One Wicked Sin (25 page)

“I don’t want those things anymore,” Ethan said.

He saw her freeze like a rabbit trapped in the glare of the poacher’s lamp. “You don’t want
me
anymore,” she said. It sounded like an accusation. “You are going to
tell me it is over and you are leaving.” For a moment he saw straight into her heart and saw the terror there.

Everyone leaves. Always. I am on my own.

It was the lesson that repeated itself for her time and again.

Then he saw her straighten and transform. Her chin came up with the courage and defiance he recognized.

“Ah well.” She shrugged. “Save yourself the trouble of spelling it out, darling. I knew it would have to happen soon. As I said, I shall manage. I always do.”

“Lottie,” Ethan said. He put a hand on her arm, drew her back to him. She came reluctantly. “That was not what I was going to say to you,” he said.

He could feel her trembling. Her body had gone soft with relief. “It was not?” she whispered.

“No.” He pressed kisses against her hair. “Listen. I want you. I never stop wanting you.”

She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. “Sweet of you. Yet you will not make love to me.”

Ethan loosed her. “Get ready,” he said abruptly. “We are going out in ten minutes.”

“Ready in ten minutes?” Lottie looked scandalized. “Are you mad? Where are we going?”

“We are having a picnic,” Ethan said, “and we
are
going to talk.”

“A picnic? Really?” Lottie threw him an appalled look over her shoulder. “Darling, only rustics have picnics! Think of the butter melting in the sun and the flies in the honey!”

“You mistake,” Ethan said. “Only the rich have picnics. No one else can afford the time.”

Lottie pulled a face. “It is a privilege I would happily forgo.” She made it sound like torture. “And ten minutes?” She was already making for the door. “I will not even have selected my outfit in ten minutes!”

Ethan smiled slightly as he listened to her shouting desperately for Margery as she made her way up the stairs. She had denied that she cared for him, but it was the only rational explanation he could see to explain why she had sent both her cousin and his father packing. But of course she would never admit it to him of her own free will. All the men who had used and discarded Lottie throughout her life had hurt her badly. He could hardly blame her now if she had erected barriers about her heart.

So he would have to expose his feelings to her first. And the truth of it was that he was no better at showing such vulnerability than she. He smiled ruefully at the irony of it. Two of the most experienced lovers in the world, and yet the one thing that they could not expose was their hearts.

I
N THE PRIVACY OF HER ROOM
, Lottie stood with her hands braced against the chest of drawers, trying to regain her breath and her composure.

“What is it that you are hiding from me?”
Ethan had asked, and how was she to answer him?

I love you. I’ve loved you for weeks. I would go barefoot for you, to the ends of the earth….

Well, perhaps not barefoot. One had to be practical. One had to preserve standards. But she had always fancied the idea of travel.

Only of course she could not tell Ethan that. Such
confessions were for love-struck debutantes not for an experienced divorcée who was rather farther into her thirties than she wanted to admit. She was a sophisticated woman not an ingenue. And she never ever wanted to be at the mercy of her feelings—or of a man’s whim—again.

Ethan had wanted to know why she had rejected the more than generous offers made by her cousin and his father. Of course he had wanted to know. She wanted to know herself how she could have been so foolish as to put love before self-interest for the very first time in her life. It was inexplicable. And yet as soon as Ethan had walked in the room she had known what she had to do. She had looked at him and seen that he was twice the man his father was. A hundred times better than Farne if truth were told, honorable, principled, entirely admirable. She loved him for it. She loved him for being all the things his father was not. Actually, she loved him for being all the things that
she
was not. So for the first time ever she had let her heart rule her head and her wallet, and she had turned both Farne and James Palliser away.

She straightened and walked slowly over to the open window, gazing down on the leaves of the apple trees, stirred by the summer breeze. She had to admit that she had not suddenly discovered scruples, a moral code. That would have been doing it too brown. But to betray Ethan, and Arland, too, was something that she could not have lived with. The boy had already suffered too much, and the man… Her throat closed with tears as she acknowledged how much she loved him.

