Chapter Thirteen

L ucien’s heart stuttered, but he carefully kept his face neutral so she couldn’t know how much her unexpected question had stunned him, the softness of it ripping through him like a blade.

Slowly, he leaned away from her and dropped his hand from her cheek.

“Ah, yes,” he murmured as he studied her face. “I was wondering when you would get to that.” To keep his hands busy so he wouldn’t grab her and kiss her senseless to dissipate all those terrible suspicions of him, he reached slowly for the willow branch on her lap. For once, he hated the idea that she thought him nothing but the blackguard and rakehell he’d falsely portrayed to the world. “But don’t you want to start with my younger days and find out why I was expelled from university?”

“Not really. You were heir to a duke, young, and reckless. I’m not at all surprised you were expelled.”

He almost smiled at the way she’d so easily painted his character. Almost.

“What surprises me is that you bothered to go to university at all. Most heirs don’t.”

“I went to get away from my father,” he admitted. That was the God’s truth. It certainly wasn’t because he was the heir. “I got myself expelled for the same reason—to spite him.” He tore a leaf from the branch and tossed it to the ground. “Aren’t you going to ask me about the brothels? Your investigator put that in his letter, too. Didn’t that surprise you?”

“No.” She shrugged her slender shoulders. “You’re a peer. Visiting brothels and taking mistresses is what your sort does.”

His sort. She had no idea of the truth about him. “I don’t keep a mistress. Never have.” And never will. “I have no need of one.”

As a noted rake, he had his pick of dozens of bored society wives and convenient widows to satisfy carnal urges, although he rarely partook of their pleasures. And when he married, he planned on never straying beyond his wife’s bed. What society thought he did, he couldn’t care less.

Although what she thought of him mattered, damn it. But he had no idea why.

“I do spend my evenings in brothels, but not at all for the reasons you think.” Her lips parted softly at that gentle correction, and he nearly groaned at the temptation she posed. “But I didn’t mean those brothels. I meant the other ones your investigator referred to, the two in Seven Dials owned by the Duke of Crewe.”

He heard her swallow and watched her slender throat undulate softly. He fought down the urge to place his mouth on her, right there . There would be time and opportunity for that soon, he prayed.

But right now, he wanted to wipe that look of distrust from her pretty face.

“That part is true.”

Her eyes widened.

“The Duke of Crewe did own two brothels,” he explained. “My father the duke, that is.” He had never told anyone that except for Devlin and Shay, and now that he had, the relief was nearly overwhelming. He hadn’t realized how heavy the weight of the past had been on his shoulders until it was gone. Partially, at least. Some of that weight would be carried to his grave. “Now you know why I was so eager to escape to university, and then on to the Continent when even Oxford wasn’t far enough away.”

He studied her face to gauge her reaction, looking for traces of pity anywhere in her eyes and expression. If he saw even one glimpse of that… Please, God, don’t let her pity me.

But she didn’t. What he saw in her instead was understanding. But of course she understood. After all, her own father had also abandoned his family. The fact that hers did it physically and his did it every other way imaginable made no difference. Their fathers’ ghosts still haunted them, and most likely always would.

“Is that why you became a mercenary?” Her voice was so soft that it was nearly lost beneath the dappled shadows falling over them. “Because of your father?”

“In a way.” Talking about his father agitated him, so he pushed himself to his feet even though the natural bower was too small for him to pace. “I became a mercenary because my father prevented me from buying a commission in the British army.”

“He didn’t want you to be killed,” she guessed.

“He didn’t want his heir to be killed,” he corrected wryly. “I don’t think he ever truly gave a damn about me.”

He leaned his shoulder against the tree trunk and gazed down at her. She returned his stare with grim empathy.

“I became a mercenary, first with Prussia and then in Spain, because I was good at fighting and uncovering information—No, I wasn’t good. I was the best . The Prussians knew better than to waste my skills in the fray of battle, so they had me do reconnaissance missions when I wasn’t training their recruits. I did the same with the opposition forces in Spain. I returned to England after the battle of Toulouse because my father died.” He shrugged. “Someone had to take over the dukedom. Might as well have been me.”

He saw her frown at his odd choice of words, but that was as close to the truth as she would get from him.

