by Dayna Quince
“Good, let’s keep it that way.” He opened the door behind him and pulled her into a small dark room. Moonlight glowed through a round window, but its meager light did little.
“Where are we?” Lydia asked as she stepped into the room without hesitation.
“It’s the room where they store the instruments and extra chairs.” The door closed with a soft click, and Devon turned the key in the lock.
“This doesn’t seem very safe, Devon. What if servants start to clean up the music room and come in here?”
“They won’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Hush, Lydia, I just know. Now come here.”
Devon pulled her back against his chest and curved his arms around her waist. She came to him with no hesitation, trusting him completely. There was a world of difference from the petty insults they used to sling at each other and ripple of dislike that used to color their acquaintance. Now the air simmered between them with something else. His palms skimmed her sides as she hummed in delight. Reaching her breasts, he cupped them, causing her to gasp. She was so open to him now, giving herself over to him with utter abandon each time they met.
Lydia turned to face him and threw her arms around his neck, fusing her lips to his. She kissed him wildly, clinging to him in a desperate attempt to reap every second of closeness with him. She needed this moment to feel like forever, and she wasn’t going to waste it with trivialities. His hands roamed her back and then cupped her bottom, bringing her hips tighter against him.
“Yes,” she moaned into his mouth.
He trailed kisses to her neck, and she dropped her head back to give him more access. Lydia tried to lift her knee to get closer, but her dress was cut too narrow. Devon began to pull up her skirts, gathering them at her hips. With newfound freedom, she lifted her knee to his hip, relishing in the new closer sensation of his hard manhood against her.
Devon groaned aloud when his hands stole under her dress, and he gripped her derriere clad only in her pantalets. He could feel the warmth of her womanhood against him, and he went a little mad. It would have been so easy to take her here and now but he couldn’t, their bargain forbade it, and at that moment, it was sweet torture. He needed to be inside her. His fingers moved in between her thighs until he could feel the delicate softness of her through the thin fabric. She was so warm and wet from her own need. Her fingers dug into the skin at his neck as with slow licks, he bathed the rapidly beating pulse at her neck, and his fingertips gently explored her.
“I need to touch you, Lydia,” he begged.
“I don’t think I can stay standing if you keep doing that.” She was practically shaking with unspent desire.
Devon looked around the small room. It really was not a good place for seduction, but spotting a chair, he moved them from the door. Lydia reluctantly let go of him, and he tugged her to the chair. Even in the meager light, he could tell she was skeptical. He sat in the chair and pulled her close. Never taking his eyes from hers, he slowly began to gather up her skirts again. She visibly trembled but didn’t try to stop him as he exposed her stocking clad legs and undergarments to the room.
“Now straddle me.” He pulled her arm to his neck as she brought the other around and slipped a slender thigh over his. As she sat, he pulled her closer to him, sliding her sensitive flesh over his arousal, and she moaned instantly. “There’s a good girl. Do you like this?”
She nodded and closed her eyes.
“I promise you are going to love this.” He pulled at the delicate tie to her drawers and loosened them, then slid his hand inside.
“Devon?”
“Hush, my pet. Let me touch you… Let me love you.” He saw her swallow hard, and her eyes squeezed tightly as he gently explored her. Springy curls met his wandering fingertips, and he delved deeper into the velvety folds of her.
* * *
Lydia buried her head in his neck and held still. A sweeping thumb caressed her, and she shook with pleasure. The sensation was so acute, and stronger than anything she had ever felt. He played with the entrance of her body, soothing her and massaging her. Gently and oh, so slowly, he inserted one finger and Lydia nearly cried out. Every nerve in her body was focused on his hand, and the slow invasion it made as it slid in and out to a rhythm of its own. Then Devon added another finger, and her body readily stretched to accommodate him, but the feeling nearly overwhelmed her. She felt so full of him and so vulnerable. Her heart was beating frantically, and her hands clenched and unclenched in his jacket as he tormented her with building pleasure. His warm breath against her chest was another added sensation, and she realized as she opened her eyes and looked down, he was watching where his fingers joined with her, his eyes fierce with passion.
Lydia grabbed his chin and brought his lips to hers. He was surprised, but then took over the kiss, and took her further into the abyss with each languid stroke of his talented fingers. Of their own volition, her hips had begun to move against him, her body searching for the peak of pure rapture. This was what she wanted, this pure need and pure passion. She would remember this moment forever, despite her mind’s desire to slip into oblivion. Tonight would have to be their last tryst before she returned to her old self and fell in line with her mother’s plans. She could not be so deceitful as to accept one man’s courtship while carrying on with Devon. As far as she had fallen from her virtuous pedestal, she was not as low and uncaring as to do something like that. The moment was bittersweet. He pushed her harder to the top, stroking the sensitive bead tucked in her womanhood and the soft haven inside her until finally, she let go of all thought and gave into his demands. She shattered into a thousand blissful pieces against him, his mouth catching her soft cry of release.
However, the moment didn't last. As soon as the glow began to fade, sadness and a longing so deep it consumed her, unbidden tears instantly forming. Devon continued to stroke and soothe her, until he saw her tears.
