Addicted (27 page)

Anais’s hand slipped free of Ann’s arm, but not before Lindsay saw her glare at her sister. “We will talk about this at home,” she muttered, stealing a glance at him over her shoulder.

“I wonder what’s for dinner,” he asked, sneaking up behind them. “I’m ravenous. Although I hardly doubt Cook is serving up what I’m hungry for.” Anais stiffened, obviously forgetting he was so near to her. “Do you know what I hunger for, Anais?” he whispered discreetly. “A glimpse of your pink skin beneath me, a touch of the pink silk between your plump thighs. Perhaps what I truly hunger for is you lying atop the table, legs spread—
helpless
—while I devour you for dessert.”

With a sidelong glance, she looked fiercely at him, but he refused to be drawn into her battle, despite the fact he felt like taking her in his hands and shaking her. Damn the little chit, she was making him crazed. How the devil could she so easily ignore him? How could she not possibly yearn for more of what they had shared in the stable? Bloody hell, he yearned for it—night and day—all the damned time he was yearning for her, and she didn’t seem to give a bloody toss about him.

He still didn’t believe she wanted to marry Broughton. Things might have changed, but Lindsay didn’t believe that Anais had changed that much.

“Ah, Lady Anais, Lady Ann, Lord Raeburn,” Margaret Middleton greeted them at the front door. The surprise in her voice when she said his name was not lost on Lindsay. “How good of you to come, Lord Raeburn, Broughton will be pleased.”

“Will he?” he drawled, handing his greatcoat and hat to the butler. “I doubt that.”

Margaret swallowed hard and she turned to Anais. “Mrs. Jennings has done a lovely job on that gown, Lady Anais. The color is simply stunning.”

The velvet and fur-lined cape slipped from Anais’s shoulders revealing the rose taffeta gown beneath. Lindsay felt his breath sucked from his lungs as his gaze hungrily took in the sight of the tight-fitting bodice and the gentle bell-shaped skirt.

The color was sheer perfection against her pale flesh. He studied the way it made her skin flush a faint pink, reminding him of the way her skin warmed beneath his hands. Her breasts were pushed up high in her corset, spilling elegantly over the ecru lace flounce that was draped invitingly off her shoulders.
God, he was a fool for a woman’s naked shoulders, and Anais had the best set he’d ever seen.

Unable to help himself, his gaze strayed lower to the little coral cameo she had pinned to the middle of the flounce, directly below the valley of her breasts. Bloody hell, there wouldn’t be a man at the table or the assembly tonight who could resist stealing a peek
there.

Erotic images fluttered through his mind when he couldn’t stop looking at the tight little crease of her décolletage. He imagined tonguing that seductive crevice, visualized his finger slipping between her breasts, saw the image of himself pressing his cock in that tight valley and stroking himself to the final release.

The rest of the gown was simple and elegant, free of all the annoying flounces and ribbons women were so fond of. Damn that Mrs. Jennings, she had turned a simple, unadorned gown into something decadent.

With one more sweep of his eyes, Lindsay took in her lush figure encased in rose taffeta and decided that he could very definitely devour her whole right there on the floor of Broughton’s entrance.

“Shall we?” Margaret asked. Lindsay swallowed hard, mentally checking himself. Hell, he had the control of a damned gnat.

Ushering the ladies ahead, he followed behind, studying the swinging movements of Anais’s hips. The image was only rendered more painful as he imagined peeling off the gown and finding her breasts inching above her corset. And beneath that corset he saw what was awaiting him—a warm and flushed curved body.

“Good evening,” Robert Middleton called from his spot by the fire. “It is a fine night for a ball at the assembly rooms, is it not?”

Anais and Ann nodded and plunged into a long-winded conversation about the weather. Lindsay only halfheartedly listened and instead looked about the salon, wondering where the devil Broughton was lurking. He saw something squirm atop Middleton’s lap and Margaret rushed over and lifted the white bundle from her husband’s arms.

“Let me bring her to Nurse. I’m sure our daughter is hungry. And I am just as certain that the men will not wish to hear her bellows.”

“A very good set of lungs, she has,” Middleton chuckled. “She makes herself heard and very clearly understood.”

