When the boring dinner, followed by the obligatory ceremony of port and cigars for the men, had come to an end, the Earl and Countess of Grimley had retired and the rest of the sleepy guests gratefully followed suit. Hester had looked more reluctant, but she had little choice except to go with her husband. Lindsay and Dudley openly declared that they were not tired, then slipped away to the library, ostensibly to review the Grimley collection of books.
Now it was midnight. The house was quiet except for the sounds of the storm, yet Ryan had not heard Lindsay and Dudley come upstairs. Bitterly, he imagined the two of them in the darkened library. Were they lying on one of the great Chippendale sofas, kissing passionately? Unwilling to rein in his imagination, Ryan's rage smoldered and flared brighter by the moment. If that smarmy coxcomb dared to lay a hand on Lindsay...
Soft, girlish laughter drifted in from the hallway. Every muscle tensed, Ryan drained his cognac and slowly got to his feet. His own door was ajar and through it he saw them in the doorway to Lindsay's suite of rooms. Her hair was loosened, making a halo around her delicate face, and Dudley was bending over her. Ryan ignored the blush that suffused Lindsay's cheeks and the uneasy expression she wore as she endured the viscount's kiss. All he knew was that a white-hot rage possessed him at the sight of her being touched by another man. His emotions, fueled by the fine cognac, were too raw for Ryan to analyze—or subdue.
When Dudley wandered off dreamily in the direction of his own distant apartments beyond the chapel, Ryan waited to hear the faint click of his door, then entered the corridor. Reason was lost to him as he tapped once on Lindsay's door.
She opened it slightly while shaking out her long curls. "Dudley, you must—" Her voice broke off at the unexpected sight of Ryan.
The danger of being overheard was all the reason he needed to enter uninvited and close the door. "I want to talk to you. Privately."
"Don't be ridiculous! You can't barge in here at this hour of the night!"
"Really?" One black brow flew up sardonically. "I was under the impression I just did exactly that."
Lindsay backed away, all too aware of her vulnerability and the potency of his attraction. Her heart had felt bruised and numb ever since dinner, but her body responded traitorously to the sight of Ryan. His ruffled hair gleamed in the faint candleglow, his eyes were as wild and dark as the Irish Sea, and dimly she noticed that his hard, male chest was half exposed and the muscles of his thighs were outlined against the snug fabric of his breeches.
"You must go," she announced. "Someone will hear us."
"I doubt that. The only other rooms on this side of the house are your parents', and mine are in between. In any event, everyone's been asleep for at least an hour—except for you and your lover."
Somehow, Lindsay resisted the bait. Although the rapid rise and fall of her breasts gave her away, she sounded credibly calm as she replied, "Obviously, I cannot force you to respect my wishes. I had considered revising my conviction that you were a coarse brute on the basis of the new information about your educational background. This is most instructive. I must not forget that even an Oxford degree is no guarantee of breeding or good manners."
"Oddly enough, I went to Oxford in search of knowledge rather than manners. Being polite is not in my nature—unless it is engendered honestly." Ryan took another step toward her, then laughed softly when Lindsay instinctively backed up again. "At any rate, I came here not to discuss my lack of breeding but yours."
"You must be drunk. What can you possibly mean?"
"I am referring, my dear, to the ruthless little game you are playing with that thick-skulled Fanshawe. What do you hope to gain by it? A title?"
Lindsay gasped. "How dare you!"
"Not a very original retort, darling, but then an evening with the viscount has doubtless dulled your wits. It must be something of a relief to be adored unconditionally. Needn't you give anything in return? Perhaps he settles for a chaste kiss at the moment, but I trust you realize that once you're his wife, you'll have to fulfill some carnal obligations."
"You are odious and vile!" Lindsay whispered heatedly.
"Merely stating the truth, my dear."
"Overstepping the bounds, you mean! How dare you speak to me about carnal behavior when you yourself are carrying on with a married woman?" Silver sparks flashed from her eyes.