“So go ahead and ask me whatever it is you want to know about my time in the wars.” He crossed his arms, once again assuming that position of casual indifference he’d learned to wear like armor. “How bad was the food? How deep the mud? Do horses really scream when they’re wounded? Do grown men beg for their mothers as they lie dying?” He shrugged a shoulder. “How many French and Spanish did I kill? How many women did I see raped and men tortured, and for no other reason than because it amused the soldiers who did it?”

His eyes fixed on hers. He wanted no misunderstanding about what he was offering.

“Ask me whatever you want about that time, Jessamyn, and I’ll answer truthfully. Then we will never speak of it again.”

Her blue eyes glistened softly even in the dim light beneath the willow branches. Deep silence stretched between them, neither one moving nor speaking, not even so much as a murmur.

Then she took a deep breath and whispered, “Did you find what you were searching for?”

Her soft question undid him, and the shudder that swept through him would have dropped him to the ground if not for the tree propping him up.

He was stunned. Searching… She understood why he’d gone to the Continent the way no one else in his life had, not even Devlin, Shay, or Chase. They all thought he’d been running away, so they’d simply run away with him, when the truth was that he’d been searching for peace in the hell fires of war.

But he’d never found it, there or in England.

“No,” he murmured.

Her eyes not leaving his, she nodded faintly and stood. She slowly approached him, then tenderly cupped his face between her hands as she rose up on tiptoes. She hesitated only a moment before touching her lips to his.

Lucien’s heart slammed against his breastbone so hard he feared she could feel it even from six inches away. The tenderness of her innocent kiss ached inside him. Not one of passion, not curiosity, not selfish desire—but redemption. He could taste the absolution on her lips, and it rocked him to his core.

She was nervous; he felt it in the way she hesitated before moving her lips gently against his. But that hesitation only deepened the impossibly sweet taste of her. For a fleeting moment, he nearly pushed her away, afraid his black soul might taint her, until…

“Kiss me back,” she whispered against his lips.

With that, he was lost. All he knew at that moment was the comfort she was willing to give in a misguided attempt to heal him, along with his own desperation to claim it. So he slipped his arms around her and pulled her against him as he deepened the kiss.

She was soft and pliant as she melted against his hard front, trusting in him to keep her supported as her arms snaked up around his neck. Yet he wanted more from her, needed more. So he traced the tip of his tongue across the seam of her lips in silent cajoling to open to him, to let him explore her kiss and claim every bit of solace he could.

Trembling, she parted her lips, and when he slipped his tongue between them, her soft sigh of nervous delight sparked through him with a tingling pleasure he never would have thought possible in a jaded man like himself. But then, Jess brought out all kinds of feelings in him he’d thought long dead and buried, and he reveled in them. As if he could show her how much, he swept his tongue across her smooth inner lip before plunging deep. The sigh on her lips turned into a temptingly soft moan, and her fingers curled into the short hair at his nape as she arched herself into him.

She wanted more as much as he did. He could feel it in the thumping of her racing heartbeat as her breasts pressed into his chest, in the quickening of her soft breath and the trembling that now gripped her as she dared to mirror his kiss and slipped her own tongue tentatively between his lips. He remained still as she curiously touched the tip of her tongue to his, then felt her smile against his mouth.

A low groan rose from the back of his throat. Not breaking the kiss, he sank onto the crate and brought her down onto his lap. Her arms remained wrapped around his neck, and her lips on his now returned his kisses with the same desperate hunger with which he gave them.

He would have said she craved the same comfort and absolution from him that he sought in her, but that was impossible. What could she have possibly done to warrant such a need? Unless it was the very act of desiring him, and not only because he was a reported rake but because she surely felt she was betraying her sister.

He slipped his mouth away from hers, over her cheek to her ear, and murmured, “You deserve to be kissed, Jessamyn.” He placed a tender kiss to her earlobe and was rewarded with a tremble. “You deserve to feel pleasure and be made happy, in every way.” His hand on her back moved to her side. “You deserve to be touched.”

He caressed her breast, and thank God, she didn’t pull away. Instead, she arched into him in silent invitation for more, one he gladly accepted by cupping her breast against his palm. Too many layers of clothing prevented him from giving her more intimate pleasures, but he knew the heat of his hand would still seep through the thin muslin and undergarments and into her skin beneath, knew she would still feel the soft massaging of his fingers. Just as he instinctively knew that no man had ever touched her like this before.

