by Anna Bradley
“Oh…” Isla jerked against him in surprise, but Hugh soothed her with kisses as he probed delicately between her legs, opening her for his touch. He teased his fingertip over her tender bud, circling and petting until her breath began to come in quick, hard pants and he could feel her growing wetter with every careful stroke.
She arched and moaned for him as he kissed his way down her body—between her breasts, her belly, the sweet dip of her navel—and when he finally nudged his head between her thighs, any embarrassment she might have felt had long since fled.
“Hugh. Oh…” Her legs were trembling, and her fingers tugged frantically at his hair.
He kissed the inside of her thigh, his mouth watering to taste her desire. Her breathless moans had made him hard again, and his erection was straining against his stomach. “Open your legs for me, sweetheart.”
She did, and Hugh held her open for his mouth.
He kissed her gently at first—just the lightest brushes of his lips and tongue over her sensitive bud, but within seconds she was whimpering and arching her hips toward his mouth, desperate for more.
“God, you’re so sweet, Isla,” he groaned against her warm folds. He grew more and more inflamed as her passion grew, until she was pushing into his mouth and he was thrusting against the bed as he continued to devour her.
He teased and licked and circled until she was sobbing his name, and then he abandoned all restraint, sucked her between his lips, and stroked the flat of his tongue over her again and again. Her thighs trembled under his hands. She cried out as her release took her, and she shuddered through waves of pleasure.
Hugh didn’t withdraw, but continued to lick and suck gently at her until her limbs relaxed and she went limp. When he crawled back up the bed he found her still breathless, with a dreamy smile on her lips and her face glowing with a fine sheen of perspiration. He ignored his aching cock, took her into his arms, and held her close while they both caught their breath.
She snuggled against his side. “That was… I never knew a gentleman would… Well, my goodness, Hugh.”
Hugh grinned, pleased to find he’d rendered her momentarily incoherent. “I hope that means you enjoyed it.”
“Couldn’t you tell?”
He laughed at that and drew her closer. “Well, I had a suspicion you did.”
“I’d like to do that again, too.” She leaned over to brush her lips over his, then lay back down, her head resting on his chest. She remained quiet for long moments as he toyed with her hair. He sifted his fingers though the long dark strands, but he made no move to take it further.
She turned her face up to his. “Don’t you wish to make love to me?”
She looked a trifle uncertain, as if she suddenly had doubts, and Hugh rushed to reassure her. “More than anything.” It was the truth. His erection was still pulsing against his stomach, and there was nothing he wanted more than to be as close to her as two people could be.
He was eager to make her his, and that was what he intended to do.
But he wanted to make it perfect for her, and the specter of James Baird was hovering over them. Isla hadn’t told him outright she was no longer a virgin, but he’d understood what she hadn’t been able to say. She’d be spared the physical pain that accompanied a loss of virginity when he entered her, but what of her other pain? Her other losses?
James Baird had hurt her. He’d ripped something away from her, and despite Isla’s strength and resilience, the memory of it still haunted her. None of his other lovers had ever been as vulnerable as she was. She was trusting him with her body and her heart, and he wanted to be worthy of that trust.
Hugh wasn’t quite as proper as the ton seemed to think he was. He’d had a number of lovers and a discreet mistress or two over the years. He knew how to please a woman.
But he hadn’t been in love with any of the others.
Isla was different, and he was different when he was with her. Her warm, welcoming body under his, her fingers in his hair, her whispers in his ear…
These stolen moments with her were everything.
Maybe that was his answer. Maybe all he needed to do was to tell her again—with a word, or a touch—that his heart was hers alone.
He rolled her gently onto her back and settled his body over hers. He gazed down at her for a moment without speaking, then he asked, “Are you afraid?” He would have sensed it if she was—he felt certain of it—and yet she looked so small underneath him, her body so delicate, so breakable.
She shook her head, her tousled dark hair dragging across the pillow. “No, Hugh. I could never be afraid of you.”
