Chapter 24

In the past few days, Lydia had settled into her exile rather nicely. She had the manor to herself, aside from a brief encounter with Anthony before he had abruptly departed again—a habit of both brothers or so it seemed—and was determined to make the most of it.

Indeed, she could not have been happier, for she had located the library of Stonebridge House. It had seen better days, the furniture old and threadbare, everything coated in a layer of dust, and there were not many of her sort of books to be found on the shelves, but finding it had given her purpose.

After two days, with the help of the staff that she had come to like very much and seemed to like her in return, it had become a rather cozy hideaway. Heavy velvet drapes now adorned any of the walls where the paper had been peeling, every bookcase and shelf and speck of the parquet floor had been dusted and mopped and scrubbed back to life, and two less ancient armchairs and a settee had been moved from the sunroom to the library.

Ever since its resurrection, she had taken to retreating there after dinner and luncheon, whiling away the hours. And that night was no exception.

A knock sounded at the door, drawing Lydia out of the chapter she had been reading—one of her own collection.

"Come in," she said, putting her fingertip at the end of the sentence she had just finished.

Jenny Hen poked her head around the door. "I just wanted to see if you needed anything before I retire to bed." She looked around the room, smiling. "Goodness, this is bonny, isn't it? You've done fine work here."

"No, no, you must not give me any praise whatsoever," Lydia insisted. "This is all the work of the wonderful staff. I tried my best to be of assistance, but in truth, I think it would have been transformed more quickly if I had not been in their way. They were too polite to tell me to get out from under their feet, but I know the look."

Jenny chuckled. "Are you warm enough? There's a chill tonight. I don't mind stoking the fire for you."

"You have already done far too much for me," Lydia replied in earnest. "If I cannot manage to put a few logs on the fire by myself, I do not deserve to be here."

Jenny paused. "Well then, I'll leave you to your reading." She hesitated. "Beth is so excited to have you back at Stonebridge—-she hasn't stopped chattering about that book you've been reading to her. I can't recall the name."

"Sense and Sensibility," Lydia said, delighted. "It is a favorite of mine."

Not one of her most favorite books, but she would not dare to read one of those to her lady's maid. It would be a challenge of who blushed the most ferociously first, and she doubted she would ever be able to look Beth in the eye again.

"Would you look at me, fussing over you like a mother hen." Jenny laughed. "But… for what it's worth, I'm glad you're weathering this so well. It's nice to have a lady in the house again, making good changes, restoring some of its former glory. I don't think His Grace knows that even small adjustments can make the mightiest difference. You'll have to tell him so when he sees this library. You'd never know no one had entered it in years."

Lydia's heart sank, but she did her best to keep a smile on her face. "I will be sure to. And, if I may, I would like to thank you and all of the staff who have made me feel so… welcome. I thought it would be a lonely wait, but it has not been lonely at all."

"Aye, with Beth around, you'll never be lonely." Jenny chuckled softly, but as her laughter faded into silence, both women seemed to understand that some things were not being said. And in that quiet, there was a mutual agreement to pretend that all would be well, that the head of this household would return, and it would not hurt if he was as transformed as the library when he did.

Lydia offered a grateful smile. "You ought to retire, Jenny. There are buns to be baked in"—she glanced at the carriage clock on the mantelpiece—"five hours, and you know that the dough does not like it when you are weary."

"Quite right you are, Your Grace! You see, it's not just you who can teach others a thing or two." Jenny winked but continued to linger at the door as if she felt bad for leaving Lydia alone. "Well then… Aye, that's me to bed. You rest well when you retire, and if you need aught else, you just ring the bell, and someone will come."

Lydia nodded. "I will."

With at least five more attempts at a ‘goodnight,' Jenny finally closed the door and left Lydia to return to her secret book.

She curled up and pulled a blanket over her legs, bathed in the heat that radiated from the fireplace, perfectly content in the sanctuary of the library. Even if the rest of the manor did not feel at all like her home, this one room did.

"Now then, Captain Kildare, what will you do with the sneaky stowaway?" she whispered, shivering with excitement.

Of course, being one of her favorites, she already knew that the stowaway was secretly a marchioness who had crept aboard in a bid to escape her brutish husband, who she did not know had just been killed in a terribly violent brawl. But every time she read this particular novel, it was like reading it for the first time.

Her eyes devoured every word, gobbling up the first thrilling encounter between the secret Marchioness and the rugged, coarse-tongued, tempestuous Captain. Meanwhile, her mind was already leaping forward, letting the anticipation build for her best-loved and most dog-eared scene.

Actually, I could get used to this…

For with her husband elsewhere, in a residence that was technically her own where the servants would not disturb her, she could read all day, every day if she wanted to. Who was going to stop her?

Perhaps she might even write a few of her own. Indeed, no one would ever suspect a duchess of being the author of such illicit literature. And if her husband was going to keep running away or kissing her before she could ask for an annulment, she would need something to amuse herself.

Lydia held her breath, her cheeks flushed, her heart racing, eagerly turning the page as Captain Kildare swept the Marchioness, Ursula, into his arms and carried her to his cabin. She wiggled her toes as the Captain kicked open the door and wielded her inside, already knowing what was about to happen but desperate to read it again.

Outside, a summer storm raged, a downpour pelting the library windows like thrown pebbles. Lydia imagined she was on Captain Kildare's ship instead, tossed and turned by the waves… and the rugged Captain himself, though she could not stop picturing him with Will's face.

