"Sophia, you look wonderful," Lady Agatha replied, returning a fond embrace. "Allow me to introduce you to my great-nephew, Lord Kelton. And of course you know my grandson Knightsbridge. My dears, this is the Countess of Farvendale, Lady Penelope's grandmother."
Knightsbridge immediately bowed over the countess's hand. "Enchanted, my lady," he drawled smoothly. He cast Penelope a less amiable glance. "Lady Penelope, lovely as always."
"My lord," she said with a cool nod.
"Sophia, let's go off and have a coze," Lady Agatha said. "The young people can dance while we talk."
"Excellent notion, Agatha," the countess approved. "Well, lads? Which one of you will lead out my Penelope?"
Lady Penelope looked at Garrett.
Garrett smiled at her. "I'm afraid I've already asked Mrs. Devering for this dance, Lady Penelope. Perhaps I may have the next one?"
Penelope nodded and gave Garrett a shy smile. Lucinda opened her mouth to protest, but Lady Agatha turned to Knightsbridge. "Well, boy, what are you waiting for?"
Knightsbridge looked as if he had swallowed something particularly distasteful. "Ah... Lady Penelope, may I have this dance?"
Lady Penelope didn't look particularly excited about the prospect, but she graciously gave her hand over to Knightsbridge so he could lead her out onto the floor.
Lady Agatha made a shooing motion at Garrett and Lucinda. "Go on with you now, Mrs. Devering. You know how you love to waltz."
"But Meg—"
"Don't you worry about her," Lady Agatha reassured her. "I'll be sitting right here with Sophia, and we'll watch out for her. You go enjoy yourself, my dear."
Garrett bowed to the ladies. "You are most kind, Aunt."
Lucinda could do nothing else but allow Garrett to lead her out in a waltz.
They took their places on the dance floor, his hand lightly on her waist, hers on his shoulder. He clasped her other hand, and as his fingers curled around hers, Lucinda was reminded of the night before, when he had been deep inside her, and he had pinned her hands to the bed on either side of her head and twined their fingers in exactly the same way as he brought her to shuddering climax. She darted her gaze to his, and she could see that he remembered, too.
The music started, and they began to move. As before, they followed the steps as one, sweeping along the floor in gentle rhythm that seemed all too familiar.
The hard muscles of his shoulder flexed beneath her palm as he guided her around the floor, and his scent surrounded her, taking her back to the night before with aching clarity. She instinctively smoothed her hand across his shoulder, then curled her fingers into the material of his coat to stop herself.
But, oh, the memories were irresistible. Had it been only last night that he had held her so tenderly? Had it been only last night that she had learned a woman's power, and how heady it was to caress a man and know you were pleasing him? Was it only last night that she had made this man shudder beneath her touch?
It seemed like eons ago. It seemed like moments ago.
Where their fingers twined, their palms seemed to burn. He locked his gaze with hers and gently caressed her thumb with his. Unable to escape, she could only tremble in response. He pulled her slightly closer, so their thighs brushed. His hand flexed at her waist.
Familiar heat flared and spread. As he spun her in a turn, she clung to him. Her lips were dry,
and she licked them. His eyes darkened.
Good Lord in heaven, she still wanted him.
Waltzing with him was pure torment and pure pleasure. Her body seemed to come alive at his touch, and she remembered how it felt to be alone with him in the darkness, entangled in the cool sheets of his bed. She let out a shaky breath. Her nipples had hardened, and moisture gathered between her thighs. Now she knew why the waltz had been considered scandalous; such close contact with a man awoke sleeping secrets within a woman's body.
Secrets that Garrett already knew, intimately.
They danced near the far edge of the floor, and before Lucinda knew what he was about, Garrett whirled her right through a small door nearly hidden by a potted palm.
Inside the small sitting room, Garrett closed the door behind them and leaned back against it.
"What are you doing?" Lucinda hissed urgently. "Are you mad?"
"Maybe."
His blue eyes burned as he locked his gaze with hers. Passion lit his features, and an answering echo chimed through her body.
They couldn't do this.
