A Gentleman of Substance by Deborah Hale

Author:Deborah Hale
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

Perhaps because she'd exhausted herself during the previous wakeful night, Lucy fell asleep before the press of Drake's body overwhelmed all her scruples. Now it was his turn to writhe on the rack of his own desire—and writhe he did.

Heightening his torture was their state of undress. The weather had turned mild and the glowing coals in the brazier further warmed the room. There had been no excuse for them to sleep fully clothed. Extracting a nightgown from her little trunk, Lucy'd told Drake to keep his back turned while she changed for bed. Once he doused the light, Drake reluctantly shed his stock, breeches and boots, to sleep in his long shirt.

Now the blasted garment kept riding up, exposing his bare backside to the occasional brush of Lucy's hand, a sensation that roused him unbearably. Even through the fine linen of his shirt, he could feel the warmth of her breath every time she exhaled. His own breath came faster. But the most exquisite torment was the soft, steady pressure of her deliciously ripe bosom at the base of his rib cage.

How he longed to turn and bury his face in the creamy cleft between her breasts, filling his nostrils with the lush feminine scent of her. His hands ached to explore every delectable inch of her body. His palate craved the intoxicating nectar of her lips. By daybreak, when he could stand it no longer, he was quite delirious with need.

To what end? He could suffer, bleed, even perish for want of her. Lucy had made it abundantly clear that she preferred his brother, dead, to any man alive. Especially him.

She had never talked of Jeremy so constantly as during the past day. Perhaps he had been constantly in her thoughts all these weeks, but she'd refrained from discussing him excessively within earshot of the Silverthorne servants. With that impediment removed, she had shown Drake where her heart lay—where it would always lay.

In the most secret bastion of his own heart, had he cherished a foolish hope that she might forget Jeremy, eventually, and turn to him? If so, he had been a most pathetic idiot. Drake berated himself as he hastily dressed in the feeble light of a grey winter dawn. Had twenty-five years taught him nothing? There was not a soul in the world who had not preferred his handsome, engaging half brother to him. Beginning with their father...and ending with their son, no doubt. Somehow Drake knew, with bitter foresight, that no matter how diligently he toiled to nurture Lucy's child, the boy would inevitably come to venerate the memory of his supposed uncle.

Stealing out of the inn, Drake walked aimlessly for several hours in a cold mist, until his fevered body felt blessedly numb. Returning to The Black Cygnet past noon, he joined the company in the taproom, determined to quench the last embers of his passion for Lucy with the landlord's potent brandy.

But as any wise man knows, alcohol only fuels a blaze.

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