by Stacy Reid
He pressed his leg between hers and shifted his foot widening her more to his intimate caress. Her cry was choked off as his fingers pressed deeper.
“Kiss me, my sweet,” he murmured roughly and she complied.
She whimpered in his mouth and flinched as a second finger probed at her entrance. She stiffened, and he caressed her until his thumb pressed against a spot that had her arcing into him, her mind hazy from need. The bite of pain at the entry of his two fingers were drowned out under the exquisite sensation that splintered her body.
His lips gentled, and her body trembled in the aftermath of such vicious pleasure. He gently eased his fingers from her body, and licked her wetness from them. Her gaze fixated on his mouth as his tongue flicked over his fingers and shocking arousal burned in her veins at his action. He then dipped his head, peppering soothing kisses along her lips and jawline.
Constance trembled and a deep fear filled her. He embodied every secret fantasy she had ever had. She was more like her mother than she realized for he did not speak of marriage, yet she was allowing such liberties. I am a wanton.
With a harsh groan he pulled away from her, and with swift efficiency, he re-laced her corset and fixed her gown. “Please forgive me for losing control, Constance. Tidy your hair. I will do my utmost best to see that you are returned inside without being seen.”
She nodded, uncertain how to proceed after such startling intimacy. “Shall I expect you tomorrow?”
He froze. “I will not be calling on you again.”
“Why?” she asked bluntly.
His eyes narrowed. “Leave before I bend you over and fuck you here.”
She stumbled back and stared at him with widened eyes. She searched his gaze, trying to understand why he was being so vulgar. Their entire encounter had been magical. She may not know the word, but his tone said everything. “Why do you push me away with such crude words?”
He tensed.
“Do you think me so foolish I would not see, Lucan?”
He jerked from her, raking his hand though his hair. She blinked bemused at the red stain that heightened his stunning cheekbones. She suddenly realized he was not all that comfortable with how he spoke to her. “Are you blushing, Lucan?”
His look of male affront had her smiling, dispelling some of her unease.
“If you do not leave now, I am going to lay you down and take my pleasure with you. Is that what you want?”
“Absolutely not.” She stepped back warily, her heart pounding.
“Are you so sure, Lady Constance? Your continued presence indicates you want me to toss up your skirts.” His words were cutting like a knife.
“You are being deliberately hurtful, and I see you are pushing me from you. I only want to know why, so I will not be haunted by it,” she whispered hoarsely.
“I push you away for your own good.”
“My own good?” she parroted, feeling terrified by his distance.
Lucan hissed out a frustrated breath “I want more…I want to be inside you. If you do not step away from me I will lose control and take you in the gardens. I want to be in your heat and wetness so bad I dream of it. And by pushing you away that is what I prevent, for it would surely ruin you. But is it that you want me to take you now?”
The blood drained from her face. “No!” she muttered horrified at his blatant suggestions. Yet she was intrigued by his need. She stepped farther away, but he advanced on her and his hands spanned her waist as he lifted her. He lowered her so she straddled his knee and she could feel every muscle of his thigh straight to her core.
“I can see that you burn for me, Constance, and it is so damn tempting. Even now I can feel your heat, your desire. You yearn to know how it feels to have a man between your legs riding you. And not just any man, me, taking you, pleasuring you, teaching you passion.” He pressed a hard kiss to her lips, the apparent need on his face searing her. “I know this, for every night you torment me with dreams of how you would feel sheathed on my cock. I fantasize what it would be like to walk beside you, laugh with you, to have children with you.”
Shock held her still. “I…” No one had ever looked at her like Lucan, touched her as he did. She had been always sheltered, protected, pampered by her brothers and everyone in her life. Sheathed on his cock? She could only imagine what he meant. He shifted his thigh, rubbing against her core, and fire shot through her body scandalizing her. But the greater thing that enthralled her was what he had said. Wild hope surged inside of her. “Children, Lucan?”
She saw the utter shock that filled his eyes before his expression grew impassive. He lowered her to her feet and withdrew.
She knew that was what he uttered. “You said children, Lucan. What are you saying?” She tried to keep the hope out of her voice.
He raked his hands through his hair with an angry curse. “I did not mean to say that,” he growled.
“Don’t be a coward,” she said, not retreating. “You obviously want me as much as I want you. And you said children. I do desire your kisses, and I do want to explore this hunger that rages between us, which springs to life from a glance, a fleeting kiss. I want to walk and laugh with you as well. I also see the possibilities of us together, having such a life together, growing to love and cherish each other.”
He closed his eyes as if pained. “I hope one day you will forgive me.”
She stared into his eyes in puzzlement. Forgiveness for what? “What is it, Lucan?”
He drew her close and pressed a gentle kiss along her forehead. Confusion churned in her. She could feel the regret in his touch.
“Good-bye, Constance.”
The remoteness she saw in his expression scared her. She gripped his hand, preventing him from moving away. “I am confused, Lucan, I—”
He gently removed her grip. “Let me be as clear as I can. I made an error in pursuing you. I am no longer interested in riding out with you, and this will be the last you will see of me.”
“I thought you would speak to my brother and—”
“You thought wrong,” he said flatly.
