A Belated Bride (35 page)

“
You
tricked her?”

“I didn’t trick her, precisely, but her aunt and I decided the marriage needed to take place.”

“But . . . why?”

“Because I compromised her,” Lucien said grimly. Edmund gawked.

“Ten years ago,” Lucien said, “just before my father died, I met Arabella Hadley, and I was . . . well, I was a fool. But now I am going to set things right. Tomorrow she will become my wife.”

After a long moment, Edmund let his breath out in a whoosh. “So that’s how it is, eh?”

Lucien nodded.

“Don’t worry, Luce. I’m sure there is a way out of this fix.”

“I don’t want out. I
want
to marry Arabella.”

“Of course,” Edmund replied with a broad wink. “Well, I’ll put m’mind to it and see what I can come up with. Ain’t the most brilliant thinker, but I’m steady.” He scrunched his eyes closed and leaned back in the cor- ner.

After a few moments, his soft snoring filled the carriage and Lucien was left to watch in frustration and amusement as his friend slept the rest of the way to Rosemont.

When they arrived, Lucien stopped only long enough to invite Edmund to the wedding, before he jumped out of the carriage and waved the coachman on.

It was now well past midnight and the house was shrouded in darkness. Only one light gleamed in the upper windows, and Lucien took heart when he realized it was Arabella’s.

Hastings opened the front door the instant Lucien set foot on the front step. “There you are, Your Grace. Did the weather catch you?”

“Yes, you’ll need to send Wilson after Satan.”

The valet took Lucien’s wet coat and hat. “I will do so first thing in the morning.”

Lucien sat down on a small chair and yanked off his muddy boots, his gaze drawn to the stairs. “Is everyone abed?”

“I believe so. Master Hadley retired to his room but a few moments ago.”

“And Miss Hadley?”

Hastings paused delicately. “Miss Hadley is not feeling well. She retired directly after dinner and has been in her room ever since.”

Just as Lucien had suspected; Arabella had succumbed to an attack of prewedding jitters. Fortunately for her, he knew just the cure. Lucien stood and handed his boots to Hastings.

“Will you be retiring directly, Your Grace?”

Lucien nodded and turned toward the stairs, untying his cravat as he went. “I plan on being in bed within the minute, Hastings, if not sooner.”

“Very good, sir. I shall bring a hot brick to warm the sheets.”

“That won’t be necessary.” He had his own plans for

warming the bed. And warm it would be. And passionate. And thoroughly exhausting. Oh, yes, they would both sleep well tonight.

Smiling, Lucien took the last steps two at a time.

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Chapter 24

A

soft knock sounded. Startled, Arabella sat bolt upright in her chair, her heart pounding. Surely Lucien wouldn’t come to her room. Surely he wouldn’t—
Stop that
, she told herself severely.
He isn’t even here. It is probably just Aunt Emma, wishing for some company to

raid the larder
.

Sighing, Arabella stood and pulled her robe over her gown as she crossed to the door. Before she reached it, it was thrown open and she was enveloped in a warm, mas- culine embrace.

“Bella
mia,”
a rich, husky voice whispered in her ear, “I couldn’t wait.”

“Lucien! What are you—”

He kissed her hungrily, his mouth plundering hers so thoroughly that she would have fallen if he hadn’t held her so tightly, his hands cupping her against him. Time swirled to a halt as his mouth covered hers, his tongue teasing her lips open and sending shivers of hot fire

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through her. As he kissed her, he was pulling at his shirt, loosening the ties. He broke the kiss only long enough to yank his shirt over his head and then he was against her again, his familiar warm skin heating her through her robe and gown.

His kiss deepened and she felt as if he devoured her with his passion. Unable to stop herself, she returned his embrace, threading her hands through his damp hair in a desperate bid to get closer.

He broke the kiss with a moan, his breathing harsh as he whispered in her ear, “I have thought of nothing but this all day.”

He lifted her in his arms and buried his face in her hair. “Did you miss me?” he asked unsteadily, his rumbling voice sending tremors through her body.

She was lost and she knew it, her carefully planned speech fading with every touch. Desperate to say the words before she forgot them, she tried to draw back. “Lucien, we must talk.”

He tightened his hold, smiling down into her eyes. “Then talk. But first . . .” He turned and kicked the door closed, then lifted her and carried her to the wide bed.

