Читать книгу Historical Romance March 2017 Book 1-4 - Louise Allen - Страница 21

Chapter Eleven

Fingers drifted across his chest, encountered a nipple, sifted through hair, then drifted on, downwards. Lucian woke slowly, coming up through layers of sleep to the awareness of that erotic touch, to the realisation that this was not a dream, that this was not his bed, that his shoulders ached dully and that something was lurking that he did not want to deal with. But just now, at this moment, there was nothing but pleasure. Sara.

He opened his eyes, savouring the sensations, unwilling, yet, to hurry anything. The weak light filtering through thin cotton curtains at the window showed it was early, not much past five. He turned his head on the pillow, his cheek touching the rough silk tumble of Sara’s unbound hair and realised that she was still no more than half-awake.

The fan of her lashes fascinated him, thick and long and much darker than her hair. Her lips were slightly parted, her breathing light and fast, her cheeks faintly flushed. She was aroused, he realised, even though she was still virtually asleep.

Her wandering hand slipped down, making the skin tighten beneath its warmth, then the tip of one finger found his navel, dipped inside, and Lucian doubled up with a snort of laughter.

‘Mmm—?’ Sara blinked awake.

‘I am ticklish there.’ Lucian came up on one elbow so he could kiss her. ‘But do not let me stop you exploring,’ he murmured against her lips.

Sara kissed him back, slowly, languorously, as her hand bumped against the blatant evidence of his arousal and she enclosed him in a perfect grip, firm, unhurried, wickedly skilled.

‘Sara, we had agreed not to do this,’ he said, coming fully awake with a jolt, reaching for self-control with an effort that hurt.

‘Why on earth did we do that?’ she asked, sounding as distracted as he felt.

‘Shocking Marguerite, as I recall. That seems a little redundant now.’

Sara nodded. ‘Absolutely.’ She gasped as he let his fingers roam.

He had forgotten, somehow, that she had been married, that she would know exactly what she was about—and that she knew what she needed also, he realised, as she arched up to meet his own seeking fingers.

Mouths joined in an endless kiss, they moved together, became one undulating, shifting, yearning body, stoking fires even as they soothed them, teasing and tormenting, then gentling, caressing. Sara was like liquid silk in his hands, against his body, demanding, yielding, giving, challenging him to demand more, give more.

When he finally rose up over her, caging her between his elbows, fitting himself into the cradle of her curves, she became still, gazing up into his eyes from the fathomless moonstone-grey of her own. ‘Lucian. Yes. Yes.’

It must have been some time for her, he made himself remember that, made himself go slowly and she let him lead, quivering in his arms with little moans of encouragement as she opened like a flower to take him, then held him within her, tight, hot, still. And she stayed motionless in his arms, as her inner muscles rippled and stroked with a subtle, devastating pulse that had him shaking with the effort to hold back his climax.

‘Wicked, clever woman,’ he whispered and finally let himself move, take over the rhythm, drive them both tighter and higher into a spiral of pleasure that became a sharply focused endless moment of sensation made up of the sound of their bodies working together, their mingled, sobbing breath, the scent of their arousal, until he knew he could not hold on much longer. ‘Come, come for me now...’

And as Sara arched up, eyes wide, lips parted on a keening cry of pleasure, he wrenched himself from her and shuddered to completion on the silken skin of her belly.

* * *

‘I suppose we should move,’ Sara suggested as she lay with her cheek pressed to the admirably hard planes of Lucian’s chest some unfathomable time later.

‘Yes,’ he agreed, his voice rumbling under her ear. ‘Excellent idea.’ He did not stir.

‘It must be seven o’clock.’ He grunted, sounding suspiciously like a man drifting off to sleep again. Sara blew on his nipple, which produced some reaction, although one that was not very conducive to getting out of bed.

‘Someone has to be strong-minded,’ she announced, mentally cursing eloping couples and her own sense of responsibility that told her she must somehow create a happy ending for Marguerite and Gregory.

‘Are you a nag, madam?’ Lucian sat up, catching her by the shoulders to pull her up with him. ‘Am I to rise and go forth and deliver lectures and chastisement?’

‘No. You are to rise and think of some way of extracting those two from this pickle with reputations intact.’

‘London is quiet. I could get them back to the town house and married from there by special licence. Or St George’s, Hanover Square, with a show of openness, but safe in the knowledge that virtually everyone is out of town.’ Lucian got off the bed, stooped to give her a rapid kiss, then threw on his robe and pulled the bell rope.