They shouldn't do this.
"I want you," he said softly.
"No," she whispered back.
"Oh, yes." He smiled, his eyes narrowing with serious intent. "Come here, Lucinda."
"Garrett, open the door." She took a step forward.
"No." He still watched her with that lazy smile, and a thrill shot through her, followed by a stab of pure sensual hunger. God help her, she wanted to touch him again.
"Kiss me, Lucinda," he commanded in a tone that shivered down her spine. "One kiss, and I will open the door."
"What will people think?" she asked, but she took another step toward him.
"Nobody knows we're here," he replied. "One kiss, and you can go back to the ball feeling much better than you do now."
Heat flooded her face. "You don't know how I feel."
"Don't I?"
He did. She knew he did.
"One kiss, Lucinda," he urged softly. "It will ease the hunger."
She was tempted. She looked at that tasty masculine mouth of his, and she longed to kiss him. But she didn't want to stop with his mouth.
Last night he had lain back and allowed her to taste every inch of his flesh. The memory burned through her, igniting her barely controlled passions, bringing her body to life with a flare of need.
"God help me," she murmured, then stepped forward into his arms.
He met her halfway. Their mouths joined, and she coiled her arms around his neck. He leaned heavily back against the door, kissing her deeply with teeth and tongue, his hands cupping her rear end and scooping her closer to him.
She could feel the hard length of him through her gown, and her body burst into flames.
She tangled her hands in his hair and threw herself into the kiss with everything she had. He groaned and crushed her against him, her breasts flattened against his chest, his hands kneading her bottom.
She tugged at the buttons of his coat, hungry for the feel of his flesh. With a low growl, he turned around, pinning her hard against the door, continuing their kiss with a lusty hunger that she matched tenfold. She clung to his neck and he shoved up her gown, urging her legs up and over his hips. His fingers brushed her bare thighs as he held her in place and rubbed against her.
Too many clothes, she thought desperately. She wanted him naked and inside her, and she wanted it now. If she had to wait one more second for him—
The doorknob rattled.
They both froze, and suddenly the enormity of what she was doing struck Lucinda like a lightning bolt. Where was her common sense? Where was her pride? Her dignity?
Had she really been about to make love to a man in the middle of a ball, backed up against a door like the veriest tart?
Apparently so.
The doorknob rattled again, and voices came from the other side of the door. Then she heard footsteps, as if the people trying to get in had walked away.
"Damn it," Garrett whispered.
She squirmed. "Let me down!"
Slowly, he let her legs slide down until she stood on her feet, and she brushed furiously at her gown, making sure there were no wrinkles.
"We're not done yet," he warned her.
She patted her curls, amazed that her hair was still in place. "Oh, yes, we are." Satisfied with her appearance, she turned and grabbed the doorknob. "Fix your hair."
He raked his fingers through his hair, trying to straighten where her fingers had tousled it.
"This is over, Captain." She stared straight into hi
s eyes. "This can never happen again."
She opened the door and swept back into the ballroom.
>Chapter 13
By some miracle, Garrett had the presence of mind to wait a few minutes before exiting the room after her. For a moment, Lucinda stood spellbound and watched his tall figure weave through the throng toward Lady Penelope and Knightsbridge.
What was wrong with her? Hadn't she learned her lesson when Malcolm almost ruined her? She needed to keep her reputation spotless if she were to find a decent husband. Garrett Lynch and his intoxicating kisses would either be off to America or wed to Lady Penelope soon enough, and she would be left languishing alone if she did not accomplish what she had set out to do.
At the moment, however, her most urgent need was to get back to her duties. She couldn't take the chance of annoying the duke on top of everything else!
She found Lady Agatha sitting on a settee in the corner. Her head bobbed forward, and she snored softly. The Countess of Farvendale was nowhere to be seen.
Neither was Meg.
Lucinda whirled around to look at the dance floor, desperately searching the faces of the dancers. She saw Garrett and the lovely Penelope, but the brief stab of pain at seeing them looking so perfect together was squashed by panic. She did not see Meg. Where was the girl?
