Authors: Samantha Holt
Pain shattered through
Lucian’s fist before he had realised what he had even done. Abberley reeled
back and clutched his nose while the other two men drew him away from the
injured man.
“She is a lady,” Lucian
spat, “and I won’t have you speaking of her that way.”
“You’re not her husband,
Rushbourne, and this is my house. I will do and say what I damned well like.”
Hot anger rolled through
Lucian and he yanked his arms away from the gentleman holding him back. “You
will apologise for speaking that way.”
“Why? She did not hear me.”
He lunged for Abberley again,
only to be dragged back once more. Perhaps it was the wine, perhaps it was the
mental image Abberley had created, but whatever it was, he wanted the pleasure
of unleashing his anger on the man.
“I demand satisfaction,”
Lucian barked.
“You wish to fight me in my
own house? And this is the behaviour of the gentry?”
“I would defend an insulted
lady to my last breath, if that is what you mean.” Or maybe not any lady, but
certainly Ellie.
“Very well then. I take it
we are not duelling or some such nonsense.”
Lucian had little desire to
be shot or to shoot someone, even if he was a fair shot, nor did he wish to
wait to force an apology from Abberley.
“Here. Now. A fist fight.”
Benton stepped between them
as Lucian tore off his evening jacket and worked on undoing his shirt sleeves
to shove them up above his elbows. “Gentleman, do we have to ruin a pleasant
evening with such behaviour and with a lady present?”
“Abberley should have
thought of that lady before speaking in such a manner.”
The man laughed as he
chucked his jacket at Benton. “Bloody hell, Rushbourne, anyone would think you
were her lover. You aren’t, are you?”
Nostrils flaring, Lucian
backed to the open end of the terrace and onto the lawn. Abberley followed. He
regretted drinking quite so much, but Abberley was marginally smaller than he
and he liked his chances against him.
They squared up to one
another and Abberley threw the first punch. Lucian dodged it and returned with
one of his own, his fist meeting his jaw. His opponent staggered back, but
returned with a fine knock to the side of Lucian’s head that made his teeth
rattle. However, the flirtation he had witnessed all evening blazed in his mind
and his host’s words rang in his ears, firing his fury. He retaliated quickly,
hitting him first in the gut and then around his ear.
“Stop!”
Both men paused at the sound
of Ellie’s voice as she hurried across the terrace to stand in the middle of
them. She swung her gaze between them and moved over to Abberley who was bent
double and whose face was already swelling.
“What do you think you are
doing?” She glared at him.
He sagged a little, seeing
himself as she saw him. No better than the man he used to be. Thoughtless,
aggressive, uncouth.
She put an arm around
Abberley and Lucian could not help but fist his hands again. “Let us put
something cool on that bump, Mr Abberley,” she said.
She motioned to Benton to
take him in and, of course, the man obeyed, for who would not. Here was
Countess Eleanor, not the sweet Ellie he knew. Regal, commanding, with a canny
ability to make him feel quite the fool.
She came to stand in front
of him and lifted his chin to eye his face in the dim glow from the
windows. “What were you thinking? You cannot pick a fight with your
host.” Clearly, she concluded there was no damage and Abberley needed her help
more as she dropped her hand.
He clenched his jaw. “I was
defending your honour.”
“Why? Lucian, I had thought
you past such terrible behaviour, but clearly I was wrong.”
“He said...” he scraped a
hand through his hair. “It does not matter now. I think it best I leave. Enjoy
your evening, my lady.” He took her hand and kissed her gloved fingertips as
though that might make up for his terrible behaviour. Why how she viewed him
bothered him, he did not know.
She stared at him. He rose
and they shared a look for a heartbeat before he snatched up his jacket and
strode out of the rear gate, and onto the street. Lucian walked briskly. Had
she watched him leave or simply dashed straight inside to see to Abberley? And
why did it matter so much to him what Abberley said or even if they found each
other attractive?
It didn’t, he told himself,
as he strode along the dark street towards his town house. Let her be attracted
to him. Let her take him as a lover, or even marry him. Then she would be
Abberley’s problem.
So why did his stomach sink
at the thought of her being someone else’s burden?
Finally
“Good morning.”
Lucian lifted his gaze from the
papers on his desk and offered her a thin smile. The fight the previous night
had not left a mark on him though he looked wearied. Mr Abberley could not say
the same and had been sporting a fine bruise on his jaw by the time she had
left for the evening. Not that she felt much sympathy for him anymore.
“My lady.”