Sara burrowed down under the covers when a tap on the door heralded a maid servant who was promptly sent for hot water. ‘And plenty of it. And breakfast in half an hour.’

‘That all seems rather hole-and-corner,’ she remarked ten minutes later as she sat up in bed, arms wrapped around her knees, and admired the view of Lucian, naked, shaving. He really does have the most excellent backside, she thought, indulging in a long, sensual stretch. ‘Especially with her not being out yet.’

‘I know it. What I need is a house party, if only I knew who to trust. Then the pair of them, finding themselves away from the normal environment of my town house, can make the startling discovery that they are in love.’

‘And you can be persuaded, in full view of the interested onlookers, to yield to the pleas of young love and all will be well?’

‘Exactly.’ Lucian tipped the water into the slop bucket and began to dress. Sara took his place at the washstand, marvelling at how easy it was to be like this with him, so at ease and yet tingling with the awareness of his closeness, of his body.

‘The only problem being, I do not know anyone I can trust well enough to turn up, out of the blue, with a battered secretary who has been absent from the scene for months and a wan-looking little sister.’ He raised his chin and squinted into the glass as he tied his neckcloth.

Sara dipped the brush in her toothpowder and scrubbed at her teeth, rinsed, spat and straightened up with an idea. ‘But I do. My parents have a house party and the first guests arrived yesterday. We can join that. I think you will need to tell them something of the background, but you can trust them absolutely to keep the secret and to play along with the deception.’

‘Whereabouts?’ Lucian stuck a pin in his neckcloth and turned. ‘It would be perfect—if they agree.’

‘Eldonstone is in Hertfordshire, near St Albans. About one hundred and fifty miles from here, I suppose.’ She took the walking dress out of the valise, gave it a shake, frowned at the creases and put it on anyway. This was where respectability began.

‘It would be perfect,’ Lucian repeated, slowly, ‘if you and I had not just become lovers.’

‘That is simple. We are not lovers for however long we are at Eldonstone,’ Sara said, rather more firmly than she felt. ‘Quite simple. We met at Sandbay, I became friends with Marguerite and invited you both to the house party. You have a great press of business, so Gregory comes, too. He has been away for some time recovering from whatever caused his injury and he and Marguerite see each other differently in these new surroundings.’

‘While you and I behave with great circumspection,’ Lucian said with resignation. ‘The things I do for my sister.’

She laughed and he turned from packing his valise to look at her, his expression serious but unreadable. ‘Are you all right? This morning—’

‘This morning was bliss and I cannot wait to do it again and I am very much all right, Lucian.’ She hesitated, wondering how to say this right, word it so that he understood she had no expectations beyond this relationship. ‘I feel free. Free to have made the choice to be your lover.’ Now she knew what she was doing, she had choice and there was nothing to feel guilty about in her relationship with this man. She had experienced more than enough guilt to last her a lifetime.

‘Good.’ He nodded, still serious. ‘That is good.’

So, Lucian had no desire for this to be anything but a coming together for mutual pleasure either. That was excellent, just what she wanted. Of course it was.

* * *

‘How good is your acting?’ Sara asked Marguerite as the chaise bumped off the cobbles and on to the road towards Lichfield. The relief of discovering that she could marry Gregory safely, or perhaps the effects of a night in her lover’s arms, had put roses in Marguerite’s cheeks and a glow in her eyes. I wonder if it has done that for me. She certainly felt physically transformed. Looser, warmer, more alive.

‘My acting?’ The young woman bit her lip in puzzlement. ‘I have no idea. Why?’

‘Because you are going to have to seem to either fall gradually for Gregory or to have a coup de foudre, a sudden revelation that you love him. What we must avoid at all costs is any impression that the two of you felt anything for each other before this house party.’

‘I can do that—in fact, I can see it all perfectly.’ Marguerite smiled. ‘I think perhaps I will be solicitous of him because of the injury. Lucian will be working him too hard and I will try to help. That will bring us close and then we will realise that we have loved each other all along and did not recognise it.’ She glanced out of the window at the front of the chaise, past the bobbing backs of the postilions, to where Gregory sat beside Lucian in the curricle.

