The Lady Flees Her Lord

by Ann Lethbridge

  “Hurry up,” he tossed over his shoulder.

  Dash it, if anything he had increased his pace. Curiosity rampant, she picked up her skirts and flew behind him down a passage lined with portraits in crisp Tudor ruffs or dripping in Stuart laces, along with one stern-looking fellow in unrelieved black. No doubt Cromwell’s man.

  Wanstead disappeared at the end of the corridor, the juncture of the Tudor house and the newer wing. She charged around the corner, skidding to a halt to avoid a collision with a massive obstruction. Him.

  She sucked in a much-needed breath. “What—”

  “This way.” He threw open the door of the chamber. A bedroom? She hung back. “If you will excuse me, my lord, I think it is time I went home.” He glanced into the room and back at her. “Oh. I fear you have a wicked mind, Mrs. Graham.”

  From the heat in her cheeks, her face must have turned scarlet. Had he guessed that she had done nothing but dream of the feel of his hard body pressed against hers since the morning of their picnic? Did he know that she had been disappointed when he hadn’t kissed her more thoroughly yesterday? She gave him a glare and marched past him into the room, the book against her chest her only line of defense. Hot, her pulse jumping, she glanced around. A canopied bed occupied one end of the room and a lady’s dressing table and stool the other. “What did you want to show me?” Her voice sounded breathless.

  Small creases furrowed his brow. “I was thinking of installing one of the newfangled water closets and a bath in this room. What do you think?”

  “It would have to be a large one.” Oh, her foolish tongue. And her ridiculous blush.

  He didn’t appear to notice, apart from a glint in his eyes. “Large enough for two, I hope.”

  A vision of Lord Wanstead in a tub lit a fire in her stomach she couldn’t control. She tried to keep her voice steady and her thoughts focused on the discussion. “But if I am not mistaken, this is the countess’s chamber. Will you do away with it altogether?”

  “I don’t see why not.” He moved past her to stand at the foot of the bed. The light from the window outlined his granite jaw and the planes and valleys of his square face. “Since I don’t have a countess.”

  It sounded as if he thought that was a good thing. She found herself in agreement and felt her heart lift in pure selfish joy. She closed her eyes for a second, trying to get a grip on her seesawing emotions.

  “And anyway,” he continued as if unaware of the havoc he was causing, “my chamber is more than big enough for two.” A wicked smile transformed his face from stern to rake in a flash.

  Her body felt a languorous yielding. She clenched her fists against the insidious melting and was unprepared when he snaked out a hand and pulled her close.

  He gazed down into her eyes, the smile still on his lips and a question in his eyes. He brushed the hair back from her face with a hand that shook very slightly. “What do you think?”

  Heat from his body warmed her, seeping into her bones. The scent of lemon and bay filled her senses. She longed to lean against his shoulder, to accept the protection of his manly strength, to open her heart and her soul to this unexpected gift of something wonderful in her life.

  She pressed her palms against his chest, unable to take her gaze from the lips hovering close to hers with their promise of heaven and, if she was brutally honest, their pathway to pain and humiliation. “Please, my lord, let me go.”

  “Do you fear me after all, Mrs. Graham? I had not thought you a coward.”

  The razor edge to his voice gave her pause, his ability to read her thoughts frightening. Yet his eyes showed nothing but kindness. Powerless to free herself, she gazed up at him. “I must find you presumptuous. I am a woman alone, but I am not fair game, my lord.”

  “Call me Hugo. Are you happy living alone?”

  The request and the swift question sent her mind scrambling to follow his train of thought. “I like it well enough.” She frowned at him. “Most of the time, my lord.”

  “Hugo.” He gazed down at her, not threatening, but not relaxing his hold either. “Wouldn’t you prefer the warmth of companionship at day’s end?”

  The implication mirrored the sensual cast of his mouth and the warmth in his eyes. She’d heard enough of the rakish ways of her husband’s friends to understand his intent. He wanted her. And God help her, she wanted him, too, with every fiber of her being. Never had she felt desire of such undeniable strength. Her heartbeat quickened with a mixture of excitement and dread. An overwhelming longing to agree left her mouth dry and her chest aching. Fortunately good sense prevailed and the word yes remained firmly stuck in her throat.

