The sun came in from behind her. Her eyes were unbearably striking even while in the shadows.
He liked her hair as well. It was neither brown nor blond, but a rich shade that seemed to encompass both. Her curls had fallen since morning. A lock rested against her pale high cheekbone.
And her lips…
She pulled in a breath, and Kent looked into her eyes once more.
There was another reason he’d married her. She was his. He’d told her that once, though he didn’t know if she remembered.
He grabbed her arms and ran his fingers up that exposed skin. “George is not to be punished for anything but the wrong choices he makes.” He would not only give George his protection, but he felt protective of the boy who’d clearly lived without love during his early years, just as he had.
She inhaled deeply. “Thank you.”
He touched her cheek, and her eyes fluttered before they opened again. “You will not deny me the pleasure of your bed forever. I see your desire for me.” It amazed him.
Lust overshadowed her eyes. “No.”
He waited.
She took yet another long breath. “I don’t imagine I will deny you for long.”
He ran his thumb over her lower lip. “That’s because you are mine. Say it.”
“I am yours.” she whispered. “Legally, at least.”
Cheeky woman. Hadn’t he warned her against it?
Yet why did he enjoy it so much?
“Has anyone touched you since me?” Kent cupped her jaw. His hold grew firmer. “Has any man placed his mouth against yours in the last two years?”
“No.” she whispered.
The force with which he wanted her was all consuming. It burrowed itself deep underneath his skin and started for his chest.
He let her go. “Get off me.” he growled.
She scrambled from his lap. Her eyes reflected bewilderment.
He stood and left her there without an explanation.
Because he had none to give.
* * *
Lucy watched Ganden leave and then crumbled into the chair he’d just occupied. The warmth of his large body and the scent of his skin rested in the fabric.
She’d been ready for him to kiss her, yet he hadn’t.
She’d been ready for him to suggest they go much further than kissing, but instead, he’d run out of the room as though he’d forgotten that he was needed somewhere and had to leave urgently.
Or…like he was running away.
But she couldn’t picture Ganden running from anyone, especially a woman as small as her.
Mr. Adler had been twice her size as least. So had Mr. Goody and Lord Maltsby.
She’d been there when Ganden had entered the bank where Lord Maltsby worked. Lucy had been hiding, but she’d not missed the way Lord Maltsby had looked after his encounter with Ganden’s fist. The man had been unrecognizable by the time the authorities came.
She looked around the room and though she would have liked to pretend that she didn’t know just what had caused this utter destruction, she knew her husband, and therefore…
What she hadn’t known was how much anger truly rested within him. Enough to take it out on his own property. Enough to take it out on his people as well?
That thought made her rise to go in search of George.
She found him lying on his bed, stretched out over the entire mattress. His clothes were too small. His shirt and trousers were far too short for his growing height. But his face was filled with peace. She would do anything to keep that expression on his face.
Smiling, she walked over and removed his shoes and placed a kiss on his head before leaving the room. She was about to search for her own rooms—to see if Ganden had given her a dungeon in comparison—when she heard something.
There was a knock at the front door, and Lucy moved to get it.
Mrs. Barton came out of nowhere. “No, dear, you must allow me or one of the other servants to get the door for you.”
Lucy touched the woman’s shoulder and smiled. “You all are working so very hard. Let me help where I can.” She desperately needed something to do. She needed to distract her mind from her body’s cravings.
And to stop herself from finding Ganden in order to fulfil that craving. Nothing good would come of it, she tried to tell herself. If Ganden knew how much she wanted him, it would likely only make him more possessive.
Why didn’t that bother her as much as it should?
Perhaps, living in one captivity helped her easily accept another that promised to protect a nephew she saw more like her own son.
Mrs. Barton’s shoulders fell, and she sighed before smiling. “Very well, my lady.”
As she walked away, Lucy went to get the door and was greeted by the sight of the Marquess of Denhallow.
She’d only had the chance to speak to him once last evening, but there had been far too great a crowd for her to say the words that pressed painfully against her heart.
Denhallow smiled, creasing his old scars and the happy lines around his dark eyes. “I was not expecting to see you here.” He used the head of his fashionable walking stick to point at her.
She blinked but didn’t know what to say.
He narrowed his gaze then. “Lady Lucy, why are you here?”
∫ ∫ ∫
2 0
* * *
“I’m married.” Lucy told the marquess.
She’d never seen eyes go so wide before. “To Ganden?” He said the words as though they were such a great impossibility. She was still a little surprised herself.
She nodded in answer to his question.
Denhallow came in and looked around. Then, with a sheepish look, he said, “I may have helped with some of this destruction.”
“Did you?” she asked.
He nodded. “Breaking something when you can’t break someone else helps.”
She was glad for the insight. Now she understood Ganden’s darkness more. She only hoped that when the new furniture arrived, it would not need to be replaced again.
It would take more than wallpaper and curtains to make this home right. Ganden needed the peace that George seemed to have found within a few short hours, but she was aware it would take more than a room with sunlight and some toys to cure her husband of his anger.
