Shana Galen (26 page)

“Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked, voice strained. “If not, tell me now. Stop me now.”

She opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but she already knew. Nothing had changed. He wanted her, and there was nothing beyond that.

Lucia studied him, his pewter eyes, his dark lashes, his tense mouth that was so soft and supple when he smiled…or kissed her.

She loved him. Of that she was sure. But this—this here and now—was all he could offer her.

She closed her eyes. For the moment it was enough.

Being with him was enough.

But then he pulled away again, taking her hand in his. He held it to his lips, turned it over, and kissed her palm, then her wrist, then the too tender skin inside her elbow.

She was quivering with need when his lips finally reached her neck. And when his tongue made a wet path from her collarbone to her breasts, a tremor of delicious anticipation rushed through her. His chin on the soft flesh of her breast was scratchy, tickling her until his tongue found her nipple. Then she could only moan at the throbbing between her thighs.

He was hard against her, and she reached down to stroke him, wanting him inside her. Her body ached with need for him, and when he finally entered her, her whole being arched to receive him. She was complete. Whole. She wrapped her legs around him, taking more of him inside, her breath catching as he embedded himself fully.

He was breathing hard, trying to control his actions, but she wouldn’t allow it.

She moved against him, and his arms tightened around her. His gentle assault continued, and she was helpless, capable only of holding him tightly. She never wanted it to end. Never wanted to be outside his arms. When she found fulfillment she pulled him close, tears streaming down her cheeks. She was shaking, and she felt him trembling, too.

He rolled away, pulling her into his embrace. Her back was pressed against his chest, so he did not see the tears she wiped away. After a few moments his grip relaxed and his breathing deepened.

She turned in his arms, studied him by the dim light of the hearth. Eyes closed, mouth slack, he looked so vulnerable, younger than his twenty-nine years. It hurt to look at him. It hurt because she knew.

She was going to lose him.

When Alex woke her it was still black outside. Lucia blushed just looking at the tub, still half full of
water, but Alex made no mention of their lovemaking. He barely acknowledged her, just encouraged her to hurry with her dressing.

When she was ready, they went through the silent inn and into the dark night, where Freddie stood with a waiting carriage. John was already within, and her brother looked rested, but his jaw was firmly clenched and his hands fisted. When she took the seat next to him, he didn’t look at her. Lucia looked away, wondering how thick the walls of the inn were. She had a feeling they were not thick enough.

She heard Alex and Freddie clamber onto the driver’s box and urge the horses into motion. They were only a few miles from Calais, but the ride seemed an eternity. The road was bumpy and poorly maintained, and by the time they arrived at the docks, John had forgotten his anger and was leaning against her for support. The coach slowed and stopped in a dark, nearly deserted area, and Freddie pulled open the door.

“Can you walk, old boy?” he asked John immediately.

“I think so,” he said faintly.

Alex came up behind Freddie, and Lucia gave him an imploring look.

“Freddie, get on one side and I’ll take the other.”

With John supported between them, Alex and Freddie made their way to a rowboat. As they rowed toward the waiting ship, Lucia was glad for the thick fog enveloping them.

Please, please, she prayed.

They were so close to safety.

A man Lucia assumed was the captain of the vessel met them as they boarded. “You’re late,” he said in French.

“We’re here.” Alex helped Freddie get John below
deck and into one cabin, then steered Lucia to another beside it.

It was scantily furnished with two cots and a table, all nailed to the floor. On the table was a pitcher of water, a bowl, and hanging above it a lamp, giving her enough light to see that everything was clean, at least.

Lucia crossed the room and leaned on the table for support. “I can’t believe we finally made it.” She turned, beaming at Alex. “That we’re safe.”

He nodded, but his look was grim. “If you need anything, ask Dewhurst or the captain. He’s an old friend of mine.”

“Will we be sailing soon?”

“In the next few minutes. The captain will want to take advantage of the darkness and fog to run the British blockade.” He leaned against the door and crossed his arms.

“Blockade?” She’d forgotten for the moment that the British navy had sealed up the French ports. She gripped the table. “What if we don’t get through?”

“You’ll make it. The captain is the best. He’s done this dozens of times. You should have no problems.”

Lucia frowned, noticing now that Alex wasn’t including himself. Her nails bit into the wood of the table. “You’re coming with us, aren’t you?”

“No.”

She gripped the table with her other hand.

“Someone has to take the information John gleaned to Nelson.
The Incognito
is anchored a few miles up the coast. As soon as I gather provisions, I sail for the West Indies.”

“I see.” This was it. She would have no reprieve this time. Lucia squared her shoulders. “When do you expect to be back in England?”

“I don’t know.”

“Will you write?”

“No.”

“I see.” She looked away.

