Twice the Temptation (24 page)

To her caustic remark, Lucas’s broad shoulders rose and fell in a negligent shrug as he shot her a sidelong glance, his eyes revealing not even a flicker of interest. So close to dismissive was his look, it took every bit of her composure to remain dry-eyed. But she’d wept over this man quite enough the month past. She’d not shed another tear, especially as he’d been ignoring her the entire night. 

“And that is of concern to you because…?” he drawled. 

Catherine wasn’t particularly prone to violent tendencies but when he raised one eyebrow, giving him an infuriatingly cocksure look, she could have gladly slapped him. 

Instead she schooled her features and replied in a detached a manner as she could, “The countess has the worst sort of reputation.” 

And for her warning—born of possessiveness to be sure—what did he do? The wretched man laughed. The kind of laugh that tarried briefly in his chest, rose to his throat, the sound like the distant roll of thunder, before emerging from his mouth low and amused. 

Wretched, wretched man.
 

How she utterly despised him. 

How she loved him to distraction. 

He turned and regarded her with cool sobriety. “My intention was not to accompany her to church.” He returned his attention to the dance floor and back to the horrid woman with her scandalously low décolletage and painfully snug, fuchsia gown, where she currently danced with Sir Henry. 

The chatter of guests surrounding faded to nebulous background noise. Hurt, fury, and jealousy coalesced in her chest so Catherine couldn’t decipher one emotion from the other. “I knew what you claimed was not the truth.” Her words came out half-choked, half hissed as she addressed his profile. 

For a brief moment Lucas went still. Slowly this time, he angled his head in her direction until he was staring her directly in the eye. “Excuse me?” 

“You never loved me,” Catherine accused, her lips barely moving, her voice soft and fierce. The hurt was there too. And to her utter chagrin, tears began to smart her eyes. She shouldn’t care. At the very least, she needn’t give him the satisfaction of
knowing
she cared. 

Without uttering a word, he took her by the arm and led her out the paned glass doors that led to the terrace. 

The day had started out warm but the evening had bought with it a cool breeze and gathering clouds. Catherine shivered but not from the outdoor clime. Even blunted by her satin gloves, his touch caused a rash of gooseflesh on her arms. 

Lucas halted and released her only once he’d assured them some privacy behind a boxed hedge on the far end of the terrace. The balcony above offered moderate cover should the sky decide to make good its threat of rain. 

From his rather intimidating height, he regarded her through narrowed eyes. “You seem to forget that it was
you
and not I, who ended things between us. And you’ve made it perfectly clear you want nothing more to do with me so what would you have me do? It is because of you that I must seek gratification in another woman’s arms. Or perhaps, you’d rather I continue my exhaustive and ineffective pursuit of you? Is that it, Catherine, will you not be satisfied until I’ve been reduced to groveling at your feet?” he asked. The hard note in his voice firmly declared he would not. “I am a man with
needs
and if my needs are not to be met by you, I will find a woman who
will
fulfill them.” 

He then leaned in, coming closer to her than she’d permitted him in too long. It required considerable effort, but Catherine managed not to reach up and press her mouth against the sensitive skin just below his left ear—and lick. “Unless you have reconsidered,” he continued, the burning heat of his gaze on her lips. “Tell me now, Catherine, will I have need of the countess this evening or have
you
decided to fulfill my needs?” 

“I-I-I—” Truly, Catherine didn’t know how to respond. Well, in all actuality she did. But she would sound petty, small, and contrary. Truth be told, she’d expected that it would take him more than a week to get over her enough to bed another woman. She wanted him to pine for her. And illogical as it was, she’d wanted him to say how much he regretted that he’d ever asked Charlotte to marry him. Somehow, he should have known in his heart that her sister hadn’t been the one for him,
she
was. 

“I see I have my answer,” he stated brusquely and turned away. 

He made a move to leave and she made a panicky sound in her throat. That is how she felt, panicked that she
was
letting the only man she would
ever
love walk out of her life…and into the arms of another woman. 

As her sister and friends had told her repeatedly, how many times did true love come into a person’s life? True love was rare enough that the whisper of a promise of it should not be ignored. 

“Don’t go to her,” she whispered, but not so low that he didn’t hear her. And he must have for he halted, then turned slowly
slowly
back to her. 

“What did you say?” His voice was melodic. 

Catherine raised her eyes to his. “I said don’t go to her.” 

The seconds that ticked by after that felt like a minute, an hour, a day had elapsed as he stared down at her, his jaw ticking and the vein running the length of his neck visible and pounding with every beat of his heart. 

“You do understand what that means, correct?” His voice had grown husky and the heat in his eyes warmed her—made her hot. 

Catherine nodded mutely, her breathing growing shallow and her heart pounding a staccato beat. 

His nostrils flared as his gaze dipped to her mouth and then lowered to the swell of her breasts above the neckline of her periwinkle gown. Catherine felt the corresponding pull at her center. Heat pooled between her thighs. 

That is what he could do to her with just a look, eliciting a response that no other man had ever managed to elicit. 

“I want you tonight,” he said in a low, raspy voice, his gaze as if it were taking everything in him not to strip her bare and have his way with her right there and then. 

Yes. Oh dear God yes.
“But how? Your sisters. Olivia…” As much as
she
also wanted him, tonight was impossible. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll think of something.” 

“Lucas,” she whispered weakly. 

“I
need
you tonight.” Frustration etched the lines bracketing his mouth and flared from his eyes. Physical frustration. Sexual. Catherine could surely relate in her fashion. 

The rain that had been threatening saturated the air in a light mist. Lucas pulled her into his arms and backed them up close to the wall, giving them a good foot and a half of shelter. 

