Surrender To The Marquess. Louise AllenЧитать онлайн книгу.
whims. The conventions uphold moral standards and protect the lady concerned from insult.’ Lord, but I sound like some crusty old dowager.
‘You believe that running a shop as I do somehow degrades my morals?’ Sara seemed genuinely to expect him to answer such a shocking question. ‘If I were running a milliner’s and whoring out my assistants, which is all too common, then, yes, I would agree with you. It seems to me that society is too lazy to apply judgements on a case-by-case basis and so must make sweeping statements that mean nothing and only serve to imprison women.’
‘The rules are there to protect women, not imprison them.’
‘They do little to protect women who are without money or influence, those who have to work for their living. They trap ladies.’ The passionate belief throbbed through her voice.
He could have shaken her because she was so mistaken. ‘It is the duty of gentlemen to protect ladies. A matter of honour. You know your father and brother would say the same and your husband would have agreed.’
‘Oh, yes, he agreed with them. In the end.’ A tremor shook her voice and for a moment he thought she blinked back tears, then she was on the attack again. ‘When you come right down to it this is all about men’s honour because we are your possessions.’
‘Ladies need protection.’ Lucian stalked over to the balustrade and stood a safe six feet away. Shaking the provoking creature would not be a good illustration of his case, kissing her even worse. ‘How did you get here this evening, for example? These streets and lanes are dark, anyone could be lurking.’
‘By sedan chair with the same two reliable, burly chairmen I always use. They will come and collect me later. And should desperate footpads leap out and manage to fell both of them, then I can defend myself.’
‘How? With sharp words?’ he demanded and took two strides to stand in front of her, his hands either side, pinning her back against the balustrade. ‘Men are stronger, more vicious, than you could imagine.’
‘Also more vulnerable,’ she murmured. ‘Look down, my lord. It is not only my words that have an edge.’
He did, just as he felt a pressure against the falls of his evening breeches. In the moonlight something glinted, sharp steel, held rock-steady in her hand. Lucian stood quite still. ‘Where did that come from?’
Sara’s smile was wicked as she watched his face. ‘My sleeve. The current fashion for long sleeves on evening gowns makes life so much simpler. I am carrying two blades and three hairpins which are not really hairpins at all. And the cord threaded through my reticule is the perfect length for a garrotte. There are other things in my repertoire, but I shall keep them to myself in case I should need them.’
‘Who the blazes taught you to use a knife?’ And a garrotte? The dangerously intimate pressure eased and when he risked another downward glance the blade had vanished.
‘My mother. At her uncle’s court she and the other ladies were taught to fight. If an enemy had penetrated into the fort then they would have defended themselves and died rather than be captured and dishonoured. Their honour was in their own hands, you see.’ She smiled, the moonlight throwing mysterious shadows across her face. ‘My father and my brother added to my education, even though they are both European enough to want to fight the duels themselves on my behalf.’
‘So I should hope.’
‘Don’t be so stuffy, my lord.’
Stuffy! His father’s infidelities had hurt his mother deeply, not that she ever gave any obvious sign of even knowing about them. As a youth Lucian had watched and listened and, he supposed, he had judged his father. A gentleman behaved in a certain way—or, rather, he must be seen to behave that way. Appearances were all. But to Lucian that seemed like hypocrisy and he vowed he would not behave that way. Not only did one not hurt women, but one protected them, with one’s life if necessary.
But to label him as stuffy because of that was the outside of enough. The music had begun again. Lucian was aware of movement along the terrace, then he sensed they were alone. A rapid glance confirmed it. ‘You think me stuffy?’ he demanded.
She nodded, so close that the movement brought her upswept hair close to his face. Sandalwood, pepper, warm woman...
Lucian bent his head and kissed her. He lifted his hands away from the balustrade so that she could slide sideways if she wished, then closed his eyes and sank into the sensual, dangerous taste of her. Her hands, innocent of any weapon, settled on his shoulders and he let his own close around her waist, feeling the delicious swell of her hips, resisting the urge to lift his hands to her breasts.
She had been a married woman, one who had enjoyed fully the sensual pleasures of the marriage bed—that was very apparent in the frank way she kissed him back, the sinuous glide of her tongue into his mouth, the way her body moulded itself to his. To kiss her, to hold her, was every bit as inflammatory as the fantasies he had been trying to push away since he had first set eyes on her. And now he wanted more. He wanted all of her, naked, in his arms, in his bed.
* * *
Lucian’s kiss was every bit as delicious as she had been dreaming about, his hands on her body as strong. The subtle vibration running through his muscles told her how hard the effort to restrain himself was and that was reassuring. She had not misread this man after all. He wanted her, but he would ask for what he wanted and take no for an answer, she thought.
But the indulgence of a kiss was one thing, allowing him to assume her intentions went any further, as far as her desires, was quite another. It took an effort that surprised her to push Lucian away, her lips clinging for one last moment of contact.
His hands dropped from her waist and he stepped back, his face impossible to read in the poor light. ‘I apologise.’
‘Why?’ She felt genuine surprise. ‘If I had objected, you would have been in no doubt. I wanted you to kiss me.’
‘Why?’ he echoed her, standing very still. Sara realised that the lamplight fell full on her face and he was studying her expression intently.
‘Because you are an attractive man, because I miss being kissed and because I was curious.’
‘And is your curiosity satisfied now?’ Lucian’s voice was very dry.
‘Perfectly, thank you.’
He moved slightly and the light caught the lower part of his face, betraying just the glimmer of a smile, a sensual curve of those lips that had been so skilful, caressing hers. ‘And?’
‘And nothing more. I know why you are here under an assumed name and I know what it is like to kiss you.’
‘You know why? How can you?’ Every ounce of sensuality had vanished from his voice. Sara found she was glad of the support of the cold stone at her back.
‘Because Dot knows what it is to lose a baby.’
The hiss of his indrawn breath was audible even over the sound of the waves sucking at the shingle on the beach below.
‘Neither of us would dream of betraying her secret and I do not think anyone else would realise unless they knew how sad and fragile she is.’ When Lucian said nothing she risked putting her hand on his forearm. ‘Marguerite is lucky to have your support.’
He shrugged. ‘I feel helpless. I do not know how to help her, to reach her. She rejects everything I try.’
‘You have to give her time, she is mourning.’ In the ballroom there was applause as another set drew to a close. ‘We cannot talk out here for much longer or it will be noticed. Tomorrow the shop is closed for the morning, come then. I would like to help Marguerite if I can. A loving brother is a wonderful thing, but I suspect she needs a woman to talk to.’
Lucian