A Belated Bride (29 page)

Lucien’s gaze brushed over her face. “It won’t hurt to stay another few minutes.”

Arabella murmured a protest, but Mary would have none of it. Before she knew what she was about, they were all seated at the long table. Mary served a shepherd’s pie rich with gravy and topped with a flaky crust that would have made Cook green with envy. Conversation never ceased and Arabella’s heart eased somewhat.

It was different this time; Lucien hadn’t promised her anything. All he’d done was offer his assistance. If she’d become dependent on him in some indefinable way, well, that was her fault. Coming to such a reasonable conclu- sion helped her to put on a cheerful face, and she was even able to laugh aloud at some of the antics of the children.

Seated by Lucien’s side, his thigh pressed against her, his warm gaze turning to her frequently, the half hour flew past and lengthened. Arabella found herself lingering more and more. By the time she and Lucien had climbed into the wagon, ready to depart, it was already getting dark.

John stood by the cart and cast a frowning glance at the sky. “It looks like rain.”

“Or sleet,” added Mary,
tsk
ing. “It gets cold so quickly.

Perhaps ye should stay the night.”

Arabella stared up at the gray sky, where the moon peeked out from behind swirling dark clouds. “Surely we can make it if we hurry.”

Lucien must have agreed, for no sooner had she said the words than he thanked their hosts, tucked a warm blanket across her lap, and set the horse in motion. With a

final wave at the Marches, they were soon traveling down the road, Sebastian holding to a steady walk.

The air was crisp and fresh, promising rain before morning. Barren branches rose toward the moon, which slipped between the clouds, casting eerie shadows that seemed to aggravate the rising wind. Arabella found her- self leaning closer to Lucien.

He pulled her against him. When she tried to move away, he held her tighter, saying curtly, “Just to keep warm.”

She relaxed and let his heat seep through her pelisse. Though she knew it was only imaginary, the feeling of belonging, of being loved and cherished, was too lovely to let slip away. Next week, when he left, she would deal with her loss. For now, it was enough just to sit beside him. She must have dozed, for she woke when he pulled her closer, opening his coat and draping it over them both. “In

case it rains,” he murmured.

She tried to straighten, but his arm held her close. Sometime while she’d been sleeping, her bonnet had fallen loose and lay on the seat beside her.

“Go back to sleep, Bella. Sebastian and I will take care of everything.”

His voice rumbled beneath her cheek, lulling her. “I am not sleepy,” she said, though she didn’t make a move to sit upright. She closed her eyes and relaxed against him, savoring the feel of his broad chest against her cheek. Had it been anyone other than Lucien, she would never have allowed such impropriety. But he would be gone soon. And she would be alone once more. For now, though, she enjoyed the luxury of being completely enclosed in his arms.

She was just slipping back to sleep when a sudden jar of the cart made her open her eyes and grab the seat. They

were standing stock-still in the middle of the forest, the cart tilted to one side. “What happened?”

“The cart slid off the road.” Lucien urged Sebastian on. The horse laid his head low and pulled, but the cart didn’t move.

Arabella looked around, noting the thick trees. “Where are we?”

“On the road to Rosemont.”

“But this isn’t.. .” She frowned. “You took Aunt Jane’s shortcut.”

“It was the only way I knew,” he said curtly. “And you were asleep.”

“You should have wakened me.” She looked over the side of the cart. “How on earth did this happen?”

“Ice formed across the road, and we slid sideways. I tried to pull on the brake, but it stuck.”

Her heart sank. “We’ll never get out of here now.” “Surely I can yank it loose,” Lucien said, his strong

hands already closing over the brake. “The only way to loosen it is to—”

Crack.
The handle broke in half. Lucien looked at it for a long minute before raising his gaze to her. “You were saying?”

Irritation built. “I warned you!”

“So you did.” He glanced up at the sky and dropped the broken handle into the floorboard. “Well, there’s no way we can fix this tonight. It is going to rain any minute. I saw a cottage near here on the way in.”

He assisted Arabella out of the cart, unhooked Sebast- ian, and then loaded the horse with items from the cart. Before he had finished, large, soft drops of rain began to plop onto the cart in a steady tattoo.