He brushed his thumb over her cheekbone. “I’d never hurt you, Isla. I love you, and I promise I’ll take care of you tonight.”
As the whispered words fell into the darkness between them, sadness pierced his chest. If only he could promise to take care of her every night, and every day afterward.
Isla seemed to understand how he felt, because when she laid her hand against his cheek, her blue eyes were overflowing with tenderness. “I know you will.”
He kissed her then, his mouth soft on hers, gentle, and her return kiss was the sweetest, most tender thing he’d ever known.
They held each other for long, quiet moments before Hugh began to touch her.
He went slowly with her, his hands careful as he stroked them down her neck. He lingered in the soft curves before sliding his palms over her shoulders, then down her chest, between her breasts. He pressed his face to the soft valley and inhaled the faint scent of vanilla that clung to her.
She sighed and slid her fingers into his hair. “I want you so much, Hugh.”
He cupped her breasts in his palms, gently squeezing them. “Tell me what you need, sweetheart. Say it, and I’ll give it to you.”
“I need you.” She parted her legs and pressed her knees against his hips. “Here.”
Hugh settled his hips between her thighs. His cock was throbbing insistently against the soft skin of her belly, but he held back, resisting the urge to slide inside her. There would be no pain for her this time—not in her body, her mind, or her heart. Tonight, she would feel only pleasure and sweet, blissful release.
When he took her, she would be aching for him.
So he held back, thumbing her nipples until they were hard, swollen peaks and she was gasping with need. Only then did he give her his mouth. He hung over her, sucking at one sweet pink nipple for long, delirious moments before taking the other one between his lips.
“Hugh.” Her fingers tangled in his hair. “I need you.”
Her sweet pleas, the desperate tug of her fingers, the way she was squirming against him—it was driving Hugh mad. He pressed his lips to her ear, his voice a dark, wicked rasp. “Do you want me inside you, sweet?”
“Yes. Please, Hugh.” Her knees tightened around his hips.
He was desperate to take her, but not yet, not yet…
He reached down between their bodies and slipped his fingers between her legs, groaning when he sank into her hot, wet folds. “God, Isla, you’re so ready for me. I want you so much, sweetheart.”
He shifted his body closer to hers, so his cock was poised at her entrance, but he stilled before sliding inside her. “Look at me, Isla.” He brought both of his hands up to cup her face.
Her beautiful, dark blue eyes were hazy with passion, but when he turned her face up to his, she held his gaze.
“Don’t look away from me,” he whispered, stroking his thumb across her lower lip. “Watch me when I move inside you.”
She nodded. He nudged his hips, and the head of his cock slid into her welcoming heat.
“Oh.” She let out a soft gasp of surprise, but her body was already coaxing his, pulling him deeper inside her. Hugh gritted his teeth against the pleasure, prayed for control, and moved his hips forward in ano
ther careful, restrained thrust.
A faint moan fell from Isla’s lips, and she shivered against him. “I need more of you. All of you.”
Hugh was shuddering with the need to plunge into her, but when he was halfway there, he forced his hips to still again. “Slowly, sweet. We need to go slowly…”
His words trailed off into a strangled groan as Isla wrapped her legs tightly around his hips and arched against him. She did it once, and then again, her hips taking up a steady rhythm, and God, she was so warm and tight, and he loved her so much…
Whatever tiny thread of restraint Hugh still possessed pulled tight, then tighter still until it snapped. With a rough cry he grabbed her knees, hitched them higher over his hips, and took her hard with one deep thrust. “You’re mine, Isla,” he growled as he moved over her, driving into her delicious heat with hard, steady strokes. “No matter where you are, or who you’re with, you’ll always be mine. Say it.”
“I’m yours, Hugh. I’ll always be yours.” A sound tore loose from her throat—a gasp, or a sob—and she sank her fingernails into his sweat-slicked back.
Hugh jerked against her, letting out a guttural groan at the sharp sting. He was dangerously close to release, but he held on, his jaw tight and his heart pounding, waiting for her…
With a breathless cry she went rigid, and then shattered beneath him. Hugh groaned as her body tightened around his, coaxing and teasing with each rhythmic pulse until he was hurled headlong into his own explosive release.
