The Secrets of Lord Lynford

by Bronwyn Scott

  He teased her with his tongue at her seam, at her tiny, hidden nub, licking her, tasting her, until she cried out above him. Her hands wound tight in the depth of his hair as she rose to him, against him, her thighs tightening as if she would hold him there for eternity, reluctant to let him go, even as she trembled with the first shudders of burgeoning pleasure. His own breath was coming fast now from the excitement of his efforts. Had the giving of such delight ever been so fulfilling, so overwhelming? He lifted his head, panting hard, to watch climax sweep her, to let himself be undone. She was eroticism personified in her release, her hair flowing across the pillow, her long neck arched, her face thrown to the ceiling, eyes closed in rapture as the moment took her. Had anything, anyone, ever looked as beautiful as she did right now? Or as vulnerable? In this moment, she was entirely without artifice and without armour. Something primal surged in him, the urge to claim this woman, to possess her, to protect her in all her guises. No other man should see her thus.

  Pleasure ebbed, her eyes opened, meeting his, reflecting wonder and astonishment. Gone was the emerald-sharp hardness that so often resided in her gaze. ‘Your eyes remind me of green Cornish sea glass,’ he whispered, kissing her navel. He would get her a ring of that colour, perhaps a necklace, so that she might never forget such pleasure or the man who’d given it to her.

  She stroked his head, her fingers combing through his curls, her tone coy. ‘You have been selfless. You have not had your pleasure yet, my lord.’

  He laughed against her belly, his grin wide as he smiled up at her. ‘Oh, but I have. There is great pleasure for a man in seeing a woman enjoy his gifts so thoroughly.’ Would she understand this was pleasure for them both? That he exalted in the giving of pleasure as much as she exalted in receiving it? He crawled up the length of her until they lay skin to skin. He pressed a kiss to the indentation of her shoulder, another to her neck, to the lobe of her ear; he could worship her all night. ‘Besides, who says we’re done yet?’

  She met his whisper with a private, knowing gaze, as she reached for him, her hand wrapping possessively around him. ‘Not me.’

  ‘Have mercy,’ Eaton breathed as she dragged her thumbnail over the tender head of his shaft.

  ‘No,’ she whispered, ‘I think not.’

  Eaton let her have her way—he was human after all and he adored an assertive lover. He loved the slide of her silken hair, the press of her mouth as she took her turn, sliding down the length of his body, exploring the ridges and crevices of him until her mouth took over for her hand at the hot throbbing core of him. She glanced at him once, her eyes burning, melted, lava-hot sea glass, as she tossed the long skein of her hair over one shoulder and went down to meet him, to take him.

  Her teeth grazed his tender tip and he let out a wolfish groan at the contact, an intoxicating mix, part pleasure, part pain. ‘Vixen!’ He ground out the word in a hoarse rasp as she licked the length of him and his blood surged, his release looming. Heady as her efforts were, he did not want to spill like this. He wanted to take her, wanted to be inside her, joined together in mutual pleasure.

  Eaton shifted, disengaging her. She threw him an enquiring look and that nearly undid him. He reached for her, drawing her up his length, holding her against him until he could roll her beneath him. ‘I cannot wait for you any longer,’ he rasped, desire once again his master. She’d roused him to untold heights. He took her then, in a swift thrust that had her arching and moaning beneath him; a good choice for them both, then. She’d been ready, too. Her legs were locked about him, holding him tight, close, her hips rising to meet his as they joined in the pulsing rhythm of mating.

  * * *

  This was life, this was pleasure and it was coursing through her unabated. Eliza strained towards Eaton, her body pressing hard against him as if it could melt into his, as if they could be closer, joined more intimately than they already were. All she had to do was look into Eaton’s face, his eyes obsidian dark; feel the tension of his arms as they bracketed her head, taking his weight, to know pleasure’s wave was cresting. They’d be in it together this time when it came. It was the most exquisite sensation she’d ever felt, novel and yet innate, bone deep in its thrill, and it was coming again, more intense than it had been before.

