Duke of Deception (Wentworth Trilogy) (25 page)

Lucy stared mutely as the boy’s words sank in. Derek was going home next week, back to America. It was exactly what she’d so hatefully told him to do, and yet . . .

“Lady, are you all right?”

She pushed her weary thoughts away and gave Jimmy a weak smile. “Yes, really, I’m fine. I was only thinking you shouldn’t go wishing your life away. You can believe me when I tell you things will happen soon enough.”

W
ith a long and labored sigh, Lucy closed her eyes and settled back against the tub, trying her best to concentrate on the healing warmth of the water.

She had misjudged him, and he would never forgive her. How could he after she’d said those vile things, after she had so completely believed the worst of him?

It was all so confusing.
He
was confusing. Everything in her life had been confusing since the day they met, but could she blame
him?
Perhaps he hadn’t been completely honest with her about his past, but he hadn’t asked to be in this marriage. He was there because of her stupid actions and her lack of consideration for others. Because of
her
scheming, not his. She’d had no right to try to use him that way. It had been an unkind and selfish act, and they were both paying the price.

She slid down and dipped the back of her head in the water, savoring the delicious shivers of warmth that raced along her shoulders and spine. Already the dull ache between her shoulder blades was easing. In the steaming water her limbs seemed almost numb.

If only she could numb her mind as well. If only she could turn off her thoughts and just float in a place where no one thought about anything, where everyone did what felt right without worrying about the consequences.

She dismissed her wistful fantasies. She already knew what
felt
right—staying with Derek and making a life with him—but she’d been telling herself from the day he’d announced their betrothal that it was all wrong. The problem was that her reasoning was beginning to blur.

Derek was no longer, and apparently never had been, a greedy murderer profiting from the sale of people. Instead he had saved strangers from that terrible fate. As far as she could tell, he didn’t seem to be guilty of anything else, either, unless she counted his lack of forthrightness regarding his past.

Still, one truth remained. He was going back to America, and in a week, if what Jimmy said was true. She’d always known he would return to his home, and there had been many times when she couldn’t wait for that day so that this unsettling part of her life could be over and some sense of normalcy returned. But now that the time had come, she wanted to weep.

Derek stood motionless in the doorway that separated his room from Lucy’s, watching her bathe in silence, wishing he knew what to say. It was all he could do to keep from going to her and pulling her into his arms, but he wouldn’t do that. If there was ever to be a true marriage between them, she must come to him.

She knew the truth about the slave ship; he gleaned that much from a conversation with Jimmy. But was it enough? Did she have any respect for him at all? Had she ever? Could she ever? He didn’t know, and he wished he could tell her the truth about everything and be done with this business, but he knew he must tell Stephen before he told anyone else. Stephen was still pretending to be Captain Wainright’s business partner, and if a rumor circulated that Captain Wainright wasn’t who he was supposed to be, Stephen’s life would be in danger. Rumors spread so quickly. One servant with big ears and a bigger mouth was all it took.

That wasn’t the only reason he didn’t want to tell her yet. The other reason was one he was loath to admit, even to himself, because it was completely selfish. The truth was, if he confessed his deception to her now, what little headway he might have gained from her conversation with Jimmy would not only disappear, but so would any chance of her forgiveness, and God knew he wanted her forgiveness, even if he didn’t deserve it.

And he didn’t deserve it.

She’d miscarried his child, a child that should never have been conceived, a child that wouldn’t have been conceived if he had treated Lucy with the respect she deserved, and the midwife said she’d taken it very hard. He hated to know of her suffering, but he deserved to know of it, to feel each stab at his conscience.

Kirkpatrick, too, had filled him in before leaving for Dorrington, and his report had not been good. Following the miscarriage, Lucy had gone into a deep decline. Her health suffered, she lost her spirit, and it wasn’t until Lady Foxworth’s visit that she began to rally. Derek was deeply grateful to Lady Foxworth for that, if somewhat surprised.

There was no doubt that these months had been hard on Lucy, and Derek wished he could take back all the pain he caused. There was nothing he could do about it now except make it up to her.

