by Lucy Monroe
Lucas demanded her surrender with his mouth while his hold pressed her against the tightness of his masculine form. Rage that he had waited to share his passion with her until it was too late warred with another equally powerful emotion...desire.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Irisa struggled against Lucas’s hold, tearing her mouth from his and inciting his frustration to a higher pitch.
“Let me go!” she demanded.
“Never.” Wanting to bring to an end to her denials of his claim on her, he caught her soft lips once again and ground his mouth against hers.
He could taste the anger on her lips, but he could also taste her desire. He wanted to stamp out the one while setting fire to the other. Her anger, based as it was on mistrust, infuriated him. He had done nothing wrong with Clarice and Irisa should never have believed otherwise. She belonged to him and he would never betray that bond.
Seeing her father strike her had called up fierce feelings of both protectiveness and possessiveness in Lucas. Those feelings denied duty to his line as the primary reason for his proposal of marriage to Irisa.
He would never let her go. Never. Tightening his grip, he pressed her closer to his hardening body. She whimpered and the sound of distress bought him a modicum of control.
Damn it, what was he doing? She had suffered enough pain at her father’s hand. To think he was adding to it made Lucas as angry with himself as he was Irisa’s lack of trust. He did not want to hurt her.
Softening the kiss, he teased her lips with his tongue while he altered his hold from rough possession to gentle seduction. She responded immediately to the change and ceased her struggles, allowing her body to mold itself to his.
Placing one hand around her waist, he used the other to hook under her knees and carried her back to the quilt.
He laid her on it, coming down beside her without allowing their clinging lips to separate. Her breathing was now as rapid as his and he doubted it was from anger. She scooted closer when he let a small distance separate their bodies. The desire that he’d held in check for the months of their courtship and the weeks of their engagement, exploded.
He forgot they were not yet married. He no longer cared they were in full view of the house. The soft translucence of Irisa’s skin beckoned him. He trailed his fingers along the demure line of her muslin gown, allowing them to dip beneath the fabric and brush the upper curve of her creamy feminine flesh.
Irisa squirmed against him, her mouth finally opening on a gasp to his questing tongue and he took full advantage, plunging inside to sample the warm honey that beckoned. He ached with the need to taste not only her mouth, but the rest of her feminine softness as well.
He brushed his lips over her cheek, down her neck, into the hollow of her throat and ultimately to the silken skin exposed above the raspberry muslin. Pressing the underside of her breasts until they swelled against the fabric, he kissed the enticing crevice between her swollen flesh before allowing the tip of his tongue to trace the path his lips had already taken.
She shivered, her body arching in innocent abandon, and he could not stop himself from nipping gently at the exposed curves.
“Lucas.”
The sound of his name on her lips, spoken with such aching womanly need, made him throb with the desire for release.
“That’s it, little one. Let me taste you.”
He tugged the sleeves of her gown down until the upper swell of her breasts were fully exposed and her nipples were only covered by the fine lawn of her chemise. Bloody hell, she was beautiful. While his tongue dipped more deeply into the cleavage between the two delicious mounds, he trailed a shaking hand down her side, over her hip and then gripped the fleshy curve of her bottom.
The scent of her delicate skin pushed the last remnants of his control from his mind as he squeezed her bottom convulsively. “I want you, little one.”
“You want me?” she asked, her voice breathy and vague.
The possession of his hands and mouth could leave even an innocent like her in no doubt as to what way he wanted her. “Yes.”
In a flurry of movement, Irisa’s hands came up to push against his chest while she attempted to sit up. “Lucas, you must stop.”
“No. I must not.” Did she think he could turn off his desire like a streetlamp when dawn cast London in its glow?
Covering her mouth with his once again, he meant to quiet her resistance. It worked. Her lips softened under his and her fingers curled into his waistcoat rather than pushing him away. Using the hand on her bottom, he pushed the apex of her thighs against his hardened sex and rocked against her. He groaned from the pleasure of it and wondered how long he would last once he was inside her.
She whimpered again and tore her mouth away from his. “Please. Stop. Lucas, we cannot do this.”
He disagreed. His hardened sex was evidence that they could do this and very effectively too. All he had to do was pull down his breaches and lift her skirts. Denied her mouth, he returned his attention to her breasts, this time taking one taut nipple into his mouth through the fabric of her chemise. The already hardened nipple swelled in his mouth.
“Stop,” she said, but had her fingers buried in his hair, “You mustn’t do this. I can’t stand it.”
“I’ll make you like it,” he promised before moving his mouth to her other breast.
She moaned and arched against him. He had to feel her heat. Reaching past the hem of her muslin skirt, he tunneled his hand under the layers of fabric to caress her stockinged leg. Impatient to touch her intimately, he lightly caressed her leg upward until he felt the naked skin of her thigh.
She shrieked and began kicking her legs in agitation, which opened her to his touch. He took advantage and slid his fingers into the soft and definitely damp curls of her femininity.
She pounded on his shoulders. “Stop! Bloody hell, Lucas. You must stop. You must not touch me there. It isn’t decent. Someone is going to see.”
