[Samuel Barbara] Lucien's Fall(Book4You) (25 page)

He swallowed and touched her hair. "Uncommon. Not unseemly." And he brought her close to him again.

Exhausted at last, they fell together in a tangle of sleep. When Madeline awakened, it was dawn, and yellow fingers of sunlight fell into the room, onto the bed, splashing into her eyes. She did not remember at first what had happened; it was only odd that the curtains were not drawn around her bed and the sunlight came in so rudely.

With a frown she shifted a little, and felt her nakedness, and smelled her lover, and she opened her eyes.

Lucien knelt beside her, naked, gazing down at her with a boiling in his eyes. She lay on her back, her hair scattered below her, over her, around one shoulder. He lifted a hand and pulled away some that covered her breasts, exposing her body to his eyes. His gaze, serious and heated, touched her breasts and belly and thighs, sweeping down, then up.

Madeline didn’t move, but her mouth went dry at the probing heat of his gaze.

Her nipples tightened, almost as if he’d touched her.

In the night, she had learned the feeling of him, and the scent, and the taste. Now she drank of him, as he drank of her, with the gift of sight. His body was beautiful, sinewy and long and lean. The face, bruised and battered, and shadowed now with dark bristles along his jaw, stirred her deeply: the high sweep of bones, the tender firmness of his mouth, the black frame of lashes and winged eyebrows.

He opened his hand and touched her breast with the very tips of his fingers.

"Cinnamon," he said, and his hand slid into the hollow between her breasts. "And cream."

He touched her lips. "Strawberry and," he skimmed down to the tuft of hair between her legs, "chocolate."

Madeline would have thought it impossible that he could make her feel anything again. She would have said her body was too tired. But as he brought his hands forward and cupped her breasts into his palms, and gazed at her nakedness, she clutched the sheets into her fists. When he bent his head over her, she knew she could never look at him again without thinking of the sight: the crown of his dark head, the slope of his nose, his mouth on her breast, his hands scooping her flesh into reach.

And she touched him, seeing her hands on his body so she wouldn’t forget. Her slim hand on his flat, muscular belly, on his naked thigh, on the urgently pointed organ.

Face-to-face, eyes open, they joined again. He came into her slowly, a tiny thrust forward each time, so as not to irritate her tender skin, his own tenderness. When he was fully sheathed, he paused. Lucien turned them to their sides and held her against him.

"Don’t move," he said.

Madeline stared at him. "No," she whispered.

They stared at each other, his blue eyes as vivid as a summer sky, the pain smoothed from his forehead. She kissed the place at the bridge of his nose where a line was beginning to form. The movement jolted their hips and gave Madeline a bright, hot shock of sensation.

"Promise you will not forget this night," he said, and his voice was oddly raw. He stroked her face with the backs of his fingers. "Promise."

"I won’t forget." His mouth was too close to resist. She moved forward and touched her tongue to the wounded place, very lightly. "I could not forget," she whispered. A tiny, almost indiscernible pulsing began deep within her, and Lucien shifted a little, just once, jolting the sensation. She made a soft, quiet sound.

"Nor will I," he said, and Madeline almost believed the night had been as shattering for him as it had for her. He kissed her gently, and his hands moved on her back, down to her buttocks, where he curved and cupped the flesh, then smoothed his hand down the back of her ticklish thighs. She wiggled and the growing pulse jumped another notch in her groin, but still he didn’t move, though she felt his fingers curl into her flesh almost painfully for an instant. His tongue swirled around her mouth, lazily and boldly. He moved his hand upward once more, and rested the heavy, broad palm on her shoulder, and kissed her and kissed her and kissed her—

And the welling in her built into shivering, deep pulses, higher and higher, and she could not help moving ever so slightly. He grabbed her shoulder and his body went utterly taut, and there was again just the savage pleasure he gave, and she took, and his mouth on hers, and the taste of his cut again broken, and his arms suddenly tight around her, his face in her neck. "Never forget," he whispered.

"Never."

He held her so closely she could barely breathe, and there was a trembling in his powerful arms. "Lucien," she whispered. "I will never forget."