He watched her slip slowly into the water, lower and lower, until first her chin disappeared, then her nose, then her entire head. When she didn’t rise again within seconds, he moved quickly into the room to pull her out of the water, if need be, but as he reached the tub, her head broke the surface, waves of dark hair floating out around it. She reached out to her stool, where a dry washcloth lay. He handed it to her.

“Bridget?”

He took a deep breath. “It’s me.” He sat down on the stool, facing her. “I want to apologize for everything I’ve done to cause you pain or unhappiness. It was never my intention to hurt you in any way. I want you to know that.” He waited for any sign of rebuff, and it was only when he saw there wasn’t going to be any that he realized how very much he cared.

Lucy blotted the water from her face and raised her eyes to meet his. Her eyes were dark, almost as dark as the tendrils of hair that were plastered to her shoulders and face, all of it making her appear small and forlorn.

“I’m sorry too,” she whispered, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Sorry for not believing in you, for thinking the worst of you.”

“Don’t,” he said, his voice rough. “You’ve nothing to apologize for.” He hated himself at that moment, knowing she blamed herself for everything that had happened between them when all the while, he was the one living a lie. He could only hope she would understand once she knew his motives and would forgive him for not telling the truth.

He rolled up his sleeves, then took the washcloth from her. “You’re exhausted and deserve to be pampered, and I want to do the pampering.”

She was quietly accepting as he moved behind her and piled the thick ropes of wet hair atop her head. He worked the lavender-scented soap through her hair, circling and rubbing, soothing away her tension. He massaged the nape of her neck and shoulders and the muscles between her shoulder blades. She was as limp as a sail without wind, allowing him to move her in any direction, and it was all he could do not to slip his arms around her and pull her up against him. But he wouldn’t do that. Tonight was for her, and so was tomorrow night and every other night for as long as need be. She deserved nothing less from him.

He eased her back against the tub and moved to each side in turn, covering her arms with creamy lather from shoulder to fingertip, carefully massaging each area he touched. The water sloshed back and forth, but gently, and he watched, captivated, as soft, pink nipples crested the soapy water again and again. Without thinking, he slid his lathered hands over her breasts, kneading them gently, and when she rose to meet his touch, a surge of lust assailed him. The ache in his groin was almost painful from his stiffening arousal, but he would do nothing to relieve his discomfort.

His soapy hands slid downward, stroking and rubbing the softness of her belly, and the urge to continue that downward path, to plunge his fingers into her until neither of them could breathe, almost overwhelmed him. He forced himself to stop. He couldn’t finish washing this part of her body now. Not now. My God, not now.

He moved to the foot of the tub and captured a slender ankle with his hand. Gently, reverently, he massaged each lathered foot, using his thumbs to apply pressure, trying to turn his thoughts away from his longing for her. His hands moved upwards, caressing and massaging first one calf and then the other while Lucy lay with eyes closed, the slight reflexive movement of her muscles the only clue she was aware of his actions.

A smooth white thigh broke the surface of the water, and his restraint almost dissolved at the thought of sliding his hands upward along the tender flesh of her inner thighs and urging them apart. He remembered the heady pleasure of his mouth on her, and closed his eyes against the memory. He heard a moan of desire, as if from far away.
His
moan. He had to stop.

His fingers stilled on her thighs, but he couldn’t remove them. Not yet. His breathing ragged, he tried to think what to do, how to go on, how to control the desire that had taken over his body, his mind, his senses.

“Please,” came a whisper from Lucy, and startled, he jerked his gaze to hers, looking into eyes that were beseeching, full of passion and desire. His heart thumped at the thought that she might want him as he wanted her.

He didn’t speak, unable to form words; there were none to convey the enormity of his feelings. He longed for her, for every part of her, but if all she wanted from him was a physical release, he would give that to her as he had before.

He moved his hands to the juncture of her thighs and brushed his fingers lightly over her most sensitive area. She gasped and shuddered and then moaned when he moved his hand away. He teased her, letting his fingertips skim along her thighs from knee to hip, closing his eyes as she relaxed her legs for him.