The imperious blast of a horn behind them had both vehicles pulling over to let the mail coach sweep by. ‘That should be carrying my letter to my parents,’ Sara said. ‘I am hoping it will arrive at least an hour before we do.’ It would certainly help if Mata spoke about inviting Sara’s new friend and her brother in advance of their arrival. She had racked her brains to try to recall who was expected, but one could never tell with Mata, who might take the fancy to entertain anyone from a bishop to an actress, or sometimes both at the same time. Hopefully there would be at least a few pillars of the establishment, which was what was needed to ensure no shadow of gossip attached to Marguerite.

‘I cannot thank you enough for persuading Lucian to accept the match and to only hit Gregory once,’ Marguerite said earnestly. ‘I cannot believe how forgiving he is being.’

‘I suspect it is a mixture of realising he cannot shut the stable door given that the horse has bolted not once, but twice, and a reluctance to pulverise an injured man. What did happen to Gregory in France?’

‘A roof tile fell off a building that was being repaired. It did not hit him right on the head, thank goodness, or I think he would have been killed, but it tore right down the side of his face as you can see. He was taken unconscious to a nearby nunnery where the sisters cared for him and sent for a doctor, but they could not save his eye. He was unconscious, then in a high fever and in no state to explain himself, let alone get out of bed. It was two weeks before he could persuade someone to go round to the lodgings to find me and by then I was on my way back to England with Lucian.’ One fat tear ran down Marguerite’s cheek and she dashed it away. ‘He says I must not think about it, but I cannot bear to think of him in so much pain and so worried.’

‘That is all behind you now. This evening we will make certain that we are all telling the same story and everything will be well.’

‘You parents must be very kind for you to be so certain that they will welcome three extra guests at such short notice,’ Marguerite ventured. ‘But I expect they will be pleased about you and Lucian.’

‘About—what on earth do you mean?’ Mata might not turn a hair about Sara taking a lover if that made her happy, but her father and Ashe would react in a way that was completely predictable.

‘You are going to get married, aren’t you? I am so pleased about it. We will be sisters and—’

‘No, we are not going to get married,’ Sara snapped, too startled to control her reaction. ‘What on earth makes you think that?’

‘But...’ Marguerite’s cheeks were pink with embarrassment. ‘But you...he... Last night, there were only two bedchambers,’ she finished in a rush.

Sara gritted her teeth and kept her voice reasonable. ‘Marguerite, I am a widow. A discreet liaison in those circumstances is, shall we say, overlooked, by society.’

‘But don’t you love him?’ Marguerite looked mystified. ‘I was sure you loved him.’

‘I find your brother very attractive. I admire his desire to protect you. I also find him infuriating, stubborn, single-minded, authoritarian and domineering. He is the last man I would wish to marry.’

‘Truly? And he does not want to marry you?’

‘No.’ He made that perfectly clear. ‘He wants an affaire, has wanted it ever since he realised I was possibly...available. I have no doubt that next Season Lucian will be choosing a bride from the young ladies making their come-out.’

‘I think I know who he will choose.’ Marguerite wrinkled her nose. ‘She was out last Season and she lives near us in the country. Lady Clara Fairhaven. She is perfect.’ The emphasis was not one of approval. ‘She is pretty and dull and has all the right connections and never puts a foot wrong and her father would be delighted if Lucian marries her. I thought he was going to make a declaration last Season, which was infuriating because I wasn’t out so I couldn’t do anything to stop him.’

‘Such as?’ Sara asked, fascinated despite herself at the thought of anyone thinking they could stop the Marquess of Cannock once he had made up his mind to something. ‘What could you do to prevent it?’

‘I could get her drunk at Almack’s or bribe some rake to flirt with her outrageously or put a mouse up her skirts at a dinner party,’ Marguerite said darkly. ‘She would make him dull, too. You wouldn’t.’

‘I am one-quarter Indian, I am a widow, my husband died in a duel and I have led a somewhat unconventional life since his death. None of that makes me a suitable wife for your brother, certainly not set against a well-bred young lady of perfect deportment. Even if I wanted to marry him, that is. Which I do not.’

Even as she spoke she could think of nothing but waking that morning in Lucian’s arms, the tender fierceness of his lovemaking, the pleasure they had exchanged and shared, the harmony she felt with him. And yet...and yet, this was the man who had only permitted his sister to marry for love when every other option had been removed, the man who would have killed Gregory and thought it was his duty, an honourable thing to do, the man who seemed to have no understanding of her own need for freedom or her anger at what Michael had done in his misguided desire to protect her honour.

