by Lauren Smith
Emily rested her head on his shoulder, her fingers playing with the now crumpled cravat tied at her husband’s neck. “You’re right.”
“Of course I am,” Godric said imperiously. Emily pinched him in the arm and he yelped.
“You little…” He started to tickle her waist, Emily’s greatest weakness, and she dissolved into a fit of giggles until she was gasping for mercy.
“Do you think they’ll be happy, Godric?” Emily asked.
He ran a fingertip down her upturned little nose, and she couldn’t help but admire the flush of life in his face and the glimmer of love in his bewitching green eyes. How had she been so blessed to have him fall in love with her?
“They may need some artful nudging. I believe you are the expert in that field, so I shall leave it to your careful ministrations.” His hands stroked up and down her back, the intimate and tender gesture filling her with warmth.
“I am, am I? And just what artful nudging have I done lately?”
Godric smirked and slid her onto his lap. “I believe this will refresh your memory.” He groaned in pleasure as she squirmed, feeling his erection beneath her bottom.
“You’re of a particular single-mindedness today, aren’t you, my love?”
“All this talk of babies and marriage has put me in the mood to make sure we do in fact get those babies.” Godric captured his wife’s mouth before she could reply. She knew they would spend the rest of the afternoon working on this newfound interest.
* * * * *
Anne took Cedric’s offered hand as he guided her into the coach. She watched in silent interest as he tapped the tip of his cane against the metal step that hung down from the door. He looked handsome in his black evening clothes, clean-shaven and brown hair tamed just enough to give the impression that he’d risen from bed after a night of rough play and combed his hands through it.
Once Cedric seemed certain the step was there, he raised a booted foot up and slowly lowered it down. This gave him confidence, and he reached out for the edges of the coach’s open doorway.
“Here, let me help…” Anne began.
“I’m fine!” Cedric snapped as he climbed into the coach and felt around him for the seat. When he sat down directly next to her, he jabbed his cane on the roof to signal the driver to move.
“My lord, I don’t think it’s proper for you to sit so close to me.”
“As I reminded you this afternoon, Anne, I don’t do proper. Now would you please give me your hand? I should like very much to hold it.” He demanded this so gruffly she was torn between refusing him flat out and laughing at his audacity.
“If you think I’ll just give you any part of my body when you are in such a foul mood, you are gravely mistaken.” Anne scooted as far away as possible, but Cedric soon crowded her.
He threw up an arm in front of her, resting his palm flat on the wall next to her head, trapping her in the cage of his body. Anne’s pulse raced as Cedric’s face drew close to hers. His vacant brown eyes seemed so cold that she couldn’t repress the shiver they drew from her.
“I should not have snapped at you,” he said quietly, his warm breath fanning her face.
“Are you apologizing then?”
“It is as close to one as you will get. Now, give me your hand. Do not make me ask again or I shall simply do as I wish without asking permission.”
“Why?” Anne dared to ask. Her breath hitched as he sought her left arm. Finding it, he slid his rough grip down to her wrist and pulled her hand into his lap.
“I should like to hold it, that is all. Surely you would permit such a chaste desire from your future husband?” He flashed a mocking smile in her direction as he surrounded her hand with both of his.
“Relax, Anne,” he said calmly.
After a long minute she did, not even realizing she’d been so tense before. They rode in silence, listening to the clatter of the coach on the cobblestones before Cedric slid her glove off and began to stroke her hand. He drew long, lazy patterns on her bare skin and then turned her hand over to explore her palm, tracing her lifelines to the rapid pulse of the underside of her wrist. Then he did something she had not expected.
He raised her hand up and pressed his lips to her wrist. Anne watched in fascination as he flicked his tongue against her skin, his lips curving into an unconscious smile, the way one does when tasting something unexpectedly sweet and the pleasure of it catches the taster off guard.
