Lord Greystone stared out into the gloom, brushed his hands through his mop of brown hair and exhaled.
“Dariell is your valet?” Lydia asked, merely to ease the tension in the air. From his accent and odd dress, it was the most logical assumption.
“He is my friend foremost but insists on acting as my manservant.” Lord Greystone turned to face her. “About what happened a moment ago.”
“Pay it no mind,” she said, confusion clouding her thoughts. Dariell had saved them both from making a dreadful mistake. But oh, how she’d wanted him. Lydia’s cheeks grew hot when she thought of how close she’d come to ruination. “Your friend’s timely intervention proved fortuitous.”
“I didn’t mean for it— It would have gone no further than—”
“An extremely wild and passionate kiss,” she finished brazenly.
“Indeed.” A faint smile replaced the marks of guilt etched into his features. “Forgive me. I can assure you it will not happen again.”
Oh, why did he not say he couldn’t help himself? Why did he not say she captivated him and that he didn’t regret a moment of it?
“Of course.” A brief silence ensued. What must he think of her? She had fallen for his charms so easily. Indeed, it was difficult to resist him. “Well, I should return home before I’m missed.”
“Then I shall escort you through the woods. Heaven knows who’s hiding out there.” In his eagerness to be rid of her, Greystone clasped her elbow and practically propelled her away from the ancient stones.
They trudged through the woods in silence. A clawing mist swirled about them making it difficult to see in the dark—she’d forgotten all about her lantern. Lydia tripped, almost fell, but the firm hand at her elbow kept her upright.
She could still taste him on her bruised lips, could still smell his exotic essence on her skin—so potent, so intoxicating it made her head spin.
As soon as they reached the gardens of Dunnam Park, he gave another mumbled apology, bid her good night and, before she could say a word, disappeared into the woods.
“Good night,” Lydia whispered as she stared into the mist and conjured the erotic memory of his muscular thighs pressed against her. Of his hot hands searing her skin. She touched her fingers to her lips. Despite the abrupt manner in which he’d departed she couldn’t help but smile.
Shaking her herself mentally back to the present, she hurried to the door leading to the servants’ quarters. A sudden movement to her left caught her attention.
Someone was in the garden.
Lydia crept behind a cone-shaped conifer and watched with interest.
Lord Randall, dressed in his silk smoking jacket, stood near the topiary hedge, muttering to himself. His angry hand gestures led her to conclude he was either sleepwalking or talking to someone lingering in the darkness. Perhaps the man was conducting a liaison with one of the staff. Perhaps he was alone, keen to practise his pompous drivel without anyone answering back.
Then, throwing his hands in the air in resignation, Randall turned on his heels and began his march towards the house.
Lydia shrank into the shadows, plastered her back to the wall and shuffled along until safely through the servants’ door.
While she found Lord Randall’s behaviour odd, that was not what occupied her thoughts as she climbed the stairs to the attic room that was now her bedchamber. Lord Greystone had come to her rescue, made her feel like an irresistible woman, not a foolish girl. Her attraction to him had developed into an intense infatuation that grew stronger by the minute.
Lord Greystone was most definitely not a devil.
No. He was far more dangerous than that.
Chapter Ten
Miles marched back through the woods. His laboured breathing had nothing to do with navigating dead branches and fox dens in the mist. A catalogue of conflicting emotions held him in a vice-like grip as each one fought for supremacy. Anger and lust proved equally matched. So much for maintaining his calm composure. Dariell’s student hadn’t just slipped from the path. He’d tumbled down a bloody ravine.
Damn Edwin.
A string of vitriolic curses burst forth as various images flashed through his mind—the bastard’s arrogant grin, Miss Lovell’s terrified expression. Hell, the sight of Edwin smothering Miss Lovell’s helpless body had unleashed his inner beast. A violent rage consumed him. One eased by smashing his fist in Edwin’s face and the passionate, highly erotic encounter that followed.
While Miles found Miss Lovell’s mind arousing, her mouth sparked an intense lust that surged through his body like a tidal wave. Had Dariell not arrived in time, heaven knows where they’d be.
The lascivious image that entered his head this time sent the blood pooling low and heavy in his loins. Never had he been so frustrated. Oh, he wanted to bed Lydia Lovell as much as he wanted to ruin Edwin Harridan-Jones. Both would bring him immense satisfaction.
As Miles exited the woods and the hazy black outline of the manor loomed into view, the real reason for his return pushed to the fore.