Annie Burrows (18 page)

This was how she remembered him. This was Rothersthorpe at his charming best. Dispelling gloom and spreading cheer.

And creating such a fierce yearning for him that she had never known quite how to handle it.

But it wasn’t long before Michael ran out of patience with the adults, who would have stayed chatting and sipping lemonade in the orangery all afternoon if not reminded of the importance of finishing the match.

Which meant that Lord Rothersthorpe’s team all went out to field.

He stripped off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves again. And her stomach swooped at the sight of the hair-roughened forearms.

He smiled at her as he went past. A slumberous, knowing sort of smile that made her heart beat faster. How did a man do that? Smile with perfect innocence, yet convey a message that was totally indecent, at the same time?

Still, it made up for the way he’d avoided her during the break. More than made up for it. Even though he’d not spoken one word to her since coming in from his turn in bat, he’d managed to convey his meaning.

He still wanted her.

She’d half-wondered if he’d had enough of her. After talking about her marriage, he’d seemed to withdraw from her. And he’d definitely been angry when he’d gone outside.

She sagged back into her chair, almost faint with relief. He wasn’t angry any more. Whatever had provoked his mood had passed. If she had said something to annoy him he was over it now. And he was eager to continue with their liaison. She would never be able to explain to another living soul how she’d managed to deduce all that from one smile, but his meaning had been perfectly clear to her.

She recognised the look that came to a man’s eyes when he wanted to take a woman to bed. Her husband had employed it, usually with an interrogative lift of one eyebrow when he wanted to know if he could visit her room at night. And of course, she’d always allowed him to have his way. It had been her duty.

It most certainly wouldn’t be her duty to sneak up to Lord Rothersthorpe’s room as soon as it was safe, but, oh, he only had to give her that slow smile and she could hardly wait to be alone with him. Preferably naked.

She watched him take to the field, all athletic grace, stripped down to his shirt sleeves. And what a treat for the eyes he was. He had the best body of any man on the field. He could afford better tailoring than either of the naval officers, he had broader shoulders than Mr Bentley and slimmer hips than Lord Abergele. All in all, he was utter masculine perfection. And having seen him unclothed, she could vouch for that in a court of law.

What woman wouldn’t derive pleasure from feasting her eyes on him, on a sunny afternoon?

When he’d been batting, the energy and strength he’d applied to the game had made her breathless. The way his thighs had bunched when he’d been running had made her recall the delicious feel of those hair-roughened muscles on her own softer flesh.

But now the way his shirt moulded to his lean frame when he leapt to catch a ball gave a teasing hint at the perfect musculature she’d seen gilded by moonlight. And when he bent over to ruffle Slipper’s ears, she recalled how those long, supple fingers had skilfully roused her to orgasm. He brought her pleasure just from watching him move, did her lover.

There, she’d formed the word in her own mind. Her lover.

She reached for her fan, plying it briskly in a vain attempt to cool down. He’d come here looking for an uncomplicated affair with a sophisticated woman. That was all. So she would have to play along and hope she could make him believe that was exactly what she was.

‘What is the score?’

She jumped, startled to find that Rose had wandered away from the refreshment table and was peering down at the slate which lay in her lap. To her consternation, she saw that she’d smudged the chalk markings.

Rose grinned at her.

‘Mama Lyddy,’ she said, shaking her head in mock reproof. ‘You do not seem to be concentrating this afternoon.’

‘It is so hot,’ she said lamely. ‘And...’

‘You simply cannot take your eyes off Lord Rothersthorpe, can you?’

‘I...that is...’ Her cheeks glowed with guilt and shame.

‘I knew I was right to invite him along,’ said Rose with satisfaction. ‘You used to look so wistfully after him in town, whenever you thought he would not notice. And now he is here, you practically devour him with your eyes.’

‘I do no such thing. I—’ Did she? He’d accused her of more or less the same thing, before he’d thrown his insulting proposition at her.

And if she really had
devoured him with her eyes,
no wonder he’d thought she was casting out lures.

Rose was shaking her head again. ‘You do. And I am glad. I want you to find someone. You deserve to find someone. And you may be surprised to know that, for once, Robert is in perfect agreement with me.’

‘E-even if it is true, what you said,’ she replied, stunned to hear that Robert was in league with Rose’s matchmaking attempts, ‘that does not mean that Lord Rothersthorpe returns my feelings.’

‘Oh, I think he does,’ said Rose. ‘Else why would he spend so much time whispering into your ear and making you blush? If he didn’t return your feelings, he would stay well away from you,’ she ended on a note of triumph.

