Page 35 of Her Beautiful Bastard
She shivered when he teased her nipple, the little bud now an aching point. “Everywhere.”
“God, yes,” he growled. “It’s what I dreamed of, too. So many nights. I want that … I want it all … I wantyou.”
She stood a few seconds away from surrendering, from telling him he could do whatever he wanted with her, fulfill every one of his debased fantasies. But guilt drove her to put her hands to his chest and push, to turn her head just as he’d been about to claim her lips again. Every part of her ached, the slick channel between her thighs most of all, her clit swollen and throbbing, her breasts painfully tight. However, thinking of the young boy taking his nap down the corridor, of his innocence and love for his parents, made her feel like the most wretched sort of person.
“We cannot,” she replied. “What would Henry think if he knew that his father and his governess were … had …”
“He is a child,” Sinclair argued, though she heard the doubt in his voice. “There are things involved in this that he could never understand.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “He is a child. All he knows is that you and Lady Clayton are his entire world … thatyouare the man he wants to be when he has grown up. I cannot have a hand in destroying that, in destroying a family.”
Despite not being able to see his face, she heard the torment in his voice when he responded. “We aren’t a family, Dru and I. We never have been. Even Henry’s birth could not change that.”
“Perhaps not. But you are the family he knows. I am sorry, but … my conscience will not allow me to act on my feelings.”
“But there are feelings,” he urged. “I haven’t been imagining this … thisthingbetween us?”
She shook her head, unable to lie to him after what had just occurred. “No, you have not imagined it. I feel it, too.”
Releasing another pained sigh, he shifted closer, his forehead resting against hers, his hand cupping her jaw. “You are right. I am sorry for putting you in this position. Do you believe me when I tell you that I am not what Drucilla has painted me out to be? I do not go about looking for women to coax into my bed.”
“I want to believe you,” she replied honestly. “But … there is so much history here, between you and your wife. These matters are none of my concern.”
“What you think of me ismyconcern. I am not a perfect man, Lydia. I might not even be a good man. But I have always endeavored to be honest with the people in my life, and you … I have only ever been honest with you.”
The conviction with which he spoke, in such stark contrast to his wife’s icy tone and underlying threats, made her want to side with him. She’d seen for herself his loneliness, his sadness. Yet, even if she did believe him, what then? What could she have with him aside from a few secret moments, hasty tumbles, and a broken heart when this had all ended?
“I think that you are a better man than you realize,” she offered, the only consolation she could give. “But we must resist this. We cannot do something we might come to regret.”
He released her, his hands falling to his sides and his body moving away from her as far as the closet would allow. “You are right, of course. I cannot promise that my feelings will ever go away, but I can endeavor to behave like a gentleman in your presence. This will not happen again.”
Raising her chin, she feigned a confidence she did not quite feel. “Then I shall endeavor to do the same. We … we can get through this.”
Even as she said it, the words rang false. She felt as if she might die just from being in his arms again. Now, she must shove this encounter into the back of her mind, where she might pull it out to examine along with their first kiss whenever she was alone in her bed. However, remembering was all she could ever do. To act on her feelings for him would be a sin she might never be able to come back from.
“Yes, we can,” he agreed, sounding as unsure as she did. “I will go out first. Wait a few moments before you leave this closet in case someone else happens down the corridor.”
“Of course,” she agreed.
Without another word, he was gone, quickly disappearing through the door, leaving her alone in the dark. Wrapping her arms around herself, Lydia fought not to weep as she realized how cold she felt without his closeness.
CHAPTER NINE
“I think I should like to throw a house party,” Drucilla declared one morning over breakfast.
Sinclair paused in the middle of slathering his toast with butter and glanced up at his wife. Now recovered from croup, she graced the dining room with her presence each morning for breakfast and each evening for dinner. In the days following her emergence from her bedchamber, he’d come to revile her presence more than ever—if for no other reason than she seemed to snuff out every bit of the friendly camaraderie he, Lydia, and Charles shared when it was only the three of them. Now, they ate in silence, the only sound in the room that of utensils clinking against china.
Odd that she should choose to break the silence this way.
“A house party?” he repeated. “With the harvest beginning this week?”
She rolled her eyes, spoon poised to crack the shell of a boiled egg. “The harvest itself will take no longer than a fortnight, which is how long it will take me to plan the affair. Just a short party … three or four days, I think. It will be fun. We have not had guests to Buckton in quite some time. As well, it is hunting season, and I know many of our neighbors envy you the game to be found here.”
Sinclair resumed buttering his toast, keeping his gaze on his plate and away from the woman seated on his other side. Lydia remained silent throughout the exchange, though he was aware of her every movement. He seemed cognizant of her always, her scent drifting up his nostrils, her warmth radiating at him like some tangible force. Yet, whenever in Drucilla’s presence, he fought the urge to drink her in with his eyes or speak to her more than was necessary.
He still had no idea what exactly had been said between them over tea. However, he knew his wife well enough to know that if Drucilla had intentionally attempted to hurt Lydia with words, it was because she knew something. Perhaps nothing about the night they’d met. No, it would be enough for Drucilla to suspect that he had atendrefor their governess—that he cared about her at all. It was all his wife would need in order to bare her fangs and lash out like the snake she was.
Perhaps the right thing to do would be to let Lydia go with a sterling reference. Maybe he could even help her secure a position with another family in Hertfordshire. He certainly had enough connections. However, just the thought of sending her away, of not being able to see her each day or lay his head upon his pillow each night knowing she occupied the same home as him … no, he could not do it. Even without being able to have her in all the ways he wanted, he needed her close. He wanted whatever parts of her he could possess—even if they were only the sight of her, her scent when she walked past, her voice floating down the corridor.
