A Gentleman's Curse: Avenging Lords - Book 4
Page 8
“That animal did not maul my face and try to scratch out my eyes.”
Drake chuckled as he pointed to Valentine’s cheek. “If you look closely, you can still see the scar.”
Valentine slapped his friend’s hand away. “At least I don’t get down on all fours and growl at dogs.”
“I was trying to train the lazy animal,” Drake countered.
Nothing had changed during Lockhart’s absence. His friends knew how to lighten his mood, brighten his spirits. But one glimpse at Terence was enough to rouse the devil inside.
“Shall we dance, Claudia?” Lockhart said as the first few strains of the waltz echoed through the room. He would have a moment alone to school his partner in deception before approaching his brother. It was imperative Miss Darling looked happy and vivacious when they made their first move.
“You wish to dance the waltz?” She seemed nervous.
“I told you. I intend to keep you close. Give Juliet your mask and Drake will hold mine.” Not everyone waited until the grand reveal.
Miss Darling did as he asked.
When they walked out onto the dance floor, he felt the gossips’ piercing stares, heard their curious whispers.
“You love me,” he breathed. “Every person in this room must be in no doubt.”
“And you love me,” she said, allowing him to clasp her hand and draw her into the required embrace. “Do try to keep your gaze eye level.”
Lockhart smiled as his hand settled on her back. “I’ve more chance of calling a constable and admitting to murder,” he said, sweeping her into the dance. “Surely you’d not begrudge your husband one small indulgence.”
“Indulging you is becoming a habit.” Miss Darling returned his smile. She seemed genuinely amused, but then she was a good actress.
“Habit? Rather a pleasurable pastime I hope, not a chore.”
They moved about the floor in perfect time to the music. For a country maiden, Miss Darling possessed the elegance one needed for such a graceful dance. Yes, she might have stumbled once or twice had he not been strong enough to support her but that stemmed from a lack of experience as opposed to a lack of skill.
As they travelled and swayed through the steps, his focus shifted. He had meant to use the opportunity to gain his brother’s attention and yet gazing into Miss Darling’s eyes and feigning love proved distracting.
“There is a reason we are dancing,” she said. Her level of perception was as sharp as his own. “You want your brother to notice you. You want to witness his reaction.”
Lockhart had wanted to burst into the ballroom like a violent storm set to whip the room into a frenzy. He wanted to charge at Terence and drive his fist down his brother’s throat, for the simple fact that he’d lacked the strength to help clear Lockhart’s name.
But this was a complicated game.
One that took patience and perseverance.
“And how might I do that when I cannot stop looking at you?”
Lockhart took the opportunity to admire Miss Darling more closely. Her golden hair shimmered like silk in the candlelight. The sapphires decorating the comb added an ethereal appeal. The rise and fall of their movements on the floor matched the undulation of her milky-white breasts as her breath came quicker.
“Your need to prove a point must not distract you from your plan,” she said.
“Prove a point?” Did Miss Darling know of his history with Selina? Did she know he wanted the vixen to rue the day she married his brother? Surely not.
“To prove to the villain that his actions did not ruin your life.” Pity flashed briefly in her eyes. “We have a limited time to achieve success. We must make every moment count.”
Selina’s duplicity had helped stoke the fire of vengeance—had given him a reason to live. And while he fantasised about seducing the woman pretending to be his wife, that was not why he was here.
“Then let us move nearer to the orchestra,” Lockhart said.
Terence was still deep in conversation, his Scaramouch mask pulled high on his forehead, the long, pointed nose resembling a devil’s horn. Did his brother not know that in the commedia dell’arte it was the mask of vanity and the mask of a coward?
“I know of a way to gain his attention,” she said as they were but a few feet away. “Pull me closer and whisper into my ear.”
Unable to refuse an opportunity to feel Miss Darling’s body pressed against his, Lockhart did as she asked. “Aren’t you even a little intrigued to see me naked in bed?” he whispered in a soft teasing breath.
