She moved restlessly beneath him, instinctively spreading her legs farther before her body went rigid, her cry of surrender signaling her climax.
Will released her nipple and slowed his pace, savoring the flavor that was uniquely Lucinda before raising his head.
“I love you,” she whispered.
Lucinda could not have known what those words meant to him, the thought of ever surrendering himself so completely to one person simply not possible only weeks before.
He quickened his pace, grinding against her. She tilted her hips, moving in time as if they’d done this dance before.
Will could no longer wait. He drove deep inside her, his cock pulsing as he surrendered to the pounding lust and need.
He blanketed her with his body, his face buried in her silken hair. “Lucinda,” he said simply, repeating her name again and again.
She said nothing in response, only enfolded him in her arms and held on tightly.
As Will and the handful of Corinthians waited for the remaining two agents to arrive, the words “no rest for the wicked” felt tailored just for him.
He’d helped Lucinda into her nightrail and wrapper after their lovemaking, and walked her back to her bedchamber. He hadn’t wanted to leave her, but he’d resisted the temptation to linger in the interest of duty. He’d made his way through the darkened house and across the grounds to the barn. He’d not been the first to arrive at the prearranged meeting, but he’d not been the last, either—a testament to his superior strength if ever there was one.
A young barn cat wound around Will’s legs, purring loudly. He bent to pick it up and sat down on an upturned bucket, tucking the warm fuzzy calico on his lap.
Superior strength, my arse
, he thought.
He should not, under any circumstances, have allowed himself to make love to Lucinda. Never, in all of his time spent with the Corinthians, had he made such a fatal mistake. He knew damn well that the sight of her alone in the library, wearing little more than a few scraps of fabric, had tested his will beyond measure.
But he could have resisted that. It would have been hard. Hell, he would have been hard. For days, most likely. But he could have done it. He’d have stopped before he took her virginity. He could have done it. He knew he could have done it.
The cat jumped from Will’s lap and trotted across the hay-strewn floor, pausing to tilt its head and sniff the wind before heading off toward the tack room.
Will let out a long breath, watching the cat as it disappeared around the corner, its tail giving one final flick of farewell. Around him, the Corinthians continued to gather, but Will couldn’t seem to take his eyes off the last spot where the cat had been.
Staring. Still staring. But seeing nothing.
Thank God he’d had the sense not to tell Lucinda that he loved her too. At least not in so many words. His body had communicated what his brain could not, and he knew, even if she perhaps did not, that the intimate joining of their bodies had been a silent testament to his feelings for her.
Even now, the concept defied comprehension. Despite any long-buried, secret desires that hid deep within his heart, Will had long ago given up on the likelihood that anyone could ever love him. If a man’s own father was unable to feel affection for his son, then what hope was there?
And then Lucinda had declared her feelings in no uncertain terms, completely destroying what Will had settled long ago. But more than that, the tender feelings she inspired in him were in direct contrast to the single-minded, cold focus he needed to do his job. Spying was not for those inclined to softness or fancy. It was a dangerous vocation that demanded unwavering concentration, the ability to make the right decision no matter how difficult, and a deep conviction to do what was right—even if lives were lost along the way.
Cold, calculating, demanding, dangerous. The words described exactly who Will was—or rather, they were the qualities that had made him the most valued of all Corinthian agents.
Until now.
The last of the summoned agents entered the barn and joined the group illuminated in the low circle of light.
“I know you’re all tired, so we’ll make this as brief as possible,” Will began. “Weston, what news of Garenne?”
Weston stepped forward, his right eye ringed with ugly black, blue, and livid red bruises. “Our sources confirm what we suspected: The Frenchman made inquiries several months ago in the area concerning Lady Lucinda, including the details of her estate grounds.”
“Any sightings recently?”
“None that we can discern,” Weston replied, “though the local frogs have been active of late. None of our sources are willing to give the bastard up—at least, not yet.”
Will paused to take the information in. Garenne had not lured Lucinda from London with false tales, that much was clear. But it didn’t mean that he wasn’t lurking in the shadows even now. “I assume that whomever blackened your eye has been taken care of?”
