“Your Grace!” she protested, and still he ignored her, hoping something brilliant would come to him before they finally reached the cliffside.
At last they stopped before the stairs that led down to the shore. And there, with the sun shining down upon him and his heart hammering like a fledgling youth’s, he turned to face her.
“Emma,” he began, and faltered. She was frowning at him now, and he felt suddenly strangely uncertain of himself. “Are you cold?” he asked instead.
“I’m quite fine, thank you,” she said. But she shivered, wrapping her mantle more securely about her shoulders.
Lucien drew her closer, hoping to warm her with the heat of his body.
“Your Grace,” she protested.
“Lucien.”
She turned her face up to his, her brows furrowed, softly, two perfectly shaped arches. “I am not at all the fragile little miss you seem to like to think me,” she declared, eschewing the use of his Christian name, despite his request.
“I don’t think you’re fragile at all, Emma.”
Her brows furrowed more deeply. “You don’t?”
“On the contrary.”
“Impulsively, Lucien brought Emma’s hand to his lips, placing his mouth gently upon the tips of her fingers, considering her, considering his next words carefully…
“Do you wish me to go?” he asked suddenly.
Emma bristled at his question, wanting desperately to shake her hand free of his because it reminded her too much of another time when he’d so gallantly held her hand in just the samemanner and she had so stupidly disgraced herself with her silly declaration of love.
If he thought for an instant that she was going to humiliate herself further—even more than the children and Andrew had done already—he was sorely mistaken. “I am quite certainlynoton the shelf as of yet, sirrah. I will endure this. And quite well, if you please!”
At the mere thought of her with someone else—of another man’s lips upon hers—Lucien’s stomach clenched. He stiffened, standing a little straighter. His brow lifted. “Are you trying to tell me something, Miss Peters?”
“I am trying to tell you nothing!” she declared, sounding a little hysterically now.
Lucien didn’t think; only acted. His hand flew out, seizing her by the wrist and wrenching her to him. His heart hammered against his ribs as he pressed her more intimately against him and he lowered his mouth to hers, crushing it beneath his hungry lips.
She resisted for only an instant, but he murmured her name, and she whimpered softly and went still in his embrace. He groaned with pleasure as she allowed him to caress her mouth with his own. The taste of her was heaven. He wanted her naked and willing in his arms—wanted to love her properly.
“Emma,” he whispered feverishly. “Emma, Emma, Emma…”
Every inch of his body was alive with need of her… the feel of her… the scent of her.
He kissed her thoroughly, and then lifted his face suddenly, crushing her possessively against the length of his body, his eyes heavy lidded as he gazed at her expectantly, searching her expression for answers.
His brow furrowed when he found nothing but anguish in her expression. “Tell me again that I’m free to go,” he demanded, wanting her now to retract her words.
Her deep brown eyes looked a bit like a fox’s at the end of a hunt, cornered and wild. She shook her head. “I don’t know what you wish from me,” she said, sounding as tortured as he felt.
Lucien shook his head and then released her abruptly, disgusted with himself. “I’m sorry... God, Emma… I’m sorry... I... I don’t know myself anymore.” He hung his head, unable to face her.
Without another word, she spun about and hastened away and before Lucien could think to stop her. She lifted her skirts and began to run, obviously eager to be as far away from him as she could manage.
For a dumbfounded instant Lucien simply watched her go. The waves below crashed against the cliffside, sounding as chaotic as he felt.
“Emma!” he shouted, but it was too late. She couldn’t hear him over the pounding of the surf, and all he could think as he stood there watching her go was that he had never felt more miserable than he did at the moment.
He had little notion how long he remained at the cliffs, staring down at the tumbling surf. It rolled in violently, covering the beach below, pummeling the cliffside relentlessly.
When at last he made his way back to the manor, he cut through the rose garden on his way to the stables, thinking to rally his driver and go. To his misfortune, he found them—every last one—being led into the garden by an exhilarated Jonathon. Lucien’s heart tripped as he watched them.