Her words finally registered and sanity returned in a blinding flash of awareness. He was lying with his fiancée in full view of the house where any passing servant or Lady Upworth could see and he’d been on the verge of tossing Irisa’s skirts and making love to her. He couldn’t believe he’d let the kiss go so far, so fast.
Bloody everlasting hell! Where was his famed self-control? He released her and rolled away, covering his eyes with his forearm. He should help her right her clothes, but he couldn’t move. He was in too much pain and the hardness that was causing it was not fading fast. Taking several deep breaths, he forced himself to focus on something besides his fiancée’s tempting body.
Like the fact that he’d almost dishonored her in Lady Upworth’s garden.
No. Concentrating on that was dangerous. He chose instead to think of what he could say to soothe her. An apology at the very least, but he would not lie and say it would not happen again. Taking a cleansing breath, he sat up and took stock of his surroundings. Irisa perched on the very edge of the blanket, her shawl drawn around her shoulders and wrapped in front of her like a shield. She stared at him with an unreadable expression.
“I’m sorry.” The words were inadequate after the way he’d practically ravished her, but they were all he had.
She nodded, but remained mute.
Had he terrified her? “Damnation, Irisa. Say something. I wasn’t going to rape you.”
Her eyes widened at his words. “I didn’t think you were.”
That was something at any rate. “At least you trust me that much,” he muttered.
She cocked her head to one side and studied him. He felt like a beast on display at the Tower of London.
“Tell me about Clarice de Brieuse, please.”
“If you had asked me that question earlier, you would have avoided a great deal of hardship.”
“Perhaps. Are you going to answer it now?” Her voice was soft and her lips were still swollen from his kisses.
He didn’t want to talk. He wanted to carry
her off to the nearest bedroom and make slow, sweet love to her. He forced his attention to their discussion and away from his returning ardor.
“Clarice was my brother’s mistress.”
***
Of all the explanations she had tried to concoct in her head to justify Lucas’s behavior, this one had never occurred to her. Irisa sat in stunned silence as Lucas continued his tale.
“My brother was two years younger and though I tried, I could not prevent him from taking a similar path as my mother. By the time he was 19, he had a reputation as a rake and a scoundrel.” The pain in Lucas’s words reached out and touched Irisa as nothing else could have.
Without conscious volition, she found herself scooting closer to him. Offering the solace of her nearness, she placed her hand on his arm. Lucas acted unaware of the light touch, his thoughts clearly in the past.
“When he was twenty he allowed me to purchase him a commission in the army. I hoped that the move signaled his willingness to change, to live a more responsible life.”
When he did not continue, Irisa asked, “Did it?”
He pulled on the cuffs of his blue superfine jacket and straightened his cravat. “We’ll never know. He died a year later in the Peterloo Massacre.”
“I thought only citizens died in that tragedy.”
“It’s true that the army murdered numerous innocents at the peaceful gathering, but some of our military paid the ultimate price as well. My brother was one of them.”
She squeezed his arm. “I’m sorry, Lucas. So very sorry.”
He met her eyes and incredibly, he smiled. “You’re so gentle, Irisa. I mistook that trait for compliancy earlier in our association.”
She felt her cheeks heat. “I can be quite stubborn.”
“Yes.”
She smiled at his ready agreement. “So how did you end up responsible for your brother’s mistress?”
She had no doubt that is what had occurred. What she still didn’t know was whether Miss de Brieuse had become Lucas’s paramour as well. Their intimate embrace the other night would indicate she had, but Irisa was determined to hear him out on the subject.
“She was carrying his child when he died.”
“How did you find out?”
“She came to me.”
“And you believed her?” Somehow that seemed too simple.
“It was easy enough to verify that she was indeed under my brother’s protection, such as it was. As mistresses went, she had an impeccable reputation. There were no rumors of her taking other lovers.”
“And the child.”
“Is a beautiful little imp of four who has both her mother and I wrapped entirely around her pudgy little finger. She has the Ashton eyes and her mother’s ruby hair.”
Lucas would be a wonderful father. Unlike her papa, he would not ignore his offspring until they were of age to be socially beneficial.
She smiled. “I should like to meet her.”
Once the words were out of her mouth, she realized how unlikely the occurrence, but Lucas nodded, a touch of sadness coming into his eyes. “I shall see that you do so before she and her mother sail for France.”
“They’re going to France?” Irisa asked, feeling dazed.
“Yes. Clarice is to be married and the gentleman, Maurice Brun, wishes to return to their homeland.”
“You’re going to miss her.” It was a statement. Not a question. There could be no doubt from the tone of Lucas’s voice that the move would hurt him. Did he love Miss de Brieuse?
“I shall miss my niece, but hope to have my own children to fill the emptiness her leaving will cause,” he said meaningfully.
She would not be so easily sidetracked. “What of Miss de Brieuse?”
Lucas met her gaze, his own stern. “She is my friend and I will miss her as such, but that is all.”
“She has not been your mistress?” Irisa probed, unable to leave it alone.
