One Week As Lovers

by Victoria Dahl

  The women he’d tied up before had meant nothing to him. They’d been nameless vessels for his secret needs. He hadn’t wanted to linger or explore.

  But Cynthia had been right. With her it was something new. It wasn’t ugly or sick. It was a chance to know her body, to worship it in ways he’d never dared with another woman.

  He shifted again, crouching over her so he could run his tongue down the skipping puzzle of her ribs. Her stomach sucked in hard, and he smiled to find that she was ticklish. When he rubbed his cheek to her belly, she jumped again.

  “Sorry,” he murmured. “I need to shave.”

  Cynthia laughed.

  My God, he’d never imagined this, but as he dipped his tongue into her navel, she yelped, and Lancaster realized that lovemaking could be…fun.

  He chuckled against her and breathed in the warm female scent of her skin. Gooseflesh bloomed over her.

  “Are you cold?”

  “No,” she breathed. “Not at all.”

  Thank the Lord. It would’ve broken his heart to cover any part of her. He nibbled his way over to the jut of her hipbone and traced his tongue there. How different she was. So curved and soft and sweet. So perfect.

  He scooted lower, and settled his shoulders between her spreading thighs.

  His hands trembled at the sight of her sex, pink flesh peeking between curls. He would taste her there. Something he’d never done. It had always felt too…defenseless. Kneeling before someone, waiting to feel a hand in his hair.

  When a shiver overtook him, he shook it off and refused to think of it. Cynthia’s hands were tied, and he could do what he liked.

  His hand fit perfectly over the curve of her mons. He smoothed the hair down and watched it spring back up.

  “What are you doing?” Cynthia asked.

  “Petting you.”

  She giggled, her belly shaking with the laughter. He petted again, drawing his fingers farther down as he did. Her laughter stopped on an in-drawn breath. He slid the tip of one finger along the seam of her body.

  “Look at you,” he breathed in amazement. Her foot slid against the sheets, and the delicate petals opened. Lancaster was mesmerized as he traced the shape of her.

  A tiny moan drifted from her mouth as he stroked her. Her wetness licked at his skin.

  Lancaster leaned forward and kissed her.

  Heat was the first thing he noticed. Then the sweet ocean taste of her against his tongue. He licked the wetness his fingers had found, and licked again when she gasped and moaned. When he touched his tongue to that little pearl of nerves, Cynthia’s hips jerked away.

  “Nick!” she groaned, as he curled his arms beneath her thighs and held her still. Yes, he could do what he wanted, and he wanted this.

  It was over too soon. He had only just begun to settle into his task when Cynthia screamed and arched. He felt the spasms of her climax against his lips and licked at the eager wetness.

  Though he was painfully aroused, he felt strangely suspended in the moment. Languid and patient as he kissed her plump thighs. He could stay here forever, pleasuring her. Tasting her. Feeling her thigh tremble against his cheek.

  But he supposed it might be excessive to keep her tied to his bed for the next few hours. He didn’t like to think of her hands getting numb or her wrists aching.

  Cynthia sighed his name again when he rose over her. Her eyes were sleepy and dark. She looked perfectly content to be tied to the bed.

  He smiled even as his heart beat harder at the sight of the black fabric. His stomach slid against hers as he lowered himself. His cock slipped easily inside her tight sheath. “I love you,” he murmured. “I love you.”

  She arched beneath him, one hand wrapping around the binds that held her. His entire belly tightened at the sight.

  This was his fantasy, the one he’d never dared to think could be real with her. His darkest needs, and she embraced them.

  His strokes were deep and true. Cynthia pressed her heels to the mattress to meet his thrusts. Her teeth bit into her tender lip as she whimpered and arched beneath him.

  “Yes,” he whispered, watching her arms pull at the restraints. Her fingers curled to tight fists. He took her harder and watched her fingers flex in shock. “Take me,” he growled.

  Each of his thrusts pushed a little cry from her throat.

  A perfect moment, and yet not perfect.

  “Cyn.” He slowed to a stop.

  “Mm?”

