A Lover for Lydia (The Wednesday Club Book 4)

by Sahara Kelly

  “Oh, yes, of course. My apologies,” said Lydia, trying to blink away little flashes that crossed her vision whenever she stared too long at the decor. Turning her attention to something more appealing to her eyes, she found herself looking at a younger version of Sir Anthony. “Hallo. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She nodded politely.

  “And Miss Hartsmere-Drake,” said Anthony with a smile. “Delightful to see you again.”

  Prudence curtseyed correctly. “Thank you, sir. And Mr Calder. I trust you are enjoying the evening?”

  Ronald was blinking at Prudence as she addressed him, his eyes wide. Then he recollected himself. “Oh yes. Yes indeed. Lovely to meet you as well.” He gave an awkward little bow.

  Lydia’s lips twitched, and Anthony took her arm. “Why don’t we wander amongst the tables and let Ronald pull himself together?”

  “Oh, sorry,” Ronald shook himself out of his stupor, and tentatively offered Prudence his arm.

  She smiled graciously.

  Lydia prayed she could hold in the laughter. Prudence was in her element here, and it was truly delightful to watch her ease into such a paragon of virtue. She was putting Ronald at ease, making him smile and managing him with all the skill of a trained equestrian with a skittish mount.

  “I’m here, Lydia. Over here.” Anthony squeezed her arm with his. “And feeling most neglected.”

  She recalled herself. “I apologise. Prudence and I had been speaking together and thus I felt I should keep an eye on her.”

  “She’ll come to no harm with Ronald, I can assure you.” He grinned. “He’s nothing like me.”

  That caught her attention, and she raised one eyebrow. “Do you intend to do me harm, then, Sir Anthony?”

  They strolled past the tables and he picked up a glass of champagne, presenting it to her. “Of course not. There are much more pleasant things I’d like to do to you.”

  At that moment, she spied Mowbray, throwing his head back on a happy laugh, to the delight of the slender woman in front of him. She reached out and touched him, a smile wreathing her lips and her eyes fixed on his face as she continued to speak to him. They were on the other side of the room, and who on earth the woman was, or what they were saying, she couldn’t hear.

  A severe bolt of what could only be jealousy shot through Lydia from her eyebrows to her toes.

  She looked up at Anthony. “Really? Such as…”

  His face changed a little, his eyes focussing intently on her mouth. “Well, there’s kissing, of course. Most pleasant, as I’m sure you know.”

  “Indeed,” she nodded. “Is that all?”

  “Not at all,” he replied, guiding her to the far side of the velvet cave. “Kissing leads to tender touches…which you might guess are also most pleasant…” his voice was soft and low, tender even.

  To her surprise, she suddenly discovered that he’d manoeuvred her outside, through a side door behind the velvet. The night air was soft and the breeze balmy.

  His kiss came naturally on the heels of his words. The man was a practiced seducer, but a very successful one, because he enjoyed himself, liked women, and knew what they wanted to hear.

  All this Lydia knew, and yet she still allowed his lips to touch hers knowing it would mean nothing.

  She was right. No sparkles, no eagerness building within her for more. He was the one to pull back, but before he could speak the door was flung open and light streamed into the night, highlighting Lydia in Sir Anthony Calder’s arms.

  “I knew it,” a vicious voice cried out. “Look at this disgusting behaviour. Alone outside with a gentleman.” It was Miss Ansell, crossing her arms beneath her bosom and looking righteous. “Bringing her disgusting London ways down here to corrupt us. I think it’s unpardonable and you should be apologising to Lady Susan for your decadent actions. Shame on you.”

  Lydia opened her mouth to respond, but then—at that very moment—she saw Mowbray’s head appear in the crowd. The expression on his face, the shock, the disappointment, the frown that drew his brows together, all registered at once, choking off her words. What made it worse was the sight of Chuffy Stonewood smirking.

  It was Anthony who stepped forward.

