I want more for us, she’d offered so simply. The honesty of that would have touched him even if his heart hadn’t already been shaking with need. He wanted more too. More for himself and more for Cynthia, and more for them together. He could see it now, the promise of what might have been. A friendship suddenly sparked with lust. A happy kind of love that would take them quickly and last forever.
He pulled loose the cloth that had grown too tight around his neck, then shrugged out of his coat.
Maybe she was right about Imogene. Maybe he didn’t have to marry her. But there was no way in the word he could marry Cynthia. If he did, he would change his family’s course in history.
They’d become members of the gently impoverished. His brother and sister would be forced into the very choice Lancaster was trying to avoid. Marry for fortune or live a life of shabbiness. He couldn’t shirk that duty only to see it placed on his siblings’ backs. Besides, he was the only one who could marry up and pull them all along behind.
Marrying Cynthia wasn’t an option.
But if given the chance, would he? Would he subject her to a lifetime of nights in his bed?
He jerked his wet shirt over his head and glanced at the mattress on the other side of his chambers.
She wasn’t a virgin. Perhaps a lifetime was too much to ask, but what about one night? He could picture her there, arching herself into his touch, just as she’d done the day before. She’d liked that, and she would like it again. And when he—
A staccato knock dropped into his fantasy and freed a surge of anger for his own thoughts. “Cracked bastard,” he muttered. The knock came again.
“I’ve brought your tea!” Cynthia called.
Lancaster slipped into his dressing robe and moved warily to open the door. He felt exposed, both by his state of undress and the tenor of his thoughts. But Cynthia’s smile was wide and cheerful, and he had no excuse to keep her out.
She hurried past him to set the tray on the table. He could do nothing but accept the cup she offered and murmur his thanks. Cynthia stood in front of the fire and sipped her tea, and his fear began to retreat like the receding tide. It was probably helped along by the strong bite of brandy that stung his nose.
“How many cups of tea have you had?” he asked.
Cynthia winked. “Only one. This gown is freezing.”
He froze, the cup only two inches from his mouth. He looked at her wet dress, wondering why it seemed a suddenly ominous prop in this strange drama.
“I’ll need help getting out of it,” she said.
Ah. There it was. The tide hadn’t retreated at all, it had only drawn up its strength in anticipation of crashing over his head. Again, Cynthia didn’t seem to notice his turmoil. She smiled at him, and he felt his mouth smile back. He appeared perfectly normal, it seemed, as his mind spun ’round and ’round the prospect of helping Cynthia undress.
His willpower was a brittle plank, riddled with cracks and holes, and creaking beneath the weight of his desire. Now Cyn had decided to leap onto it, full speed.
“Are you quite sure Mrs. Pell isn’t back yet? It’ll be time to fix luncheon soon.”
Cynthia scoffed at his question. “She likely thinks we can handle slicing bread and sausage on our own.”
“Mm. Quite.”
She held up the teapot and Lancaster looked into his cup and found it empty. She refilled it with a steady hand, and Lancaster politely drank every drop she’d poured.
Heat seeped into his muscles.
“May I change in front of the fire? I don’t think I can bear to walk away from it.”
“Of course.” Of course, she should have the chance to feel the flames glow against her bare skin. To watch the fire lick warm color into her cool flesh. He couldn’t deny her that.
“All right, I think I’m warm enough to dare it.” She set down her cup, gave him one last smile, and turned her back.
Lancaster stared at her dress, at the long seam that hid the hooks of her gown. He curled his fingers tighter around the cup. Cynthia dipped her head impatiently to the side.
“Right then,” he murmured. As he placed the cup carefully on the table, it was as if he watched someone else. Some other man reached forward and eased his fingers beneath the back of her gown. Some dispassionate gentleman unfastened the first hook and felt his knuckles rub her skin.
Cynthia tilted her head forward to give him more access. Soft tendrils of her hair dragged over the back of his hand. He undid the second hook and the third. The material began to part.