  He sighed, a heavy sound in the quiet room. “You remain loyal to your husband’s memory, no doubt?” The soft baritone deepened seductively. “Surely he would want a better life for his child than living in pecuniary circumstances?”

  He had of course noted the meager furnishings in her house, her modest lifestyle, and her outmoded gowns. He offered a financially secure future with no ties or obligations along with the comfort of his arms. A prospect she found very tempting. With him. If her family ever found out . . . Or if Denbigh learned of her whereabouts . . . Her mind twisted and turned like a sheet drying in the wind. Yet all she could think of was the feel of his arms around her, the storm of passion weakening every strand of moral fiber in her body.

  But if she agreed, if she threw caution to the winds, what kind of lover would she make? His disappointment would shatter her soul.

  “I can’t,” she choked out.

  He released her and stepped back. “Once more you leave me envying your husband, Lucinda.” His gaze searched her face. “Why? I know you are attracted to me. Your kisses show it even if your words do not. Why not exchange loneliness for what we can bring to each other?”

  Too many lies lay between them. She settled on a truth he could not deny. “You need a wife and an heir. I will not stand in the way of your responsibility.”

  His expression lightened, his gaze searched her face. “If that is the only impediment, it is solved. I am not the kind of man to break his marriage vows. I do not intend to marry again.”

  The words rang with painful certainty. “But surely . . . an heir . . .”

  He cupped her face with his warm, large, gentle hands and bent his head close to hers, his lips curved in a smile. “As I told you, I do not want children. I have an heir. A cousin.”

  She searched his eyes, seeking truth, and found heat and desire and yearning.

  He swooped down. Their lips molded as if they had been designed to fit. She desired him. Wanted him. The force of her desire shook her body like the tremors of an earthquake. Never before had she felt such a powerful want. Was it real? If there truly was a woman hiding inside her, this man would set her free. Or he would confirm nature’s cruelest trick. Dare she find out?

  If she did not at least try, she would suffer regret for all time.

  A pulse-beat of passion in her core fired her blood. She had never felt so warm and willing. Her heart thundered hope. She flung her arms around his neck and arched against his solid length, tracing the seam of his mouth with her tongue.

  He opened his mouth to her pressure with a groan.

  “Lucinda,” he murmured.

  Hugo, my love, her heart whispered.

  Chapter Ten

  Arms warm and as strong as steel banded around her shoulders and under her knees. He swept her off her feet, a most unnerving sensation until he settled her in a gentle embrace. Safe. Secure. Cradled against his massive chest, she felt delicate, treasured, and unbelievable feminine.

  I can do this. The thought took her breath away, leaving her dizzy with longing.

  She cupped his strong jaw, the stubble on his chin grazing her palm. Desire darkened his eyes to the color of mysterious forests.

  Her heart beating unbearably fast, she lifted her mouth to meet his lips. Locked in a breathless, mindless kiss, she relaxed in his hold. As he strode into his cha
mber, the combined sounds of their breathing filled her ears. She ran her hands over his shoulders and tangled her fingers in the hair at his nape, smooth and silky, so different from his strong, hard body.

  At the side of the huge four-poster bed, he lowered her gently to her feet. A hot shivering sensation ran across her shoulders and down her spine as he captured her face in his hands, raining small kisses on her eyelids, the tip of her nose, and each corner of her mouth.

  Too slow. She didn’t want time to think. She attacked the buttons on his coat.

  A low groan vibrated deep in his throat.

  As he stepped back, his chest rose and fell with breathing as shallow and ragged as her own. He peeled off his jacket and ran a fiery glance down her length. With the flash of a wicked smile, he unknotted the tapes of her gown and pulled them loose. He frowned when the fabric remained in place, but then found the pins and slid them free.

  She wanted to see him also. Had to. Her fingers flew to his waistcoat buttons.

  “Take it easy, love.” His voice sounded hoarse.

  Love. Softness weakened her muscles’ ability to protest. Her insides felt loose and achy with a deep longing.