  “Miss Ansell, you wrong Miss Davenport. She felt a little faint and I assisted her outside to get some cooler air. I must admit I am shocked at your accusations, made with no evidence or forethought.” He walked to the angry woman. “Lady Susan requires no apologies from us and I’m quite sure she’s aware of that fact.”

  “I am indeed.” The lady herself pushed her way to the front of the crowd. “Let’s have done with this nonsense. Sir Anthony has explained the situation and I find it quite plausible.” She paused, frowned and shook her head. “It was the damn velvet. I never should have indulged Francis. He’s the one who suggested it.”

  There was a murmur of agreement at this announcement, but she ignored it. “Now I’m going to have my servants open every window and air out the room. We can push the velvet out of the way. I don’t want anyone fainting and it is quite hot this evening. Unusually so.” She fanned herself.

  Colly moved easily through the crowd to extend a hand to Lady Susan, and as he did so, he turned to confront Miss Ansell.

  “Well, I think…” she began, her voice harsh.

  “I don’t believe any of us wish to hear more of your thoughts at this time, Ma’am. Pray allow her Ladyship to return indoors and let’s have an end to this unpleasantness.” Colly was every inch a Duke, to the point of looking down his nose at her with the utmost disdain.

  As would be expected, she withered under that gaze. Lydia almost felt sorry for her until she found herself the recipient of a curled lip and a dismissive toss of the head.

  “Come along, Lydia my dear. Let’s get you something cool to drink.” Lady Susan fussed around her.

  “That would be most welcome, my Lady.” She touched the woman’s arm. “I am so sorry for that absurd scene.”

  “You have nothing to apologise for. I should be the one apologising for inviting that silly woman.” She leaned close. “I believe she had designs on young Anthony, you know. Met him at some ball in London and couldn’t stop talking about him for ages. I had forgotten about it until just now, or I wouldn’t have invited her.”

  “Ah,” sighed Lydia. “That explains it.”

  “So between you and me,” Lady Susan leaned even closer. “Did you accept Anthony’s offer?”

  Lydia shook her head. “No, Ma’am. In fact, I already turned him down once before.” She lifted her chin. “I am most fortunate to be able to wed the man of my choice, not the other way around. Sir Anthony is a delightful gentleman, but not the husband I would choose.”

  “You have your head on right enough, Miss Lydia. Well done.” Lady Susan winked. “When the right one comes along, grab him.” She glanced across the room at Sir Francis. “I did. Never regretted it for a minute.” And with a warmly affectionate pat on the cheek, she hurried off.

  *~~*~~*

  The journey home was a quiet one, with both carriages containing people who were tired, embarrassed, awkward and unsure of what to say.

  It had certainly been exhausting, for the gentlemen cooped up in that red velvet cave, and for the ladies who had indulged fully in the champagne. And, Mowbray admitted to himself, the little scandal.

  His tiredness came from the shock, the emotional punch he’d felt when he saw Lydia and Calder.

  Intelligent enough to admit his feelings for her were growing apace, he was in no way prepared for the savage bolt of pain that rendered him all but helpless as that damn velvet drew back on the tableau of the woman he’d held in his arms, kissed and caressed to madness, in another man’s embrace.

  Jealousy, he’d previously believed, had been a rather silly emotion that should be dealt with logically.

  How foolish an assumption that had been.

  Had he a sword or a pistol at hand, he would have willingly used them to put an end to Anthony Calder. An
d what on earth had the man done to deserve such a fate? He’d put his hands on Lydia Davenport.

  Mowbray tried to mock himself, to tell himself that this line of thought was absurd, irrational and, from a scientific viewpoint, based on nothing but assumptions. Lydia might well have felt faint; God knows most of the men felt damn nauseous when sitting inside that devilish red cave Lady Susan had created.

  His mind tore the whole matter apart at least a dozen times on the trip back to Maiden Shore. He was silent, as were the others in the carriage, Ronan next to him, and Prudence and Lydia on the opposite seat.

