Forbidden (Regency Lovers 4)

by Carole Mortimer

  She had questioned Clara on the subject of the earl’s reluctance to be in Society when her friend came to collect her so that the two young women might go down to dinner together. Clara, unfortunately, was as ignorant on the subject as Rissa was and seemed more interested in knowing what had transpired in Rissa’s bedchamber earlier that day once she had left. As Rissa had no interest in sharing any of it, that conversation had instead turned to the distraction of the subject of the imminent arrival of Rissa’s father, the Duke of Weston, whom she knew Clara’d had a crush on this past year.

  Once in Society, it had come as something of a surprise to Rissa to learn that her widowed Papa had, until his marriage a year ago, been highly prized on the Marriage Mart. To Rissa, he was just her Papa, steadfast and indulgent.

  The matrons of Society, with an eye to one of their daughters becoming the next Duchess of Weston, had been less than pleased the previous year when the duke removed himself from their machinations by marrying a lady they did not particularly approve of.

  Rissa had spent years longing to be presented to the Prince Regent and then be able to go to the glittering parties and balls which occurred every Season, rather than attending the occasional musical soiree or picnic with her Aunt Susan. Only to quickly realize, once she had done so, that she encountered the same people at all those social events and, apart from Clara and a few of her other friends from her schooldays, had absolutely no interest in any of them.

  She now completely understood her father’s aversion to attending those parties and balls. Fortunately, her stepmother was not interested in going to them either, and had done so for those last few weeks of this past Season only so that she might chaperone Rissa. Before her pregnancy became too noticeable and she was forced to retire to the country until after the baby was born.

  Rissa wished she had her stepmother to advise and guide her in her present situation. “That is a pity,” she answered the earl.

  “Is it?” He arched those dark brows. “I cannot claim to have suffered any feelings of loss by the omission.”

  Rissa came to a halt at the top of the staircase, her head tilted to one side as she studied the earl. His evening clothes were the height of fashion and obviously made by an expert tailor. His house was furnished with every luxury and attended to by an army of household servants, attesting to his wealth. And yet he obviously lived here alone, and admitted to having little interaction with his closest neighbors.

  Was he really as unconcerned by his lonely existence as he wished to appear?

  Or was it a front to hide the hurt he suffered at Society’s exclusion of him?

  “Angel…?”

  A delicious shiver of awareness traveled the length of Rissa’s spine upon hearing the earl address her with such familiarity.

  No, she certainly did not believe herself to be in love with the earl. Yet. But there was no doubting she was very aware of him. Of that lean and muscular body. His aristocratic good looks. Of how she trembled at the warmth of desire she could see in those green-and-gold eyes he made no effort to hide whenever he looked at her.

  As he was doing now…

  Rissa drew in a shaky breath and lowered her lashes, unable to meet that heated gaze another moment longer. “I think you are right, and it is time I retired for the evening.”

  “I believe what I actually said was I intended escorting you to your bedchamber,” Zachary reminded huskily.

  “It is barely a few steps more down the hallway,” she dismissed.

  He took a firm hold of her forearm. “A few steps during which you might stumble and fall, and if you came to any harm from that fall, I would never be able to forgive myself.”

  She gave a snort. “I am not an invalid.”

  “No, you are a very beautiful woman,” he acknowledged gruffly.

  The heat in Rissa’s cheeks seemed to have become a permanent fixture, as did the tingling sensation in her arm where the earl’s fingers now grasped it. “You should not be saying such things to me.”

  “I should not tell you the truth?”

  “One should always tell the truth,” she accepted. “But it is not acceptable to speak with…with such familiarity to a single lady when we are so obviously alone.”

  “You would rather I did so when we are in company?”

  Her eyes narrowed, and she glared at him as she stepped away, releasing his hold on her arm. “I believe you are mocking me now.”

  Zachary gave a frustrated shake of his head. He had no idea how this young lady had managed to pierce the armor he had kept about his emotions for so long. He only knew that she had. The fact that once her father arrived, she would very soon be leaving Harrogate Park, made it all the more urgent she be made aware of his—

  His what?

  Feelings for her?

  If so, what were those feelings exactly?

  Desire, certainly.

  Admiration too.

  As well as an appreciation of her intelligence.

  But Zachary had desired, admired, and appreciated other women before Rissa.

  There was something about his Angel specifically that drew him to her. A connection he believed had been formed by the events of the previous evening, the raw reality of the fire having brushed aside the inane politeness of idle chitchat and flirtation. He had held Rissa in his arms, when she was dressed in only her chemise and drawers, for goodness’ sake!

  He ached to be free of the company of the Catchpole family, but disliked intensely the thought of Rissa having to leave before they would consent to do so.

  Zachary did not want to let his Angel go just yet. He wanted to get to know her better. To hold her in his arms again. To know the taste of her lips when he kissed her…

  He lowered his head and did exactly that. Not touching her in any other way, just a light brushing of his lips against her slightly parted ones. For all that his Angel was outwardly self-confident, she was still very young in years and no doubt inexperienced. The last thing Zachary wished to do was alarm her with the depth of his desire for her.

