Lords of Honor-The Collection

by Christi Caldwell

  And knowing these handful of days would be the last she ever had with him, Eloise leaned up and kissed him.

  He should pull back. He should turn his head, stride over to the door, yank it open, and find his sleep in the stables. There were a number of things Lucien should have done. Now…and in his miserable life on the whole.

  However, he’d developed an abysmal habit of doing the opposite of what he should.

  So, he kissed Eloise. Kissed her because the four kisses he’d known before this moment were not enough, nor would they ever be enough. He cupped his hand about the graceful arch of her neck so he could better avail himself to her mouth. She opened in invitation and he slid his tongue inside. Eloise moaned and he reveled in the sweet, vibrating hum of her desire. Lucien shifted his hand down, guided it about her waist, and lowered her down upon the soft, feather mattress.

  “So beautiful,” he whispered, trailing kisses from the corner of her lips, down her neck, and lower to the gape in her nightgown. Push me away.

  Eloise wrapped her hands about his neck, anchoring him in place. “Please don’t stop.” Her entreaty came out as a whispery moan, knowing his thoughts because this was Ellie and she’d always known what he was thinking, even when he himself did not. “I’ve spent my whole life loving you, Lucien. I want all of you.”

  There would be time enough for regrets and reasons and logic in the morn. For now, there was just the two of them. As he slipped off her modest robe and tugged her nightshift over her head, Lucien committed himself to memorizing every last inch of Eloise. He cupped her breast and raised it to his mouth.

  A sweet sigh escaped her as he closed his lips over the peak of her breast. He sucked and laved the engorged, pink tip until her breath grew rapid and her legs fell open in an invitation. He drew back and shrugged out of his jacket. His hand went to his breeches and he paused. With that prolonged stretch, he willed her to be the lone person of reason in this moment of madness.

  Eloise pushed herself up. “Here,” she murmured, her voice husky with desire. She worked his breeches off. He kicked them aside.

  A groan slipped past his lips as her clever fingers found his throbbing shaft. Eloise fisted him and tugged gently. “You will be the death of me,” he said on an agonized whisper.

  “I certainly hope not.” Her words ended on a moan as he guided her back down once more. He braced himself on his side and ran his hand down her body, his fingers seeking out her hot center, pausing at the thatch of golden curls. For a moment, reality reared its vicious head reminding him the woman he made love to was, in fact, Ellie Gage, now a countess and he a mere butler. Two people who could never share more than a past…

  She splayed her legs and bit her lip. “Please,” she begged.

  And he was lost. Lucien slipped a finger inside and found her passage slick with desire. She cried out and clenched her legs about his hand, encouraging him. He played with the slick, swollen nub at her center until keening, senseless moans of desire blended with her pleading cries for surcease.

  Lucien shifted his weight above her and parted her legs with his knee. Sweat dotted his forehead. A lone bead dripped into his eyes, blinding and he blinked. He’d have gladly traded his vision for the glory of this moment. He guided his shaft to the apex of her thighs and then went still. Lucien took in Eloise’s flushed cheeks and swollen lips.

  Take her. You are two adults who know your bodies and minds. A pressure tightened inside his chest.

  I cannot. For all the ways in which he’d neglected Eloise as a friend through the years, he could not simply make hard and fast love to her. Could not, when she, as a lady and as a loyal woman, deserved more than a quick coupling with a man who’d never been worthy of her. If he did this, he would be no different than those roguish bastards who’d vied for a place in the young widow’s bed.

  Now knowing the same effort called forth by that Titan God, Atlas, with those celestial spheres, Lucien drew back, the agony of his decision a near physical pain. He rolled away from her and stared at the dreary paint-chipped ceiling. His breath came harsh and fast, blending with Eloise’s rapid gasps.

  The mattress dipped as she came up on her knees beside him. “Why…what…?” She ran her passion-clouded eyes frantically over his face, as if she searched for answers to account for his abrupt withdrawal.

