London's Wicked Affair Read online

  Lunden pressed his heels into Hades’s flanks and the horse charged forward at a breakneck speed. For a timeless span he returned to that long-ago night when he rode like hell through the dark, flooded with fear as he raced against hope to reach his brother’s horse.

  He pressed Hades with a cruel kick and gained on the white mare, thundering up in her wake. Almost. Another yard. He had to push harder, make ground. With a wild thrash of his arm, he captured the mare’s straps in one hand and yanked tight. His muscles burned as he sawed at the reins. The mare let out an earsplitting whinny as Lunden leaned from his saddle at a careless angle and brought both horses to a stop.

  His roar, meant to bellow over the slowing pound of hooves, startled Amelia, her look of elation transformed into one of instant dismay. “What were you thinking? This horse barely knows you. Are you daft?” His anger spiked, his jaw rigid, and he speared her with a glare as comprehension registered. Hades snorted and pawed the ground to underscore the explosive questions.

  At last she matched his eyes. The tears that brimmed her lids meant nothing. Good God, how easily she could have been thrown.

  Like Douglas. Dead like his brother, through an act of recklessness and impulsive stupidity . . . an act he’d instigated. Again.

  A terrible ache replaced the hard beat of his heart and sliced his anger in half. “I’m insane to have allowed this.” He muttered an expletive and forced himself to calm, although every word cut through the air like a fierce strike of lightning. He released the leather straps from his fists and begged his fingers to cease their tremulous rebellion. His eyes went to the tree line, only a stone’s throw away, and he struggled to mollify his temper.

  “I didn’t intend to upset you. You worry too much on my behalf.” She blinked twice, although her green eyes glittered with tears.

  “I’m not upset. I’m angry.” He snarled the words. Amelia’s apology did little to balm his fury. God help the girl were she to challenge him on this, although the usual note of defiance rang through. “You do as you please.”

  “It’s just . . .” She paused before she continued. “It was wonderful. Thank you. I’ve never experienced such a moment of pure exhilaration in my life. Trotting along in a sidesaddle is nothing compared to this.”

  Lunden breathed deep and assessed her proud poise atop the mare, as regal as a queen holding court. Her crown of glossy black curls was tousled in disorder from their chase, her cheeks as rosy, her luscious mouth ripened by the wind. Pride shone in the depths of her brilliant gaze, as well it should be. She’d managed the mare with controlled ease.

  Yet he hadn’t overreacted. Only an expert horseman could maneuver the underbrush of a dense forest.

  He swallowed, unsure of how to explain his irate reaction. “Matthew would take great pleasure in beating me to a pulp were he to know what just transpired. At least we can depend on the discretion of the driver and your chaperone.” He looked over his shoulder, unable to see the gravel walkway at their starting point.

  “No one will share a word.”

  She smiled, as if he’d given her the greatest gift, and something shifted inside him. A quiet calm blanketed his restless soul.

  He clicked his tongue and nudged Hades to turn so they could make their way back. Amelia mimicked his actions. She looked majestic indeed astride the white mare, a right and royal duchess. Perhaps he ought to consider only worthy dukes for her husband list. With due consideration, no one came to mind.

  * * *

  Amelia didn’t know what to say after her apology. Lunden appeared furious and for once a smart retort escaped her. She stole a glance in his direction as their horses wended across the field. His head was bowed and his hair, thick and dark as the secrets he kept, caught the breeze. An errant lock lifted to reflect a glint of sunlight. She studied his profile, all sharp angles and smooth planes, as polished and cold as a marble statue and devoid of any revealing emotion aside from anger. Perhaps if he’d glance in her direction, she’d detect understanding in his eyes, but since his outburst and chastisement, he’d failed to look in her direction. When he’d spoken, his words were enraged, yet there was something else evident. Sadness? Remorse? She couldn’t label the troublesome emotion.