Cedric then took one of her fingers into his mouth, sucking it between his lips. Anne held in a whimper at the sudden flush of heat and the aching throb that came from within. The feel of his mouth hot and wet around her finger did something to her. Her tongue moved out to wet her lips just as Cedric’s tongue circled her finger, teasing it, caressing it, and then he lightly nipped her.
“Oh!” Anne tried to jerk her hand back into her lap, but he did not let her go. Instead, he pulled her against him, his other arm banding around her waist.
“Ask me… Ask me to kiss you.” He dipped his head with exquisite slowness.
When his nose brushed hers, his lips followed, sweeping against her slightly parted lips. “Ask me to end your resistance. Let me inside you.”
Had Anne been thinking clearly she might have realized he meant more than something physical. But her mind was focused on the more literal images his words conjured. Cedric rising above her, propping himself on his arms as he buried himself deep between her legs. To her surprise the image was not as unwelcome as she feared it might be.
Her silence was answer enough. Cedric pushed her away from him so roughly that she fell back onto their shared seat with a startled gasp. For an instant she saw rage, disappointment and despair on his face before he schooled his features back into that ever mocking self-assurance. Cedric had let her retreat, but Anne worried that the smug look on his face promised future moments where she would not be allowed to do so.
His arrogance angered her. She wanted to scream, to hit him, to leave the coach and go home, but she squared her shoulders and said nothing. It was the only way she could show him that he hadn’t affected her.
The trouble was he had affected her, very deeply. Some dark part of her wanted his mouth back on her fingers, and other places. She blushed, never more thankful he couldn’t see her shame.
“Are you pleased to be dining with Emily tonight?” Cedric asked, as though he hadn’t just made her speechless a minute before with that very mouth of his.
It also did not fail to stir her jealousy that he and Emily were so close. Despite their bond of friendship, it still hurt to think Emily knew Cedric better than she did. Though Anne had never encouraged his attentions before the accident, a part of her had hoped he would not give up. That he wanted her enough to continue to fight for her.
And Anne secretly wondered whether all of the men who’d abducted Emily had fallen in love with her to some degree. Their devotion to her was unshakeable, and rakes never devoted themselves to anyone without reason.
Cedric misinterpreted her silence. “You are not pleased then?”
“I’m sorry. I was woolgathering. Of course I am happy to see Emily. I am just worried that she won’t approve of my casting aside my mourning clothes for her dinner tonight.” It was a lie. She wasn’t worried about that at all, but he could never know her true reasons. Silly nonsense, to be jealous of her dear friend.
Cedric sat up straighter, as though her admission caught his attention. “You’re not wearing black?”
“No. Somehow I felt it would make my father sad. He never approved of wearing mourning clothes for very long. He knows, wherever he is, that I…”
For a moment she could not speak; her throat constricted and her eyes burned. I will not cry. I will not cry. I am not weak. She repeated the mantra that had kept her from showing any strong emotion since her father died.
“Th
at you miss him,” Cedric finished for her.
“Yes.” Anne wondered at the fact that he completed her sentence. Did he understand her so well? Or was she merely so transparent that even a blind man could see the depth of her grief?
“So, if you are not wearing black, what are you wearing, my dear?” Cedric grinned wickedly, but the affect put her strangely at ease, dispelling the tension of her heavy sadness.
“It is a simple satin gown, russet brown with a bit of an autumnal orange hue to it under the right light.”
Cedric reached out, his hand settling on her thigh as he explored the feel of the satin beneath his fingers.
“I am glad you aren’t wearing that awful black crepe anymore. I despised the way it felt when I touched you. A woman’s clothes should create pleasure when sliding against one’s skin. It should entice her lover’s touch.”
Anne was bewitched by the spell his hand wove over her thigh, the slow exploring caress. So light that it did not disturb the satin, yet she still felt the heat of his skin sink through her gown, creating a heady anticipation deep in her womb.
His touch reminded her of her father’s stable master, Harvey, as he worked with wild unbroken geldings. Harvey always gentled the wildest of the young horses with his soft whispers and feather-light touch.
