by Anna Bradley
“Goodnight, Sydney.”
Sydney’s gaze darted to Lucas. A moment ago, he’d seen a hint of that same need mirrored in Lucas’s face. His eyes had darkened to a smoky gray, and his lips had softened and parted.
Not any longer. The gray eyes were flat, and Lucas’s mouth was tight. Any trace of desire had vanished, wiped clean like sums from a child’s slate.
Sydney’s heart sank. He’d hesitated for too long, and the offer had been rescinded.
Misery flooded his chest. Lucas was quiet, reserved. He kept his secrets to himself. He wasn’t the sort of man who found it easy to share intimacies. He’d taken a risk tonight, sharing a part of himself with Sydney.
I paid him back with a rejection.
A subtle, hesitant rejection, but a rejection just the same.
Lucas rose from his chair. Sydney’s good hand twitched, but he fought back the urge to reach out and grab Lucas’s arm. “Wait. I… You said you were going to change my dressing.”
Sydney winced. Well, that was clumsily done, and a cheap enough ploy to begin with. No doubt Lucas saw through the awkward attempt to keep him close, but his expression gave nothing away.
“So I did.” He stepped closer to the bed—close enough so the light from the fire illuminated his face, but not so close Sydney could easily touch him. Sydney caught his breath as Lucas leaned over him to examine the dressing on his head, but the gray eyes remained cool.
Lucas was polite, but detached. He prodded at the dressing for a bit, then stepped back, putting a careful distance between them. “The dressing can wait until tomorrow. Get some rest.”
He turned to go, but Sydney, who grew more and more desperate with every step Lucas took toward the door, found he couldn’t bear to let him leave.
“Wait,” Sydney said again, his voice a low rasp. “Don’t go, Luke.”
Sydney half-expected Lucas to disappear through the door without a word or a backward glance. He wasn’t sure what made Lucas pause. The plea in his voice, perhaps. Whatever it was, Lucas returned to his chair by the bed.
But this time, he took care to keep to the shadows.
“Don’t do that,” Sydney said quietly. “Don’t hide in the dark.”
The big, shadowy figure in the chair went still. Lucas was quiet for a moment, and when he did speak, there was a hint of defiance in his voice. “Why should you think I’d hide from you, Sydney? I have no reason to.”
“Then come here.” Sydney laid his hand on the bed.
He would have given anything to know what Lucas was thinking as he hesitated once again, remaining as still as a statue in his chair, but when Lucas rose at last and sat down next to Sydney on the bed, his face was carefully blank.
Everything but his eyes, which were cautious, wary.
Sydney hardly dared to breathe, afraid if he said the wrong thing, or moved the wrong way, Lucas would burst into flight like a nervous bird.
So he said nothing. His hungry gaze roved over Lucas’s features, devouring every detail of that remarkable face. The high, sculpted cheekbones, the angular jaw, and the generous lips that resisted every smile. The surprising sweetness of them when they failed.
And the eyes—for Sydney, it would always come back to Lucas’s eyes. That hard, serious gaze, undermined by those lush, extravagant eyelashes. Maybe Sydney was drawn to the contradictions in Lucas, the surprise of him. The way he seemed to be one thing but was, in truth, someone else entirely, once the layers were peeled back.
They stared at each other, neither of them speaking, but then Sydney gave in to the impulse he’d had the first moment he laid eyes on Lucas Dean.
He reached out and brushed the lock of dark red hair away from Lucas’s forehead.
Lucas’s eyes drifted closed, but before Sydney had a chance to draw a breath, Lucas’s hand snaked out, and he grabbed Sydney’s wrist. “This isn’t a good idea.”
Despite himself, Sydney felt a smile curl his lips. No, of course it wasn’t a good idea. It was a perfectly awful idea, yet as inevitable as the sunrise. “Oh? Why is that?”
“We don’t fit. Christ, Sydney. The farmer and the earl? Even I can see how ridiculous it is.”
“Perhaps you can explain it to me, then.” Sydney’s tone was mild, and he made no effort to pull free of Lucas’s grip. “You say farmer and earl as if that’s all we are, but you’re not just a farmer, Lucas, any more than I’m just an earl.”