But even that wasn’t enough for her, and she pressed herself harder into his hand.

God help him, he couldn’t refuse her. So he carefully unfastened the top two buttons on her back to loosen her dress. Her breath quickened nervously against his mouth as he continued to kiss her even as his hand slipped beneath her neckline and under her chemise and stays to touch the silky warmth of her bare breast.

Suddenly shy, she tore her mouth away from his and buried her face in his neck.

He placed a kiss to her temple and couldn’t help but smile. “You’re beautiful,” he assured her as he caressed his fingers over her skin, drawing slow circles closer and closer to her nipple, already hard and taut in anticipation of being touched. “So soft…so warm…”

He swept his fingers beneath her breast and gently freed it from the confining stays and chemise, revealing it to his hungry eyes in the dappled shadows. His gut clenched with longing so acute, he lost his breath.

“Beautiful,” he murmured and traced his forefinger around the rosy nipple. The temptation was irresistible, so he lowered his head and took it between his lips to lightly suckle.

He felt her gasp, her body stiffening against his for only a moment. Then she softened with a long sigh, rolled back her head, and ran her fingers through his hair in silent encouragement.

He gladly obliged and sucked harder, pulling her deeply into his mouth. He rolled his tongue around her hard nipple and nearly groaned at the taste of her.

“Lucien?” His name was a pained whisper.

He smiled against her breast because she’d used his given name for the first time. He placed a parting kiss to her nipple, then lifted his head to stare into her eyes, which were dark with desire and confusion. “Yes?”

“What…were you searching for…during the wars?” Her question emerged between soft pants for breath, but her hands never left his shoulders where her fingers dug deeply into the hard muscle, as if she were afraid he’d somehow fall away into the earth and leave her behind.

He reached up slowly to brush his thumb over her bottom lip and quietly admitted, “You.”

She frowned. Clearly, she thought his words nothing but scheming charms. After all, her bare breast still lay nestled in his palm, his fingers unable to fight the temptation not to fondle her nipple even now.

She parted her lips to ask another question—

He leaned up and captured her mouth with his.

This new kiss wasn’t at all one of comfort and solace. No, it was raw and heated, greedy, hungry. He assaulted her mouth with his to claim every bit of her kiss, and this time, when he slid his tongue into her mouth, it wasn’t exploration he sought but capitulation. He thrust between her lips, hard and fast and deep, leaving no doubt that he was plundering her mouth the exact same way he wanted to plunder the rest of her body.

When a begging whimper rose from her lips, he smiled triumphantly. He gave her nipple a quick pinch in reward, and the sensation of pleasure-pain shuddered through her.

Emboldened, she brought her mouth down to his neck and placed hot, open-mouth kisses everywhere her lips could reach around the cravat and collar that blocked her way. When the tip of her tongue flicked across his earlobe, then circled his ear before plunging wickedly inside, heat flamed at his crotch. Sweet Lucifer. She was making him hard with nothing more than little sounds of desire and soft kisses that were barely anything at all, and if she kept wiggling her bottom on his lap like that, she’d soon discover exactly what effect she had on him.

“I deserve to be kissed, do I?” she whispered, her warm breath tickling his ear.

“Yes.”

“And touched?”

God yes. He nodded stiffly.

“If I deserve that…” she began in a low murmur, although something about the way she said that stirred a low warning inside him. Her hand on his shoulder trailed down his chest, where he was certain she could feel the pounding of his heart beneath her fingertips. “Then so do you.”

Her hand lowered to his waist. Just as her fingers touched his cock through the tightening fabric of his trousers, he took her wrist and stopped her.

No, I don’t deserve your touch. Regretfully, he lifted her hand to his mouth and silently placed a kiss to her palm.

Her lips parted as she stared at him, utterly baffled.

“You need to go back to the party now,” he told her, expending all his strength to keep his voice even and unaffected. “Before you’re missed.”

“But—” She quickly pulled her chemise and corset into place, covering herself. “But the ladies saw me walk into the garden with you.”