She had tried to put Ethan off with light answers.
They were her style so it was inconsiderate of him to remain unconvinced. Then when that had failed, she had tried to persuade him with her body. It was the most frightening thing of all that he could resist her. He had never withstood her seduction before. Previously she had not even had to try too hard. Damn his persistence. Damn him in general.

She vented her feelings by sweeping her silver-backed hairbrush from the chest onto the floor where it clattered to rest against the foot of the bed.

A mistress losing her allure…

Yet Ethan had told her that he still wanted her. He was not paying her off because he had tired of her. So there could be only one other explanation. This was the moment she had been dreading. He was going to tell her that he was leaving, taking Arland and escaping abroad.

Lottie could feel the breath tightening in her chest at the mere thought of abandonment. She knew that Ethan had to go. She had realized that when Arland had run away from Whitemoor and Ethan had taken him to safety. Arland would be in hiding now and his father eager to join him so that together they could leave the country. This, she thought, must be Ethan’s farewell to her. He was going to tell her that he had to go and she was going to be the perfect mistress and say that she understood.

She went to the wardrobe and took out her riding habit, deep green velvet, buttoned tight over the bodice, with a full sweeping skirt. She always chose carefully when she selected the outfit that marked her parting from a lover. And even though her hands shook a little
as she buttoned herself into the bodice, she kept her head high and a little smile pinned to her face because really there was no other way to save her pride. She wanted Ethan to remember her well. If that was all he could take away with him, she wanted the memory to be good.

She took a deep breath and went out and down the stairs. Ethan was waiting for her at the bottom. He smiled at her. Her heart cracked a little. She put her hand in his. Just a little longer to pretend.

T
HE BUTTER MELTED
in the sun and there were flies in the honey but Ethan thought that Lottie had probably enjoyed the picnic more than she had expected. They had ridden a mile out of Wantage, to the edge of the parole boundary, and had found an idyllic corner of a field where a stream ran softly down toward the river. They had spread a rug beneath the wide branches of an ancient oak and ate bread and ham, cheese and honeyed figs, and drank the strong local beer.

They did not talk, but it was a comfortable silence. Ethan had been surprised. He had thought Lottie would be on edge, demanding to know what it was that he wanted to say to her. But from the moment she had come down the stairs in her saucy green riding outfit it was as though they had a pact not to spoil the peace of the afternoon.

It was as though it was going to be their last goodbye.

After they had eaten Ethan lay back in the grass, jacket discarded, looking at Lottie. She was lying, eyes closed, lashes a dark sweep against her cheek, her head pillowed on one of the saddlebags. He knew she was not asleep. A ladybird landed on her cheek and she smiled and brushed it gently away without opening her eyes. The smile was lazy and sensual, and the curve of
her cheek was rounded and freckling in the sun, and Ethan felt an ache inside as he watched her. She turned her head an inch to the left and opened her eyes a tiny fraction and raised her arm to shield her gaze from the sun.

“What are you looking at?” Her voice was soft and slumberous, too, like the hot afternoon.

“You.”

She smiled, contented, and closed her eyes again. She moved her left hand to catch his, the fingers tangling with his in the grass, and Ethan was shot through with such strong emotion that he almost gasped aloud. Not desire, this. It was too strong and too profound to be mere lust. Besides, lust could be sated. He knew that if he wanted Lottie she would not refuse him. She never did. Anything he wanted he took. He had bought her and so she acquiesced to all his demands. Yet strangely, her giving, her subservience, had made him humble in the end rather than arrogant. He looked at the sweet, generous contours of her mouth and he felt the same sensation, stronger than before. No, not desire, but love.

Strange, so strange, that Lottie Palliser should be the one to teach him about love. He had had many women, too many, he supposed, and always they had bored him. Lottie had been different from the start. He had felt an affinity with her. He had felt recognition, instinctive, primitive, and he had thought it was because they were two of a kind. But they were not. Underneath the brazen exterior Lottie had been softer and more vulnerable than he had imagined, and certainly more vulnerable than she had ever wanted to be. He wanted to protect
her and care for her though no doubt she would tell him she could look after herself. She had had to do so, as a child whose father deserted her, as a young woman seeking security in marriage, as a wife, deeply disillusioned and finally discarded. She had made mistakes but she had not let them destroy her.

