He eased himself over her and when his mouth covered hers, she arched against him. When his hard erection pressed against her, Lucy was gripped by a powerful need. She moaned, wanting to feel that part of him and for him to touch her in that special place. She wanted to experience everything, knowing he would be gentle. That she could trust him.
He stroked his hand up her stocking to the warm flesh of her thigh. Her cheeks burned, and she stilled, as he touched the sensitive soft folds at her center. It felt extraordinary, and so right, that she closed her eyes. “Yes,” she murmured.
He bent to kiss her inner thigh as he touched her there. At the exquisite friction his stroking caused, she clutched at his silky hair, embarrassed by the slick sound of her damp flesh, and the aroma of her arousal.
Hugh groaned. He slipped a finger a little way inside her while he plundered her mouth. The sensation of his tongue stroking inside her mouth mimicked his touch. Lucy feared she would lose all sense of herself. A powerful throb at her core made her whimper, and she cried out, riding waves of intense feeling. When it finally eased away, she fell back against the pillow.
Hugh rose quickly and turned away, but not before she saw the evidence of his desire tenting his breeches. She still craved more. More of him. To lie naked against him and discover all of his body, the muscles, bones, and tendons, so different from her own. And that part of her she had never seen. But she knew that no matter how aroused he was, Hugh would not give in to her demands.
After adjusting his breeches, he returned to her. “Come, sweetheart,” he said, his voice gruff. He bent and pressed a lingering kiss on her lips. “Time to drive back to London. I’ll ask the innkeeper if a widow in the town might agree to chaperone you.”
Lucy wrinkled her nose. “If you must, Hugh.” She rose, her legs trembling, her senses sharply alive, still patently aware of his masculine smell and how his deft touch had brought about her very first experience of passion, and the pleasure lovers could give each other. But it wasn’t enough, not nearly enough. Her dreams were about to come true, and because she’d been through so much to come to this, she feared it would all come to an end. That she would wake up and find it was, after all, a dream.
*
Hugh regained hisbreath and the discomfort in his trousers eased as they went downstairs. He could have taken her to bed. Lucy wouldn’t have stopped him. And she would not have rebuked him later, as she had the kind of bedrock honesty beneath everything she did, and took responsibility for her own actions. But he would have been taking advantage of her. She had suffered from Rattray’s villainy and was weak and exhausted. She was not thinking clearly, and he wanted her desperately. But what he wanted uppermost was to take care of her.
The next morning, they left the village and he drove the carriage onto the road to London with Mrs. Bromley, who had accepted the position as chaperone. The stern-faced widow sat behind them in silence after taking out her knitting. Hugh gazed at his lovely bride-to-be beside him, who narrowed her eyes at him. Earlier, she had made no secret that she didn’t want achaperone. He chuckled. “It’s a long journey to undertake in one day, but I don’t plan to stop again. It will be late when we reach London.”
Mrs. Bromley made no complaint. She planned to spend a few days with her sister in Cheapside.
When Lucy had told him and the constable about what Rattray had done to the Marquess of Berwick in Carlisle, he’d been furious. And he was doubly glad the man was no longer able to hurt her, or anyone else. If only he’d told Lucy about Baron Maitland sooner. It would surely have been enough for her aunt to refuse Rattray’s offer of a jaunt to the country.
“I shall write to the laird and tell him the news,” he said looking down at Lucy, who gravely nodded.
The horses settled into a rhythm and the carriage traveled smoothly over the road. Hugh smiled at Lucy and put an arm around her. She rested her head against his shoulder.
Chapter Eighteen
As Lucy leanedagainst Hugh’s powerful body, she longed for when they could be together alone as husband and wife. Hugh was determined to undertake the journey in one day. Lucy had hoped to spend another night at an inn with him. Then perhaps… She put her fingers to her lips, surprised at how bold she’d become.
Hugh’s face looked thoughtful in the shadow of his beaver hat. She would have liked to ask him if he’d enjoyed what they had shared. But with Mrs. Bromley’s disapproving silence behind her, she couldn’t.
The horses responded well to his hands on the reins. He seemed so calm and confident in everything he did. She wanted to lean against him, for some of his warmth and strength to seep into her tired bones, but apart from her thinking it too presumptuous, she feared she’d fall asleep.
As if reading her mind, Hugh’s strong arm settled her against him. “Rest, sweetheart,” he said, his deep voice rumbling in his chest where she lay her head.
A glance behind her told her Mrs. Bromley had fallen asleep, her knitting on her lap, her bonnet pushed down over her eyes.
Lucy had never felt so safe. She closed her heavy lids, and at the soporific effect caused by the pounding rhythm of the thoroughbreds, she too, slept.
She woke to darkness when they reached London, and the gas lamps lit up the darkness in Pall Mall.
When Hugh helped her down outside her aunt’s house, Lucy hurried inside with him, eager to tell her aunt about Anabel. The thought went immediately out of her head when Aunt Mary, in sad disarray, her shawl askew and wearing only one earring, which was so unlike her, almost stumbled across the drawing room carpet to fling herself into Lucy’s arms, with a burst of loud sobbing. “I thought I’d lost you. How could I ever tell your father?” she wailed.
Lucy felt a little guilty. Somehow, Rattray had faded from her mind, banished by Hugh’s kisses. She hoped what had happened between them wasn’t evident on her face. “I am perfectly well, Aunt, really. When Rattray tried to shoot Lord Dorchester, the earl shot and killed him.”
Her aunt drew in a sharp breath. “The villain! Lord Dorchester, how can I ever thank you?” She croaked, swiveling to Hugh. She dabbed her eyes with a sodden handkerchief.
“It’s entirely unnecessary, Mrs. Grayswood. My reward is to bring Miss Kershaw home safe.”
Aunt Mary stared at him for a moment, then turned back to Lucy, whose arm she still held as if Lucy might vanish into thin air. “I amsosorry, my dear. What a fool I was to be taken in by Rattray.”
“He deceived a lot of people,” Hugh said.
“Where are my manners? Please sit, my lord. Allow me to order you a libation. You must be parched.”
“Thank you, I must go. Miss Kershaw’s chaperone, Mrs. Bromley, is in the carriage. I’m to take her to her sister’s house in Cheapside. And I mustn’t leave my tired horses standing.”
