‘I apologize for disturbing you, Lucas. I see it was a mistake to come
here. I won’t bother you further.’
When she turned and retraced her steps across the yard, Lucas dropped any pretence of ignoring her, yet only the jagged pulse that had leaped to life in his throat attested to his own disquiet as he stared after her with mingled feelings of regret and concern.
‘Hester, wait.’ Striding after her he took her arm and turned her to face him, noting that she was shivering in her wet clothes. ‘Look at you. You’re dripping wet. You’d better come inside.’
Hester followed him to the house. Holding the lantern high, he gestured her inside. She shivered as she peered past the beacon toward the interior.
‘Unfortunately I cannot offer you much in the way of hospitality. In its present state the house is devoid of home comforts. I’ll light the fire.’
After several minutes he’d lit candles and set light to the fire in the oak-panelled hall. Hester held out her hands to feel its warmth. Having removed his cloak and hat, Lucas came to stand beside her. His hair was raven black, thick and gently curling to his shoulders. Looking up at him she saw those beautiful warm amber eyes, like his whole being, still blazing with raw emotion. His gaze never left her face.
‘You look tired,’ he remarked. ‘How are things at home? How are your sisters?’
‘To the best of my knowledge they are well, thank you. And you, Lucas?’
‘As you see I have survived without you very well,’ he replied, his voice heavily laced with irony.
And he had—or he thought he had, until now. A long time ago, before England had been torn apart by the Civil War, Lucas had been destined for a wonderful future. He had wealth, influence and raffish good looks to accompany undeniable and winning charm. For all his sophistication and urbanity, though, he had later turned to putty under the assault of a pair of light blue eyes. At just sixteen years old, despite being the daughter of Jacob Atkins, a man locked in bitter rivalry with his own father, Hester had captured him completely. He loved her smile, her sincerity, her goodness and her touch that set his heart thudding like that of a callow youth. But the relationship had soured under the possessive bullying of her father.
While Atkins presented himself as an upstanding pillar of the community, he hid behind a mask of wickedness—the better to wage his shadow war on Lucas’s father. Atkins had deeply resented his success and, driven by an endless lust for power, both in his military life and his private life, he had used every dubious means at his disposal to ruin him.
Lucas was away at war when his father had died, and he was certain his inability to meet his debts and his death had more to do with Atkins’s persecution than his failed heart. When it had come to wanting to wed Hester, Atkins had told him he would see her dead first.
Hester had refused to disobey her father. With no way to douse the rage that had burned inside him like an inferno, Lucas had left England, determined to conquer his passion, but he had failed miserably. He’d been powerless to staunch the outflow of love he felt for her. And now he had come back to her, back to the woman he had tried so hard to deny.
Looking at her now he thought how lovely she was, lovelier than ever since she had grown to womanhood. Her hair was fair and thick, her figure gracefully slender. Her voice was low and pleasant to the ear, with nothing strident in its tone to evoke anyone’s attention.
‘As you see the house is not as cozy as it once was, but at least it will give you some shelter from the storm.’
Hester’s shuddering made it difficult for her to speak, but she tried. ‘I—I thank you. I must look a fright.’ Which she did, with her hair hanging in wet strands down her back. Her hands were numb and icy, her nose and cheeks red with cold.
‘You look like a drowned rabbit,’ he remarked softly. ‘I think you’d best get out of those clothes before you catch your death.’
Hester shook her head. ‘No—I couldn’t. I’ll soon dry.’
Lucas arched a brow as he peered at her. ‘Are you trying to convince me how foolish you are? Your clothes will soon dry in front of the fire.’
‘I have dry ones in my bag.’
‘You still have to remove your wet ones.’
With trembling fingers Hester began to pluck at the ties of her cloak without success.
‘Shall I help?’
‘My—fingers are quite numb.’
Gently prying her hands free, Lucas slipped the cloak from her shoulders and draped it over a metal guard in front of the fire. ‘Since you seem in great need of my services, I feel I must resume where I left off.’
His eyes swept over her in a lingering caress, evoking a blush that left Hester’s cheeks nearly as rosy as her soft lips. Nervous at being touched by him after so long, feelings she could not describe coursed through her. When he unbuttoned her dress and eased it from her shoulders, she saw his eyes flare with heat when they took in her pale flesh and the gentle swell of her breasts above her petticoat. She could not move or cry out nor stop him as he continued to carefully disrobe her. It was as if the world had narrowed and there was only the stillness of their heavy breathing, the promise and heat of his touch. She closed her eyes, certain she would swoon, and her breasts swelled, nipples tight and straining against fabric.
The sight of her nearly took Lucus’s breath away. He was transfixed. Most disconcerting was the discovery that he was as physically attracted to her now as he had been before. More so. His eyes lingered on the soft flesh of her shoulders and the play of light on her skin, reawakening fires in his own body. If his fingers noted that her shift was soft and clinging, and retained the scent of her skin, he told himself not to dwell on it. And if his head felt dizzy, as if he were becoming intoxicated, he told himself the cause was the smoke from the fire. The simplicity of her shift framed her body for him almost like a gift. It only made him ache to familiarize himself once more with what it concealed.
Hester knew that without it she would have no protection against those probing eyes. But this was Lucas! She didn’t feel that she needed protecting—not from Lucas.
Struggling with his craving lusts, with some disgust for his own lack of self-control, Lucas felt a trickle of sweat trace a cool path down his temple as he fought the raging desires that tore at him, leaving him trembling and tense. Raking his fingers through his hair, uttering a low curse, he turned away.
‘My God, Hester! Even after all this time, do you not know how the sight of you torments me—what you do to me?’
His suffering was not lost on Hester and she so dearly wished to give him release. After all that had happened to her this was the safest she had felt in a long time. Her father was dead and her whole world was about to break into pieces and dissolve in terror. But here, in this lonely, quiet house, there was only herself and Lucas, his need of her—her need of him, and she may not have much time left—just this one night, so why should she not grasp what might be her last chance at happiness? Had she not endured her fill of sorrows?
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