His cock throbbed with every beat of his heart, and he tried to put the relentless pulsing out of his mind. His sleeves were soaked to the shoulders, and he quickly rose, unbuttoned his shirt, and took it off, then moved back to her side. He caressed the length of the inside of her thigh, sliding his fingers upward until they slipped into the crevice between her soft womanly lips, unable to stop himself from dipping into her. She moaned and arched against his hand.

He knew what she needed and he wanted to give it to her, wanted that more than anything, and so he let his fingers begin a sensual assault, one that had barely begun when her hand closed over his, forcing him to stop. Disappointment and dismay coursed through him; she would not trust him even for this.

“No,” Lucy whispered when he raised his eyes to meet hers. “I want
you.”

Her eyes were wet with tears. Not tears of recrimination, but of longing. A yearning he had never expected to see in their clear blue depths.

Dear God, it was a yearning for
him.

Almost shaking with desire now, Derek lifted her to her feet, holding her as she swayed against him. With careful attention he poured pitchers of water over her body to wash away the soap and then wrapped her in a thick towel and lifted her from the bath and carried her to the bed. He looked into her eyes and told himself over and over that what he saw was a true longing to be with him as a wife wanted to be with a husband. But he couldn’t be sure unless she said so. He couldn’t take that chance. He couldn’t wrong her again.

He laid her gently upon the bed, his eyes locked with hers. “Lucy . . . ”

When she reached for him, urging him to her, he closed his eyes, overwhelmed, overwhelmed by sheer joy and relief and something so much more precious.

He quickly stripped off his trousers, watching Lucy all the while. This time there was no fear in her eyes, only wonder and desire, as she reached for him again. His entire body clenched at the intimate contact, and his cock sprang up, startling Lucy into a gasp. He laughed softly at her widened eyes and fell into bed beside her, gathering her into his arms, the pent-up desire breaking loose as he captured her lips in a plundering kiss.

Their hands sought each other’s bodies, their movements urgent as their kiss deepened. Derek tore his lips from hers, moving lower to nuzzle her ear, her neck, her breast, capturing a swollen nipple in his mouth and gently raking it with his teeth. His hands moved over her, stoking her fires. He dipped into her wetness, then slid his finger out, circling her sensitive bud again and again, forcing her closer to release, and she moaned and clutched at him, trying to pull him to her.

He drew back and looked into Lucy’s desire-filled eyes. “I want to make sure you’re ready,” he said, his voice husky and strained. He slid a long finger into her, as deep as it would go, marveling at the way her muscles contracted around it. She was wet and ready, more than ready.

He moved over her and held himself up on one arm as he positioned himself. She’d only had one sexual experience, an experience he wished she couldn’t remember. He wanted this experience to be one she would never forget.

He gritted his teeth as he slid his sensitive tip between her slick, swollen lips, wondering how long he could last. He had dreamed about this for months, but even his fantasies hadn’t prepared him for the intensity of his desire. She writhed against him, reaching out for him, wanting more than he was giving, and then cried out in despair when he pushed into her only slightly before pulling back out. And then he did it again . . . and again . . . and again. Determined to please her, he closed his eyes and tried to banish his lustful thoughts while he used slow, shallow thrusts to ready her for his complete intrusion.

Two times two is four,
he thought.
Four times four is sixteen. Sixteen times sixteen is
. . . what the devil
was
sixteen times sixteen? He couldn’t think. His mind was a blank. He opened his eyes to gaze into Lucy’s, and her siren’s smile told him she’d waited long enough.

Lucy stared into the warm gray depths of his eyes, seeing her own deep longing reflected back at her, and she pulled him to her, wanting more, needing more than he was giving. She committed to memory the fresh scent of soap mixed with cologne, the way his damp hair curled against his neck, how his breath caught each time she moved against him. She wished she could memorize everything about him, about this night, so she could have her memories forever. He would be gone in a few days, never to return, at least not for her. She hadn’t even learned why he’d married her, and now it didn’t matter. She would take what she could have of him and be thankful. She wrapped her legs around him, thrusting against him, and he surrendered, filling her completely as they began the most intimate rhythm of mankind.