Lyon's Bride: The Chattan Curse (14 page)

Neal held her fast. She was gasping, repeating his name, whispering words he could not have made out even if he’d had sense, which he did not.

Nothing had ever felt as good as being inside Thea. No woman had ever so completely overpowered him with desire. She was quicksilver and light. She was the stars, the moon, the sun. In this moment, she owned his entire being. He could not imagine himself without her and was loathe to ever let her go.

She was his. Completely.

And he made his claim by burying himself deeper than he’d thought possible and releasing his seed with a force that robbed him of breath.

Her legs encircled his hips. She leaned against him, her body spent, her heart pounding against her chest and matching the racing rhythm of his own.

Slowly, he noticed the coolness of the room, the way the lamp sent flickering shadows around them, their reflection in the mirror. Her straight arms rested on his shoulders, her hands loose and relaxed.

Neal nudged her head where it was snuggled in the crook of his neck. She turned to him and he found her lips. This kiss was even sweeter than the others—and only then did understanding dawn.

Of course
their coupling would be unlike any other. There had always been a strong connection between them. His father had realized that. It had been the reason he’d ordered the sixteen-year-old Neal to stop seeing her and sent him to London. Because of her, he’d sat Neal down and told him of the curse—

The curse. How could he have forgotten it?

Neal pulled away from the kiss and came to his feet, almost dropping her to the floor. She caught herself in time and stood.

She gave him a sleepy, seductive smile, her gaze dropping to his spent sex, which was already starting to stir at the sight of her warm, compliant, well-used body.

Dear God, he could have a go at her again. Only this time, he wanted to be naked as well. He could make love to her every hour of every day and still want her more.

Her lips were full and red from his kisses. Her skin radiated a healthy, rosy glow. Her usually properly styled hair was wildly tossed.

There was no other woman on the face of this earth more beautiful to him—and then he realized that he was in danger of falling in
love
.

Neal backed away from her, buttoning his breeches.

Dear God, what had he done?

She took a step toward him and he put up a hand. He tried to keep his mind blank, to literally freeze her out of it.

He’d refrained from chasing women not because he’d been circumspect but because he’d compared all of them to Thea. She was the ideal, the epitome . . . and he’d fallen in love with her without being conscious of it. Maybe he’d always loved her.

He stabbed his fingers through his hair. “Thea,” he started but then stopped. What was he going to say? What
could
he say? He’d just rogered her lustily. She was his. She had nowhere to go, and that was his fault as well.

Her lips curved into a satisfied smile. She slid her arms around his waist. His breeches grew tight. “What may I do for you, my lord?” she murmured in a voice so sensual that he had to kiss her—

Neal dived away from her kiss. This was not right. He couldn’t marry Thea.

He must.
He was honor bound to do so.

He began backing toward the door. She started to follow him. He moved faster. “Tomorrow, I’ll procure the special license—tomorrow,” he said. “We’d best marry posthaste.”

“Where are you going?” she asked, frowning as if she hadn’t heard a word he’d said.

“To my bed. And you need to go to your bed.”

Her mouth made a moue of disappointment, but she obeyed and backed up. He almost sighed with relief, until she lay on the edge of her bed, curling her lovely, naked body in the most beguiling way possible. She smiled, an invitation. “Are you certain you don’t want to stay?”

His breeches would not be able to hold him back. The buttons would pop off in a minute. Neal clutched the door handle as if it was a lifeline.

“It’s best I leave,” he defended himself, yet he wanted nothing more than to tear off his clothes and join her. Then again, what if all the other guests waited outside the door? He didn’t want them to tear apart her reputation more than they already would.

“Tomorrow.” The word was starting to sound weak to his own ears.

He opened the door and escaped into the hallway. Only then could he breathe again. He struggled a moment with his own weakness.

Neal had to think. He couldn’t marry Thea. His father had been right. If he married Thea, he would love her more.

And it wasn’t just the intimacy between them that he loved. He could talk to her and she listened to him. She was interested in what he thought and how he felt. And there was trust between them.