  Zachary kept his eyes open so that he might gauge Rissa’s reaction. He noted the way her eyes widened, the pupils completely dilated before her lashes lowered onto her flushed cheeks. Her breathing became shallow, her body completely still. As if she feared breaking this spell between them as much as Zachary did.

  Zachary could hear the raggedness of his own breathing as he broke the kiss to rest his forehead against hers. “Angel…”

  Her lashes remained lowered as she ran the moistness of her tongue across her lips. Was she able to taste him there? To feel as exhilarated by his taste as he was by hers?

  He had never felt as aroused by any woman as he was now simply from kissing his Angel. His cock was hard and throbbing inside his evening trousers, his drawers damp from the escape of pre-cum from its tip.

  “I… That was…” Rissa felt at a loss for adequate words to describe her very first kiss.

  Exciting.

  Breathtaking.

  Thrilling.

  Made even more so because it was the older and more sophisticated Zachary Noble who had kissed her. Who had wanted to kiss her.

  Several young society gentlemen had attempted to flirt and steal kisses from Rissa at the balls and other entertainments of the Season, but she had felt absolutely no hesitation in resisting them when they had all seemed so shallow and childish to her. She believed that was because, having lived alone with her father since her mother’s death eleven years ago, she had become accustomed to more intelligent and sophisticated company than any of those flirtatious young gentleman of Society had to offer.

  Zachary was not only older but also self-assured and arrogant. A man rather than a boy.

  A man whose kiss had caused Rissa’s body to heat, her breasts spilling over the neckline of her borrowed gown which barely covered her engorged and aching nipples. She also felt swollen and sensitive between her thighs, accompanied by an unfamiliar dampness soaking uncomfortably into her
drawers.

  Was this, the wild rushing of the blood in her veins, accompanied by the heated sensitivity of her body, what desire felt like? If so, she wanted more of it. More of Zachary.

  “Speak to me, Angel,” he encouraged gruffly. “Tell me I have not shocked you by behaving in so forward a manner. That you enjoyed our kiss as much as I did.”

  Rissa gave a dismissive laugh at the way Zachary managed to make his request sound like an order. “I believe you are already far too aware of your own attraction for me to do any such thing.”

  “You do?” he mused.

  “Yes,” she stated firmly.

  The tension left his body. “So you did not enjoy being kissed by me?” he now teased.

  “It was…not the worst experience I have had in my life.” She returned that humor before sobering. “I believe that must be attributed to the fire last night. I have never been so frightened.” She frowned. “Lord Catchpole seems to think one of the maids must have knocked a lit candle over without realizing she had done so.”

  “But you do not?”

  She shrugged. “It seems unlikely as it was barely dark and very few candles had been lit.”

  Zachary would have preferred they continue to talk of their kiss, for them to perhaps have shared more of them, but he could not deny that the subject of last night’s fire was of interest to him too. “What is your own opinion on the matter?”

  She grimaced. “I do not really have one. Or, at least, only to wonder why the fire took hold so quickly. One minute, we were all dressing for dinner, and the next, the house was ablaze and filled with smoke.”

  Zachary nodded. “So that is why you were wearing only your shift. I had wondered. Not that I am complaining.” He smiled. “You made a delicious half-clothed heroine when you jumped into my arms.”

  She gave him a reproving glance. “A gentleman would not speak of my lack of clothing.”

  He chuckled. “I am having far too much fun not behaving as a gentleman to wish to stop.” He really was, Zachary realized, unable to think of the last time he had smiled, let alone actually laughed. But that was the effect his Angel had on him, bringing a return of emotions—heady desire and laughter—he had long ago accepted had no place in his life.

  “I can see that,” Rissa chided dryly. “I wonder—” She broke off as there was the sound of a fist landing repeatedly on the front door down below. “I do believe my father has arrived,” she murmured affectionately. She moved to stand at the top of the stairs to watch as Zachary’s butler crossed the hall to unlock and open the door. “It is Papa!” Rissa confirmed excitedly as a man stepped imperiously into the hallway.

  “I wish to see my daughter immediately,” that gentleman demanded.

  A gentleman whom, once he had removed his hat and handed it and his cloak to the butler, Zachary instantly recognized as Magnus Spencer, the Duke of Weston, and the last man Zachary had ever expected to see step inside his home.

  Zachary could only stare at the other man as the duke looked up to watch in obvious relief as Rissa ran lightly down the stairs before throwing herself into his open arms.

  Dear God, Magnus Spencer was Rissa’s father, and also the reason her dark gray eyes, so similar to the duke’s, had seemed so familiar to Zachary.

  Which meant that the lady who had once been Lady Sophia Richards, and the woman instrumental in ruining Zachary’s life eleven years ago, was the stepmother Rissa talked about with such affection.

  Why had Zachary not known this already? Why had none of the Catchpoles mentioned that their young guest was the Duke of Weston’s daughter, and that her full name was Lady Clarissa Spencer? Why had he not bothered to learn that?

  Because Zachary had been so caught up in the unexpected heat of his desire for Rissa, it had not seemed of any importance who her family was.

  Zachary now realized how wrong he had been to ever think that.