"Would you care to take a turn?" Knightsbridge asked, approaching her.
Grateful for potential assistance, Lucinda laid a hand on his arm. "I need to find Meg," she said urgently. "Perhaps you can aid your grandmother."
She gave a nod in the direction of the settee. Knightsbridge sighed as he spied Lady Agatha. "Not again! Ah, well, never fear, Mrs. Devering. I shall revive Grandmama at once."
"Thank you," she said. "I'm going to look for Meg."
She hurried off, searching the odd corners and hidden sitting rooms leading off from the ballroom. While she appeared to be calmly making her way along to anyone who watched her, she still kept her pace brisk as she methodically searched every place a smitten young man might nip off to with a lovely girl like Meg.
With every moment that passed, her panic escalated. Was Meg ill? Or had she been swept away by some eager suitor?
That seemed the most likely scenario, and if so, then scandal was imminent. The duke would be furious if Meg's reputation were ruined.
So sorry, Your Grace, she thought as she made her way toward the terrace doors. I was busy lifting my skirts for your grandson, instead of protecting your granddaughter from scandal.
God help her if she did not find the girl!
As she stepped out into the cool night air, she heard a familiar giggle. Relief rushed through her as she turned toward the sound. Meg was there, on the terrace.
With Malcolm.
Relief turned to alarm as Malcolm met her eyes over Meg's head and smiled smugly. What was the man about? What evil did he perpetrate now?
"Meg," she said quietly.
Meg whirled around, her eyes laughing and her dimples flashing. "Hello, Lucinda! Do you know Lord Arndale?"
She had no idea how much danger she was in, Lucinda realized. The girl's face was alight with innocent joy, no doubt due to Malcolm's practiced flirtations.
"Of course Lucinda knows me," Malcolm said, never taking his eyes from Lucinda's. "She was married to my dear brother, God rest his soul."
Meg's mouth dropped open. "I had no idea! What an interesting coincidence."
"Very interesting," Lucinda replied dryly. "Meg, you know you're not supposed to go off alone with a gentleman."
The girl flushed. "I'm sorry, Lucinda, but it was so very hot in there. Lord Arndale very kindly offered to accompany me outside so I could catch my breath."
"Still, you know the rules," Lucinda said, keeping her voice calm with effort. "How would your grandfather feel if he got wind of this situation? And Malcolm, you know better."
Malcolm gave her a nod. "My thanks for your correction, sister-in-law. But I'm afraid I was swept away by Miss Stanton-Lynch's beauty and lost my head for a moment." He lifted Meg's hand to his lips and brushed a kiss across her knuckles.
Meg giggled, and Lucinda ground her teeth. Over Meg's head, Malcolm flashed Lucinda a smile of fiendish satisfaction.
"Please go inside, Meg," Lucinda said. "I will be along in a moment. I wish to have a word with Lord Arndale."
"Oh, all right." Meg curtsied to Malcolm. "It was very nice to meet you, my lord."
"And a pleasure to meet you, Miss Stanton-Lynch," Malcolm replied with a brief bow. "I expect we will meet again."
"I'm sure we will." Head held high, Meg made an effort to walk with dignity from the terrace, but the dimpled grin on her face spoiled the image. She disappeared inside the ballroom, and Lucinda faced Malcolm.
"What are you up to, Malcolm?" she demanded.
He raised his brows. "Whatever do you mean, Lucinda?"
"Stay away from Meg," Lucinda warned. "She's not for the likes of you."
"The likes of me?" He looked down his nose at her. "You have nerve, my dear, to imply that I am not good enough for the duke's granddaughter? My title and fortune are more than adequate. I am not the one who was deemed not good enough for the peerage."
She ignored the barb. "I know exactly what you are, Malcolm, and I will not allow you to despoil an innocent like Meg!"
"Despoil? Really, Lucinda." He clucked his tongue. "However do you propose to stop me? I find the young lady to be charming. She would make an excellent viscountess."
"You have no intention of marrying her," she scoffed. "You're just toying with her."
