‘It takes a bit of getting used to.’ Lucie pointed to the first mention. ‘Look, here it says, “I had a most fortunate meeting when attending the new National Portrait Gallery with Bertie this morning. As I turned away from the Chandos portrait, I almost collided with the fairest young woman it’s ever been my pleasure to lay eyes upon. I swear my heart leapt in recognition of a kindred spirit.”’ Lucie glanced up. ‘Thomas is a romantic.’
Arthur rolled his eyes. ‘Yeah, yeah, he’s amazing.’ He nudged her shoulder. ‘Go on, what else does he say.’
Lucie found her place once more. ‘“Fortune smiled twice, for not only did I see this rare beauty, I was able to gain an introduction as it turned out Bertie is acquainted with her through some cousinly connection. We talked pleasantly for a few minutes, though I fear the pleasantness was all upon her part as my tongue tripped over itself more than once. She did not seem to mind my clumsiness, indeed, she listened most carefully to my thoughts on the Chandos portrait, and was free with her own in a way I found most refreshing. I have already imposed upon Bertie to invite me to their next family gathering, for I must see Eudora again.”’
She closed the journal with a happy sigh. ‘Our Thomas is smitten.’
‘Certainly sounds like it.’ Arthur spoke from so close, his breath stirred a curl of hair on her cheek. His arm was still somehow around her from when he’d helped her back to sitting, unnoticed until now in her excitement. It felt good around her, too good, but she was tired of fighting feelings she longed only to surrender to. Breathless, Lucie lifted her eyes to find him staring down at her, that intense look burning in his hazel gaze. ‘I wasn’t expecting a love affair, although this has all the hallmarks of one,’ she found herself whispering to him, not sure if she was referring to Thomas’s situation or their own.’
She wasn’t sure if he bent to her, or if she stretched up to him, but as their lips met and her eyelashes fluttered closed at the sheer rightness of it, Arthur murmured across her mouth, ‘Yes, it certainly does.’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The next evening, Arthur had some accounts to catch up on, so Lucie joined him in his study after dinner. Running his pen down the column of numbers, he tried to focus on the painful number of outgoings and not on the woman who’d taken over his favourite wing-backed chair by the window. She’d eschewed closing the thick velvet curtains in favour of letting the pale silvery light from the full moon spill in through the pitch-black glass, choosing instead to cover her lap with a thick tartan blanket she’d retrieved from her bedroom. A mug of tea and a plate of shortbread Betsy had sent with it—on account of Miss Lucie skipping dessert according to Maxwell when he’d brought their drinks in—rested on the small, round table at her elbow. In just a few short minutes, she’d made his favourite spot into her own space, and he liked how much she looked at home there.
His head was still spinning from the spectacular kiss they’d shared on the sofa, not to mention the half a dozen he’d stolen from her throughout the day. Although he had some misgivings about the disparity of their situations, he was done fighting his attraction to her. They’d decided to take things slowly, keep whatever this thing between them was on the quiet, until they’d decided whether it was even something worth talking about. Sneaking around didn’t sit comfortably with him, but there was a certain frisson to be had from dragging her into dark corners whenever everyone else had their back turned.
Bored with the accounts, he tapped his pen on the blotter in front of him, hoping the noise would be enough to distract her, also. She’d barely spared him a glance in the past half hour, all her attention on the book in her hands. It was ridiculous to be jealous of a dead man, but if Arthur never heard the words ‘poor Thomas’ from Lucie’s lips again, it would be too soon. She’d become obsessed with the man, and his journals, never lifting her nose out of them all day other than to share a brief update on his doomed relationship with Eudora, or to sigh those two bloody words.
‘Oh, poor Thomas.’ Right. On. Cue.
Ignoring the need to grind his teeth, Arthur laid down his pen and fixed a smile. ‘Now what’s happened?’
When Lucie raised her head, he was shocked to see tears glistening on the tips of her lashes. ‘He’s just received a letter telling him his father died, so he’s having to drop everything and return to the castle.’