‘He flirts with everyone,’ she retorted. ‘He was making you giggle and blush just now.’

‘Ah, but he took great care to ensure that everyone else could hear what he said to make me laugh. When he flirts with you, he gets you on your own first. And he murmurs right into your ear.’

‘Rose,’ she replied slowly, choosing her words with great care, ‘men of his class may admire a widow, may even flirt with her a little, but that sort of thing does not generally result in a proposal. Not a
marriage
proposal, at any rate.’

Rose looked crestfallen. ‘Are you sure?’

When Lydia nodded, she sighed, then pursed her lips in a way that so nearly matched Marigold’s pout it was hard not to smile.

‘Well, I’m sorry I invited him down then, if all he is going to do is behave like a rake.’

‘I am not,’ she said with quiet certainty. She was actually relieved to have left her girlish hopes and dreams about him behind. That did not make her old and jaded. No, she preferred to think of herself as more mature and wiser.

When she’d been a girl, it was true she had needed someone strong and dependable to rescue both her and Cissy. But she didn’t need rescuing now. She’d gained her security. So it didn’t matter that he wasn’t the type of man upon whom a woman could depend. He pleased her eyes and thrilled her senses, and had made her poor frozen heart come roaring back to vibrant life.

This affair was turning out to be a bit like a firework. Spectacular while it lasted.

And when it was over...well, she would just have to get over him. She’d adapted to life without him before, and at least this time round she’d have a handful of utterly glorious memories to warm herself at in the long lonely nights that would follow.

‘At my age, it is most flattering, I can tell you, to be on the receiving end of that kind of attention from a man of Lord Rothersthorpe’s undeniable attraction. Yes, indeed,’ she said, fanning herself and gazing at him across the width of the lawn.

Rose, to her great relief, broke into a giggle. ‘Mama Lyddy, I declare, I never thought you would have such a wicked side.’

If only you knew,
thought Lydia,
if only you knew.

Chapter Twelve

‘I
still cannot believe you declared Slipper the winner,’ grumbled Lieutenant Tancred at the dinner table that night.

Lydia blushed. It had been impossible to say who had actually scored the most runs, since she’d wiped the tally off the slate with her sleeve whilst daydreaming about Lord Rothersthorpe’s prowess as a lover. And granting Slipper the victory had at least made everyone laugh.

‘The game was only intended to amuse and entertain the children,’ put in Robert in her defence.

‘And some of you took it far too seriously,’ said Rose, darting the lieutenant a teasing look.

Lieutenant Tancred shrugged. ‘I play to win,’ he said without trace of apology.

‘And you—what have you to say for yourself, my lord?’ said Rose to Lord Rothersthorpe with an engaging smile. ‘What excuse do you have for looking so put out when Mama Lyddy did not grant your team the victory?’

Lydia’s blush grew hotter. What was Rose doing? Well, she knew what she was doing. In spite of warning her that Lord Rothersthorpe didn’t have any serious interest in her, she just would not relinquish her belief she could promote a match between them.

‘I, too, believe that if a game is worth playing, a man should give it his all,’ he said.

What fustian! Lord Rothersthorpe never took anything seriously. At least...well, she supposed she
had
noticed an intensity to him this afternoon she’d never seen before. And by all accounts, he
had
worked hard to halt, and then reverse, his family’s declining fortunes.

And he himself had declared he had changed over the years. He’d told her that he was no longer content to
play the clown.

Not that it made any difference to her. His very public hunt for a wife might be a signal to the world that he was now a man who did intend to take certain responsibilities seriously. But all she was to him was some kind of...temporary aberration. A last-ditch attempt, perhaps, to recapture something of his carefree youth before settling down.

Settling down with some innocent, young, wealthy girl of good breeding.

‘Never seen a dog to match Slipper, though,’ put in Mr Bentley. ‘Remarkable animal. Seems to understand every word one says.’

‘A great pity the same cannot be said for some of the people on the field,’ remarked Lutterworth sourly.

‘Words are strange things, though, are they not?’ Lord Rothersthorpe was the first to break the rather shocked silence that followed his remark, a remark that had made Cynthia shrink into herself. ‘For someone who writes poetry, for instance, finding just the right one requires a level of concentration that sometimes takes precedence over other things. Would you not agree, Miss Lutterworth?’

‘You write poetry, Miss Lutterworth?’ Lieutenant Smollet briefly tore his eyes away from Rose, to give the cringing, red-faced girl his attention.

