A Gentleman's Curse (Avenging Lords 4)

Hot hands slipped from her back to cup and caress her buttocks. Each tangle of their tongues fed her craving. With every masterful thrust into her mouth, he rocked against her in an erotic dance that made her head spin. Heat pooled low and heavy in her loins until she could think of nothing other than touching his bare skin, of bringing relief to the desperate ache between her thighs.

The lustful urges gripping him showed no signs of abating. Had they been somewhere private, she would have surrendered to these waves of wanton pleasure.

Nothing had ever felt so divine.

The sweet music of passion that carried her in its undulating rhythm was suddenly drowned out by the lively notes of a Scottish reel spilling out into the night. The hum of conversation and laughter became more discernible. A discreet cough drew her out of the sensual world where she indulged her fantasies with a man she could no longer consider a stranger.

“Hudson?” In that one word, the masculine voice conveyed shock and confusion.

Mr Lockhart seemed oblivious to the interruption—or was that part of his plan? Indeed, he did not tear his lips away but continued to trail fiery kisses across her cheek to the sensitive spot below her ear.

“Remember you love me,” he whispered.

This man was so skilled in the art of giving pleasure how could she forget?

The gentleman hovering at their side coughed again. “Hudson?”

Lockhart raised his head and stared at the two people who had invaded their moment of intimacy and brought Claudia crashing back to reality with a bump.

“Hudson?” the man with hair as black as Mr Lockhart’s—but whose countenance lacked his brother’s magnetic appeal—repeated for the third time. It was hard to take him seriously with the pointed nose of the Scaramouch mask perched on top of his head. “Good God! It is you. You’re alive?”

“It appears so,” Lockhart replied with an air of indifference. His hands slipped to his sides as he straightened. “Tropical fevers can make a man seem as though he’s knocking on death’s door. I’m afraid Lord Greystone was somewhat premature in his correspondence.”

Claudia studied Terence Lockhart’s face. Confusion did not turn to elation as he absorbed the news. “What the hell possessed you to come home?” The cold look of fear filled his eyes.

“One can only stand the heat for so long, and my wife longed to return to England.”

“Your wife?” The lady with equally dark hair, shivering in the flimsy fabric of her Minerva costume, gasped. “You did not think to write and tell us you survived? You did not think to tell us you’re married?”

Selina Lockhart’s distress seemed justified under the circumstances. The watery evidence of pain and disappointment swam in her eyes.

Lockhart’s hand came to rest on Claudia’s back. His other hand settled on her stomach. It took every ounce of restraint she possessed not to gasp at the intimate gesture.

“I feared you might try to prevent our return,” Lockhart said, “and we wish for our child to be born in England.”

The lady’s face turned ashen as she gaped at the large masculine hand cradling their imagined babe. Imagined or not, Hudson’s caring caress played havoc with Claudia’s mind.

What woman wouldn’t want such a strong and powerful man as her protector?

What woman wouldn’t want to have a piece of Hudson Lockhart to love and cherish?

Terence Lockhart wrapped his arm around his wife and rubbed her shoulder affectionately.

Selina shrugged out of his embrace. “You’re with child?” Rapid breaths and wet sniffs spoke of an inner torment.

“Indeed,” Claudia replied, feigning happiness at the prospect. “With the Lord’s blessing, our child will be born in May.”

Selina covered her eyes with her hands.

“You must forgive our odd reaction,” Terence said, embarrassment staining his cheeks. “We have spent five years hoping for the same, but to no avail.”

Selina was barren?

Did Mr Lockhart know? Was his sister-in-law’s inability to conceive part of the reason he wanted a wife and heir, to prove he was a better man than the brother who’d abandoned him five years ago?

“I can only imagine how distressing that might be,” Lockhart said, his voice laced with sympathy. In reality, he probably found the news satisfying.

Indeed, Mr Lockhart had every right to be both angry and suspicious. Had Claudia spent five years separated from Emily, she would hug her sister so tightly she’d struggle to catch her breath. These aloof exchanges failed to convey an ounce of love or compassion for Hudson Lockhart’s plight.