  He shrugged clear of his waistcoat and tore off his cravat, unbuttoning the throat of his shirt with nimble fingers. Dark hair at the base of his throat attracted her gaze. Without thinking, she reached out to touch the springy curls, coarse and very male. She cast him a hesitant glance. Would he think her too forward? He stared back, his eyelids drooping over stormy greens and brown, his mouth sensual.

  Boldly she placed her hand flat on his chest, absorbing the heat and the pounding of his heart.

  He drew in a sharp breath.

  She smiled.

  “You little wanton,” he teased with obvious delight.

  He liked her touch. And she adored the feel of crisp curls over warm skin. She slid her fingers deeper into the open neck of his shirt and found the curve of his muscled chest, not soft but hard and warm, roughened by hair.

  He caught her exploring hand and lifted it to his mouth, kissing each finger, all the while gazing into her eyes. “Your turn,” he whispered.

  A pulse fluttered between her thighs as her body turned to hot liquid with streamers of fire running through her blood. Desire. Lust. Something deeper she dare not name.

  He lowered his lips in her throat and inhaled a deep breath through his nose. “You smell delicious.”

  Lightly, he drew her bodice down, exposing her chemise and stays. He groaned, his lips moving to the rise of her breasts thinly disguised beneath the sheer cotton fabric. He pulled the drawstring undone and unlaced her stays with practiced ease, tossing them aside when they fell loose.

  On a sharp indrawn breath, he cupped one breast, lifting and kneading. His thumb circled her nipple, a hard nub pressing against the chemise’s thin fabric.

  Steeled against pain, unable to breathe, she felt nausea roiling in her stomach. She stilled. She couldn’t do this. She adored his kisses and the heart-pounding excitement of his embrace, but she hated the pain he would inflict.

  He looked up from watching his hand and stared at her, desire a glaze on his face. “What is it, love?”

  Guilt as bitter as bile rose in her throat. He would think her the worst kind of flirt. Shaking her head, she closed her eyes to hide her shame. “I’m sorry.” She brushed his hand away and crossed her arms over her scantily clad bosom, all ten acres of it, suddenly, horribly aware of her near nakedness.

  “Did I hurt you?” The raw anxiety in his voice drew her gaze to his troubled face.

  “It is me. My fault.” She retreated, her buttocks encountering the edge of the bed. Nowhere to run. She turned her head and stared at the blue and gold counterpane. “I can’t do this.”

  He didn’t move, but she felt his gaze on her face. “You make no sense. The way you kiss me . . .” He reached out to touch her jaw with his knuckle.

  Against all her training, she flinched. He snatched back his hand.

  Rigid, he stared at her.

  Even though she didn’t dare look, his tension crashed against her with the fury of waves dashing against a cliff. The cold, hard unfeeling rock of her. Cringing inside, she straightened her shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

  “Your husband hurt you.” His voice was flat and cold and empty. “Didn’t he?” He stared at the circular scar on her collarbone. “Did he do that to you?”

  Miserable, ashamed, wanting to flee his inquisition, she nodded. “It was an accident,” she whispered. “He’d been drinking. He didn’t mean it.” If only she believed it.

  “He didn’t mean to burn you with what? A cigar?”

  The ice in his tone terrified her. “I made him angry when he was drunk. I should have known better.”

  He let go a long, slow breath. “Dear God. Drunk or sober, angry or not, no man has the right to deliberately hurt a woman.”

  He placed a hand lightly on her shoulder. Her skin absorbed his heat like ice in spring sunshine. “I swear, I would never do anything like that.” Anguish tortured his voice, cracking it.

  She bit her lip and stared into his eyes, seeing sorrow and deep regret, as if he blamed himself for what had happened when it was all her fault.

  “I know you wouldn’t hurt me. Not on purpose. But I . . .” Clutching her chemise close across her breasts, she half turned her shoulder so she did not have to see his face and read his pity. “There is something amiss with me. I freeze up. I don’t like . . . it.”

  He drew her chin toward him with gentle fingers, forcing her to look up at him. The furrow between his straight brows deepened, and his eyes watched her closely. “You like kissing well enough.”