  He turned unexpectedly and her breath caught. His eyes darkened as he studied her but neither spoke a word. Did he have any happiness in his life? Did he ever smile? She realized he was a man of deep emotion, but did he allow himself joy? She couldn’t fathom a life lived without contentment. Her mind flitted to Charlotte’s marriage and how much it troubled her. She refused to sacrifice her own future with little regard to her personal happiness, yet her future was dependent on the decision of a man, either her brother or Lunden, both men long disillusioned that happiness was a possibility.

  When finally Lunden spoke, the smoky quality of his voice rippled through her with the same exhilaration she’d experienced while she raced breathlessly across the field.

  “I will consider the first requirement of your list well met.”

  Amelia breathed a sigh of relief. The quiet tone of his voice held no gruffness.

  “No matter how harmful the undertaking.”

  Detecting a note of humor, she offered a genuine smile. “Thank you.” Emotion crept into her voice although she tried to conceal it. “You’ve given me something no one else would allow.”

  He stared at her a moment longer, then averted his eyes to the path ahead. They were nearly returned to their starting point.

  “I will begin to assemble a list of suitors.” His voice rang out across the field, as if a proclamation of sorts.

  Amelia whipped her head up and the mare whinnied, sidestepping with her sudden motion. “Not until all three items on my list are satisfied. That was our agreement.”

  “Of course. I would not wish to upset the lady. Matthew warned me doing so could prove dangerous.” His teasing tone pleased her and Amelia defended herself with a cheeky smile.

  “I never intended to knock Lord Riley unconscious.” She turned away before he eyed the grin expanding across her face. “A smarter man would have backed away from the door. Besides, I’m sure my brother distorted the retelling.”

  She returned her eyes to his and a shadow of amusement passed over his face although he did not reply. When the horses approached their waiting carriages, they parted with polite salutations.

  Regardless of their congenial conversation, in the silence of the ride home Amelia could not forget Lunden’s anger and the wild, terrified gleam in his eyes as he’d leaned over and pulled her horse to heel. It scared her, intrigued her, and most of all, caused her heart to ache with unanswered questions and the unprovoked desire to learn the dark secrets that tortured his soul.

  Chapter Six

  The house stood silent when Amelia entered through the rear door and tiptoed up the back stairs to her bedchambers. Relieved she hadn’t encountered a single servant, she washed and changed into a day gown, then hurried to the front hall to question Spencer concerning the household’s whereabouts. Discovering Matthew remained out of house and suspecting Lunden had not yet returned, she strode to the drawing room intent on finding Pandora. The morning’s emotional confusion pestered like butterflies caught in a net and she wished only to nestle cozily in her favorite corner.

  But Pandora was not curled atop the coal scuttle near the fireplace fender, her much loved location. Nor was the cat in the dining room, sitting room, or lazed across the wide sill of the hallway grand window. Perplexed, Amelia scurried up to Matthew’s study, her consternation ablaze, several of his careless threats to rid the house of her pet piquing her concern.

  The room stood as it always did, its dark woodwork and aristocratic presence, staid and authoritative, a mirror of the man her brother wished to portray. On a whim, she opened the storage closet on the far wall, its contents bare aside from a stack of boxes near the rear and an old broom. Pandora was not there. She meandered to the unfinished puzzle near the window, viewed it with absent
concentration and chose a few random pieces to drop into her skirt pocket for no other reason than to cause her brother annoyance. Pivoting on her heel, she left to continue her search.

  At a loss to where Pandora wandered, Amelia dismissed the more logical consideration of the kitchen and ventured down the short hallway. There were only three rooms, one of them now in use by their houseguest. It was unlikely her cat would choose either of the two empty rooms, as they stood cold and vacant, but Lunden’s bedchamber presented a feasible possibility. Perhaps Pandora slinked in when a maid changed the linens or delivered fresh water.

  She stopped in front of the door and with a flit of her eyes asserted the hallway remained empty. Should she knock? There was no logical way Lunden could have returned without her knowledge. At Hyde Park she’d watched through her carriage window until she could no longer see him, and the whole time he’d made no effort to hitch Hades to the curricle. And too, she’d inquired with Spencer concerning his whereabouts.