Lucas’s face darkened. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t matter—not in your world, Sydney. I’m no one special, and I don’t aspire to be.”
“There’s not a single thing about you that isn’t special,” Sydney said softly, holding Lucas’s gaze. “As far as you not mattering…well, I’m afraid it’s too late for that.”
You matter to me. You have from the start.
He didn’t say it aloud. He didn’t need to. The gray eyes flickered, and Sydney saw by the way they softened that Lucas understood.
They stared at each other for a moment longer, and then, little by little, Lucas’s fingers loosened around Sydney’s wrist. As soon as he was free, Sydney reached up and cupped Lucas’s cheek in his palm.
His skin was warm, and Sydney shivered. The gloom of the room made it difficult to see, but Sydney could just discern the slow wash of color that rose to Lucas’s skin in the wake of his touch.
“You’re the one who needs to rest.” Sydney slid his hand from Lucas’s cheek to his neck, and then lower, until it came to rest on Lucas’s collarbone. It was heavy and solid under his searching fingers.
Lucas let out a quiet sigh, and the tension drained from his shoulders, as if Sydney had gathered it into his palm and drawn it away. Sydney dug his thumb into Lucas’s hard muscles, kneading them. “Perhaps you need to spend more time in bed yourself, instead of lecturing me to do so.”
“I am in bed.”
Sydney glanced into Lucas’s darkened eyes, noticing the heaviness of his eyelids, and a suggestive smile curved his lips. “Not to rest.”
Lucas was still perched on the edge of the bed, his hands resting on top of his thighs. He’d made no move to touch Sydney yet, but Sydney wasn’t worried. For now, he was content to wait and explore the big, warm body so close to his.
When Lucas was ready to touch, he’d touch.
He’d be ready soon enough. Sydney hadn’t the slightest doubt of that. He could sense Lucas straining toward him, his body tense with desire. Tightly leashed for now, yes, but Lucas was vibrating with it. When his need pulled taut enough, it would snap.
“It’s like being in bed with a plank of wood,” Sydney teased. He shifted to one side of the bed, to give Lucas more space. “Try to relax, Luke. This isn’t a Latin exam. It’s…”
A seduction? It didn’t seem like the right word. It wasn’t…enough. Sydney was interested in Lucas’s body—very interested—but he’d engaged in seductions before, and none of them had ever felt like this. He didn’t just desire Lucas. He wanted to crawl inside his skin, to hear every thought in his head, feel every emotion in his heart. He wanted to know why Lucas didn’t smile more often and spend hours teasing one smile after another out of him.
“Come here.” Sydney took Lucas’s hand and urged him closer to the center of the bed. What he really wanted to do was ease Lucas back against the pillows so he could tend to him properly, but he couldn’t move easily with his broken hand and his shoulder still in the sling.
Two hands would certainly prove useful in this situation. Lucas had the sort of long-limbed, powerful body that deserved two hands.
But for now, one would have to do.
Lucas was wearing a simple white cotton shirt that bared the strong column of his throat. Sydney let his fingers wander over Lucas’s warm skin. He lingered over the pulse point at the base of his neck and felt the quick movement of Lucas’s swallow against the pads of his fingers.
“Is this all right?” Sydney rubbed his thumb back and forth over Lucas’s collarbones, watching Lucas’s face closely to gauge his reaction.
Lucas looked at him with sleepy, glittering gray eyes. “Yes.”
Dear God. The deep, husky rasp of his voice, the slight pout of his lips…
Lust uncurled in Sydney’s stomach, the writhe and throb of it stealing his breath. He continued the slow, languorous stroking over Lucas’s collarbone and let his fingers wander under the neck of Lucas’s shirt. Smooth, hot skin slid under his fingertips, and Sydney had to bite back a groan.
Jesus. Maybe it was a good thing his shoulder was dislocated and his hand broken. Otherwise he might be sorely tempted to give in to his urge to tear Lucas’s shirt over his head. Not the best idea, perhaps. Lucas was likely far more innocent than Sydney was. What were the odds a young farmer with Lucas’s preferences had had much chance to indulge them?
He needed to take this slowly, and that would be impossible if he took Lucas’s shirt off. He’d spent enough time studying the way the muscles rippled under the thin, white cotton to know he’d lose control as soon as Lucas’s bare flesh was revealed.
