“No,” Cynthia breathed, expecting some echo of that sentiment from the others in the room, but no one else protested.
Somerhart jerked his head toward the door. “Get him out of here.”
For a moment she thought a phalanx of footmen would enter the room and drag Nick away, but of course he was speaking of Richmond. Bram pulled him to his feet and led him out.
Her strange paralysis faded, and Cynthia reached for Nick’s arm. “Nick,” she breathed. “Nick?”
His eyes were dark and blank as slate when he turned to her. “I’m sorry. Would you pardon me for a moment?” he said before he walked stiffly from the room. She started after him, but was stopped by a touch on her elbow.
She followed the hand to an arm and then up to Somerhart’s grim face.
“Leave him,” he said. “Just for a time.”
Coward that she was, Cynthia nearly melted with relief. Terror was gobbling her up inside, fear of the truth she might hear, and if she could hold it at bay for a few moments, she would.
Emma appeared at her side and wrapped an arm around Cynthia’s waist. “What happened? What did Richmond say?”
Somerhart gave a sharp shake of his head while Cynthia tried to swallow her tears.
“You can’t,” she choked out. “You can’t allow this duel.”
“I won’t stop it.”
Emma’s brow fell in confusion. “On your land, Hart?”
“If need be.”
Cynthia grabbed his hand. “But he could be arrested or…or hurt or killed!”
“Miss Merrithorpe…he is hurt already.”
“I know that!” she cried, and finally the tears came. She was folded up in the faint citrus scent of a duchess’s arms and, knowing she didn’t need comfort as much as Nick did, Cynthia cried harder.
Chapter 21
Like a lost child following crumbs, Cynthia had gone from footman to footman in an attempt to trace Nick’s path. But the path had finally led to a side door to the gardens and all she could do was stand in the open doorway, arms crossed against the cold, waiting for him to reappear. He hadn’t.
In despair, she retreated upstairs to change into her nightdress and await Nick in his chambers.
An eternally long hour passed before his door opened. She sprang up from the bed to stare at a ragged Nick.
“You should be in bed,” he murmured, voice hoarse and low. “Your bed.”
“No.” She poured a glass of wine and pressed it into his cold hands. “Here.”
“Thank you.”
She refilled the glass when he emptied it, then poured one for herself. She’d been afraid to drink during his absence, sure she would overindulge and fall asleep. If she fell asleep she’d wake to find he’d never returned, just like ten years before.
Nick sat hard on the bed and stared at the fire as he took another long draw of wine.
“Will you reconsider meeting him?” She knew the answer already, and did not flinch when he shook his head. “I can’t.”
“Very well,” she said as if she weren’t filled with fear.
Silence fell as her mind twisted itself, knotting around all the horrid things lodged inside it. The thoughts were sharp rocks pushed deep in her brain.
Nick tossed back the dregs of his wine. “Ask whatever question it is that has you staring at me.”
“More?” she asked, though that wasn’t the question at all. When he nodded she handed him her glass and refilled his for herself. After a few sips, she felt braver and took a seat next to him on the bed.
“Was Richmond called Trevington before he inherited?”
“Yes.”
Yes, of course. Trevington. The man who’d come to Cantry Manor and taken Nick away. It had been Richmond, all those years ago.
Nick turned his back to her to look at the fire. She waited for him to say something more, but he said nothing. Despite the fear climbing up her gut, Cynthia swallowed hard and asked, “What happened?”
“I don’t want you to know.”
“The truth can’t be worse than my speculation.”
“I’m afraid it can be.”
“Nick…” She wanted to touch him. Wanted to hold him. But she was beginning to understand the reason he always moved her hands away. “What did he do to you?”
“What do you think he did to me?” he snapped, and then dropped his head into his hands.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. I should never have involved you. I should never have come to your house.”
“God, Cyn. Don’t apologize. Don’t ever apologize. It’s all my fault. I knew what he was, what he was capable of.”
