Unlaced (Undone by Love Book 1)

by Kristina Cook

  “Perhaps.” He bent and retrieved a broken branch from the ground, snapped off a twig and spun it absently between his palms as he paced. “I spent years listening to my mother belittle me for my illness, my smallness, my weakness, until I myself believed it to be the truth. And then, all at once, everything changed when I went off to Eton. For the first time in my life I found myself away from the restrictions of the family physician, away from my mother’s criticism, able to take part in activities that I’d never before been allowed to try.

  “I became a surprisingly good horseman, took up fencing. I excelled at my studies, took firsts in mathematics and Greek. I was hell-bent on proving to everyone, especially her, that I wasn’t weak in mind or body. By the time I started Oxford, I’d all but overcome my physical limitations. I shot up to my present height, surprising myself as much as everyone around me.

  “After university, I spent a few years traveling around, took a grand tour, trying to decide who I was and what I wanted to do with myself. It was only when my father became ill, when it became obvious that he would never recover, that I finally agreed to settle back in Essex, to take a bride and do what was expected of me.”

  “Cecelia Layton,” Lucy said, gazing off at the full moon, now high in the sky above them, casting a silvery glow upon the meadow.

  “Exactly.” He snapped the twig in two and tossed it to the ground. “I spent three lonely years in Scotland after that debacle, growing more bitter and resentful each day. I resolved that I would never repeat my father’s mistakes. That I would never be so foolish as to marry for love, or to let my emotions cloud my judgment. That I would be the powerful, influential man that my father never was.” He stopped and turned to face her, his eyes glittering in the moonlight. “And I’m well on my way, Lucy, to becoming the man I want to be.” He reached for both her hands, and she took them, rising to stand beside him. “Can you possibly understand?” he asked her.

  “Of course I can. I’m only sorry you’ve suffered so much. Childhood is meant to be a happy time, a carefree time.” A tear traced a path down her cheek, and she reached up to wipe it away as she thought of her own girlhood. Even after her mother’s death, she had known little sadness, no despair. Her memories were mostly happy ones, something she’d taken for granted. A knife twisted in her heart. If only she could take away the pain, erase his hurtful memories. But that was beyond her power.

  He grasped her shoulders and looked down at her, his gaze boring into hers. “Don’t cry for me, Lucy. I don’t want your pity. Just your understanding.”

  “And you have that, my lord. In spades.”

  He reached down and brushed her cheek with his thumb. “Thank you,” he said. She held her breath as his head dipped toward hers. His lips pressed against hers, softly, almost chastely, before moving away. “Come, no more of this maudlin talk. The night is ours. What shall we do? A ride, perhaps?”

  She let out a little gasp and pointed to the sky. “Did you see that? A shooting star.” She hurried toward the edge of the brook. “Look, another one.” High above her head, a trail of shimmering light drifted down through the heavens.

  “It looks as if we’re in for a show. Come here, you silly girl.” He reached for her, but she dashed off alongside the brook with a peal of delight. The night was beautiful and she felt so very alive, as if every nerve in her body had been animated by the stars.

  “Catch me, then,” she called over her shoulder, sprinting off into the darkly shadowed night.

  Chapter 18

  Henry took off in pursuit, his heart significantly lighter than before. It didn’t take him long to overtake her as they ran laughing through the trees. In seconds, he reached for her skirts and the pair tumbled to the grass, Lucy’s protests belied by her giggles. He straddled her playfully, his hands pressing her wrists to the ground above her head. “I’ve caught you,” he said. “You’re not very quick, are you?”

  “I’m half your size, my lord,” she said indignantly. “Very well, you’ve proven your superior strength, now release me at once.”

  But he didn’t want to move. She felt exquisite beneath him. Their eyes locked in a desperate battle for control, the connection so physical that it knocked the air from his lungs.

  Finally her gaze moved away, beyond his shoulder to the sky above. “The skies are still falling,” she whispered huskily.