Arabella shivered. “Perhaps we could walk to the Marches’. Surely we could find our way there.”

“And if we don’t? I, for one, do not fancy freezing to death.”

As much as it galled her, he was right; the night was already frigid. The rain that fell was cold, almost freezing. It would swiftly turn to sleet and then snow. As she fol- lowed Lucien into the woods, the skies opened and the light rain became a furious storm, drenching her com- pletely in the first minute.

“This way!” Lucien yelled above the roar. He grabbed her hand and pulled her along until they stumbled through the door of a dark and damp cottage. Lucien immediately went back out, and returned carrying a bundle under his coat.

Lightning lit the interior of the cottage, followed by a crack of thunder. The ground vibrated from the tumul- tuous crash. Arabella glimpsed their haven and it chilled her as much as the sleet. Half the roof had fallen away, the opening allowing a steady pour of rain that made a small river out the door. Broken tables and a chair lay on the dirt floor, and a single fireplace filled one small wall.

Within an amazingly short period of time, Lucien had started a fire using the broken chairs, adding wet wood that sent smoky swirls up the chimney and puffing into the cottage. Digging through the corners of the hut, he found an old cot, barely wide enough for one person. He turned it upright, draped a wool blanket over it, and pulled it close to the fire. Arabella sat huddled on one end, her arms clasped together, shivers racking her body.

Outside, the whole world seemed to be awash in dull, cold gray, but inside the stone and wattle walls, the fire radiated a welcome heat. “I should have known it was going to rain,” Arabella said in a hoarse voice.

Lucien turned from stoking the fire and caught sight of

Arabella’s pale face. With a muffled curse, he strode to her side and hauled her against him. As if it were the most natural thing in the world, he lifted her into his arms, sat on the cot, and opened his coat around her.

Enveloped by warmth, Arabella pressed her cheek against his shirt. The heavy wool of his coat had protected him better than her thin pelisse, and his shirt was still warm and dry against her cheek. Gradually her shivers abated.

He rubbed his cheek against her hair. “You are soaking wet. We must get you out of those clothes.”

She shook her head.

Lucien held her tighter. “You will become ill.”

“No. I just need to get warm.” She pushed closer still, hiding her face against his neckcloth.

He didn’t move. He just sat, holding her as the flames crackled and the thrum of rain pitter-patted through the hole in the roof. The only light came from the flickering fire. A slow tremor of awareness trickled down her spine.

“Bella,” Lucien whispered against her temple.

She tightened her grip, unable to release him, unable to forget next week, when he would leave once more.

Lucien cupped her face with a warm hand and turned her face to his. “This morning, during the fire, all I could think was that I would never get the chance to do this.” He touched his lips to hers.

Heat exploded and all the feelings she’d been stifling burst to the fore. She wrapped her arms about him and held him closer, opening her mouth beneath his. Some- how, she was no longer sitting on the edge of the decrepit cot, but lying across it, Lucien’s broad form blocking out the heat of the fire.

But she had no need of the fire now. Her insides burned

with a deep heat all their own. His hands slipped down her shoulders to her breasts and beyond, caressing the entire length of her body.

His hand cupped her ankle and she stiffened, cold rea- son returning.
What am I doing? He will leave and I will still be here, alone
. The thought banished the last vestige of the spell he’d woven. She pushed him aside. “No.”

He stopped, his gaze meeting hers. Green fire sparkled in the depths of his eyes, but he removed his hand, rocking back on one elbow to look down at her. “Why not?”

Lucien trailed his fingers near the corner of her mouth and she tried to move away. Her heart pounded a furious beat, but she managed to say in a credibly even tone, “It might snow if this continues through the night. We should leave now.”

He dipped his head until his lips were but an inch from her ear. “It would be a pity if we were trapped here. For days. And no one knew where to find us.” The low sound brushed across the delicate lobes of her ears like raw silk. She rolled to her side, almost falling off the cot in her haste to get away. Tripping a little over the edge of the blanket, she went to the window and peered out into the swirling darkness, shivering at the cold. “The rain will

stop soon and it will—”

“Begin to snow.” In a deep, rich voice, he said what she both wanted and feared to hear. “We have no choice but to stay until morning.”