  Chapter 4

  Rissa easily sensed the tension between her father and Zachary Noble the moment she introduced the two men, although why that should be, she had no idea. But that impression was further added to when neither man spoke a greeting to the other but merely continued to eye each other warily as they each gave a terse nod of acknowledgment of the introduction.

  “I imagine you will wish to speak with your daughter in private,” Zachary stated evenly, the lowering of heavy lids now preventing Rissa from seeing whatever emotion was in those green-and-gold eyes.

  “I would, yes.” Her father’s voice was equally lacking in inflection, although Rissa could feel his continued tension in the arm he kept lightly about her waist.

  The earl nodded. “Would you prefer to use my study or the drawing room?”

  “Whichever is most convenient for you,” her father dismissed coolly.

  Whichever was most convenient for me?

  Having the Duke of Weston in his home at all was an inconvenience Zachary could never have imagined happening. The fact the older man was his Angel’s father told Zachary how futile his attraction to her was. Despite the clearing of Zachary’s name the previous year, he was still the last man Weston would allow anywhere near his daughter again once the two of them had left Harrogate Park to return to Weston’s estate. Which would probably be as early as tomorrow morning.

  After which, Zachary’s life would return to the grayness in which he had existed before the burst of color and emotions that had been Rissa’s advent into his life.

  “I would like to speak with you once I have assured myself of Clarissa’s well-being.” Weston made it a statement rather than a question.

  Zachary’s head lifted, his gaze remaining guarded as it met the other man’s. “Of course.”

  “Do you and the earl know each other, Papa?” Rissa prompted once the two of them were alone in the earl’s study. It was a typically masculine room, very like her father’s, with a navy blue Aubusson carpet and heavy mahogany furniture. “If so, why have I never heard you speak of him?”

  “Because we are only acquaintances,” the duke dismissed before his gaze warmed. “I cannot tell you how relieved I am to see that you are well and unharmed, apart from a few burns here and there.” He frowned at the visible evidence of those burns on her throat and arms.

  “That would not be the case if the earl had not rescued me from the balcony of my bedchamber on the second floor of the house.”

  Her father looked taken aback. “Catchpole did not mention that in his letter… How did the earl do that?”

  Rissa went on to tell her father of how the earl had insisted she jump from the balcony and he would catch her.

  The duke looked more troubled than reassured. “It would seem I am in debt to Harrogate for more than merely offering you and the Catchpole family accommodation.”

  It was not difficult to see that her father was uncomfortable with that fact. “If you are hoping to divert my attention from my original question, Papa, you are under a misapprehension,” Rissa informed him dryly.

  He gave a shake of his head. “You have spent altogether too much time being influenced by my beautiful wife.”

  She laughed softly. “The beautiful wife you adore.”

  “Well. Yes,” her father conceded indulgently. “But that does not mean I appreciate my daughter becoming as outspoken.” His attempt to look irritated failed utterly as his lips curved into a smile when he obviously thought of his wife.

  Rissa sobered. “Sophia is well?”

  “She is concerned about you, of course.”

  “That is not what I asked.”

  “The doctor tells me the pregnancy is going as well as can be expected.”

  Rissa sensed her father was not being completely honest with her about this either. She loved her stepmother, adored her, actually, but if anything should happen to Sophia, she did not believe her father would survive the devastating blow.

  Sophia had swept into their lives a year ago, and almost as quickly into their hearts. Rissa’s father had been a widower for
ten years at the time, and despite being very young when her mother died, Rissa had known it was not a happy marriage. The change in her father since meeting and falling in love with Sophia was so marked, it was like the sun breaking through the clouds after a long, dark storm.

  “Papa?”

  He moved to pour some brandy from the decanter Zachary’s butler had provided for him before leaving the two of them alone to go and organize a bedchamber for the duke. Her father took a welcome swallow of the alcohol before answering her. “Sophia is eight and twenty, and this is her first pregnancy.” And the last, the gravity of his tone implied. “We had a little scare five days ago, and the doctor has ordered bed rest for a week—”

  “Why did you not send for me to come back home?” Rissa demanded worriedly. “And why are you here instead of staying with Sophia? You could easily have sent one of the carriages for me.”

  “The carriage to transport you home should be arriving here shortly.” Her father gave a rueful smile. “And I warned Sophia this would be your reaction once she insisted I tell you the truth if you should ask.”

  Rissa grasped his hand. “We must return to Weston Park as soon as possible.”

  “I also warned that would be your next demand,” he said dryly.

  Rissa gave him an impatient frown. “If I could not see how tired you are from your ride here, I would demand that we leave as soon as the carriage arrives rather than in the morning.”

  “I must speak with our host before we can even think of leaving.”

  Again Rissa sensed that reserve in her father’s voice when he spoke of Zachary Noble. “I hope that you are not one of the members of Society who has shunned him for so many years.”

  His expression became guarded. “What do you know about that?”

  “Nothing, except that it happened. Zachary refuses to talk about it.”

  “You address the earl by his first name?” Her father frowned his displeasure.

  “It seems highly ridiculous to do any other when a man has saved your life,” she gently rebuked.

  He nodded abruptly. “I cannot express how grateful I am to the earl for having come to your rescue.”