Suspicion suddenly flooded Anne. Was Cedric planning to lull her into thinking she was safe and then pounce? Surely that was his plan. Just as she steeled herself to demand he cease touching her, he stopped of his own accord and set his hand back on his lap as though nothing had happened.
“I do not think Emily will mind you casting off your mourning blacks. Emily is a most understanding little creature. Sometimes I think she understands too much.” This last sentence was delivered in such a disgruntled mutter that Anne couldn’t help but wonder what he meant, not that she would dare ask.
“I hope you are right,” she murmured instead.
“You’ll soon find out that I am often right. Do not be shocked by it.” His tone was imperious, but she sensed the faintest hint of teasing behind it.
“I can’t help it if I am shocked, my lord. Your arrogance is limitless after all,” Anne retorted.
“As it should be,” Cedric replied. Part of her wanted a nice vicious fight with him for his cheeky tone, but he wouldn’t even give her that, the insufferable cad.
The coach came to a stop, and a footman dressed in the midnight blue and silver livery of the Duke of Essex opened the coach door on Cedric’s side. Cedric took his cane, reached for the edges of the coach and felt for the step.
Anne noted that he was far more hesitant getting out than getting in. She couldn’t help but wonder if he’d suffered a nasty fall from a coach recently. She could only image how painful that must have been, not to mention humiliating.
Anne’s stomach twisted in unease. How often had he hurt himself since last December? The memory of finding him in his gardens, hands bloodied, was one that haunted her. Even as he tormented her with his kisses and caresses, she could not hold her usual indifference or fury at him like she could other men. Cedric had suffered like she had, and that fact bound them together now as kindred spirits.
“Are you coming?” Cedric called out, offering his hand.
She took it and let him help her down. Lifting her skirts, she walked with him toward the steps of the St. Laurent townhouse. To her dismay, he did not release her hand. It seemed he wished to embarrass her by such an obvious display of ownership of her person.
“My lord, you must release my hand,” she whispered, tugging to free herself.
“Ashamed of me already, Anne?” Cedric replied rather loudly as the footman opened the door to the foyer for them. He did that so often, murmuring her name at the end of a question or a sentence, as though getting her used to the sound of him saying it. It had riled her before, but now she was growing accustomed to the honeyed way it rolled off his lips.
“You know I am not. A gentleman would let me take his elbow, and I could assist in guiding you to the door,” she replied icily, but Cedric merely chuckled, as though her tone did not concern him at all.
“I’ll not trip.” He waved his cave in front of them, tapping the stones. “Relax, love. No one here tonight will judge us if we show outward affection for each other.”
“Is that what you call this? I would call it enforced imprisonment of my hand,” Anne hissed. But before she or Cedric could continue this line of conversation, Emily came out of the nearest room and hurried over with her husband, Godric, on her heels.
“Anne!” Emily hugged her tightly, her young face shining with excitement.
“It’s so good to see you, Emily. Your Grace.” Anne dipped into a slight curtsy in Godric’s direction, even though one of her hands was still firmly clasped in Cedric’s. Godric beamed at her and nodded in greeting.
“We are so glad that you could attend. Please, come this way.” Godric took Emily’s arm and proceeded with Anne and Cedric back into the room from which they’d come.
From the multitude of bodies and voices, she realized that she and Cedric had arrived last. The Earl of Lonsdale was leaning against the mantel of the fireplace speaking to Godric’s half brother, Jonathan St. Laurent. Lord Lennox sat on a couch conversing with Horatia, Viscountess of Rochester. Her husband, Lucien, stood behind the couch, hands resting on his wife’s shoulders in a gesture both affectionate and protective. The intimacy they displayed made Anne’s heart stir with envy and sadness.
Emily and Godric moved into the room, leaving Anne and Cedric standing in the doorway, exposed to the others. Anne moved instinctively closer to Cedric, her left arm brushing his, fingers tightening around his hand. She felt embarrassed and awkward being here in what was so obviously a strange sort of family built upon love, loyalty and friendship, none of which she had a claim to other than with Emily.