She watched the edge of his jaw tighten and jump in the firelight. “What is he capable of, Nick?”
Nick’s hands dropped to his knees and he lifted his head to stare at the fire. “He took everything from me, Cyn. Everything.”
“Do you remember how agreeable I was?”
She stayed quiet behind him, and he was thankful for that.
“I try to go back and mark a point in time where I could have changed things. My family met him by chance when we went to York, do you remember that?”
“I do,” she whispered. “I was so envious.”
He’d brought home a little shell box for her which, now that he thought about it, had been a singularly uninspired idea. But York had seemed so exotic, perhaps because he’d been allowed to attend a play and two dinner parties. Richmond had been at the play too.
“He introduced himself to my father, and soon enough they were fast friends. ‘Your son needs a bit of polish before you think of moving to London,’ he told my father. My mother was overjoyed. We all were. The chance for me to travel, to make important friends, and to solidify our relationship with someone like him.”
“I remember,” she whispered.
“I liked him. He was generous and witty and he made me feel important. Treated me as a future peer of the realm. That first day we left, we only rode for a few hours. We stayed at an inn. He poured me ale all night. And he noticed that I stammered every time the young tavern wench came near. He sent me up to our room and sent her as well.”
His face heated at the memory. He’d been frightened and painfully aroused, and she had been soft and very friendly. “It was a test, I think. Because he came up soon after. And I thought, ‘Well, this is a thing that gentlemen do.’ He watched us, me and the girl. Then he had her also. Much…rougher. And I think if I had said no, if I’d asked him to leave or left myself…It was a test to see if I could be bent to his will. And I could.”
“How could you have known?” Her voice rose, defending him from himself.
“It does not matter. That’s who I was. I was easy. I liked everyone, and I was eager to please, was I not?”
“Stop it,” she hissed.
“It is true, damn it.” He stood and grabbed up the fireplace poker to jostle the logs. When he touched them, they disintegrated into coals. Though he meant to set the poker down on the tiles, somehow it clattered as if he’d thrown it.
“What did he do to you?”
“He took me to his home. There was no tour.” I’ve a bit of business to attend. Make yourself at home. “And he seemed surprised when I resisted. He wanted me afraid, but not defiant. He wanted me to beg, not yell.” On your knees, boy.
Lancaster rolled his shoulders against the feel of a hand gripping his neck, winding into his hair. He opened his mouth and drew a breath just to know that he could. “After three days he seemed to realize I would not break. No matter how many times…no matter what he did. I kept telling him I’d see him hanged. Drawn and quartered. First he said no one would believe it. Then he said that everyone could see me for what I was. A ganymede and a foul pervert. No one would be surprised. Finally, he claimed to have made a deal with my father.” Tears stung his eyes, then burned away in the blast heat of the red coals.
Cynthia gasped, her soft sorrow filling her ears. “That’s monstrous.”
> “‘Your family needs the money,’ he said, ‘And your father promised you were a biddable child. You don’t wish to disappoint your father, do you’?”
“Nick…” Whatever she’d been about to say dissolved into a sob.
“I didn’t believe it. In the end, he panicked, I think. He’d expected acquiescence. He thought I’d be cowed and silent. And there were already rumors, apparently, and he couldn’t risk more. So he hung me.”
He glanced over his shoulder with a twisted smile. “There is your answer. You finally got it out of me.” He had to make a joke, because the sound of the rope creaked in his ears.
“You didn’t try to kill yourself,” she breathed, hardly believing it even as she spoke.
“I didn’t. But…I wanted to die, so perhaps it is all the same.”
“No.” He hadn’t meant to kill himself even after all that, and that knowledge freed some cold, tight grief from her heart. She could not imagine a world without Nick in it. And if he had made that happen…
“It’s not the same,” she insisted, pushing off the bed to move closer. She needed to touch him so badly, but she now grasped why he flinched at every brush of her hand. Instead of touching him, she stood close and held her hands at her sides, palms up so he could see that she meant to leave him be.