From his post at the exit, Lucia heard him say, “Go back to London, Lucia.” He paused. “Marry Dandridge.”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Lucia, I want you to go through with the marriage.”

She took a deep breath. “And I want you to stay, so it appears neither of us will get what we desire.”

His eyes were cold and hard, emotionless.

“It won’t even matter if I tell you that I love you, will it?”

His eyes softened, and for a moment he looked as if he’d take her in his arms. Then something changed. A veil descended, and he looked away, effectively dismissing her.

Lucia swallowed. She’d just declared her love, and it meant nothing to him. He was so afraid of appearing the fool, he couldn’t even acknowledge that he cared for her.

“I told you before, I don’t want a wife.” His icy voice sleeted down on her.

“Good, because I don’t want a rake—a man who chases every woman he sees because he’s too much of a coward to admit he cares for one.”

His jaw tensed. “I want you to marry Dandridge.”

“You’re lying!” she spat. “Don’t do this, Alex.” The anger rose in her voice. “Don’t do this.”

He turned away from her, reaching for the door handle.

“Very well,” she said. The raw fury in her voice echoed in the room, but he didn’t turn to face her. “Go play the hero or the rake or go to hell. Just go away from me, you lying bastard!” She picked up
the ceramic bowl from the table beside her and hurled it at him. It hit the wall next to the door and splintered into pieces.

Alex did not even flinch. He nodded almost imperceptibly, opened the door, and walked out.

Lucia stared at the closed door and the scattered pottery pieces beside it. Then she picked up the water pitcher and, with a frustrated scream, hurled it with all her strength.

D
ewhurst knocked at Ethan and Francesca’s town house in Grosvenor Square. It was early morning, still dark, and they’d just come from the prime minister’s, where, presumably, John was still informing Lord Pitt of Napoleon’s latest battle strategy.

Pocklington, Ethan’s valet, answered the door. Lucia had expected to be greeted by Ethan’s butler. Steed would have pretended her sudden appearance was nothing out of the ordinary. But Pocklington
tsk
ed and looked remarkably put out. He did not argue about waking Ethan, though. He merely uttered a pained sigh, and asked if Lord Dewhurst and Miss Dashing would be so kind as to wait in the drawing room.

In the drawing room, Freddie whispered loudly, “Brace yourself, Lucia. Your brother-in-law is a force to be reckoned with when his sleep has been disturbed.” He tugged at his cravat.

“Now is your chance to escape.” Lucia quirked an eyebrow.

He looked appropriately shocked. “Miss Dashing, you wound me! I would never desert a lady in danger.”

“And what danger is Lucia in now? Aside from my intention to murder her, that is.”

Lucia jumped, her heart racing. The voice had Alex’s velvety softness, and she spun around, her heart in her throat. Ethan looked so much like Alex that she felt weak at first. She stared at him intently, recovering only after he came into the light, the differences between the brothers becoming more apparent.

She was exhausted. That was the reason for her mistake, her overactive imagination. Ethan gave her a puzzled look, and with a sob, she ran to him, hugging him fiercely.

Ethan held her as she cried. “Lucia, calm down,” he said. “You’re safe now, and I’m not really going to murder you.”

“I know.” She sniffled. She allowed him to seat her on the couch, but Dewhurst remained standing.

“Is Alex with you?” Ethan asked when Lucia finally stopped crying.

“No.” She wiped her eyes. “He’s—oh, Ethan, I don’t know where he is!” She began to cry again. From the corner of her eye, she saw Ethan throw Freddie a questioning look. Freddie shook his head.

“I’ll have to fill you in later,” Freddie said. “If Miss Dashing is settled here, then I really must be going. I left Mr. Dashing with Wentworth and Pitt, and I know they’ll be anxious to speak to me.”

“I owe you,” Ethan said, glancing at Lucia. “More than you know.”

Freddie shrugged. “It was nothing, old boy.”

“It meant a lot to me.” Lucia embraced him. “Thank you, Freddie, I mean, Lord Dewhurst.” She smiled. “I appreciate all you never did for me during this time we didn’t spend together.”

Dewhurst laughed. “I would be honored
not
to assist you again anytime, Miss Dashing.”

She squeezed his hand and returned to the couch while Ethan escorted him out.

When Ethan returned, there was silence between them. Lucia did not particularly want to break it, but finally Ethan said, “Francesca’s away.”

“Where?” Lucia asked, surprised. She’d been wondering where her sister was.

Ethan held up a hand. “In a moment.” He crossed the room and sat beside her. “Lucia, I’ve always thought of you as a little sister. I’ve watched you grow up. Tried to protect you.”

She nodded. Ethan had been almost a second brother to her.

“I know something happened between you and Alex.”

She tensed.

