Stephanie Laurens Rogues' Reform Bundle (87 page)

Still mourning her headgear, Lucinda gestured at it. “It's beyond resurrection.” She looked up at him—in time to see his eyes flare.

Harry slapped her wet bottom—hard enough to leave his palm stinging.

Lucinda jumped and yelped. “Ow!” She stared at him in stunned surprise.

“The next time I tell you to stay where I leave you and
not
to move you will do precisely
that
—do I make myself clear?” Harry glared down at her, into eyes that, even now, held a hint of mutinous determination. Then his gaze fell to her breasts. He blinked. “Good lord! Your dress!” Immediately, he shrugged off his coat.

Lucinda sniffed. “Precisely what I said.” With injured dignity, she accepted the coat he placed about her shoulders—she even allowed him to do up the buttons, closing it loosely about her.

“Come—I'm taking you home immediately.” Harry took her elbow and helped her onto the bank. “You're soaked—the last thing I need is for you to take a chill.”

Lucinda tried to look back at the bridge. “That was Mortimer back there, you know.”

“Yes, I know.” Harry drew her into the woods.

“You do?” Lucinda blinked. “He had some strange idea that Charles had done him out of his rightful inheritance, you know, that—”

Harry let her fill his ears with an account of Mortimer's justification of his deeds as he steered her through the woods. It was infinitely reassuring to hear her voice. His fear that she might suffer from delayed shock receded, lulled by her calm and logical recital, her unflustered observations. She was, he had to grudgingly, somewhat astonishingly concede, totally unaffected by her ordeal.
He
was a nervous wreck. He led her directly to the carriages.

Lucinda blinked when they appeared before them. “But what about the others?”

Harry hauled open the door of her carriage as Joshua and Dawlish hurried up. “We can leave a message for Em and Heather—Mabberly can explain.”

“Mr Mabberly?” Lucinda was astonished. “Is he here?”

Harry cursed his loose tongue. “Yes. Now get in.” He didn't wait for her to do so—he picked her up and put her in. Joshua was already climbing to the box; Harry turned to Dawlish. “Go back and explain everything to Em and Miss Babbacombe—assure them Mrs Babbacombe's taken no hurt other than a soaking.”

From inside the carriage came a definite sniff. Harry's palm tingled. He put a foot on the carriage step. “I'm taking her back to Hallows House—we'll wait for them there.”

Dawlish nodded. “All the rest's taken care of.”

Harry nodded. He turned back to the carriage, remembering to grab his greatcoat, left on the rack atop, before he ducked through the door. Dawlish shut it behind him and slapped the coach's side. It lurched into motion; heaving a heavy sigh, Harry subsided onto the seat and shut his eyes.

He remained thus for a full minute; Lucinda watched him somewhat warily. Then he opened his eyes, tossed his greatcoat onto the opposite seat, and reached out and systematically let down all the blinds. The sun still penetrated the thin leather, suffusing the interior with a golden glow.

“Ah…” Before Lucinda could decide what to say, Harry sat back, reached for her and hauled her onto his lap.

Lucinda opened her lips on a token protest—he captured them in a long, searing kiss, his lips hard on hers, demanding, commanding, ravishing her senses until her thoughts melted away and took her wits with them. She kissed him back with equal fervour, perfectly willing to take all he offered.

When he finally consented to raise his head, she lay against his chest, dazedly blinking up at him, with not two thoughts to her name.

The sight filled Harry with a certain satisfaction. With an approving grunt, he closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the squabs. “If you ever do anything like that again, you'd better be prepared to eat standing up for the following week. At least.”

Lucinda threw him a darkling glance and reached a hand to her abused posterior. “It still hurts.”

Harry's lips lifted. He raised his lids enough to look down at her. “Perhaps I should kiss it better?”

Her eyes flew wide—then she looked intrigued.

Harry caught his breath. “Perhaps we'd better leave that until later.”

Lucinda raised a brow. She held his gaze, then shrugged and snuggled closer. “I didn't plan to be set upon, you know. And who were all those people?”

“Never mind.” Harry juggled her around so she was sitting on his knees facing him. “There's something I want to say—and I'm only going to say it once.” His eyes met hers. “Are you listening?”

Lucinda drew in a breath—and couldn't let it out. Her heart in her mouth, she nodded.

“I love you.”

Lucinda's face lit up. She leaned towards him, her lips parting—Harry held up a restraining hand.

“No—wait. I haven't finished.” He held her with his eyes. Then his lips twisted. “Such words from a man such as I can hardly be convincing. You know I've said them before—in reams. And they weren't true—not then.” His hand found hers where it rested on his chest; he raised her fingers to his lips. “Before you came along, I didn't know what the words meant—now I do. But I couldn't expect you to find the words convincing, when I wouldn't myself. So I've given you all the proof that I can—I've taken you to visit with my father, shown you my ancestral home.” Lucinda blinked—Harry continued with his list. “You've seen the stud and I've shown you the house that I hope we'll make our home.” He paused, eyes glinting, lips lifting at the ends as he met Lucinda's gaze. “And I
was
joking about the six children—four will do nicely.”

Breathless, dazed, giddy with happiness, Lucinda opened her eyes wide. “Only four?” She let her lids fall. “You disappoint me, sir.”

Harry shifted. “Perhaps we can settle on four to begin with? I wouldn't, after all, wish to disappoint you.”

Lucinda's rare dimple appeared in her cheek.

Harry frowned. “Now where was I? Ah, yes—the proofs of my devotion. I accompanied you back to London and drove you in the Park, I danced attendance on you in every conceivable way—I even braved the dangers of Almack's.” His eyes held hers. “All for you.”