“I can’t talk in bed!” she protested.

Lucien quirked a brow and laid her gently on the cover. “I won’t ask you to.”

She clutched at the throat of her robe with nervous fingers. “This is very important, Lucien. Perhaps if we—”

The bed sank as he placed his knee on the side and leaned over her. A sensual curve to his mouth, he took her hands and pulled them over her head, the movement thrusting her breasts against the thin material of her wrap. His gaze deepened as her nipples peaked. She could feel the heat of him through her robe, through the gown

beneath, seeking, searching, touching her as surely as his hands.

“What are you doing?” she asked, trying desperately to collect her thoughts.

“Listening to you.” He slid a hand to cup her breasts, his thumb swirling along the crest of her nipple, teasing it mercilessly. He trailed his mouth across her cheek, past her ear, his breath hot and sweet.

“Lucien,” she said, finding it difficult to breathe, “I want to talk about tomorrow.”

“Hm,” he murmured, sliding down so that he could taste her neck, his tongue leaving a trail of moist tingles.

“We are making a mis—” She gasped as his teeth scraped along the delicate skin below her ear. His mouth moved lower, over her robe, as he found the beaded point of her breast. His tongue laved the material, wet- ting it until the cold-hot sensations sent her writhing against him, the heat in her belly building with each stroke.

He tormented her more before he lifted his head and used his teeth to pull free the ties that held her robe. Then he slowly undid each button of her gown, pushing the material aside bit by bit. She watched him, breathless with need when he shot her a look brimming with promise. She twisted restlessly, wanting more, seeking more.

“Easy, love,” he murmured, his eyes glinting green fire in the candlelight. “We have all the time in the world.”

His words reminded her of why she had to talk with him now, before it was too late. “Lucien, I must tell you—”

He released her hands to push open her gown and free her breasts. “So beautiful,” he breathed. With one swift move, he cupped her breasts in his hands, his thumbs flicking the vulnerable peaks. Arabella’s fingers sank into the counterpane on either side of her as sensations

exploded through her. Her breasts swelled in response to his onslaught, the nipples puckering to a delicate point.

“You can have anything you want,” he whispered, his gaze locked with hers. “Just tell me.”

She thought she would drown in the passion she saw reflected in his eyes. One of his hands slid down past her breast, down the slope of her stomach, over her hip. There, he began pulling her gown upward. Steadily, without moving his gaze from hers, he gathered the cloth until his fingers grazed the top of her thigh.

She caught her breath. “Lucien,I.. .”

He smiled as her voice trailed away, her eyes glazing as his fingers found the damp sable curls. He parted them gently, looking for the folds beneath. She was so ready for him, responded so quickly, that it was all he could do to rein in his own emotions, his own passions. But rein them in he would.

Moving slowly so as not to startle her, he found her center and pressed gently. She moaned and tossed her head, trying to deny him even as her hips writhed in rhythm with his light touch. God, but she was beautiful, so curved and womanly. Every inch of her begged to be explored, tasted, worshiped.

Lucien’s lips met hers, and his tongue entered her mouth. She opened wider and gently sucked him, urging him on as her hips lifted and her thighs spread ever so slightly. She wanted him, desired him. It was the one thing she could not deny.

And it was almost more than he could take. He with- drew his hand to undo the buttons of his breeches, keeping his lips on hers. She moaned into his mouth, the sound as sweet and wanton as her hands that threaded through his hair, stroked his shoulders, ran lightly over his arms and chest. Each touch was as delicate as the brush of a feather.

Lucien returned his fingers to her, bringing her closer and closer to the pinnacle of desire, but he stopped just short of allowing her release.

He lifted himself on his elbow to stare at her flushed face, her kiss-swollen lips. “Tell me what you want, Bella. I want to hear you say it.”

She shook her head and turned away, fighting him with every move. He looped an arm about her waist, pulled her against him, and turned, lifting her. She gasped when she realized she was now astride him.

He tightened his hold on her waist and slowly lifted her higher. She stiffened, throwing back her head, her breasts, full and rounded, pressed outward. Her mouth parted and her hands clutched at his arms as he lowered her down onto his shaft, her moisture heating him to rigid hardness. Lucien sank into the softness, clenching his teeth against the onslaught of sensation.