“I don’t want to discuss that right now, but what I do need to know is how we’re to handle this. Are you going to marry Alex?”

Lucia looked away. “I thought you knew your brother better than that, Ethan.”

“I thought so, too,” he said under his breath, then rose and went to his desk. While he penned a letter to Francesca, Ethan explained that Lord and Lady Brigham, as well as the rest of London Society, were under the impression that Lucia and Francesca had gone to Yorkshire and Winterbourne Hall for a few weeks’ respite from the Season.

“You’re going to have to deal with your mother and father when you see them,” Ethan said, finish
ing his letter and sanding it. “Your mother, especially, was not pleased.”

Lucia could only imagine. The Season was in full swing and her unmarried daughter had fled to the country.

“Tell me what story you and John have concocted to account for his disappearance.”

Lucia told Ethan that on the trip back to London, she and John had decided to tell everyone that he’d departed for Greece in March but had unfortunately been standing in the wrong place when a fellow passenger’s pistol accidentally discharged. He was treated by the ship’s doctor and then cared for in a hospital in Greece. As soon as he was released, he had traveled home. Lucia surmised he would be knocking on their parents’ door by midmorning, whereas she would have to wait before she could go home, hiding in the Winterbourne town house on Grosvenor Square until Francesca returned with the children from the country.

Ethan was not much company, and Lucia was often alone for the first time in her life. It was a blessing and a curse. She thought constantly of Alex and had no energy to even get out of bed some days. It did not help that she was continually reminded of him by his brother’s presence or that she was confined to the house day after day. She sewed and read and walked in the garden, but it was hardly enough to take her mind off Alex.

But Lucia also had time to think of what she wanted to do with her life. She was equally relieved and dejected upon discovering that she was not going to have Alex’s child, but then she was forced to consider whether she wanted to have Dandridge’s.

The subject was very much on her mind when, a week later, Francesca finally arrived home, her servants and children in tow.

At the sound of the commotion, Lucia rushed from the garden into the house. In the drawing room, Ethan swung his wife into his arms, kissing her long and hard in front of the children and even the servants. Lucia’s heart wrenched. Oh, how she wished Alex would feel just one-tenth for her what Ethan felt for Francesca.

When he released her, Francesca rushed to Lucia and hugged her warmly. But Francesca took one look at her sister and cried, “Oh, Lucia!” She immediately sent the servants away with the children and pulled Lucia down beside her on a small settee. Ethan braced a shoulder against the wall near the door.

“Tell me everything,” Francesca said.

Lucia did, relieved to be free of her burden.

Of course, she omitted a few of the more compromising details, but she could not get around the fact that she had been with Alex in the early morning hours, alone, at his town house, when they were abducted by Décharné. There was only one conclusion to be drawn, and Lucia did not try to deny it. When she was done, and crying all over again at Alex’s cold departure from her, Ethan cursed loudly. “I can’t believe he did this. Lucia’s ruined.”

“She is
not
ruined,” Francesca replied calmly, and Lucia could have kissed her. Francesca had always been able to remain unruffled, even in the most chaotic situations. “No one knows any of this,” Francesca said, “and we’ll keep it that way.”

“You think Dandridge isn’t going to know?” Ethan growled.

Lucia’s gaze shot to his angry face.

“Ethan!” Francesca hissed.

He shook his head. “I hardly think we need to mince words in front of her
now
,” Ethan replied. Lucia’s mind was racing. Could everyone who saw her tell she was a fallen woman? She had not thought she looked any different.

Across the room, Ethan cursed again and ran his hand through his hair, an action that reminded Lucia too much of his brother.

“It’s not the way you look, Lucia,” Francesca began. “It’s—”

“Aman can tell if it’s a woman’s first time when he beds her,” Ethan interjected. “Didn’t you notice the blood with Alex? That’s one way.”

Lucia’s face felt like an oven, and Francesca squeezed her hand comfortingly.

“We’ll deal with that later,” Francesca said, but Ethan raised an eyebrow. Francesca glared at him. “I think we need to be sure that this affair with Alex is really over. Is it, Lucia?”

“Yes,” she whispered, her voice catching. “I don’t want to see him again.”

Ethan swore again, but Francesca was watching her closely. “Are you in love with him?”

“What does that—” Ethan began, sounding annoyed. Francesca shot him an exasperated look, silencing him.

“
Are
you?” Francesca asked again.

“Yes,” Lucia answered, gripping Francesca’s hands. “I keep
trying
not to be, but it’s no use. I think about him all the time.”

“Oh, Lucia! I told you one day you’d fall in love! And you see! Here it’s happened.”

Across the room, Ethan made what sounded like an exasperated comment under his breath. Francesca glared at him, then turned back to Lucia. “Are
you—” She cleared her throat. “Is there anything we should be anticipating?”