When the top of her corset was exposed, Lancaster became part of his body again in a terrifying rush of sensation. His cock was already swelling. The scent of her hair filled his throat. Her skin slid against his fingers, and her spine pressed into his hand every time she drew a breath.
His hands worked their way down the hooks without his permission. When the dress began to gape, Cynthia twisted and wiggled until she freed her arms from the clinging wool. Suddenly there was a whole landscape of skin before him. Her flat shoulder blades. The arch of her neck. Her shoulders curving down to bare arms. Gooseflesh dotted her skin, then spread to every exposed inch.
Lancaster worked faster. Within seconds, the dress fell to the floor in a sodden heap.
Cynthia rolled her shoulders, then twisted her one thin petticoat around to untie it. The damp petticoat was nearly transparent, and once it slipped to the floor, he saw that her chemise was damp as well.
The skin of her bottom showed pale pink past the thin white fabric. Her legs were bare beneath it. She must have left her stockings to dry by the hearth downstairs.
“Nick,” she said, turning half toward him with an exasperated eye. “The corset now?”
“Yes,” he said, “Of course.” Did she not notice the strained rasp in his voice? Apparently not, as she bounced a little on the balls of her feet and rolled her eyes.
That tiny bounce drew his attention back to her corset. Not the fashion of the thing, which was plain and clearly well-used. But the fit.
Perhaps it had been made for someone else. Or perhaps purchased years before. Regardless, it no longer fit. Her breasts spilled above the top, nearly flattened to her chest by the tight edge.
“Turn around then,” he murmured, and reached for the ties.
His fingers shook against the ivory ribbons. When he tugged one free, he thought perhaps the whole contraption would part on her next breath, but it stayed tight. He had no choice but to slide his thick fingers along her spine and work the laces loose.
A small groan vibrated from her ribs to his hand. “That feels good.”
Yes, it felt good. Her skin was hot here. He slid one slow hand up to her shoulder to hold her steady while he tugged, and then he closed his eyes and imagined holding her steady for another reason.
Eventually, the corset was loose enough, he supposed, because Cyn began to twist and wiggle, working it down over her hips. He let his hand linger on her shoulder as long as he could, then slid it down her arm, a marvel of cool silk flesh.
She shivered and stepped out of the corset. “Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome.” His words came out a whisper.
“May I borrow a blanket?”
Cynthia shook out her dress as he opened the chest at the foot of his bed and retrieved a blanket of fine red wool. He was sorry to be done with his task, and thankful as hell that she was about to wrap herself up and leave.
He needed her so badly, and it was wrong to want her.
“Here—” he started as he turned to offer the blanket. But the sight of Cynthia stopped him cold.
The nightdress she wore to bed was sturdy and far too large to reveal even a hint of the body beneath. But her shift…her shift was a thin veil. Worn to a sheen, damp from the rain, it clung to her breasts and floated down to flirt with her hips. Her nipples were tight pink buds pressed against the sheer fabric, her breasts shockingly full and round.
Cynthia Merrithorpe was a sensual
dream.
As if she realized the strength of his thoughts, Cyn crossed her arms over her chest. “Can I have it or did you decide to keep it for yourself?”
“What?” He’d give her anything she wanted.
“The blanket.”
“Of course.” Aware that he was tempting the beast inside him and no longer sane enough to care, he crossed the yard of space between them. He let the blanket fall open and settled it over her shoulders. He was too close now. Far too close.
His conscience tumbled over the edge of reason and disappeared from sight.
Lancaster cupped her jaw and looked into her happy eyes. “You are so beautiful.”
Those eyes went wide and the happiness blanked to shock. “What?”
“You’re beautiful, Cyn.” He trailed his fingers along her jaw, all the way to the tender skin just below her ear, watching the contrast of his hand against her fine texture. His body swelled to an ache. So did his heart.
She covered his hand with her own. “Nick?”