Now he understood the danger of the Siren. Thea had seduced him. His senses were still full of her. He faced her door, uncertain if he had the courage to leave here and return to his room. All he wanted to do was go back to her. He
needed
her.

Just as Neal started to reach for the door handle, Mirabel’s voice spoke behind him.

“It’s about time you came out of there,” she said.

Startled, Neal turned. He’d been so lost in his own thoughts that he’d barely registered his surroundings. Mirabel stood, a tall, regal figure in the hall’s candlelight. The servant usually stationed at the head of the stairs was gone. She must have dismissed him.

“Thea and I had matters to discuss,” he said, sounding to his own ears like a schoolboy who had been caught filching a sweet.

Mirabel leaned close to him. “You will marry her.”

“Of course.” He had no choice.

A smile tightened her face. “Good . . . because my other guests will be leaving at dawn’s first light. This story will be all over London by dinner. Thea must be protected.”

“My intentions are honorable.”

“You
will
marry her?” she repeated.

He thought of the curse, thought of Thea having to face the biddies if he did not do what was right . . . thought of her sons. “Absolutely. I told her I would dispatch a messenger on the morrow for a special license.”

Mirabel sank into a deep curtsey, taking hold of his hand. “My lord, you are a godsend. Thank you.”

“I’m doing what is right.”

“I don’t care why you are doing it,” Mirabel confessed happily. “Of course, after the noise the two of you were making, well, I believe you have good reason to marry Mrs. Martin. But most of all, she is the best person in the world. My one true friend. See you take good care of her.”

“I shall.”

“Good night, my lord,” she said, turning and walking down the hall. “May you have sweet dreams.”

Neal nodded. Alone again, he drew a deep breath and walked to his room, but it was a long time before he fell asleep. And when he did, he had the dream. It was filled with images of him making love to Thea, but in the background was a crone’s wicked laughter. He could see her shadow, knew she watched them. The sound was hideous, and he woke in a sweat, fearing it was true. Had the witch been in the room with him and Thea?

Throwing his legs over the side of his bed, Neal realized he was breathing as if he’d run hard . . . or had been making love. He was covered in sweat, and the crone’s wild laughter still rang in his ears.

He looked in each corner. He was alone, yet he had the uneasy suspicion there was someone there. He could almost sense her breathing, watching, waiting.

But she wasn’t real. He knew that.

She’d been in his dreams before. He’d forgotten, but the evilness in the sound of her laughter had brought it all back to him. He’d dreamed of her in his youth, during that summer when he’d met Thea by the stream.

He remembered how his father had talked to him about the curse. He hadn’t known his father had returned to Morrisey Meadows from London until he’d been called to the library. His father had still been in his traveling clothes.

His father had heard of Neal’s clandestine meetings with Thea and had traveled with all haste to set down the rule that it had to stop . . . and then he’d told Neal about the curse.

Neal could recall every detail of that moment. The intimate glow of the candle that had created a ring of light around them in the dark, the heat of the wax, and the smell of leather and book bindings in his father’s library mixed with that of horses and the dust of the road, the taste of the brandy his father had given him.

But Neal had forgotten until now that his father had asked if he’d had dreams that had included a witch’s laughter. His father’s reaction had been strong and decisive when Neal had answered that, yes, he’d had strange, jumbled dreams lately that he could not remember anything of—save the maniacal laughter. It had sounded like the ravings of a mind gone mad.

His father had ordered Neal to pack. They would leave at first light for London, and his father had made him promise to never speak of Thea again.

His father, a man he’d idolized and yet had barely known.

How could Neal have forgotten their conversation about the dream?

And why did he remember it now?

Chapter Eleven

T
hea woke the next morning feeling more relaxed and at peace with the world than she had been in years. She stretched, and immediately muscles she’d not used in a long time let her know they were still alive.

Alive,
yes, that was what she felt.

She blushed, remembering how wanton she’d been with Neal. He’d tapped into long-suppressed desires, and she was glad he had.