  With a shadow of hesitation, she turned the brass knob and eased inside. Each nerve in her body screamed in objection, for surely to venture into a guest room, never mind one of a gentleman bachelor, chafed against every rule she’d learned as a lady. She huffed an impatient breath. Pandora would forever lure her into hot water.

  Amelia whispered her tongue against her lips in a familiar sound that never failed to summon the cat, but the feline didn’t appear. Curiosity rose to the forefront and any earlier trepidation melted away to soothe her nerves as she advanced across the hardwood floor.

  The bedchamber appeared meticulous. She knew Lunden had no plans to visit overlong, but his rooms looked unoccupied, all in its rightful place, with very few personal items visible. A pair of ankle jacks stood near the foot of the bed, the black leather boots positioned in wait of their master. A leather traveling valise rested in the corner, closed up tight.

  She took another step and inhaled, filling her lungs with the exhilaration of the daring venture. Notes of cedarwood and bergamot teased her nose and the intimate masculine scent intrigued her. Somehow her feet carried her to the wardrobe where a shaving kit and brush lie atop a white linen towel. The smallest sliver of soap rested beside the cup. She picked it up and rubbed it across the back of her hand. A rush of warm pleasure slithered through her at the woodsy scent and she replaced the soap where it once rested, her fingertip lingering for an extra caress.

  Pandora long forgotten, she turned and eyed the massive guest bed. The draped linen canopy shadowed the mattress under mahogany posts. Lunden slept there. The man of mystery who took her to ride and then fiercely rescued her when he feared she was in danger, whose very presence seemed to swallow a room with overwhelming handsomeness and dark forbidden secrecy. Yet his deepest emotions lay locked up as tight as his valise. Truly, his rooms held no revelations, their contents as confidential as the man.

  The bed loomed before her, the sheets hardly crumpled, where only a slight indentation confessed his head ever rested on the pillow. Had the maids already replaced the daily linens? Amelia fought against the panic of discovery fluttering in her chest. Instead she edged closer, her curiosity leading her on a short leash.

  Someday, not so far away, she would lie with a man on her wedding night. The activities of such remained a mystery. Oh, she understood the mechanics of the intimacies shared between a husband and wife, and the function of each gender’s anatomy. She’d learned that when she smuggled the appropriate volume from Matthew’s study years ago.

  And while she would be labeled an innocent, she’d been kissed and embraced on rare occasions. But of the carnal delights and forbidden sensations women whispered about when they assumed no one could overhear, she possessed no experience. While gossip assured pleasure could be taken from the act, lovemaking remained a foreign concept.

  With a small degree of disappointment, Charlotte had not confessed a single iota concerning her affections with Lord Dearing. Amelia believed in utmost privacy, but if her dear friend had shared a well-placed comment as to whether the experience proved enjoyable, Amelia could put her own mind at ease. The alternative, that she remained defenseless as she went to her wedding bed, exposed not only of her clothing, but of her most hidden insecurities, renewed her vow to rebel.

  She completed her journey across the room driven by more than carnal fascination and insatiable curiosity. On the one hand, she yearned to know every aspect of sexual relations and on the other, feared the vulnerability and loss of control when one succumbed to passion. Therein lay the paradox. And passion, though she’d never tasted that forbidden fruit, was alive in her as much as the blood in her veins. She would not be forced to wed a man who did not touch her heart as much as he yearned to touch her body.

  Amelia studied the empty sheets of Lunden’s bed and swallowed the heavy considerations. She pushed back an errant curl that fell forward on her cheek and the heady fragrance of cedarwood across the back of her hand fortified her bold entreaty. Her fingers trembled as she smoothed her palm over the bed linens, and before she could change her mind, she reclined on the mattress, her head on the pillow, careful to keep her boots from the counterpane.