Margaret attempted a smile, but Lindsay could perceive none of the warmth or enthusiasm she had shown when they’d first arrived.

“How old is she now?” Ann asked, pulling the blanket from the babe’s face and grinning when a chubby little fist escaped the confines of the blanket.

“Nearly seven weeks,” Middleton said proudly, but Margaret shut him up with a warning look conveyed by her narrowed eyes. “Well, yes,” her husband grumbled. “I do believe you should bring her up, my love. She looks like she’s about to wail like a banshee. I’m certain Raeburn could do without the recital.”

He certainly could do without it. He’d never been around children or babies. Frankly he didn’t know what to do with one. For instance, he didn’t know if he was expected to look upon
the child and make a comment, or was that the job of the women to fuss over the baby? Was his duty more toward Middleton, a sort of man-to-man congratulations, like a slap on the shoulder along with a “well done”?

In the end, he tilted his head and pretended he could see some of the child’s features, which he couldn’t as she had buried her face once again in the blankets. “A well-formed child,” he murmured awkwardly, hoping it was the right thing to say. “And I’m certain you were happy to have her born at your ancestral home, Robert.”

“It’s a good thing you made it to Worcestershire when you did,” Ann said with a mischievous smile. “Otherwise you might have delivered in some inn, or worse yet, in your coach.”

“Ann,” Anais scolded, but Ann carried on, heedless of her sister’s warning. “It was much talked of in the village, how Mrs. Middleton had her baby less than a week after arriving from Scotland,” Ann informed him.

“Traveling so far and so close to your day?” he asked quizzically. Weren’t women confined to bed in the last months of their confinement—isn’t that why they called it
confinement?
From his limited knowledge of childbirth he knew enough that men usually went mad those last few months worrying over the delivery. As far as he knew, husbands did not allow their wives to go gadding about in carriages halfway across Britain. He certainly would never let Anais travel about while heavy with his child.

The thought stopped him cold. He might never have the chance to make a family with her. Despite not having any experience with babies, Lindsay still desired a family of his own.
He had only ever thought of Anais having his children. The thought that dream might not come to realization had never occurred to him, till tonight.

“Her arrival was unexpected and early,” Margaret murmured, and Lindsay saw her blush to the roots of her hair as her words drew him out of his melancholy thoughts. “Neither of us thought it possible that I would deliver early. Of course I was with Robert, he is…er…that is to say, he is well-versed in the art of childbirth. Now,” she said with great relief, “I really must get her upstairs if we are to eat at the planned time.”

The door to the salon opened and Broughton strolled in. Lindsay saw his gaze narrow at the same time the color drained from his cheeks. Barely glancing at Margaret and her baby as she slipped past him, Broughton stalked forward, his gaze pinning him with ruthless determination.

“What are you doing here?”

“Ann invited me to be her escort for the evening.”

Broughton’s expression appeared relieved, then his gaze slid to where Anais stood beside Robert, dismissing the fact he had an uninvited guest.

“You look beautiful tonight, Anais,” Broughton said, stepping forward and taking her hand. “Very lovely, indeed.”

She blushed for Broughton and Lindsay had the urge to drive his fist into his friend’s face. Bloody hell, he could not stand to see her near him, nor Broughton’s hands touching her.

“Shall we, then?” Lindsay saw the palm of his hand press against the hollow of Anais’s lower back as Broughton guided her to the door that led to the dining room.

“Do see to Ann, will you?” Broughton told him with more than a hint of sarcasm. “And I shall see to taking care of Anais.”

Accepting the assistance of a footman, Anais stepped up into the carriage and took her seat. Straightening her cloak, she pressed back against the velvet squabs, settling herself comfortably in the plush cushions.

An iron brazier had been heated and was in the process of being pushed into the carriage. Anais smiled appreciatively when she caught sight of the footman as he pulled his metal hook out from beneath the brazier.

“From his lordship,” the servant announced.

“Lord Broughton is most kind.”

“He is, ma’am.”

Bowing, the footman took his leave and Anais saw to shaking out her skirts to prevent them from wrinkling and waited for Ann and Garrett to enter the carriage so that they could be off to the ball at the assembly rooms.