  With a groan of frustration, he released her and rolled over to lie beside her on the soft grass, one arm folded behind his head and the other reaching down to grasp her hand in his. They lay there together in silence for perhaps a half hour, gazing up appreciatively at the celestial canvas before them. When at last the brilliant display began to fade, he stood and pulled her body up against his. He could no longer deny his needs, nor squelch the roaring lust that threatened to topple his self-control.

  “Will you come with me to the cottage I told you about?” His heart beat furiously in anticipation.

  “Perhaps, but not just yet. Can’t we stay here a bit longer, my lord?”

  He pressed her face to his chest, his chin resting upon the top of her head. “Lucy, I told you before, no more of this ‘my lord’ nonsense.” His voice was hoarse. “Call me Henry.”

  “No, I mustn’t. You know it isn’t proper, and you should call me Miss Abbington.” Her voice faltered. He could feel the heat of her hands through the thin cloth of his shirt as she ineffectually pushed him away.

  “Nor is it proper for you to allow me to hold you this way. We’ve already lost propriety. Several times, in fact. Call me by my given name.” He pressed his lips into her hair, inhaling the warm scent. Almost on its own accord, his mouth moved to her temples where he felt her erratic pulse fluttering against his lips. Further down his mouth traveled, across her jawbone, closer and closer to her strawberry lips. A sigh escaped her as his mouth brushed hers, teasingly, begging for her permission, her capitulation.

  He didn’t have to wait long. “Henry,” she whispered, her voice silky.

  A growl escaped his throat as he crushed her mouth with his. She responded instinctively, reaching up to clasp his head toward hers. He roughly parted her lips with his tongue as he pressed himself fully against her, grinding his hips into hers as his tongue explored her now familiar mouth. He could feel her heart pounding wildly against his chest, and his own felt as if it might explode. No woman had ever made him feel this way. Normally a man of acute restraint, Henry wanted to devour her.

  He needed her, all of her. Now.

  He blindly reached behind her, found her gown’s fastenings, and undid a few with desperate haste. Her bodice fell away. He tugged down her corset roughly pushed her shift from one shoulder, exposing one tantalizing pink peak. He expelled his breath, tried to rein in his lust. Gentle now, he circled the areola with his fingertip.

  As soft and velvety as a rose petal in full flush.

  The dull throb in his groin rose a full pitch as he watched her arch her back, her head tipped provocatively, her eyelids fluttering. He returned his attention to her beautiful breasts, rising and falling with each ragged breath she took. He brushed one hardened tip with the back of his hand and felt her shudder in response. She gasped as he took her in his mouth and suckled, gently at first, then harder, more insistently.

  Could she feel how badly he needed her? He reached down, pulled up the hem of her gown, and slipped one hand under her skirts. He caressed the length of her thigh, soft as silk, and reached up further to push aside the cloth barrier between his hand and what he must have. And then he found it, the mound of springy curls, her hot, wet womanhood. He shuddered as he slipped a finger into her moist warmth. He vaguely heard her moan and call out his name as he buried his face into her neck. Slowly, expertly, he drew his finger out of her depths, caressing the bud at her entrance with his thumb, and then plunged in again.

  Her eyes fluttered open and registered astonishment. “Henry, what...ohhhh, whatever are you...dear God.” She moistened her lips with her tongue as she insti
nctively ground her hips toward his hand. Her breathing became shallow, rasping, and her entire body trembled against his. So innocent, he thought, so artless in her response, in her pure and utter enjoyment.

  “Dear God, Lucy, you must let me take you to the cottage. I must have you.”

  Suddenly he felt her stiffen and pull away, gasping desperately for air. “Hen...Lord Mandeville, we must stop this at once. You’ve said...we can never...” Her eyes were enormous, her bottom lip quivering. “I thought I could do it, thought it would be enough, but...but, please, I beg of you.” She tugged her dress back up. “I cannot do this.”

  Henry could no longer deny his heart. God help him, he loved her. He wanted to make her his, no matter the cost. Did she not know? Surely his heart told her what he could not with words.

  “Lucy, marry me.”