A kiss, though, just the lightest brush of his lips against Lucas’s….
Sydney brushed his thumb over Lucas’s bottom lip. “Open your mouth.”
Lucas drew in a sharp breath. His tongue crept out to touch the corner of his lip, and Sydney stifled another groan. He didn’t think Lucas had made the gesture consciously to arouse him, but it was no less erotic for its innocence. Sydney’s control slipped another notch.
“Lucas, have you ever…” Kissed another man? Bedded one? How did one ask this delicately? Sydney had always favored experienced partners, for the simple reason that it rendered this conversation unnecessary. “Am I the first man you’ve been with?”
For some reason, this question made Lucas smile. “No.”
“No?” Sydney stared at him. He’d never seen Lucas smile in quite that way before. It was a little playful, a little wicked, and more than a little arousing.
Lucas’s gaze dipped to Sydney’s lips. If he was shy, he seemed to be growing less so by the second. “You sound shocked.”
“No, no, I’m just…”
All right then, he was shocked. For God’s sake, where would Lucas have found a lover in Beaconsfield? It might as well be on a different continent than wild, decadent London.
“I’m not shocked, just…well, I suppose it makes this a great deal easier.”
It was true, and God knew Sydney had no right to the irrational jealousy that was surging through him right now. He shoved it aside and reached for the bottom of Lucas’s shirt. He toyed with the hem, his gaze on Lucas’s face. If he wasn’t Lucas’s first lover, then there wasn’t any reason not to remove his shirt, was there?
Lucas raised an eyebrow. “Don’t get too ambitious, Sydney. Mind your injuries.”
“I’m tired of being injured.” A few long-neglected parts of Sydney’s body had surged to life as soon as Lucas joined him on the bed, and he was far more interested in those parts than he was in his hand or shoulder.
“If you don’t want to be injured, then let your body heal.” Lucas waved a hand between them. “You should be resting, not…”
“Not what? Taking my nurse to my bed?”
A slow, lazy smile tugged at the corners of Lucas’s lips. “Is that what you’re doing?”
“Well, I’m bloody well trying. Come a little closer.”
Lucas did as he asked. Sydney rested one hand on Lucas’s muscular thigh and leaned forward until their mouths were only inches apart. For the space of a heartbeat, he didn’t let their lips touch, but just let them both feel the warm drift of each other’s breath. Then he closed the distance between them and brushed his lips over Lucas’s.
It was a quick kiss, sweeter than it was carnal. An experiment, and a question.
When he drew away, he saw Lucas’s eyes had drifted closed. His lips were parted and curved upward in that elusive smile. Ah. That was his question answered, then. One way to earn a smile from Lucas was to kiss him.
When Sydney took Lucas’s lips the second time, he lingered, his mouth more demanding. He cupped Lucas’s cheek in one hand, a soft groan tearing from his throat at the exquisite rasp of Lucas’s stubble against his palm. He opened his mouth to deepen the kiss, his lips parting and his tongue darting out to lick and tease.
A low growl tore from Lucas’s chest, and before Sydney knew what was happening, Lucas had him pressed against the pillows behind him, with his hands on his chest to keep him there.
“Is this all right?” Lucas nipped at Sydney’s lower lip, then sucked it into his mouth. “Is this all right, Sydney?”
The best Sydney could offer in reply was a strangled sound—half moan, half plea. Lucas must have recognized it as the encouragement it was, because he took Sydney’s mouth harder then, his eager tongue teasing between Sydney’s lips and surging into every corner of his mouth.
Sydney forgot everything else —the burn in his shoulder and the hard twinge in his hand—as he squirmed and struggled to get closer to Lucas.
If it hadn’t been for the thud of the front door, things might have become heated indeed. Both Sydney and Lucas froze at the sound, their lips still pressed together.
“It’s Burke.” Lucas tore his mouth from Sydney’s. “Jesus, I forgot all about him.”
“I did, too.” Sydney gave a forlorn little sigh as Lucas scrambled off the bed. “He’s got awful timing, doesn’t he?”
“Lucas? Yer lordship?” Burke’s cheerful voice echoed up the stairwell. “Can I bring ye both some tea?”