“It’s not the same, Nick. When I ran from Richmond, I had a plan. I’d thought it through so carefully. I ran all the way to the cliffs in case someone was watching. I even leapt over the edge and landed on a ridge five feet below. It all went according to plan.
“But when I was hunched there on that rock on my hands and knees, I stared over the edge. I looked at the stones below and I thought, ‘This is too hard. I am too tired.’ I felt as though I’d struggled for years, trying to free myself from my stepfather. I just wanted some peace. I watched the blood drip from my lip and disappear into the sea and I knew it would’ve been over in seconds.”
Nick dropped his hands from the mantel and turned to her. Her skin shivered with relief when he wrapped her in his arms.
“I couldn’t do it,” she whispered, “because of my sister. Not because of me.”
“You didn’t do it,” he said. “And you wouldn’t have. I know that.”
His heart beat so loud against her ear, as if insisting that it would never stop. “How did you survive?”
His chin shifted against the top of her head when he spoke. “I don’t know. He cut me down too soon. That was part of the deception, I think. The villain recast as hero. ‘I found him and cut him down and tried to save his life.’ But I gather that suffocation takes a long time, and I was skinny enough to delay the process.”
Cynthia squeezed her eyes shut and mouthed a silent prayer against his chest.
“By the time he realized I was breathing, the doctor was nearly there. And then it was over. My parents were sent for.”
Desperate to wrap her arms around him, Cynthia fisted her hands in his waistcoat instead and held tight to his clothing. “I don’t want you to risk your life tomorrow.”
Nick sighed and his chin rested heavier on her head.
“But if you must, then be sure you kill him, Nick. I want him dead.”
Her angry words surprised a bark of laughter from him that boomed through her ear.
Cynthia pulled away. “I’m serious.”
He smiled down at her. “I have every intention of killing him. I should’ve done it long ago.”
“He deserves to die. How could he have done that? You were so…” She didn’t realize she was crying until Nick pulled her back into his arms.
“Shh. It was long ago. And I am healed.”
“You are not healed. I want to help you, Nick.”
Nick shook his head.
Forcing her tears to stop, she stepped back and kept her hands locked onto his crumpled waistcoat. “Tell me what to do.”
He shook his head again. “Nothing. I don’t need help. I’m well.”
“You won’t let me touch you.”
“I’m sorry, Cyn.” He put his hands over hers and stroked them down to her arms. “I just can’t.”
His hands squeezed tighter, pressing her wrists together. A shock of recognition traveled up her bones.
This was lust to him. This was need. The way he held her when they made love. The way his hands restrained her.
And he might be hurt tomorrow, or worse.
She took a deep breath to keep the sobs at bay. “I want to make it better, Nick.”
His hands wrapped around her arms seemed to ease him. He calmed enough to smile, though it trembled a bit at the corners. “You do make it better.”
“You need something from me, don’t you? You’ve tried to hide it, but I feel your hands tighten around my wrists. I feel you hold me down.” As she said it, the words became the truth, so easy to recognize.
“No.” He dropped her hands and jumped away. “That’s not what I want.”
“It is.” When she wrapped a hand around her own wrists, his eyes followed. “I want to make you forget him.”
“You can’t.”
“For a moment, I can.” A shuddering sob broke free before she could stop it. “I can.”
Resolved, Cynthia reached for the tiny buttons at the top of her nightdress. She moved slowly so he could stop her if he wanted, but Nick stayed still.
“Let me,” she begged. “You want to know I won’t touch you? I won’t. I swear I won’t. Hold me down. Keep me still.”
Nick took one step back, but his gaze fluttered over her working fingers. “Don’t ask me to.”
“I want you to. I’m not afraid of you, Nick. You won’t hurt me.” She pulled her arms free of the sleeves and let her gown fall.
His eyes devoured her, his breath came hard and fast.