Thea bound out of bed, perfectly comfortable with her nakedness. Sunlight poured through the window. She’d slept late, something she rarely did.

Her torn nightdress was still on the floor. She snatched it up and hugged it to her, reliving the memory of Neal ripping it off her body. The image sent her blood pounding through her veins. She couldn’t wait to see him again.

She quickly saw to her toilette, then crossed to the wardrobe to choose what she would wear. It wasn’t a difficult decision. Her wardrobe wasn’t that extensive. She chose the blue day dress she wore most often—however today was different. She was dressing for Lyon. The blue brought out the color in her eyes. Once, the butcher she’d patronized had told her that she looked fetching in it, and that was how she wanted Neal to see her—fetching. Such as perhaps he would
fetch
her back up the stairs to the bedroom.

She laughed at her own silliness. But she also wasn’t as strict when styling her hair. She loosened her usually tight knot and allowed wisps to curl around her ears.

Her ears.
They still tingled with the sensation of his kissing them.

But what made her happiest was that she had her friend Neal back in her life. He was her friend
and
her lover. What could be better?

And he
wanted
to marry her. After the enthusiasm with which they’d made love, she had no doubt of his desire. The man was a beast, and she practically purred her contentment.

When they had been discovered in each other’s arms by the Montvales and their like, she had refused him because she’d hated the idea of his hand being forced. However, his kisses had convinced her that he, a man who could have any woman in London he desired, was indeed choosing her.

The miracle of it threatened to overwhelm her, especially since her sons would be excited over the news she had married Neal. She had no doubt how they would feel about having Neal as their stepfather. There would be no more worries about food or schooling, and they would learn to ride real horses instead of playing with wooden ones. Neal would not only restore their heritage and birthrights to them but he would also serve as a prime example of what a true gentleman was.

She met Mirabel out in the hallway. They didn’t have to do anything but fall into each other’s arms with sisterly hugs.

“I’m so pleased for you,” Mirabel said. “I saw him last night after he left your room. He was a happy man.”

Thea laughed, almost giddy with the joy she was feeling. “I am a lucky woman.”

“I should say so. Every woman in London will be looking daggers of envy at you.” Mirabel stepped back, smiling. “Osgood informed me his lordship sent a messenger to the bishop at first light. My dear, you could be married before this day is done.”

And she would be Neal’s.
“I am humbled by my good fortune. I just wish my sons could be here—”

“Don’t wait for them, Thea. Marry Lyon. Osgood has also told me everyone else packed up and left.”

“Without waiting to say anything to you?”

“Of course,” Mirabel said. “They eat my food, guzzle a good portion of Palmer’s wine cellar, and then, poof, they are gone as if I didn’t exist. That’s the way their type is. And to think I was rather pleased they were favoring me with their presence.”

Thea shook her head. “I’m so sorry, Mirabel. I would not have anything I did reflect back on you. I’ve destroyed your standing in society.”

“Oh, no, there you are wrong,” Mirabel declared, slipping her arm in Thea’s. “I’ve been thinking about it, and let us be honest: many toady to Mrs. Pomfrey and Lady Montvale, but few admire them. We are all more intimidated by them than anything else. But this whole affair has placed me at the exact opposite of them. I will support my friend,” she said, giving Thea’s shoulder a squeeze, “regardless of what they say. And watch, I shall be acclaimed for it. The star of my popularity shall rise higher than it would ever have with their endorsement. People will befriend me just to hear my side of the story. I’m certain they’ve made a good number of enemies with their high-handed, selfish ways, and I shall richly benefit.”

“I’m still sorry for all of the difficulty I’ve caused you,” Thea said.

“I haven’t had such a good time in years, my Lady Lyon.”

Thea hadn’t even thought that she would gain a title. Matters had advanced so rapidly that the consequences of her marriage, such as a title and a station of
her own
in society, hadn’t even entered her mind yet. She’d grown up a duke’s daughter but had learned how little that meant in the world when one was cut off from one’s family. However, Lady Lyon would be her title alone, and a fine one it was.