“I’m sorry,” he breathed and pressed his mouth to hers. She still smelled faintly of rain, as if she were the purest thing in the world. Another reminder that he should leave her be.
Lancaster slid his hand down her neck and lower still. Cynthia didn’t move. She didn’t even seem to breathe. But when he curved his hand under her breast, she gasped. She was a heavy weight against his palm. He dragged his thumb over her nipple, amazed at the contrast of hard against soft.
Cynthia whimpered.
“You like that?”
She nodded, eyes closed, as he pulled back to look at her.
“You’re amazing.” Greedy for more, he tugged her chemise low enough to expose her nipple. He traced the deep pink areola with his blunt fingertip and watched it tighten even further, drawing itself up.
“Nick,” she whispered.
He traced one more circle, then reached for the gathered neckline of her chemise and pulled it the rest of the way off.
Her nude body yanked his breath from his lungs in a brutal theft.
Yes, her breasts were full, and they only looked larger against the contrast of her slim waist. In perfect balance, her hips flared out, rounding down to the soft curve of her thighs.
Lancaster’s mouth watered.
As he watched, her hand moved to cover the dark hair between her legs. He followed the movement, slipping his hand over hers to press her fingers tight to her own body.
“Don’t hide,” he murmured. “You’re so beautiful.”
Her mouth opened as her breath came harder.
Lancaster tucked his thumb under her fingers and eased her hand away. The sight of her dark curls twisted his heart into a knot.
And suddenly being with Cynthia didn’t feel like a mistake at all.
Chapter 13
The way he watched so closely filled Cynthia with the need to cover herself again. No man had ever seen her nude before. Not Richmond and not even James. She had no idea how she should look, so she didn’t know what Nick might see.
His fingers trailed down her hip, singing along her skin, and Nick lifted his eyes to her and smiled. Not a charming smile or a jaunty grin, but a genuine joy that reached his eyes.
Sweetness swelled into her blood. This was what she wanted. Peace with him, even if it was momentary.
He’d called her beautiful, so maybe she was. Still, her skin was tingling from the intensity of the exposure, so she finally gave up and pulled him along toward the bed.
She yanked back the covers and slipped beneath them. “Now you,” she said once she was covered.
Still smiling, he shook his head in question. “Now me?”
“Your clothing.” She pulled the sheet up past her chin to hide her blush. “Take it off.”
“Are you sure?” he asked, laughing.
“Very.” She liked the way he looked naked. Despite the scars that made her think of things she didn’t wish to, his body was fascinating.
Nick’s smile faded, and he unknotted his dressing robe and let it part. He still wore his breeches beneath, which was a bit of a disappointment. But when he dropped the robe, she took her time looking over his shoulders and wide chest. She wanted to touch him the way he’d touched her, but that would mean emerging from the shield of the bedcovers. She was cozy there and enjoying the show.
He didn’t look away as he reached for the buttons of his breeches, didn’t seem to hesitate at all. He very calmly unfastened each button and then slipped off his breeches and drawers in one motion.
When he stood straight again, Cynthia shrieked. Just a little.
“What is it?” Nick glanced back toward the door as if someone else had surprised her.
“You were smaller,” she whispered in horror.
“Pardon?”
“Nothing.”
Nick frowned. “What’s wrong, Cyn?”
“Nothing.” There was nothing to be done now. She’d just have to smile and nod and bear it. And she wasn’t a virgin anymore. It shouldn’t be too bad, really. She’d just assumed it would be easier with him. “Everything’s fine.”
“Can I come in then?”
She lifted the covers slowly enough that he could change his mind if he chose to.
She didn’t understand. He hadn’t seemed particularly soft that first night she’d seen him in the nude, but there must be degrees of…measurement to the thing.
“As many naked men as you’ve seen in your life, I didn’t expect you’d be shocked,” he muttered as he slipped in beside her. He slid across the sheets and pressed against Cynthia.
