Unlaced (Undone by Love Book 1)

by Kristina Cook

  Just as she remembered, a light dusting of curly hair darkened the upper third of his torso, and Lucy’s gaze involuntarily followed the wispy trail down to where it bisected his taut stomach and finally disappeared below the sheet. She blushed furiously at the sight, but found herself unable to tear her gaze away. She reached for his hand, felt him flinch before he allowed her to raise it to her burning cheek.

  “I must be dreaming,” he muttered. “This can’t be real.”

  “You’re not dreaming, Henry. I’m here.” She thought her heart would surely burst as he caressed her cheek.

  He opened his eyes, struggled to sit. “Lucy, is it really you?” He blinked a few times and then rubbed his eyes with his fists. “No, it can’t be. It must be the laudanum playing tricks on my mind.”

  “I assure you, my lord, this is no opium-induced dream. I’m here, in flesh and blood. I’ve been trying to see you for more than a week, but she wouldn’t allow it.”

  “What time...is it morning?”

  “No, I’m afraid it’s the dead of night. I snuck in through the window. I hope you’re not angry.”

  “Bloody hell, of course I’m not angry. I’ve been hoping, praying, that you’d come to me. What made you change your mind?”

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  He shook his head. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. Just let me look at you.” His eyes swept over her face, and she could feel the heat from his gaze. “Let me hold you.”

  She sat on the edge of the bed and allowed him to pull her head down toward his chest. Stretching her legs out, she gingerly laid her cheek next to his right shoulder. She could hear his heart thumping against her ear, its rhythm mimicking her own. She inhaled his warm musky scent, barely perceptible over the sharp medicinal smells.

  How she longed to open her heart to him, to tell him how desperately she loved him, that she was wrong to have sent him away. But no, this wasn’t the time for recriminations and regrets. He needed to mend himself, to regain his strength and vigor. But dear God, she loved him. The thought that she’d nearly lost him—that she could still lose him yet—caused an icy coldness to flow through her veins.

  “Mmmm, this is perfect,” he murmured as he reached up to stroke her hair. “You’re perfect. You smell just as I remembered—of lavender and leather, a perfectly intoxicating combination. You’re just the tonic I need, Lucy. Here, can’t you stay? Take off this...” he smoothed a hand down her linen-covered back, down her breeches-clad backside, and up again to her hair. “...whatever this is you’re wearing and lie back down beside me. Stay the night. Stay forever.”

  His speech was becoming slurred, and she knew then that he wasn’t entirely in his own mind. She desperately wanted to believe these words came from his heart, but she knew it was the opium speaking. No, she’d wait till he drifted back to sleep, and then she’d steal back through the window, back to Colin, secure in the knowledge that he was indeed alive and well. Nothing to do but savor this moment. She pressed her lips against his neck, into the hollow just above his collarbone. She parted her lips slightly to taste his saltiness while she reached a hand up to cup the back of his head, her fingers tangling in his hair.

  He groaned in reply. “Oh, Lucy, God help me—”

  “Henry, what are you doing up at this hour? I heard voices, and...oh!”

  Lucy rose awkwardly to gape at Lady Worthington standing there in her dressing gown, one dark braid lying against a pale shoulder. Henry’s sister reached her hands up to her mouth in surprise and dropped the taper she was holding to the floor, where it clattered noisily. Lucy rushed to her side, her boot finding the flame and extinguishing it with one small stomp.

  “Dear Lord, Miss Abbington, what are you doing here?”

  “Please accept my apology for frightening you, Lady Worthington. But I had...I had to see your brother and I could think of no other way. I assure you nothing improper was happening.”

  She smiled and reached a hand to grasp Lucy’s. “I should think not, not in his present condition. But how on earth—”

  “Lucy, is everything... Oh, Lady Worthington.” Colin’s head appeared above the windowsill. “Good evening.” He reached up as if to tip his hat, a puzzled expression flitting across his face as he realized he wasn’t wearing one.

  “Well, that answers my question.”

  “So very sorry to disturb you,” Colin called out cheerfully.