“We must go back inside before we’re missed,” Catherine protested but made no move to extricate herself from him. Indeed, she reveled in the feel of his muscled chest beneath her palms. 

“Not yet,” he murmured. 

And that is all the warning she got for in the next second, his mouth was on hers, his tongue slipping easily inside until it found hers, eager and hungry. 

Catherine immersed herself in the kiss, putting every bit of passion she possessed into it. Only he could do this to her, have her drowning in sensation so that she was incapable of coherent thought and reason. 

He kissed her as if he couldn’t get enough of her, his talented tongue reducing her to whimpers and gasping moans. With one hand, he palmed the back of her head to make sure she was angled just right for the deepest, thorough ravaging of her mouth, and his other hand slid from her waist to the top of her buttocks. Only the faintest amount of pressure was required to bring her flush against him, hip to hip. 

A breathy gasp escaped her at the feel of him hard against her. Heat—wet heat, rushed to her center and had her clenching her inner muscles in want. 

With a tortured groan, he abandoned her mouth in favor of the lobe of her ear. From there his lips peppered open-mouthed kisses along the delicate line of her jaw and down the length of her neck. 

“Lu-Lucas, we have to stop.” Catherine could barely get the words out, lucidity coming to her in snatches as the fine mist slowly turned into a steady and unrelenting drizzle. The light wind had now rendered their shelter insufficient. 

“I want you in my bed,” he mouthed against her neck, the vibration of his voice raising the stakes on the war her mind was having with her body. 

“Lucas, it is raining,” she gasped, desperately trying to catch her breath and be the voice of reason, the kiss on the verge of burning out of control. 

Slowly, he raised his head, his eyes heavy-lidded and brimming with desire. “Tomorrow then?” he asked. His voice must be directly connected to the part of her body that she seemed to have the littlest control over, because the pressure between her thighs nearly had her squirming, growing ever more intense. 

Catherine, who had never wanted anything more than to give herself to Lucas completely, could only give a jerky nod of agreement. 

His approval sounded more like a grunt. “Good. But the waiting is going to be torture.” 

Before he released her, he pressed a hard, possessive kiss on her lips that left Catherine feeling as if she’d been branded. When he would have lifted his head and broken the kiss, she captured his face between her palms and nipped his bottom lip. His pupils dilated, becoming glittering pinpoints of desire. 

It hadn’t been hard enough to draw blood but enough to do her own sort of branding. 

U
ntil Lucas had felt Catherine’s gaze boring him with her displeasure, it hadn’t occurred to him that a pique of jealousy could play a part in winning her back. But he was glad of it. It had given him the chance he didn’t think he’d ever have again.

“Lucas, where have you been?” 

Turning to the left as he stepped into the ballroom, he spied Lydia coming toward him. Clad all in white, she looked too angelic and too young to marry. He hoped she wouldn’t find a husband for several more years. 

“I stepped out for some air.” 

His sister’s gaze went pointedly to the white-paned doors and the rain now beating against them. “In the rain?” she asked, skeptically. 

“Well it wasn’t raining when I first went out.” It had started to rain in earnest a minute ago. Catherine had returned to the ball before him, giving Lucas the time he’d needed to cool his ardor and get his erection under control. 

“Caroline isn’t feeling well. She would like to go home.” Lydia didn’t appear at all happy about the latter. 

“She is ill? What is wrong with her?” 

“Lord Billings is here.” 

Ah!
That sort of illness. 

Lucas let out a heavy sigh, acute disappointment dampening his good mood. If he wasn’t to have Catherine in his bed tonight, he’d been looking forward to holding her in his arms for a waltz or two. 

“Is it truly as bad as all that?” he asked, frowning. It had to be his sister’s pride that was suffering for she hadn’t been heartbroken when the engagement had been called off. 

“She was threatening to walk home when I came in search of you.” 

Theatrics. Typical Caroline when it suited her purpose. “Very well then. I shall have them bring the carriage around.” 

After skirting the dance floor, they came upon Caroline, Catherine, and Lady Olivia standing together near the entrance doors off the picture gallery. 

A faint blush stained Catherine’s cheeks when she saw him approaching. “Your sister is unwell.” She addressed him but appeared to have difficulty maintaining eye contact. 

“So I’ve been told,” he replied dryly. 

“And Catherine is complaining of a headache,” Lady Olivia added. 

“Indeed? Not an unbearable one I hope?” Unsure of what she was up to, Lucas was solicitous in his response. 

Her blush deepened but her voice remained composed. “Tolerable but I should like to go home as well.” 

Lucas suppressed a smile. Now he understood what she was about and no one would hear an argument from him. 

Lady Olivia sent Catherine a sly glance—as if she knew full well the only thing Catherine suffered from could not be cured by medicinal means or sleep. She exhaled heavily. “I imagine that means I must take my leave as well.” She paused and her eyes widened as if an idea had just struck. “Unless, Mr. Beaumont would be so kind as to see Catherine home?” 

If he hadn’t known better, he might actually have believed she wasn’t doing her best to manipulate the circumstances to their advantage. Definitely something he could admire in any friend of Catherine’s. Lady Olivia was not only beautiful but she would probably be a good man’s downfall. Or cause a profligate to change his ways. 

“If Miss Rutherford does not object, I’d be more than happy to.” He directed a pointed look at Catherine. She gave an innocuous nod of agreement, her tongue peeking out to swipe her bottom lip. At the sight, a surge of blood rushed to his groin and anticipation started his heart racing. 

“Mr. Beaumont, where in heavens did you get off to?” 

Lady Ramsey’s voice brought the conversation to a crashing halt. Catherine visibly stiffened and her eyes flashed with irritation. Her expression quickly shuttered but there was a barely perceptible tightness to her mouth that betrayed her displeasure.