Lyon's Bride: The Chattan Curse (16 page)

“I won’t.”

She searched his eyes. The shadows were gone. In their place, she saw love. He might have been afraid to use the words, but he loved her. He had always loved her, even before she had thought of loving him.

Thea kissed him, arching her body against his, then slowly relaxed, moving her hips against his. She liked the feeling of his weight upon her. She craved the texture and smell of his skin, the warmth of his body.

They wasted no time removing the last of their clothing. There were few words between them. They were not needed.

Neal raised over her. Thea ran her hands up his strong arms, over his shoulders and down his back as he slid himself deep within her.

Thea gasped at the glory of his body filling hers. She wasn’t the only one caught up in this moment. Neal leaned over her. “This is good. So good.”

She could have agreed—if she’d been able to speak, and then he robbed her of all conscious thought when he began moving.

There was nothing new to the mating of a man and a woman. Thea was no virgin, yet he made her feel as if this
was
the first time.

Their bodies were meant for each other. Instinctively, she knew what pleased him. He seemed aware of exactly what she wanted. She’d never made love with such intensity, such passion.

Any barriers still left between them were being destroyed through their desire.

Neal’s breathing quickened. His movements took on purpose. She lifted her hips, wanting all of him.

White-hot need had driven their coupling the night before. It now gave way to something deeper, finer. A spiral of sensation began forming inside Thea, winding tighter and tighter until she didn’t think she could breathe, let alone think—

The intensity of her release astonished her. It was as if she’d been moving toward a precipice and, having reached it, let herself hold for one heated beat before falling into bliss. Wave after wondrous wave of completion, of satisfaction, caught her up and wouldn’t let her go.

Neal experienced the same. He cried her name.
Her
name. Then she experienced his release. She could feel it in the innermost of her being. He filled her in a way she’d not known before. Her body was his vessel, and as they were both caught up, together, in the magic of this moment, she at last realized what it meant to be “one” with another.

One. Together. For always.

Tears came to her eyes. She closed them and held him tight as slowly he let himself lay upon her. Thea hugged him with all of her strength, never wanting to let him go.

It was a long time before either of them could speak. Neal moved first, just as she started to register the cooling of her body.

He rolled over, carrying her with him. Reaching for the counterpane, he flipped it over their bodies. For a long moment, they stared into each other’s eyes. This was what contentment felt like, she realized. In this moment, she wanted nothing but this man.

She pressed a kiss at the corner of his mouth. He smiled beneath her lips. “Are you happy?” she whispered.

“I am.”

His eyes were closed. She decided to kiss them as well. “I am too.”

She snuggled into the crook of his arm and fell asleep, only to be waked a few hours later to him making love to her. And so they spent the rest of the day into the night.

Thea even woke him up the hour before dawn. She still hadn’t had enough of him. She nibbled and teased until he brought her down on top of him.

They fell asleep again, and she’d never known such peacefulness. . . .

She didn’t know she was dreaming. The fire seemed real. Thea could swear she felt the heat of it. Sweat dripped from her body, and the hairs on her head and arms literally sizzled.

And there were mirrors. It was as if she was trapped in a house where every wall was a mirror; instead of one reflection of her melting in the heat, there were dozens. Instead of one fire, she was surrounded by them.

Where were her sons? Where was Lyon?

Were they trapped in this hell with her as well? She had to find them. She rushed in one direction. The flames grew higher, hotter. Her path blocked, she turned in a new direction only to find herself once again trapped.

And then she heard the laughter. Someone knew she was here. Someone had trapped her. She shouted for help. She shook her fist and challenged her captor, afraid she could not last much longer.

The laughter didn’t stop. It continued even as her dress caught on fire, even as the flames climbed her body. The laughter did not stop—

N
eal shook Thea awake. She’d been moaning, as if she’d been in great pain. When her eyes opened, they were glassy and full of fear. She didn’t recognize him at first, and then she released a huge sigh.

“It was terrible,” she said.

“What was?” he asked, already fearing her answer.

“My dream.” Thea struggled out of the covers, which her thrashing had tangled around her. She pushed her hair back from her face and frowned, as if still not certain she’d had a dream. “It seemed so real.”

“What was it about?” he said, sitting back against the tufted headboard and pulling her into his arms.