  Lydia’s eyes were closed, and her face a pale oval in the moonlight. Her only movement was to pull her shawl higher around her shoulders as if she were cold. He had to stop himself from reaching over and helping her.

  Prudence’s head drooped toward her shoulder, and if they had not arrived back at the house, she probably would have fallen asleep there and then.

  But their homecoming roused everyone, and it was a weary group that traipsed into the hall and bid each other goodnight.

  Lydia hung back, and finally when Mowbray made to go upstairs, she caught his arm. “Mowbray, please. We should talk…”

  He looked at her, his tumultuous emotions roaring around in his head, unchecked by his usual logical thought processes.

  “No. Not now. Not yet.” He turned away from her, forcing his footsteps upward, knowing she watched.

  It was the hardest thing he’d ever done, but the hurt, the damnable disappointment he’d felt, drove him to turn away and seek his room. Even there, he could not shed the vision of her being held by another man.

  He undressed, his routine the same, but his thoughts still troubled. Rest, he knew, would not come soon, so he slipped into a robe and opened the windows, leaning out and listening to the sound of the ocean.

  It was indeed a warm night, the air humid and the breeze strong enough to push its way into his room.

  He wished it could push the confusion out of his mind as well.

  Was this what it was like to care deeply for someone? To hope that those affections were returned, to take them further along a forbidden road and love every minute, every step of the way? He’d touched her, for God’s sake. Intimately.

  Did it mean so little? Could she be heartless enough to discard their activities as just another evening’s erotic adventures?

  He closed his eyes for a minute or two and tried desperately to think logically.

  Who was this woman? Lydia Davenport was a renowned member of the Ton, a young woman equipped with beauty, a fortune and a very intelligent mind which seemed to be able to handle any situation that arose with agile dignity.

  He looked back on their interactions, the humour she’d not hesitated to reveal, the clear-headed evaluations of people and events, the conversations they’d shared about various matters.

  Yes, she was in control of herself at those moments. She was the Lydia Davenport that women admired and men wanted. She’d rejected suitors and managed to do so without acrimony. All these things he knew in the part of his brain reserved for common sense.

  He used to think that was the largest part, but tonight he wasn’t so sure of that fact.

  Because he was hurting.

  He was angry.

  He felt…jealousy, rejection, and perhaps a little bit of betrayal as well.

  He sighed and leaned against the window, looking up at the stars and the moon as it began to slide lower in the night sky.

  At that moment, he heard a faint scratching on his door and frowned.

  There was only one person it could be, and he wasn’t at all sure he could manage his emotions if it was indeed her.

  But he knew he had to find out, so he crossed the room and silently twisted the handle.

  She stood there, her eyes glistening with tears, wrapped in some flimsy thing, her hands clenched at her sides.

  “Please may I come in? We must settle matters, Mowbray. Please.” It was a barely audible whisper.

  His head screamed at him to close the door. But the thundering of his aching heart overrode his common sense.

  He stepped back. “All right, come in.”

  And he closed the door behind her, locking it—and them—together.

  Chapter Twenty

  He didn’t want her there.

  She could feel the emotions coming off him in waves. She prayed it was only confusion, not anger, but his eyes were on her, and she wanted to start crying again at the lack of warmth she saw within them.

  The tears had begun as soon as she’d shut her door after shooing the maid away. And the sobs continued all through the process of undressing and preparing for bed. She’d looked at it and known she couldn’t even slip between the covers until she had settled matters with Mowbray.

  It was that important.

  Being here now, with him, was a challenge. But that sense of importance drove her to break the silence. “I’m sorry, Mowbray. Sorry you had to see that embarrassing scene. Sorry that I couldn’t tell everyone that I didn’t want to be there, that Anthony had carefully manoeuvred me out without my permission. Yes it was hot, and yes he was persuasive. And I know now, after that stupid moment, that I will never allow him near me again.”

  “Did he hurt you?” Mowbray snapped out the question.