Arabella looked over her shoulder. A slow smile curved his lips. He rolled up on one elbow and lifted the corner of the blanket in invitation. “Come back to bed, Bella. It’s much warmer here.”

She looked at him, at the finely muscled sinew of his arms, at the bronze column of his throat. He was right: It

did look warmer. So warm that she wondered if she would melt if he took her in his arms again.

But her other option was to freeze to death by the inad- equate fire, alone and cold during an interminable night.
Some choice: death by ice or death by fire.
The only prob- lem was, she wasn’t sure which would hurt the least.

nm

Chapter 20

A

rabella turned back toward the fire, afraid to look too long at the tempting picture of Lucien in bed, waiting for her. “Surely this weather will clear and we’ll

be able to find someone who can help us. . . .”

The closest cottage was much too far away to attempt in the middle of a cold black night. The freezing rain con- tinued to pound on the broken roof and drip steadily into the little stream that flowed out the door.

Lucien met her gaze, a slow, almost slumberous smile curving his lips. “What’s wrong, Bella? Afraid?”

She clenched her hands into fists. She could not deny that she was aware of him, of his every move, of his scent, the strong line of his jaw, the burning shimmer in his green gaze. Lying in bed, his hair damp, his gaze fastened on hers as if she were the only woman in the world, he appeared a fallen angel, darkly handsome and intent on gratifying her every desire.

Arabella fought a wave of hot excitement. She plucked

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nervously at her buttoned pelisse. The thin wet wool hugged her body and made it difficult to breathe.

She sent a careful glance at Lucien, caught by the sen- sual line of his mouth. She knew that mouth, had tasted it and felt its heat. She ran a nervous tongue over her own lips. Every part of her yearned for him, craved his touch, desired the feel of his lips sliding over her mouth, her cheek, her neck, her breasts.

A rumble of thunder shook the cottage. Arabella shiv- ered, fighting off the sensation that she was drowning in a swell of desire.

“You are cold.” Lucien rose from the cot to pull his coat snuggly around her shoulders. He gathered the front, his hands brushing against her throat. He smiled when she sent a glance up at him, and for an instant his gaze darkened. Arabella couldn’t breathe. She just waited, awareness stretching, her lips tingling with imagined pres- sure. . . .

Muttering a fierce curse, he turned away and bent to tend the fire.

Disappointment washed over her in waves. Arabella sank onto the edge of a broken chair and hugged the heavy wool coat to her. It enveloped her with his warmth, even as the intriguing scent of his cologne rose to envelop her senses. Arabella pulled the material closer, dropping her chin into the rough wool so she could savor the feel- ing of his presence. But that was all she would have; he was leaving in a week. “Perhaps I can ride Sebastian home.”

He turned to look at her, his brows slightly raised. “What?”

“I could ride Sebastian—”

“You aren’t going anywhere. Someone tried to kill one of us this morning, and I’ll be damned if I let you go

jaunting about by yourself. We will stay here, where we are warm and safe.”

She wanted to argue, but the memory of the fire was too fresh. She couldn’t shake the feeling of helplessness that had gripped her as she lay on the floor of the shed, choking for breath. What would Robert do without her? And Aunt Jane and Emma? Lord Harlbrook would waste no time in presenting his notes, and all would be lost. And now, with Aunt Jane’s gaming debts, Sir Loughton would also have a claim to the estate.

She didn’t know how long she’d sat there, staring into the fire, when Lucien stooped beside her. He put his arms about her and gently turned her to face him. “We don’t need to think about what happened this morning, Bella. Or last night or ten years ago. We are here, tonight. Just us.” His voice ran along her senses, melting everything in its path. “Kiss me, Bella.”

She shook her head.

“Then let me kiss you.” He brushed the tips of his fin- gers along her cheek, leaving a trail of delicate fire. “Just say the word, Bella
mia.
Tell me what you want.”

What
did
she want? She swallowed, aware that he was deliberately seducing her.
And why not?
a voice inside her whispered.
Why not let emotion overtake you just this one, last time?
Perhaps this was her last chance to experience again the heat of true passion, the pleasure of true . . . She caught herself a moment before she committed the worst sin of all—believing herself in love once again with Lucien Devereaux.