  “But you said—”

  “Damn what I said, I was a fool. Marry me.” He took her hand, pressed it to his heart. Pressed his obvious erection against her. He couldn’t do it, couldn’t take her virginity without making her his wife. “Don’t you feel what you do to me?”

  Lucy’s eyes flitted about nervously, indecisively. “Henry, I...are you certain? You realize I haven’t much of a dowry? That you must allow me to continue...to...” she trailed off, a horrified look on her face in response to Henry’s scowl.

  Bloody hell, what had he done? There were a dozen reasons why he couldn’t marry her, and she’d named only two. He felt light-headed, almost drunk. He should have asked her to become his mistress, not his wife—offered to set her up in London and give her carte blanche. He took a deep breath before speaking, carefully measuring his words.

  “Surely you did not think me willing to allow my wife—”

  “Of course I did. Why did you propose, then? You know I have no intention of giving it up. I’ve told you so many times. I made it perfectly clear.” Unshed tears shone in her eyes.

  He hated himself for what he was about to say. “Isn’t it enough that I’m offering to marry you? My wife can’t conduct herself like a common—”

  “Do not say it, my lord.” Her hands rose to cover her face. “Say you will reconsider—”

  “No, Lucy. I will not yield, and I suggest you rethink your answer if you will not bow to my wishes.” His mind was racing, pulling him in several directions. It should be enough that he was willing to marry her. A girl like her should gratefully accept his hand, no matter what strings were attached.

  “Your dress,” he ground out, furious with himself. She silently turned her back to him, lifting her hair from her neck, and he fastened her gown with shaking hands. He needed to buy some time, to allow himself to think more clearly. He’d insisted on this ridiculous condition, knowing full well she’d never accept it. “Perhaps you should take the night to think upon it, and give me your answer in the morn.”

  Lucy nodded mutely.

  “I’ll send for you after breakfast and I’ll have your—”

  His words were interrupted by the clatter of hooves gaining upon them with alarming speed. Lucy vainly attempted to smooth down her skirts and Henry stepped back into the shadows, just as Colin Rosemoor thundered into the clearing.

  “Lucy, there you are.” Colin reined in his horse and swung to the ground. “Mother and Agatha have been searching high and low for you. I saw your horse in the meadow and...” He squinted and took in her obvious state of dishevelment—one shoulder of her bodice slipping down, the hem of her gown tucked into her garters, exposing a length of leg. “What the hell...Mandeville?” Colin looked around, his eyes sparking the moment he spied Henry lurking in the shadows.

  Henry stepped forward. “Rosemoor, it’s not what you think.” He had no idea why he was denying the obvious. He’d offered to marry her, after all.

  “It’s exactly what I think, Mandeville. You’re risking Lucy’s reputation by taking her out here unchaperoned under cover of darkness. And considering the state of...of”—he sputtered—“virtual undress I find her in, you are quite lucky that it was I who found you. You,” he said, turning back to a trembling Lucy, “should know better.”

  “Colin, I know it looks awful, but—”

  “You’re damn right it looks awful, Lucy.”

  “If you will only let me explain.”

  Lucy turned to Henry with pleading eyes. “Lord Mandeville,” she said, and Henry noted that Rosemoor was Colin but he was back to being Lord Mandeville. “If you will excuse us, Colin can escort me back to the house.” Lucy reached for Henry’s arm. “Please,” she whispered huskily, “we will talk tomorrow.”

  “As you wish, Miss Abbington. I bid you both good night.” He bowed, nearly blind with rage. Cursing himself, he set off to collect his things before returning to the house. Lucy had refused him—the thought echoed through his head as he returned to the open meadow. Refused to accede to his wishes. But that was what he’d wanted, wasn’t it? He couldn’t marry her. And yet her refusal aggravated him still, especially after everything he’d shared with her, every wound he’d opened tonight. And to cap it off, to have Colin, as Lucy so intimately called him, chastise him, behaving like a jealous suitor and then dragging her off... He raised his eyes to the changeable moon and let loose a string of curses.

  Why was nothing ever as it seemed?