“You are still looking at me.” This time she did not trouble to open her eyes.

“I like looking at you,” Ethan said. He took a deep breath. “I love you.”

As soon as the words were out he felt anxious. It was a new sensation to him and he did not care for it, but the words were said now and he would not take them back.

There was a stillness, as though the day was holding its breath. Then Lottie opened her eyes very, very wide.

“I beg your pardon?” she said.

“I love you,” Ethan said again. Even he could hear the note of desperation in his voice. “Say something,” he added quickly. “Please. I am so damnably poor at this.”

Lottie rolled over so that she was lying very close to him. He could see the flecks of gold in her brown eyes, see every little line about those eyes, every crease that deepened as she smiled, every freckle. He reached out to brush back her hair where the breeze teased it and saw that he was shaking a little.

“I never thought to be so happy,” she said, and there was wonder and the surprise of discovery in her voice.

Ethan tumbled her into his arms and she came to
him, laughing a little, with eagerness and pleasure. “But do you love me, too?” he asked.

“Of course I do,” Lottie said. “Of course I love you. That was why—” She bit her lip and fell silent.

“That was why—what?”

She raised her gaze to his. Her fingers fidgeted with his shirt. “That was why I did not accept James’s offer,” she said simply. “I knew it was the sensible thing to do, but I did not want to leave you because I love you.”

“You should have told me,” Ethan said.

She moved a little. “And expose my heart to hurt—again?” she said. “I thank you, but no.”

“I can’t offer to marry you,” Ethan said.

He saw the bright light of happiness in her face extinguished like a fire stamped out. Her body stiffened a little. She pulled away from him.

“Of course not,” she said. “Of course you cannot. I am a divorced woman, notorious, disgraced.” She sat up and started to pick up the remains of the picnic, tidying it up with quick, jerky movements.

Ethan caught her hand, cursing himself for his clumsy words.

“Lottie—” He took her chin in his hand, raising her face to his. Her eyes were dull and determinedly blank. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I did not mean—”

She tried to pull herself away from him. “I understand.”

“No,” Ethan said. “No, you do not. Lottie, listen to me. I want to marry you more than anything in the world.”

Now she looked even more shocked. “Why?” she said. “When you sought me out three months ago you
wanted the most notorious woman in London to be your mistress. The last thing you wanted was a wife.”

“My ambitions have changed,” Ethan said. “Lottie, I want to marry you because you are my match, my love and my heart. You complete me. Anything less than marriage would never be enough.”

A spark of amusement, of joy, had crept back into her eyes, making them shine like stars. “Why, Ethan,” she teased, “you are a true romantic. It must be your Irish heritage. I did not think you had it in you. So why…” She tilted her head, looked at him quizzically. “Why can you not wed me if you feel like that?”

“Because I have nothing to offer you in all honor,” Ethan said. “I am a prisoner of war and even if I escape I shall remain a wanted man, hunted throughout the kingdom. It would be shameful of me to ask you to share that, to risk all to be with me. And then there are things I have to do. You know that I have plans. Arland—” He stopped. He wanted to confide in her very much, to trust her with his plans and his secrets. Already she knew a great deal. But now she solved his dilemma by pressing her fingers to his lips.

“Don’t tell me,” she whispered, “and then I can be neither tempted to betray your secrets nor be forced to do so.”

He trusted her not to tell, and he would kill anyone who tried to compel her to betray him but he kissed her fingers.

“It is extraordinary that you think I am your match when you have so many principles and I so few,” Lottie said. “Your scruples do credit to a man of honor, but I assure you they are quite unnecessary with me. I am a
woman with absolutely no shred of reputation or good character left—” She stopped as Ethan leaned forward and kissed her.

“You are
my
woman of bad character,” he whispered, “and if I wish to treat you with the greatest respect in the world you will oblige me by accepting it.”

He felt her lips curve into a smile against his.

“Since I am
your
woman of bad character,” she whispered back, “I shall do my ultimate to persuade you to overlook your scruples and to take me with you, and to marry me, too.” She drew back, resting a hand against his chest. “I do not see,” she added, “that you are entirely ineligible. You may be a prisoner of war, but you are rich and titled. And I think I would like to be Lady St. Severin. At my age one cannot turn down the opportunity of a comfortably wealthy old age.”