‘Y-yes,’ she replied, darting Lord Rothersthorpe a look brimming with gratitude. ‘And sometimes...well, like this afternoon. The grounds are so lovely and the way the shadows from the trees dappled the lawn, and the sound of the water just lapping on the edges of hearing...well, it all created such a tumult of images...and I wanted to find just the right phrases to capture the moment...’

‘There is no need to make any excuses,’ put in Robert, gently. ‘It was just a game. But being able to write poetry is a gift.’

‘If you can call it poetry,’ Lydia thought she heard George mutter. Cynthia must have heard him too, for after her brief foray into dinner-table conversation, she went right back into her shell. Throughout the rest of the meal she hardly said a word, apart from pleases and thank-yous as the dishes were passed round.

Though she did dart Lord Rothersthorpe soulful glances from time to time.

He’d done it again. Captured another poor girl’s heart with his careless kindness. Had he any idea that he left a trail of hopelessly smitten females in his wake? Even Lord Beagle’s sister was under his spell. Though she barely deigned to be polite to the naval officers, and positively turned her nose up at Mr Bentley, she...she
simpered
whenever he drew her into conversation.

And she was turning into a jealous cat. She lowered her eyes to her plate and concentrated on rearranging her features into a mask of calm serenity.

Though she supposed it would not matter all that much if people did see her cast Lord Rothersthorpe languorous looks. It was only what every other single female round this table was doing tonight. As long as nobody guessed they had become lovers, that was all that mattered. She did not want even the slightest whiff of scandal to spoil Rose’s first grown-up house party.

She should be grateful nobody would be able to detect how intimate they’d been from the way
he
was acting.

Oh, stop it!
She had to get this jealousy under control. Discretion was an
admirable
quality in a secret lover. It would be different if he truly was her suitor, as Rose so naïvely hoped. Then she might have a right to feel aggrieved.

But as things stood, he was behaving perfectly.

Yes, he was. Throwing dust in everyone’s eyes, by spreading his charm indiscriminately, rather than attempting to corner her at every opportunity, the way he’d done the first day.

She just had to get through dinner, then put Michael to bed, then spend an hour or so in the music room amongst Rose’s guests, then speak to both her stepdaughters, and then all she would have to do was wait until the house quietened down and she could go to him and they would be together in a way he would not be, could not be, with any other female sitting round this table...

She sighed and reached for her wine glass. It was going to be a very long evening.

* * *

But at last she was walking along the corridor to the bachelor guest rooms.

It would be different tonight, she promised herself. She would not be nervous. Nor would she give way to the desperation that had her tearing off her nightgown and leaping on him.

Not that he’d seemed to mind, she reflected, a smile of feminine satisfaction playing round her lips.

But anyway, she’d crossed an immense hurdle last night, in taking a lover outside of wedlock.

Now she was...well, she was a sophisticated woman. A woman who made choices.
She
was not hastening to his room to try to recapture some youthful dream. This was about who she was now. What she wanted now.

And what she wanted was exactly what she had. A lover. A secret lover.

She slipped silently into his room, shut the door and leaned back against it for support. In spite of telling herself she wasn’t nervous, her knees had not got the message. Besides, seeing Lord Rothersthorpe sitting up in bed, waiting for her, covered only with a sheet...oh, but now he wasn’t even covered with a sheet. He’d tossed it aside and was stalking across the room to claim her, naked and proud and...totally magnificent, she sighed.

‘You are not going to have it all your own way tonight,’ he growled, sweeping her into his arms.

‘I...I’m not?’

‘No.’ He bent his head and kissed her with such passion she could almost believe he’d been waiting for this moment with as much anticipation as she had.

Not that she needed to believe that. No.

Anyway, she’d already decided she wasn’t going to appear so desperate tonight.

Although, in a way, she was. She’d been aroused all day, just watching him, remembering the feel of him, the strength of him. And then getting herself ready for bed had stoked the flames even higher. Undressing, washing herself, dabbing perfume on to significant pulse points, then sliding her silken nightgown over her head and letting it glide over her body, had been an erotically charged experience, rather than her usual relaxing exercise, designed to aid a restful night’s sleep.

And having him clasp her in his arms, and kiss her so passionately, while naked and flagrantly aroused, was almost too much.

In spite of having decided she was not going to appear too eager tonight, two seconds into the kiss tremors of excitement were rippling through her entire body. Her legs were so shaky it was only his arm round her waist holding her up, yet her hips were grinding against him rhythmically.

And then, as though sensing just what she needed, he reached down between their two straining bodies and cupped her mound.

She bit down on her lower lip as sensation roared through her, sweeping aside all her resolutions. And when he bent to take one nipple between his teeth, she let her head fall back against the door, uttering a low moan.

