Carrying The Gentleman's Secret. Helen Dickson
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lips.
Quite inexplicably Lydia’s heart gave a leap of desire and, when her gaze settled on his mouth, she was lulled into a curious sense of well-being by his closeness as a rush of warmth completely pervaded her and her lovely eyes became blurred. ‘Just a kiss, then,’ she whispered.
‘Just a kiss, Miss Brook,’ he murmured in a husky whisper.
Very slowly, he lifted his hands and placed them on either side of her face. His eyes darkened as he leaned forward, and at his touch Lydia trembled slightly—with fear or with excitement, she didn’t know which—but she did not draw away as he lowered his head the final few inches, and placed his mouth on her soft, quivering lips, cherishing them with his own, slowly and so very tenderly. His gentleness kindled a response and a warm glow spread over her, but also a fear began to possess her, a fear not of him but of herself and the dark, hidden feelings he aroused within her.
Suddenly his arms encircled her and she was drawn closer to his hard chest, moulding her body to his rigid contours. A flame of white heat rushed through her. She allowed him to hold her in his embrace, feeling the strength of him against her as slowly his warm parted lips, tender and insistent, continued to claim hers, moulding, caressing and possessive.
The shock of his kiss was one of wild, indescribable sweetness and sensuality, violent yet tender, evoking feelings Lydia had never felt before. She felt her body ignite as she responded eagerly, pressing herself closer still and opening her mouth to receive his. He smelled of brandy and cologne, and it intoxicated her senses. Blood pounded through her veins and her stomach tensed, but she didn’t try to move away. Imprisoned by his protective embrace and seduced by his mouth and strong, caressing hands, which slid down the curve of her spine to the swell of her buttocks and back to her arms, her neck, burning wherever they touched, Lydia clung to him, her body responding eagerly, melting with the primitive sensations that went soaring through her. Nothing in all her twenty years could have prepared her for his kiss and she became lost in the joy, the heat and the magic of the moment.
A soft moan interrupted the quiet space, and Lydia realised it came from her. Suddenly her world had become exquisitely sensual, where nothing mattered but this man and what his mouth locked hungrily on hers and the closeness of his body was doing to her.
Alex held her unresisting, pliant young body close, his lips caressing her cheek, her jaw, before finding her lips once more. He was a virile and an extremely masculine man, well used to the pleasures of the flesh that were available to him. But this woman confounded him. She was pure, untouched innocence, a woman who had never known a man’s intimate embrace. As her mouth fed his hunger, his body strained towards her.
When he finally released her lips they were both breathing heavily. Standing unmoving, as though still suspended in that kiss, her lips moist and slightly parted, slowly Lydia began to surface from the dangerous cocoon of sensuality where the absolute splendour of his kiss had sent her and where she had no control over anything.
Tenderly, Alex caressed her cheek with the tips of his fingers. She was utterly lovely, breathtakingly so, and he was moved by emotions almost beyond his control, wanting so very much to kiss her again, but this time with all the hunger and passion that threatened to engulf him. He told himself to slow down, to be content with what she was willing to permit, not to push her into anything, but at that moment his desire was to continue to be close to her, to savour the sweetness of her. He was seized by an uncontrollable compulsion to make love to her—reluctant to allow this glorious young woman to slip through his fingers. He cupped her face in his strong hands, gently brushing a strand of hair from her cheek and tilting her face to his.
‘Don’t spend this night alone. Stay with me.’
She gazed up at his face, darkened in the dim light, feeling a numbing of her senses as her desire for him took on a dangerous life of its own. There was a need in her and she couldn’t understand the nature of that need. Where had it come from? All she knew was that this man was the man to satisfy that need. She wanted him. She wanted more of what he could give her, but she must not. Her own thoughts shocked her. What was she thinking? This man was of a different class, living in a different world. He might not have a title like his brother-in-law, but he was of the gentry. It seeped out of him in volumes. It spoke of power, confidence and strength—and more than a little arrogance.
‘No. I really must go.’
For a moment Alex stood there, looking down at her face flushed with desire in the dim light, her eyes glazed with it.
‘Why? Are you afraid of me?’
‘No, of course I’m not,’ Lydia said shortly, but she realised as soon as she had said it that it was a lie. Of course she was afraid of him, afraid of what she might do with him if she stayed any longer, because that was exactly what she wanted to do. To feel his lips on hers once more, to feel those exquisite feelings his lips had ignited in her.
‘I must go.’ She flung herself away from him and even though her legs were trembling and her flesh was on fire she began to climb the stairs with all the dignity she could muster, knowing that he continued to watch her like some dark brooding sentinel. Never had anyone affected her like this in her whole life. The thought of giving herself to Mr Golding sent a tremor down her spine, but it no longer shocked her, the events of the past twenty-four hours having finally drained her of all feeling so there was hardly any emotion left in her.
And yet she could not put what had just happened from her mind. The feelings she had experienced when they had talked over dinner took some understanding—she had felt herself being drawn to him against her will by the compelling magnetism he seemed to radiate and the memory of his smile and how he had looked at her, how his incredibly light blue eyes had hardly left hers for a moment and the intimacy of his lazy gaze made her tremble and heat course through her body.
She told herself that to enter into any sort of relationship with a complete stranger could be both foolhardy and ruinous. But Alex Golding’s suggestion in the aftermath of Henry’s betrayal constituted a phase in her life that was both flattering and essential for her pride. His desire for her had aroused an equal desire in her. It was the kind of desire that was completely new to her, the kind of desire that, despite all his efforts, Henry had never been able to stir.
She tried telling herself that the two men were not in the least alike, but how could she know that? She didn’t know Alex Golding.
She had a flicker of doubt that what she was about to do was foolish, but then she reminded herself that the steps she was about to take, that what would happen, would be on her terms and that afterwards she would walk away and no one would be any the wiser at what she had done.
She shivered, but it was not because she was cold. Suddenly she felt warm—far too warm. Something was happening to her. It was as if a spark had been lit that could not now be extinguished. A need was rising up inside her—a need to be close to the man who still watched her, to this stranger—to wallow in the desire that had suddenly taken hold of her, to saturate herself in this newfound passion his embrace and his kiss had awoken in her.
Alex watched Lydia go with a brooding attentiveness in his eyes. Left alone with a raw ache inside him, wanting more of her, the vexing tide of mortification which had consumed him since, like a mindless idiot, he had put his proposition to Miss Brook only to be rejected, began to subside. His mind was locked in a furious combat with the desire to seek her out and beg her pardon and the urge to shrug his shoulders and forget her, but he knew that was impossible.
Everything about her threw him off balance. Her mere presence stirred emotions he hadn’t felt in a long time—not since... But as he was about to let his thoughts wander and resurrect the past, angrily he thrust them back into the darkest corners of his mind, unwilling to allow them to intrude into the present.
What had he been thinking of? He should not have tried to take advantage of her. He realised just how devastated she must have felt when she had discovered that Henry was married, the inexplicable anguish