"Oh, Captain," she whispered, grinning like a fool. "Of course, you should not tear her gown off. You should take it off sl?—"

She screamed as the library door flew open and a storm-swept figure in a billowing greatcoat barged in. The fire blazing in the hearth swayed and lashed wildly, casting strange shadows on the walls. It was almost like the page of her book had come to life, but the second she realized she was not imagining things, she shoved her beloved novel under the nearest cushion.

"Will!" she yelped, shuffling to cover the cushion. "What is the matter with you? You scared me half to death!"

He dripped rainwater as he walked toward her, his eyes like two burning coals as they reflected the bronzed firelight. She gulped as he came closer, her breath catching as she noted his sodden shirt beneath his greatcoat. It clung to him like a second skin, revealing hard muscle and carved contours.

This is not your book, she reminded herself sternly, her heart already pounding in her chest.

The story of Captain Kildare and Lady Ursula was to blame, not the sight of her husband approaching her, looking every bit like the hero of her most satisfying dreams. At least, that was what she chose to convince herself was the truth.

"I thought you were in London, trying desperately to avoid all unwelcome distractions?" she said. "You might have written if you were going to return so?—"

He braced one knee against the settee and pulled her to him, kissing her with the same feverish hunger of Captain Kildare. One arm wrapped around her, his other hand sliding up the back of her neck, his fingers buried in her hair as he kissed her harder. As if she were air and he was drowning.

Her blood pressure already sky-high thanks to her novel, she had no choice but to melt into Will's embrace. Had no choice but to kiss him back with equal urgency. Had no choice but to pull him to her by his soaked lapels and run her hands over his chest and ridged abdomen, relishing the heat of his skin through the wet fabric of his shirt.

A moment later, to her dismay, he pulled back. He was breathing hard, his eyes alight with desire, but she had the most awful feeling that he was about to abandon her again, changing his mind in an instant.

"I did not mean to scare you," he growled, taking off his sodden greatcoat. "I assumed you would have heard the front door."

She swallowed thickly, her eyes wide as she took in his powerful arms and broad shoulders, his neck gleaming with the raindrops that had not yet dried. "I was… preoccupied."

As he leaned forward, seeking out her mouth, she pushed on his chest to hold him back. "You are dripping all over me," she said, feigning protest. "You ought to dry out before?—"

He kissed her again, his lips tasting like the world after a storm. Holding her close, he laid her down on the settee and let his mouth do all the talking. He pressed against her, his hips coming to rest between her thighs, and with every ebb and flow of his kiss, his hips rolled in a slow motion. She did not know how it was possible, but the delicious friction of him sparked hesitant ripples of pleasure from her most sensitive spot, prompting her to urge him closer still.

"You should not have broken my rules, kitten," he growled against her throat as his lips and tongue traced a path down to the hollow at the center of her collarbone.

It almost burst her bubble of overwhelming bliss.

"If this is… some unkind punishment," she gasped, "then you… may leave."

His hand skimmed over the swell of her breast, his lips kissing that plump flesh. "It is no punishment," he murmured, "and I am not leaving."

"You will not continue either until I hear an apology," she told him, cursing herself for being so stubborn. Still, she kept remembering the warning not to let him win.

He paused, panting as he gazed down into her eyes. He adjusted his position slightly, sliding one hand underneath her while his other mapped the shape of her figure from her bosom to her hip. At the soft, sensitive part where her hip met her thigh, he squeezed lightly.

"I apologize for losing my restraint," he said, bending to kiss the curve of her neck. "I should not have taken you from your friend's ball. I should have let you dance with all of those men, and I should have watched and imagined all the things I was going to do to you afterward to let you know that you are mine."

She blinked. "Not the apology I was expecting."

"I have never been jealous before," he told her, his eyes darkening. "I have adjusted to the feeling, so it will not happen again. But can you blame me? What man would not be overcome, seeing someone else touch what he has not yet savored to the fullest, seeing someone touch what he has been forbidden to."

She gripped his powerful arm as he caught her earlobe between his teeth and raked them across that velvety skin. Through her shallow breaths, she murmured, "If you had… told me, perhaps I might… have found a way to assure you that… you have no reason to be jealous. Not yet, anyway."

"Do not attempt to torment me now," he growled. "I have been thinking of this moment all the way from London. I have ridden without pause, just to make my thoughts real."

She cried out as he moved his hips again, his precision deliciously perfect. "But I did not… say that you could… break my rule. I do hope your… thoughts are not disappointed when I tell you to?—"

"What is this?"

Will suddenly drew back, sitting on his haunches with something in his hand. A mischievous grin spread across his face as his eyes flitted from left to right… and Lydia realized exactly what it was that he was holding. What he was reading.

"Give that back!" She lunged for her book, but he leaped up before she could.

Smirking, he paced back and forth in front of the fireplace, turning the pages. He did not seem to care that more than just his upper body could be seen through the fabric of his garments. Despite her panic at what he was reading, she could not draw her gaze away from the hard flesh that strained against the front of his trousers.

"I mean it," she said. "Give it back! That is not yours!"

He stopped and gazed at her over the book. "Is this what you wanted me to do to you at that masquerade ball? Were you looking for your Captain Kildare?" His voice was rough and husky, making her blood pulse and her nerves shiver with excitement. "If I were to make all of your fantasies come true, kitten, would you let me break your rule?"

She stared at him, no longer horrified that he had read her most precious possession but utterly spellbound. Before she knew it, she was nodding her head slowly.

He smiled and set the book down. "Then stand up, My Lady. Let me tear you out of those sea-soaked clothes."