Bought for Revenge(32)

'This was my home, Lucas. I do not need servants to show me the way.'

He could not bear the fond amusement in her voice and threw himself back  in his chair. 'I will have every damned lock checked in the morning.'  There was the whisper of silk skirts as she came closer. He growled,  'You cannot stay here.'

'Will you call your servants to throw me out?'

'The devil I will! If anyone knew you were here alone with me-'

'Quite.'

She knelt down by the hearth and added a couple of logs to the fire. The  embers immediately came to life, sending yellow flames to lick around  the dry wood. It enhanced the golden glow in the room, but then, it had  seemed brighter from the moment she had appeared. She remained kneeling,  hands stretched out to the warmth.

She said, keeping her eyes on the fire, 'Why did you not come to Rishworth Lodge tonight?'

'I needed to think.'

'About the fire at Morwood.'

'Of course. Suddenly I am faced with a new and fearsome possibility. One I had not considered.'

'That your father started the fire.'

'That he … murdered … my mother.' It was the first time he had uttered the  awful thought aloud. The words echoed around in his head, taunting him.  He gripped the arms of the chair. 'It is too horrendous … even now I can  hardly credit it.'

'It is no more than you asked me to believe of my own father.'

The words were softly spoken, but they hammered into him, battering his  already smarting conscience. He jerked forward, resting his elbows on  his knees, hands clasped tightly together.

'I was so certain,' he said slowly. 'I know I saw someone, a man … and not a servant, I am sure of that.'

'But you did not see his face.'

'No.'

'Then it may not have been your father.'

'The trouble is … ' he chewed his lip ' … the trouble is, I can believe my  father might have started the fire. He was prone to fits of rage. He  rarely lost his temper with me, but the servants, my mother-'

He stopped again, rubbing a hand across his face. The memories were too  painful to recall and he had to push them away before he could continue.

'My father wanted more children. He often said he regretted that I was  the only one. He blamed my mother for that. Maybe … ' He exhaled, a long,  slow breath. 'Perhaps, if there had been more children, he would have  mellowed.'

'You cannot know that.'

Lucas stared into the fire. 'He loved her,' he said at last. 'Even if he did start the fire, he died trying to rescue her.'

She reached out and covered his hands with her own. 'Then hold on to that, Lucas. Remember he tried to save her.'

'Do you know what my greatest fear is?' His gaze shifted to the pale,  ringless fingers wrapped over his. 'The hatred, my thirst for vengeance-  it was all-consuming. Even when I was in the army it was there, in the  background, the knowledge that some day I would come back and demand  justice. In the early days I thought only that I would become an expert  with a sword and challenge your father to a duel, but as I grew older I  wanted a more subtle reckoning. When I sold out I was prepared to spend  everything on retribution. I could see nothing else, think of nothing  else. It was only when I came here that I began to realise how much pain  my plans would cause.'

'But you would not abandon them.'

He shook his head. 'No, but I did change them. At first it didn't matter  what you thought of me, but then I decided the revenge would be all the  sweeter if I made you fall in love with me.' His lip curled in  self-disgust. 'Think how that would hurt Samuel. He had already told me  you were his only joy.'

She withdrew her hands and immediately he missed their warm comfort. What else did he expect? What else did he deserve?

'Is that what you meant?' she asked quietly. 'At the Red Lion, when you told me not to think badly of you?'

'By then I knew I-' He sat up, pushing his hair back from his forehead  with an impatient hand. 'I knew I did not want to hurt you. I  thought-foolishly-that somehow I could punish your father, but make it  up to you.'

'With marriage.'                       
       
           



       

'Yes.'

She did not respond. Silence enveloped them, broken only by the spit and  crackle of the fire. A burning ember fell on to the hearthstone and  absently he slid from his chair to sweep it up and add another log to  the fire. He remained on his knees beside her, staring into the red-hot  heart of the blaze.

'I have wronged you,' he said heavily. 'You and Samuel. I have spent all  these years blaming an innocent man. I refused to see what was so plain  to everyone else.'