‘He had to know it was coming, sooner or later. That’s the joy of being the heir.’ He hadn’t meant to sound quite so bitter about it, but he’d been fighting a growing sense of dread as Lucie had recounted Thomas’s efforts to make a name for himself in the artistic community in London. The trouble with having his family history drummed into him as a boy was that Arthur had known the death of the eighth baronet was looming, making the recounting of Thomas’s excitement over making friends with members of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood and even securing his first exhibition all the more painful.
Journal abandoned on the table next to the armchair she’d been curled up in, Lucie crossed the floor of Arthur’s study in a flash. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t think about what I was saying.’ Brows drawn down, she touched a gentle finger to his cheek. ‘It was crass of me to just blurt it out like that.’
Arthur swivelled his chair enough to make room and tugged her down onto his lap, arms curling around her. His lips found the cool silk of her hair as he drew in the clean scent of her citrus shampoo. ‘You didn’t upset me. I’m more frustrated with Thomas for pursuing a career which couldn’t possibly come to anything. He should’ve been here with his father learning about how to run the estate not messing around in London with his arty friends.’
‘But his art meant everything to him. It leaps off the page, Arthur. When you’re driven by something like that it’s more than a job, it’s a way of life.’
‘I suppose so.’ God, he sounded like a sulky brat. Settling Lucie more comfortably across his legs, he smoothed her fringe away from her forehead and pressed a kiss to it. ‘Ignore me. I’m just feeling really out of sorts.’
‘Do you want to talk about it?’
He didn’t, because then he’d have to face up to something he’d been avoiding for months. ‘Maxwell politely suggested it was time for me to move into the baronet’s apartment.’ When she raised an eyebrow, he shook his head. ‘Not a secret flat I haven’t told you about, he’s referring to the suite of rooms on the first floor of the west wing.’
Lucie found his hand and squeezed it tight. ‘And you don’t want to move in there because it was your father’s room? I can understand that.’
‘That’s part of it.’ He wasn’t sure how to explain the rest without sounding ridiculous. ‘It’s not a happy place, Lucie. Every time I walk into that room, I can’t help but think about all the unhappy memories. People joke about this family being cursed, but it’s not entirely without merit. There’s too many early deaths, too many unhappy marriages and they all took place in that part of the castle.’ Tightening his arms around her, he confessed his final and greatest fear. ‘I’m scared that if I move in there something terrible will happen.’
‘Arthur…’
‘I know, it’s stupid of me,’ he muttered against the top of her head. ‘But I can’t help it.’
Her lips brushed the underside of his jaw. ‘I wasn’t going to say that. I was going to say that you’re the baronet now so you can create your own traditions. If you’re happy where you are, then stay there.’
‘With Tristan’s room on one side, and Iggy’s on the other? It’s not exactly private.’ When she raised her eyes to meet his, a prickling warmth rose up the back of his neck. ‘I don’t want them knowing my business.’ He cleared his throat, not sure how to phrase it without sounding like a letch. ‘Our business.’
‘Oh.’ Lucie dropped her head to rest back on his shoulder, her hair falling forward to partially shield her face.
When she didn’t say anything for a long time, Arthur cursed himself for bumbling into the topic. It sounded calculated, like he’d been ma
king plans without her, like he was taking advantage of her sympathy to push his luck. ‘I’m not trying to rush things…’
‘I didn’t think you were, I mean you haven’t been. You’ve been a perfect gentleman.’ Cheeks glowing, she peeped up at him through her fringe. ‘I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to be a little less gentlemanly.’
Though her words were hesitant, there was no mistaking the heat in her gaze and it burned through him like a living flame, setting every nerve ending alight. Shifting in his chair to try and conceal his body’s instant reaction, he lowered his head until their lips were no more than a breath apart. ‘Miss Kennington, are you trying to seduce me?’
Hands curling up to thread through his hair, Lucie coaxed him forward with the softest of pressure. ‘Why, Sir Arthur, I do believe I am.’
Her lips tasted of buttery sugar from the shortbread and an indefinable sweetness that was all Lucie. She yielded at the first touch of his tongue and he let himself forget everything in the welcoming warmth of her embrace. He pressed closer, grumbled in frustration at the awkward angle of her side pressing into his chest, wanting as much of their bodies in contact as possible.
