“What’s done is done,” he’d said. “No use hurting yourself trying to glue it back together.” And then he’d drawn her back to sit beside him on the comfortable settee and settled his arm around her shoulders.
Lydia had been certain his butler would interrupt them, especially after hearing the sound of shattering porcelain. But they had been left alone.
Leaving her to contemplate what the two of them had done and what it had meant.
To cover for her nervousness, she’d asked him about Ollie and then described the uniforms to be sewn. He’d grown suspiciously silent, so with nothing else to babble about, she’d leapt up from the settee and made to leave.
And of course, he’d insisted on driving her home. “I don’t know what Blackheart was thinking leaving you for so long without protection,” he pointed out yet again.
Lydia had not reminded him that if her brother was here, there was no way she’d have been left alone with him that afternoon.
And if they had not been left alone, they would not have done… whatever that was called. It had not been intercourse and most assuredly went far beyond kissing. It had simply been…
Wicked.
“What are you thinking?” he’d asked while they’d waited in the foyer for his carriage to be brought around. She had answered with nothing more than a mysterious smile. When he had not raised the subject of the nature of their relationship, she’d not broached it either.
Three days had passed since that afternoon in his drawing room on Cork Street, and she’d not seen or heard from him even once.
“Is he the Earl of Tempest?” Lady Westerley asked, flicking her gaze toward the door discreetly.
The sound of Jeremy’s name summoned Lydia’s attention immediately.
She twisted around again, and at last, the evening held promise.
“Yes,” Lydia answered. “That’s him.”
Chapter 10
Lydia watched as his gaze scanned the room and the moment it landed on her, he paused, and his eyes warmed to the color of dark chocolate.
He’d told her that the two of them, together, were impossible, but he was wrong. The hint of a smile dancing on his lips sent tingles racing down her spine. Not impossible at all.
When Lord Westerley stepped forward to greet Jeremy, congratulating hand outstretched, the almost unworldly connection between her and Jeremy was broken, leaving Lydia feeling momentarily bereft.
And then she realized that this was something of a special moment for him.
Her disappointment was swept away and replaced with unexpected pleasure.
The other gentlemen guests stepped forward as well to express their appreciation, and he was quickly surrounded. Slaps on the back ensued, and Westerley pressed a glass into his hand.
When Lydia next managed to catch a glimpse of the man of the hour, she almost laughed out loud at his expression of confusion and disbelief. He hadn't expected this. Lydia held herself back, happy to witness his triumph.
She didn't really understand the significance of purchasing a shipping company, or why it had been so important, but it was obvious he'd met with great success. Watching him absorb the honor of his contemporaries warmed her heart.
Lady Westerley had edged up beside her and Lydia couldn’t help but ask, “I realize they are all invested, but they have not profited yet, have they?”
“It’s because Lord Tempest intends to not only stop the smugglers who’ve been operating through Ludwig Bros., but he also intends to bring them to justice. In the past few years, the gang bosses have widened their territory beyond the docks—to the clubs and to legal trade. Westerley says that they’ll never contain these types of criminals completely, but Lord Tempest… Well, he’s tackled the root of it. I rather believe that this—” she waved her hand toward the doorway where the men were gathered “—isn’t only about the investment but signifies their support.”
Lydia watched the group of men who appeared ridiculously confident, if not outright cocky, and exhaled a sigh of relief.
He did not have to do everything alone—even if he’d ended his friendship with her brothers. She was happy for him, but she was also a little sad.
What had Lucas and Blackheart done to him? And then another question niggled in her mind. Was it possible that Jeremy’s involvement in the docks was connected to Lucas and Blackheart? She had heard them discussing Ludwig Bros. Shipping and wished now that she’d bothered to actually pay attention.
Jeremy’s brother, Arthur, had been killed thousands of miles away, but the insurgents had ambushed them to take away their weapons. Weapons that might have been shipped to them by Ludwig Brothers, perhaps?
“Do the gang bosses smuggle weapons?” Lydia asked.
“Mostly,” Lady Westerley answered. “That and various libations.”
Lord and Lady Baxter’s manservant chose that moment to announce dinner, and all of her rational thoughts fled when, freed up at last, Jeremy strolled in her direction from across the room. Lady Westerley offered him her own congratulations and then joined her husband, leaving Lydia and Jeremy alone.
He was quiet as the two of them stood watching the other couples drift out of the drawing room, and Lydia did not feel the need to press, sensing he required a moment to ground himself.
Not until everyone else had exited did Jeremy tuck her arm into his and lead her toward the door.
With two actual dukes in attendance, a room full of countesses, and a baroness, Lydia felt positively outranked for one of the first times in her life.
“You look stunning tonight.” Lydia jumped when his breath caressed the side of her face. “You were born to wear that color of blue”.
She’d chosen the gown intentionally. “I remember it’s your favorite.” She glanced down, feeling warmth flood her cheeks.
“Cobalt. The first time I stared into your eyes, I thought my own were tricking me.”
