Chapter 15

After Lucian penned the long and detailed accounting of the letters Eliza had received to Xavier, he rode into town to see that it was posted. He could have asked a servant to do this, but believed it was too important to leave to anyone else. Hopefully his brother, based on his experience and education, would be able to advise on the best course of action. He had then visited the pubs and inns and asked around once again if any strangers had come to town in the last month and not left. Once again, he was told that there had been no one.

He had just stepped from the tailor when he nearly ran into Mrs. Angelica Watkins and was taken aback. She’d once been his lover. She had been a young widow and lonely when dancing at an assembly led to intimate encounters. She fulfilled a need as he did for her. Except, after a time, Angelica had wanted more from Lucian than he was willing to give. She had missed being married, and as much as he enjoyed her company, could not consider her as a wife.

It was nothing particular about her that was objectionable, Lucian simply did not love her and was not certain that he ever would.

“Lord Garretson, it is good to see you again.” Angelica’s smile was knowing, her eyes seductive as she stepped near him.

“Mrs. Watkins,” he greeted.

“If I may be so bold, I have missed you.”

The coyness of her smile did nothing for him. At one time he had enjoyed the games that led to bed sport, but such flirtations now left him empty.

“I do not come to town often,” he answered politely.

“It is not seeing you in town that I miss,” she boldly advised.

“Yes, well, while the moments we shared were enjoyable, we agreed that it was time for the association to end as we both wanted something different.”

“What if I no longer want to be a wife again?” she asked with a flutter of her eyelashes. “Perhaps I have come to enjoy an independent life with the freedom offered only to a widow.”

“I am happy for you, but I am afraid that it changes nothing between us.”

Her smile slipped. “I must admit that I am rather disappointed.”

“I am sorry,” he offered. What else was he to say?

It had also been six months since they last enjoyed the company of the other and Lucian was rather surprised that Angelica had not found another lover. She had been insatiable, nearly exhausting.

“Well, if you change your mind, you know where I can be found.” She smiled and glided past him.

Lucian glanced after her and noted the auburn curls peeking out from beneath her bonnet and frowned. Why was it that most of the women he had bedded were auburn or redheaded? While it wasn’t an unusual color, it certainly wasn’t seen as often as blonde or even brunette.

Was he simply attracted to that color of hair, and the pale skin often associated with the hair color, and that is why he desired Eliza? Or was he drawn to women with that color of hair because Eliza was the only woman with whom he’d ever experienced the stirrings of true passion?

He had desired Angelica and he made certain that she enjoyed their time together as much as he, but it was physical need, not passion. If he could not experience passion and love, then he would not wed. Angelica had not understood and they parted ways.

Passion, love, and dominance is something he craved in intimacy, but had yet to experience all three with one woman. Passion had been present on rare occasions, as well as dominance, but not in the same encounter, and he had yet to experience love.

Thank goodness he hadn’t fallen in love with Eliza, nor did he expect to, but the passion had existed from the first moment they kissed. As for dominance, Lucian nearly laughed. He doubted Eliza would ever allow anyone to dictate to her in any circumstance.

Oh, but to hold that dominance over Eliza and bring her to release over and over, have her call out his name, beg even.

Lucian pushed aside the thoughts because it would never be. Eliza would never give up her control or power to another. Not even in the bedchamber. He knew that the moment she had kissed him so long ago. A woman who was first to kiss instead of waiting would wrestle for power in the bed. Though, with Eliza, perhaps the battle might leave them both happily sated.

Lucian retrieved his horse from the mews and lectured himself to stop thinking about Eliza and bed sport, especially when only a sitting room separated their sleeping chambers. It would be so easy to cross from his door to hers.

At the rumble above, Lucian looked to the sky and noted the dark, angry clouds. An instant later, the wind grew stronger as raindrops began pelting his skin. Did he return to town to wait out the storm, or ride headlong to Wyndhill Park?

He wanted to be home.

Bending low and over the horse’s neck, he kicked him into a gallop, a speed he kept up until they reached the stables. Lucian dismounted and led him inside, both soaked. The stable hand would see to brushing the steed and Lucian left him and made his way back to the house, entering by the front door and stood dripping on the tiled entry as the butler rushed forward to take his hat and coat.

“Shall I draw you a warm bath?” his valet asked as Lucian entered his bedchamber.

The day had been warm earlier, sweltering. The rain had helped cool him, but the air was still too heavy for a bath. “Perhaps this evening,” he finally answered. “For now, I only require dry clothing.”

Lucian untied the wilted cravat and tossed it onto a chair then removed his suitcoat, waistcoat, and boots. His shirt was only damp, but his trousers were another matter. When his valet returned with a new set of clothing, Lucian only pulled on a dry set of trousers and shirt, leaving the rest. It may be storming, but the chamber remained uncomfortable in the heat after the windows had been closed to keep the rain from coming in. As he did not need to appear downstairs until suppertime, he crossed to the door leading to the sitting room and entered. He would relax and enjoy a brandy until he had to be fully clothed.