“Christ, Lydia, did I hurt you?”
She could only shake her head, afraid that if she spoke she would only cry more. As it were, tears began to fall rapidly, and Lydia frantically wiped at them.
Devon hugged her tight. “What is wrong Lydia, tell me.”
“I… We have to stop,” she choked out before burying her head in his shoulder. Her shoulders quaked with sobs, and Devon fished in his pockets for a handkerchief.
“I can’t understand what you are saying, love.” He leaned back and pushed her to sit up and face him.
Lydia took a deep breath and tried to regain some composure. “My mother returns tomorrow, and the following evening Lord Caverly will escort us to the Stillwort ball. She has encouraged his pursuit of me, and soon he will openly court me. We have to end it, Devon. It’s time to say goodbye and…and I don’t want to, but I have to—”
Lydia slid off his lap and straightened her skirts, afraid of the silence and violent energy that radiated from him. “Please say something.”
Chapter 9
Devon felt the blow like a ton of bricks. They had to end it so that she could be courted by some doddering old fool, and likely marry him. The thought alone summoned a rage so black it scared him. He was stunned into silence, unable to settle the tangle of emotions inside that seemed to be screaming in defiance at what she said. How could he end something that consumed him nearly every day and night? How could he end something as precious as the look and feel of her climaxing in his arms? Her pleasure was his pleasure, her teasing smiles, her soft moans, and every sigh of release. They all belonged to him.
“I don’t know what to say besides… No.”
“No?”
“That’s correct.”
No to what, exactly?” She dabbed at her eyes.
“All of it, no.” He stood and adjusted his breeches. Her proclamation had killed his ardor, saving him the trouble of hiding his erection as he escaped the musicale unnoticed.
“You’re being very obtuse, Devon.”
Devon stood before her in silen
t rage. He could not give up so easily what she clearly was accepting, despite saying she didn’t want to. She was going to just walk away from everything they felt.
“No, as in you don’t have to marry Lord Caverly, and we can continue our…affair.” The word felt dirty. What they had between them was so much more than a passing romance, and he knew it. She had to know it, too.
“I can’t just defy my mother’s wishes. We knew this would come to an end, Devon, we both agreed to it.”
“Bugger that, Lydia, and grow a spine.”
“My spine is perfectly intact. It’s you who is going back on your word. We made a bargain, did we not?”
“I don’t give a damn about your bloody bargain. I want you, and I will not see you married off to some old fool destined to live the rest of your life as his nursemaid.”
“I beg your pardon, but it’s not your concern what I do with my life, is it?” she cried. “What would you like me to do, Devon? Turn my back on my mother? My reputation? Would you set me up in a house on Half Moon Street, and come see me whenever you like?”
Devon spun her around. “Don’t pretend you don’t know how I feel about you. That is not what this is, and you know it.”
“Do I know how you feel about me? I can’t say that I do, Devon. We have never discussed our feelings, let alone did I think you were capable…”
“Capable of loving you?” Devon’s eyes bored into her. “Is it I you find so unworthy, or yourself?”
“Don’t be cruel.”
“It is not I that is cruel, Lydia. That has always been your talent. I’m standing before you, begging you to be with me, proclaiming myself very capable of loving you, and giving you all that you desire, but you don’t want to believe me. That is cruel.”
“What are you saying?” Lydia gasped.
“I love you, Lydia. What is so heinous about me that you can’t marry me, love me, have my children, and spend the rest of your days with me?” His voice echoed with pain as he spoke the words. They reverberated throughout the small dark room like the presence of a ghost—invisible but impossible to disregard.
“I…”
“So, it is I you find unworthy. What have I done to deserve it?” Devon pleaded.
“You have done nothing, Devon. You are a young, handsome gentleman, and you live your life exactly as you should.”
Devon let go of her and turned away. His blood ran cold with anger and disappointment. “So, it is my womanizing, gambling, drinking, devil may care attitude that you have so often scorned me for, which is to blame? It is, as you say, how I should live my life as a gentleman, but also makes me ineligible to marry you? I, a viscount—son and heir to the Marquess of Lesley? Have I missed anything, or are you quite finished ripping my heart out?
“Devon, please,” Lydia sobbed.
“I think I am beginning to understand,” Devon said coldly.
“You couldn’t possibly understand.” Lydia wrapped her arms around herself. There was no use continuing the torture. He could never know the pain and sorrow he would bring her for all he claimed he loved her. Because of her mother, she knew better. Men did not love the same way women did, and in the end, his love would not keep him from the arms of another woman. He was a beautiful creature of lust and passion, but she could never cage him.
“It matters not.” He turned to her and with slow predatory steps came before her until she was surrounded by his nearness, but he never touched her. “You want me just as much as I want you, and I am not above using that to keep you. I won’t stop loving you just because you are determined to play the ice queen until death. Soon you will have to face your desires, and they will lead you to me.”
Lydia stood silent with her head bowed. Everything inside her wanted to lean into him, let him have his way, but amazingly, she didn’t move or speak as he brushed by her and left her alone in the small dark room. The pain was acute. She wanted more than anything to run to him but she couldn’t. Her resolve was firm, and from here, she would go on as she should and hold her head high. She crushed his handkerchief into her eyes, breathing in the scent of him and committing it to memory while willing the tears away.