The pain knifing through Constance almost drove her to her knees. She stared into his dark sensual features, searching for a hint of the sweet, tender lover she’d been falling for.
“You were just kissing me…touching me… I—”
His low mocking chuckle vibrated through her and tears burned her eyes.
“That was nothing special, an everyday occurrence between a man and a woman. Disabuse yourself of the notion that it meant something more.”
A sickening sensation entered her stomach, and she felt faint. Her hands shook, and she took deep breaths to prevent herself from throwing up. “I don’t understand.” Oh, God. “Is it because I am a bastard?” She was proud that her voice did not shake.
The distance in his eyes had pain clawing at her throat. She desperately wanted to leave, to weep her anguish in private. How could he be so cruel? She was ashamed of the tears that splashed onto her cheeks, and even more so from the words that escaped her lips. “I am in love with you, Lucan, and I know you feel something for me, something deeper than friendship, so I cannot understand why you are being so distant. Please confide in me.”
“Good-bye, Lady Constance.” Then he turned and walked away.
She could not comprehend his coldness after all they had shared. Constance felt hollow, like some vital part of her had been crushed, but she did not want him to see how badly he had shattered her. She wanted to travel home right away, curl up in a ball, and weep, curse, and howl. And even then, the pain would not lessen. She touched him out of need and desire, allowed him so much more because she was falling in love with him. Every touch, every kiss, and every groan she pulled from him had been nothing special to Lucan. Existence had never seemed so devoid of life.
Chapter Ten
A fire in the brazier warmed the parlor in Lucan’s apartments, but its heat did not reach him. He felt cold and empty. For the first time since h
e’d taken on his path to end Calydon, Lucan felt a deep wash of regret. He had convinced himself over the long months of plotting, his revenge would be sweet when he ruined Constance in the same way Calydon had done Marissa. Instead, its taste was bitter and vile, and Lucan had not even executed his plan.
It had been his full intention to have them discovered in a compromising position and to then refuse to marry her. Her ruination would have been completed. But he had been unable to do it. He had decided to find another path to bring down Calydon. But, God, the look in Constance’s eyes.
I feel you when you stare at me, you know. I felt you tonight before I even saw you. That has never happened to me before. Is it the same for you, Lucan?
When she had asked Lucan that, he had wanted to howl “yes”. He’d remained silent, fearing if he answered, she would see the truth. The instant her gaze touched him, it was as if some unseen force burned him, bespelled him, and he only had to quickly scan the crowd to find her stare hot with need caressing him.
He was aware of a strange numbness somewhere deep inside himself. After what had happened to Marissa he had promised himself he would never bed an innocent, never entangle himself with one. He had shattered the dreams and hopes he saw in Constance’s eyes. He supposed every young girl dreamed of courtship and marriage. It had been clear she expected him to declare for her. It made him feel hollow to think he had planned on doing worse to her. And for what? He doubted Calydon could feel the pain Lucan had felt when he learned he had lost Marissa so cruelly.
Please confide in me.
The memory of the heartfelt plea tormented him, and the knowledge of how much he had hurt Constance cut into him like a knife. He could hardly explain that he had been trying to save her from himself. The huge pool of pain that had reflected in her green eyes had shredded something inside of him.
His sister had been brutally beaten for months, then hung herself. At least Calydon still had Constance. At least Lucan had not executed his vengeance on her. But he could find no comfort in his reasoning.
“Tell me what happened?” Ainsley prompted for the second time from his spot near the mantel.
Lucan did not look at him. Instead he went to the cabinet in his office and poured himself a glass of scotch. He downed the liquor in one swallow and poured another. The door opened and closed quietly, but he did not look up. It would be the Reverend.
“What the hell is going on? Did someone die?”
Lucan lifted his head, surprised to see the club’s accountant, his friend Marcus Stone entering. He was their fourth partner in the club. The man took in the wrecked office, the shattered glass, and overturned chairs with cool aplomb, saying nothing at Lucan’s apparent loss of control.
“Should I leave and come back?”
Before Lucan could answer him, the Reverend entered, scanned the destruction and poured himself a drink. They all waited on Lucan, his friends, the only ones he had trusted with his plans of vengeance.
“I failed in executing my plan to compromise Lady Constance last night at Lady Beaumont’s ball. In order to prevent her from further designs by me I pushed her away with cruel words.”
Marcus righted one of the overturned chairs and sat. Lucan could see the puzzlement in his friend’s blue eyes. “I don’t understand. Isn’t that what you wanted? The chit’s ruination? Why would you change your course?”
Lucan walked to the east windows that overlooked St. James Park. He dropped his forehead on the cool panes of the glass. He wanted Calydon to pay, but it was Constance enduring the most hurt now.
“I struggled against it, tried to push her away and find another path. When I told her that what has been burgeoning between us meant nothing I…I had not expected the evidence of her anguish to affect me so. There is a pain in my chest, a torment in my mind that will not ease.”
There was a pregnant silence.
“I have never seen you wax poetic over any female before,” the Reverend said, moving to stand beside him. “If you have such feelings for Lady Constance why not simply marry her? You are now a duke, I expect marriage to be somewhere in your future with your responsibilities to the title.”
