Compromised Miss (22 page)

‘I have not used the
Ghost
!’ Luke snapped.

‘But that doesn’t mean that you won’t. Nor does it explain Captain Henri. And I am no Wrecker! I was not there when the
Lion d’Or
came aground.’ Harriette found her anger melding with an intense grief, to leave her distressingly tearful. ‘I was at Whitescar Hall, at the celebration of the birth of Sir Wallace’s first child, with all the county present.’ She smeared the tears from her cheeks. This was no time to weep.

‘Yes. I left the reception—Wallace was furious, I remember—to launch the
Ghost
to try to save lives. I don’t suppose you’ll believe me, but that’s the truth.
Damn you, Luke,’ she whispered. ‘I am no Wrecker. Have I ever lied to you?’

It filled Luke with shame. Harriette’s simple explanation. Her final simple question. Luke took in the effects of his accusation with a gut-churning mix of guilt and contempt for what he had allowed himself to do. The catch in Harriette’s voice, the sheer misery in her face despite the sternly braced shoulders, struck home and shame coated Luke’s skin. Even in the face of such distress she had the strength of will to face him, even when tears transformed her eyes to silver and marked her delicate skin.

Luke swallowed painfully. How despicable had he been? He had gone too far; far beyond honour or decency, spurred by sheer brutal jealousy that his wife should choose to find solace in Ellerdine’s arms. And who could blame her when he treated her with such lack of consideration. Did he believe her? Yes, he did. Here, in Harriette’s brief account, was no artfully hidden guilt, of that he would swear. Whatever Ellerdine’s carefully aimed inference that morning at Lydyard’s Pride, Luke found that he simply could not believe it of her. How could he ever have believed it? How could he doubt her transparent integrity, or the devastation in her eyes? His vicious words had reduced her to tears and he should be ashamed of causing suffering to a woman of such high spirit. Whatever else was between them, he would stake his honour on the truth of her denial.

‘Have I ever lied to you?’ Harriette demanded again.

‘No. Never.’

‘And yet you would believe some vicious gossip before you would believe me. Who would say such lies about me?’ She pressed her hand against her breast. ‘It hurts me—so much pain—that you should think it.’ And the tears that she would give anything to control began to slide
down her cheeks once more. But still she held his gaze. As if allowing him to see into her heart. ‘On my honour I am not guilty.’

And Luke, wishing that he could turn back the hands of the ormolu clock on the mantelpiece, responded to his conscience. ‘Harriette—I know. It was unforgivable of me. I should never have accused you of that.’

Harriette would have turned from him, but he stopped her, fingers burning into her shoulders. She risked a glance. The fury was no longer there, but overlaid by something far more immediate that caused her heart to throb, her skin to heat. Before she could draw breath he had dragged her to him so that the delicate ruffles were crushed between them. His mouth was so close to hers, his eyes blazing with green fire that was no longer temper.

‘What do you want of me, Luke?’

His eyes swept her face. How sad she looked. Wounded and confused. It was his doing. Self-blame layered itself on his skin, a slick and unpleasant sensation. He could tell her that his doubts had been fired by Ellerdine, but that would be shrugging the blame from his own shoulders. At least he had enough honour left to him to refuse to do that. The shame was his for believing Ellerdine before his own wife. The shame was his for accusing her. He had allowed his jealousy to overcome his sense of judgement.

He did not know what to say to her.

And at that moment Harriette raised her hand and touched his cheek in an open plea. The most intimate of little gestures.

‘Luke…’ Her voice broke.

It stole his breath and suddenly the jealousy and shame were swept away. Desire became a fast flood, centred on his awareness of her slender body hard against his.

‘Harriette—can you forgive me?’

She stood motionless in the circle of his arms. ‘I don’t know,’ she admitted on a sob. ‘I feel as if I am wounded beyond healing.’

‘And the fault is mine. All I can ask is your forgiveness. I have no excuse for my behaviour.’

‘What do you want of me?’ she repeated, as his arms remained encircling her.

Then his lips were hard, bruising, the powerful muscles of his arms banding.

‘This!’

It robbed her of words, of thought. Only sensation remained, a desperate thrill from the crown of her head to the arch of her feet. As overwhelming as it was horrifying that she had so little command over her response to him. Her lips parted beneath his demand, she could do nothing but press herself against him.