  “Look at me.”

  She opened her eyes, and Lancaster let his body rest against hers. He kissed her gently, over and over again.

  “If…” He paused to think if he could do this. She’d let herself be tied down. He could do this. “If I untie you…would you touch me?”

  The distance cleared from her eyes. “You don’t need to do that, Nick.”

  “I do. I need to. If you would just be slow?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  He slipped free of her body and knelt to untie her hands. “And don’t…don’t touch my hair, all right?”

  She was still for a long moment before she finally nodded. Then her hands were free.

  Nick fell to his back and pulled her astride him.

  “Like this?” she gasped.

  “Yes,” he said, “like this.”

  She lowered herself onto him carefully, eyes widening with every inch, but she kept her hands on her own thighs.

  His cock strained as if desperate to fill her completely.

  “You have no idea how beautiful you are.” Another new experience, and though butterflies danced in his stomach, he wasn’t afraid. Even when her hand fluttered down to his chest.

  She flattened one palm against his skin, then the other. He closed his eyes and pressed his hands over hers, pushing her fingers into his flesh. She was touching him, and still he could hold her and know he had nothing to fear.

  “Yes,” he breathed as she began to ride him.

  He let her set the rhythm, let her find the pace. She dug her nails into his chest, and he startled at the pleasant pain of it. And when he finally spent himself inside her, Nick’s cheeks were wet with tears.

  A knock invaded her slumber, just before the sound of a door banging into the wall woke her fully.

  “They’ve snuck away,” a female voice said from the dark.

  “What?” Cynthia clutched the blanket to her chest. “Who?”

  “Our men. Hurry. Get dressed. I’ve brought your clothes.”

  “The duel!” Cynthia cried out as memory hit her full in the gut.

  “Yes, yes. Hurry.”

  She hesitated for a moment, aware that she was very naked in a gentleman’s bed, but the circumstances were obviously clear to Emma. She’d brought clothing, after all.

  Decision made, Cynthia jumped from the bed and pulled on the chemise that Emma handed over. Five minutes later, she was dressed and rushing after Emma as she led Cynthia through a maze of hallways and steps.

  They finally reached the front door and stepped out into a dawn of gray and fog. A curricle awaited them, and Emma leapt into the driver’s seat.

  “Do you know where it is?” Cynthia called over the crunch of the gravel.

  “I eavesdropped when that Bram returned to negotiate the details. I don’t think we’ll make it.”

  Cynthia held on tight as they raced straight out onto the lawn and started up a low hill.

  She’d meant not to fall asleep at all, but after such an exhausting day, she hadn’t stood a chance. Had Nick slept? Would he be too tired for good aim and a quick trigger?

  The curricle crested the hilltop, and Cyn braced herself for a frightening scene, but the hill was bare, and Emma pushed on toward the valley below.

  Cynthia spied one horse tied near a dense copse of trees. Just one horse. What could that mean? She spied another mount as a great flock of birds burst from the trees below. Cynthia jumped as if she’d heard a shot fired. “Oh, God. Oh, God.”

  “We’re almost
there, Cyn. Don’t fret. He’ll be fine. I’m sure of it.”

  “Yes,” Cynthia prayed. “He must be.” She couldn’t imagine a world without Nick even if they were separated by an ocean. She’d only just gotten him back. Nothing could happen to him now.

  They finally reached the flat plain of the valley, and Emma whipped the horses to a reckless gallop. It seemed an eternity before they reached the pale green trees, and another eternity before they drove around the edge of them and saw the men standing there. Even at that distance, even in the dim and misty light, she could pick out Nick’s body. The elegant way he turned. The line of his wide shoulders.

  The other man raised a gun. Nick didn’t move.

  “Oh, no,” she sobbed.

  Emma’s hand bounced against her knee. “No matter what, do not distract him.”

  Aim! She screamed inside her head. Shoot! But Nick stared at Richmond as if he were impervious to fear or bullets.

  The curricle began to slow. A crack tore through the tranquil morning and rent Cynthia’s heart in two. Richmond’s gun smoked, and Nick was still standing.