  ‘Keep your eyes open, Eliza, look at me when you come,’ Eaton groaned, thrusting once more, eyes locking with hers, holding her accountable, before the wildness was upon them, covering them, claiming them, hearts racing, blood pounding with life, as if in that completion she knew the answers of the universe. Later there would be practical measures to take to ensure there were no consequences, but for now, she would revel in the ephemeral bliss of the moment.

  It was another level of decadence to lie quietly in Eaton’s arms, her head against his shoulder, her hand on his chest, as the night with its single lamp cushioned them. She would have liked to have stayed in that limbo for ever, ignoring everything except the pleasure, but her mind was not made that way. As pleasure ebbed, reality began to reassert itself.

  ‘You are thinking.’ Eaton’s voice was a seductive murmur in the darkness, part question, part accusation.

  She looked up at him. It was time to set the pleasure aside and define terms. She’d had her moment of respite. Now she had to think about the consequences. ‘This was extraordinary but it cannot happen again.’ They could not be discovered.

  ‘Why not?’ Eaton nuzzled her ear.

  ‘If the shareholders think I have indulged in an affair...’

  Eaton reached for her hair, letting it spill through his fingers. ‘Life is too short, and your passion is too splendid to be hidden away because some unimaginative men say it should be. If what you’ve told me is true, they want to break you in every way possible, Eliza. Don’t let them.’

  She fell back on the pillow, his words slamming into her with the weight of a newly revealed truth. The shareholders wanted to take her husband’s legacy, wanted to take the mines from her—more than that, they wanted to take her soul. In fact, they’d been in the process of stealing that since day one. Only she’d not understood it that way. They’d tried to make a man of her by forcing her to adhere to the codes of a man’s world and, when that had failed, when she’d still been very much a woman facing them at the boardroom table—a woman who would not be brought to marry one of them—they’d forced her into a half life where she could look like a woman, but she’d be pilloried for acting like one. And now they’d tired of even that.

  She sighed. ‘What shall I do, Eaton? Can I ever win?’ She was so very weary of it all. She could not fight on enemy soil any longer, pretending she was gaining ground only to have it pulled out from under her. She’d never win. Perhaps she should walk away, after all? But the idea of giving up soured her stomach.

  Eaton rolled to his side, facing her. ‘You do nothing. We fight back. You are right. As long as they are in power, you are in enemy territory. Replace them. Build your empire from a position of strength. Let me mount an army for you.’

  ‘Have you forgotten what it will cost me?’ Her eyes lingered on his beautiful face. ‘And you,’ she added. ‘If you come to my aid, people will talk of us both.’

  ‘Everyone talks about dukes.’ Eaton was unfazed. She needed him to take this seriously, but all Eaton did was flash her a wicked smile and tackle her in a tangle of sheets and limbs until she was beneath him once more, her heart pounding as he looked down at her, all naked, powerful male, eyes full of wanting and play. ‘Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to discuss business in bed? There are punishments for that, you know.’

  She laughed—how could she not? He was irresistible like this. ‘What might those be? I think you’ll have to show me.’

  He nipped at her earlobe with a wolfish chuckle that had her forgetting about blackmail and ledgers. ‘Damn right I will. Up with you, I have a horse that needs riding.’

  Eliza let out an undignified sq
ueal as she saddled up, taking him astride. ‘You will exhaust me, sir,’ she warned coyly, lifting herself up over his manhood, already hard and wanting her.

  ‘No business in bed,’ he answered firmly, his hands at her hips as she brushed the entrance of her core over the tip of his shaft. He moaned, the cords in his neck tightening. She took mercy on him then, sliding down his slick length and riding him to a short, explosive end that left her exhausted indeed. She didn’t remember rolling off him, only slumping down on his chest, his satisfied length still tucked securely inside her.