Ryan caught Lindsay's slim, pale wrists. "I can take care of myself, but I have serious doubts about you." He stared down at her, their faces so close that their breath mingled. "What kind of a game are you playing, Lindsay? I cannot believe that you are serious about Fanshawe. How can you even consider lying for the rest of your life with such a passionless twit? Flowery speeches and flattery may impress you now, but let me tell you that they're a poor substitute for the embrace of a real man."
She felt dizzy with rage and longing. "It's—it's none of your affair—"
His mouth hardened. "Isn't it?"
Lindsay opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Instead, she found herself being enfolded almost roughly into Ryan's steely embrace. And then she couldn't speak because he was kissing her.
Lindsay tried not to touch him, but the sensations his mouth evoked went far beyond any token resistance her mind could mount. Her hands fluttered only once before rounding his shoulders. Similarly, Ryan's anger was also quickly forgotten. All either of them knew was a consuming hunger for the other. After the first fiery moments of passion, Ryan's lips and arms grew gentler as he sensed there was no battle to fight. Lindsay was on his side.
Her mouth was incredibly sweet and soft. He kissed the full lower lip, tasting, while his hands shaped the supple curves of her waist and hips. "Ah, Lindsay..." His voice was edged with a moan. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?"
She opened smoky, gold-flecked eyes and gazed up into his face. "I know what you do to me," she whispered as they exchanged butterfly kisses. "I feel that I've gone mad, that you've put a spell on me, that I... can't get enough..."
Lindsay's low, sensual voice unleashed a fresh torrent of passion in him. Ryan's mouth covered hers and their tongues met, caressing, even as her fingers sank into his gleaming hair and his arms gathered her against the length of his body. The outside world ceased to exist. They sank down onto the plush Aubusson rug before the dark fireplace, the room illuminated only by the wavering flame of one candle, while raindrops fitfully splashed against the windowpanes.
For long moments, they kissed wonderingly, pausing at times to gaze into each other's eyes before resuming. The sensation of touching Ryan was bliss for Lindsay. Her fingers gloried in the texture of his hair, the sculpted contours of his face, and the broad strength of his shoulders. Their bodies intertwined as if this mating had been preordained from the instant of their own conceptions. When Ryan's fingers flicked open the fastenings on the back of her filmy gown, Lindsay didn't panic. Her own hands fumbled joyously with his buttons.
Ryan paused to blink at her, surprise and love mingling in his expression. "Aren't you going to push me away?" he whispered gently, kissing her. "Tell me I'm a brute? A cad? And, worst of all, a man?"
Smiling dreamily, she ran the tip of her tongue over his lower lip. "Yes, I'll tell you you're a man... and I'm a woman... and it's time we were together."
"At last we agree." His dark hands lowered the bodice of her gown. In the flickering candlelight, her breasts were pale and ripe, the nipples puckered with longing. "Christ, but you're beautiful."
Lindsay drew her arms from the puffed sleeves and stretched like a sensual cat when his lips began a warm and leisurely exploration of her breasts. The feeling of his mouth, gently kissing and sucking, drove her mad. Tingling currents of arousal spread downward to her womanhood and instinctively she arched against him. He was now lying between her legs, hot and hard even through his breeches and the fabric of her gown, and Lindsay sensed dimly that both of them were spinning past the point of no return.
Her fingers sank into his hair and he came back to
kiss her mouth again, so deeply and ardently that she was breathless. She pulled at his shirt and then it was gone. Ryan's lips seemed to scorch her delicate flesh. He kissed the bridge of her nose, the curve of her cheek, the length of her neck, and the hollow at the base of her throat. Lindsay, meanwhile, was experiencing sensations she'd never dreamed of. She was wet and aching between her legs, moving against Ryan's hardness with an involuntary rhythm. She touched him wonderingly: his arms and chest were golden brown, hard and warm all at once.
"My darling," Ryan whispered hoarsely, "you must tell me now if you have second thoughts. I fear the moment of truth is at hand!"
An incandescent smile lit her face. "I want you, Ryan. I want us."
He gazed down at her with warm sapphire eyes and paused to smooth back her tangled strawberry-blond mane. Then he knelt to slip off her gown, drinking in the sight of her curved hips, long, slim legs, and the auburn curls at their apex. "Dear God," he murmured, "you're exquisite."