He kissed her temple and hugged her close, and she tasted his hair on her mouth, and his flesh, and knew he was shattering, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

…

Juliette was far, far improved in the morning. The heavy weight in her chest had evaporated, and her cough, which had been a long time with her, had returned to its usual dry, ticklish annoyance.

It might have been the sun that so cheered her, after so many days of dark gloominess. Or the deep rest she’d known for two days. She took chocolate in her room, and answered several letters she’d neglected, all by eight in the morning. The strange energy amused her—perhaps her daughter’s habits had infected her.

She peered hopefully toward the gardens several times, but there was no sign of Madeline. Juliette supposed it had been a long few days for her daughter, too. It couldn’t be easy, balancing all the conflicting emotions of the principal players in the house the past few weeks. And yet, with her usual practical attitudes, Madeline had managed to keep everyone and everything on a firm keel.

What a fine wife she would make the marquess! What a fine, calm life they would find together.

A small mental disturbance rustled the sunny mood. Jonathan. He had not come to her last night, either, but it wasn’t surprising. He was punishing her—and perhaps Juliette even deserved it. She knew he’d spent the last two nights in Anna’s bed, not out of any kind of lust, but because he’d chosen the one lover Juliette would find most loathsome to forgive.

But forgive she would, galling as it was. And Jonathan surely knew it. They would heal this rift, and go on as they had been, so blissfully happy.

A warning nudged her. What if he would not forgive her? She paced toward the open French door, gazing out upon the sun-gilded landscape. A horse and rider came up the drive. If Jonathan was not inclined to forgive, she would simply do her best to forget him. Given the choice between her lover and her daughter’s well-being, Juliette had made the only choice she could make.

The rider cantered up the drive and stopped before the wide front steps of the house. With a bright sense of relief, Juliette recognized Charles Devon, dressed in a pale blue coat. For once, he’d left his hair alone, and it shone a bright chestnut in the morning sun. In spite of his rotund figure, he moved with confidence, dismounting and taking the steps lightly.

Happily, Juliette went down to meet him in the hall. She kissed his red cheek, realizing he was a rather commanding figure after all, like a general, in spite of bearish looks. "We did not expect you back so soon!" Juliette said, taking his hands. "George, bring us chocolate to the salon."

"I’m afraid I cannot stay," he said. "I’ve more urgent business in London this afternoon, but I could not bear to ride so close without greeting Lady Madeline at least in passing." He gave a quick look toward the gardens. "May I go look for her?"

"She’s not about yet," Juliette replied. "It’s been rather busy here, and I’m afraid I ran the poor girl into exhaustion. I can’t even remember the last time she slept so late!"

"I see." It was plain he was very disappointed. "I haven’t time to linger. Please tell her I stopped in and will be back in a few days when my London business is concluded."

"Oh, no!" Juliette protested, and took his hand. "She’ll be very disappointed if you don’t at least say hello."

The marquess held back, gazing toward the stairs as if they might be the path to heaven—or hell. "No, thank you, Countess, but I’ll—"

"Nonsense." Firmly, she dragged him toward the stairs, her skirts in one hand.

"One moment to say hello. She can wave at you sleepily and then you can be on your way. What will it hurt?" she asked over her shoulder. "I know she’ll be dreadfully disappointed if she hears you’ve been here and she was asleep."

She kept up a steady patter all the way to Madeline’s door. Without even a little scratch, she opened the door.

And froze. Beside her, the marquess, too, froze in silence and shock.

From the windows streamed bright lemon-colored sunshine, that fell over the floor, touching the carpet and the wooden bedposts and the gathered, undrawn curtains around the bed. On that bed, tangled and naked and sound asleep against the white sheets, were Lucien Harrow and Madeline.

For one searing moment, Juliette stared, thinking how beautiful they were, their long youthful limbs entwined, Madeline’s head on his shoulder, his arms wrapped closely around her as if he would not let her go. Long black hair fell from two heads and tangled around them. "Oh, my God," Juliette said, stunned, and covered her mouth to keep from screaming the words.

Next to her, the marquess took her arm and tried to lead her away from the sight.

"You couldn’t have known," he said kindly, and tugged on her arm.

Oblivious, Lucien and Madeline slept on.