  He flung his forearm over his eyes. “I’m s—”

  Eloise yanked his arm back with a stunning force. “Don’t you do that.” She glared. Her eyes, previously heavy with desire, now flashed rage. “I don’t want your apologies. I’m a woman, who knows my mind.”

  “You are a lady.”

  She jutted her chin out. “I am a widow.”

  Lucien sat up and flung his legs over the side of the bed. He captured her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “But you’re still a lady.” And he’d not disrespect her by taking her outside the bonds of matrimony. He imagined a wedded state with her. A small girl born to them with impossibly thick, tight, blonde curls. Marriage to Ellie? He choked on his swallow. Surely he could not, would not, ever dare consider marriage to Eloise. She was his friend. Then this desire for her defied all bonds of friendship.

  With his mind in tumult, Eloise shrugged off his touch. “You remember so easily that I’m a lady.” She held his gaze. “Yet so casually forget that you are, in fact, a gentleman.”

  No matter how many posts he accepted with the marquess, or the distinction between them now…he had been born a gentleman. Whether he wished it or not.

  Lucien stood. He suspected if he stole one more glance at Eloise, in her naked glory, fire in her aquamarine eyes, he would gladly abandon the life he’d established for himself these past two years. With swift movements, he collected his clothes and quickly pulled them on. When fully clothed, he strode over to the door. And for the second time that night, left her.

  Chapter 18

  They departed the following morning. Eloise stepped out of the inn and held her hand over her eyes to shield them from the blindingly bright morning glare. What had once seemed a miserable and dark journey was now filled with glorious hope. She sucked in a deep breath, allowing the clean, country air to cleanse her lungs.

  “Are you ready, my lady?”

  Lucien’s cool, perfunctory words slashed into her momentary giddiness. She glanced at him. The tender, gentle lover of the previous evening was gone. In his place was the unsmiling, unyielding Lucien Jones, returned soldier. She favored him with a frown.

  Alas, he appeared immune to her displeasure. He tipped his head pointedly toward the carriage. With a toss of her curls, Eloise strode down the cobbled path. She picked her way over the muddied puddles. How could he be so indifferent after what had transpired last evening?

  Because nothing transpired, you silly fool. Eloise’s slipper caught the edge of a cobbled stone and she stumbled.

  Lucien settled his arm about her waist, steadying her. She stole an upward glance at him. “Thank you,” she murmured.

  He gave a brusque nod, his mouth tense.

  They reached the carriage and the driver pulled the door open. He held a hand out to assist her up. She hesitated a moment and stole a peak at Lucien. However, he withdrew, fading back a step. A servant once more. Damn him.

  She climbed into the carriage with Mr. Nell’s help. He closed the door behind her. Furrowing her brow, Eloise tugged aside the velvet curtain. A servant rushed forward with Lucien’s mount. Of course he wouldn’t join her. Humiliated shame dug at her insides. He found her company so objectionable he didn’t want to share the same carriage.

  Feeling her gaze, Lucien looked over at her. She let the curtain go and it fluttered into place. Eloise sat in pained embarrassment at being caught studying him when he should be so very indifferent to her.

  The carriage lurched forward and so with the forward movement went her stomach. She lowered her head on the comfortable plush squabs of the well-sprung carriage. For the first time in every single miserable carriage ride she’
d taken in her twenty-eight years, she gave thanks for the distraction. Her stomach churned. Even if it was a miserable distraction.

  The misery of her roiling belly was vastly preferable to the toe-curling shame of Lucien’s rejection. She groaned and it had nothing to with the jarring bump of the carriage steadily increasing in speed. Instead, it had everything to do with reliving that humiliating moment of Lucien effortlessly setting her away when her body had ached with the pleasure only he could show her.

  Eloise slapped her hands over her face and shook her head back and forth. “You are a fool,” she whispered, the words muffled by her hands. The sooner she realized there never was, nor ever would be, anything with Lucien, the sooner she could go back to living her life.

  But how could she? How, when he was so very real again? If even a jaded, coarser version of his younger self?