“No.” His tone brooked no doubt. “She was so desperate when she came to me that she attempted to seduce me, but I could sense her fear and managed to get the truth out of her.”
He made it sound as if it had all been quite simple and ordinary, yet under the circumstances Irisa did not see how that could be. No doubt his experience as an intelligencer had stood him in good stead the night he first met Clarice de Brieuse.
“But what of the other night, when she embraced you?” After the words slipped out, Irisa realized she should not have said them.
How could she explain knowing of their embrace without admitting the truth of her own outrageous actions? She was fairly certain that Lucas would not look kindly on her dressing up as a stable boy and spying on him.
His eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”
“Nothing. Please disregard my question.”
“That is impossible. If you set servants spying on me, I will hear about it now.”
He had given her the perfect excuse, but she could not take it. “I don’t want to lie to you.”
“Then don’t,” he replied with implacability.
“I overheard some gossip the other night at a soiree.”
“Gossip?” he asked, his voice cold as the Scottish highlands in winter.
“Yes. Another lady was speaking with Mother. She wondered what you planned to do with your mistress after our marriage.”
Lucas looked perilously close to anger, so she rushed on.
“At first I could not believe that you would be unfaithful. It was so out of character for The Saint.”
“I am not a saint, Irisa, but neither am I a libertine.”
She nodded in agreement. A saint would not have bared her bosom in her aunt’s garden and a libertine would have taken what Miss de Brieuse offered in her desperation.
“Mama has always hidden from the unpleasant realities of life and in doing so, hurt the people around her.”
His brows drew together. “What does that have to do with you sending servants to spy on me?”
“I did not send servants. I did so myself, but that comes later. Are you going to let me finish my story, or not?” She almost tacked on the hated my lord, but felt she’d pushed her luck enough.
“By all means, continue. This is more interesting than a Drury Lane farce.”
“Better that than a tragedy,” she replied with some asperity. “In any case, I would not allow myself to hide from the truth like Mama. If you were being unfaithful, I had to know. So, as much as I deplore tittle-tattle, I asked my maid to investigate the servant’s gossip.”
“I see.”
She doubted it. While he might want to marry her, he did not love her as she loved him. He could not possibly comprehend the level of pain she had experienced at the thought of him in another woman’s bed.
“Much to my dismay, your underfootman verified that you visit a certain former actress regularly.”
“Impossible. My servants know better than to breathe a word of my association with Clarice to anyone.”
“Apparently not this one. Perhaps he is new.”
The tight line of Lucas’s jaw did not bode well for the hapless servant. “My rules for conduct are well known amongst my staff, even the newest hires.”
“He cannot be the only one, Lucas.” She felt compelled to defend the unsuspecting underfootman. “Lady Preston heard about it from somewhere.”
“When I discover where she came upon the on dit, I shall ensure the source no longer deems my affairs worthy of discussion.”
Irisa hated gossip, probably more than Lucas, but she had a feeling he dealt with it in a far more intimidating fashion.
“You must do as you see fit.”
“Yes. Pray continue your explanation.”
She took a deep breath and did so. “The morning before I um...spied on you, you had told me not to expect you at any of the soirees. I surmised that you would be visiting Miss de Brieuse.”
“An interesting assumption.”
“I was correct, if you
will remember.”
“Yes.”
“And I saw you kiss her cheek. Later, she embraced you.” She finished her explanation with the accusation.
“How did you see all this?” His voice had gone dangerously soft and it sent a shiver down Irisa’s spine.
“I’d prefer not to tell you the particulars, if you don’t mind, Lucas. What’s done is done,” she said repeating what she had told Miss de Brieuse after the ride in the park.
“I do mind, very much. You will explain how you were in the position to see me with Clarice when I was told the next day that you had stayed home the night before with a sick headache that had turned into a nasty cold.”
“Really, I don’t see why I need to explain myself to you, Lucas. You still have not made clear why Miss de Brieuse embraced you, if she is not your mistress.”
He leaned forward and the civility that usually cloaked him fell away to reveal a predator intent on its prey. “Tell me the truth about that night, Irisa,” he demanded in a chilling voice.
“I disguised myself as a stable boy and waited in the fog outside her house for your arrival. When you came I could not help peeking in through a crack in the draperies. You kissed her cheek with more warm affection than you had shown me thus far in our association. I looked away and then later, when I took another peek she was embracing you as if she had every right.”
Lucas’s glare was dark enough to eclipse the sun. “She did have the right. A woman whom I had treated as friend and sister for almost five years had just told me she was to be married. She was very happy and wanted to share her joy.”
“I don’t quite see why she had to share her body,” Irisa muttered under her breath.
Lucas ignored her. He wasn’t finished discussing the other topic from the furious look on his face. “Why did you not simply ask me for the truth?”
“I could not be certain you would give it. Many gentlemen of the ton think nothing of keeping a mistress.”
“I am not other gentlemen.”
“No, you are not, but I had to know the truth and really, Lucas...you’ve made it quite clear you don’t approve of ladies discussing things of this nature with gentlemen.”