Arabella gave a sound that was half sob, half cry. Lucien pushed her up until the tip of his manhood stood poised once again, ready to invade, ready to take. Their gazes locked and her lips moved silently, her breathing as harsh as his. “Please, Lucien.”

The words were like sweet music, a request he could not ignore. He pulled her hips down to his, thrusting him- self into her moist heat. She cried out, her face a mask of bliss, her nails biting into the back of his hands. He held her there, feeling the building quiver as she gasped, and then lunged forward, crying out his name as pleasure overtook her.

He wrapped his arms around her and held her close. The clench of her passion pulled him to the edge and he fought it, tried to resist the waves that tugged so deli- ciously. But the clutching heat undid him, and he roared past the edge.

Slowly, their breathing returned to normal. Arabella made as if to rise, but Lucien refused, pulling the sheet across them. He held her there, her head on his chest, still joined, still mated. It was the way they were meant to be.

A light rap came on the door. Before either could move, the door opened and Aunt Emma stood, her candle held aloft. Her hair was tucked beneath a beribboned and frilled sleeping cap, her stout body encased in yards and yards of ruffled muslin.

She blinked at the sight of Lucien and Arabella in each other’s arms. “Oh, my! I thought I . . . ah, I thought I heard a cat . . . dying . . . or something. . . .” Her voice trailed off and Emma stood frozen, her gaze wide.

“Go back to bed, Aunt Emma,” said Arabella in a stiff voice.

Emma nervously adjusted the lace at her throat. “O-of course, dear. I suppose you were just having trouble sleep- ing.” Her color deepened. “No, no. Probably not. You weren’t sleeping, were you?”

Lucien chuckled, and Arabella pinched his leg. He jerked with surprise, but he managed to contain his laugh- ter after that.

Emma waved a hand. “I’m going back to bed now. I will see you in the morning. Don’t . . . don’t . . . oh, it doesn’t matter. You are getting married. Do whatever you wish.” She backed out of the room, bumping into the doorframe and almost tripping over her own robe. Finally the door shut behind her.

Lucien turned to look at Arabella. She had covered her eyes with both hands. Concerned, he lifted one free.

“W-we don’t have a cat,” she sputtered, then gave a gurgle of laughter.

Relieved, Lucien grinned. “Then we’ll have to get one.”

“I don’t think we should,” she said, snuggling beside him and closing her eyes with a contented sigh. “Every time we make love, Emma will be out in the hallway, wor- ried someone is trying to kill it.”

Chuckling, Lucien pulled her to his side and gathered her close. “You said you wanted to talk about something, love. What was it?”

“Hm?” she murmured.

He lifted himself on an elbow to look down at her. The flush of passion still touched her skin, and her hair was wildly spread across his pillow. Lucien ran a hand across the tangled skein. “When I arrived you said we needed to talk.”

“Oh, yes. That.” A huge yawn overtook her. “I can’t seem to remember. . . .” Her voice faded as she spoke, and her eyes drifted closed.

“Maybe you will remember tomorrow.”

She smiled her answer and within minutes she had fallen asleep.

Lucien stayed awake for a long time afterward, watch- ing her face in repose. She had the most fascinating mouth he had ever seen—the full bottom lip seductive even in sleep. The length of her lashes fascinated him and he brushed the tip of his finger across the delicate ends until she muttered in her sleep and turned away, snuggling into her pillow.

Feeling cheated, Lucien wrapped his arm about her waist and pulled her against him. They fit perfectly, like matched spoons. As if hearing his thought, she curled into him and gave a sigh of pleasure. She was right where she belonged . . . in bed, with him. Content at last, Lucien rested his cheek on her hair and closed his eyes, a smile on his lips.

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Chapter 25

T

here had never been a lovelier bride, decided Aunt Jane, surveying her niece with pride. With her hair

piled high on her head, the chestnut strands cascading in fat curls over her ears and across one shoulder, Arabella looked beautiful. The only regret Jane had was that, seen in the light of day, the gown she and Emma had so care- fully constructed for their niece appeared to be some- what... overadorned.

Jane tilted her head and regarded the gown critically. Covered with rows of beading, flounces, and rosettes, it was perhaps a trifle ornate. But the sheen of the silk com- plemented Arabella’s flushed cheeks and the long skirt trailed beautifully behind the blushing bride.