt shell shocked. Felt like he was waking up and finding his wife gone again. He felt such a depth of misery, jealousy, heartache, betrayal, mortification… that his countenance became spectral. He was a ghost of himself.

  And it frightened her.

  He could see the anger melt out of her face. Felt her wrists twitch slightly as she made a meek effort to pull them free. He saw her throat bob as she swallowed, her eyes flash with concern. “Henry…” she whispered, but her voice sounded plaintive now, like she was starting to feel afraid.

  Henry’s ghostliness melted away, and his lips parted. He looked down at his hands, how they were wrapped around her wrists and let go quickly, as if she’d burnt him. He stepped back, looking as frightened as she was. All those angry feelings dissolved, leaving him with nothing but heartache and shame. “You’re afraid,” he heard himself whisper, his voice shaky and a little broken. “I’m sorry.”

  He swallowed and took another step back. He was shaking his head slowly. “I wouldn’t hurt you.” Something happened to him then. His eyes filled with tears, blurring his vision, and a couple of drops rolled down his cheeks.

  He was staring at her face with a watery gaze. “Never,” he said once more, his voice catching. Then Henry turned away from her and ran. He ran up the stairs, passing Alfred in the hallway.

  “My Lord? Are you alright?” He asked, with a deep wrinkle between his brows as Henry passed.

  Henry didn’t answer. He just continued up until he reached his bedroom. He shut himself inside, put his back against the door and sank to the ground.

  Putting his face in his hands, he cried.

  Chapter 22

  Miss Magdalene Riley, Daughter of the Baron of Brambleheath

  In his absence, Maggie felt frozen. She stood with her back against the edge of the counter, just as he’d left her, for a long time. Though he was gone, she felt like she could still see his face, and those tears rolling down his cheeks.

  He’d been so angry. There’d been so much frightening intensity in him that she had felt afraid for a moment. And that fear had made her doubt him.

  It hadn’t been violence in his face. It had been pain. Raw, ugly pain. He was like a beaten dog that bit, and who could blame him for that? His wife had abandoned him. Rumors spread, slander was everywhere. She couldn’t imagine facing such speculation and humiliation while nurturing a broken heart. And raising a child all at once.

  She felt like such a fool for being afraid. Henry was an intense man, bursting with feeling. He had a temper, but then so did she. But treating him with fear… that was the worst mistake she’d made since coming to Radingley.

  Maggie went into the hallway a while later, after she’d managed to steady her breaths. “Alfred?” She said, when she passed him. He was standing at the bottom of the stairs, his face low and worried. “Did Lord Rivers go upstairs?”

  “He did.” Alfred was gnawing on his lip, and she wondered how long he’d been standing there for.

  “I would like to speak to him,” she said, and stepped up onto the first stair.

  “No,” he said, rather urgently, putting his hand on Maggie’s arm to stop her. “He seemed unwell. We should give him some time to rest.”

  Maggie looked up the stairs, wondering if she should just keep walking and ignore Alfred. But she knew better than to do that. She didn’t want to make enemies here. Instead, she tried to smile and nodded her consent. “Alright,” she murmured. “I hope he feels better soon.”

  She turned away from the staircase, throwing one last wistful glance over her shoulder, and went into the gardens to think.

  ***

  Lord Henry Rivers, the Earl of Radingley

  It took a while for Henry to calm down. And once he did, all he felt was exhaustion. He put his head back against the door and expelled a breath. Closing his eyes, he tried not to think about what had just happened. What Maggie must think of him now.

  How could it all have gone so wrong? Just over a year earlier, he’d been happily married with a beautiful daughter. He couldn’t have been happier. He’d been a good man; generous, humorous, charming. His daughter had loved him, because he’d doted on her as she deserved.

  And now? He was fighting to repair his relationship with his daughter, having practically abandoned her just as her mother had. It had been a year since his wife had left him, but he hadn’t processed his grief at all. Instead, it was sneaking up on him just as he’d started to develop an interest in someone else. And even that was going horribly wrong. His mind and heart were such a mess that all he seemed to do was push her away.

  He couldn’t imagine her ever wanting to be with him, that was for certain. And that gave him just as much misery as every other plight of his.

