by Adele Clee
“Do it now. Don’t wait.” Contradicting emotions battled for supremacy. The need to rush, to hurry, fought with the need to make this moment last a lifetime.
He bent his head, sucked her nipples to peak as he slipped in and out of her. The bulging swell of muscles in his arms and shoulders held her riveted. She ran her hands over the bronzed contours, relished the smoothness of his skin.
Greystone was a magnificent man.
Lydia knew the moment he was ready to take her fully. He claimed her mouth, the wild dance of their tongues sending delightful pulses to her core. And then he thrust once—long and hard and deep, so deep.
“Oh, God, Lydia.” His eyes danced hot and feverish. “It feels so good to be inside you.”
She clutched his arms and held her breath as the slight stinging sensation passed.
He stilled above her, watching. “Are you all right? Do you wish to continue?”
“I’m perfectly fine.” Lydia smiled. “And yes, I want to continue. Very much so.”
Relief passed over his handsome face. “Thank the Lord, for this is the only place I want to be.” To tease her, he withdrew slightly, only to thrust inside her again. “Do you like that?”
Lydia’s breath caught in her throat. “You … you know I do.”
He moved slowly at first, each long slide filling her full. His measured strokes fanned the fire within. Lydia grabbed his firm buttocks and urged him to hurry. He captured her hands, held her arms above her head, ground against her, pounded harder, quicker.
The bed rocked, the mahogany frame creaking in unison.
A moan of ecstasy slipped through her lips.
Their ragged pants echoed through the room.
He squashed her into the mattress as he claimed her in the wild, untamed way she found so utterly irresistible.
“I’ll not last much longer,” he gasped. “But I want you to come again.”
He withdrew, came to lie on his side behind her. Hot hands caressed her breasts, those nimble fingers soon finding their way between her legs. Lydia draped her thigh over his, opened herself to allow him to do whatever he pleased. He stroked her in the expert way that drove her wild, and then he was inside her again, deep inside.
“Greystone,” she cried as her world shattered suddenly and she almost said “I love you.” She shuddered, the muscles in her core pulsing, hugging his shaft.
On a guttural groan he withdrew again, his seed spurting over her thigh. Never would she forget the look of satisfaction etched on his face.
They took a moment to catch their breath.
Both sighed in sated exhaustion.
“I hope I have met your expectations,” he teased as his hand came to rest on her hip.
“Without exception, it was the most … the most thrilling moment of my life.”
An arrogant smile played on his lips. “Until next time.”
Next time?
Those two words sent her heart soaring.
Love for him filled her chest.
She wanted to stay at the manor and never leave. But the stark reality of her situation hung over her like an executioner’s axe. She had no clothes, no belongings. Cecil was her legal guardian. She could not force herself on Greystone and so had no choice but to return to home.
Oh, but she loved it here.
Yes, the house had an uncomfortable air about it—morbid perhaps solemn. Happiness was the cure for that, and laughter, and love. Greystone rarely laughed.
The man in question slipped from the bed, returned with a linen towel and cleaned the evidence of their lovemaking from her thigh.
“While I’ve got you on your back,” he began, and her pulse quickened for she wondered what he would say, “allow me to tend to your feet as promised.”
In the throes of passion, she had felt no pain. Now, her feet ached. “You expect me to lie here naked?”
“Of course not.” He gathered her into his arms, turned her around until her head met the plush pillow. After pulling the sheets around her to cover her modesty, but leaving her feet poking out, he slipped into his breeches, sat on the end of the bed and cradled one foot in his palm.
A frown marred his brow, and he scanned the small cuts and grazes. The muscle in his jaw twitched.
“It was foolish to run without shoes,” Lydia said to break the silence. “But … but I had no choice.”
Greystone looked at her, the planes of his face hard, stone-like. “That fop did something to you, didn’t he?”
Lydia swallowed. She could tell Greystone anything. “Randall stole into my room with the express intention of taking my virginity and consequently forcing me to wed. The fool doesn’t know me at all if he thinks that would induce me to accept a proposal.”
Greystone’s eyes darkened to the forest green that warned of sinister thoughts. “I’d call him out, but it would only reinforce the belief that we’re lovers.” Frustration oozed from every fibre of his being. “Perhaps I might torment him until he insults me.”
“You would shoot Randall? For me?”
“Without question.” He stared into her eyes, and she saw a level of tenderness that went beyond the wild and lustful romp they’d shared. “I can count on one hand those people I would risk my life to save. My friends—Drake, Dariell, Valentine and Lockhart—and you, Miss Lydia Lovell.”
Lydia’s heart raced.
Love for Greystone burst through her body.
But she could not make a declaration. They needed time—the one thing they didn’t have—to explore the possibility that their relationship might lead to something more permanent. Uncertainty surfaced. Was it truly love she felt, or simply excitement at delving into the forbidden?
“You do me a great honour, my lord,” she said.
He inclined his head but remained silent. Moving to the oak chest of drawers, he rummaged around inside the top drawer and returned to the bed, a silver pot in hand.
“The heat abroad can cause all sorts of problems with cuts and wounds,” he said, pulling the metal top off the small round pot and scooping a yellow substance onto his finger. “This was given to me by a healer in Assam.”