He felt a shiver run through her body, but the actress tilted her head back and laughed loud enough to draw attention. The incessant hum of laughter filling the room diminished. He heard his name carried on a breeze of whispers. From the corner of his eye, Lockhart noted those in the vicinity turn towards the floor and stare. Deciding not to meet his brother’s gaze, not yet at least, he captured Miss Darling’s hand and drew her from the floor.
“Where are we going?” she said, hurrying to keep his pace.
“To the terrace.” Terence would follow. And the garden would afford some privacy should either of them fly into a rage, should they end up needing to release five years of pent-up frustration.
“But it’s so cold out, and I don’t have my wrapper.”
“I shall keep you warm.”
The terrace doors were closed to keep the freezing fog at bay. Lockhart opened the door, slipped outside with Miss Darling and closed it again. The frigid air smelt sterile until one inhaled deeply and almost choked on the coal smoke. Cold nipped at his cheeks and his breath came in puffs of mist. A white blanket of frost covered the lawn. Through the haze, ice sparkled like crystals as it clung to foliage and branches.
“How long must we stay out here?” Miss Darling shivered as she scanned the deserted terrace.
“Not long.” He unfastened his black silk cloak—part of his ridiculous domino costume—and draped it around Miss Darling’s shoulders. “This should keep you warm.”
She inhaled deeply. “It smells of you.”
“In a good way, I hope.”
“In an extremely good way.”
They looked into each other’s eyes. His fingers stroked the delicate skin below her collarbone as he drew the edges of the cloak across her chest. This time, he did not need to feign emotion. He did not pretend to feel anything other than a rush of apprehension and the carnal lust that always thrummed in his veins when he stood so close to Claudia Darling.
“I have a suggestion,” he said, shuffling back a few steps to lean against the wall, “though I am not sure you will approve.”
“Tell me you don’t plan to stay out here all night.” She shuddered as the words left her trembling lips.
“No.” He smiled. “Come here.” He captured the ends of the cloak and pulled her to his chest. “Let me wrap my arms around you. It will add credence to our story as well as keep the cold from settling into your bones.”
They were so close their breath mingled in the frigid air. Despite being dressed like a duchess—one who oozed with the confidence of her station—the furrows across her brow conveyed the true nature of the woman he was about to embrace, perhaps even kiss.
“We are merely actors playing roles,” he reminded her.
He had convinced himself of that, too.
“Even actors must have some reservations when forcing intimacy with a stranger.”
“A stranger?” Lockhart arched a brow. “Besides my friends, you know more about me than anyone else in that room.”
She raised her chin a fraction. It was enough to draw his attention to the pouting lips eager to make a point. “I know only what you tell me. How do I know what is real? How can I tell the difference between words spoken from the heart and the lines you have spent months rehearsing?”
Without thought, he cupped her cold cheek. “Can you not feel the tenderness in my touch? There is a naivety about you that rouses the gentleman in me. There is a puri
ty to your character that makes me want to devour your mouth in the hope I might feel goodness in my heart, too.” He paused briefly and wondered what it must be like to feel something other than hatred for his kin. “That is real. That is true. It draws me to you like a moth to a flame.” And yet part of him wanted to run, wanted to put a vast ocean between them.
Raised voices on the other side of the terrace doors captured their attention.
“There is no time to discuss this further,” he whispered with some urgency. “But I am going to kiss you now, Miss Darling.”
With wild eyes, she glanced quickly at the glass doors. “You should know I have never kissed a man.”
“Never?”
“Never.”
Knowing he would be the first gentleman to taste her proved highly arousing. “Then think of this as your opening night. And you know what actors say.”
“No. What do they say?”
“One’s performance improves with practice.”
Chapter Eight
The sight of Mr Lockhart moistening his lips was enough to rob Claudia of all rational thought. She forgot about the cold nipping her cheeks, forgot that her fingers were numb, forgot she was his second choice and should tell him to go to the devil.