All this good fortune was overwhelming.

What she was thinking must have shown on her face, because Mirabel sympathized. “Let’s go downstairs and find you a strong cup of tea.”

“That sounds like exactly what I need.”

In the dining room they came upon Sir James finishing his breakfast. He was dressed for travel.

“Sir James, I’m glad you are still here,” Mirabel said in greeting.

“I regret to say I shall be leaving.” He cast a sheepish glance in Thea’s direction. “I pray you don’t think ill of me, Lady Palmer.”

“Miss Pomfrey is a fortunate woman,” Mirabel said.

“Yes, I hope she believes that, although her parents will need a touch more convincing to appreciate my suit for their daughter’s hand. I came here expecting to help Lyon find a wife and instead found love for myself. Funny how it all works, eh? An old bachelor like me finally being brought to heel?” He cast another sheepish glance toward Thea before saying to Mirabel, “I regret I can’t tarry here. Your hospitality and your late husband’s wine cellar have been delightful. However, if I am to please the people whose daughter I hope to marry, I must leave. You know Mrs. Pomfrey is a bit of a Tartar.”

“I understand, Sir James,” Mirabel said.

He started toward the door but stopped in front of Thea. “Please take care of my friend Lyon. His is a troubled soul.”

“I shall endeavor to do so,” she responded, placing her hand in his.

“It won’t be smooth going,” he predicted and then, with a bow, left the room.

Thea frowned, not pleased to have her joy in the day spoiled by Sir James’s dire prediction.

Mirabel took her by the elbow and steered her toward the buffet. “He must be referring to the carryings-on of the Mmes. Pomfreys and Lady Montvales of the world. Pay him no mind. Lyon can handle the gossips, and so can you. Come, let us eat.”

But Thea held back. “Where is Lyon?” she asked.

“He could still be abed,” Mirabel answered, moving toward the sideboard. “Do you care for bacon?”

Thea didn’t answer but walked out into the hall. Osgood was in the front hall, having seen Sir James on his way. She approached him. “Have you seen Lord Lyon?”

“Yes, ma’am. He went riding early this morning.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, turning back to the dining room. It was a beautiful day, and it would not have been out of character for Neal to want to take advantage of the weather and ride.

Still, she had hoped he would be as anxious to see her as she was him.

Thea tried to put any disquieting thoughts from her mind. Mirabel waited by the dining room door, her half-filled plate in her hand. Thea forced a smile and came to join her, but she didn’t have much of an appetite for food. Her stomach was unsettled by doubt.

After breakfast, Thea attempted to focus on a book and some correspondence. Time passed slowly.

In the afternoon, a rider came. It was the servant Neal had sent to arrange for the special license. He had been successful in his mission and had the license signed by the bishop . . . but there was no sign of Neal.

Mirabel kept up a running dialogue, mostly with herself, since Thea grew more introspective as the afternoon wore on, but even she was starting to worry.

“He wouldn’t leave you,” Mirabel burst out at one point after a half hour of silence between them. “Lyon is more of a man than that. He’s not a jilt.”

Thea looked up from the book she’d been staring at without comprehending any of the words. “He has before.”

“When?” Mirabel demanded.

“Years ago. When we first met. We were friends for weeks and growing closer. We met at this clearing by a stream that bordered our two properties. Then one day, he stopped coming. No note, no anything. Seeing him in Sir James’s office was the first time our paths crossed in years.”

“Were you in love back in those days?”

Mirabel’s question gave Thea pause. Had she been in love with him? Certainly she’d been deeply hurt when he’d left without a word.

“No,” Thea said. “We were children, really. Very young, very protected. Our friendship was innocent. We felt free to speak our minds to each other.”

“Sometimes that is how the best relationships start,” Mirabel said. She set aside her needlework and leaned forward, reaching out to place a hand on Thea’s arm. “When I first heard you were to find a wife for Lyon, I thought you should be that wife out of a strictly practical sense. Thea, you are well bred, intelligent, lovely—what man wouldn’t want you?”

