No Regrets (22 page)

   God, what must he think of so much skin?

   She swallowed and made a grab for the wayward fabric.

   Lucas trapped her fingers in his, raised them to his lips in turn, and then turned her hand to press his lips to her wrist, before placing her hand on his shoulder. He bent his head to kiss the hollow at the base of her throat, the rise of her bosom at the edge of her gown, the peak of her breast. Warm moist breath permeated all the way to her nipple. It budded to life. Her breasts became full, heavy, while her heart galloped like a colt out of control.

   Once more his hand slid down her leg to cup her calf. "Lift for me sweet," he murmured into her décolletage.

   Lift?

   The gentle pressure beneath her calf focused her scattered wits. Unable to muster an ounce of resistance even had she wanted to, she relaxed her leg, and he hooked her heel over the back of the chaise. Her skirts fell to her hips. Before the protest on her lips formed into words, his mouth covered hers, soft and wooing and infinitely delicious, while his fingers performed lazy circles on her raised calf, her knee, the shivering skin above her stocking.

   Soft yet searing, his touch blazed a trail almost too delicate to bear. The sensation made her writhe and gasp as he tortured and then soothed. All thought fled as her body responded like a musical instrument, vibrating, humming, the chords growing ever tighter. The scent of him filled her senses. The driving force of need raised her hips, clenched her inner muscles, made her fight for every lung full of air. Attuned to his desire, she wanted, needed.

   The firm press of the heel of his hand against her mons brought sweet relief even as it tormented. She clutched at his shoulders, urging him on. She heard the sound of ragged breathing, hers and his, and felt his chest rising and falling against her breasts.

   More kisses descended on her mouth, small brushes of hot lips against hers, quick flickers of tongue that left her breathless. Eyes closed, she savored the darting, teasing pleasure.

   He raised his head. His thumb grazed her lips. She tasted salt.

   He pulled out of her grasp, and she opened her eyes to see his dark head lower as he eased off the sofa.

   "Lucas. What . . ."

   "Hush."

   The pressure on her mons stopped, replaced by a draft of warm breath, a shock that sent an electric thrill to her breasts.

   She whimpered her need for him to end the torturous climb to some far-off peak.

   Gentle yet firm, with his other hand still at her face, he slid one finger between her soft and swollen womanly flesh. A flood of moisture met his probing touch.

   "Oh, yes," he said with a groan of satisfaction.

   Another finger joined the first, stretching, stroking. Wave after wave of pleasure barraged her senses.

   She raised her head and opened her mouth, drawing the thumb of his other hand inside her mouth with a hard suck.

   A hiss of breath told her he liked her bold move.

   Pleasure spiraled out of control. She reached some place far beyond her experience. It drove her to madness. He continued without mercy.

   She bit down on his thumb.

   He groaned and pressed harder at the entrance to her body. Light burst in her head. She was entirely centered on that one point of pleasurepain that had become the sum total of her existence.

   "Come for me, Caro," he said.

   In that moment, she would have done anything he wanted, as long as he found a way to break the tension that was wound so tight she feared the explosion when it finally broke.

   An abyss opened before her, black and beckoning. "Oh God!" she cried.

   She fell over the edge and was lost in wave after wave of crashing delight, to wash up on the far distant shore a shattered wreck and delightfully languid.

   Bliss turned her bones to blancmange and her muscles to water. Lucas gathered her into his arms and rested his forehead against hers, breathing hard. She stared in fascination at the evidence of his arousal, a hard ridge jutting beneath the fabric of his skintight pantaloons.

   She reached down to touch. He groaned.

   She glanced up at his face, wondered at the agony on his features, and felt a surge of strength.

   He raised his head. "Lean forward. Let me unfasten your gown."

   Shocked, she stiffened.

   "It's all right," he murmured. "I won't hurt you, I promise."

   He meant her body, but what did he know of the pain he could inflict on her heart? She wished for the will to say no.

   A hot dark gaze drifted to her neckline.

   A murmur of protest formed in her throat, but a moan of pleasure replaced it as he brushed his knuckles across her breast's sensitive peaks.

   He promised he wouldn't hurt her.

   Raising herself on one elbow, she tucked her face in the curve of his strong neck while his fingers nimbly undid the small hooks down the center of her back and then attacked the strings of her stays. He must have had lots of practice.

   Perish the thought.

   He slid her gown over her shoulders and pressed her back against the cushion. Brocade scratched her bare shoulders. Cool air brushed the tops of her breasts. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see his reaction.

   Silence.

   She risked a peek. The expression on his face was neither shock nor astonishment. It was something she had never seen before, something far more profound, something terrifying.

   "My God," he whispered.

   A warm calloused hand cupped first one breast and then the other, as if testing their weight. He grazed his palm over the chemise-covered nipples. They tightened. A sweet, sharp tingle shot to her loins. She shivered with the delicious chills of desire.

   His hand went to the buttons at his falls, his breathing harsh and rapid.

   "Oh, Lucas," she breathed.

   He stilled, looked up at her face, and stared almost without recognition. Then the haze cleared from his gaze like a chill breeze blowing mist from a fathomless pool.

   "Hell," he said. "I can't do this." His voice sounded ragged. He looked as if he were being strangled.

   Not enough money to bed even the most unattractive wench.

   She clutched at the neckline of her gown and pulled it over the mountains of jiggling flesh.

   He pulled her skirts down over her calves and turned his back to her. "Damn it to hell."

   His father wanted him to consummate the marriage, and he couldn't do it. Her jaw locked to hold back a sob of humiliation.

   She pulled her bodice up over her shoulders, leaving the stays loose, and fumbled with the fastenings.

   "I . . ." He smoothed his hair back. "I'm sorry."