Luke raised his head.

And Harriette, more angry with herself than with Luke, felt emotion build and spill over until she raised her hand, instinctively, to strike out at the arrogance of him. But Luke caught her wrist and pulled it to his lips.

‘No! You’ll not strike me. And I still have enough honour left to me, no matter what you think.’ He trailed his lips in open-mouthed kisses from wrist—where her pulse rioted—to her soft palm. ‘Tell me to go, Harriette, and I will.’ Desire curled low in his belly. His muscles tightened in painful urgency.

She stood, arrow straight, ashamed of herself, resentful of his power over her. ‘I should not have done that.’ And took a deep breath that pressed her breasts against his chest. ‘Do you still want me?’

‘I’ll not force myself on you, Harriette. Do you think
me so lacking in integrity?’ His mouth captured hers again, forcing her lips to part, his tongue owning her, awakening all manner of sensations, stirring a response that shivered through Harriette, a need that destroyed all her defences.

‘Well?’ he gasped at last, eyes raking her face. ‘Do I go or do I stay?’

She should refuse him. She knew it, and
would
refuse him. But Harriette’s blood had sprung into flame, her skin on fire with it.

‘Damn you, Luke,’ she said, and allowed desire to rule her. With the smallest of steps so that the hair’s breadth between them was obliterated, she locked her arms around his neck and allowed him to push her back on to her bed.

It was a breathtaking acknowledgement of desire oversetting willpower. Time and place, even the bitter words of the past moments, held no meaning. Clothes were ripped aside, wilfully discarded in the heat of demand to be flesh to flesh as Luke’s hands and mouth devoured her. It seemed to Harriette that every inch of sensitive skin was prey to the intoxication of his body. They rolled, entwined, breath ragged, his muscles bunching, rippling beneath her sweat-slicked palms. Tensing when her nails gripped, bit. Until he covered her, the weight of him holding her motionless, thighs spread and open to his avid gaze. Harriette stilled in breathless anticipation, every thought, every response, dominated by his superb body.

Luke reared above her, her body finally subject to his, his sex straining. His fingers dipped between her thighs and she cried out as they penetrated. As her belly tensed in a curl of anticipation, she reached up to press openmouthed kisses over his throat, his shoulders.

‘Harriette…!’

Luke looked down at her, the lovely flushed face, the
tender bruised lips. The silver of her eyes shining as brilliantly as any diamonds. He was beyond reason, beyond control, lured on by a need to bury himself between the slender thighs, a primal desire that overrode every other sense.

‘Look at me!’ he demanded.

And she did, so that he could see his own reflection in her eyes.

‘You are mine, not any other man’s. I’ll have you. And you’ll have me—all of me. You are not Ellerdine’s—and never will be.’

Perspiration sprang on his brow, his chest, as he still held tight to the reins. Yet at the core of his mind there remained the essence of a consideration that he must have a care of her. She was ready for him, impossibly hot, enthrallingly slick and yet he must not use her as if driven by thoughtless, indiscriminate lust.

The decision was stripped from him when, in a sinuous, silk-smooth action Harriette ambushed him, arched her body against his, against the heel of his hand. It was enough to drive out every thought but the lure of the passion that speared between them. One hard thrust and she was his. No languorous coupling, no gradual building of urgency, but an overwhelming driving on to the end because he had no choice. Because she held him, nails scoring into his hips, teeth nipping at his shoulder. He felt her muscles tense and shiver beneath his, stoking his erection. With a final shuddering he emptied into her, a hot spill.

‘Harriette…you destroy me…’

As breathless as he, shattered by the emotions in the room, by her own compliance in such wanton desire, Harriette could only hold on. Compliance? No, she had been
as hungry for fulfilment as Luke. Duty and obedience? Is that what it had been? Never. It had been the fiercest of desires to touch and be touched, to possess and be possessed. Words, her own unspoken—
don’t let him take you, it makes you too vulnerable
—his recalled—
Harriette, you destroy me
—spun in her brain.

She regretted it, or did she? She did not know, only that she had been unable to stand against the force of the wild, untamed demands that had arced between them.