  Henry spent the rest of the day staring out the window. Eventually, he dragged himself into bed because there was a chill coming through the open window which was sneaking into his bones. But he didn’t close the window. He liked the fresh air, and the movement of a breeze in the room. He kept the curtains open too, so that he could look at the sunset without leaving the bed. More time passed, and he found himself watching the moon shine through the clouds.

  He wanted to sleep, but he was afraid of his dreams.

  Chapter 23

  Lord Henry Rivers, the Earl of Radingley

  It must have been midnight when he heard the creak of his bedroom doors. The moon had just passed behind a thick cloud, so the darkness was even more impenetrable. “Are you alright, sweetheart? Bad dream?” He murmured through the darkness.

  He didn’t sit up, but waited for Alicia to approach his bedside. He pulled the covers back, so she could get in with him, where it was warm.

  But when the figure came closer, giving him a faint outline of their face set against the darkness, he realized that it wasn’t his daughter.

  He felt a hand touch his chest, with obvious hesitation.

  “It’s not Alicia,” came a whisper. He couldn’t even see her lips moving, but he knew who it was by her voice. His breath shuddered out of him, but he was otherwise silent.

  Perhaps this was a dream.

  Henry was bare-chested, having stripped his shirt when he’d crawled beneath the covers. He felt her fingers curl softly against his skin, right above his heart. She’d surely feel its thunderous beat.

  “I know I shouldn’t be here,” she whispered. “But I wanted to tell you that-” Her words caug
ht, and he heard her exhale shakily. “I don’t think you’d-”

  Before she could say anything more, Henry put his fingers over her lips. “Don’t,” he murmured.

  Henry put his free hand behind him and pushed himself up, trying to sit up. But before he could do more than elevate his torso, her lips parted against his fingertips, and delivered the smallest kiss.

  They both froze. The moon escaped its cloudy shroud, and he could see her face. See the brightness of her eyes, sparking in the dim light. With their eyes locked, he leaned closer, and his fingers dropped away from her mouth.

  He felt his heart leap in his chest… and then he kissed her.

  It was perhaps the tenderest, most uncertain kiss he’d ever given anyone. It made him feel like she was reaching into his body and squeezing his heart. And when he felt her fingers tangle through his hair, he lost his breath entirely. He moaned softly, which made her fingers tighten.

  Their bodies drew nearer, until her chest was flush with his. Their limbs tangled as she eased into the bed with him. It started sweet and tender, but became fiercer with every passing moment. This was what there had always been between them; heat and tension. Even when they felt like they hated each other, this was still there. Driving them closer together.

  What they had was like a dance. They’d been gliding around each other and, finally, they were touching, making each other’s bodies move in different, beautiful ways. “Henry,” she gasped against his mouth, her hands moving to his cheeks so that she could grip his face against hers.

  Their teeth knocked from the force of their desire. Entirely thoughtless, he rolled her onto her back against the mattress. He was going to part her thighs so that he could be closer, but she beat him to it.

  Her legs opened up, allowing his hips to slip between them like they’d been destined to do so. When she felt the weight of him, her head tipped back, revealing the perfect glide of her neck.

  She gasped in her a breath, while he kissed the hollow of her throat, then the roll of her shoulder, and down towards her collarbone. She had the most delicate bones, encased in silky soft skin.

  Henry’s hand followed the curve of her side, from her inner arm, which curved above her head in abandon, to her outer thigh. He trickled his fingers down until he reached the hem of her nightgown. He slipped his fingertips beneath it, inching higher towards her hip. He could feel her thigh trembling.

  He found his body moving of its own accord, rippling like a wave, pressing closer and closer. And she met him like the shore, her lower body rising to meet his, though there was still so much between them.

  “Henry,” she whispered again, but this time her hands pressed against his chest. “We should stop.”

  It was the last thing he wanted to hear. Henry stopped moving and closed his eyes tight, trying to summon his control when he’d never felt more wild. He took a breath to steady himself, feeling the slight press of her fingers into the skin of his shoulders.

  He nodded, though it felt almost impossible to do so, and finally lifted his face from her collarbone. Henry rolled to the side, lying beside her and staring up at the ceiling. He didn’t think he’d ever felt desire like this before. It was so… so raw.

  “Are you okay?” He asked, his voice raspy. He turned his face so he could look at her lying there next to him, still trying to catch her breath. She had her hand on her chest and her cheeks were flushed.