She feared storms, not that Eliza would ever admit such to anyone.

She had tried to read and even edit the manuscript pages, but the more the wind blew, the less she was able to concentrate and the reason she left the parlor and returned to her chamber. Here she would wait out the storm, away from the double glass doors that served as the entrance from the terrace to the parlor.

Though, being on a higher level in the house did not help calm her.

Then she remembered that when she had been in the sitting room attached to the sleeping chamber earlier, that there was a sideboard where brandy and wine were kept. Either of those would help calm her nerves and may even help her nap until the storm had passed.

With those intentions, she crossed her chamber, opened the door, and stepped into the sitting room only to be brought up short to find Lucian pouring a glass of brandy. His actions weren’t unusual, but she had not expected him to be there and the fact that he wore only shirtsleeves, opened at the neck, trousers and his feet were bare, was rather disconcerting, but not an unpleasant surprise.

Goodness! She’d always seen him set to rights. The closest she had ever come to him being disheveled was when she had fallen into the lake and he had removed his suitcoat. Hardly as revealing as what he now wore. His hair was even damp, which meant that he had likely been caught in the rain.

The width of his shoulders and strain against the linen was proof that he needed no padding in his clothing, and she was quite fascinated by the flatness of his stomach, the strength of his arms, muscles hard as he lifted something even as light as a bottle of brandy.

Eliza had always admired his form, but without the layers of clothing that gentlemen usually wore, she came to appreciate it all the more and her inner temperature rose.

Of course, it could be simply because the day had been hot, and so was the sitting room without the circulation of air from open windows.

He glanced up after he set down the decanter and met her eyes.

For a moment they simply stared at the other as an awkwardness at the intimacy of the situation rose. This was the sitting room between two sleeping chambers, not the parlor or drawing room below where a servant could walk in at any moment.

“Excuse me,” Eliza muttered as she started to back toward her chamber.

“Would you like a brandy or glass of wine?” he asked.

Eliza hesitated and bit her bottom lip. Should she remain?

Wasn’t she angry with him?

Except, she could not remember why.

“Join me,” Lucian insisted as he poured another glass, not waiting for her to accept.

“Thank you,” Eliza murmured as she crossed to accept the glass.

What was wrong with her? Where did this timidity come from? Had the storm shaken her so much that she was no longer herself or was it simply seeing Lucian in shirtsleeves and trousers, and bare feet? Or, perhaps it was both, but she needed to gain control of her emotions, whatever they happened to be.

There really was no reason for the awkwardness between them. Further, this setting was no more intimate than when they were in the parlor below, or when he had visited her at Greenhaven Cottage. Just because bedchambers were near should not matter.

Lucian cradled the glass of brandy and wandered to the window and looked out and Eliza joined him. Rain pelted the windowpanes and tree limbs bent in the wind as twigs and leaves danced in the air. Her chest became tight with anxiety and she hastily took a sip of brandy and became irritated with herself because her hands shook.

Below, a chair toppled over on the terrace and a moment later footmen were rushing about gathering up the furniture and pulling it closer to the house.

Lightning streaked across the sky just before thunder cracked and Eliza nearly jumped.

“How often does it storm like this?” If it was frequent, she might need to leave Wyndhill Park and find a cottage in the center of England. Storms were always worst along the coast. Or so she believed since the only bad storms that she had ever experienced had been when she was near beaches.

“A couple of times a year,” he answered. “We get rain often enough as does the whole of England,” he chuckled. “It is not unusual to have storms like this living where we do. Some are short-lived. Others can continue for a few days.”

Eliza gulped at the idea that this could last for more than an afternoon. “I used to enjoy storms,” she said quietly.

“Does that mean you no longer take pleasure in them?”

“As a girl I would enjoy going out and dancing in the rain and feel the wind rush around me. Now that I’m more mature, I understand the danger that comes with being in such elements, especially when there’s lightning about.”

“So now you admire them from the safety of a window.”

“I suppose I do.” Though she wouldn’t consider it admire, more abhor.

At another crack of thunder, Eliza jerked and clenched her jaw. It was only a storm and she was safe within the manor, except she should not be standing near a window when the glass could be struck by debris and they could be injured. Not that she had seen any fly this high.

She finished the brandy then placed the glass back on the sideboard. “I think I will rest before dinner.” Eliza quickly exited the sitting room, her heart pounding and hands shaking.

Once she closed the door, Eliza looked around the sleeping chamber and found a chair nestled in a far corner. There she retreated and watched the storm through the window from the other side of the room.