  Finally Nick’s arm rose. He took his sweet time sighting his prey. Richmond took one step back, but it was no use. Nick pulled the trigger, a sharp blast exploded through the air, and Richmond was falling.

  Before Emma could stall the horses, Cynthia had jumped down. She wanted to hug Nick and then charge over to Richmond’s body and spit on it. But Nick still held the pistol, raised and pointed straight at Bram.

  Cynthia skidded to a stop on the wet grass. It wasn’t over after all.

  “Keep Cynthia back,” Lancaster said to Somerhart before walking toward Bram. Richmond lay on the ground at his feet, blood trickling sluggishly from the hole in his neck.

  Lancaster was tempted to shoot him again. It didn’t seem possible that the creature who’d caused so much torment could die so easily. It should have been harder than that.

  But he needed his last bullet.

  He tightened his grip on the pistol and aimed it at Bram’s head. “Are you his heir?”

  “No. I come by way of the housekeeper.”

  “You’re his son.”

  Bram glanced down. “I was.”

  Lancaster hesitated. “You grew up there? In his home?”

  “I did.” His face was blank as ever, and Nick felt sick at the sight of it. This was what a man looked like when he was raised by Richmond. Not one emotion crossed his face. No thought flickered behind his eyes. He was gone as if he’d never existed.

  But Lancaster kept the pistol pointed at his heart. “What about Miss Merrithorpe?”

  Bram shrugged. “What about her?”

  “Do you mean her harm?”

  “She’s nothing to me now.”

  The answer tightened his shoulders. “What was your interest before?”

  “Richmond wanted an heir and couldn’t get one on her himself. He promised me two thousand pounds.”

  “For what?” Lancaster bit out. The muzzle shook.

  “A successful breeding.”

  “You fucking bastard.” The world began to buzz around him.

  Bram lowered his hands while Lancaster’s knuckles whitened on the grip. “Shoot me if you mean to. I don’t care. Dead or alive, I’m free of him now.”

  Shoot him. He wanted to. This man had planned to rape Cynthia. In Lancaster’s new rulebook of crimes and punishments, Bram deserved to die just for that. But his blank eyes showed he’d died long before.

  I’m free of him now.

  This man might be a monster too. Who wouldn’t be, after a lifetime in Richmond’s home? But how could Lancaster be sure?

  He didn’t know what to do, and in the end, Bram simply turned and walked away.

  It was over. They were all free of him now, for better or worse.

  Chapter 23

  Cynthia was wiping tears from her cheeks.

  Lancaster watched from a distance, fighting the urge to rush over and rescue her. She hugged her mother one last time before the woman pulled herself wearily into a carriage and waved good-bye.

  As soon as the carriage began to roll away, Lancaster walked toward Cyn.

  After her initial grateful relief that he hadn’t been injured in the duel, she’d spent the morning glaring her outrage that he’d snuck from bed without waking her. As if he would have voluntarily exposed her to danger and bloodshed. But regardless of her previous mood, he couldn’t leave her alone now.

  Her shoulders rose and fell in a deep breath. “Are you well?” he asked.

  She wiped her cheeks and glanced back at him. “Yes.”

  “She seemed…overwhelmed.”

  “Yes, but she was happy to see me alive, and she didn’t try to persuade me to return home.”

  “Good.”

  Cynthia turned back to watch the carriage roll away. “I gave her half the money. I told her to keep it to protect herself or Mary if this sort of thing arises again, but she may turn it over to her husband as soon as she sets foot in Oak Hall.”

  “There’s not much more you can do.”

  “I know. It makes her feel safe to have a husband who’s so certain in all he does. Even…even after what’s happened. She apologized for not stopping the match but she said I’ve always been strong. Stronger than Mary ever will be.”

  “You are strong. But that’s not an excuse to give you up to the world like that.”

  “I know.”

  He reached for her hand and held it tight until she nodded. “All right then,” she murmured. She set her shoulders straighter. “What happened with the magistrate?”