  Heat infused her cheeks. “That’s different.”

  His glance dropped to her chest. She hunched her shoulders.

  “Did he hurt you when you made love?”

  Oh, God. She couldn’t take any more. “Please, my lord, Hugo. Let me leave.”

  “Just answer me this one thing, Lucinda. When he took you to bed, did it cause you pain? Not just the first time, but each time you lay together.”

  “Yes.” Her heart clenched so tightly that she thought it would never beat again. “He said . . . I was . . . am . . . frigid.” She flicked a quick glance at his tight expression. “He couldn’t rouse me, no matter what he did. In the end, he didn’t even remove his clothes. He just did his duty and . . .” Her voice broke.

  “And what did he do to rouse you? Hurt you?”

  The pity in his murmur shattered the dam she’d built to contain her rage, to hide her humiliation. Words ripped from her tear-filled throat. “He said it was the only way to make me feel anything.”

  “He enjoyed your pain and fear.” Ice filled his flat voice. “It’s a bloody good job he is dead, or I would kill him myself.”

  “He always begged my forgiveness afterward. Blamed me, because I could not respond.”

  “The bastard.” His hands cupped her face. “Some men are pigs. He did it to please himself, not you. Lucinda, did you not sense something wrong? Talk to your mother? Other women?”

  “He was my husband. He threatened to tell everyone about me if I ever said a word.” She lowered her lashes, avoiding his gaze, knowing he would despise her weakness. “I didn’t want people to know I was . . . like that.” Frigid. Cold. Unfeeling.

  “I don’t believe it. You are a woman brimming with passion. I sensed it the moment I met you. This . . . man robbed you of joy and pleasure. Don’t live your life thinking pain is all there is between a man and a woman.”

  “What if you are wrong?”

  He tipped her chin with one finger, forcing her to meet his compassionate dark forest gaze. “I know by the way you feel in my arms, the way your response fires my blood. But you will never know for sure unless you try again.” He lowered his head, not touching her with his hands, and pressed his lips to hers, warm and soft, infinitely tender.

  Instant heat flamed across her skin. She parted her li
ps to the gentle flicker of his tongue against the seam of her mouth. She darted her tongue into his open mouth, and her body clenched at the sound of his quick indrawn breath.

  Their tongues tangled and danced in the hot, wet cavity of his mouth. Nowhere else did they touch. Her body yearned to yield against his hardness. She pressed into his chest. A groan vibrated his ribs, and the heat of his hands hovered above her back. The muscles in her shoulders ached for his touch. Thoughts suspended, she lost herself in the sensations swamping her body.

  His breathing shortened, his chest vibrating with the thunder of his heartbeat.

  She closed her eyes and drifted on the tumultuous tide of desire, learning his mouth, how each sweep of her tongue made him purr like a satisfied lion, and how her core pulsed at the sound. She longed for the feel of his arms around her.

  Weak-kneed and dizzy, she clutched at his sweat-slicked shoulders and with a breathless laugh drew back.

  Control etched lines around his mouth, but a smile tilted the corners of lips moist from her kisses.

  “Your kiss has me on fire,” he said, his voice raw. “But I’ll do nothing without your leave. You lead the way.”

  “Hold me,” she said.

  He spread a hesitant, questioning hand against her spine.

  In answer, she molded into him. He wrapped his arms around her, cradling her against his chest.

  She nuzzled his neck, inhaling the scent of lemon and bay and man. She kissed the pulse beneath his ear. He caressed her back, her sides, her rib cage. The heel of his hands brushed the undersides of her breasts.

  A shiver skittered down her back. Fierce desire jolted her core and beaded her nipples. She gasped.

  He loosened his hold, pulling away with raised brows.

  She’d never seen her husband unclothed apart from sly peeks when he was dressing. And he was nothing like this magnificent male, all power and mystery.

  “Take off your shirt. I want to see you.” She tried not to wince at how brazen she sounded.

  He visibly swallowed, then nodded stiffly. In a blur of movement he whipped the fine lawn over his head and stood still and silent.