Seduced by a Marquis (Regency Unlaced 8)

by Carole Mortimer

  Perhaps she was a little too cool? Too controlled?

  “When was this?”

  “A year or so ago now. As I said, it was only a passing thought.” Sebastian shrugged. “The result of coming into the dukedom so unexpectedly.” Sebastian was the only son of the third son of the brother of the previous duke, and Lysander knew his brother had never even contemplated inheriting the title himself, until all the heirs before him had died, either during the battles against Napoleon or from illness.

  “Not thinking of offering for her yourself, are you?” Sebastian gave him a sly look.

  “What?” He scowled. “No! If you recall, I asked about Arthur Reynolds, not his sister.”

  “Quickly brought her into the conversation, though.” Sebastian eyed him with assessment.

  “Uncle Spenser— What else am I to call him?” he sighed as his brother gave a mocking chortle.

  “Uncle Spenser will do nicely.” Sebastian was the son of their mother’s first marriage, and Lysander knew his brother found it highly amusing that Lysander had inherited all these extra relatives along with his father and the title.

  “Oh, forget it.” He stood impatiently to place his empty glass on the side table. “This was a bad idea. I will leave you to go and have your rest with Tia after all.”

  “Really?” Sebastian jumped to his feet with an eagerness that was positively impolite.

  “Really.” Lysander sighed, knowing he would get no farther with this conversation today.

  Perhaps when he saw Bella again, which he fully intended to do, one way or another, then he would not feel that same sense of disquiet as he had yesterday.

  Or the same attraction.

  “I am pleased to see you are fully recovered from your headache.”

  Bella had become aware of Lysander’s arrival the moment he stepped into the Forsters’ music room during a short interval in the evening’s program. The excited gossip and sideways glances from hopeful debutants milling about the room had begun almost as soon as he made his appearance.

  As she had known would happen, after receiving Lysander’s calling card, Arthur had insisted she attend the Forsters’ soiree this evening. Even if she would be unable to sit down for the whole evening!

  Indeed, Arthur, comfortably seated beside an elderly dowager, had seemed to take spiteful delight in observing Bella having no choice but to stand since their arrival. His retribution, no doubt, for her having thwarted his intentions this afternoon regarding Lysander’s visit. He’d completely forgotten, it seemed, that his beating was the reason she had been indisposed.

  A polite smile curved her lips as she turned to face Lysander. “I am feeling much better, thank you, my lord.”

  Lysander ceased to breathe as he felt himself falling headfirst into the shadowed depths of Bella’s violet eyes.

  Shadowed?

  Yes, upon closer inspection, tonight those beautiful eyes were so dark they seemed fathomless. Her face was also very pale, her smile strained. She looked exactly as Sebastian had described her earlier, tense and nervy.

  He scowled. “You do not look better.”

  Her eyes widened. “I am not sure that is a flattering thing to say, my lord.”

  “To the devil with flattery.” He took a light grasp of her arm. “I think you should sit down while I fetch you some refreshment.”

  “I would rather not— No, please…” She let out a groan as Lysander seated her on one of the chairs. Although she had applied a healing salve several times today, tears now flooded her eyes and then overflowed her lashes after the burning pain in her thighs instantly consumed her.

  “Good God…!” Lysander sat beside her and leaned forward to shield her from the rest of the room. “What is wrong? Bella!” he urged, as the only answer he received was her choked sob.

  “Would you please assist me in leaving the room?” Her gloved fingers gripped his arm as she slowly rose back to her feet. “Please, my lord, before I succeed in making a complete fool of myself!”

  Lysander stood quickly, noting that her tears had ceased to fall but several still balanced precariously on those long lashes. “I will find your brother—”

  “I do not want to see or speak to Arthur now!” Her expression appeared panicked. “He will have disappeared to another room to play cards by now,” she dismissed in a calmer voice. “It is my wish to leave the room this instant, I am just not sure I will be able to do so without your assistance.”

  Lysander’s impulse was to sweep her up in his arms and carry her from the room and the house completely, which might please the gossipmongers here but would no doubt have repercussions for both of them.

  “Please, my lord.” Bella hated the sound of pleading in her voice but was unable to prevent it when she was still in such agony. The pain seemed to reverberate throughout her whole body as a raw and never-ending throb.

  “Of course.” He nodded briskly, his expression grim. “Put your hand on my arm and hold on tightly.”

  Bella had little choice but to do as he instructed when her legs were trembling and each step caused her yet more agony.

  Although how she was to explain herself to him, she had no idea.

  Chapter 4

  “I have left word with the Forsters’ butler to inform your brother you are unwell and had to leave.”

  “Thank you.” Bella sat on the edge of the plush seat on the other side of the carriage as it traveled through the darkened streets. Lysander had retrieved her cloak for her, along with his hat and cane, before escorting her from the Forsters’ house and into his waiting carriage. She was in too much discomfort to raise any objection as to the unsuitability of the two of them traveling alone together.

  “Would you care to tell me what happened to you just now?”

  She winced, knowing she would really rather not, but also knowing, from the determined expression on Lysander’s face revealed by the lamplight inside the carriage, that it had not really been a question. He required an explanation, and he expected it now.