  * * *

  He was gone from the bed when she woke, the grey morning peeping through the long window. She groaned, panic fuelling her into a full state of alertness. She’d not meant to sleep so long. She’d meant to be home before daybreak. She didn’t want Sophie to wake without her.

  ‘Good morning.’ Eaton’s familiar tones, still husky from the night, drawled from the other side of the room. She rolled over, following the sound of his voice, her effort rewarded by the sight of him, trousered but shirtless, sitting behind the little table as if it were a duke’s desk, writing materials set before him. A dark curl fell across his face as he looked up. ‘Sleep well?’

  ‘You know I did, and too long,’ she scolded him. ‘You should have woken me.’

  ‘It’s still early,’ he assured her as if he knew what prompted her thoughts. ‘We’ll have you back in time.’ He nodded to the carafe at the corner of the table. ‘There’s coffee.’

  ‘What are you doing?’ Eliza sat up and began to make a plait of her hair, anxiety causing her fingers to fumble. He was working. She feared she knew on what. She had not given permission.

  ‘I’m writing to a friend, Inigo Vellanoweth. He’s in banking. He’ll know men who are interested in investing.’ Eaton smiled benignly as if he hadn’t just upended her world. ‘After you have Sophie up, I’ll meet you at the mines. We can look over the books together and decide which shareholders to buy out.’

  ‘Why are you doing this?’ Eliza asked cautiously. ‘I thought we’d decided last night...’ Plans for outings had become plans for her businesses. This was what she’d feared. A man sticking his oar into her ventures, trying to sail her ship for her. It was not unlike Detford’s efforts five years prior to save her from society’s backlash. But this man was different. Was he? Perhaps because he was more powerful, more tenacious than Miles. That should frighten her, not reassure her.

  Eaton fixed her with a dark stare, the imperious one, the one he’d used on Miles at Bosrigan to remind the interloper who was in charge. ‘Last night, we decided we were going to fight back.’

  She threw off the covers and gathered her clothes. ‘The only person I want to fight at the moment is you.’ She dressed in hasty motions, emotion overcoming her. ‘I knew this would happen. The moment I gave in I knew you would try something like this, try to manage me and the mines. I can do this on my own. I have been doing this on my own.’

  ‘And that’s precisely why you came to me.’ He left the desk and strode towards her in quick paces that matched the staccato curtness of his words. She stepped backwards instinctively but found nothing except the wall. ‘You were doing it alone and you wisely realised you needn’t. Only now, in the morning light, you’re doubting that decision.’ He rose and came to her, stopping her hands and taking over the laces. ‘I am not one of your shareholders looking to usurp you. And I am not Miles Detford looking for marriage. It’s high time you stop treating me as such.’ He was scolding her and there was anger in his words. He did not like being classified with Detford and the mutinous shareholders. ‘After all I’ve done, after all I’ve shown you, Eliza, do you truly still doubt my character? I can’t believe you do.’ His voice softened, the scold over. ‘You can trust me, Eliza, you know it in your bones. You would not have come last night otherwise.’

  Eliza swallowed. She had come to him because she had nowhere else to turn; because her own resources wouldn’t be enough; because Miles Detford, the one friend she’d thought she had, would not help her in refusing the offer; because she was empty, her emotional and mental reserves sapped. She’d come to him because being alone was no longer alternative enough. Now it was time to own up to it. She lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. ‘Of course. I’ll meet you at Wheal Karrek after I check on Sophie.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Eliza was late. Eaton gave the wall clock one more glance and decided to start without her while he had the element of surprise on his side. It had worked well so far. The manager at Wheal Karrek had been so flummoxed to have him on site he’d shown him to Eliza’s office, unlocked the door and left him there unattended. Eliza should probably have a word with the man about such trusting behaviour, but for now, it suited Eaton’s purposes.