  Lady Worthington looked around furtively. “Shh, everyone must be quiet or you’ll soon be discovered.” She went to the door and pressed her ear to it. “Miss Abbington, as sorry as I am to say it, you must go at once.”

  Lucy nodded and rushed over to Henry’s bedside, reaching for his hand. He grasped it firmly, then raised it to his mouth and gently kissed her palm. “Thank you, my sweet. If this was just a dream, it was a damn lovely one.”

  “Please take care of yourself, Henry. You must get well.”

  He nodded as his heavy lids fell back across his eyes.

  Lucy hurried to the window. With one last glance over her shoulder, she shimmied back through the opening. She had both feet firmly on the limb below when Lady Worthington stuck her head out and whispered down to her.

  “Miss Abbington, on Thursday morning my mother has an eleven o’clock appointment in the village. She should be gone a few hours at the very least.”

  “Thank you, Lady Worthington.”

  “Until then, I usually find that I’m a terribly deep sleeper. Especially around, oh, two in the morning.”

  Lucy couldn’t help but grin. “Just don’t lock the shutters,” she called out before scampering back down the tree and out into the night.

  ***

  “Mmmm, it’s that same lovely dream again.” Henry shifted his weight and turned his face toward the hand that was softly stroking his cheek. “The one where a beautiful woman steals into my room in the dead of night.”

  He heard a quiet laugh as the warm body fitted itself against his side. He inhaled deeply. Good Lord, it really was her. He tipped his chin down and kissed her hair as the heat rose in his loins. A smile stretched across his face.

  Good to know it’s all in working order.

  “Did you climb through the window again?” The sleep-induced fuzziness in his brain was finally clearing.

  “Yes, didn’t you hear? I fell to the floor in a heap again. I’ve got bruises on my backside as it is from the last time.”

  He closed his eyes and savored the mental picture of her lovely little backside, bruises or no. He couldn’t resist reaching down to stroke her bottom. “Here, let me see.”

  “Ouch! No, that’s quite all right.” She wriggled and pushed his hand away. “You mustn’t touch me like that, my lord.”

  “Is Colin Rosemoor standing outside the window, watching us?” he bit out, stung by a sharp barb of jealousy, no matter how irrational.

  “I suppose by now he’s sitting under the tree.” Her voice was suddenly cold, clipped. “I assure you he’s not spying on us, if that’s what you mean.” She started to move away from his side, but he pulled her close again.

  “Do you love him, Lucy?” As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them.

  She stilled at once, every muscle rigid as she perched on the edge of the mattress. “Yes.”

  His blood ran cold.

  “He’s my brother,” she continued, her voice a whisper.

  “What do you mean?” His pulse accelerated. Had he heard correctly?

  “Exactly as I say. Colin Rosemoor is my half brother. Lord Rosemoor is my father.”

  “Are you certain?” He couldn’t hide the surprise from his voice.

  “Of course I’m certain,” she snapped. “Colin has...proof. I’ve seen it with my own eyes, and my fath—the man I’ve always believed to be my father has confirmed it.”

  “How long have you known?” he asked, reaching for her hand. His mind was reeling, full of questions.

  “I only learned the truth just before I lef
t London.” Her voice quavered perceptibly. “Colin has known a bit longer, since just after my come-out. I think I’ve always felt it, in my heart. Still, I could barely believe it. I don’t understand how my mama could...” She swallowed hard. “How she and Lord Rosemoor could do such a thing. Lady Rosemoor was my mother’s dearest friend.”

  Henry swallowed, his estimation of Lord Rosemoor diminished substantially. “Do Miss Rosemoor and Miss Susanna know?”

  “No, and it seems so unfair. I...I have two sisters, yet they cannot know.”

  Suddenly it all made sense—Lucy’s close bond with Colin, his fierce protectiveness. She loved him, yes. Like a brother. If he had been able, he would’ve jumped up and shouted. Instead, he reached for her hand and stroked her palm with his thumb. “It’s not such an unusual occurrence amongst the ton, you know.”