She had been thinking much the same thing as she stared at his tapering chest. He was the very image of an Irish pirate. A thin line of black hair bisected the muscled ridges of his belly, and when Ryan removed the rest of his own clothing, Lindsay saw that it pointed to the very impressive proof of his manhood—and his desire for her. She reached out to run her fingertips down the hard edge of Ryan's hip, touching first the taut curve of his buttocks and then the line of his thigh. No sculptor, she thought, however brilliant, could capture such perfect male beauty in marble. For this was a warm-blooded, living man; the man she loved.
Without thinking, Lindsay said it aloud. "I love you, Ryan."
He covered her body with his own and that alone was the stuff of rapture. His dark hands framed her face. He kissed each smoky eye, lingered over her sensual mouth, then whispered, "I love you, Lindsay."
Her thighs opened. She felt swollen yet fairly abuzz with new sensations. Slowly, he touched her there, skillfully and gently, until she sobbed against his mouth. Then Ryan came into her with the utmost care, biting the inside of his mouth in an effort to contain his own intense pleasure. She was so taut, so warm and wet...
"Am I hurting you?"
"It feels wonderful... better than wonderful. I never dreamed..."
"Sweet Lindsay." His mouth closed over hers and their tongues met at the same instant that he thrust inside, joining their bodies completely. She moaned, passion and pain mingling, then her hips found Ryan's slow, building rhythm and her fingers clutched his muscled back. Together, they moved in a ritual of love as old as time itself. Hot, pleasurable tension built between their thrusting hips. Lindsay thought it might drive her mad as she panted against his neck. Then, suddenly, the spiral of passion exploded in what felt like a million sparkling stars cascading out from the very core of her being. She let out a moan of primitive surprise, her slim form trembling against the strength of his body. Feeling her reflexive contractions, Ryan smiled and kissed her damp hair, then allowed himself a climax that left him drained and breathless.
They gasped for air together, half laughing with joy.
Lindsay adored the feel of him still inside her, warm and pulsing. Ryan rolled onto his back, taking her with him, their bodies still joined, and reached up to caress her tumbled curls and glowing face.
"I had no idea..." she murmured, bending to kiss Ryan's mouth.
"To tell you the truth, neither did I." He chuckled.
"I was... all right, then? I mean, I know you're used to more experienced women—"
"It's never been like this, Lindsay, with anyone else." Wrapping his arms around her, he held her against him so that their heartbeats mingled. "Are you in any pain?"
"I never felt better in my life!" Her voice was muffled against his chest.
Gradually, reality seeped into Ryan's consciousness. Was it possible that this had actually happened in a house filled with other people—not the least of which were Lindsay's parents?
She felt him stiffen slightly and a shadow fell over her heart. Then Ryan gently turned them both sideways, just enough so that he could withdraw carefully.
"What's wrong?" Lindsay managed to whisper brokenly.
"It's just beginning to dawn on me how incredibly mad I've been to take you here—in the house of your suitor and under the noses of your parents!" Reaching for his breeches, he found a handkerchief and ministered to Lindsay as if they had always been intimate. "You know that I would love nothing more than to spend the rest of the night in bed with you, my darling, but the harsh truth is that I must get out of here as soon as possible. If anyone should knock on either of our doors, we'd never be able to explain!"
Goose bumps spread over Lindsay's naked form as she watched him pull his clothing back on, then hold out his hands to her. "Come on, angel, get up. God, but you're beautiful!" Briefly Ryan held her against him. "Don't look at me like that! Have you forgotten that nearly everyone in this considerably crowded household thinks we are brother and sister? I'd say that we've taken enough risks for one night. Where are your nightgowns?"
Wearing an expression of utter dejection, Lindsay pointed to the dressing room. Ryan went in, rummaged around, then returned to pull a shapeless white garment over her head with a sigh of relief.
"That's better. Now be a good girl and scrub your teeth, wash your face, and get into bed." For a moment, he cupped her delicate face and stared down into her great gray eyes. "Don't despair, Lindsay. We'll steal some time alone to talk when we get back to London, but for the moment, it's necessary that we put what happened between us away. You do understand, don't you?"
