Twice the Temptation (30 page)

Initially, the feeling wasn’t entirely comfortable but the pinch of pain gave way to voluptuous waves of pleasure as he continued to thrust into her. Soon they were moving in tandem, their hips meeting in head on collisions, damp skin against damp skin, his rigid length into her soft, moist, tightness. 

Her eyes fluttered closed as her climax loomed, drawing closer and closer every time he slammed into her. His thrusts were now punctuated with strangled utterances. Catherine forced her eyes open and his expression—contorted by pleasure so intense it was its own pain—and his thumb toying with the nub at the hood of her sex, set her off, her orgasm racking her body. She opened her mouth, a scream ready on her tongue when Lucas kissed her, absorbing the strangled sound in his mouth. 

While her body shuddered under the assault of her climax, her mind went blank. Lucas pounded into her twice more. He came hard with her name on his lips. 

“Oh God, Cat.” 

F
or several furious heartbeats, neither moved but for the breaths they attempted to recapture. Lucas remained snug inside her, his shattering orgasm taking off only the edge of his appetite. His cock remained hard within her and he had no doubt that in ten minutes he’d be ready to make love to her again. He’d take her slower and for God’s sake, remove all their clothes.

Carefully he pulled out of her and even that little movement was ready to set him off.  Her blue eyes struggled to open, her dress twisted all about her, an utter wreckage of wrinkled satin and muslin. 

He’d never beheld a more lovely sight in his life. His gaze lowered to her sex and unable to help himself, his hand followed. He ran his fingers over the small tuft of hair covering her mons and cupped her. She let out a soft mewl. 

“Beautiful,” he whispered, parting the soft, pink folds of her sex. “Did it hurt? Are you sore?” he asked, glancing up at her. She had to be sore. He hadn’t been gentle but he vowed he would be next time. 

“Just a little,” she replied in a husky voice that went straight to his cock. 

With that, he removed his hand and wondered how much time they had left before he’d be forced to leave. 

He was considering how long a reprieve he should give her when suddenly she began frantically tugging up her bodice and at the same time pushing down her skirts. 

“
Whoa
,” Lucas said, capturing her hands. “What is the matter?” 

“I—we didn’t even remove our clothes. I feel so— I mean we are not animals,” she said in a small voice. 

He emitted a throaty laugh. “I’ve been dreaming about this for over a year. You must forgive me for my…impatience.” If only she knew how often her image, the memory of him touching her had brought him to climax by his own hands, she’d be surprised they had made it up the stairs. His gaze went back to her breasts and puckered nipples. He was hard as a rock again. 

She tugged her hands free and pulled up her dress to cover her breasts. “You didn’t want our first time to be in a carriage because you said I deserved better. But it may as well have been.” She gestured to their dishabille. “Just because I’m no longer a virgin, it doesn’t mean—” 

“What the devil are you talking about?” Lucas cut in sharply, mystified at the sudden change in her. Keening underneath him in one moment and then when all climaxes had been had, berating him the next. 

“This has nothing to do with your lack of virginity. Dear God, Catherine, I have the damnedest time keeping my hands off you. I want to kiss you, touch you, and make love to you every single time I lay eyes on you. No woman in my recent acquaintance has made me this crazy. I don’t want to tear off their clothes and take them wherever we happen to be. That hasn’t happened to me since I was young and lacked the control over my sexual urges as I do now. With you, it is as if I’m seventeen years again.” 

She stared at him for a beat and then her face crumpled. “Oh, I don’t know what is wrong with me. I haven’t a clue as to what I’m saying. I just don’t want you to think ill of me,” she sniffed. 

Lucas chuckled and pulled her into his arms. Immediately her hands circled his neck and she buried her head in his shoulder. 

“If I am to think ill of you because we made love without removing all our clothes, then I must also think ill of myself as well.” He kissed the top of her head tenderly as he played with her hair, dislodging a dozen pins in the process. 

“You don’t think I’m a strumpet?” she asked, her voice muffled by his waistcoat. 

“As long as you’re
my
personal strumpet, you’ll hear no argument about it from me,” he murmured, his lips coasting the shell of her ear. “Indeed, I believe I prefer you better that way.” 

Pulling her head back, she peered up at him. “I shouldn’t like you to have any regrets.” Her expression was solemn and it broke his heart to know she still had concerns regarding her lack of virginity. But then women were more emotional creatures than men and she regretted giving herself to a man she didn’t love. 

“You have given me what matters more and that is your heart.” 

“Oh Lucas,” she cried out softly, her eyes becoming glassy. 

He planted a hard kiss on her mouth. “The only regret I shall ever have is that I did not return to you sooner. Imagine that, we would be married by now and I wouldn’t have to go home to a cold bed all alone.” 

Catherine smiled and pulled his head back down for a deep, wet kiss. 

T
he hour was late and he’d instructed his valet that he wouldn’t require his services that evening. But when he arrived at the house, the footman opened the door to him.

“Good evening, sir,” Daltry said as Lucas breezed past him.

“I didn’t mean to keep you up.” Hadn’t he advised the butler not to keep anyone up for his sake alone?