  She sank back against the pillows as she expelled a heavy sigh. “So I’m told, but that doesn’t make it any less painful. My whole life has been a lie, don’t you see? I’m only now beginning to accept it, beginning to understand who I truly am.”

  “Now I see why Lord Rosemoor saw fit to sponsor you. At least he’s attending his duty, trying to see you married well.”

  She sat up in a huff. “Married well? Hah.” She folded her arms beneath her breasts. “I’ve no wish to be part of the ton.”

  “There’s much to be said for marrying well, Lucy.”

  She sprang to her feet at once, her cheeks inflamed. “It’s worse than you supposed, isn’t it? Before I was just a simple country physician’s daughter. Now, I’m nothing but a...a bastard. How lucky for you that I never had the chance to accept your proposal before you found someone more acceptable in my stead.”

  “No, you misunderstand.” Had she thought he meant...? With an impatient shake of his head, Henry leaned over and reached for her with both hands, clutching at her sleeve as she wrenched from his grasp. The pain in his shoulder cut through him like a knife. He fell back to the bed with a groan, gritting his teeth against the sharp, throbbing ache.

  Lucy flew back to his side, one hand over her mouth, her eyes filled with tears. “Henry, oh, I wasn’t thinking.”

  “I’m fine...just a little twinge,” he lied as he tried to force his mouth into a smile and waited for the agony to subside.

  It didn’t.

  “Should I call for Lady Worthington?” She bit her lower lip, her brow knitted as she peered into his face.

  He took a deep breath and reached for her hand, squeezing it as if his life depended upon it.

  “No.” The pain tore the breath from him. “Laudanum,” he managed to gasp. “Please.” He pointed to the dark glass bottle on the table beside the bed. She retrieved it in a flash, her fingers nimbly uncapping it, then held it out to him. He took a swig of the bitter, sherry-laced liquid, wincing as it burned its way down his throat.

  “Some water?” she asked, and he nodded in reply as she filled a glass from the pitcher with visibly trembling hands.

  He gulped down the water in one long draught.

  At last he found his voice again as he handed her the empty glass. “Just lie back down beside me,” he rasped, collapsing back against the pillows. “No more arguing—we have so very little time together as it is. I’ll explain...” He broke off and took a deep breath as the effects of the laudanum began to dull his mind. “I’ll explain later. For now, just let me hold you a bit longer before you disappear through that window.”

  She nodded and hovered tentatively on the edge of the bed, her entire body tremulous. “I’m so very afraid that I’ll hurt you, Henry. I feel so helpless, so powerless, unable to do a single thing to ease your pain. If you were a horse, even a dog, I’d know just what to do, but... Papa is the physician, not me.”

  “I don’t need you to do anything but lay here beside me, my sweet.” He reached for her hand and brought it to his mouth. He kissed one fingertip, then another. “I feel myself growing stronger every minute I’m with you.” The laudanum was starting to slur his words.

  “I’m glad,” she said, a smile flitting across her face, the uncertainty in her eyes beginning to fade.

  “Are you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then show me how glad you are. Kiss me.” He felt almost drunk, and he wasn’t certain if it was the drug’s potent effects, or simply her presence.

  “I really don’t think—”

  “Kiss me, Lucy,” he interrupted.

  “But your sister is just next door, and your mother is down the hall. Either could come in at any—”

  He silenced Lucy with his mouth, cupping the back of her head with both hands. Gently, he took her lower lip in his mouth and teased it with his tongue. At last giving in, she tipped her head back with a moan and parted her lips. He plundered heedlessly inside, savoring every sensation—her taste, her touch, her scent—until the sweet ecstasy overwhelmed him, sending his head reeling and his breath coming too fast. He pulled away and fell back against the bed, closing his eyes as the room began to spin. He felt her weight shift on the bed beside him, and then the gentle pressure of her mouth on his forehead.

  “Just rest, Henry,” she said softly. “I’ll lie down beside you until you fall asleep, and then I must leave. Poor Colin’s probably down there dozing on the lawn. I can’t leave him there all night.”