“In that case,” Ethan said, “perhaps we should celebrate our betrothal.” He started to undo the tiny pearl buttons of her riding habit.

She smiled. “Not so honorable after all,” she said. Then, as the buttons gave and he slid a hand inside her bodice she sighed, lying back.

“I do believe,” she said, “that I am so reformed these days that you are the one wicked sin left to me, Ethan, darling.”

T
HERE WAS THE WARMTH
of the sun on her naked skin. She could smell the scents of summer, of hot grass and flowers, and then Ethan was kissing her and she forgot where she was, forgot everything and gave herself up to his embrace.

They had made love many times before, with lust,
with anger, even with gentleness. It had been sweet and it had been sensual and it had been fiery and heated. All of those things she had known before, the excitement of discovery, the wickedness of the flagrantly erotic. She had thought that she had nothing left to learn and nowhere else to go. She had been wrong.

There was love in the way that Ethan touched her now, love in each sweep of his hand against her skin, love in the reverence with which he kissed her.

“I love you,” he said, as he pressed his lips to the hot hollow of her throat. He tangled his hands in her hair and kissed the vulnerable curve below her ear with exquisite tenderness. “I love you…” His lips moved against her skin, a breath, a torment.

She caught his face in her hands and brought it down to hers, kissing him urgently, fiercely, tearing at his clothes, reckless. For a moment she felt scared, as though if she did not capture this feeling now she would lose it and be cheated again, giving herself to a man only to feel lost and empty afterward. But it was not like that this time. Ethan drew back, steadying her and stilling her hands.

“We have all the time in the world,” he said softly. “I will never leave you, Lottie. I swear it.”

He kissed her slowly, thoroughly, tasting her, dipping his head to graze his tongue across her nipple, to suck and to bite, so that heat flared through her and set her shivering with need. She felt lost, afraid to surrender the last corner of her heart to him, but there was no escape. His touch was so sure, claiming her heart and soul as his alone. She trembled to possess him as much as she wanted to be possessed.

He lowered himself over her, spreading her open for him. The sun was blocked out, his face a shadow now against the light. And then he was inside her and her heart tumbled over and over and she ran her hands down his back to feel the play of his muscles as he moved within her.

“Look at me, Lottie… I love you…” His breathing was uneven. “I will always love you.”

Lottie opened her eyes and smiled and arched up to meet the irresistible thrust of his body. The sunlight shimmered, scattering brightness through every last dark fearful corner of her soul. The spiral of light spun brighter and brighter, banishing all the bitterness of the past. Excitement pulsed through her, and helpless pleasure sweeter than anything she had known, exploding inside her, smashing her defenses, spinning through her, glorious, dazzling. Lust fused with love for all time.

It was some time before her shattered senses became aware of all the little things: the stalks of grass pricking her skin because they had rolled right off the rug; the buzz of the bees gorging on the honey because they had left the pot open; and the heat of the sun on her nakedness, which had passed the sensual and moved to the downright uncomfortable.

“I am burning!” Lottie said. “Literally.”

She pulled Ethan to his feet and dragged him down to the stream. It was cooler here in the shadows. The water rippled over smooth brown stones and gurgled through pools and under the bowed branches of the willow. For a while they splashed and played in the water, then lay on the bank in the sun to dry off before making love again. Finally they dressed haphazardly,
packed up the picnic and wandered back to the horses, hand in hand.

“This is very different from the first time I was betrothed,” Lottie said. “Gregory gave me an enormous ruby ring that was too big for my hand and did not even kiss me.” She smiled at Ethan. “I think that I prefer your style of proposal.”

Outside Priory Cottage she stood on tiptoe to kiss Ethan. He put an arm about her waist.

“Be ready to go tonight,” he whispered. “I will come for you after dark.” He released her and smiled that earthshaking smile. “No more than one bag, Lottie.”

Lottie saw the love in his eyes and her heart turned over. She stood by the gate for a long time after he had gone and then she went inside to pack.