“No tricks.” She felt like humming beside him. She had missed this! And yet another layer had been added to their relationship; something electric now vibrated beneath their conversation.
She’d not really… flirted with him before. They’d been friends who held deep affection for one another. But also, there had been a certainty to their match. Or so she’d believed.
“You cannot have been more than six.” He chuckled. “And, God, but that makes me feel old.”
“You are not old.” She squeezed his arm. “You were eighteen at the time and just returned from school to visit Blackheart.” Her parents had been gone for two years already. “You took tea with Lucinda and me. But you refused to hold my doll.”
“Your brothers never would have let me hear the end of it. As it was...” He bit off what he’d been going to say, almost as though he’d forgotten he despised them now. But surely, he could not despise them forever, could he?
They entered the long dining room, and he dropped her hand in order to draw out a chair for her to sit in. A single seat that was flanked by chairs occupied by the Duchess of Goldthwaite and Baron Chaswick.
He made a quick bow and then left her to take a seat at the opposite end of the room.
The mention of Blackheart must have reminded him that he had intended to keep away from her.
She lessened her disappointment by telling herself that at least now, he seemed to be torn, and that was far better than his frame of mind four months ago.
And if the heated glances he persistently sent in her direction were anything to go by, it was possible that his feelings for her had a chance at winning the battle in the end.
She hoped, anyhow.
* * *
“Would you mind driving Lady Lydia home this evening? Her driver’s horse… er… threw a shoe and had to return to Heart Place early?”
“It threw a shoe in your drive?”
The Countess of Baxter shrugged. “I’ve been telling Baxter that we needed to repair it.”
“Of course.” He chuckled. “I am at your service.”
He’d successfully evaded Lydia for most of the evening. Jeremy had been the one to bring up Blackheart, and he’d caught himself all but reminiscing, speaking of the man fondly.
With his objectives unbalanced, he’d avoided her, which hadn’t been fair of him. She deserved better—she always had.
And fool that he was, in the end, he’d suffered for it and wasn’t at all certain that he’d actually been successful. Because he couldn’t keep from appreciating her even at a distance. Her hair shone like ebony silk, the flush of her cheeks reminded him of pink and white roses, and not only did her gown match the color of her eyes, but it hinted at the lush curves he’d found himself craving late at night.
And craving in the morning.
And craving at other most inopportune moments.
He wasn’t the sort of man to vacillate with his intentions. He never had been.
In truth, guessing that Lady Baxter had sent Lydia’s coach home herself, doing a bit of matchmaking, Jeremy conceded that he ought to be thanking the clever countess.
No more indecisiveness.
He wanted her in his life regardless of what her brothers had done. He would live with the consequences—for her.
He would come to terms with the knowledge that by giving into his heart, he would sacrifice a piece of his family’s honor.
He’d do the one thing he’d sworn he never would: betray his brother.
But Lydia would be in his life again. And he needed her.
He exhaled, shakily.
“Clarissa says my driver had to leave early and that you’ve offered to provide me with a ride?” The object of his thoughts appeared in the foyer, looking tentative and a little confused. “Mr. Smith is fetching my coat and then I’ll be ready to leave.”
“Very good.” Her scent rose up to tantalize him, the sweetest of flowers. The drive would be a short one, but they would be alone.
“Are you in danger?” Her question had Jeremy glancing at her curiously.
“Why would you think that?”
“Because you’ve taken on these dock criminals. They cannot be happy about your interference.” Her brows lowered in concern. “I knew dealing with them would become necessary eventually, but I had thought it was mostly children… Like Ollie’s brother, and their friends.”
He didn’t want to lie to her, but neither did he want for her to worry.
Baxter’s butler approached, however, successfully preventing Jeremy from having to do either.
“Your carriage awaits in front, My Lord.” The butler turned. “Your coat, My Lady.”
Jeremy intercepted Lydia’s coat and held it up. When her gaze met his, he felt more than a little sheepish, remembering that he’d intentionally refrained from helping her into her coat not too long ago at the Wicked Earls’ Club. Instinctively, he had to have known she was a threat to his objective.
Was this still the case?
His hands lingered on her shoulder before leading her outside.
He’d never find another person like her. Despite everything, she’d not wavered from him in any way—not in her words, her feelings, or her intentions.
Her love for him had persisted, unconditionally.
His heart swelled.
Once the door to the carriage closed behind them, with her seated beside him on the front-facing bench, Jeremy wasn’t quite ready to bid her goodnight yet.
“Is your Aunt Emma expecting you home at any particular time? Or would you be amenable to driving around a while?”
She turned in surprise but nodded. “No. I mean, yes. I mean… No, she isn’t expecting me and yes, I am quite amenable to your suggestion.” She laughed. “It’s a lovely night.”
The air in his chest eased. He was making the right decision.
He lowered his hand between them and when she did the same, he entwined her fingers with his and squeezed gently.
Being with her had always been good for him. How had he managed so long without her?