  She closed her eyes and sought the blessed oblivion of sleep, welcoming the edge of unconsciousness that drew her in.

  The carriage hit a jarring bump. Her eyes flew open as she careened into the side of the carriage. “Oomph.” Eloise winced and shoved away from the wall. She rubbed her forearm and yawned, her muddled mind trying to sort through her whereabouts. Then the conveyance drew to a hard, jerky halt.

  “Bloody hell man, have a care!” Lucien’s thunderous shout penetrated her confusion and with it reminded her of the purpose of her journey, their journey, and his rejection.

  She groaned…

  Just as Lucien wrenched the carriage door open. He did an up and down search of her. “Are you hurt?”

  “N—”

  The thought went unfinished as he wrapped his arm around her waist and guided her out of the carriage.

  Mr. Nell leapt from atop his perch with surprising agility for one so portly. “Many pardons, my lady,” he said. He plucked his cap from his head and dusted it against his leg. “The roads are muddied from the storms and you’d indicated you wanted to make the journey as quickly as possible.”

  She opened her mouth.

  “Not at the expense of the lady’s life,” Lucien seethed.

  Mr. Nell’s skin turned waxen and he stumbled back at the ferocious glower trained on him.

  Eloise inserted herself between the scowling Lucien and her driver. “That will be all, Mr. Nell,” she said with a gentle smile. He slapped his black cap upon his baldpate and, with a deep bow, reclaimed his seat atop the box. Eloise shifted her attention to Lucien. “You do not need to be a beast to him,” she said chidingly.

  He continued to glare over her head at the servant. Mr. Nell, however, was wise enough to direct his focus out at the sprawling, green pastures. “You could be killed for his recklessness.”

  Perhaps Lucien did not understand the magnitude of his father’s grave situation. “I asked he set a rigorous pace.” Removed as he was these many years, he failed to realize that the once proud, bold viscount was at the final moments of his life.

  He made a sound of impatience. “Very well, then you’d be killed for your recklessness.”

  She laughed. “You are insufferable.”

  Lucien managed a reluctant smile. The right corner of his lips tugged up slowly, the left following suit in a rusty display of amusement.

  Her laughter died. How many times had he found joy over the years? She ventured very few. A gentle, spring breeze stirred her skirts and displaced a single curl. It fell over her eye.

  They moved in unison. Lucien shot his hand out just as she made to brush the strand back. Their hands connected and the thrilling shock of his touch coursed through her. She wanted it to mean nothing. Wanted to adopt the affected indifference of a bold, experienced widow who’d not be so shamed by the rejection she had suffered last evening.

  But then, he raised the single tress. He rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger, transfixed by the lock. She could never feign indifference where Lucien was concerned. With slow, reluctant movements, he released the strand and took a step back. “We should leave,” he said quietly.

  Eloise glanced up at the sun wondering how long she’d slept. “Yes.” There were likely several more hours of travel.

  Lucien tugged his timepiece out. “It is nearly two o’clock. We should arrive within two hours.” He gave another crooked grin. “Or fewer considering your driver’s recklessness.” It took a moment for his jesting words to register. Instead, she stared at the gold timepiece, a gift given him by his father when he’d been a boy of sixteen. Her heart hitched. A man who truly abhorred his father would not hold onto a material possession that would forever remind him of his parent.

  He followed her gaze. The sun reflected off the gleaming gold. “You kept it,” she said. She expected the angry man he’d become would stuff the piece into his pocket and dismiss her observation.

  Lucien studied the gold piece, cradling it in his palm. He nodded and walked off to the edge of the road.

  Eloise shifted on her feet and stared after him, silent and contemplative. His head remained bent over the gift given him by the viscount. Periodically, he’d look up at the vibrant poppies blanketing the fields, a crimson explosion of color, so vast it dominated the landscape.

  He looked at her. “I didn’t come,” he said.

  She cocked her head and stared at him questioningly.

