The Scandalous Lady Sandford (Lost Ladies of London 3)

“I am almost six years older than Lady Ravenscroft.” Then again, the way he looked at Lillian now differed vastly from the way he’d looked at her as a girl. The thought drew his gaze up to his bedchamber window. The soft glow of candlelight radiated out into the darkness, and he wondered if his wife awaited him in bed.

“Happen it’s of no consequence.”

“Why? Doyle might well be dead.” When a man turned traitor, he invariably had enemies on both sides. Everyone distrusted a turncoat, even those who offered the bribe. “For all we know, Mary could be a widow.”

Something akin to hope flashed in Mackenzie’s eyes, and Fabian cursed himself for not noticing his friend’s attachment before.

“I’ll speak to Lady Ravenscroft. She might agree to take Mary as her maid.” It was only right he support Mackenzie’s altruistic efforts. But it was not his place to choose his wife’s attendants.

Mackenzie inclined his head and then gathered Thunder’s reins. “I’ll take the horses to the stable. No doubt you want out of those wet clothes. And it’s your wedding night. Happen there’s a warmer place you’d rather be.”

The thought of drawing Lillian’s body close and feeling her soft skin against his, sent his blood rushing through his veins. Of course, he’d need strength and skill in the art of seduction if he hoped to break down her barricade.

“Then I shall bid you a good night.” The sudden urge to slip into bed next to his wife took hold. “Keep me informed should those on watch notice anything suspicious.”

They parted ways.

Despite the weight of his sodden clothes, Fabian mounted the stone steps with speed and agility. And yet that was not the cause of his racing heart. Reaching his chamber door, he lingered outside for a moment. If he could just stop his thoughts jumping forward to the moment he settled between Lillian’s silky thighs he might survive the next few minutes without spilling himself in his breeches.

He turned the handle, half expecting to find the door locked. The fact it was open proved promising.

Fabian slipped inside and eased the door closed. Wood crackled in the stone hearth, the orange glow of the fire setting a scene ripe for seduction. His gaze fell to the woman sleeping in his bed, her ebony hair draped across her shoulder, her delicate fingers clutching the pillow she used as a barrier to keep him out.

Rooted to the spot, he listened to her gentle breath breezing through the room. Each exhalation did odd things to the hairs on his nape. Each peaceful sigh sent his thoughts scattering in opposing directions. This lady had the power to rouse chivalry in his chest and lust in his loins.

As a gentleman, he’d be damned before he’d take a woman who didn’t want him. And so he crept over to the fire and stripped naked in the hope the heat from the flames would warm his clammy skin.

A slight hitch in her breath forced him to glance back over his shoulder, but she had not moved and still held the same angelic look he’d witnessed moments earlier. When his muscles no longer felt numb, he washed the spots of mud from his face. The longer he stood there, bare as the day he was born, the more amorous thoughts filled his head.

As a distraction, he found his telescope and stared out of the window. He could see the sea stretching as far as the horizon, the light from the moon casting a silvery path across the surface. He could see the heathland surrounding the castle’s high walls, the carpet of purple heather and wild yellow flowers less vibrant now. A sudden movement in the shadows drew his gaze but with neither man nor beast visible he suspected a nocturnal creature.

Placing his telescope on the stone sill, he turned to the bed. Lillian looked so beautiful and serene the sight rendered him frozen to the spot. Devil take him. Why could he not simply climb in next to her? He’d sailed through winds strong enough to uproot trees, felt the boom of thunder shake him to his core. Surely he could lay next to a woman and do nothing but sleep.

But this wasn’t just any woman.

Feeling like a boy on the first day of boarding school, he peeled back the coverlet and slipped beneath the cool sheets. One plump pillow separated them. But the bag of feathers might just as well be a stone wall.

Before closing his eyes, he took one last look at Lillian. They were joined as man and wife, bound together in the eyes of God. Somehow he had to find a way to break down her barrier. Somehow he had to make her want him.

Lillian heard Fabian return from his search for the stranger. How could she sleep when his safety had suddenly become her priority? She’d exerted every effort to keep her breathing slow and shallow. Another awkward conversation about marriage and duty would not solve the problem. Intimacy was not something one forced. Still, catching sight of his firm buttocks as he warmed himself in front of the fire, awakened a desperate desire to be close to him.

So why was she clinging to the pillow as if she were alone in a rough sea and it was the only thing keeping her afloat?

An hour passed.

The fire in the hearth no longer burned with the same intensity. The man at her side slept peacefully. Indeed, she could not tear her gaze away from the soft rise and fall of his bare chest. The urge to run her fingers over the dusting of dark hair, over the sculpted planes of his abdomen, took hold. So why were her limbs frozen, incapable of acting no matter how tempting the thought?

Knowing sleep would elude her until she found a way to calm her thoughts, she slipped out of bed. For fear of waking Fabian, she padded over to the fire and stood there warming her hands. The glow gave off enough light to read, though all the books stacked on the side table related to philosophy. After her dreadful experiences, she did not need an education in the principles of behaviour. Besides, she had Fabian to challenge her viewpoint now.

“Come back to bed, Lillian.” Fabian’s voice was deeper and raspier than usual. The sound stroked her senses. The man made it impossible for her to fight her attraction.

“I’m not tired.” It took her a moment to rouse the courage to turn around. The sight of him sitting up on his elbows, of his mussed hair and bristly jaw stole her breath. “I thought I might read.” She gestured to one of two chairs flanking the fire.

“Do you desire company?”

Oh, why had he used that word? Since marrying Fabian she suddenly desired a great many things. An image of thick thighs and bare buttocks flashed into her mind. “No. You need sleep.”

“Sleep is not my main priority.” His gaze drifted over the front of her chemise. “You do know that garment is practically sheer. In the light of the fire, I can see the outline of every curve.” A hum left his lips. “I can see—”