  “Yes,” she answered quickly. She looked at him, then turned onto her side and propped her cheek up on her hand. As if they were seasoned lovers, she put her hand upon his chest. “I’m okay. It’s just-”

  “A lot,” he interjected, with a small smile.

  She smiled back, almost shyly. “Yes. It’s a lot.”

  “I understand,” he assured her, nodding.

  She went quiet for a moment, watching her own fingers trace the outline of his chest. “My brother warned me against this,” she admitted, with a small wrinkle between her brows. “And I know he’s right to, but that didn’t stop me from coming here tonight.”

  Henry’s brow furrowed.

  “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she went on, still without looking into his eyes. Her fingertip traced the curve of his pectoral, where she’d no doubt feel the rapid beat of his heart. “I just wanted to talk to you. Alone.”

  Henry caught her wrist and covered her hand with his, flattening her palm against his skin. “I’m glad you came,” he murmured. “But I wish your brother wouldn’t warn you against me.”

  Maggie arched her brow in response to that. “Of course you would think that.”

  “What are you suggesting?” He said, with an amused smile.

  “I’m saying that you benefit enormously from my ignoring his warning.” She smacked his chest softly as he said this, but there was a playfulness in her that he hadn’t seen before.

  “What did he warn you against?” He said, with even more mirth. His eyes were heavy-lidded, and he was watching her with a warm, almost tender expression.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she insisted, pulling her hand free of his, but only so she could trace the curve of his jaw. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  Henry nodded, closing his eyes so he could savor the sensation of her fingernail stroking over his skin. “You are,” he breathed. “Though God knows why.”

  “I meant what I said,” Maggie replied. “I don’t think you’d hurt me, Henry.”

  He smiled, feeling a burden lift.

  “I don’t think you hurt her,” she added. Henry looked away when she said that. He didn’t want to think about Amelia. Not now. “I wanted to ask you what happened…” she murmured, leaving the sentence hanging.

  “But?” He pressed, because it was obvious that there was a but.

  “But I don’t want to revive any pain for you.”

  It didn’t need reviving. It felt like it had never passed. It had just been buried.

  “What do you want to know?” He asked, after a long and heavy silence.

  Maggie inched closer to him. He lifted his arm to accommodate her and, as if they’d been made to fit together, she settled in against his side and put her cheek on his chest. “Everything,” she whispered.

  “Everything,” Henry mused. “That might take a while. Aren’t you tired?”

  He could feel her smiling against his skin. Then he felt the light and warm press of her lips against his chest. “I’m not tired,” she said, her voice husky, reminding him of what they’d just been doing. “I could do with the distraction,” she admitted.

  This notion made Henry grin. She was a good woman. She knew better than to let a man take her so easily, but it was clear that she wasn’t impervious to him. She wanted him. Perhaps just as much as he wanted her.

  “Tell me about her,” she murmured. “I want to know what she was like.”

  It felt surreal to be lying with her like this. It felt like such a radical change from what they’d had before, but he supposed it made sense. Whether either of them had been willing to admit it or not, there had been something between them, brimming beneath the surface.

  “Where to begin…” he mused.

  “What did she look like?”

  “She was tall,” Henry said. He could picture Amelia in his mind’s eye. At least, he could picture most of her. There were bits missing from his memory. Things like the feeling in her eyes. He could just about envision the color, but they seemed so blank and dead in his imagination. Perhaps they always had been and infatuation had made him see something more when they’d been together. “She had green eyes and long, auburn hair.”

  “Was she pretty?” Maggie’s voice was soft as she said this.

  Henry couldn’t have imagined talking about Amelia with anyone. It awakened far too much pain to do so. But with Maggie… it somehow felt easy. Almost painless. “Very,” he said. “She was the talk of the town when she was single. There wasn’t a gentleman living who didn’t want her.”

  Maggie was silent for a
few moments, which was unexpected given that her questions had been so readily available. He looked down at her, to find her staring at his chest. “Maggie?” He said. “Are you alright?”

  She slid a look up at him, from beneath her lashes. “I’m fine,” she answered. “Go on. Tell me about her character.”

  Henry expelled a breath as he thought. “Before she left, I would have told you that she was an adventurous and care-free woman.”

  “And now?”

  “Now,” he said, slowly. “Now, I think that she was very cunning. Talented in her own way, and exceptionally clever. I don’t think I was a naïve man, but she had me so wholly fooled by her.”