"Dear Lucinda, you are so sure of everything." Malcolm brushed an imaginary bit of lint from the sleeve of his Spanish blue coat and gave her a smile that chilled her bones. "I do have to set up my nursery eventually, you know. Young Margaret would make a lovely bride."
He chuckled. "Do you really think the duke would refuse my offer? Especially since my dear father is plagued by illness and will no doubt stick his spoon in the wall at any moment now? That would make me the Earl of Witting, more than a match for the granddaughter of the Duke of Raynewood."
Dread crept over Lucinda as she realized that he was serious. He was actually considering a formal courtship.
She would have to warn the girl. There was no way she could stand by and watch Meg marry a viper like Malcolm; he would make the girl's life miserable! He would break her heart and steal the innocent joy from her eyes. And that was only the beginning of how he would hurt her.
"I won't let it happen," she warned. "I will go to the duke."
He leaned back against the railing and folded his arms across his chest, the moonlight creating a nimbus around his blond head. "The Honorable Mrs. Harry Devering telling the Duke of Raynewood what to do. How I would love to be present for that little encounter."
She held her ground and did not allow her doubt to show on her face. Like most predators, Malcolm sniffed out weakness and took advantage of it.
"There are plenty of other potential brides to choose from."
"I fear dear Margaret has stolen my heart," he drawled, a mocking glint in his eyes.
"She's American," Lucinda pointed out, knowing what a high stickler he was.
"That just makes her all the more interesting." He leered. "A wild American! How exciting my marital bed will be!"
Lucinda pressed her lips together and tried again. "Her mother was Irish."
He shrugged. "Lamentable, but the duke's patronage is enough to make me overlook that."
Words hovered unsaid on her lips, but she choked them back. She was too much of a lady to say what she really thought of him, even to Malcolm. She gave him her most disdainful glare instead.
He laughed. "So fierce, Lucinda?" He pushed away from the railing and sauntered toward her, arrogantly confident in his appeal. "Perhaps we can discuss the matter in a more . . . intimate setting."
He stopped close enough to draw his finger along her arm. She flinched away as if an insect had touched her, but
she didn't retreat. To do so was to show weakness. "You haven't changed, Malcolm."
"Did you really expect me to?" He gave her a charming smile that had no doubt sent many a society miss into a swoon.
"One always hopes that evil will be redeemed."
"Evil?" He laughed again. "You enchant me with your wit, Lucinda. You always have."
"Is that why you won't let me be?" she challenged. "I should think that after all these years, you would have met some other woman far more amusing than I."
His eyes narrowed as if he sighted down the barrel of a pistol. She could practically hear a weapon cock as he lifted a hand and stroked her cheek. "No one will ever take your place, Lucinda. I will have you, no matter how long you keep me waiting."
"Why?" she cried. Fear turned her legs to water, and she stumbled back a step. "Why me? You have refused to pay Harry's debts as you should. You have started false rumors that I am barren so that I will not be able to find another husband. All this to force me into your bed. For ten years, I have refused you, Malcolm. Why can you not accept that?"
"I must have you, Lucinda," he rasped, his face sharp with hunger. "I will not rest until we finish what we started all those years ago."
He's mad.
How had she never seen it before? He was obsessed with her. He would never give up.
She backed up another step, watching him as if he were a snake about to strike. He had stalked her for years, always there in the shadows like a nightmare she could not escape.
Watching.
Waiting.
Lusting after her with that terrifying gleam in his eyes.
How had she ever thought she loved him?
"You're disgusting," she blurted.
Anger twisted his features. "I will have you in my bed," he vowed. "You have always been a challenge, Lucinda, and I shall not rest until I have taken my pleasure between your soft... white... thighs."
With every word, he stepped closer, the pale blue irises of his eyes almost disappearing as his pupils dilated. Looking into his eyes, she felt as if she were gazing into the windows of hell.
"Never," she whispered. She backed away. One step. Two. He stayed where he was, a faint smile of cruel amusement on his face. Then she slowly turned her back on him and returned to the ballroom at a dignified walk.
A Necessary Husband Page 14