Resting her heel on his muscular thigh, he dabbed the ointment on the cuts, massaging in slow, soothing strokes. The room was suddenly filled with a spicy scent, an aromatic fragrance that teased the nostrils. Greystone took hold of her other foot and repeated the process.
Lydia watched him, mesmerised.
She found him irresistible. Their lovemaking had been thrilling, satisfying—utterly sublime.
The thought of living a life without him pained her.
“So as an heiress, you say you have no need to marry,” he said, continuing with his ministrations. “Then you plan to live with your brother indefinitely?”
“Money is a bone of contention between my brother and me. You see, my father left me everything except that which is entailed.”
Lydia told him all about Arabella’s greed and Cecil’s inability to control his wife, about the house in London and her plans for the future.
“And so the gossip making the rounds of the London ballrooms will make it difficult for you to return to town?”
“Difficult, but not impossible. And I’ve still three weeks until I come into my inheritance.”
“And you’re determined to live in London?”
There were more complicated questions hidden beneath the simple one. She wished he would simply say what was on his mind.
“Well, that’s what I planned before …”
He stopped rubbing her feet and looked at her. “Before what?”
She caught her breath but summoned her courage. “Before you came home.”
“And now?”
Lydia thought for a moment. She loved him. When she pushed aside her silly doubts, she could feel the truth of it burning with ferocious intensity.
“And now everything has changed.”
Chapter Sixteen
“Greystone!” The cry echoed through
the corridor beyond the bedchamber. “Greystone!” The deep yet brusque voice belonged to only one man.
Miles looked at Lydia. He was about to tell her … to tell her to stay in Cuckfield, to tell her that the London ballrooms were no place for a woman with a kind heart and independent character. He wanted to make some sort of declaration. But he needed a clear mind, not one scrambling with the need to prevent Devlin Drake from charging into the room and finding them in a dishevelled state.
“Wait here a moment. Drake has returned from London as you can no doubt hear.” Supporting her ankles, Miles stood and then lowered her feet down gently onto the bed. “When I’ve dealt with Drake, we shall continue our conversation.” And there were other things he desperately wanted to do—read to her, kiss her, pleasure her until she cried his name.
“Don’t be long.” She arched her brow in such a seductive way he considered saying to hell with Drake, but the thud on the door forced him to charge off the bed.
“Lord knows how the man hopes to deal with a wife,” Miles muttered almost to himself as he reached the door just as Drake rattled the knob. “He has the patience of a gnat.”
Miles peeled the door away slowly from the jamb, slipped out into the hall and closed it behind him. Drake was forced to shuffle back or risk Miles stepping on his toes.
Drake stared at the door and then at Miles’ bare chest. A wicked grin touched his lips. “Am I disturbing something?”
Miles gritted his teeth and whispered, “You know damn well you are.”
“Forgive me. Am I too late to save the lady’s virtue?”
“Be quiet.” Miles tugged the giant’s arm and dragged him further along the hall. “As my friend, I should warn you that I will not tolerate any comments made about Miss Lovell. You will refer to her with the respect afforded her position. Is that clear?”
Drake studied him with a look of curious inquiry. “I’ve never known you to be so protective over a woman.”
“Perhaps that’s because I have never met a woman I wanted to protect.”
Drake’s eyes widened, and he gripped Miles’ shoulder. “God’s teeth. I don’t believe it. You’re in love with her. It’s either that or you’re coming down with a fever.”
“Will you lower your damn voice.”
Drake sniffed. “What’s that god-awful smell?”
“A healing ointment.”
“To help fix the problem with your questionable logic? You’re supposed to marry the respectable ones before you bed them.”
“A mistake I hope to rectify.”
“You do?” Without warning, Drake slapped Miles on the back. “If anyone deserves happiness it is you, my friend. For five tiresome years you have devoted yourself to correcting your father’s mistakes. But your future is here now. Any fool can see that. And Miss Lovell fills the void in your heart that’s been empty for too long.”
“Damn, Drake.” Miles arched a brow in amusement. “Perhaps you need the ointment. To rid you of your sudden bout of sentimentality.”
“Have no fear. My heart is still black. But can a man not want the best for his friend?”
Miles stared into Drake’s obsidian eyes. “Could the same not be said for you? You’ve worked hard. You live with the same hollow cavern in your chest.”
“Yes, but I don’t have a hope in hell of finding love.”
“You don’t have to marry Miss Bromfield. Is ruining the family not justice enough for Ambrose’s death?” Miles knew the answer but for Drake’s sake he lived in hope.
As expected, a dark and dangerous look passed over Drake’s chiselled features. “My brother did nothing to deserve the lies she told, the deceit, the shame borne upon my family. And I cannot be happy until I ensure every day she spends on this earth is as miserable as mine.”
Miles’ heart ached. A man did not spend five years with someone and not share their pain. Drake would willingly sacrifice happiness for vengeance. The thought forced Miles to draw on Dariell’s wise words.
“But if you choose happiness, Drake, are you not punishing her all the more?”