She couldn't stop shivering. If she'd felt she could wrap her arms around him and stay safe in his embrace, it would have been easier to bear. However, as things stood, Lindsay was embarrassed by her body's betrayal. She disengaged herself, backed away, and pasted on a tremulous smile.
"Of course I understand! We—we both lost our heads! I expect it was all that wine at dinner. And you're perfectly right; you must go back to your room immediately before we're found out!" Lindsay managed a hiccup of laughter. "It wouldn't do for you to be called out by both Dudley and my father, would it!"
He was unsettled by her manner. "Don't misunderstand me, Lindsay—"
"Misunderstand? You are not talking to a child. I am nearly twenty years old, and I do not lack for intelligence. I understand exactly what transpired here tonight, and you needn't be concerned that I shall swoon tomorrow morning at the sight of you. Even if there were not so many practical considerations, I would have no desire whatever to inform the world of tonight's... uhm... lapse."
Ryan knew her well enough to recognize what was happening now, but he couldn't afford to stay and sort it out. Instead, he stared at Lindsay long and hard and reached out to caress her cheek with the backs of his fingers. "It was not a lapse, and well you know it!" he scolded gently. "Try to get some sleep, and we'll—"
Weakening at his touch, Lindsay watched as Ryan suddenly inclined his head. "Shh!" he warned, raising a tapering, dark forefinger.
"You were talking, not I!" she whispered, bristling.
"I think I heard something. I'd better go." Then, unceremoniously, he gripped Lindsay's forearm and pulled her against him, kissing her already bruised lips. "We'll finish this in London. Sleep well, angel."
A moment later, Lindsay was alone in the huge sitting room and trembling again. Dazedly, she wandered into the bedroom where more candles had been lit by a maid.
Ryan had called her angel. Remembering, she felt a welcome rush of warmth but then found herself wondering if it was merely a standard endearment that he used whenever he had made love to a woman....
White curtains billowed at the windows; the wind blew in and then retreated like a living thing. Lindsay found herself drawn to a window, its casements thrown open, wondering numbly if the stars were out tonight. Stray raindrops stung her face as she searched the sky and watched dark clouds obscure and then reveal a glimmering crescent moon. More clouds hid the stars. Fittin
g, Lindsay thought morosely.
She was about to turn away from the window when she noticed a shadow move on the lawn below. Staring, she recognized Harry's blond head and then saw another man come into view. It was the Earl of Chadwick. There was something furtive about their movements that put Lindsay on guard, and she grew more suspicious as minutes passed and they continued to converse with heated intensity. At times, she could hear one of their voices break above a whisper, and Lord Chadwick repeatedly poked Harry's handsome chest. Finally, Chadwick produced what appeared to be a letter and handed it to Lindsay's brother-in-law, then they turned in opposite directions and disappeared.
What could it mean? Lindsay's heart was beating in her throat as she considered the possibilities. Lord Chadwick was one of the most powerful Tories in the House of Lords, while Harry had a new seat in the House of Commons. Could politics be a factor in their meeting?
One thing was clear: She had to tell Ryan. Crazily, she searched for a pink silk dressing gown and went out into the corridor without a thought to her appearance. Lindsay found that, aside from the puzzle of Harry and Lord Chadwick, she could hardly wait to see Ryan again and be near him. Boldly, she knocked at his door.
There was a long pause and then from inside came the voice of Lady Chadwick. "Ryan darling, aren't you going to see who it is?"
Chapter 24
June 16, 1814
Before Lindsay could run, the door swung open and Ryan stood before her. Hester was a blur across the room.
"Lindsay!" he whispered with sharp surprise.
"I must speak to you. A... family matter. When you're free...?"
Before he could respond, she turned and dashed away to her own rooms. Shaking his head, Ryan looked back to find Hester in the corner by his bed pouring herself a glass of cognac. Her green eyes tilted upward slightly as she regarded him from under long lashes.
"I hope you don't mind. It's very bad of me, I know, but I need the extra courage." She smiled. "Let me fix you a drink, too."
Surrender the Stars Page 23