“What’s the matter?” Cedric whispered, his concern touching her heart.
“I just… What if they don’t like me? Your friends, I mean. They barely know me,” Anne whispered back.
“You have Emily’s friendship and approval, and what’s more you have mine. If they don’t treat you kindly, then they will answer to me.”
“I didn’t mean…” She didn’t want to sound like she expected him to choose her over his friends, should it come to that. She would never want him to make that choice.
“Please relax and lead me to a chair, will you?”
Anne got Cedric seated and then took a chair next to his.
“I believe congratulations are in order,” Lord Ashton said. He smiled at her and the rest of the room followed suit in offering their excitement over the upcoming marriage.
Anne’s fears about being found wanting by Cedric’s friends seemed to be ill-founded. She finally relaxed, letting out a sigh of relief. Cedric must have heard this and put his arm around the back of her chair, cupping the nape of her neck. She was about to protest when his thumb and forefinger began to rub up and down the sides, massaging the tense knot of muscles there. The sensation was divine, and it seemed to melt every bone in her body.
“All will be well,” he said, continuing to stroke her neck. Anne blushed when she noticed Emily watching her and Cedric with avid interest.
Emily led the group in the sitting room through polite small talk until the dinner bell rang. Everyone rose and headed for the dining room. Cedric offered his arm to Anne and she took it. It never ceased to amaze her how often they touched now. It seemed his body and hers were dancing in a slow spin around each other, and someday soon they would collide and never again be fully separate in some mysterious and primal way.
Anne’s breath hitched in her throat at the thought. Even blind, Cedric was still a powerful, masculine force that could easily dominate and possess her. She blushed deeply as she was reminded all that power and handsome perfection was hers now. But as much as the
prospect thrilled her, it also frightened her out of her wits. What if he found her wanting? What if he found no pleasure in her bed and sought it in the arms of another?
How am I to keep him if I cannot trust myself to surrender to him?
Chapter Five
Cedric was ignorant of his fiancée’s thoughts as he walked with her to dinner. He let her body guide his, feeling the faint pull of her when he needed to alter his path. It was a skill he’d worked on when Ashton led him about while he first learned to survive with his condition. Fortunately, he was decently familiar with Godric’s townhouse, but the nervousness that held his body made him more hesitant than usual.
He wanted to show Anne that he could still play the English gentleman, that he was not as helpless and hopeless as he felt. He sagged into his seat at the table with relief. His body seemed to naturally tense when he was up and about, as though some part of him expected to be injured somehow. Feeling more like himself, he reached out boldly to find his wine goblet…
Splunk!
His hand collided with the thin stem of the goblet, toppling it onto its side. He heard wine sluice over the table and the chatter around the table halted. Cedric, even blind, could sense every eye in the room fixed upon him. It was mortifying. The only relief was that he couldn’t see the pity in their faces.
It was too much. He hated eating in front of others and this was why. Cedric shoved his seat back, which happened to hit a footman. The footman stumbled, dropping a replacement goblet, which shattered on the wooden floor close by. Cedric got to his feet and felt about for his cane, but it wasn’t there.
“Cedric…” Godric said somewhere near his right, but Cedric shrugged off his friend’s coaxing tone. With as much pride as he could muster, he walked in the direction of the door to leave the dining room. He didn’t want to apologize; he didn’t want to hear the pity in their voices. He needed solitude.
Charles called after him, “Cedric, really, it’s fine,” but Cedric had already reached the door and propelled himself out into the hall. Hands outstretched, he summoned a map of Godric’s house in his head and made for the library—at least he hoped he was heading in that direction. Facing his friends was hard enough when he wasn’t breaking costly crystal goblets. He’d been able to accept their help the first few months, but by now he should have mastered his hands and legs, no longer creating such accidents. It was shameful and he couldn’t stand to receive any aid, not when he shouldn’t need it any longer.