There were fleeting moments when she imagined being with Lucian, sharing ideas, impressions, laughter. And there were long hours when she could see what would be the reality, a conventional husband expecting a conventional wife and exerting all the power that men had to enforce that.

‘I definitely do not,’ she repeated and looked away from the broad shoulders of the man driving ahead of them.

‘I suppose it will make it awkward for you, going to your family house like this,’ Marguerite ventured. ‘With Lucian, I mean.’

‘I have no intention of carrying on an affaire under that roof, you may be certain. And neither will you. Everything depends on the other guests witnessing the beginnings of a love-match and you behaving like an innocent young lady not quite out.’

‘Yes, Sara,’ Marguerite said meekly, making her feel forty-five at the very least.

* * *

It was a long day, but Sara was pleased to see that Lucian allowed Gregory to take the reins for several stages. Whether that was simple common sense because he knew he should give himself a break from time to time or, as Marguerite thought, a sign of forgiveness, it did at least mean they could keep up a good time. They reached Northampton just after sunset and she let out a sigh of relief when they finally drew in to the yard of the King’s Head.

Lucian came to help them down from the chaise while Gregory went inside to secure rooms. ‘I told him to bespeak four rooms and a private parlour,’ he told his sister as he swung her down on to the cobbles. ‘You need to get into practice for the house party.’

‘Yes, Lucian,’ she said obediently, her docility at odds with the longing look she gave Gregory from under her lashes.

Will Lucian come to my chamber tonight? Sara wondered as they went into the inn. Or was last night enough for him? Perhaps he has sated his desire and his curiosity. Although he had seemed to imply a longer relationship in his words when they were dressing that morning. She hoped so, since her desire and curiosity were certainly not sated yet.

When they were settled in their rooms, which all led off a small upstairs parlour, Lucian ordered dinner, poured wine and settled at the head of the table. ‘We need to get this story straight. Where will we have come from tomorrow?’

‘Reading would have been a good place to have broken our journey from Sandbay,’ Sara suggested. ‘Then we have no need to leave too early tomorrow.’

‘Very well. Now then. Marguerite has been unwell—a severe attack of influenza that you could not shake off.’ His sister nodded. ‘I took her to Sandbay to recuperate and Sara befriended her and invited us to the house party. Just before we left we were joined by Farnsworth, who has been taking a holiday to recover from his injury. That can have happened just as it did, and in Lyons but, shall we say that I was there on business and you had accompanied me?’

‘So I have not seen Greg... Mr Farnsworth...for some time and I find myself surprised at how shaken I am by his accident,’ Marguerite chipped in. ‘Lucian has heaps of work for him, which is why he must accompany us, but I will keep checking to make sure he is not being overworked while he is still convalescent.’

‘And it will not occur to anyone that they need strict chaperonage because they never have before,’ Sara suggested, shrugging when Lucian raised his eyebrows at her. ‘And before we know where we are they have fallen in love.’

‘And so on and so forth,’ Lucian said. ‘And I will amaze everyone by yielding to my sister’s pleas to allow them to marry, even though she is not yet out. The company will think I have lost my mind. As well they might,’ he added grimly.

Gregory was fiddling with his eyepatch, presumably prey to nerves, or perhaps embarrassment. The bruise on his chin from Lucian’s punch the previous night was darkening.

‘How did Gregory acquire that bruise?’ Sara asked.

‘I am not used to having only one eye and I misjudge distances, Lady Sara. I could have tripped over last night,’ he suggested.

‘That will have to do,’ Lucian said impatiently. ‘Now remember, both of you, for the sake of Marguerite’s reputation, this has to deceive a number of people, some of whom are probably eagle-eyed matrons on the look-out for the slightest impropriety.’

* * *

Sara reminded him of those words when he slipped quietly into her bedchamber several hours later. ‘My lord, are you by any chance here to commit some slight impropriety?’

‘I sincerely hope so, given that I face at least a week of being on my best behaviour,’ Lucian said as he turned the key in the lock. Under-lit by the candle flame, his face had a stark, unearthly quality.

I could look at that face for ever, she thought. Desire is such a snare. I see him, I want him and I cannot seem to think beyond what is going to happen in this bed tonight.

Lucian shrugged off his robe and put down the candle, easy in his skin, relaxed about his nakedness. But there was nothing relaxed about the look in his eyes as he watched her waiting for him, nor could she be in any doubt that however long and tiring the day had been this man fully intended to make love to her now—and probably for half of the night.