"No!" With a cry, Juliette roared across the room. The sound roused the lovers, but their fog was deep and they didn’t untangle very quickly. Not quickly enough. Juliette grabbed a slipper from the floor and swung it down with all her might on Lucien’s leg.

"Get up, you fools!" she screamed. "You’ve been found out! Rise up and take your punishment!"

Lucien came to awareness first, and he turned to hide Madeline from view, blocking her with his body until he could cover her with the quilt bunched at the foot of the bed. Juliette beat him as he moved, and he didn’t wince at all, only blocked the worst of her mean blows as he took care of Madeline.

And from behind Juliette came strong arms— Charles Devon, calm as ever—

lifting her from her feet, holding her flailing hands close to her body.

Lucien dragged a sheet from the bed and wrapped it around his waist as if there was nothing amiss. "Take her to the salon, Charles," he said. "I will be there momentarily."

"No, you bastard!" Juliette cried. "No! You’ll be gone from here, or I’ll kill you myself. You despoiled my daughter! In my house!"

Now, servants and guests, drawn by the noise, had begun to peek around the doorway, and Charles held Juliette close. "Hush before you wake everyone," he said in a stem voice. "The moment can be salvaged if you will be still."

Stunned, shaking, Juliette let the shoe drop. When Charles let her go, she looked over her shoulder at Madeline, mussed and ruddy cheeked and weeping. "I am so ashamed of you," she said darkly, and left the room with as much dignity as she could muster.

…

In the dead silence that followed the wild scene, Lucien pulled on his clothes.

Madeline huddled in the bed, her back to him, the sheet drawn to her breasts. Long, long streamers of loose, hip-length hair half covered, half exposed her, and he felt himself grow aroused once more. Impossible.

Emotions welled in him—tenderness and regret and hunger and sorrow. He no more wanted to leave her now than to cut off a leg, but there was no choice. Against her flesh, the bones of her spine stuck out, and he bent over to kiss it, smoothing a hand over her hair. "Madeline," he said helplessly, and pressed his forehead against her nape. "Look at me."

She buried her face into the pillows, a low keening sound coming from her. One hand was curled into a fist against her ear, and the knuckles were white.

Guilt joined the other emotions in his heart, and he pulled her around, pulled her beautiful, naked, precious form into his embrace and rocked her, smoothing that long hair all around her. "Somehow it will all work out, Madeline, I swear it. Right now, I’ll go and tell them I seduced you, that it was none of your doing." He swallowed, thinking of the night. So perfectly had they meshed! "I’ll offer for you, but Juliette would rather murder me, I’m sure."

Her weeping slowed as she nested close. He touched her thigh. Her breasts, so inviting, pressed into his coat, and he ached have her again. How could he contemplate never holding her again? With a great effort of will, he put her away from him and took a breath. "I’ll make it all right."

From the bed, she looked up at him, her eyes full of regret and sorrow. She touched his face. "Never forget," she whispered.

With a groan, he fell on her, body to body once more, even if his was sheathed in clothes, and kissed her with all the passion he knew. "Never," he said.

Then somehow, he stood up and straightened his clothes, donned his jacket and smoothed his hair. And marched out of her room, knowing he would never be allowed within thirty yards of her again.

Not as long as he lived.

The pleasure of possessing

Surpasses all expressing.

But ’tis too short a blessing,

And love too long a pain.

—John Dryden

For long moments after Lucien
left her, Madeline huddled in the bed. It seemed to her that she should never move again, that if she simply stayed where she was, time could not progress and there would be no consequences.

But that was the act of a coward, to hide. She’d been a willing participant in her own seduction. She had not sent him from her. She had joined with him eagerly—and now she would pay the price.

Not for the world would she have wished to so disappoint Charles. He was a good man and deserved better. Madeline had thought herself as high-natured as he, but she’d been proved wrong. Perhaps her blood had been infected by simply living in this house all these years, watching parades of lovers trailing by.

Nor would Madeline have wished Juliette to learn of her fall to temptation.

Juliette, who’d done so much to capture the attention of the marquess for her; who’d sold her precious jewels and silks to buy gowns to make Madeline beautiful and give a party to which the marquess could come. Juliette had even tried to seduce Lucien and lost her own lover, just to divert Lucien’s attention.