  ***

  Lucy shuddered and wrapped her arms about herself as Henry disappeared into the shadows.

  “Lucy, you’ll explain this. Now!” Colin barked.

  “He...he offered for me,” was all she could say, practically a whisper.

  “I mean it, you’ll tell me this instant why—” He broke off, his eyes wide with surprise. “He what?”

  “He offered for me.” She looked up into his disbelieving face with a smirk.

  “You’re saying he proposed marriage to you?”

  “That’s precisely what I’m saying, Colin.”

  His face burst into a grin. “I don’t believe it.”

  “It’s true.”

  “And...and dare I ask how you responded?”

  “I said yes, at first.” Lucy found she couldn’t speak more than a handful of words at a time.

  “At first?” Colin reached for her trembling hands.

  “Before I realized he meant...he meant I must give it all up in order to marry him.” She practically choked on the words.

  Colin let out his breath in a huff. “Of course. I see.” He clenched his hands into fists by his side.

  “I’m to decide whether or not those conditions are acceptable, and give him my answer in the morning.”

  “I could kill him. What was he thinking?” He turned to look closely at Lucy; his eyes scanned her from head to toe as he swallowed hard. “Please, Lucy, tell me that you did not...that he did not—”

  “No,” she gasped. “No, Colin, I did not.”

  He sighed and wiped his brow. “What will you tell him, then?”

  “I’ve no idea.”

  “Lucy, we must return to the house. Mrs. Stafford was near panic when she went to your room and found you weren’t there. The whole house is likely looking for you by now. I fabricated some story about you frequently taking off for solitary rides to rid yourself of the headache.”

  Lucy nodded. “Thank you. I’m right behind you. Go on.”

  “No, I’ll follow you.”

  She went silently to her horse and reached for the reins. Within moments she was galloping back down the lane, the sound of Colin’s horse echoing behind her. Her tears were falling freely now, practically blinding her. Once she reached the stables, she dismounted and allowed Colin to return her gelding to the groom.

  He returned at once and crossed to her side, taking her arm in his and leading her toward a secluded bench in the rose garden.

  “Here, take a moment to collect yourself before we go in.” He reached into his coat and produced a handkerchief. She took it and blew her nose.

  “Oh, Colin, what shall I do? What shall I tell him?”

  �
�Do you love him?”

  The words fell against her like a weight. Did she love him? And then she felt it, unfurling like a blossoming bud around her tightly guarded heart. Good Lord, she did love him. She did. But could she give up her passion, her life, for him?

  “I think I’m in love with him, Colin. I think I’ve been in love with him all along and just didn’t see it. What am I to do? Even if I am able to”—she swallowed hard—“to give it all up for him...even if I can, what about Susanna? She’ll never forgive me.”

  Colin took off his gloves and stuffed them into his coat before reaching up to her face, wiping away a tear with his thumb. “Lucy, please don’t cry. If you love him—truly love him—Susanna will understand. She will come to understand,” he corrected. “The decision is yours and yours alone. Don’t let Susanna’s infatuation influence it. Besides, you saw her yesterday making eyes at Mr. Merrill.” He kissed her tenderly on the forehead. “You’re...you’re like a sister to me, Lucy, and I only want to see you happy. If Mandeville makes you happy, then so be it.”

  She reached her arms around his neck, burying her head in his coat. “Thank you, Colin. For everything.” She pulled away and looked up into his handsome face. “I adore you, you know,” she said, and planted a chaste kiss on his lips.

  “I know. Now let’s go, before Mrs. Stafford swoons again.”

  Lucy took his hand and rose to her feet. “Again? Oh no, tell me she didn’t.” A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

  “Oh, she did. Quite dramatically.” He chuckled as he took her arm and led her back to the house.

  ***

  “What are you doing here?” Henry barked, looking up in surprise from his seat at his brother-in-law’s desk and then looking away. He was unable to look at Lady Charlotte Haverford without feeling angry all over again. He clenched his fists in controlled rage. “Shouldn’t you be in bed by now?”