  Henry swallowed and nodded, drawing her body down beside his. “Your brother?” he mumbled sleepily.

  “My brother.” She snuggled against his neck, her warm breath soothing his senses, her fingers lightly stroking his hair. He wanted to take her in his arms, to show her just how much he loved her, just how little her parentage mattered to him. But not yet—not just yet. He was so tired, so damned tired. His eyes began to droop and he struggled to stay awake, to enjoy just a few more precious moments with her.

  When he opened his eyes again, the dazzling morning sun was streaming in through the open window, the curtains fluttering in the breeze. She was gone. Turning his face toward the pillow, he inhaled deeply and smiled.

  Lavender and leather.

  Chapter 24

  “Miss Abbington, I’m so delighted to see you.” Lady Worthington strode into the drawing room and took Lucy’s hand in her own.

  “I can’t thank you enough for allowing me to come today.” Lucy smiled up at the woman with genuine affection. Even in a simple muslin day gown, Lady Worthington’s regal beauty shone bright. Her deep indigo eyes—so much like Henry’s—were full of warmth and welcome. No matter what came to pass, Lucy would never forget her kindness.

  “Let’s not waste a single minute—I’ll take you right up to Henry. I don’t know what magic you’ve worked on him, but he’s much improved since he saw you last. His color has returned and he’s finally up and about.”

  Lucy followed the baroness out into the marble-tiled great hall, under a massive curved stone arch, and up the stairs, smiling broadly the whole way. She couldn’t believe she was actually going to see him in the light of day. It had been so long, so terribly long.

  “The physician says that by next week he should be able to start walking the park. He’s like a caged animal, desperate for escape.”

  Lucy grimaced. “I can only imagine.” They passed through a wide gallery where portraits in ornate gilded frames lined the deep-blue walls. She couldn’t help but peer up in amazement at the sea of faces watching her. She stopped short at the likeness of Henry that graced the hall. She stood under it, blinking, barely able to breathe. Painted as if he were off for the hunt, he wore a tall hat and a long, camel-colored coat that brushed his polished boots. His expression was one of noble hauteur, his hooded eyes piercing.

  “He looks rather gruff, doesn’t he?” Lady Worthington asked with a smile. “And there we are, as children. Henry’s old art tutor, James Frasier, painted this one.”

  Lucy’s eyes followed the direction of Lady Worthington’s arm. A boy and girl, perhaps no more than eight, smiled down in their finery—the boy in short pants
and the girl wearing a white organdy frock bedecked in ruffles and ribbons. Lady Worthington looked much the same; it was easy to see that she would grow to be a great beauty. Yet Henry... Lucy bit her lip. He was a good head shorter than his sister and dreadfully slight and sickly looking. Although a smile was upon his lips, his eyes were shadowed, haunted. Even then. Lucy closed her eyes and sighed, her heart aching for the suffering he’d endured.

  “Come,” Lady Worthington motioned for Lucy to follow, and she complied, following her to a heavily carved door. The baroness stopped and rapped smartly.

  “Come in,” Henry’s voice called out, and Lucy followed Lady Worthington inside.

  Henry was standing at the window, clad in fawn-colored trousers and a white linen shirt, his back to them. “The air is changing. Autumn will be here before we know it, Eleanor.”

  Lady Worthington cleared her throat. “Henry, you have a guest.”

  He spun around, his mouth widening into a grin as his eyes settled upon Lucy standing there at his sister’s side. “I don’t believe it. Where is my guard this morning?” He looked over her shoulder, out to the hall.

  “At the modiste. I’ll leave you two, then. Let poor Miss Abbington play your nursemaid for the next hour or two, God help her.” She pulled the door closed and Lucy heard her steps fade down the hallway.

  “Poor Eleanor,” Henry said with a shrug. “I suppose I’ve become a bit difficult. I’m tired of being an invalid.”

  “Well,” she said, “if I’m to be your nurse then you must tell me what you need. Some water?” She gestured toward the crystal pitcher and glass still sitting on his bedside table.

  “No, no water, thank you.” He grinned wickedly at her. “A sponge bath, perhaps?”