  Lucien turned silently to the sea of poppies. He stuffed his hand into his pocket, the gesture so reminiscent of young Lucien, her heart ached with the remembrance. Only this man, broad, powerful, missing part of his arm, and more, the hope in his heart bore no other traces to the innocent youth he’d been.

  Eloise wandered over, the patiently waiting driver forgotten. She stood at Lucien’s side and stared out at the scenescape.

  “I had promised to meet you,” he said, his voice rough with unchecked emotion. “And I didn’t come.”

  She caught her lower lip between her teeth and gave a jerky shake of her head. “No. You didn’t.”

  That had been the day he’d met the new vicar’s daughter…and the day Eloise had ceased to matter.

  He turned to her. He ran an emotion-laden stare over her face. “You mattered, Ellie.”

  She tried to force a smile that wouldn’t come.

  “You did,” he insisted, his tone harsh. He reached for her and then glanced over her head at the waiting carriage bearing the servant and trunks. “You always mattered,” he said in hushed undertones.

  Eloise turned her face up to the sun and welcomed the soothing caress of the warm rays upon her cheeks. “Of course I did,” she said, because she’d always believed she mattered to him. “I merely ceased to matter in the way I once did.”

  A denial sprung fast and hard to Lucien’s lips. The bond he’d shared with Eloise had oftentimes defied the closeness he’d known even with his brothers. Oft regarded as the young, underfoot brother, Eloise had thrust him into the role of escapade-leader. He would lead them on their merry scrapes and she would follow. Then, he had simply set aside the closeness between them, for his love of Sara. A powerful, instantaneous love of a young man who’d seen a glorious beauty he could not live without.

  He stole a long, sideways look at Eloise, her face tilted to the sun, her cheeks pink from the warmth of the day. And the love he’d had for her had been of friend, confidante…and he’d forgotten her. God help him. “I’m so sorry, Eloise,” he said.

  Her eyes flew open. She looked at him questioningly.

  The worst part of life, he’d discovered, had not been in the mistakes he’d made, but rather in his inability to go back and undo each of them, and put his life and the lives of those he’d loved to rights. He gestured to the fields. “I was to meet you—”

  “It was silly—”

  “In the fields of poppies to pick the blooms and I—”

  She lifted her shoulders in a nonchalant shrug, the casual gesture only belied by the hurt in her tone. “Why, would you? You were a man of nineteen. I was just barely a woman at seventeen.” Eloise folded her arms across her chest, as tho
ugh hugging herself. “That was the day you met Sara.”

  She remembered that pivotal moment in his life. Remembered because she had always been more of a friend to him than he’d ever been to her and he’d left her standing in a field of wildflowers. Even if the woman who’d ensnared his attention that day would go on to be his wife, forgetting Eloise as he had, was unpardonable.

  He stepped forward and waded into the sea of red blooms.

  Eloise called out after him. “Where…?”

  He spun slowly around and held out his hand, motioning her forward. “These are here now.”

  Eloise of old would have danced merrily into the flowers, spun in circles until she was dizzy with the scent of spring. The cautious woman who’d also known great loss looked hesitantly at the carriage. She returned her attention to him, with a slight frown. “Lucien, we do not have time—”

  “We’ve already lost too many moments, Eloise. Let us have this one.”

  She hesitated and lifted her skirts. Her slipper hovered above the earth.

  “Both of us have been surrounded by so much death.” Too much. Countless, faceless men. His wife. Child. Her husband. Her father. His father would soon be gone.

  Eloise shook her head. “We cannot escape.” They could not escape death. Her meaning was clearer than had she spoken that omitted word.

  “No.” He inclined his head. “But we might steal a moment of happiness where we can.”

  And with that, Eloise completed that step. She loosened the strings of her bonnet and shoved the piece back and then walked over to him. She moved with more graceful, practiced steps, a woman’s steps that carried her over to him. She stopped. “Well?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

  He flicked the tip of her nose the way he’d done when she’d been a vexing girl. “Never tell me you’ve forgotten how to pick flowers.”