  Good heavens, she’d lost her mind. What would Lunden say were he to walk through the door and find her sprawled in his bed? Would he be as enraged as earlier in the day, or would he laugh, her presence in his bed the unfathomable scene that cracked his solemn resolve?

  Or would she become another of his secrets?

  The outrageous and sensual question tempted her with a forbidden intimacy that tightened her lower belly. The unnamed pleasure undulated through her, settling with warmth between her legs and she gasped, all at once enthralled. She squeezed her legs together as if to capture and hold the intriguing sensation even though it confused her just the same, then turned her cheek to brush against his pillow. For a fleeting moment, her eyes fell closed.

  The mattress felt the same as hers, but knowing Lunden had lain there the night before, made the act decidedly wicked. She smiled, delighted with the revelation, and nestled her head more firmly atop the soft down.

  A sound in the drive outside the window pulled Amelia to attention and she scrambled from the bed. She checked twice that everything appeared as pristine as when she’d entered. On unsteady legs she tiptoed to the doorway, opened it a crack, and slipped through. The hallway stood empty and she left, grateful she hadn’t been caught experiencing the unthinkable.

  * * *

  Lunden led Hades across Downing Street and on through Belgrave Square. The rumble of distant thunder announced his arrival and the clouds opened with a sorrowful drizzle that suited his mood. After Amelia’s riding lesson, he’d sent the curricle back to the stables and headed to a nondescript tavern at the outskirts of the city. The Bleeding Wolf proved a seedy, undesirable establishment where the patrons, sober or otherwise, were unlikely to recognize him. Once settled in a dim corner, he’d purchased a bottle of liquor, and considered his options for the evening.

  Now as he approached his old town house under the cover of night, he wondered if he’d made a wise decision, this glance into the past.

  Little in the area looked the same. In many ways, London had changed as much as he. Still, the feelings that flooded him remained consistent: regret, hopelessness, and guilt. Those emotions did not waver.

  He never wanted the title, which made it all the more frustrating when people presumed he possessed so strong a desire for the duchy, he’d machinated his brother’s death. The word murder was never uttered in his presence, but he was aware of the gossip and the whispers that detailed a malicious deed embellished by each conspirer’s gullible imagination. Nothing gathered strength faster than a lascivious secret in a room of curious fools.

  The day his brother died was the worst day of his life. How dare London suggest he welcomed the pain, when in truth his desolation was the result of a yawning lapse of good judgment. He slipped his hand into his pocket and brushed his fingertips across the pouch holding hi
s brother’s pocket watch. Had he the power to turn back time . . .

  A lamplighter cast a curious glance in his direction as he led Hades down Oxford Street. Lunden bent him an abrupt nod. He suspected his childhood residence would appear familiar, yet tension stole over him as he neared the address. It seemed the right decision to come here on a day already saturated with regret, but he wasn’t prepared for the rush of emotion that slammed his chest as he viewed the three-story town house from afar. No light lit the windows, the street as silent and caliginous as his memories, and his heart pounded as if to remind he did not dream. No, that night was carved into his memory like the inscription on his brother’s tombstone, deep and everlasting. With a final glance to absorb every detail, he kicked Hades into a sharp gallop and retreated down a nearby alley.

  He returned to his rooms at Cleveland Row nearly an hour later having taken time to tend to his horse and unravel his thoughts before entering the house with silent steps. Fatigued, he shed his clothes to his smalls as if dispensing of the emotional layers of the day. Stretched across the mattress, his head on the pillow, he scrubbed his palms over his face and closed his eyes, his body emotionally wrung.

  Amelia’s image, her long legs encased in tight buckskin trousers, burned into his brain to taunt his body. He released a loud groan. It would be the devil’s pleasure if he ever found sleep again. What the hell was wrong with him? It was the vilest form of disloyalty to lust after his best friend’s sister, to envisage her straddling him, her tangle of dark curls strewn across her bare shoulders, her head thrust back as she rode him to fulfillment.