“You know me better than to ask such a thing, Clairemont,” Weston replied, a smile spreading over his tanned face.
“Good,” Will said with satisfaction. “Now, Parsons, your report on the surveillance efforts.”
The meeting, true to Will’s promise, was quick and efficient, the necessary information shared, plans for the morning reviewed, and the men sent back to their various posts to resume their duties.
Will slipped quietly back into the manor and made an unsuccessful attempt at sleep, only to be awakened two hours later when sounds from below signaled the house staff was up and readying for a new day.
Dressing quickly, he escaped the manor undetected and made haste for the stables, saddling Sol and leaving the property at a hard gallop.
He was glad for the forethought he’d shown when he’d left Lucinda at her chamber door and told her he would be gone this day due to business in the district. It would allow him the opportunity to interrogate informants who had yet to yield to his fellow Corinthians’ wishes—always an activity that proved useful in ridding oneself of excess anger and frustration. And, more importantly, it would remove Lucinda from his sight, giving him the distance needed to make a decision he knew to be absolutely necessary.
But he dreaded it, all the same.
Weston appeared not far up the road at the agreed upon meeting site, his gelding’s ears pricking with interest at Sol’s approach.
Will didn’t slacken the stallion’s speed and Weston kneed his mount into motion, joining Will on the road as the two horses raced neck and neck toward town.
There were certain obligations that came with country life, and chief among them was replying in the affirmative when one’s closest neighbor issued an invitation for supper. In Lucinda’s case, this meant that when the Earl of Rowton, upon learning of her unexpected arrival at Bampton Manor, arranged for a meal in her honor, she had to say yes.
She was not quite certain how Lord Rowton had heard that she was in residence, but it didn’t really matter. Her aunts had brought her up to be a good neighbor, and a good neighbor she would be.
And so here she was, climbing the steps to Rowton Manor, Charlotte at her side, trying desperately not to wince as she moved.
She was sore. Really sore. How was it possible that her regular riding schedule had not better prepared her limbs for the physical exertion of lovemaking?
“Where is His Grace?” Charlotte asked once she’d surveyed the room and taken note of those attending. “He agreed to come, did he not?”
“Yes, of course,” Lucinda assured her. He hadn’t been particularly pleased about it, but she’d eventually wrenched a yes from his lips. It was what a proper suitor would do, she had said sweetly. That had been met with a scowl.
They
were
courting, weren’t they?
His scowl gave way to grumbling.
So she’d launched into her good neighbor speech, sounding to her ear remarkably like her aunts.
He had acquiesced immediately.
He had said that he’d some business in town, although what she could not imagine, but he’d promised that he’d be there.
“I’m sure he’ll arrive shortly,” Lucinda told her aunt. “He mentioned that he might be delayed by some sort of ducal business.”
“Here?”
Lucinda shrugged. As far as she knew, Will had no property in Oxfordshire, but the dukedom’s holdings were vast, and she was quite certain she did not know the extent of it.
“Do you see Rowton?” Charlotte murmured in her ear.
Lucinda shook her head. She had known Lord Rowton for years. He was ten years her senior and had made no secret of his desire to join their properties. His father had suggested the match at her birth, and Rowton had taken up the cause as soon as Lucinda had reached a marriageable age.
She had not mentioned this to Will. It did not seem relevant, at least not while she was trying to convince him to accompany her.
“Ouch!” Lucinda looked over at Charlotte with some irritation. “What was that for?”
Charlotte retracted her elbow, which was presently dug into Lucinda’s ribs. “Rowton, my dear,” she murmured without moving her lips.
Lucinda’s gaze followed Charlotte’s. “Oh,” she said under her breath.
Each pasted a smile on her face and prepared to greet their host.
There was nothing precisely wrong about Lord Rowton. He was an avid horseman, which was certainly a point in his favor, and he did not bore Lucinda with recitations of parliamentary proceedings while implying they were beyond her understanding.
In truth, Lucinda had to suppose that Lord Rowton had been the best of her suitors, or if not that, certainly the most convenient.