My lady. Not Ellie. Oh dear,
she had really ticked him off. “How are you? How is your face?”
He put a hand to the side of
his head and shrugged. “A little sore. No less than I deserve I suppose.”
She swallowed. “I’m sorry
for my words to you last night. Mr Benton told me Mr Abberley had said
something none too flattering about me, and I jumped to the wrong conclusion.”
Lifting a shoulder, his
smile tilted further. “I cannot blame you.”
He did not blame her for
misjudging him. Now she felt even worse. Lucian really was quite far removed
from the young man she had once known. The revelation of his heroics had kept
her awake all night. Not only had he tried to defend her honour—albeit, perhaps
not in the best manner—but he had been injured rescuing a child. She knew there
was more to the tale than he suggested. Mr Newcombe had not told her all, but
it was clear he had entered the burning building with the knowledge he could
well die to rescue the trapped child. He really was a hero.
“I am sorry I have caused
you so much trouble.” Eleanor wrung her hands in front of her, avoiding his
gaze. “I...I realise now I am in your way. I shall leave tomorrow on the first
train.”
He stared at her for a long
while, a finger tapping the desk. She could not look up for fear of meeting his
gaze but she saw his tense posture in the periphery of her vision. The clock
ticked heavily behind her, each
thunk
matching the beating of her heart
in her ears. She was a fool to have become involved in his life in any way. She
should have stayed away. What had she been thinking, believing she could make
some kind of small difference to the world? When had little Ellie Browning been
anything other than insignificant?
“Stay.”
The word rushed towards her,
harsh and raw. She lifted her gaze and her heart was now firmly jammed in her
throat. Pure desire lit his eyes, but surely it was not for her?
“I cannot. My Mama—”
“Stay.”
Her lips parted and a
nonsensical sound, a little like a sob escaped her. Her heart reached out for
him and she wanted to draw it back, tuck it away and protect it behind the
strongest fortifications possible, but it seemed Lucian had brought a battering
ram to her chest and had broken through. He would only shatter her heart again.
Before she could think any
further on the risks of being in Lucian’s presence, he stood, strode around the
desk, kicked the door shut and moved towards her. His hands were upon her,
cupping her face fiercely and lifting her lips to his. In the next instant,
their lips had met. All of this happened in mere seconds and was a blur of
movement, yet each moment felt so significant.
Her thoughts drifted and
fear dissipated leaving only warmth and desire. The ache in her chest dropped
low, swift and sharp. Eleanor was forced to scrabble her hands across his
shoulders to get closer and the hard edge of the table met her bottom through
her skirts as he pressed her back.
His tongue sought entrance
to her mouth and she gave it to him. Their tongues tangled furiously. Heat was
everywhere. Cupping her face, against her lips, crushing her body. Building
inside.
The rough texture of his jaw
created a delightful friction across her skin and he kissed her harder,
desperately. She had never known anything like it, perhaps did not think Lucian
capable of such reckless abandon. Nor did she think herself capable of such,
yet here they were practically climbing against one another.
She bumped against the desk
as a hand slid down to draw her closer. His palm fairly singed through the
material and she grew aware of male hardness everywhere, even through the
layers of her dress. If she did not have her thick petticoats, would she be
able to feel another hardness? One she did not think herself capable of
inspiring? It did not seem possible she could inspire that in Lucian yet he
kissed her like a man possessed.
A rough sound rose from his
throat and she answered it with a moan. Forceful fingers tugged at her hair and
for once she didn’t care if it all came tumbling down. All she cared for was
more kisses, more touches.
More Lucian.
When she slung her arms
around his neck, their chests became crushed together and the throb deep down
intensified. He groaned and bundled her closer, drawing her away from the desk.
As they kissed, they wavered, back and forth like the sail of a ship. Her back
struck the door, then he knocked into the bookcase. Several books spilled onto
the floor with a
thump
but she didn’t care.
Finally she ended back by the
desk and he lifted her upon it to position himself between her legs. She parted
her thighs instinctively and he slotted himself as close as possible. And
there. She felt it. That was it, was it not? His arousal?
It was no good, she had to
know for sure. While he peppered hot, wet kisses down her neck, bringing about
the most delightful tingle all across her face, she reached between them and
cupped him through his trousers. Sure enough, there it was. She almost whooped
with joy.
Lucian hissed and tore away
from her. He didn’t leave her though, as she feared he might. Instead, he
rested his hands on the desk on either side of her and pressed his forehead to
hers. “Ellie, you’re a dangerous woman.”