She stared into his eyes, so close that she could see the reflection of the candle flames. He had not asked her, this time, if she wished him to blow them out. He had not had the courtesy, and yet it had not mattered. She had not noticed in the frenzy of longing. As shame returned, Harriette turned her head aside so that he should not see the regret that he should take her in the heat of anger rather than affection. With lust rather than love.

Wordlessly, raising her hands, she pushed with her palms against his chest.

Luke’s heart still thundered in his chest, his body still astonishingly hard, desiring her all over again, but he answered her silent signal and lifted himself away, to his knees, washed by a return of that sharp surge of guilt. Never had he wanted a woman as he had wanted this furious girl, and still did. If she had raised one word of rejection he would have left her, but she had not and he had been seduced into an act of uncontrolled, unbridled physical need. Why had she not refused him, pushed him away, as she was doing now? It was as if she had been driven to it as much as he, against her wishes, against all her doubts in him.

Luke lingered for one moment to wind his hand into her hair, gently, turning her face so that she must look up at him and spoke the one thought in his mind.

‘You are mine, Harriette. Whatever is between us, whatever divides us, you are mine.’

Abruptly he left her, the fine linen of the sheets tumbled beneath her, her hair spread over the pillow. Magnificently naked, still aroused by the sight of her flushed beauty, he stood for a moment at the door between her chamber and his dressing room, sharply aware of the trace of tears in her lovely eyes, tears he had put there. How cruel the words, the accusations between them, and his without foundation. And despite his apology there had been no healing in his possession of her. That, too, must be laid at his door. Could he have not soothed her heart? Self-contempt stabbed hard, so that his tone was more curt than he intended.

‘I shall be at Brooks’s tonight, my lady. I will send your maid to you.’ There was no vestige of expression on his face. ‘Tomorrow I shall be away, taking our French guest with me. It will delight you to know that his presence in Grosvenor Square will no longer be on your conscience. You can at least pretend you have no proof for your suspicions over my integrity towards my country.’

‘And will you be able to pretend the same, my lord?’ Harriette replied on a sob. ‘Will you pretend that I do not lure men to their death?’

‘No. There’s no pretence,’ he murmured softly on a sigh. ‘I don’t believe that. I don’t think you capable of taking a man’s life so indiscriminately. You have too much honour, too much integrity for that. You had the compassion to save my life when many would have thrown me overboard and good riddance to a man with questionable loyalties. No one would have blamed you. Whereas I have treated you with such lack of consideration…I can only ask for your forgiveness. If you cannot, I can hardly blame you, can I?’

She was unable to reply. With pride springing to her defence, Harriette made no attempt to wipe away the telltale moisture from her cheeks nor to cover her body from his uncaring contemplation. Luke’s words meant nothing to her in her distress. The contrast to the heat of his body, the fire of his kisses shocked her into a bleak reality. Distrust lay heavy between them, and always would, a dangerous shifting sand of suspicion and doubt, waiting to drag them in. It lurked, a third entity in the room. Like a ghost in the shadowed recesses of a ruin.

H
arriette could not sleep. She heard the opening and closing of the front door, a murmur of voices in the hall, later heard Luke’s returning footsteps on the stair. The door of his own room opened and closed softly. Silence fell on the house. And when cool grey began to lap at the edges of her room, Harriette pushed back the covers and opened a small travelling case on her bed, staring hopelessly down into its empty exterior, his words stamped in her memory as if in blood.

‘Do you deny that you are a Wrecker?’ Luke had asked her, and disgust had marked his voice, his face. He might have rescinded his allegation, but how had such a suspicion become fixed in his mind in the first place?

She could not live with such a slight on her honour.

Her fingers closed on the edge of the little case. It was too difficult to decide what to take with her, her brain refusing to function with its usual clarity, but she was not to be deterred. Faced with what appeared to be proof of Luke’s involvement in something clandestine, she had once believed that her love for him could remain strong
despite the conflicting pull of rogue tides between them. Just to be with him could surely be enough. How wrong she had been—it was too painful. Luke turned her bones to water, her blood to fire, but if he could not trust her with the truth, what future did they have together? Perhaps there were ways out of this entanglement, but for the present they eluded her.