“Ah,” he murmured, but she was too stunned to even breathe. The whole hot length of his body was pressed into her, burning her, as if in the space of one second she’d become part of him. His hand settled on her belly, fingers spread wide.
“Oh, my.”
“You’re so soft,” he breathed, his lips brushing against her cheek.
Hands still clutching the sheet to her chest, Cynthia turned and kissed him. She felt his fingers press tighter to her belly and then gave herself up to the kiss. She drank him in, consumed him, as his hand began a slow journey.
He cupped one breast, then the other, curved his fingers around her ribs, and dipped his thumb into her navel. He explored her, as if he’d wondered about her body. As if he’d anticipated these first few touches.
Because they were still kissing, a moment passed before she realized his hand had left her. Nick freed his arm from the covers and took hold of one of her fists. When he eased her hands down, the blanket slid down too.
Her breasts were exposed, and then her belly.
He lay his arm across her, trapping her tight against him. Her hands bunched the sheet against her pelvis.
“Look at you, Cyn,” he breathed just before he lowered his head and closed his lips over her nipple.
His mouth drew at her, even as his tongue rubbed circles, urging startling feelings from deep in her belly. Then his lips parted and it was just his tongue, tracing her nipple, teasing her into a tiny whimper.
He teased like that for long minutes, alternating between light touches and heavy demands, until Cynthia had given up whimpering and was moaning with need.
She’d never felt anything like this before. So needful and hungry. She no longer cared about her worries or his sadness. Her body had taken her over and it would have what it wanted.
Cynthia let go of her death grip on the sheet and pulled her arm free of his hold. She curled her fingers around his upper arm, amazed at the strength in his solid muscles. He was so male, looming over her, and yet she felt safe and treasured.
His arm flexed, pushing at her hand. These workings of his body were a new discovery for her senses.
Nick lifted his head and looked at her with heavy-lidded eyes.
She dragged her grip higher, up to his shoulder, then down to marvel at the hair that covered his chest. His eyes followed her, then slowly rose to meet her gaze. The wide pupils looked impossi
bly black, as if they opened to a well of dark water.
His heart rose to a thunder beneath her palm. And though the hair on his chest was crisp and light and nothing like fur, she couldn’t help but think of a panicked animal.
Not understanding what could be wrong, she waited for some reaction, but Nick said nothing. Drawing a soft circle against his skin, she asked, “Does that feel good?”
He closed his eyes, cutting off the strange fear that had crept into her. “Yes,” he whispered, just before he drew back.
He turned her then, lifting her shoulder so that she faced away from him. A moment of lonely confusion left her cold, but his body made for an excellent distraction from ugly thoughts. He pressed into her back, matching himself to the hollows and curves of her body.
There was no avoiding the largeness of him in this position. His hard length branded her buttocks, a startling heat even against the rest of his warm skin.
But she couldn’t think of that, because Nick wrapped his arms around her and pressed his mouth to her neck. “Are you sure, Cyn?” The words trailed down her shoulder.
“Yes,” she answered immediately, even if it wasn’t quite the truth. This was Nick, and she wanted all of him she could have. She needed to gather him up into her soul and force these memories to stay forever.
“Yes,” she said louder as his hand slid to her sex and stroked there. Whatever this was to Nick, for Cynthia it was a home, more real than any she’d had before. This would carry her along the road that lay ahead of her. Through a new life in a strange place among people who did not know her. This memory of Nick would be her home there, whatever else happened.
Pulling her more firmly against him, Nick sucked gently at her neck. His fingers slipped over her in a slow rhythm that made her squirm. Cynthia closed her eyes and tried to catch her breath. It proved an impossible task, even before Nick pushed a finger deep inside her.
Her cry echoed through the room.
“Cyn,” he groaned, driving deeper into her.
She arched into him, parting her legs in encouragement. This felt good. Unbelievably good. His hard body against her back only made it more wickedly delicious. She gasped his name and pressed her head back.
One Week As Lovers Page 15