She closed her eyes and
tried to gather her breath, and her thoughts. Lucian desired her. Goodness
knows why, but he did. No other man ever had. So what should she do with this
knowledge? Was pursuing anything with Lucian worth the risk? A woman like her
could never keep Lucian forever.
But, oh Lord, did she want
to feel that delicious ache again, and enjoy his hot kisses over and over. She
wanted to touch his skin and feel his muscles roll. She wanted him between her
legs.
“Will you stay?”
Eleanor opened her eyes.
“Mama is at home. I am neglecting her.”
“She will understand.”
What was he asking of her?
She wasn’t sure, yet she could not bring herself to ask outright. “I should
return home.” His shoulders sagged a little and she smoothed her hands over the
top of them. “But I may return in a few days?” she suggested.
Up close, she could not see
his smile but his eyes crinkled and he brought his hands up to cradle her jaw.
“You drive me insane. How shall I survive the wait?”
“You have survived your
whole life without me. I am sure a few days will do you no harm.”
Lucian drew back a little
and his smile dropped. “I can’t offer you anything, Ellie. Hell, not that you
need anything. You are far richer than I will ever be. But I am not in the
position to—”
She held up a hand, feeling
her confidence swell inside her chest. He did want her. Maybe not as a wife but
as a lover. That
was
what he was saying, was it not?
“I do not ask for anything,
Lucian. Just a little of your time. Can you give me that?”
“That I can do.” He stepped
forwards again and pressed a sweet kiss to her lips. “When you return, I shall
make you mine.”
Excitement bubbled inside
her. The way he said
mine
. Oh, it was what fairy tales were made of. But
this was no fairy tale, she reminded herself. This was Lucian—a rake and a
scoundrel. He would bring her a few moments of pleasure, nothing more. Well,
hopefully more than a few moments. Enough to make her feel like a proper woman,
she hoped.
But, whatever happened, she
would not fall in love with him. She would not dream of happily ever afters and
knights in shining armour. The rake wished to bed her and she wished him in her
bed. That was as far as things would ever go.
No Horses Here
The clock chimed, dragging Lucian’s attention from his
work. He dropped the letter he’d been holding and stared at the clock for
several moments. Ellie would be waiting for him. His mouth grew dry. Was he
really going to do this?
He pictured her sprawled on
a plush hotel bed in nothing but a sheer slip of satin and nodded to himself.
He bloody well was. He’d been on tenterhooks since he had received her telegram
yesterday informing him she was returning today and to meet him at her hotel
room at nine o’clock.
It was seven now, giving him
two hours to clean up and dress. He had already taken a long bath in
preparation and even stopped to have a cutthroat shave, but he had been working
since he had returned home and the air of the study was stifling. Not that it
was a hot day, but having her telegram in his pocket all day made his blood boil.
He cleaned and dressed
with the help of his valet and tried to force thoughts of work aside. They were
still trying to catch up after the loom collapsed and he had lost a worker.
Fred’s mangled hand meant he wouldn’t be working in the mill ever again. Lucian
had sent over some food and money via one of his office assistants and he said
the prognosis looked dire.
When he stepped out onto the
street, he drew in a breath of cool evening air and felt the stress slip away.
He did not want work distracting him from tonight. For whatever reason, Ellie
wanted him, and he wanted her. Wanted her so badly that the past week had been
torture. He needed to breathe in her vanilla scent, touch her hair, feel her
lips on his. Who knew little Ellie could kiss like that?
And from what she had hinted
at, her husband had never brought her pleasure. That drove him wild—the thought
that she’d never experienced the pleasure that could be had between a man and a
woman. He imagined exactly how he would drive her to the edge and make her as
wild as he. He’d use his tongue, his fingers, his cock to teach her exactly
what her body could do.
The gas lamps were lit,
casting their glow along the streets. From his townhouse to the hotel was only
a fifteen minute walk along the cobbled streets and he could avoid the rougher
areas that not even the bravest of men stepped foot in after dark. Though at
present, he felt as though he could take on ten ruffians, if not more. No one
would come between him and his Ellie.
His Ellie?
He shook his head. This
would be a short affair. She was a widow—there was little shame involved in
bedding her so his conscience would remain clear—but he could offer her
nothing. Work kept him busy enough and Ellie deserved better than a grizzled
ex-rake who once hurt her badly. Perhaps she would find herself a rich husband
before long and they could live in castles and spend the rest of their days
counting their money or something.
But first, she would be his.