She couldn't rejoin the guests, not looking as she did. She would need to devise a way to leave the musicale without anyone seeing her. A sudden idea occurred. She peeked out of the door of the small room and was relieved to see no one in the hall. She discreetly returned to the music room where she pulled the bell cord and stood with her back to the wall. When a footman arrived, she asked for a maid. Lydia waited nervously until a young maid entered and politely bobbed.
“I’m so sorry to bother you but um… Oh dear, this is quite embarrassing. It seems my monthly courses have arrived quite unexpectedly, and I wondered if you could fetch me my cloak and have Lady Lesley meet me in the hall?” Lydia grimaced.
“Oh, certainly!” The maid smiled sympathetically. “I’ll be right back, my lady, just you wait right here. Who shall I tell the message is from?”
“Lady Lydia.” Lydia replied.
The maid quickly retreated, and Lydia sighed in relief. Certainly, a feminine problem would keep whispers of her odd behavior out of the papers and ears. The maid returned with her cloak and helped her into it. Leading her to the hall, she brought Lady Lesley with Olivia following. Lydia repeated her excuse for leaving; she was sorry to make them leave early but they both insisted it was perfectly all right. She must have looked dreadful, given their comforting words and assurances.
Finally, in her room and tucked in bed, Lydia relived her argument with Devon, and the bitter taste of want that would surely haunt her forever. There was nothing to be done. She would rather suffer from wanting him and never having him, than be put through the shattering humiliation and betrayal her mother had endured with her father. What was it about a man that he couldn’t love one woman and be faithful to only her? Were men mindless animals at the mercy of their bodily urgings? Certainly not, that would be giving them an excuse. Some men were just not meant to be husbands. Some men could not live up to their marriage vows due to selfishness and thoughtlessness. Her own father was the grandest of specimens, and she owed it to her mother to heed her advice. She would never forget Devon, but she could not allow herself to love him and give her heart away to a man destined to break it. He was everything she could ever want in a husband, except for one thing. Knowing him and his past, she could never trust him. A rake could not be reformed, as many would like to claim.
If only she knew what he would do now. He did not leave her with the feeling that he was letting her go. In fact, he seemed quite determined to prove that she could not let him go. What would he do? Would he shame her publicly? There were so many questions, and Lydia had no answers. She closed her eyes and all she could see was Devon. She could hear the ragged timbre of his voice as he declared he loved her. Those words were so lovely, and yet each one felt like a knife to her heart.
She wanted to love him back…
A wrenching sob violently tore from her throat. Lydia was overcome by an agony so consuming she cried uncontrollably. She hated herself because she did love him; she wanted everything he had said about being with him and having children.
She turned onto her stomach and covered her head with the pillow. She screamed into the bed, shouting her anguish into the mattress like a madwoman. She was mad, mad for a man she could not have, no matter how much she wanted him or he wanted her. Lydia cried her sorrow into the bed until it was soaked with her tears, and her throat was raw and dry. She cried until there was not a single tear left in her body, and all her energy had left her. She fell into a deep dreamless sleep, a kind so deep that you don’t hear your dearest friend enter your room, brush the sweaty strands of hair from your face, and pull the covers you had so violently kicked away up over you again.
Olivia looked down at Lydia, and a tear slid down her cheek. This was no ice queen. Whatever was going on, it was tearing her friend apart, and Olivia was sure it had something to do
with Devon. Olivia had seen a look on Lydia’s face of late that was quite familiar to her. It was the look of longing. Somehow, her brother had broken through Lydia’s façade and was breaking her heart. Olivia was going to have a talk with him, and it would take all her strength not to scratch his eyes out.
Chapter 10
Lydia had returned to her home early the next morning. Olivia found Devon answering letters for their father after luncheon in the study. She silently entered and closed the door. Devon looked up and raised an eyebrow quizzically.
“If you’re looking for Father, he is meeting Lord Smithers about a horse.” Devon resumed his writing without giving her a second glance.
“Actually, I was looking for you, you vile cretin.” Olivia strode forward with angry strides until she rounded the desk.
Devon sighed and looked up. “What have I done now?”
“You tell me, you…you…frog-footed bald weasel!”
Devon would have laughed, but the minx grabbed his ear and twisted it. “Ow!” He yelped. He had the infuriating urge to yell for their mother but tamped it down. “What has gotten into you? And for the love of God, Olivia, if you are going to insult me, please do it better.” He batted her hand away when she reached for his ear again.
“This is no laughing matter, Devon. Last night I could hear Lydia crying her eyes out, and I know it must be your fault. What have you done?”
Devon stiffened. He stood and turned away from Olivia. The pain and anger was acute. He folded his arms over his chest and took a deep breath. “Why do you think it is I who has done something? Perhaps it is Lydia who has made her bed and must lie in it?”
So, she had shed tears for him? She had mourned the loss of what they had? She was so willing to give him up last night, but if she felt that strongly then maybe he had a chance. What could he do to convince her?