Lord, he was about to kiss her and pay seventeen hundred pounds for the privilege.
Did that not make her the most expensive courtesan to grace the ballroom this evening?
The thought should have made her gather up her skirts and race back to Falaura Glen. But she would rather kiss Mr Lockhart once than have Mr Thorncroft’s lips smother hers night after night.
Mr Lockhart lowered his head and stared at her with a smouldering heat that made him look positively sinful. Nerves pushed to the fore as he came closer, close enough that she breathed in the woody tones of his cologne.
Oh, why was he taking his time?
Why did he not hurry?
Her heart hammered so hard in her chest she had no choice but to take control. Grabbing the lapels of Mr Lockhart’s black waistcoat, she squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her lips to his so fiercely it hurt.
The gentleman tore his mouth away. “Good God, woman. You may suffer from stage fright, but there’s no need to assault the cast.”
“Forgive me … I …” Heat flooded her cheeks. “Oh, just kiss me, sir, and have done with it.”
“That is what I am attempting to do.”
“You were lingering for too long.”
“Lingering? It’s called seduction.”
“I think you forget why we—”
Mr Lockhart’s lips came crashing down on hers—wild and wicked—bursting with passion, not panic. His mouth slid over hers with surprising skill, so warm, so wet, so thoroughly commanding. Every nerve in her body sparked to life to bask in the sweet sensation.
With a hunger that stole her breath, he coaxed her lips apart. Her legs almost buckled when he moaned into her mouth and the first touch of his tongue teased her to respond. He continued to stroke, to taste, to explore with a need that went beyond the duties of a fake husband. Every slick movement fed her desire. Every caress tugged deep in her core.
Hudson Lockhart knew how to please a woman.
Hudson Lockhart knew how to take what he wanted.
A pleasurable hum resonated in the back of his throat, the sound like a siren’s song tempting her to move closer to this idyllic shore, to dive into these forbidden waters.
Oh, she’d imagined kissing him many times this last month—but never like this.
Random lines from Coleridge’s poem entered her mind.
Alone … Alone on a wide sea! My soul in agony.
Her soul craved a companion.
Looking for something to ease the yearning inside, she touched her tongue to his. The erotic sensation seemed to draw the strength from her muscles. She sagged against his chest, permitting him to plunder, to take whatever he needed.
Hudson Lockhart wasted no time.
Merciful heaven.
Hot hands slipped from her back to cup and caress her buttocks. Each tangle of their tongues fed her craving. With every masterful thrust into her mouth, he rocked against her in an erotic dance that made her head spin. Heat pooled low and heavy in her loins until she could think of nothing other than touching his bare skin, of bringing relief to the desperate ache between her thighs.
The lustful urges gripping him showed no signs of abating. Had they been somewhere private, she would have surrendered to these waves of wanton pleasure.
Nothing had ever felt so divine.
The sweet music of passion that carried her in its undulating rhythm was suddenly drowned out by the lively notes of a Scottish reel spilling out into the night. The hum of conversation and laughter became more discernible. A discreet cough drew her out of the sensual world where she indulged her fantasies with a man she could no longer consider a stranger.
“Hudson?” In that one word, the masculine voice conveyed shock and confusion.
Mr Lockhart seemed oblivious to the interruption—or was that part of his plan? Indeed, he did not tear his lips away but continued to trail fiery kisses across her cheek to the sensitive spot below her ear.
“Remember you love me,” he whispered.
This man was so skilled in the art of giving pleasure how could she forget?
The gentleman hovering at their side coughed again. “Hudson?”
Lockhart raised his head and stared at the two people who had invaded their moment of intimacy and brought Claudia crashing back to reality with a bump.