   An empty numbness took over her body. "It is of no consequence."

   She had all the fastenings done up except those in the middle of her back. She lowered her feet to the floor and twisted her arm behind her, feeling for the little hooks.

   "Here," he said, sounding strained. "Stand up. I'll do it."

   Once more, he exhibited his skill as a lady's maid. Ladies he'd wanted to make love to. She swallowed what tasted like a mouth full of burnt biscuits.

   "You have to go back to Norwich right away," he muttered to her back. "You should leave tomorrow."

   She whirled around. "You are sending me home because . . ." She glanced at the sofa, her face blazing. But blazing with what? Anger? Embarrassment? Probably both.

   God, she thought, he really must despise her after what he'd seen. How could she have lain there exposed to his scornful gaze?

   But he had seen almost as much the other night in her room. He knew what she looked like. Only then, he hadn't been under his father's orders to get her with child.

   She held herself rigid. "You promised me a season. I won't be packed off home."

   "You little fool. You cannot stay in London. If you don't believe me, ask Cedric. No one of any consequence will speak to you. You are ruined."

   He headed for the door, turned the key, and then looked back. "I will ask Beckwith to make the necessary arrangements. I will join you as soon as I am able. I am afraid I have a prior engagement and cannot go with you."

   Hunting. A hot flood of fury nearly blinded her. "I wouldn't dream of imposing on your time, my lord. However, you might want to include a trip to Scotland in your future plans."

   His lips thinned. "If that is your wish. But we should discuss it first—when we are both in a more rational frame of mind."

   "I think we have said all that is needed."

   He bowed and snatched the door open. "Very well. We will discuss the arrangements when I join you in Norwich."

   The front door slammed as he quit the house. She pressed frigid palms against burning cheeks. What had she done?

"W hat do you mean, Fred has gone?" Lucas asked.

   The candelabra on the old piano cast a circle of light into the conservatory. Six faces met his searching gaze. The four boys—Red, with his hair gleaming like fire; Aggie, already growing out of his new clothes; the angelic Pete; and little Jake—all stared back in silence. Davis, a short, stocky Welshman with a full set of whiskers and a pair of coal black eyes sparking anger, stood next to them. James hunched his shoulders and his long scholarly face looked sadder than usual.

   Davis folded his arms looking smug. "I caught him stealing my watch from my chamber, don't you know. I locked him in to await your justice, my lord, and the coward fled."

   "Yer a bleedin' liar," Jake muttered, throwing a kick at the piano leg. His gaze slid to the floor.

   Trouble followed Fred like a shadow, it seemed. Damn it. The lad had seemed almost settled these last few days.

   Lucas didn't need this now, not when he wanted to settle matters with Caro. How could he have let her get in such a coil? Because his attention had been taken up with these boys. Guilt grabbed at his gut, and sweat started on his brow every time he thought about his surge of unbridled lust.

   He shouldered his personal problems aside. "Tell me what happened."

   "I asked Mr. Davis to release the boy to rehearse for the concert tonight," James said. "He refused, even though Fred gave his word to await your judgment on the matter."

   Beside Jake, lanky Aggie clenched a knobby fist. "He never stole nuffin'. He found it and were putting it back."

   "Cock and bull," Davis snorted. He puffed out his burly chest. "What else would you expect from a bunch of prigs and pickpockets, I ask you? It wouldn't surprise me if they were all in it together, mark you. It is the constable we need."

   The boys retreated to the far reaches of the dim light, their eyes darting wildly around the room.

   "Enough. Can't you see you are scaring them?" Lucas rapped out. An intense stare from James gave him pause. He sank down on the piano stool. "Perhaps I should hear this from the beginning."

   "There's not much to tell," Davis asserted, tucking his thumbs in his waistband. "I caught him entering my bedchamber. He tried to pitch me some gammon about finding my watch and intending to replace it. We had a few words, and I locked him in his room. He left through the window sometime between lunch and supper."

   A vague disquiet nibbled at Lucas. The proud Fred never lied about his thieving. "Did anyone see him find the watch?"

   "Are you calling me a liar, my lord?" Davis snarled.

   "I am," Jake mumbled.

   Lucas glared at the boy before answering Davis. "I'm asking the boys what they saw. Did you see him with it?"

   Aggie, Red, and Pete shook their heads. Jake flicked a glance at them and then gave a quick shake of his head, avoiding Lucas's gaze.

   Hell. It would take hours to get to the truth at this rate.

   He'd only come tonight because he'd promised the lads. He wanted to get back to Caro. The drive had cleared his head. Perhaps there was a way to mitigate the damage so that she didn't have to leave London. But he could not leave Fred out there, alone and lost.

   Davis curled his lip. "The little rat has gone down the nearest sewer."

   "'Tain't fair," Red said. "The bleedin' Taffy's al'ays pickin' on Fred. 'E wouldn't listen when he said he found the ticker. Raised the hue and cry and locked him up. Said you'd have the Beak ship 'im off to Botany Bay."

   It was a threat real enough to frighten anyone. Lucas narrowed his eyes. "Do you have your watch now, Davis?"

   "Of course he does!" Jake yelled.

   Davis took a threatening step in Jake's direction. Jake cowered, arm raised in feeble protection, his pallor increasing, but fear didn't stop his mouth. "Bleedin' schoolmaster. Fred was puttin' it back. I 'ates you."

   "I have it all right," Davis bit out. "After I searched the little bastard. What's needed around here is more switch and less talk. We'd soon find out where the lad went."

   Christ, the puritanical Welshman was just like Lucas's father. A bully. He should have seen it. A familiar sense of failure twisted his gut. He took a deep breath and flexed and relaxed his fingers. Anger wouldn't help Fred.