She rested her head on his chest. “I don’t remember.” She tilted her face up to his. “Isn’t that strange? I know it was vivid and frightening, but I don’t remember . . . except for the laughter. Someone was laughing, and it wasn’t a joyful sound. It was more triumphant.” A shiver went through her, and she snuggled against him with a soft sigh. “I’m so glad you are here. I hate bad dreams.”

“I hate them as well,” Neal said, brushing her hair with his lips and keeping his voice calm.

“Your heart is beating fast,” she murmured. She placed a palm upon his chest. “It’s as if you have the fright and not myself.” She pulled his arm around her and fell asleep.

But sleep didn’t overtake Neal. He held her in his arms. In a very short time, she had become the most precious thing to him. He must protect her.

But she’d had the dream.

She’d had the dream.

Chapter Thirteen

N
eal and Thea left for London late the afternoon the day after their marriage. Both of them were anxious to see the boys.

“Do you think the boys will be upset that we married?” Neal asked as they neared the city.

“I believe they will be very happy,” Thea said. “It has been a long time since they have had a male figure in their lives.”

“I don’t want them to think I am going to take over their father’s place.”

Thea almost laughed, but she stifled it.

“What is it?” Neal asked.

“They barely knew their father,” she confessed. She turned to face him. “Boyd and I spent most of our marriage apart.”

“Go on,” Neal said. “I admit I was curious, but I considered your marriage a private matter.”

“Don’t mistake me, Neal, I had strong feelings for him when I married him, or as strong as I could have for anyone at my age.” She shook her head. “I was also very foolish, which many people pointed out to me after I ran away. Boyd was intelligent and handsome and seemed to genuinely care for me. He talked about how this country is divided by those who inherit their wealth and those who must work for it. I agreed with him. After all, I’d done nothing to earn my position in society, and yet I had all of these men from good families wishing to marry me. Boyd made me want to stand on my own. He challenged me to do it.”

“I can’t imagine your father took the match well.”

“I didn’t tell my father anything about it. Any time I ever expressed an opinion that wasn’t his, he practically raised the roof. Besides, he wished to marry me off to a man I could not abide. He was far older than myself.”

“Who was it?” Neal had to ask.

“The marquis of Tweedbury,” Thea answered.

Neal frowned. He knew the marquis. He was not fond of women. However, he would have been an excellent ally for the duke of Duruset. “You are lucky you didn’t marry him.”

“I know. He did marry. An earl’s daughter. She is remarkably unhappy and very indiscreet about her lovers. I would not want that for my life.”

“And was your marriage happy?” It was a question he’d wondered since seeing her again. She’d never criticized Boyd to him, and his interest was more than idle curiosity, although he’d not admit it.

It was a strange life he was living now. He needed to keep up barriers to Thea’s charms, and yet it was harder and harder to do so. His attraction to her was strong, and it wasn’t just lust. He trusted her. He always had. At no time in their acquaintance had she been anything but honest, and it was still the same now. She was a good friend . . . and an entertaining lover. Her passion matched his own.

“No, not even from the beginning, although we pretended.” She reached for the edge of the door handle and rubbed it with a gloved hand before saying, “Of course, I didn’t realize this at the time. I was infatuated with Boyd because he was so different from the other men I’d known and, yes, that was some love—or at least as much as I had in me for a person who knew nothing of the world beyond London’s protected society. For his part, he played a gallant suitor, and I thought he did care.”

“But he didn’t?”

“Perhaps.” She shrugged. “He was greatly offended when my father sent the letter disowning me. He was even less pleased when Father died three years later and he discovered I had been left out of the will. I knew that my father meant what he said, but Boyd felt that since
he felt
I had been the favorite daughter, my father couldn’t possibly deny me. He did not know my father well.”

Neal was not surprised. Thea and her father had always clashed and, yes, the duke of Duruset had been proud of his daughter and had expected her to marry very well.

Now she had. He took her hand, lacing his fingers in hers.

“I didn’t know this at the time,” Thea continued, “but after my father’s death, Boyd went to my brother, Horace, the current duke. I believe he expected my brother to recognize me. Horace wouldn’t.”

“So money was the reason your marriage was unhappy?” Neal asked.

“That . . . and other reasons.”

Something in her voice told him she did not wish to speak further on the topic, but Neal had one more question. “Do your sons miss him?” he asked, pulling her closer. She smelled of the lily-scented soap Lady Palmer had offered her guests.