  Lancaster shook his head. “He seemed oddly satisfied with Somerhart’s explanation. Only asked me to remain here for two or three days in case there is further inquiry.”

  “Thank God.”

  “I suspect it would be more appropriate to thank Somerhart. Seems he was right about the power of a duke’s word.” Setting aside his worry over the day’s events, Lancaster offered her a small bow. “If you have a moment, I thought perhaps we might walk in the gardens. The rain is holding off, it seems.”

  Cynthia nodded and they strolled toward the gardens together.

  “Are you well?” he asked in a low voice.

  “I already said I was.”

  “But after last night…”

  She flashed him an exasperated smile. “I am quite sturdy enough to withstand even your most earnest assault, dear Viscount.”

  Lancaster choked on his own breath and nearly tripped over an uneven brick on the path.

  Just like that, all her sadness was gone, and Cynthia laughed until tears leaked from her eyes. “You are so very arrogant.”

  “I certainly am not! And you are outrageous.”

  “I am that. And I am also very well, thank you for asking again.”

  He watched from the corner of his eye as she smiled down at the path. “You are not…disgusted?”

  “I am not even scandalized.”

  Well, that was one thing. Lancaster tried to pretend he felt only mild relief when, in fact, he was reeling as if he’d held his breath for hours.

  “I did not mean for you to see what happened this morning.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  And that was it. There was nothing else awful to say. But he still had a difficult task ahead of him. He led Cynthia to a stone bench and sat with her.

  Daffodils had begun to bloom and the scent of green leaves tripped to them on the wind. It was springtime, and he must return to London. “About our future…”

  “Nick, I won’t deny that I love you. I do. I always have. But love cannot make a future for a family. It can’t be everything. Your family is depending on you to marry well, and I am nothing short of a disastrous match. I won’t destroy your future. I won’t.”

  He’d known what she must say, and yet he still wanted to grab her and kiss her and shake her for good measure. “So you will go to America?”

  “I will.”

  “All
right,” he answered, and Cynthia seemed startled by that. Good. “Though perhaps you might wait a time. You could be with child, you know. My child.”

  He watched as she pressed her free hand to her belly in a moment that made his heart thump, but then she shook her head. “No. I…My belly is already aching.”

  Lancaster shook his head in puzzlement.

  “It means I will bleed soon.”

  “Ah.” These things were a bit of a fascinating mystery to him. “You’re sure of that?”

  “Yes. It’s the same every month.”

  “I see.”

  Her face flushed, and Lancaster cleared his throat.

  “Have you written to your aunt?”

  “Um. Yes, I have.” She darted a puzzled look at him. Oh, she meant to go, but she’d expected a fight.

  “Emma says that she will help you choose a paid companion. I hope you’ll consider her recommendation. She’s canny about people.”

  Her forehead creased. “Of course,” she snapped, then lapsed into silence.

  They sat quietly for a long while watching the daffodils bob their heads in the breeze. Or Lancaster watched them. Cynthia glared as if they’d betrayed her in some way.

  Finally, he cleared his throat. “I will come for you, you know.”

  She turned to face him. “Pardon?”

  “I won’t marry someone else. Ever.”

  “Nick, you must!”

  “No,” he said flatly. He studied the way her delicate fingers fit between his. “In all honesty, I’d hoped there would be enough gold in that treasure to buy both our families free of our debts. Without it…” He shrugged. “I’ll find a way. I’ve sacrificed for my family already, Cyn. I paid for their comfort and their future on my knees, and I shan’t do it again in my marriage bed.”

  Her hand jerked in his grasp. “But that story wasn’t true. That was a lie. Your father would never have…He’d never have…Tell me you don’t believe that.”

  The pain had never left him, and it bloomed again, recalled by his memories. “No, it wasn’t true. But it became true. Richmond paid for our home in London. He paid for a new wardrobe for my parents and for me. Paid for lessons so that my sister could learn to dance and my brother could learn French. He bought us easy entrée into the ton. My father took his money in exchange for silence. In exchange for the services I had so thoroughly rendered.”