  She drew in a deep breath—

  “I advise that you tell me the truth rather than the story you are currently concocting inside your head. I have little patience with lies,” he added harshly.

  As it was rumored Lysander had no knowledge, until quite recently, of his father being the Duke of Landingham, that aversion to lies was perhaps understandable. But for Bella to tell him the truth about her…discomfort was also impossible. “I suffered a fall earlier today,” she dismissed. “I believe I may have strained a muscle in my back.”

  “A fall where?”

  “At Winslow House, of course.” She frowned. “I took a tumble down several stairs.”

  “And that is the truth?”

  “I—” The steely glitter in his eyes warned her against continuing with the fabrication. “No, it is not the truth,” she finally admitted heavily.

  “Well?” he barked several minutes later when she added nothing more to that comment.

  Bella turned away from the intensity of his gaze to stare out the window at the rain-slick streets. “Surely it is obvious I would rather not answer your question.”

  “Why not?” He sat forward on the seat. “Perhaps it is that your brother gave your ass a tanning for being alone with me yesterday evening, and that is why you find it uncomfortable to sit down?” he taunted.

  She recoiled back against the seat even as she gasped at his crudity. Only to immediately sit forward again as the movement caused a return of that excruciating pain to the back of her thighs.

  “I will get to the bottom of this, Bella—no pun intended.” He grimaced.

  She felt the burn of embarrassed color in her cheeks. “It is not my bottom that hurts.”

  “It is not your back either,” he stated firmly. “Otherwise, you would not be able to sit as you are. I suffered a back injury as a child when I was thrown from a horse, and the only way to alleviate it was to lie flat on my back.” His gaze swept over her from head to toe in na
rrow-eyed assessment. “Come here.”

  Bella eyed him warily. “For what reason?”

  “For the reason that I wish to place you over my knees.” His hand shot out to grasp her wrist before tugging her across the carriage.

  “Stop it!” Bella cried in alarm. “You cannot— What are you— Oh!” She gasped as she found herself lying facedown over Lysander’s thighs before the back of her gown and cloak were thrown up to her waist.

  Revealing not only that she wore no stockings and drawers, because she had not been able to suffer either of them against her tender flesh, but also the reason for the omission. Bella obviously had no idea what those welts on her thighs looked like, but she knew how they felt and could only imagine how they must appear to Lysander.

  There was silence in the carriage for several long seconds, apart from the sound of their breathing. Bella’s was shallow, Lysander’s both deep and rapid.

  “Who did this?” he finally snapped into that silence. “Was it your brother, as I thought?” he pressed before she had a chance to answer his first question.

  Bella was too humiliated to answer as the tears once again welled up in her eyes. What must Lysander now think of her for having allowed someone, Arthur, to treat her in this way?

  “It was,” Lysander decided grimly, so angry he wanted to hit something. Preferably Arthur Reynolds. How could he treat his own sister so brutally? What could she possibly have done to have merited such harsh— “Is this because you were alone in the gallery with me at the Masefields’ yesterday evening?” He had been deliberately challenging earlier about her “ass tanning” and had not considered for a moment that it might be true.

  Except these unsightly welts upon Bella’s thighs had not been made by a hand, but by a switch or belt of some kind. They must hurt like the devil, both when they were administered and since.

  Bella made a choking sound, somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “Would you please allow me to get up now? I feel…ridiculous like this.”

  Of course she did. And Lysander knew he should not have subjected her to such an indignity in the first place.

  Except…

  She did have the most delicious bottom, the twin globes perfectly round, with the shadowed cleft between her legs just visible, as was the tiny rosette between those beautiful cheeks.

  Her bottom was completely untouched by those disfiguring welts on the tops of her thighs. Even so, Bella must have also suffered the indignity of having her brother bend her over something, a chair or a bed, when he administered the punishment.

  There was something wholly unpleasant in imagining such a scene.

  Lysander could not prevent himself from placing his hand on those perfect globes. “Was it because we were alone together last night?” he persisted.

  Bella was completely flustered by having the warmth of Lysander’s hand on her bare bottom. A hand that now stroked and caressed her burning flesh. A totally different sensation from that on her thighs. This burning was pleasurable, arousing, as was that warmth spread between her thighs, causing the lips there to plump and moisten, the tiny nubbin above to swell and throb.

  “Bella?”

  Those long and elegant fingers now circled gently closer and closer toward the moist heat slicking between her thighs. If they went any lower, Lysander would be able to feel that moisture. To guess the reason for it.

  Bella struggled to place her feet on the floor of the carriage so that she might attain the leverage to stand. She failed utterly. Her legs were simply too short and Lysander’s thighs too high off the ground for her to do any more than scrape the toes of her evening slippers.

  “Please allow me to get up.” She spoke with a quiet dignity so at odds with her present position.

  Her words brought Lysander to his senses. Senses which seconds ago had been consumed with the feel of her skin and the heady perfume of the arousal pooling between her thighs.

  Bella was as aroused by his touch as he was by touching her silky softness.