“Hudson?” the man with hair as black as Mr Lockhart’s—but whose countenance lacked his brother’s magnetic appeal—repeated for the third time. It was hard to take him seriously with the pointed nose of the Scaramouch mask perched on top of his head. “Good God! It is you. You’re alive?”
“It appears so,” Lockhart replied with an air of indifference. His hands slipped to his sides as he straightened. “Tropical fevers can make a man seem as though he’s knocking on death’s door. I’m afraid Lord Greystone was somewhat premature in his correspondence.”
Claudia studied Terence Lockhart’s face. Confusion did not turn to elation as he absorbed the news. “What the hell possessed you to come home?” The cold look of fear filled his eyes.
“One can only stand the heat for so long, and my wife longed to return to England.”
“Your wife?” The lady with equally dark hair, shivering in the flimsy fabric of her Minerva costume, gasped. “You did not think to write and tell us you survived? You did not think to tell us you’re married?”
Selina Lockhart’s distress seemed justified under the circumstances. The watery evidence of pain and disappointment swam in her eyes.
Lockhart’s hand came to rest on Claudia’s back. His other hand settled on her stomach. It took every ounce of restraint she possessed not to gasp at the intimate gesture.
“I feared you might try to prevent our return,” Lockhart said, “and we wish for our child to be born in England.”
The lady’s face turned ashen as she gaped at the large masculine hand cradling their imagined babe. Imagined or not, Hudson’s caring caress played havoc with Claudia’s mind.
What woman wouldn’t want such a strong and powerful man as her protector?
What woman wouldn’t want to have a piece of Hudson Lockhart to love and cherish?
Terence Lockhart wrapped his arm around his wife and rubbed her shoulder affectionately.
Selina shrugged out of his embrace. “You’re with child?” Rapid breaths and wet sniffs spoke of an inner torment.
“Indeed,” Claudia replied, feigning happiness at the prospect. “With the Lord’s blessing, our child will be born in May.”
Selina covered her eyes with her hands.
“You must forgive our odd reaction,” Terence said, embarrassment staining his cheeks. “We have spent five years hoping for the same, but to no avail.”
Selina was barren?
Did Mr Lockhart know? Was his sister-in-law’s inability to conceive part of the reason he wanted a wife and heir, to prove he was a better man than the brother who’d abandoned him five years ago?
“I can only imagine how distressing that might be,” Lockhart said, his voice laced with sympathy. In reality, he probably found the news satisfying.
Indeed, Mr Lockhart had every right to be both angry and suspicious. Had Claudia spent five years separated from Emily, she would hug her sister so tightly she’d struggle to catch her breath. These aloof exchanges failed to convey an ounce of love or compassion for Hudson Lockhart’s plight.
“And you think it wise to return to London?” Terence cast a covert glance in Claudia’s direction. “After the incident at the inn, did we not agree you would remain abroad indefinitely?”
Lockhart straightened and tugged at the cuffs of his coat. Claudia felt the loss of his warm hands instantly. Still, the anger she sensed raging inside her husband burned hot enough to thaw the freezing fog.
“You can speak openly in front of my wife. We have no secrets.”
That was not entirely true. He had failed to mention she was his second choice.
Terence arched a brow in surprise. “Then she knows you risk your neck coming here.”
Lockhart shrugged. “Other than you, who knows of the crime? Has anyone ever found the body?” Lockhart’s heavy sigh sent a puff of white mist into the air. “Has anyone ever come forward to incriminate me?”
“Not that I am aware,” Terence replied, still looking less than pleased about his brother’s return.
“Then I do not see the problem.”
“God damn it, Hudson,” Terence suddenly snapped through gritted teeth. He dragged the mask off his head and jabbed it at Lockhart. “Seeing you might prompt someone’s memory. Do you not care if you’re hauled to the gallows? You endanger us all by being here. We all face ruination if the truth comes to light, including your wife and your unborn child.”
Said in a more earnest tone, one might have believed Terence Lockhart cared for his brother. But the words showed concern for his own interests first and foremost.