He allowed himself a smile and hopped up onto the pavement. Lucian grimaced to
himself. Far too close to skipping along like a blasted schoolgirl for his
liking. He also had to consider how he would ensure she did not see all his
scars. Snuff out the candles perhaps? Or even take her so hard and fast that he
had no time to remove his shirt?
Somehow he couldn’t see
Ellie being fooled by any of that. Would he take the risk and hope she was not
so repulsed that she sent him away?
He rounded the corner and
the hotel came into sight. Though small by London standards, the hotel, which
was only around twenty years old, was one of the finest in Caldton. Built like
an Italian villa, its impressive columns and front facade dominated the street.
It was, in his opinion, a fine place to meet one’s lover.
Though she was not his
lover. Not just yet.
He allowed a small smile to
tease his lips as the doorman opened the door and Lucian stepped through. Soon
though.
Lucian skirted the reception
with bold steps, as though he knew exactly where he was heading. Night time visitors
would be no rarity but he did not wish anyone to spot him or ask him if he
needed assistance. Ellie had suffered much at his hands and he refused to add
sullying her name to his misdeeds too.
Thankfully he’d visited with
business associates at the hotel so it did not take him long to find the third
floor, and Ellie’s room. He paused outside and eyed the gold letters indicating
her room. Tempted to pull out the telegram and double check the room number, he
shook his head at himself and raised a fist to knock. He really was behaving
like a whelp about to lose his virginity and Lucian was far from a virgin.
Rapping his knuckles several
times against the door, he glanced up and down the corridor. Had he knocked too
many times? Sounded impatient? Perhaps she had changed her mind? The door swung
open and his already dry mouth turned to dust.
There wasn’t a stretch of
silk in sight. In fact, one could have described the garment she was wearing as
distinctly virginal, yet the billowing cotton lining her slender frame and
pulling in under her breasts sent an instant dart of longing to his crotch.
But then it was her beaming
smile that broke him. When he raised his gaze to hers, he saw the glow in her
eyes, slightly hindered by apprehension. Her generous smile wavered but
remained, and she looked so much like the hopeful, excitable girl he had known
all those years ago.
“You came.”
It was a wonder his legs did
not come out from beneath him. Oh, he came. And she would come. Over and over. Breathing
his name, just like she had breathed those two words. Every muscle in his body
tensed up and he stepped wordlessly over the threshold.
Ellie shut the door behind
him, bringing her body next to his. Lucian studied the pale blue cotton chemise
she wore and took in the way the ruffles skimmed her breasts and made him want
to lick a path down and down until he became lost in her. He had seen far more
enticing garments—ones deliberately designed to appeal to a man—yet on Ellie,
everything enticed him.
She slid her hands over the
fabric and chewed on her bottom lip. When she tipped her head down, a few curls
spilled about her shoulders. Most of her abundant hair was piled high but as it
often did, much escaped and his fingers twitched with the urge to bury into
those curls.
“Will I do?” she asked,
every ounce of vulnerability she had seeming to pour into those words.
It was the undoing of him.
“You shall more than do,” he said gruffly, his throat feeling as though full of
coal dust.
He closed the gap and took
her face in his hands. His lips met hers. She gasped and gripped his neck,
drawing the slender column of her body to his. Sweet, precious feminine flesh
pressed against him and he groaned into her mouth.
This was a mistake. It had
to be. Bedding the woman whose life he had all but destroyed? But not even the
hounds of hell could hold him back. Maybe bringing her pleasure would be his
salvation.
Pish, unlikely.
She tasted of wine and he
suspected she must have had some to still her nerves. But what was she nervous
about? Did she too realise how wrong her desire was for him? What woman in
their right mind would want a scarred man who had been unbearably cruel to her?
But her desire was there, pulling her into him and making her rub her breasts
eagerly against his chest.
Frantic fingers began
plucking at his necktie and he lifted a hand to help before she strangled him.
The hot, wet, desperate kisses continued. When he moved to draw the tie out and
flick open his collar, she trailed her lips down the side of his face and along
his neck. It was only when she began shoving off his frock coat did he realise
she had been kissing his scar.
Lucian drew back long enough
to fling his coat aside and to see no hint of repulsion in her gaze. He smirked
to himself. He had always known Ellie was so much better than he. No judgement,
no loathing. She saw him as...well, he did not know, but as something other
than a scarred scoundrel.
“I’ve been—” His words were
cut off by a blue blur of cotton flinging itself back against him. She kissed
his lips with grateful, firm kisses, forcing him to spit out his words like
pistol shots. “I’ve. Been. Thinking. Of. Nothing but you,” he finally spilled
out.