Lindsay could manage on his own, she thought bitterly. Lord, he had acted like an ass throughout dinner. More than once she had been forced to glare her disapproval, but he only hooded his eyes and maintained his brooding silence. Anais wondered if it had only been her that was aware of how darkly quiet and dangerous Lindsay had appeared throughout supper. Was she the only one to notice how he looked at her, how he refused to take his eyes off her? Bloody hell, he had made her feel like a spectacle and she wanted to throttle him for it.

The crunching of snow alerted her that someone was outside
the carriage, but instead of it being Garrett’s boot steps she heard, it was Lindsay she saw shouldering his way through the small opening. Without preamble, he took the bench opposite her and reached for the door, slamming it shut before rapping at the roof with his walking stick.

“Drive on!” he barked.

The wheels rumbled along the snow-covered gravel, sending the conveyance swaying from left to right as it traveled down the sloped lane to the road that would take them to the Bewdley Assembly Rooms.

He had not lit the lamps and the blackness that engulfed them was unforgiving in its depths. She could see nothing, not even the barest sliver of moonlight, for the window shades were lowered, blocking out every inch of light.

Since the night in the stable, Anais had not allowed herself to be alone with him. Now, after all her careful avoidance, it was only them in the unsettling blackness. How utterly unforgiving the quiet darkness was.
How completely unnerving.

Now, completely blind, she realized her other senses were heightened—sound, smell. She heard his breathing—even and deep. Heard the heel of his boot scrape along the floor of the carriage as he positioned his long legs on either side of her feet. She smelled his cologne mixed with the scent of him—the scent of man and shaving soap and perhaps the remnants of opium smoke.

“Every night for the past week, I have lain awake in the dark waiting for you to come to me. But you never did.”

She wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to search him out and feel his body against hers.
Damn her for having these yearnings, for they were now a compulsion, an addiction she could not resist.

“I want it to be like it was, Anais.”

Anais was relieved he had not lit the lamps, for he would have seen her tremble with awareness. He would know that she was eager for his touch, for the feel of his hands, and the sounds of his breath in her ear. She, too, wanted it to be like it was. She wanted him for her friend once again, and she wanted him as her lover.

Despite the threatening darkness, Anais had never been more aware of him as she now was, sitting across from her, unable to see him, only sense him. She could feel the sensual tension wrap itself tightly between them, drawing them inexorably closer to one another.

“I live in torture. Every time I see him look at you, every time he takes the liberty of reaching out and touching you, I feel ill. I live in anguish, picturing you together, him with his body atop yours, his hands fisted in your hair. It is my hell imagining you shivering for him.”

The springs shifted again and Anais became aware of his presence before her. He didn’t have to speak for her to feel the heat of his breath or smell the scent of him. Her body, so in tune to his, sensed how very close he truly was.

“I cannot sleep for thinking of you. Everywhere I look I see you. I watch you carry on, pretending you are oblivious to my suffering, but I know something you think I don’t. I know you suffer, too. You just won’t admit it.”

Yes, she suffered. Yes, she wanted him.

Lindsay felt her shudder, heard the sound of the lace trim on her bodice brush against her fur-lined cloak. She was breathing fast, heard the air being sucked between her lips—felt it as she exhaled—the warm, moist air caressing his mouth.

“Do you know what it is like to constantly crave something you cannot have? To see it day after day, to dream of it night after night so that you are so consumed you would do anything for just a taste—a forbidden sampling—no matter how small? Can you imagine being willing to give up everything, including your soul to the devil, for just a stolen moment?”

He heard her swallow, followed by the slickness of her tongue wetting her lip. “You speak of opium, do you not?”

“No.” He fought with every ounce of his being to resist pressing his mouth to hers. “You induce this fever in my body. I speak of you when I speak of my cravings. Only you have that hold over me, Anais.”

He wanted nothing more than to wipe away the taint of Broughton’s hand upon her cheek. He wanted Broughton’s touch erased by his hands,
his
scent.

Reaching for the woolen blanket that was folded beside him, he tossed it to the floor then sought her hand and pulled her toward him. Country flowers and the scent of soft, feminine skin wafted up between their bodies, wrapping around him until he felt light-headed and his blood thickened in his veins as if he had smoked two pipes of opium.