But that had been before Will. And with the memory of his body on hers still burned into her memory …
“Lucinda!”
She turned to Charlotte. “What?”
“You moaned.”
“I did not,” Lucinda shot back, horrified.
“Oh, you did. I assure you my hearing is—Lord Rowton! How nice to see you again.”
Their host stood before them, smiling down at both. “Lady Charlotte,” he began, nodding, bowing, and grasping her hand to kiss the air just above her fingers.
Charlotte had barely murmured a brief response before he turned to Lucinda, the look of adoration plain for all to see. “And Lady Lucinda. It has been far too long since our last meeting.”
“Lord Rowton,” Lucinda began, reluctantly offering her hand, “you are too kind.”
His lips barely brushed her fingers, though they lingered too long for Lucinda’s comfort.
She gently pulled back, not wanting to create a scene but desirous to retrieve her hand all the same. “This looks to be quite a happy gathering, I must say.”
“Indeed,” he replied, gesturing for the ladies to accompany him into the room. “I was surprised to find you in residence at this time of year.”
Lucinda eyed Charlotte wearily, her heart not quite prepared to speak of Winnie with the indifference necessary for such settings. “An ill horse, I’m afraid.”
Charlotte cleared her throat. “Thank you for asking, Lord Rowton.”
“And will you be staying on?” he pressed. “It really seems a shame to come all this way only to stay for a few short days.”
Lucinda smiled sincerely. It was difficult not to admire his determination. “Aunt Charlotte wishes to stay on for the remainder of the week, and so we will.”
“I’m
very
glad to hear as much,” Rowton replied enthusiastically.
The three walked toward the pianoforte, where a plump, brown-haired woman was busily playing Mozart. She ended the piece with a dramatic tinkle of two keys and smilingly received the polite round of applause.
“Miss Winstead, you play beautifully,” Lucinda said to the woman, her compliment failing to draw the round young woman’s chocolate brown gaze away from Lord Rowton.
“Thank you, Lady Lucinda,” she replied, her attention focused unwaveringly on Lord Rowton.
This could work to my advantage
, Lucinda thought to herself, winking at Charlotte before proceeding. “Would you not agree, Lord Rowton?” she asked.
“I’m sorry?” The earl replied, his glass of wine halfway to his lips.
“I was just commenting on Miss Winstead’s skillful playing.”
“Oh, that. Well—”
“I could not agree more.” The deep, masculine comment came from somewhere behind Lucinda.
The fine hairs on her nape stood up, her body coming to life as if he’d commanded it to do so.
She showed restraint though, waiting to turn until her companions did. “Your Grace,” she began, not wanting to appear overly eager. “Do join us. I very much would like to introduce you.”
He walked purposefully toward them, failing to acknowledge the buzz of surprise and excited whispers that were taking place about the room.
He joined them, standing between Charlotte and the seated Miss Winstead, whose seemed to have removed her attention from Lord Rowton and refixed it firmly on Will.
Lord Rowton cleared his throat, and everyone turned to look at him. Lucinda thought he resembled a yearling she’d once owned. The young horse’s reaction to castration had been to stand at the fence that separated him and the other geldings from the resident stallion and watch with quiet and decidedly bitter resignation as the virile Thoroughbred pranced about, displaying his undeniably large and functional manhood for all the world to see.
“I do beg your forgiveness, Lord Rowton,” Lucinda began, pausing to push the thought of the defeated gelding from her mind. “Do you know His Grace, the Duke of Clairemont? He arrived in Oxfordshire most unexpectedly.”
“Of course,” Rowton replied, with remarkably little inflection.
Lucinda acknowledged his comment with a smile and a nod. “I assured His Grace that Aunt Charlotte and I would do everything in our power to show him all that we have to offer. An introduction to what makes our little corner of the country so special would not be complete without attending one of your soirées, would you not agree?”
“Welcome to my home,” Lord Rowton said, nodding at Will. He did not appear terribly excited to have a duke in his midst, but he was nothing if not polite, and he added, “Any friend of Lady Charlotte and Lady Lucinda’s is, without a doubt, a friend of mine.”