One Week as Lovers (11 page)

In the dark she could feel everything. In the dark it was just Nick and his taste and smell and touch. In the dark there was no fiancée and no scar around his neck and no ship to America.

He devoured her, consuming all her strength, and she let the wall support her weakening body.

Her skirts rustled when he lowered his hand to slide them up.
Yes,
she prayed.
Yes, yes.
He tucked them up in one heavy bunch, and then his hand spread over her thigh, each finger an individual brand on her skin.
This is Nicholas,
she reminded herself, smiling as they kissed.
This is Nick sliding his hand up my bare skin.

His palm traveled higher, and he pushed her harder to the wall as if to brace her. Cynthia gasped for breath and let her head fall back, pressing her skull to the solid wood behind her.

When his fingers brushed the hair that covered her sex, a whimper slipped free of her throat. Then he touched her fully. His hand cupped her, and his fingers slipped along the seam of her body with shocking ease.

“Ah, God,” he groaned as she gasped in surprise. The pads of his fingers slipped deeper as he caressed her with short strokes. “My God, Cyn, you’re so damn wet.”

She was. Her face blazed with humiliation. That had never happened before. “I’m sorry.”

Nick nuzzled the skin beneath her ear. “Mm?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know…why.”

“Why what?”

He didn’t stop stroking her, and Cynthia found that his fingers were somehow stealing her breath. “Why I’m so…” she gasped, “so damp.”

His fingers froze, much to her disappointment. He raised his head as if he might look at her despite the dark. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Of course, you wouldn’t…” Nick was frozen, the pressure of his hand decreasing as the seconds ticked by. He was going to stop, because of her.

“No,” she whispered. “Please don’t stop.” Tears sprang to her eyes. She only wanted this. Just this, and it didn’t seem too much to wish for. “Just touch me. Please.”

His breath quickened on her cheek. His fingers shook against her sex. He pressed in, and one finger slipped deeper.

“Yes. Oh, Nick, yes,” she begged.

He was panting now, despite that she wasn’t touching him. But as his finger rubbed tiny circles against her, he shuddered. “You’re wet,” he breathed, “because you’re excited.”

There was a tight pressure, and she felt him slip suddenly deep inside her body. “Oh!” she cried out as Nick groaned her name.

“You’re wet because your body wants to take me in.”

He was stroking her now, pushing inside her before pulling out to rub those same small circles over her wet flesh.

“It wants to ease my way,” he panted, “against the…
tightness
.”

Yes, that was exactly right. She wanted to be filled with him. Stretched by his body. Taken. Her whole world became that place inside her where his finger thrust. The pressure increased. She could feel her flesh squeezing him.

“Cynthia,” he breathed. His teeth touched her neck, his tongue pressed against her.

She needed…something. Needed him closer.

She let go of his coat and slipped her hands higher to pull him tighter to her body. When she felt the cool softness of his hair, she curled her fingers into the strands and tightened her grip, holding on as her body rose.

He’d never been afraid of the dark, but he should have been. Out of the darkness, a nightmare grabbed him. A hand in his hair, forcing him down.

On your knees, boy.

He tried to pull away.

Don’t worry. You’ll learn to like it.

The hand curled harder.

Lancaster jerked back too quickly. The top of his head cracked against the low ceiling.

“Nick?” Cynthia gasped.

“Don’t. Please.” He let her go and stumbled back until he touched the far wall. The crown of his head sang with startled pain.

“What’s wrong?”

“We can’t…” He tried to shake off the shame that clung to him like a net. He tasted musk and sweat and something more. Bile rose in his throat, as his body tried to expel the memory.

Her fingers touched his chest, but in the dark, the hand could have belonged to anyone. “I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “We shouldn’t be doing this.” He reached blindly to the right and pushed. The passageway filled with merciful light that seemed to blind Cynthia. She blinked rapidly, her eyelids like the fluttering of butterfly wings.

“What happened?”

“This is wrong.” He slid past her and gulped in the cool air of the entry. “We can’t do this.” He dragged a forearm over his brow to wipe away the sweat.

“My heavens!” a voice gasped.

Lancaster looked up to see Mrs. Pell standing frozen in the hall.