“Christopher was still only a baby when he died,” she said. “He barely remembers him, and Jonathan does not speak of him.” She pulled his hand up and around her head so that his arm was around her shoulder. “And perhaps that is good.”

She turned into him. Her breasts flattened against his chest as she kissed him, and any other questions Neal might have had fled his mind. For the rest of the way to London, he learned the many ways one could make love in a coach. That they had to keep quiet so that Bonner and the footman wouldn’t hear only heightened the pleasure.

For that reason, Neal was in very good spirits when they rolled into London. Their first stop was Lady Palmer’s house.

Mirabel had left early that morning, so she’d arrived well ahead of them. If she noticed that Neal and Thea appeared slightly mussed, she didn’t make a comment, but there was a secret smile hovering around her lips.

Thea’s sons were overjoyed to have her return. Neal held back as they rushed into their mother’s arms. In the privacy of the room overlooking the back garden, Thea sat her boys down and explained to them that she and Lord Lyon had married.

Jonathan, bright lad that he was, immediately understood that Neal was now related to him by marriage. Both boys turned to Neal, who accepted that as an invitation to join the small family group. He sat next to Thea.

With a great deal of consideration, Jonathan said, “What are we to call you, my lord?”

Neal had not thought of this. “I shall be your stepfather. I promise I will treat you as my own. What would you like to call me?”

“I want to call you Lyon,” Christopher declared. “Mrs. Clemmons was reading a story to us about a lion. He was a big cat, and he roars.” He showed what he meant by giving a loud roar.

Jonathan rolled his eyes. “Ever since Mrs. Clemmons read that story, that is all he does.”

His brother’s response was to laugh and roar again. Neal found himself laughing as well. He couldn’t help himself. Christopher looked so proud of his new talent, and Jonathan was so aggrieved by it, that Neal was reminded of himself and Harry when they were younger. Neal had forgotten about those days. That was before their father had burdened them with the curse and before the busyness of their lives had caught up with them.

“Roar once more,” Neal urged Christopher.

The boy shot a triumphant look at Jonathan and roared the loudest and best roar yet.

“Call me Lyon,” Neal said and held his hand out to each of the boys. They would be his sons. They would also be free of the curse. The realization was revolutionary. They had a future.

Jonathan solemnly placed his hand in Neal’s. Christopher copied him, an impish grin on his face. Jonathan would always see the serious side of life, and Christopher, well, he would be Jonathan’s Harry, and Neal couldn’t stop from pulling them both into his arms. He had sons.

Glory of all glories, they hugged him in return, while Thea stood to the side with the dreamiest glow of pride Neal had ever seen on anyone’s face. Of course, the only thing left to do was to include her in the hug.

“Shouldn’t your mother be in the hug?” Neal wondered.

“Join us, Mother,” Jonathan ordered, losing his earlier reserve and starting to show boyish eagerness. Neal understood. The oldest always had to be the most cautious. He’d have to make the first move with Jonathan. Christopher, of course, acted according to however he felt at the moment. So like Harry.

Thea did as commanded, and Neal found his arms full of family. A pleasure he’d not ever known before settled around him, and Neal could have stayed embraced in their hugs forever.

His wife was more practical. “We must not be a burden to Lady Palmer any longer,” she said, breaking up the hug.

“Oh, poo,” Mirabel said. “I adore having company. Stay for dinner.”

Her offer was tempting. Neal had deliberately put off thinking of his sister and brother’s reaction to his marriage. He’d sent a messenger the day before to inform them of his intentions, including whom he was marrying. He anticipated a howl of protest from Harry.

However, sooner or later he had to face them, and it might as well be sooner. Mirabel gave them each a kiss as they parted company—even Neal.

The boys were excited to ride in the coach.

“Where are we going to live?” Jonathan asked.

“In my house,” Neal said.

Christopher’s eyes rounded with delight, and even Jonathan sat up straighter and looked out the window with anticipation.

Thea’s hand found Neal’s. She gave him a squeeze that said
thank you.
She was happy, and since making her happy made him happy, he raised her hand to his lips and placed a kiss on her fingertips.

The Chattan town home was one of the largest in London. The step boasted a huge, carved stone portico and double doors of varnished oak.

This time Jonathan did not hold back his emotions as he climbed out of the coach onto the walk. “We’re living here?”

“Yes,” Neal said. “Welcome home.”