Seeing his home and the living rage that had become part of his character resolved Lucy’s next decision. She could never tell Ganden her secret. That there had been yet another man who’d helped Lord Maltsby carry out the arranged kidnapping.
One far more dangerous than Maltsby ever was.
“I don’t suppose there is an upright chair anywhere, is there?” Denhallow asked, gaining her attention.
A footman came out with a chair. “I have found one, my lord.”
They followed the servant into the drawing room that Lucy had just left.
Denhallow took the chair the footman offered, and Lucy sat in the one that still held lingering traces of her husband. Denhallow’s chair was maroon and black. Hers was pale blue and gold. They did not match at all.
She stared at Denhallow, slightly nervous. She wished to speak to him just as much as she didn’t. There was also the matter that she’d not had the chance to put her lessons of feminine etiquette to much use. “Would you like tea?”
“Please.” Denhallow looked at the footman.
The servant left with a bow, and then Denhallow turned back to Lucy. His expression changed, growing serious. “How are you? Has he hurt you?”
“No.” Lucy straightened her spine. “He’s not hurt me, though…I can’t say I wouldn’t deserve it if he did.”
Denhallow shook his head and leaned back. “You deserve nothing but peace. I’m sure you wished to leave Mr. Goody just as much as the rest of us.”
“But I hit him with a chair.” Lucy said in defense of her husband.
Denhallow winced. “Well, there is that. I hadn’t known of the events surrounding you both until last night
.” He leaned his cane on the side of the chair and then folded his fingers together before looking at her. “Is he treating you well?”
She thought about the right answer, but then also wondered why Denhallow wished to know. She stood. “You came to see the earl, did you not? I should go and get him for you.”
Denhallow lifted a hand. “No. Sit. Please. I came out of concern for you. I placed you in this situation by inviting you to the party. Anything that comes out of this is ultimately my fault.”
Lucy sat. “You cannot blame yourself for this. I had already decided to rejoin Society. It is likely Ganden would have eventually seen me somewhere.”
Denhallow shook his head and then leaned forward. “I need to know you are well, my lady. You were kind to me. You risked yourself by letting me go.”
They’d never discussed that. Lucy had never confessed to unchaining him from the basement, and he’d been asleep when she’d done it. How did he know it had been her?
“I know it was you.” Denhallow said. “Who else could it have been?”
Lucy looked down at her hands. “You owe me nothing.”
The marquess suddenly covered her hand with his. “Not so. Were it not for you, I would have likely died of infection from my wounds.”
Those wounds. She looked at him. She blamed herself for them as well. If she hadn’t hit Ganden...If she’d allow Ganden to kill Mr. Goody when he’d had the chance…
Before that moment, Mr. Goody had never shown himself to be so malicious. “I’m so sorry.”
Denhallow pulled away. “Don’t cry for me, Lucy. I am happy. I have a wife who loves me. I am better than I ever was before Mr. Goody took me away.”
She couldn’t believe that, but she didn’t tell him as much.
“My wife wishes to meet you. Without all the crowds.” His smile returned. “She’s anxious, actually. She has much to thank you for as well.”
“Truly, my lord. There is nothing to thank me for.” Lucy said.
“I see you’ve met my wife.” Ganden entered the room.
One of his hands landed on her chair as he turned to look at Denhallow. Or rather, glare at Denhallow.
“Why are you here?” Ganden asked.
Denhallow’s smile fled. “I came to speak to you about…the matter we discussed last evening.” His glanced at Lucy before looking away.
Had she been the matter?
* * *
“Get up,” Kent said.
Denhallow didn’t move, but Lucy did, obediently so. Kent easily slipped into her chair and then gave her a look. His wife sighed and then took up the space on his thigh.
He was beginning to grow used to her slight pressure already. She sat as poised as any lady could while sitting on a gentleman’s lap.
Denhallow watched them intensely with clear disapproval.
Too bad.
“Your concern is not needed here.” Kent said to the marquess. “Now get out.”
“I’ll let Lady Ganden tell me as much.” Denhallow looked at Lucy. “Is he treating you well?”
Kent leaned forward, bringing himself closer to Denhallow and his wife. He wrapped his arm around her and placed his hand on her chest so that she wouldn’t tip over. She pulled in a breath but said nothing.
Kent glared at Denhallow. “Another question from you and I’ll stop being so nice.”
Denhallow chuckled. “This is nice to you?”
A maid came in with a tea tray. Two footmen carried in a tea table that must have come from another room.
Lucy turned to him. “Would you like me to pour?” Her ears were adorably flushed.
He looked her over and only then realized how close his hand was to her bosom. His fingers were spread just underneath, over her fragile ribs.
Slowly, he retracted his hand. “Pour.”
“None for me.” Denhallow stood, grinning once more. “I’m off. I’ve other people to see. We’ll speak again later.”
“We’ll not open the door for you.” Kent said as he leaned back. When Lucy began to get up, he placed a hand on her hip, keeping her rooted to him.
Denhallow looked at the hand and then looked into Kent’s eyes. “I know it may be hard to see through your rage. I know what that is like. It can be nearly blinding. But do be mindful of the choices you make. Good day.”