“Tea would be welcome.” Lucas gave Sydney a crooked smile as he stuffed the ends of his shirt back into his breeches. “That should keep him busy for a little while. I need a moment.” He nodded at the blankets spread across Sydney’s lap. “Looks like you do, too,” he added, before he turned his back on Sydney and strode over to the window.
“A moment?” Sydney grumbled, adjusting the blankets over his erection. “I’m going to need at least an hour. Maybe more.”
Lucas chuckled, but he didn’t get a chance to answer. The commotion had woken Brute, and he jumped to his feet with the sort of fevered excitement only ever seen in dogs and young children. He dashed back and forth between Sydney and Lucas, his tongue hanging from his mouth his tail whipping in a frenzy, endangering everything within an arm’s length of it.
After a short while there was a tread of boots on the stairs, and a moment later Burke appeared in the bedchamber doorway, a crowded tea tray in his hands. “Careful there, Brute,” he said, dodging the dog’s tail as he made his way across the room. “Aye, that’s a good dog.”
“Well, Burke. Here you are at last,” Sydney said, giving his blankets another tug. “I thought you’d been lost in a snowdrift.”
“Nah. Went to look for yer horse. Saw her tracks, but she’s hiding. Scared, I reckon, but she’ll come ’round.” Burke set the tea tray on the table and turned a smile on Sydney and Lucas. “Everything all right ’ere this afternoon? Nice and quiet, eh?”
“Not quiet enough. Lucas’s idea of entertainment for the afternoon was making me listen to him read The Complete Farmer.” Sydney shot Lucas a disgruntled look, but he couldn’t quite hide the smile lurking at the corner of his mouth.
Lucas saw it, and his lips twitched.
“The Complete Farmer?” Burke gave Lucas a doubtful look. “Can’t say as ’is lordship is much interested in farming, fer all that ’e’s a good lord to ’is tenants.”
“Not so much a good lord, Burke, as a lord with an excellent steward. But you’re right. I’ve never been much interested in husbandry. Still, I did learn a bit about hogs and acorns, so it wasn’t entirely a loss.”
“Hogs and acorns?” Burke’s brow furrowed. “I sh
oulda warned ye, Lucas. His lordship is much more interested in horses than hogs. Horseshoes, ’specially.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Burke. The Complete Farmer was more fascinating than I’d ever imagined it could be.” He accepted a cup of tea from Burke, but it was Lucas he was watching when he said, “So fascinating, in fact, I just may insist Mr. Dean here indulge me in the same way again tomorrow.”
Chapter Fourteen
Hugh clutched Isla to his chest, his boots scraping across the ice as he stumbled through the snow toward the house. His heart was still lodged in his throat, and every one of his limbs still shaking with delayed panic.
He’d only been two floors above her when she’d wrenched open the door and fled into the dark night, but it had felt as if there were hundreds of steps between them. He’d seemed to move in slow motion as he chased her, his arms reaching for empty air again and again until he’d caught her against him at last.
He tightened his arms around her now, relief and regret flooding through him as he carried her through the entryway to his study. He’d lost control of himself in the schoolroom. He’d been so desperate for answers he’d pushed her too hard—even frightened her, perhaps.
But it hadn’t been fear that had sent her fleeing into the night.
Isla wasn’t faint-hearted. She had brothers the size of trees, and she’d learned long ago how to hold her own with them. Hugh had never seen her run away from anything until tonight.
Something had gone terribly wrong the night of Lady Entwhistle’s ball. Isla was trying to hide it from him, but Hugh was done with secrets. He would have the truth from her, and he’d have it tonight.
He laid her carefully on the sofa and turned to the sideboard, trying not to think of all that had passed between them since the last time she’d sat shivering before his fire in a wet gown, her face pale with shock. Three days—had it really only been three days since he’d brought her out of the woods? It felt like he’d lived a lifetime since then, and yet he was as far from knowing the truth as he’d ever been.
Hugh’s hands were unsteady as he poured them each a glass of port. “The night you got lost, I watched you ride into the woods from that window, right there.” He nodded toward the window behind his desk. “Do you know what it did to me, to stand there helplessly and watch you ride straight into peril? The entire time I was searching for you in the woods, I was picturing your broken body crushed under a tree.”