Both boys stood on the front step, their heads leaning back as they looked up at the portico, exclaiming over the size of the wrought-iron lamp hanging there.

Neal turned his attention to the front door. Usually a servant opened the door the moment a coach pulled up. However, it was still closed. Bonner was as surprised as Neal, although Neal didn’t want to say anything in front of Thea and her sons.

The thought crossed his mind that Margaret might attempt to lock them out. She could be that stubborn and protective, but it wouldn’t make sense. His sister wouldn’t openly defy him. No, she’d give him a tongue lashing in private. He decided he’d best keep the boys close to him. Not even Margaret could be immune to their enthusiasm, and they might offer him a spot of protection.

Lifting Christopher up in his arms, Neal tried the handle. The front door was unlocked. He opened it. The front hall was empty. “Hello?” he called. “Dawson?”

No one answered.

He smiled at Thea. “Dawson, our butler, is usually at the front door. I don’t know where he is up and about.” Bonner and the coachman were making arrangements to bring in what luggage they had to the servants’ entrance.

“Come into the side room,” Neal said, indicating a well-furnished sitting room in tasteful blue and green. He wasn’t particularly fond of the colors, but his mother had done the decorating. As Thea and the boys walked into the room, he realized how out of place they looked with so much formality.

“You have carte blanche with the house,” he said. “Choose the colors you like, the furniture. It makes no difference to me. I think I would like a change.”

“What of Margaret? She’s been your hostess. Perhaps she would have a say?” Thea suggested.

“Yes, she might,” he agreed, touched by Thea’s thoughtful consideration of his sister. Margaret would not have been that generous, and that was why he loved—

Neal stopped his train of thought, backing away from the word
love
. He couldn’t dwell on it. He mustn’t.

He nodded. “Yes, discuss it with Margaret. As for Margaret, I wonder where she is. I wonder where anyone is. Dawson usually has someone minding the door.”

Neal went out into the hallway and looked up the stairs. He checked the dining room. “Mrs. Tanner,” he called, referring to the housekeeper. “Dawson?”

And then he heard a sound from upstairs and footsteps on the stair treads. He returned to the stairs. Margaret stood on the staircase landing. Her hair was loose around her shoulders. There were dark circles under her eyes and her dress was wrinkled, as if she’d slept in it. “Neal?” she said. She sounded overwhelmed.

He came up the stairs, two at a time, alarmed.

“It is Harry,” she said. “He’s in a bad way.” She turned and dashed back up the stairs.

A bad way.
It could mean only one thing, and that was not good. Damn his brother for choosing his homecoming to be an ass.

Neal looked to Thea, who had come to the side room door, her sons beside her. “Stay in the side room. Please make yourselves comfortable. I don’t know where the servants are, but I’ll be right back.”

He then hurried after Margaret up the stairs. She waited for him. “He came home around noon today. They carried him here.”

“Who did?”

“Two big burly men, like sailors. They didn’t tell me where they found him,” Margaret said. “Said I most likely would not like to know. They were right.”

“Wasn’t Rowan with him?” Rowan was Harry’s manservant. He was a short Indian with close-cropped hair and solemn, golden-brown eyes. Harry claimed that one day, while he’d been posted in India, Rowan had started following him around the market in Calcutta and had never left. He was devoted to Neal’s brother and rarely spoke, but when he did, his accented English was excellent.

“No, Harry had escaped him. Rowan alerted me last night that Harry was out on the prowl. We both waited for him, hoping he would come home at a reasonable hour.” She stopped in front of Harry’s bedroom door and said almost defiantly, “I had him tied down, Neal. He can’t go on this way, and I won’t let him.”

“Tied him down?”

“Yes,” Margaret said. “He has to stop. He can’t go on using that horrible laudanum. I told Dawson to keep the servants below stairs. You should have seen him when they brought him home. He looked dead, and then he came to his senses and started drinking again. We must stop him from destroying himself. And now he is awake and crazed and mad. We had no choice but to tie him down. You didn’t look in the dining room, or you would have noticed that he turned over the buffet and has chairs against the way.”

As if to punctuate her words, there came a huge crash from the bedroom. Margaret shook her head, tears forming in her eyes. She never cried. Not ever. “You and Harry are all I have,” she said. “We’re losing him. He’s taking his own life and I can’t bear it, Neal. I can’t stand to watch this.”