“I was on my way ta bed when I ’eard the carriage,” he explained. He watched him as if waiting for Lucas to give him his next instructions. Or was he anxious? Lucas flicked another glance at him.

“Go on to your bed then. I won’t be requiring anything further,” Lucas said while in the process of removing his coat.

“Sir, dis come for ya while you was out.”

In the midst of removing his gloves, Lucas first stared down at the envelope in the white-gloved hand and then up at the footman, who regarded him solemnly. Lucas accepted the letter.

The message was in Caroline’s handwriting. A knot formed in his stomach. “When did this come?” he asked as he tore open the envelope, not taking the time to peel back the wax seal.

“Soon after you’d departed.”

So some six hours ago.

Lucas quickly scanned the contents of his sister’s note, which was short and to the point.

“Sir?” Daltry inquired, his expression concerned.

“I must travel to London. Ensure the groomsman has the carriage ready first thing in the morning.”

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
 

A
lthough his mother needed him financially, she treated him just as shabbily now as she’d done when Lucas was young. She was the mother and that was that. Respect was due her no matter how poorly she treated her children. Oftentimes she was disdainful in her condescension.

Not half a day later, Lucas faced that same disdain when the two locked eyes in the townhouse in London. 

“I see your sister sent for you,” she said, addressing him coolly as she all but glided into the drawing room, where Lucas had been waiting for her the past hour, barely hanging on to his patience and sanity. 

She gracefully sat in the chair closest to the door. 

“Who is it this time?” Lucas asked, already weary of the whole ordeal. “What does he want?” 

“Don’t be crass,” his mother chided, a hard edge to her tone. 

When he was young, she would have twisted his ear or pinched the back of his arm. She refused to tolerate impertinence in a child. Lucas believed she was even less desirous of it in her adult children. 

Lucas came from around the chair he’d been standing behind to sit across from her. “Mother, I have little time or patience for this. Whoever he is, tell him I will not extend you a shilling.” 

His mother’s mouth tightened at his implacable tone. “I’ll not have you take that tone with me. I am your mother.” Her English accent, blunted by decades of living in America, became more pronounced the instant she stepped her slippered feet in her mother country. She sounded like a haughty aristocrat. 

Lucas laughed humorlessly. “You are my mother—our mother—when it is convenient for you. Beyond that, we were the anchors that tied you down—not that you let the care and raising of four children hinder you from your pursuits.” 

His mother’s eyes became cold and hard, quite unlike the image she sought to portray to the world. At the age of fifty-one, his mother, Mrs. Agnes Fairchild was still considered a beauty. Her blonde hair had barely grayed and only a smattering of fine wrinkles was visible on her otherwise smooth, unblemished face. Her figure, she was particularly vain about. After having given birth to four healthy children, she’d once boasted many an admirer had told her that she had the figure of woman twenty years younger. Her gowns were the height of fashion and most who met her would call her elegant and vivacious. 

But his mother’s beauty didn’t penetrate beyond the surface of her skin. She’d always lived as if she hadn’t a care in the world. No children to be cared for, no husband to attend. No conscience to have to live with. 

“For the very life of me, I cannot understand how you have grown into such an impertinent, judgmental man. You were such a pleasant child.” The latter she said with a sad smile as if thinking of happier times. 

Lucas couldn’t think of one happy memory that involved her. 

“If I’m impertinent, I must have inherited it from you, and if you see me as judgmental that is undoubtedly because you lack any sound judgment at all.” 

His rebuke drew a scathing look from her, her mouth pinched and narrow as if biting back words. Which meant she wanted something. She always did. Unfortunately, these sorts of discussion between his mother and himself were tragically common. The only thing that ever changed was the amount. The last time had been six months ago so Lucas could only imagine what sum she would be asking for today. 

“I am getting married.” 

Again. If she in fact married this one, it would be her fourth marriage, but this was the eighth time she’d made this announcement since his father died. 

“Let me guess, the man is young and handsome but has little in the way of funds and possesses no skill he can utilize to help fill his coffers. Therefore you wish for me to finance your marriage?” 

The last man had been thirty-two years and couldn’t see a horse he didn’t want to bet on. Five hundred pounds had sent him packing. With the money, the man should have been able to pay some of his debt, but the last Lucas had heard, he’d just gone out and compounded it with more. 

To his true statement, his mother gave an indignant huff, folding her slender arms over her equally slender waist. But she didn’t deny it—could not. He’d heard the same song time and time again. For once, he wished she’d sing a different tune. 

“Not one shilling.” And this time he meant it. He was done trying to save his mother from herself. 

“What am I to live on? How am I to survive?” his mother asked petulantly. 

“Two of your husbands left you well cared for. That you chose to give your money to every bounder who passed your way is no longer my concern.” 

“We shall only need funds enough to last six months. Sir William is set to inherit the bulk of his father’s estate when he passes. His physician says the dear man won’t last into the new year.” 

Momentarily speechless, Lucas stared aghast at his mother. He eventually uttered, “You are planning your financial future on the event of a man’s death?” Even for her, this was low. 

His mother huffed again. “The man is going to die,” she stated defensively. “While you may not believe it since it’s clear you believe me to be the devil incarnate, the man’s death isn’t something I instigated or particularly want. He is a dear old man but none of us lives forever.”