Afterward, he buried his face in her neck and held her close against him, stroking her hair as their breathing calmed. When he raised his head, her dark blue eyes met his, and a wistful smile drifted over her lips.
He pressed his palm to her cheek, searching her gaze. “Are you all right?”
She turned her face to kiss his palm. “Yes. I love you, Hugh.”
Hugh leaned down and let his forehead touch hers. “I love you, too.”
He wrapped her in his arms, then rolled onto his side, tucked her against him, and buried his face in her hair.
One night with her, in a lifetime of nights without her.
It wasn’t enough.
Chapter Seventeen
“Ye’re right cheerful this morning, ye are.” Burke raised one furry eyebrow at Lucas as he strolled into the kitchen. “I dinna know ye even knew how to smile, but there it is.”
“Of course, I know how to smile,” Lucas said, lifting the kettle off the hearth. He poured the hot water into the teapot and added it and the tea canister to his tray before giving Burke a sidelong glance. “Was I smiling?”
“Aye. Whistling, too.”
Whistling? He couldn’t recall the last time he’d whistled. So long ago, he would have said he’d forgotten how, but here he was, warbling like a bird.
It meant nothing, of course. That is, he did feel uncharacteristically cheerful today, but it had nothing to do with—
“Lord Sydney’s awake, I take it?” Burke grabbed a slice of the buttered bread on the tea tray and stuffed it into his mouth.
“Awake with a mass of pillows against his back, demanding his tea like a proper earl.” He wasn’t really, but it amused Lucas to tease Sydney about his lordliness.
Burke snorted. “Well, ’e’s a pretty enough picture, I reckon.”
Lucas thought so, but he didn’t say it aloud. “He keeps insisting he can make his own tea, no matter how many times I warn him about head injuries and steep staircases.”
Lucas liked taking care of Sydney, in any case, despite his lordship’s occasional fits of bad temper. Sydney’s smiles more than made up for his frowns.
Burke chuckled. “Aye, well, ’e’s always been a stubborn one, even when ’e was a wee boy.”
Lucas hacked a few bits of sugar from the loaf and dropped them onto a plate on the tea tray. Sydney liked his tea sweet. “I don’t doubt it. Where are you off to so early?”
Burke had spent the better part of the morning attending to whatever mysterious business he got up to in the stables, and now he was wrapped from neck to toe in a heavy greatcoat, as if he were about to embark on a journey.
“I’m off to Huntington Lodge today. His lordship’s friends expected him there days ago. They’ll be wondering where ’e is, but I reckon it’s another few days before ’e can travel, so ’e’s sending me along ahead of ’im. Lord Huntington will send ’is traveling coach back ’ere to fetch Lord Sydney in a few days.”
Lucas glanced out the kitchen window into the yard beyond. The storm had broken, but clouds still hung low in the sky, and there were patches of half-melted ice and snow on the ground. He gave Burke a doubtful look. “Why not wait a few days, until the roads are clear? You’ll have a hard time of it until more of the snow is packed down.”
Burke shrugged. “It’ll be slow going, right enough, but I’ve got Jenny rigged up proper, and Lord Sydney doesn’t like to wait and worry Miss Ramsey.”
Lucas’s hands stilled over the tea tray. There was no reason in the world the lady’s name should send a cold shiver down his spine, but it did. “Miss Ramsey?”
Burke gave him a surprised look. “What, dinna ’is lordship tell ye about ’er?”
“No, he didn’t.” Suddenly Lucas didn’t know what to do with his hands, and he lowered his arms to his sides.
“Miss Ramsey is Lord Sydney’s betrothed, and a sweet lady she is. Pretty, too, with ’er blue eyes.” Burke winked, snatched another slice of bread off the tray, and then jerked his chin toward the stairs. “Ye’ll tell ’is lordship I’ve gone?”
Lucas turned back toward the window so Burke wouldn’t see his face. “I’ll tell him. Safe travels, Burke.”