  He had the office to himself and her ledgers. He might as well start while he waited for Eliza to arrive. She’d wanted to stop by the house first to check on Sophie and change her clothes. There was no question of showing up at the office dressed in the same attire she’d worn the previous day. But even given that delay, she was running late. He was unbothered by it. His sisters were consistently late, trying to marshal their broods. Besides, it would give him time to appreciate Eliza in an entirely different context.

  He toured the perimeter of the space, stopping at the window. This austere, grey office was her domain, when she was here. How often had she visited the mine and he’d been unaware she was near? It was hard to imagine she had been here all along and he hadn’t known. It was like Plato’s old argument on the subjective nature of reality: things did not become real until they were known to exist, regardless of whether they’d been there all along, just waiting to be discovered. The office was sparse, a testimony to many things other than the fact that she was not always here, that she had other holdings. Truro was the centre of her empire, close to banking interests and only a few hours away from any of her holdings. Perhaps her office in Truro was more forthcoming in its decor?

  Or perhaps not, given what he knew of Eliza. Austerity was a type of privacy and she valued hers above all things. This office was giving away no secrets. There were no pictures of Sophie here to invite a visitor’s comment as she made small talk with a guest. There were no crystal decanters from which to pour a celebratory drink, no carpet on the floor to brighten the space, no artwork on the walls, just a plain clock. Eaton thought of the headmaster’s office at the conservatory with its Thomas Witty carpet, mahogany furnishings, the elegant sideboard with its assorted decanters and the art chosen for its adherence to the theme of music. The space had been designed to inspire conversation and confidence, to persuade donors to support the institution and parents to enrol their children in a fine school where they were surrounded by the trappings of wealth.

  That was not the case here. This space was not designed to entertain or persuade. Visitors would not be inclined to stay long given that the room held the minimum of furniture: a desk, two chairs and bookshelves that contained only ledgers and legal paperwork. It was a boring room. There wasn’t a braided rug set before the fireplace. He doubted even Baldor would find the space comfortable. Eaton tried to imagine her in the office, behind the desk, listening to reports, giving orders, her chestnut hair and green eyes the only sparks of colour in room. She would draw all eyes as she’d drawn his.

  Eaton selected a shareholders’ journal from the shelf and settled in the chair near the fire. Perhaps it was best she wasn’t here. He was already having difficulty thinking about work instead of her. It would be deuced difficult to concentrate on the books with her providing a very physical reminder of what they’d shared last night. She dominated his thoughts. He knew with certainty that one night with Eliza wasn’t going to be nearly enough for him.

  She was a confident lover who made him feel like a partner, like something more than the embodiment of a title and a bank account, or a demigod to be assuaged in order to request something fro
m him. Sometimes he felt like Scheherazade’s genie in the lamp, granting wishes for others, but never for himself. That was the curse of the genie. Unlimited power to be used in the service of others. The school was for Cornwall, for Cade and for Rosenwyn, the ducal estates supported the local economies of their regions, providing jobs and crops, homes and business for tenants and villagers. But Eliza was for him. What he had done for her was for him as well. He’d wanted to help. He’d not been obliged. Eliza was a woman he admired and whose admiration he wanted. And therein lay the danger.

  He wanted more than her admiration. Eaton looked up from the journal and expelled a slow breath, letting the knowledge settle on him. He was falling for Eliza Blaxland and he was falling hard. This relationship was not a game and it hadn’t been for a long time. Maybe never. She’d been clear from the start she did not play the merry widow. It heightened the importance and the honour she’d done him by coming last night.

  She’d not taken last night lightly. What had it meant to her? What were her expectations? She was not looking to marry. She was not looking for an affair that might bring scandal either, which left Eaton adrift for an answer. Perhaps the better question was, what were his expectations? What did he want? But the answer to that would be very different than the answer to what could he have. The way he felt right now, he didn’t want it to end. He liked who he was when he was with her and with Sophie. Perhaps because they had no inkling what it meant to be him—a man who could give no woman a future. They only knew he liked to fly kites and hunt for sea-cave treasures. He was at his best with them and he’d not been at his best for a long time.