“I cannot.”
“You can do anything you wish, Lucan,” the Reverend countered.
Lucan straightened, closing himself off from all the feelings ravaging inside. “I will not marry into the family of the man that helped to destroy my sister. I will not forgive Calydon, and I will not halt my destruction of him. I shall direct my actions so that Constance is not adversely affected.”
The Reverend sighed. “Marcus has uncovered the other interests Calydon has invested in and who owns the majority. There are several that are in debt to us and can be manipulated.”
Lucan walked over to the table, where his friends showed him reports of holdings and schemes many did not know Calydon owned or was involved in. Lucan wanted to know everything about the reclusive duke. He would not rest until he completed his revenge. Only his vow felt hollow, his heart too shredded to be invested deeply. Constance would haunt him for months. The memory of her taste on his tongue, her hot moans, her eagerness, and the tight clasp that had nearly choked his fingers. Hell. You could have her forever, an insidious voice whispered. Her passion, her laughter, the hope, the future in her gaze.
He slammed the shutters down, and directed his attention to the conversation around the table. A few minutes later, his friends departed, and he availed himself to all the liquor in the cabinet. For the first time in years, he got roaring drunk. There was no sense of triumph that he had hurt Constance at all, only shame that he had sought to destroy someone so refreshingly pure and beautiful.
For a sin that was not hers.
…
Dressed in her light blue morning tea gown, Constance sat in the chair near the window in the drawing room and gazed out into the gardens. The late afternoon sun streamed through the windows, but it did not bring the warmth she expected. She doubted anything could thaw her. It had been a week since she’d last seen Lucan, and she was still not at peace.
She could not seem to sort out the conflicted emotions bubbling inside her with such viciousness. She raged at him, hating him with such passion she trembled. Then it would switch so fast to deep yearning, tears would come to her eyes. She resented both feelings. She preferred to dwell where there was no pain, only coldness.
I fantasize what it would be like to walk beside you, laugh with you, to have children with you. How could he have said such words and then walked away? The notion that she had been wrong about him all this time was too staggering to contemplate or accept.
A spasm of anguish snaked through her. She had trusted him. How naive she had been. But it was her own foolish daring and desires that made for such an outcome to be possible. She could not shy from that, no matter how painful the acknowledgement was. She now believed Lucan was as wickedly unprincipled as society said, despite being the only man to ever make her heart stutter. She only had to think his name, and the memory of his taste, the feel of his lips on hers, on her breast, and the feel of his fingers between her thighs would spiral heat wicked and hot through her. She was confounded by it. He had devastated her and she still thought about their kisses, about the pleasures he had bestowed on her.
She had always dreamed about romance, a dashing prince charming sweeping her off her feet with dances and picnics, strolls by the waterfront and stolen kisses. Constance wanted love, family, laughter, a togetherness that had been missing from her childhood. She had felt foolish hope that her illegitimacy would not deter a suitor. After all, she was wealthy, and she was without illusions about her beauty. It was hard to credit that it was her bastardy that drove him away. He had known before he called upon her. What had changed his mind? The strolls by the water fronts, the picnics and outings could not have been in vain on his part. Something had happened, and she needed to know what. She could deny no more that unless she knew, it would forever haunt her.
The day passed in a gr
im kind of blur as she made her plans. Only Charlotte seemed to pick up on Constance’s despondency. Charlotte had been outraged when Constance explained all that happened. She had seen the looks of concern from her mother and father, and had been grateful they had not probed.
The evening dinner was a quiet, informal affair. She lingered for what seemed an appropriate amount of time that would not rouse concern, before she excused herself. An hour later, she felt as if she had walked a hole into the carpet in her chamber.
She vacillated between talking herself into seeing Lucan and demanding answers, and berating herself for even thinking of being so bold, so reckless. She had been too shocked at Lady Beaumont’s ball to demand he give her an appropriate answer. He had not officially declared his intention to her family, but she refused to accept that his attentions had meant nothing. With that firm thought, she launched into motion.
She rang for a bath and ordered a gown to be readied. She knew it would take a while but she did not care. She would see him tonight. She asked her maid to be circumspect and Constance could see the concern in Anne’s eyes. It was not hard for Constance to keep the anger alive while she completed her toilette. She did not even flinch when her corset was drawn tighter than necessary. Nothing would dissuade her from her path.
She was not surprised when an hour later, Charlotte knocked on the door while the finishing touches were being placed to her hair. Charlotte drew in a startled breath when she noticed the black domino cape laid out on the bed, along with Constance’s golden masquerade mask. “Constance, have you lost your marbles?” Charlotte hissed.
Constance waved her hands, dismissing Anne, and rose from in front of the vanity to face Charlotte.
“No, I have not,” Constance said brusquely.
“Where are you headed? Lord and Lady Radcliffe have retired for the night. So who are you heading out with and to where?”
Constance ignored Charlotte’s strident demand and took up the cape. “Help me.”
“Constance,” Charlotte snapped in exasperation. She helped Constance into her cape and Constance turned to the mirror and slipped on her mask.