'Not everyone, Lucas. It was only Samuel and Sir Angus, the old magistrate, who suspected your father.'

'And my cousin. He has pointed out to me enough instances of my father's  ungovernable rages to convince me.' He shook his head. 'And I have been  so blind, determined on my revenge, no matter what the consequences.'  He swallowed, resolved to conceal nothing. 'I have inherited his temper,  but I am even more culpable. My revenge was not the heat of the moment,  it was carried out in a cold, calculated manner. Pure wickedness. I am  the worst sort of villain.'

He closed his eyes, unable to put into words the horror of his thoughts.  In his army career he had been an exemplary officer, tough, determined,  but rigidly fair. He was aghast now at how unjust he had been in his  own affairs.

'Lucas.' He felt her hand on his shoulder. 'Lucas, you are no villain. You believed you were doing what was right.'

'How can you say that?' He shrugged her off. 'How can you defend me?'

'Because if you were truly wicked you would not feel like this.' Her  hand touched him again, this time on his cheek. She said softly, 'You  are a good man, Lucas Blackstone, I truly believe that.'

He opened his eyes. She was kneeling beside him, her face just inches  below his own and there were tears in her eyes. He shook his head.

'No. I am my father's son-'

'You are your own man, Lucas. Whatever your father was, whatever he did, it is not your fault.'

She cupped his face, gently pulled him down to her and kissed him. For a  moment he did not move, but her arms crept around him. She drew him  closer, her lips working against his, parting them and deepening the  kiss. It was balm to his wounded spirit and he responded, holding her  against his heart, allowing himself to forget everything except the  relief, the joy of having her in his arms.

Annabelle leaned into him, her body melted as he drew her closer. Until  then she had thought only of Lucas, wanting to comfort him, to drive the  tortured, haunted look from his eyes, but as his tongue moved over her  own she recognised the tug of desire deep inside, reminiscent of the  feelings that had overwhelmed her in the dark, shadowy alcove at the Red  Lion.

When she feared he was going to stop kissing her she caught his lip  between her teeth and nipped it gently. His reaction startled and  thrilled her. His whole body stiffened and he pulled her even closer. He  began to cover her face with kisses. She let her head fall back,  offering up her throat for the light, warm touch of his mouth. His lips  nibbled at her skin and she moaned softly, her body responding, aching  for more.

Gently he eased her down on to the floor. The cool satin lining of her  cloak was some slight comfort, though she was hardly aware of it. She  cared nothing for the boards beneath her, only for the man stretching  himself out at her side. He pulled on the strings of her cloak and it  fell away, leaving her neck and breasts free for him to ravish with  kisses and caresses that set the blood pounding through her body. She  had lost weight over the past few months and instead of fitting snugly  over her breast, the bodice of her gown was loose enough to allow his  hand to slide over one soft swell, his thumb circling the tender nub  until it hardened. She gasped, her body arching towards him. She was  eager for him to run his hands over every inch of her skin although some  small, disconnected area of her brain knew this was impossible-they  were both fully dressed.

Even as she thought it, his hand was gathering up her skirts. His  fingers trailed over the bare flesh of her thigh, moving upwards,  pushing aside the filmy folds of muslin. Belle knew a moment's panic as  he reached the delicate spot at the top of her thighs. The knot of  desire in her belly tightened, pulling on muscles from all around her  lower body. Her legs parted at the oh-so-gentle pressure of his hand and  it was all she could do not to cry out with longing as his fingers  gently caressed her.

She had no idea when he had unfastened his breeches, but as he moved  over her she felt his flesh upon hers and instinctively her hips arched  upwards, inviting him in. His fingers had prepared the way, she was hot  and slick with desire. Her body flinched a little as he pushed into her,  but it was a pleasurable pain and she found herself moving against him,  matching his rhythm whilst returning the hot, passionate kisses that he  pressed upon her mouth. She had never known anything like this, to be  so close to another person, so at one.