“Spoken like a true friend,” Thea murmured.

“But when I saw you here together over the past few days, there is something between the two of you. His gaze would drift toward you when he didn’t think anyone would notice, and he always stood so that he could keep his eye on you. Thea, he didn’t have to announce he was marrying you last night—”

“He was worried for my reputation.”

Mirabel dismissed the suggestion away with her hand as she sat up. “Explanations could have been offered, and those women would have sewed their lips shut over what they’d seen if he had chosen one of their daughters. Please listen to what I’m saying. There is an attraction between you and Lyon, one that I think may be quite rare. People wax on about love and how they would spend lifetimes looking for ‘the one,’ but in truth most of us never do. We settle. We accept because, perhaps, we give up the dream of one special person just for us.” She paused, pressing her lips together before confessing, “Palmer was that for me. He was a far better man than I deserved. He loved more than I could ever love him—until I lost him. Thea, sometimes life works in our favor. Fate may be giving the two of you a second chance.”

Thea shook her head. “Fate? Some supernatural force, or being? I don’t believe that things beyond our control influence our lives. It may be just happenstance that my path crossed with Lyon’s. Or it might be that London is really not that big a world. Sooner or later we would meet because that is reality.”

Mirabel snorted her discontent. “You are the most unromantic creature ever.”

“If you are asking me to believe in fantasy, well, yes, you may be right.”

“Then what do you believe in?”

“I believe in common sense and being reasonable. We live in modern times. I ran away once over love . . . and it turned out to not be what I’d been led to believe because of unfounded romantic notions—”

The front door opened. Osgood could be heard greeting someone. It was Neal.
He’d returned.

A hard knot formed in Thea’s stomach. She wasn’t certain whether she was glad he’d come back or frightfully angry that he had been gone so long without explanation.

A beat later, Neal appeared at the door. He was in riding clothes, buff breeches, a jacket of the deepest blue wool, and spurs on his boots. His neckcloth was not knotted but tied in a hasty, devil-may-care manner.

Thea didn’t speak. She couldn’t. Any words would give away her secret fear that he’d abandoned her again.

“Why, Lord Lyon,” Mirabel said brightly, “you appear to have enjoyed an extensive ride.”

He barely acknowledged her words with a nod, his gaze intent on Thea. “I need to return to London,” he said.

Thea felt her heart harden. He was going to jilt her.

In her continued silence, he said, “We need to marry tomorrow morning. I have arranged for a Reverend Wells from the local parish to officiate. Osgood tells me the license has already been delivered.”

Tomorrow morning?
“What of my sons?” Thea heard herself say. “Should they not hear of us wedding before we do so? I should have written a note to them, but I didn’t.”

“Tomorrow, Thea. We must wed as soon as possible,” he repeated.

She rose from her chair. “My lord, are you all right?”

“I am.” His gaze shifted away from her when he spoke.

“Perhaps—,” she started, thinking to argue him out of this undue haste when suddenly he walked the space of floor between then in four strides, took her by the arms and kissed her.

Thea wasn’t expecting a kiss, and it wasn’t a kiss that said he liked her or he was angry. No, this kiss was a plea for understanding, of needing her trust.

Doubts dissolved when he kissed her this way. She knew enough of marriage to know a kiss was often the best form of communication. She slid her arms around his neck, eager to let him know she cared, that she had worried.

He smelled of horses, fresh air, and a warm, almost spicy scent that was all his own. His body was solid and strong.

She felt his tongue brush hers, followed it with her own because it felt exactly
right
. They breathed the same air, had the same needs, were both alone and confused, and, yes, a little afraid.

Neal ended the kiss before she was ready to let go. His arms slid down to her waist. He held her, but shadows lingered in his eyes. “We will marry tomorrow. If I could, I would wed you this night.”

She wanted to banish her doubts. She tried to keep her voice light as she said, “Why do I sense you are in danger of losing courage, my lord?”