  Perhaps so, but that was no reason for him to take advantage of her when she was in so much discomfort.

  He held the tops of her arms to assist her in rising enough that she was able to slide down his legs and kneel on the floor of the carriage. The skirt of her gown and the fall of her cloak once again covered her thighs.

  Her lashes were downcast so that he could not see her eyes. “I cannot sit comfortably anywhere.”

  Lysander’s mouth tightened. “And I cannot allow you to leave this carriage until you have answered my question.”

  She did look up at that, eyes wide. “You cannot allow? Forgive me, my lord, but I believe my brother is the only one who can claim any authority over me.”

  A nerve pulsed in Lysander’s clenched jaw. “And a bloody poor job he’s doing of it too! I will not apologize for swearing,” he added grimly as she drew in a sharp breath. “No man should ever use his superior strength to physically admonish a woman, no matter what the provocation.”

  Bella agreed with him, of course. And five years ago, Arthur had not done so either. His punishments had become more severe over the years the deeper in debt he became to his creditors at the gaming tables. “No matter what the provocation?” she taunted.

  “Do not mock me!” Lysander’s hand beneath her chin tilted her head so she had no choice but to look at him. “How can I know why he did this to you when you will not answer my questions?”

  She swallowed before answering. “Some men do not need a reason to chastise a woman.”

  His eyes narrowed. “That is still no answer.”

  What answer could she give? She could not tell the truth, that Arthur was furious with her for not having encouraged Lysander into a deeper indiscretion so that he might blackmail the Marquis of Trent. If she did so, Lysander would confront Arthur, and then her life would become a complete misery rather than only half of one. She had no doubts Arthur would keep to his threat to separate her from Esther, and then use her sister in the same way he had used Bella. That was wholly unthinkable.

  “I cannot answer you,” she said simply.

  “Cannot or will not?”

  “Cannot.”

  “Very well.” Lysander turned to look out the window as the carriage came to a halt. The vehicle tipped slightly as the groom jumped down and could now be heard approaching with the obvious intention of opening the door.

  Bella smiled gratefully at Lysander as he helped her up from her knees before that happened. Her gratitude and smile faltered and then disappeared completely as she stepped down onto the cobbled street and saw the carriage had not drawn up outside the home she shared with Esther and Arthur, but a house she did not recognize. She turned to look enquiringly at the stony-faced marquis standing beside her, he having retained a grip of her arm as they both alighted from the carriage.

  He looked down the length of his nose at her. “Trent House is now my home— Do not make a scene out here in the street,” he warned softly as she parted her lips to do just that.

  “You would rather I waited until we are inside?” she came back angrily.

  A humorless smile curved his lips. “That is exactly what I would prefer.”

  “Would that I could oblige you, my lord, but I have no intention of— Lysander!” she protested as he bent slightly to place one arm about her shoulders and the other beneath her knees before lifting her into his arms. “Put me down this instant!” She glared at him even as she pushed ineffectually against his muscular and unyielding chest.

  His expression remained grim as he strode up the pathway. Bella hid her face against his chest as they entered the house through the doorway opened by his attentive butler. “Brandy in my study, please, Hatfield. And bring the box of my mother’s medications from my dressing room.”

  “Lysander, please,” Bella hissed as he continued to stride through the entrance hall and down a corridor to the right. “I cannot be here.”

  He glanced down at her as he entered his study. “You cannot b
e anywhere else right now. Not until I have got to the bottom—” He broke off with a wince. “Until I believe you have given me all the answers I need concerning this matter,” he corrected.

  Lysander had always been slow to anger in the past, but this situation had succeeded in bringing him to the edge of his control as soon as he saw the welts on the backs of Bella’s thighs. Touching her so intimately had put a strain on his control in a completely different way.

  For such a tall woman, she felt very light in his arms. Soft and wholly feminine. Warm. With skin the color of peaches and cream. And those highly kissable lips—

  “Put me down, please, Lysander.” Bella spoke with soft authority.

  Of course he must put Bella down. Hatfield would be here with the decanter of brandy and the medication any moment. Except Lysander felt no inclination to relinquish holding her in his arms. Especially when he so much liked hearing the name Lysander on her lips.

  “My lord,” she snapped, as if realizing her mistake.

  Lysander loosened his grip and allowed her to slide slowly down onto her feet. Even so, he saw the wince she gave as she put her weight on her legs. “Your brother deserves to be horsewhipped and see how he likes it!”

  Bella liked the idea of Arthur receiving the same treatment he had given her. Not that she thought it would ever happen, but it was a pleasure to linger on thoughts of his comeuppance nonetheless.

  She turned away as the butler arrived with a silver tray bearing the decanter of brandy and two glasses, and a cedarwood box Bella could only assume contained the duchess’s medications.

  The room they were in was obviously Lysander’s study, a room dominated by a huge mahogany desk and black leather chair, but there was also another chair and a chaise in front of the window and several bookcases. The paintings on the wood-paneled walls were all of horses.

  “Drink this.”

  A glass of brandy was thrust under her nose, the smell of the strong alcohol almost enough to intoxicate her. She took the glass with slightly shaking fingers.