“What in the world are you two doing?”

“Uh…” He couldn’t think. This was too much all at once. Half his mind was still struggling with the past. The other half wanted to step back into the wall, close the door, and finish making love to Cynthia Merrithorpe.

Speaking of which…He looked over his shoulder to see her still standing in the black rectangle of the opening, her forehead creased with utter confusion. Her gaze bruised. At least her skirts had fallen into place. But her mouth was a swollen clue to why they’d been hidden away in the passageway.

“Mr. Cambertson was here,” he blurted out, swinging his head back to Mrs. Pell. She didn’t seem to have heard him. Her eyes were locked on Cynthia.

She finally glanced to Lancaster. “He what?”

“He was here. Cyn and I almost walked right into him. I thought we’d better hide in case he’d spotted us and decided to come right in.”

“Well, did he?”

“No. He knocked a few times and then left.”

She looked back and forth between them again, eyes narrowed. “I didn’t hear a thing.”

“Were you upstairs, perhaps?”

She swept a suspicious glance down his body. But he wasn’t giving anything away. Not anymore, at least.

“I was upstairs. I suppose I might have missed it.”

“Right-o. Well, we’d better be going. God knows when he might return.”

Feeling Mrs. Pell’s eyes burning straight into his back, he walked calmly to Cynthia, took her hand and tugged her out of the passageway. “Let’s find some treasure, shall we?”

Though she stared at him as if he might have lost his mind, her feet moved her forward when he pulled.

“Pull your hood up,” he suggested, and she did. “Perhaps we’d better go out the back.”

Mrs. Pell followed closely, as if she suspected Lancaster might whisk Cynthia upstairs to a bed if they were left alone.

He took care opening the back door. “Where’s Adam?”

“Gone to buy fish,” the housekeeper answered.

“We should leave before dawn tomorrow.”

Cynthia didn’t answer. When he glanced back to her it looked as though her shock was wearing off to reveal a welling anger beneath. A fully understandable anger.

She pulled the hood down further when he met her eyes.

“Right then. Let’s go.”

They probably should have stayed inside to be safe, but the prospect of quiet hours together felt anything but safe to Lancaster. Locked in that house for the day with a woman who would want an answer to one simple question…
What is wrong with you?

Once he was out in the sun, once the wind filled his lungs with fresh air, the last cobwebs of memory swept away. He took Cynthia’s hand and strode faster toward the path.

If she hadn’t touched him, perhaps they’d still be hidden behind that door. She’d been so close to her peak. He would’ve swallowed her scream with a kiss. Perhaps brought her to climax again, with his tongue this time. With the taste of her filling his mouth.

But no. Falling to his knees…that simply wasn’t an option.

Swallowing hard, Lancaster made sure to look carefully around as they drew closer to the shore. He watched the horizon carefully for the silhouette of a spy, but the bright sun revealed nothing. They were alone.

As soon as the path came into sight, Cynthia drew away and ran toward it. Fearful that she’d spotted someone or heard something, he chased after her, following her down until their heads were below the level of the grass.

Then she rounded on him. “Why did you stop?” she shouted, throwing her fists against his chest.

“Ow!” He pushed her hands off him, but they just descended again, striking him harder this time.

“Bastard!”

“Stop.” Christ, she was stronger than she’d been ten years ago. He finally managed to snag her fists and keep hold of them.

“You,” she gasped. “You just
stopped.
”

“I know. I’m sorry. I swear to you that I’m sorry.”

She threw off his hands and backed away. “But
why?
”

The truth simply wasn’t an option, or not the whole of it anyway. So Lancaster grasped at a lesser truth. “I shouldn’t have done that, and you know it.”

“Well, you
were
doing it. That’s not an explanation.” The last word broke, and the speaking of it seemed to set free her tears. Cynthia began to cry, and Lancaster shook his head hard.

“No, don’t cry. Cynthia, I’m sorry. Don’t cry.”

She growled in frustrated anger and tried to wipe the tears away, but they were coming too fast.

When he approached, she tried to hit him again, but Lancaster wrapped her in his arms and pulled her close. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that, and I shouldn’t have left you so close.”