“Exactly.” He reached behind her and deftly buttoned up her bodice, careful not to accidentally brush her bare skin. A single touch would have destroyed him. “Which is why you have to go back. You can’t be away too long, or they’ll suspect more happened than a turn about the garden.”

“It did,” she corrected him softly, although he certainly needed no reminder of that.

He set her off his lap, then gave her a once-over glance. He wanted her to think he was simply checking to make certain all was back to rights with her appearance, with no telltale wrinkles in her dress or stray locks of hair out of place. The truth was that he simply couldn’t resist having another look at her.

He nodded. “You look fine.”

“Earlier you said I was beautiful.”

Because you are. “I know.”

The wounded expression that flashed across her face pierced him. His punishment, he supposed, for all the cruelties he’d committed in his life. God knew he deserved it, yet the sharpness cut like a knife.

“Then I—I don’t understand.” She bit her bottom lip as she considered him. “You didn’t like kissing me?”

The pain edging her voice was agonizing. I liked it more than you’ll ever know … But he could never admit that. He had to keep her away from his life and his secrets. Best to let her think she’d been right about him all along, that he was nothing more than a heartless bastard.

He kept his face carefully impassive. “Of course I did.” At that moment, he hated himself. “But you need practice, and I’m afraid I don’t have the time nor patience for an unschooled innocent. I’m certain you understand.”

She stiffened, as if turning to stone. “And that’s why you stopped kissing me.”

I stopped kissing you because if you had let me continue it wouldn’t have been merely kisses and touches you’d be given. I would have taken your innocence. “Isn’t that what we rakehells do? We lead young misses astray, then discard them when we’re bored with them.”

Her voice emerged impossibly soft. “And you’re bored with me?”

Never. Yet he callously shrugged, letting her assume the worst about him. After all, better to cause her pain now than to allow her to get too close and be completely ruined later.

“Mr. Stevenson was right,” she rasped out. “You really are a horrible man.”

He had no idea how he managed not to flinch. Never before had he cared what any woman thought of him. But this one had the power to flay him with nothing more than a whisper.

Her eyes glistened in the dappled light. “I never want to see you again.”

Her soft words broke him. He rose to his feet and reached for her hand. “Jessamyn—”

“Don’t.” She snatched her hand away before he could touch her.

“Your Grace!” a man’s voice called out across the gardens. “Your Grace, you’re needed back at Brixton House. There’s a message for you from Ealing.”

Lucien’s heart skipped. Christ! Of all times—“Stay here,” he said. “I’ll be right back, and then we’ll talk.”

“I have nothing more to say to you.” Her voice broke with emotion. “ Ever. ”

He deserved that, too. But now, other fires needed to be put out. He ducked out from beneath the willow’s branches and stepped back onto the path just as a footman turned toward him. The man hurried forward.

“What is it?” Lucien demanded, painfully aware of Jess’s presence only a few feet away. But at least the end of their conversation had quenched all signs of his earlier arousal.

“A message, Your Grace.” The footman handed over a sealed note. “Your butler brought it and said to tell you it concerns Ealing. He’s waiting for you, sir, at your carriage.”

His blood turned to ice. Whatever had happened there, it couldn’t be good. He waved away the footman with his mumbled thanks, then broke the seal and opened the note. His eyes scanned the message from Mr. Porter.

Not good at all.

Pulling in a deep breath, he reached back for the willow branches and held them up for Jess. Their time here was done. Whatever moments they’d shared were now over and could never happen again. The proof of that lay in the note in his hand.

“I have to leave,” he said. “Immediately. Linger at the back of the garden for a while, then return to the party when you’re ready. Tell everyone I parted from you as soon as I led you outside, but you wanted time to see the flowers.”

With a slow nod, she stepped out into the sunlight. When she blinked rapidly, he knew it wasn’t from the sting of the bright sun.

“You said you would announce to the party that rumors of our engagement were false,” she reminded him. Her voice was as icy as winter. “That’s the least you can do after—”

“No time now.” He pounded one last nail into his own coffin… “But we’ll discuss our marriage settlement when I return,” he called out as he walked a few feet backwards down the path toward the house, just so he could have one last look at her, “should you wish to continue your mission to destroy me.”

Then he turned his back to her and strode away. Every step that increased the distance between them was agonizing.