“He is not elderly. Throws a decent punch. Fights dirty. But then…” Harry leaned to whisper along the curve of Lucy’s ear. “So do I.”
She didn’t doubt it.
“This discussion might also be heated.” Lucy winced at the slight sound of the lisp. Her fists clenched, and she walked a few steps away from him. She was annoyed. He’d made her feel desirable. Wanted. Thrown this ridiculously big house before her. Hadn’t touched her since London. And then had given her chambers without a bloody bed. Lucy, who had never made a demand in her life, meant todemandclarification.
“Use your words, Lucy. If you are angry with me, say so. I prefer it. And do so loudly.”
“You gave me rooms without a bed,” she stated clearly.
“I did.” He came towards her, hand palming the base of her spine. “You’ll sleep beside me at night—every night.” The words grew rough. “In my bed.”
“But you—are not—” She struggled to address what felt like disinterest on his part.
“Good enough for you? I’m aware.” Harry turned away from her. “I realize my betters do things differently, Mrs. Estwood, but not in my house. So if you were expecting to sleep?—”
“With you,” she finally got out, swatting his arm rather hard, surprising them both. “I—you have not—thince…what did I do wrong?”
Harry’s eyes widened in surprise. “Wrong? Why would you—oh.” He drew a deep breath. “You have no objection to sharing a bed with me?”
This time Lucy punched him in the arm.
“Stop doing that.” But he was grinning at her. “So hostile, Mrs. Estwood.” He cupped her cheek and pressed a furious kiss to her mouth. “I was trying to be considerate after our night in London. Trying to be a gentleman.” He pulled her close, nuzzling along her throat. “I’m not very good at it am I?”
“No!” Lucy sputtered. “And I…” She took a deep breath, meaning to explain she didn’t give a fig for the circumstances of his birth. That she thought him brilliant. Dazzling. Like a shooting star. But before she could say a word, his mouth fell on hers once more, hungry and possessive.
They fell into the grass together, rolling about until Harry hovered above Lucy, looking dangerous and far too attractive. “I am trying to make a point,” she whispered.
“You’ve succeeded, Mrs. Estwood.” Teeth nipping gently below her ear, his tongue traced the same path along her skin until she gave a delicious shiver. “Apologies,” he breathed into her skin, “for allowing you to believe I don’t think of fucking you every minute of every day.”
Lucy swallowed. “Such vulgarity.”
“There’s more to come.” Harry took her hands and placed them at the edges of her skirts. “Pull these up immediately, Mrs. Estwood.” His voice lowered to a purr. “So I can reassure you of my devotion.”
Fingers trembling, Lucy did as he asked, heat inching its way between her thighs.
Harry pushed her legs apart. The sound of her underthings tearing met her ears. “These are unnecessary. Cease wearing them.” His teeth grazed along the skin of her thigh, breath ruffling the soft down covering her mound.
Then his tongue touched her quim.
“Well,”Lucy panted a short time later. “You have certainly”—she spoke in that breathless way that had Harry’s cock twitching—“made amends.” Her skirts were still twisted about her waist, the lower half of her body exposed, a sated look on her lovely features.
“Are you sure?” He leaned forward and kissed along the inside of her thigh, inhaling the scent of her. “I can beg your forgiveness all afternoon, if need be.”
The melody of her laughter floated into the breeze.
Harry wedged his body between her thighs so he could lay half atop her, pressing his cheek to her chest. Listened to her heart trying to regain its normal rhythm, even as it tugged at his own. He should stop fighting the inevitability. This was not mere lust. It never had been.
Lucy’s fingers slid through his hair, pulling gently at the strands.
A sigh of utter contentment left him.
Harry had never been at peace, but always in motion. Moving. Learning. Becoming something other than what the world dictated he should be. The drive to amass a fortune, prove to men like Waterstone that he had earned a seat at their table, never left him.
But here, with Lucy in the grass, the taste of her still on his tongue, Harry had a sense of stillness. Of calm. He’d spent the entire afternoon cleaning up the mess Waterstone had left behind at Pendergast and ridding the ironworks of Mr. Colm. Truthfully, Harry nearly always felt better after having something or someone to hit. Colm deserved a bruised jaw more than most.
Harry stated plainly that he knew about the embezzlement. He had suspicions Colm might have found out about the survey at Marsden. He’d paid for silence, but someone on the crew might have talked, especially after a few mugs of ale at a tavern. Colm had either sold the information to Dufton or perhaps the earl had merely overheard it from someone else.
Doesn’t matter. Marsden is mine now.