She shook her head, then paused. After a hard sniff, she asked sullenly, “Close to what?”

Lancaster squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. He was not going to answer that question. “Cynthia, we’re not married. We’re not even engaged to be married. I shouldn’t be touching you, even right now.”

Her snort was something shy of delicate. “Don’t patronize me, Nick. I’m fully aware that everything that can be done inside a marriage can be done outside it as well.”

“That doesn’t make it right, Cyn.”

“It doesn’t make it wrong either.”

“Of course it does!”

“Oh, really? And I suppose I’m the first woman you’ve ever touched?”

“I…” Nick sputtered. “I don’t—”

“Oh, let me go already.”

He let her go.

“Nick,” she started, and then seemed to stop herself. Her shoulders slumped as she took a deep breath and let it drain from her body in an audible sigh. “Don’t you want to be happy?”

Lancaster frowned down at her.
That
was her question? What kind of nonsense was that? “Of course I want to be happy. Doesn’t everyone?”

Cynthia very deliberately put her hands on her hips and met his gaze. “If that’s true, then why would you marry a woman who doesn’t even like you?”

“I need money. Badly.”

“Don’t try to tell me you couldn’t find an heiress who’d at least enjoy your company. For God’s sake, Nick, you’re charming and handsome and…” She waved a hand in disgust.

He could tell her. He wanted to tell someone. Here was a woman, a
friend,
asking him for the truth, and the story burned in his gut like a coal.

When he spied a flat boulder not two feet from Cynthia’s skirts, Lancaster headed for it and dropped to the hard surface. The sea was calm today, nearly as smooth as glass. A flat, dark span of a hidden world.

“You want to know the truth?” he asked and saw Cyn nod out of the corner of his eye. “When I inherited the title of viscount from my father, it came with a cruel revelation. My family was hovering on the brink of ruin. My father had never said a word, never curbed our spending. It was shocking to say the least. And there was no doubt of what my duty was. It only took a few months for the whole
ton
to realize that I needed an heiress. But I was only twenty-three, and I resisted for almost a whole year.” He laughed quietly.

“But resistance was futile. I met Imogene last year. She was lovely. Smart and beautiful. Independent and witty. And her father wanted a connection to a title. I’m not…” He rubbed the back of his neck and tried to think how to phrase this.
I’m not choosy.
Not quite the thing to say to a woman you’d almost made love with.

Cynthia turned toward the water and waited.

“I like people, as you said yourself. I thought Imogene and I would get on just fine. I thought—Ha! I thought we could be friends. As you and I are friends.”

She darted a glance in his direction before looking back to the sea.

“I spoke to her father. I proposed, and she accepted. But then the threads of our connection slowly unraveled. I thought the idea of marriage made her shy. I thought it was charming. But in the end, she wanted me to know the truth, I think.”

“What truth?” Arms wrapped around herself, Cynthia finally faced him.

“That she’s in love with someone else.”

Her expression of obvious disbelief soothed his painfully wounded pride. “Who?”

Lancaster stretched his legs out and leaned back against the rough face of the cliff. “A man she can’t have. Her father’s man of affairs. He seems a decent enough fellow.”

“She told you this?”

“Ah, no. I walked in on the two of them in a rather intimate embrace.”

“Oh!” Cynthia’s eyes widened in horror. “That’s terrible.”

“I admit to an acute case of bruised pride.”

A sudden gust of wind blew Cynthia’s skirts up in a bell, and she angrily slapped them down. “Well, you can’t marry her now, Nick. No one would expect you to.”

A pleasant kernel of warmth bloomed inside his chest. The truth was that everyone would expect him to marry Imogene regardless. Everyone except Cynthia. “I’m afraid that’s not true. This isn’t about love or even affection. It’s about money and power.”

“So find a
nice
heiress to marry! Don’t marry her.”

He closed his eyes and breathed in the green salt smell of the ocean. The waves only lapped today, instead of crashing, and suddenly it was summer and he was fourteen and the world was so damned simple. The gulls screamed and the sun shone and Cyn stood over him with her fists on her hips, outraged about something. As usual, he could only smile at her. She was always so cute when she stomped her little foot and growled.