He pounded on the ceiling using his cane and, after giving his driver new instructions through the small opening, closed the small sliding door and settled in beside her again.
“Quite a banner day.” Lydia was the first to speak.
“My preparation paid off.” Jeremy exhaled loudly, running his free hand through his hair. “It’s why I haven’t been able to take you to see the progress at the warehouse.” It was the truth; he’d spent his every waking hour gathering documents and sorting through reports.
“I wasn’t sure…”
“But I’m a fool. I should have made time for you.” He released her hand and slid his arm behind her shoulders instead, turning at the same time so he could see her better. “How are you?”
Such a simple question, and one that usually had an obvious answer.
“The truth?” The mere fact that she’d ask him this was revealing enough.
“Ah, Lydia.” She was so very precious to him—even more precious than before. “Tell me.”
He felt the small tremor run through her and pulled her closer.
“I’m… hopeful. But also afraid.”
He’d hurt her. But she had reason to hope again.
“Because of what happened between the two of us?”
She nodded slowly.
“Come here.”
Chapter 11
Jeremy didn’t care that he was revisiting trouble when he drew her onto his lap. But having her weight settle atop him felt like the most natural thing in the world.
“Is it because of the vase?” he teased. “Because I’ll have you know I’ve already located a replica that was made right here in London.”
“You did? You are teasing me.” But she was smiling now and sliding her hand up his chest and then onto his shoulder.
“You always give me reason to smile, did you know that?” Jeremy leaned his mouth very close to hers and then, tempted by the uptilt of her lips, closed the distance completely.
She welcomed his kiss with a soft sigh.
“Forgive me?”
“Always,” she breathed in answer.
At first, the kiss was a tender dance of memories, apologies, and forgiveness. But when she wound her other hand around his neck and arched into him, Jeremy’s heart raced, and he unbuttoned her coat with one hand while his other clutched her tightly against him.
“Jeremy.” Her whispered sighs ignited an almost unnatural desire to please her.
With her coat unfastened, Jeremy dipped his hand inside and cupped her breast over the fabric of her gown.
His fingertips located the tops of her stays, and he trailed them along the edge. She was a lady. If he had any honor at all, he would have asked for her hand the day he’d kissed her in the warehouse, and then again at Heart Place.
If he had any honor at all, he would have begged her to be his wife the day she’d come to Galewick Manor after he’d stormed out of his meeting with her brothers.
Honor wasn’t the simple concept he’d always believed it to be. Because the loyalty a man felt wasn’t limited to one person. And if it was, it could become a trap.
Is that what honoring his brother’s memory had become?
Lydia moved to twist around on him, just as she had before, but this time, he held her in check.
“But…”
Jeremy cut off her delicate protest easily enough. “Let me,” he whispered against her lips. “I want to touch you.”
His hand abandoned her breast so he could gather her skirts in his fist, edging the hem up past her knee to where her stocking ended—stockings held in place by silk ribbons wrapped around each perfect thigh. He was glad the curtains on the window had been left open, allowing enough light from the moon to filter inside so he could fully appreciate those perfect thighs. Plump, pale, and tender. The blood thrumming through his veins felt like fire.
“I want to taste you.” Everywhere. He plucked at one of the ribbons, and then dipped his hand between her legs, brushing the back of his fingers ove
r skin that was more delicate than a butterfly’s wings.
Her gaze, occasionally reflecting flashes of the moonlight, didn’t waver from his. It was so very like her, not to shy away from her feelings or to question something that felt so natural and right.
He skimmed up that soft skin until to caress the petals at her opening. “You like this?” His own breathing sounded loud in his ears. She was wet and slick and willing.
“Yes.” So straightforward. “I want…”
“What?”
“More.”
Jeremy took only a moment to fondle her seam before extending his finger inside. “Like that?”
She licked her lips and nodded.
He didn’t know what excited him more, touching her like this, or watching her while he did so. As he moved in and out, and then stretched her with a second finger, her breaths turned into gasps, and all the while, she gazed at him trustingly.
It felt more intimate than anything he’d ever done.
He drew lazy circles around velvety flesh and then explored higher.
“Jeremy!” she surrendered, closing her eyes and dropping her head backward.
There was so much wonder about her. Jeremy drank in the graceful length of her neck, her breasts heaving, the tip of her tongue as it reached just beyond the pearls of her teeth.
The carriage was turning, and the light from one of the street lanterns gave him a glimpse of his arm reaching between her legs. The sight amplified the throbbing in his cock, and he closed his eyes, willing her to reach around and—
He never quite finished that thought when the springs on the carriage suddenly sent the two of them flying.
His driver jerked the vehicle but had failed to avoid the large rut hidden by the darkness.
Holding Lydia on his lap, and both hands, er, occupied, Jeremy barely managed to cushion her fall as both of them were thrown to the floor.
The carriage came to a halt, and here they were again, him fully clothed and entirely too aroused for the circumstances. Or perhaps it was understandable.
Earl of Tempest Page 9
