“That too, the bit of lace. I’d hate to tear it.”
“Really?” Lucy arched a brow. “You’ve ruined at least half a dozen. At this rate, I’ll have nothing left to wear to bed.”
“My point exactly.”
Her cheeks darkened, but she smiled.
Harry’s heart tugged forcefully in her direction, a near constant occurrence. Desire was the least of the things he felt forLucy, though the constant lust for her was rather significant. But the remainder of all that emotion was something quite different. A deep sort of possessiveness mixed with an ache of longing. Not entirely unexpected, given he’d carried her inside him for years without realizing it. But the sensation was rather terrifying.
Shyly, she untied the ribbons at her shoulders, letting the scrap of silk and lace slide down her shoulders to catch on the tips of her breasts. Not bothering to look up, Lucy shrugged, allowing the garment to pool around her feet.
She’s getting good at this. Seducing me.
“Hair down,” Harry growled, lifting the brandy to his lips, his other hand curled around the edge of the tub to keep from grabbing her.
Lucy reached up, pulling the pins from the heavy, pitch-black locks. A tumble of curls fell across her bosom as she ducked her chin to peek at him through the strands. “I am not one of your workers,” that breathless whisper said. “To have you ordering me about.”
Harry’s cock twitched beneath the water.
“I rarely order you to do anything,” he returned.
Entirely true. The transformation of Lucy from a reserved, somewhat timid creature to the glorious, determined, and clever woman before him was one Harry had encouraged. She challenged him at every turn, proving that after a lifetime of strict obedience, Lucy was intent on being someone else. He would always have…desired the girl he’d wanted so desperately at The Barrow, but this woman was one he not only respected but who was hispartner.
Harry wrapped the curls of her hair around his wrist, pulling her closer, kissing Lucy as if his life depended on it. Because it did. He needed her in order to breathe. When that chain had wrapped around his neck tonight, nearly choking the life from him, it was Lucy who had filled Harry’s mind. How he wishedhe’d just left Pendergast for the day and spent it with her. He couldn’t die on the floor of the ironworks. Couldn’t leave her. Not now.
Not ever.
“Get in the bloody tub,” he rasped. “Stop teasing.”
I’m in love with my wife.
Irrefutably. Impossibly. Completely.
Love had never seemed terribly important to Harry; his ambitions had always taken precedence. And after seeing the bleeding remains of his parents’ affection, he wasn’t sure the emotion was worth his time. Harry held a deep-seated fear that no matter what he did, he would become James Estwood one day. And until Lucy Waterstone, he hadn’t given love or affection a great deal of thought.
He tugged the dark strands wrapped in his fingers, chest aching in desperation for her.
Lucy daintily stepped into the water, sliding between Harry’s legs. She turned and leaned against his chest, wiggling her backside against his thighs.
“Isn’t this better?” he groaned against her throat, his hand dragging from her hair to toy with her breast, plucking at the nipple.
“Mmm.” Lucy took his fingers from her breast, pressing a kiss to the top of his missing pinky finger. “Your father did this.”
He’d said as much before. Or maybe inferred. But she’d never asked him outright.
“Yes.” His words grew thick. “Could have been much worse, but he was drunk. I think he meant to take the whole finger. But he couldn’t focus.” Revisiting the horrors at the Estwood home, the snap of broken bones and the bloody shears his father had liked to use for punishment, wasn’t something he wished to do with Lucy’s generous, soapy curves pressed into him.
“How did he die?”
“Fell and hit his head on the corner of the fireplace,” Harry lied, though he suspected Lucy, with her clever way of gathering information like clues, suspected the truth. “Luckily, he didn’t burn to death. We hadn’t the coin for coal that winter, so there was no fire.”
Lucy made a soft noise, not sympathy exactly, more…understanding.
She wouldn’t demand the entire tale. Not tonight. Harry squeezed her tighter, nose falling into her hair, inhaling lemon and verbena.
Her lips found his fingers once more. “Father took my voice. And I allowed it.” Lucy took the glass dangling from his hand, taking a sip of the brandy. “At least you—” She cleared her throat gently. “Well, I was content to remain in my cage. Not permitted to have friends. Not even a cat, something I dearly wanted. But I couldn’t control my…flaw.”
If he could, Harry would take Waterstone’s voice. Strangle him until he could speak in nothing above a whisper for the rest of his miserable life.