As always Drake was dismissive. “When it comes to happiness, there are no guarantees. Whereas I’m certain I possess the ability to ruin her life, and so take comfort in that.”
“I have never met a man more stubborn,” Miles said with a sigh.
“Have you not? Once glance in the looking glass might solve that problem.”
They both smiled.
“Then there is nothing left for me to do other than support your decision and pray the dice fall in your favour.” A small part of him wanted Drake to lose, if only so his friend might be spared a life of misery.
“They will.” Drake had an unshakable resolve. “Fate has seen me safely to this point and Fate will see me through to the end.”
“Some things are inevitable,” Miles agreed.
He had let Fate’s hand guide him. The moment he locked eyes with Lydia, everything in his world shifted into place. But Miss Bromfield was a manipulating wildcat and even a man with Drake’s strength and fortitude could not turn that situation around to his advantage.
“Any news on your steward?” Drake asked, quick to change the subject.
“No one has seen or heard from him since the night he fled the assembly. If he’s got any sense, he’ll stay hidden. After learning of my return, my creditors arrived in droves, eager for me to settle all outstanding bills.”
The long-case clock in the hall chimed two.
The lateness of the hour drew Miles back to the reason he stood conversing on the dimly lit landing. “Is there something wrong, Drake?”
“Wrong? Why would you think that?”
“Because it’s the middle of the night.”
Drake gave a hapless shrug. “I’m tired of London and every time I see that bastard Bromfield I want to wring his damn neck.”
“It won’t be long until the game.”
“No,” Drake replied meditatively.
“Life will be vastly different for you after that.”
Drake remained silent. An air of melancholy hung over him. At heart Drake was a free spirit, and yet he was willing to chain himself to Bromfield’s harpy daughter to avenge Ambrose.
“I made an appearance at Lady Freeman’s soiree,” Drake eventually said.
“Lady Freeman? The matron is renowned for cheating at cards and hazard.” Well, that was the case five years ago, and no one could quite work out how she managed the tricks. “Please tell me you plan to beat Bromfield using honest methods.”
“Of course. But it doesn’t hurt to watch the dishonest at play.”
“No, I suppose not.”
“I mention it only to inform you that Lord Randall has added his spoon to the gossip pot and is intent on making trouble for you and Miss Lovell.”
“Lord Randall?” That was odd. Why would he want to ruin Miss Lovell’s name if he hoped to marry her? “You’re sure of this?”
Drake nodded. “I overheard two gentlemen discussing it, threatened them both with their lives unless they divulged the name of the culprit responsible for starting the rumour. One received a letter from Lord Randall who was eager to mark you as a rogue.”
“I see.”
Miles contemplated the news and could draw only one logical conclusion. In ruining Lydia’s name, she might be more inclined to marry the lord. In ruining Lydia’s name, it meant Randall needed but one thing from their marriage—money.
And was Lydia not an heiress?
“I thought you would want to know,” Drake added.
“Most definitely.” But there was a flaw in Randall’s plan. He assumed Miles lacked honour, assumed he wouldn’t come to the lady’s rescue and save her reputation. “Perhaps it’s time I venture to Dunnam Park and probe the dandy further.”
“By probe do you mean torture?” Drake asked, the wicked glint in his eye returning. “Do you need help? You know how skilled I am with a whip.”
“No, I plan on being discreet. W
hen one plays a high-stake game, is it not best to keep one’s cards close to one’s chest?”
“The first rule in any game is to know your opponent. A visit to Dunnam Park is overdue.” Drake’s gaze drifted past Miles’ shoulder to the bedchamber door. “Though I imagine it won’t be long before Lord Lovell comes knocking.”
“Let us just say it will be sooner than you think.”
It was not his place to speak of Lydia’s earlier problems at Dunnam Park. But her brother would be out searching for her and Greystone Manor would be the first place they’d look.
“Why don’t we both go?” Drake suggested. “Call tomorrow and take tea.”
“Take tea?”
“I can stare at them until their blood freezes in their veins, and you can smile in the way that makes a man piss in his breeches.”
While Miles found the thought tempting, he could not wait that long. The urge to throttle Randall made his fingers throb. And it occurred to him that he could sneak in through the servants’ quarters, venture up to the attic room and collect Lydia’s clothes. He needed something to do to occupy the next few hours. How could he sleep with a temptress at his side? And it was too soon to make love to her again though a certain part of his anatomy begged to differ.
“We’ll discuss it in the morning,” Miles said. If he told Drake of his plans, his friend would insist on coming, too. “You should get some rest.”
The corners of Drake’s mouth curled up in amusement. “As should you though I don’t hold out much hope.”
They parted ways.
Miles returned to his bedchamber to find Lydia asleep. She looked so peaceful, so angelic. He considered dusting off the Greystone carriage and taking a trip across the English-Scottish border to Gretna Green. But he could not desert his tenants now. He considered marching over to Dunnam Park and asking for Lydia’s hand. But knew Lord Lovell would reject his suit in favour of his friend Lord Randall.
Miles stepped closer to the bed, picked the blanket up off the floor and placed it over the sleeping temptress. Dressing with speed and efficiency while mindful not to wake Lydia, Miles took a lantern and crept out into the night.