He left before Kent could toss him out.
∫ ∫ ∫
2 1
* * *
Kent’s chest felt troubled by Denhallow’s warning, but he set it aside. Lucy leaned forward toward the tea, keeping in mind to not leave his lap.
“I would like it if you didn’t treat me like a lightskirt while there is company about. Mr. Goody called me Harlot, but the word does not describe me. Do you take cream and sugar?” she asked.
He was surprised by her setdown. “I didn’t treat you like a lightskirt.”
“Cream and sugar?” She kept herself focused on the task of pouring tea into two cups.
Kent didn’t even know he’d had such fine China in the house. Mrs. Barton had likely hidden it from him, knowing he’d have destroyed the set at the first chance. “Both.” he said.
She served him. He took the cup in one hand and kept his other at her hip. After taking a sip, he said, “How did I treat you like a lightskirt?”
She turned to him then. Her gaze was haughty. “I am on your lap, am I not? Only women in brothels ever do such a thing.”
“If you believe that, then you’ve never seen Lord and Lady Denhallow when there is little company.” Kent often found their love nauseating.
Lucy wrinkled her nose, adorably so. “I don’t know if I should believe you. Lady Denhallow seemed like too fine a lady to ever do such a thing in front of anyone.”
“I’m not just anyone.” Kent said. “They are…close acquaintances.”
“Close acquaintances?” She held his eyes. “You mean, they are your friends?”
He never called them that aloud, though he thought it often enough. “I suppose.”
“And the others? Coalwater? Fawley? Astlen? Are they your friends as well?”
“Yes.”
“Did this happen before or after you all found out about Lord Maltsby?” she asked, no longer meeting his eyes.
“Before…” He stared at her. “Why didn’t you tell us about Maltsby?”
She gave him a side look. “I believe the answer to be obvious. I didn’t want to jeopardize George. What did you find when you arrested Lord Maltsby?”
“Not much.” Kent sighed. “He’d been putting papers into the fire. Those papers are currently with the authorities until Lord Maltsby is sentenced. It shouldn’t be too long until they are in our possession.”
Her expression transformed into something resembling fear before she tried to hide it.
Kent put his cup down. Then he grabbed hers and put it down as well before touching her chin and forcing her to meet his eyes. “Do you still fear Lord Maltsby?”
“He still lives.” Lucy said. “And so long as that is so, I will always fear him. At any moment, he could will George to his son, though I’m sure George is currently the last thing on his mind.”
“Do you want me to have him will George to you?” he asked. “I could go down to the jail. I’ve been meaning to anyway. I want to see the papers—”
“No!” She closed her eyes and shook her head. Then she looked at him and smiled softly. “That’s all right. I believe George and I will manage to slip under his notice. He and his son are likely working very hard to save the bank.”
Lord Maltsby headed the Gentlemen’s Society, a bank that was known to cater to the very wealthy and make investments on their behalf.
Kent and the other lords had pulled their funds out the moment they’d discovered Maltsby had kidnapped them in order to misuse their funds for personal gains.
The courts were still trying to sort everything out, which was one reason Maltsby still lived.
Kent had been told that other lords had lef
t the bank as well after hearing the scandal. No one wished to be associated with the Maltsby family, even with the father gone.
He nearly felt bad for Mr. Adam Maltsby, Lord Maltsby’s son. He’d inherit his father’s title when the man hanged and a failing bank.
“Thank you for the offer to help.” she said quietly. “That is very kind of you.”
He shrugged, pretending her words meant nothing to him. She had to mean nothing to him. “I promised George my protection. Any kindness I show will be for him.”
And him alone, he didn’t add.
There was no need. He knew she understood.
* * *
Lucy knew what he was doing but didn’t understand why.
They’d entered some sort of dance, one she didn’t know, but he was well versed at. He was the instructor, and he’d drawn a line on the floor, forbidding her to cross it during each turn and step. The line he drew between them was completely mental, as was made evident by the way he touched her.
And perhaps, she was not the only one on her side of the line. Perhaps, there were others. He’d called his friends ‘close acquaintances.’ It was very odd. Did the man trust no one?
She wanted to tell him that it wasn’t necessary, but then she was reminded that she knew something of great importance, something he’d greatly wish to know.
Something, that if shared, could put George in danger again. And once again, she was choosing George, just as she knew she would over and over again.
He couldn’t trust her, but she wished he could.
“In a perfect world,” she whispered “we’d have met under very different circumstances.”
His green eyes studied hers as though trying to drill into her mind and read her thoughts. “In a perfect world, many things would be different. You would not have George.”
The words made her chest feel as though her ribs were closing in. But he was right. She wouldn’t have George.
“Move to the other chair.” he said.
She’d grown used to lap and his manly scent. Used to the way his body seemed to fill her with all its encompassing heat.
Yet she obeyed and moved to the chair across from him just as George’s head popped into the room. “George.” She smiled. “Come. How was your nap?”
Dread of The Earl (The Valiant Love Regency Romance) (A Historical Romance Book) Page 9