Lucia’s hands went rigid, and she glanced quickly down. “No,” she whispered.

“Thank God,” Ethan mumbled, but Francesca was frowning.

“I don’t see why you’re so pleased,” Francesca retorted. “It might not have been such a bad thing. It would have given them a connection…”

Lucia stared at her. She knew her sister had a romantic streak, wanted everyone she loved to be blissfully happy, but this was going too far. Francesca must have seen the look because she quickly added, “Of course, you don’t want him if he doesn’t love you.” She paused and stubbed her toe into the carpet. “It’s just I can’t believe Alex doesn’t love you, Lucia.”

Lucia shook her head. “Well, he doesn’t. He made his feelings—or lack thereof—clear.”

Francesca tapped her slipper. “But I saw the way he looked at you that morning in Berkeley Square and then the night of our dinner party—”

“None of this matters,” Ethan interrupted. “He’s made his decision, and you’re not going to change it.”

“Sounds familiar,” Francesca muttered.

“He told you to marry Dandridge,” Ethan said, ignoring his wife. “I suggest you do so.”

“No,” Lucia said.

Francesca scowled at Ethan. “Lucia, you shouldn’t hold out hope that Alex will return with a marriage proposal.”

Lucia stared at her. “Francesca, you love Ethan. The two of you know what real passion is. Could you settle for less now, knowing what you’d be giving up?”

Francesca looked down. “No.” She gave Lucia a
look full of sympathy. “Tomorrow morning we’ll write to Dandridge and call off the engagement. I think that is the best way. You can stay here tonight. You’ll need your rest before you face Mamma and Father with the news.”

Lord and Lady Brigham decided, after several days of drama and bellowing, that Lucia should spend the remainder of the Season at their country estate. A few months away would give the talk of her break with Dandridge time to quiet down. Consequently, three days later, Lucia was directing Jane about which hats to pack for Tanglewilde when there was a tap on the door, and John opened it, peering inside.

“May I come in?” He shot a look at her maid.

“Of, course,” Lucia answered. “Jane, would you see if Lady Brigham needs any assistance?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jane murmured and left.

Lucia looked at her brother. “What’s wrong?”

“Dandridge is here.”

“Already?”

He nodded. “Want me to tell him to leave?”

She shook her head. “No, I’ll have to deal with it sooner or later.”

John surveyed the wreck of her room, the dozens of pelisses, hats, and gloves strewn about. “You’re not wasting any time leaving London,” he said.

“Why should I?”

“Because you’ll languish in the country, bored out of your mind.”

“It will be better for me at Tanglewilde,” she said quietly.

“Why?”

“Because I won’t be reminded of him there. In London, everywhere I look I see him. I can hardly stand it here.”

John put an arm around her. “Do you want me to come with you?”

Lucia smiled at him, her wonderful, overprotective brother. “Thank you, but no. I’m sure you’re needed in Town. I hear you had a meeting with Wentworth again yesterday. I hope you’re not planning any more foreign travel?”

“Not right away. There may be work for me here.”

“I wish there was something I could do.” Lucia sighed. She felt so useless.

“There is,” John said. “Stay out of trouble.”

Lucia rolled her eyes. He sounded remarkably like Alex.

John offered to stay for her meeting with Dandridge, but she told her brother to go. She wanted to face this alone.

When she entered the drawing room, Reginald was sitting in a high-backed chair, directly in front of the door. He rose as she entered and bowed slightly, his eyes following Paolo as the butler closed the door behind her.

“Reginald, I didn’t expect to see you.”

He smiled thinly. “I find that hard to believe as, from what I have heard, you are making all possible haste to flee to the country.”

Lucia scowled. He was accusing her of a cowardly retreat, and could she really argue?

“We have a few matters to discuss. Sit down.” He indicated the couch next to him with his hand.

“Thank you. I prefer to stand.”

Reginald frowned, and Lucia remembered how uncomfortable her height made him. She was glad of at least one advantage today. “There’s nothing to discuss,” she said. “I’m sorry, but I can’t marry you.”

Reginald stood and began to move, circling her as
he might a political opponent. His silence and his stalking annoyed her, but she refused to show it, keeping her eyes focused on a painting in front of her.

“And might you elaborate on how you came to this realization?” Reginald asked from behind her. His voice was sharp and resentful.

“Suffice it to say that my affections are not what I had thought.” She tensed as he pressed near to her, and she had to resist turning to face him.

“And when did this—this epiphany occur?” He was standing directly behind her now, his breath tickling her neck.

She cringed. “I believe I have always known, but I resolved to end the engagement while at Winterbourne Hall with Francesca.” Lucia stepped forward in an attempt to put some distance between them, then turned warily to face him.