Burke gave him a hearty slap on the back. “Thank ye for all ye done fer ’is lordship. Saved ’is life, ye did. Mine too, I reckon. Ye’re a good lad, Lucas.”
Lucas watched from the window as Burke made his way toward the stables. A few moments later Burke rode out, the horse stepping daintily through the snowdrifts, and before long both horse and rider had crested the hill and disappeared down the other side.
Lucas grabbed the tea tray and turned toward the stairs, but the teacups were rattling so badly he was forced to set it down again at once. He looked down at his hands and realized they were shaking.
He dropped into one of the plain wooden chairs at the kitchen table and rested his forehead in his hands. His stomach was churning with hurt and fury, but he couldn’t have said which of them he was furious at—Sydney, or himself.
Myself, for wishing for things I knew I could never have.
What had he expected would happen? Had he supposed Sydney would stay at Brinkhill Farm forever? Did he imagine Sydney would toss aside his expensive Hessians and fine coats, don a farmer’s smock, and spend the rest of his days tramping about the muddy turnip fields at Lucas’s side?
The man was an earl. Earls didn’t dirty their boots in muddy fields, and they didn’t fall in love with rough laborers. No, they married pretty blue-eyed ladies and went off to live happy lives with them in fine manor houses like Huntington Lodge. If he’d thought for a single moment that wasn’t how this story would end, then he’d been a bloody fool.
Lucas raised his head and let his hands drop to the table. Sydney hadn’t precisely lied to him, and yet he felt as if he’d been lied to, just the same. Sydney had a head injury, yes, but Lucas hadn’t seen any other signs his lordship had amnesia. Curious that the existence of his betrothed had been the only thing to slip his mind.
Miss Ramsey. A sweet lady, with pretty blue eyes. A lady who’d worry for Sydney when he didn’t appear at Huntington Lodge as expected.
Well, her betrothed would be back by her side soon enough. Sydney would leave, and Lucas would go on as he had before, and that was all, so there was no point in sitting here like some spurned lover. His lordship was waiting for his tea. Lucas rose
from the table, grabbed the tea tray, and climbed the stairs.
Sydney had Brute’s chin in his hand and was crooning some nonsense to him, but he looked up as Lucas entered the room. “For God’s sake’s, Dean. You look as if someone’s poisoned your breakfast. Why are you so grim-faced this morning?”
Lucas didn’t answer this question, but set the tea tray on the table, then sat down in the chair by the bed. “We’ll let the tea steep for a bit.”
“All right.” Sydney met his gaze, his brows pulled together with concern. “That’s a devil of a frown you’re wearing. What’s wrong?”
Brute had padded over to Lucas’s side, and Lucas reached down to scratch the dog’s ears, avoiding Sydney’s eyes. “Not a thing.”
I have no right to be angry…
No, he had no right, but he was angry, just the same. Angry and hurt, and he wasn’t very good at hiding how he felt from Sydney. Everyone else, yes, but not Sydney. If he was an earl, perhaps he’d be better at pretending.
Sydney offered him a tentative smile. “All week I’ve been flattering myself I can coax you into a smile at my whim. Will you prove me wrong today?”
Lucas’s heart gave a miserable thump at the sight of those lips curving hopefully at the corners. He’d thought Sydney handsome from the first, but it was only in the past few days that his stomach had taken up that odd fluttering every time Sydney smiled at him. Was it Sydney’s lips or the engaging crinkles at the corners of his eyes that separated his smile from every other?
Perhaps it was neither. Perhaps it was just that Lucas knew the kindness in Sydney’s face reflected the kindness in his heart. He’d be better off now if he didn’t know it. He should have kept his distance, but he hadn’t been able to resist Sydney any more than Brute had. Sydney had drawn him in, one smile at a time, as surely as if he’d tied a rope to Lucas’s wrist and tugged on it until there wasn’t a sliver of space left between them. Now Lucas was no better than poor Brute, whining for any spare scraps of Sydney’s attention.