Ruthless, Cynthia held her arms out in front of her and pressed her wrists together the way he had. “Tell me what you want.”
“I want to…” Desire burned in his eyes as he watched her arms, but that hunger was edged with horror. “I want to restrain you.” He closed his eyes for a long moment, and when he reopened them, his tortured gaze met hers. “I want to bind your hands.”
She nodded. “Do it.”
“It’s not right, Cyn. You’re not a…a whore. I won’t use you like that.”
Dropping her hands, she stepped forward until she was nose to nose with him. “You listen to me, Nicholas Cantry. You claim to love me? How dare you claim to love me and then hide this side of you? You refuse to do something with me that you would do with a whore? With a stranger?”
His mouth tightened with anger. “Better with a stranger than you. It’s ugly and wrong.”
“Not with me. Not between us. Lose yourself in me.” She rose on her tiptoes and placed her lips just above his jaw. Her breasts rubbed the wool of his coat. “Tie me down, Nick,” she whispered. “Tie me down and have me and forget everything else.”
Chapter 22
Close to tears, Nick placed his hands carefully on her shoulders. Her skin was so soft. Her body so delicate compared to his. He shouldn’t want this from her.
He spread his fingers over her shoulder blades and whispered into her hair, “I won’t hurt you.”
“I know.”
Even as he told himself to turn and walk away, leave the room and leave her be, he stroked his hands all the way down the glorious curve of her back.
If he tied her up, he could lose himself, just as she said. He could forget Richmond and fear and reaching hands and concentrate on pleasure. With her.
Knowing it was wrong despite her words, he still couldn’t stop himself. Not with her naked and warm and asking for exactly what he wanted most. “I swear I won’t hurt you.”
He opened his mouth over her exposed neck and sucked gently just above her shoulder. Sighing, she arched her neck in encouragement. That acquiescence sealed his fate.
He’d told her the awful truth. All of it. And now he needed the taste of it out of his mouth.
Trying not to think what he was doing, Lancaster let her go and walked to the wardrobe. He pulled two plain black cravats from the small stack and carried them back to Cynthia. “Give me your hands.”
Lacing her fingers together, she lifted her arms to him. He laid a strip of black fabric over her white skin, and his cock swelled to needful life.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispered as he wound the cravat ’round and ’round her wrists. He waited for her to stop him, and prayed she wouldn’t. Please let me, the beast inside him begged, and Lancaster hated it. But he knotted the cravat and trembled at the slithering sound of tightening fabric.
Once Cynthia’s wrists were tightly bound, he picked her up and carried her to the bed. She looked down at the knot and then up at him, calmness a soft veil over her face. His own hands shook as he tugged her arms high above her and began to tie the second knot, the one that would bind her to the bedpost.
His heartbeat filled his throat as he pulled that last knot tight. Then he stepped back and looked at the vision he’d created. Her arms were stretched tight above her, leaving the rest of her body vulnerable to his eyes. She arched her back as if to encourage him, and her nipples tightened to ruched buds.
Anticipation swelled so hard and fast inside his body that his skin ached.
Lancaster stripped off his coat and waistcoat and tugged so hard at his shirt that two buttons popped free. Only seconds passed before he was free of all his clothing, and he couldn’t wait another moment to feel her.
Free to do just what he wanted, Lancaster stretched his body over hers and pressed his full, naked length to her heat. Cynthia gasped, but he couldn’t breathe at all past the joy of her skin. Nuzzling the spot just behind her ear, he let himself feel. Just feel. Every inch of her touched him.
When he could breathe again, he eased himself lower, edging his knees between hers, dragging his lips over her collarbone. He sucked her nipple into his mouth, and drew at it. Gently at first, but she was whimpering and writhing beneath him, and soon he was sucking hard at one nipple and plucking the other with his fingers.
Too rough, but she gasped with pleasure. And so did he.
One Week As Lovers Page 24