“Is
that
why you did it—to convince me you loved me?” Lucinda felt as if her heart would burst. She had only to look into his eyes to know the truth.

Harry's lips twisted in a self-deprecatory grin. “Why else?” He gestured expansively. “What else could move me to prostrate myself at your feet?” He glanced at them—and frowned. “Which, incidentally, are very wet.” He reached down and eased off her sodden boots. That done, he pushed up her wet skirts and started on her garters.

Lucinda smiled. “And you danced three waltzes with me—remember?”

“How could I forget?” Harry returned, busy rolling down her stockings. “A more public declaration I cannot imagine.”

Lucinda giggled and wriggled her chilled toes.

Harry straightened and met her eyes. “So, Mrs Lucinda Babbacombe—after all my sterling efforts—do you believe me when I say I love you?”

Lucinda's smile lit her eyes. She reached up both hands to frame his face. “Silly man—you had only to say.” Gently, she touched her lips to his.

When she drew back, Harry snorted disbelievingly. “And you'd have believed me? Even after my
faux pas
that afternoon you seduced me?”

Lucinda's smile was soft. “Oh, yes.” Her dimple came back. “Even then.”

Harry decided to leave it at that. “So you agree to marry me without further fuss?”

Lucinda nodded once, decisively.

“Thank heaven for that.” Harry closed his arms about her. “We're getting married in two days at Lester Hall—it's all arranged. I've got the licence in my pocket.” He glanced down and saw the damp patches on his coat, close about her. He frowned and lifted her back so she was once more sitting upright on his knee. “I hope you haven't got it wet enough for the ink to run.” He undid the coat buttons and lifted the garment from her.

Lucinda laughed, so delirious with happiness she couldn't contain it. She reached out and drew his head to hers and kissed him longingly. The kiss deepened, then Harry disengaged.

“You're very wet. We should get you out of these things.”

Siren-like, Lucinda raised her brows, then obediently turned so he could undo her laces. He eased her from her gown, dropping it to the floor where it landed with a soft splat.

Her chemise, drenched and all but transparent, clung like a second skin. A soft blush rose beneath it; Lucinda let her lids veil her eyes, watching Harry's hands from beneath her lashes as, gently yet deliberately, he peeled the delicate material from her.

Harry sensed the heat rising within her, heard the sudden shallow intake of her breath as he drew the last shred of concealment from her. She shivered—but he didn't think it was due to being cold. Drawing in a deep breath, she raised her eyes to his.

Lucinda looked into eyes brilliantly green, screened by heavy lids; nothing could hide the desire that burned in their peridot depths.

She sat naked on his lap. His hands moved gently over her, over her back, over her arms, languidly stroking, caressing. He leaned forward and pressed kisses to the bruises Scrugthorpe had left on her shoulders. Lucinda shuddered. Unbidden, entirely unexpected, a long-forgotten conversation drifted through her mind. Eyes agleam, she chuckled softly.

Harry stared at her hungrily, the siren who had lured him to his doom. Clinging to sanity, he raised a brow in the nearest he could get to languid enquiry.

Lucinda laughed. She caught his eyes with hers, then, leaning closer, let her lids screen her eyes. “Em once said,” she murmured, “that I should aim to get you on your knees.” Fleetingly, she lifted her eyes to his, her lips gently curved. “I don't think she meant it in quite this way.”

The body beneath her was hard, rigid, powerful but harnessed.

“Ah, yes. An eminently wise old lady, my aunt.” Gently, Harry lifted Lucinda, settling her so she was straddling his knees, her knees on the seat on either side of his hips. “But she tends to forget that—sometimes—it's very hard for a rake to—er—change his spots.”

Lucinda wasn't at all sure about her change in position. “Ah, Harry?”

“Hmm?” Harry wasn't interested in further conversation.

Lucinda realised as much when he urged her towards him and his lips closed gently about one tightly furled nipple. Her breath caught. “Harry—we're in a carriage.”

Her protest was breathless. His lips left her; he put out his tongue and rasped her sensitised flesh. Lucinda shuddered and closed her eyes; his hands on her hips held her steady—every time she caught her breath, he stole it away. “You can't be serious,” she eventually managed to gasp. She paused—then sucked in a quick breath. “Not here? In a moving carriage?”

His answering chuckle sounded devilish. “Perfectly possible, I assure you.” His hands shifted. “The rocking's part of the fun—you'll see.”

Lucinda struggled to draw her mind from the sensual web he had so skilfully woven. “Yes, but—” Abruptly, her eyes flew open. “
Dear heaven!
” After a stunned moment, her lids fell. She whispered, a soft catch in her voice, “Harry?”

A long moment of breathy silence ensued, then Lucinda sighed—deeply. “Oh,
Harry!
”

 

A
N HOUR LATER
, as the carriage slowly rolled into the leafy streets of Mayfair, Harry looked down at the woman in his lap. She was curled snugly in his greatcoat, dry and warm—he was prepared to swear no chill could have survived the fire that had recently claimed them. Her clothes lay in a sodden heap on the floor; his coat and breeches would keep Dawlish occupied for hours. Harry didn't care—he had all he most wanted of life.

He glanced down—and dropped a kiss on her curls.

He'd been a most unwilling conquest but he was ready to admit he was well and truly conquered.

Tipping his head, he looked into his siren's face, blissful in repose.

She stirred, then snuggled closer against him, one hand on his chest, over his heart.

Harry smiled, closed his eyes—and closed his arms about her.