She whimpered when he removed his hand from where she most wanted it. But she would not beg.

Anyway, he was still kissing her. On her throat. The valley between her breasts. Her shoulders. And it was all delicious. If only he would...

She gasped as he dropped to his knees and pressed his mouth there—right there. His lips were warm. His breath was hot.

And she was melting, flowing, exploding into searing pleasure.

Somehow he was on his feet and catching her as she sagged into a kind of blissful stupor.

He carried her over to the bed and laid her gently down, coming down next to her. He held her and stroked her hair, and kissed her brow while she floated softly back down to earth.

‘This nightgown is very fetching,’ he murmured, after a while. ‘But it is time to dispense with it.’

She couldn’t agree more.

But instead of stripping her of the gown with the determined haste she’d employed the night before, he kissed and stroked it away, so that her disrobing became an integral part of their lovemaking, rather than a prelude to the main event.

‘Ah, Lydia,’ he breathed when she was finally naked. ‘You are so beautiful. I have been longing for this moment all day.’

She had not wanted him to talk the night before. But tonight, she decided, she didn’t mind quite so much, so long as he said things like this.

‘I have been longing for it, too,’ she felt bold enough to admit. Then she rolled to her side, pressing her naked self against the full length of him. She ran her hand along his side as she pressed her breasts against his hair-roughened torso, creating a delightful friction.

But when she would have explored his body more intimately, he seized her hand.

‘Not yet,’ he said. ‘It will be over too quickly if you do that.’

‘We don’t really have much time,’ she protested, hooking one leg over his hip and flexing her pelvis against his.

‘We have all night,’ he countered.

‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘I dare not be absent from my room too long. If Cissy has a nightmare, she will come looking for me. And there will be uproar if she doesn’t find me.’

He frowned and was on the point of making an objection she was convinced would lead to an argument. So she stopped his mouth with a kiss that soon became so heated they almost rolled off the edge of the bed.

‘That was a close call,’ he chuckled. ‘And a reminder.’

‘A reminder?’

‘Yes. Did I not promise you that I would spend the day thinking of ways to make the narrowness of this bed a positive pleasure, rather than a hindrance?’

He got out of bed, swung her up into his arms, then sat down on the edge and planted both feet firmly on the floor.

‘I like a challenge,’ he growled, arranging her limbs so that she straddled him.

‘You are certainly rising to this one,’ she said with a gasp as he tugged her so close his erection was nudging at her entrance.

‘I would never have dreamed you capable of such naughty talk,’ he said with a grin.

‘I...I...’

His grin widened.

‘Don’t spoil it by making excuses, Lydia love. I like you like this.’

She liked him like this, too. Taking charge. Demonstrating his strength by picking her up and moving her about. Being inventive. And playful. She didn’t think many men would have chosen to look upon a single bed as a challenge and rise to it with laughter on their lips.

‘Now,’ he growled, ‘let me show you what
I’m
capable of.’

He tugged her closer still, penetrating her tantalisingly slowly.

When she would have flung her arms round his neck and snuggled close, he shook his head.

‘Lean back,’ he commanded her. ‘I want to watch you.’

After only a moment’s doubt, she decided she would not mind watching him watching her. And she got her reward almost at once. For the expression on his face was almost reverent as she leaned back against the steel band of his arm at her back. With his free hand, he cupped and stroked one breast, then ducked his head so that he could suckle at the other.

While she rode him.

It was an incredible sensation, having him hold and support her, feeling the strength of his arm keeping her in place, yet having the freedom of movement to bring herself pleasure as she wanted it.

It was sweeter than the night before—perhaps because it was less hurried.

Or perhaps it was because she’d accepted there could be no future for them. She had
now
and she wanted to savour each second, rather than grab at it in case it all faded away with the morning light.

So she didn’t rush towards completion. She just revelled in the delicious sensations coursing through her body. Trusting that he could keep her here, on this pleasurable plateau, for as long as she wanted to stay there. She’d already learned he had remarkable self-control.

But eventually he reached down between them and deliberately began to take her higher.

‘Come again for me, love,’ he said. ‘Let me see your face transformed with the ecstasy I can bring you.’

And the pace picked up. He rocked harder against her as he drove her to a peak of pleasure.

‘Look into my eyes,’ he said.

And when she did, the connection between them became more intense, more sensual, more heated. She could
see
his own need rising alongside her own, as well as hearing her gasps of pleasure wringing echoing groans from him.

And when she felt the first flutters of her climax, she saw the flare of triumph in his eyes before he began to thrust harder, and deeper, and faster.