Breaking their kiss, he half-lifted her so she could twist around and straddle him. The high-backed leather chair rocked, and he planted one foot firmly on the floor to keep it steady as his mouth sought hers once more. Better, this was so much better, he thought as he pressed his hips up into the heated bliss of her parted thighs.
Lucie made a delicate sound in the back of her throat, an almost whine of need as she locked her arms around his neck and melded their lips together once more. There was no hint of her earlier shyness, just a whole lot of warm, willing woman. Arthur slid one hand up the length of her spine, taking a handful of the soft cotton of her jumper with it. The other he placed flat on the warm skin of her back, his fingers dipping just inside the waistband of her jeans to urge her closer still.
Releasing her hold on him, she wriggled and jiggled on his lap, making the chair rock and his brains scramble as she wrestled first one arm and then the other from the sleeves of her top. He let their mouths part only for the time it took for her to drag the jumper over her head before diving back in to the sweet, addictive taste of her. As her fingers moved to the buttons of his shirt, it vaguely registered they should move somewhere more practical—and more comfortable—but then she had the material parted and as her fingers fluttered down the side of his ribcage he forgot how to breathe, never mind think.
He let his head fall back against the wide headrest, sucking air into his lungs as she leaned back to give her hands room to roam across his chest. A pale pink bra edged in delicately scalloped lace framed her small breasts to perfection.
God, she was beautiful.
Half-naked as she was, the delicacy of her frame stood in stark relief to the muscular bulk of his body. Feeling big and clumsy in comparison, he raised a shaking finger to trace the outline of the lace, aware of the privilege she was granting him, and determined to show her how much he appreciated the trust she was placing in him. Regardless of the need raging through him like a storm, he would treat her with all the care and tenderness she deserved.
He’d just leaned forward to press a kiss to the hollow at the base of her throat when a knock on the door was followed by the sound of his sister’s voice. ‘Arthur? Lucie? I’m going for a hack around the grounds tomorrow and wondered if Lucie wants to join me.’
Hands on Lucie’s hips, Arthur froze with his eyes trained on the doorknob. When it didn’t move, he squeezed his hands. ‘Answer her,’ he muttered.
‘Oh! That…that sounds like a great idea, thanks, Iggy.’ Lucie slumped against Arthur’s shoulder for a second before lifting her flaming face. Their eyes met and he could feel her body shaking as she tried to contain her amusement.
‘Great,’ Iggy called through the still-closed door. ‘I’ll catch you at breakfast and we can go out straight after that if you’d like?’
With Lucie kneeling up the way she was, her breasts were in perfect alignment with his mouth. A dark freckle marked the creamy perfection of her skin right at the top of her cleavage, just begging for him to put his lips to it…
‘Sounds good…eek!’ Lucie’s response ended with a squeak as his mouth made contact with her flesh. She squirmed and swatted the top of his head, but Arthur wasn’t about to be distracted from his new favourite place.
‘As long as you’re sure?’ Iggy sounded a bit concerned.
‘Yes! Yes, very sure!’ Lucie said, loudly. ‘Looking forward to it.’ She buried her face into the top of Arthur’s hair. ‘Why won’t she just leave?’ she muttered, breath hitching in a giggle as his hands found a ticklish spot just beneath her ribs.
‘Fab!’ Iggy replied, in no apparent hurry to end the conversation and for a moment Arthur wondered if she knew exactly what they were up to on their side of the door. ‘I thought we could go out first thing and brainstorm a few last-minute ideas for Morgana’s party.’
‘Sounds good to me-ee!’ Lucie’s voice climbed an octave as Arthur teased the freckle with the very tip of his tongue. She grabbed a handful of his hair this time, giving it a none-too-gentle tug until he sat back, grinning unrepentantly. ‘Beast,’ she muttered to him.
‘Well, I’ll leave you two to it. See you for breakfast at eight-thirty?’ Iggy asked.
‘Night, Iggy.’ Arthur cut in, hoping she’d take the bloody hint and leave them in peace.
‘Night!’ Her footsteps faded on the wooden floor. Finally.