“Me too.”
He ran his hands down her
back and gripped her rear. Suddenly the cotton was far more than a little
appealing. If his hands were to be believed—and he could not be entirely sure
as he felt as though his wits were a little addled—she wore nothing underneath
the cotton.
Lucian notched himself
against her and heard her sharp intake of breath.
“You are hard,” she said,
awe inching into her voice. It was most flattering.
He smirked. “I am hard most
of the time around you.” He pressed forcefully, tried to bring some kind of
relief to the ache in his groin.
Ellie’s hands ran up and
down his back and she moved her hips against his arousal. Her fingers came to
his trousers and tugged at the waistband. Her eagerness made him grin until she
successfully undid them and slipped a hand down to cup him. That small palm
holding him made his grin vanish and a strange, animalistic sound rose in his
throat.
Her hand snapped back.
“Forgive me.”
He grabbed her hand and
pressed it back against him, rocking into her palm as he did so. “Nothing to
forgive.” He slid a hand around her neck and kissed her firmly before uttering,
“Do it again.”
She clasped once more,
exploring the shape of him through his drawers. Her eagerness—indeed her
boldness—was wholly unexpected.
Lucian took her mouth then,
exploring it properly with his tongue, flicking across her lips and delving
into the corner of them. Her tongue met his and he staggered back as her grip
on his shaft grew bolder. Then her hand left him and he bit back a sound of
disappointment.
Apprehension tangled around
his windpipe when her hands found the buttons of his waistcoat, removed it,
then worked on his shirt. He supposed he ought to stop kissing her and distract
her in some way, but he could not bring himself to break away. She tasted too
sweet, felt too hot. He could kiss her for an eternity and never get enough. He
grasped and kneaded her buttocks while she popped open each button and forced
his shirt from him.
The garment stuck at his
wrists and she giggled as he cursed and released her to pop open his cufflinks.
One flew across the room and she giggled again. He eyed her with a raised brow
and flung the other one to God knows where. Then her gaze fell on his scarred
arm.
He’d forgotten that. Ellie
had made him forget. He stiffened when she stepped forwards and touched the scar
tissue that covered much of his arm up to his shoulder. She skimmed her fingers
over the bumpy flesh and he held his breath.
“I am so sorry you had to
suffer this, Lucian.”
He shrugged, fighting the
desire to cover up or cower away. He didn’t need to fight long. She moved her
hand past the scarring and smoothed her palms over his chest and down. Her
fingers traced the ridges of his stomach, searing a path. The way she stared at
him, her lips parted, eyes shining... She had never looked so beautiful.
And he felt almost like his
old self again. But not quite. With Ellie, there were no thoughts of seduction,
of playing a game. As much as he wanted her, he needed her pleasure too.
Standing in his trousers, he
slid his hands down her bare arms and drew her close. Heat radiated from her
and her scent increased. He lifted her curls away from her neck and kissed up
and down until a shudder ran through her, then he bit her soft lobe. Were it
not for the hold he had on her, he felt sure she would collapse. Lucian
registered the faint movements of her body—each softening moment, each tremble.
When her hands began
fumbling around his clothes again, he released her earlobe and set to work
untying the ribbon on the front of her chemise. She stiffened.
Lucian held her back from
him. “What’s the matter?”
She bit her lip. “Horse,”
she whispered so softly he had to strain to hear it.
What in the blazes? “Horse?”
“What if you still prefer
your horse to me?”
If he was not standing
half-clothed, with his arousal aching and desire coursing through his veins, he
might have laughed. Had she not looked so desperately frightened, he could have
told her not to be foolish. Instead he longed to go back and take away his
careless words and his idiocy. How did he never see what stood before him now?
“How will I know if you will
not let me see you?” he asked, keeping his tone soft as though she were a
skittish animal.
Ellie did not fight him when
he finished with the ribbon. She remained frozen—no longer pliant and
desperate. Had he not been so frantic with need, maybe he would have offered
better words of reassurance, but he had none. Perhaps if he had been thinking
clearly, he would have pointed out she was more likely to prefer his horse over
his own scarred body, than he find her unattractive.
Slowly, he inched up the
fabric until it was bunched by her hips. He did not have to glance down to know
she wore nothing else. Nothing but this thin slip stood between him and her
skin. His knuckles brushed a fragile hip bone and he pushed it higher still,
drawing it over her head and leaving her clenching her fists by her side,
completely exposed.