  “No,” she shook her head and looked at her toes, blinking at her bare feet. She’d forgotten her slippers. “No, he didn’t hurt me. He taught me something.” She raised her eyes. “I’d like to tell you what it was.”

  She heard, rather than saw, him swallow, and his shoulders rose and fell with as he took a deep breath. “If you must.”

  Lydia never realised what real courage was, or how much she had, until she stepped forward toward Mowbray. He never moved, never raised an arm or extended his hand. But he watched her, his eyes on her face.

  “I learned…” She cleared her throat. “I learned that I don’t want any man touching me. I don’t want any man’s arm around me, his hand on my shoulder, his chest against mine or…” she gulped, “or his lips on mine.”

  Silence fell for a few moments. He said nothing.

  “And I learned the reason for this,” she continued, trying to meet his gaze with her chin high. But her voice wobbled a little. “It’s because of you.”

  He shifted slightly.

  Now that she’d begun, it was easier. And the nighttime helped. The light of the moon and a solitary candle by his bed provided a shield of sorts and made it simpler for her to bare her soul. “Once you touched me, and took me in your arms, I knew what it was like to feel right with someone.”

  God, please help me make him understand.

  “Once you held my hand, once you laughed with me at something only you and I could share, I knew what it was like to have a friend I could trust with my life.” She swallowed and took another step forward, closing the distance between them.

  “Once you kissed me, Mowbray, and…and…did other things to me” she struggled not to sob at that particular memory, “that’s when I knew. I discovered how much better everything could be when it happened with the right man.” A last step brought her to stand in front of him. “And the right man is you.”

  For a minute that felt like an eternity, she stood there, heart beating rapidly, her palms damp.

  And then he sighed, and reaching out he swept her up in his arms and took her to the bed, where he dropped her unceremoniously, shedding his robe before he joined her.

  “Lydia,” he muttered, fighting with her night robes. “You have demolished my logic, turned my world upside down and taught me something. Taught me I’m as human as anyone else when it comes to jealousy—dammit, how do you get this thing off?” He finally untied the knot in her belt and quickly stripped it away, along with her nightgown, lifting her physically from the bed to do it.

  “Mowbray,” she murmured, not in the least bit afraid of being naked with him. “God, Mowbray, if you don’t touch me right now, I will expire on
this spot.”

  “Touch me first,” he ordered. “Touch me so that I know you’re real, you mean what you say, and that I’m not just another of your conquests…”

  She gave in to her need to run her hands over him, the firm warm sensation of the muscles in the arms holding him above her. The unique tickle of hair that dusted his chest, his nipples—flat, but beading up as she ran her fingers around and over them—and the solid curves that made his body so much a man’s, and so unlike her own.

  He made a slight sound, almost a groan, as her hands drifted lower, following the line of hair that led to his navel and below.

  It was so exciting to be able to touch him like this, with nothing to impede her investigations.

  “Would you…” She pushed at him, urging him to roll over on his back next to her. Instantly he obeyed, letting her rise to one arm then almost lie on top of him as she continued to run her hands over his skin.

  He flinched a little as she caressed the taut edges of his hipbones, and she smiled. “Ticklish?”

  “Not particularly,” he denied.

  “Hmph.” She reserved an opinion on that statement. She might follow it through later, but just at the moment she had reached a very interesting spot.

  The hair she encountered was different, tight, curly and thick, and she knew it surrounded his masculinity. In spite of her reading, she was astounded to feel the length of it, the strange sensation of silk over such rigidity.

  Now he definitely moaned, and she cautiously ran her fingers over his cock, not sure if it was painful for him or not.

  He grabbed her hand. “Stop, Lydia. Your touch will bring me too quickly, and that is not how I plan for this night to end.”

  “I’m not hurting you?”

  He snorted as he rolled them back. “Quite the contrary. Your hands on me—well, there are no words. But I demand my fair share…”

  And his mouth found hers, forcing her lips apart and thrusting his tongue inside. This time the moan came from her.