Lucie strained against his hold, sending the swivel chair rocking once more. ‘Oh God, what it she’d walked in, she would’ve seen everything! And what did you think you were doing?’ Her accusing eyes met his.
‘There was this freckle.’ He stroked the curve of her breast with his palm. ‘I’m only human, Lucie.’
She arched into his touch for a moment, before wriggling free of his hold and clambering off his lap. ‘Beast,’ she said again, but her eyes were full of amusement.
He spread his palms in a ‘what’s a man to do’ gesture as she reached for her sweater. When she started to slide her arms into the sleeves, he made a grab for it, but she stepped back out of reach. ‘Come back here, things were just getting interesting,’ he protested.
Shaking her head, she popped it up through the neck of her top. She tugged the soft fabric down, and he couldn’t resist a little pout as she spoiled his beautiful view of her body. ‘I’m going to bed, and I’m taking a lesson from that near miss with your sister and locking the door behind me.’
There was no stopping the pang of disappointment as he watched her gather up Thomas’s journal and tuck her feet inside the shoes she’d slipped off earlier before curling up in the armchair. Well, damn. It looked like Iggy’s ill-timed interruption had broken the mood.
Knowing there’d be no way he’d get to sleep with his head still buzzing with the sensation holding Lucie in his arms, Arthur spun the chair back to face his desk, resigned to a couple more hours of wrestling with the accounts.
‘Arthur?’ When he glanced up, Lucie was holding out a hand to him, her smile bright with invitation. ‘I was rather hoping you’d be on the same side as me when I locked my door.’
The chair was still spinning as they left his study together.
*
Arthur woke the next morning while it was still dark outside. Still a little disorientated, he wasn’t sure what had disturbed him, only that something didn’t feel quite right. Mouth dry, he reached for the glass of water he kept habitually beside his bed. Instead of encountering the cool surface of his glass, his fingers brushed against warm skin and he knew what was out of place. He was. Not only was he on the wrong side of the bed, he was in the wrong bed. He closed his fingers over Lucie’s shoulder. No, definitely not the wrong bed.
She stirred beside him, turning over to snuggle against his side with a contented sigh. Deep contentment filled him. When was the last time he’d slept so well? Not sinc
e his father had died, that was for sure. As he eased back onto his pillow, he glanced at the illuminated dial on his watch, and wished he hadn’t. It was just before six, and the household would soon be stirring. Though he had no regrets about spending the night with her, he needed to get back to his room.
Being caught doing the walk of shame by one of the staff was not how he wanted to start his day. What he and Lucie had shared last night was special, deeply personal and not the fodder for downstairs gossip. After pressing a kiss to Lucie’s cheek, he began to slide slowly out of bed, being careful not to disturb her. As he groped around on the floor beside the bed for his clothes, the soft tap of claws alerted him that he wasn’t the only one awake and he paused in the act of tugging on his T-shirt to stroke Nimrod’s head. The two greyhounds had followed them up the stairs, and they’d decided to let them in rather than leaving the pair whining on the landing and potentially drawing suspicion.
‘Shh, boy, let Lucie sleep.’ The dog licked his hand then padded back to the blanket where Bella had remained curled up. ‘Lucky thing,’ Arthur muttered as he shoved one leg into his jeans.
Once dressed, apart from his shoes which dangled from one hand, he hesitated beside the bed. It didn’t seem right to sneak out without saying anything, but he didn’t want to wake Lucie when she was sleeping so peacefully. Deciding to let her rest, he crept from the room and closed the door behind him. The corridor outside was empty as Lucie was currently the only occupant of this section of the first floor which was traditionally reserved for guests. The family rooms, including his own, occupied the east wing and not for the first time Arthur wondered at the past tradition by which the baronet’s rooms were isolated in the west wing.
Retrieving his phone from his pocket, Arthur tapped out a text to Lucie, wanting her to understand he hadn’t crept out for any other reason than to protect her privacy, then continued to make his way to his room. He got as far as the balcony area which overlooked the great hall before his luck ran out. Carrying a tray laden with the makings of breakfast for one, Maxwell was just reaching the top of the staircase.
The Bluebell Castle Collection Page 17
