Where's My Hero? Read online

  “Oh.” Frowning, Lydia regarded the blunted points of her knees through the layers of her skirts. “I suppose that marrying an heiress would be out of the question for you, then.”

  “Yes.”

  She continued to frown. “It would hardly be such a terrible fate, marrying into money. Having lots of servants, and nice things, and a large estate—”

  “It’s not what I want. Moreover, I would go hang before I became known to everyone in London as a damned fortune hunter.”

  “Even if it wasn’t true?”

  “It wouldn’t matter if it was true or not. It’s what everyone would say.”

  “Then we should add prideful to your list of faults,” Lydia muttered, setting aside her glass.

  “Without a doubt,” he replied, his gaze daring her to protest. When she managed to hold her tongue, he smiled slightly and continued. “And unlike you, I have a great appreciation for the pleasures of inactivity. After a busy week of running about London seeing to patients, I like to laze about for hours, talking, drinking, making love…” He paused before adding frankly, “Particularly the last.”

  Lydia’s brain suddenly conjured an indistinct image of his tawny body stretched over snowy white sheets. Dear Lord, what would it be like to make love with him for hours? “No doubt it is easy for you to find women who—” She stopped as her face flooded with color.

  His face was inscrutable. “Usually.”

  “Have you ever fallen in love?”

  “Once.”

  Lydia felt an unpleasant sting of jealousy. “Did you tell her how you felt?”

  He shook his head.

  Another question rose to her lips, despite the fact that Lydia didn’t really want to know the answer. “Do you love her still?”

  Pinning her in place with a speculative stare, he responded with a wordless nod.

  Suddenly Lydia felt cold and miserable, when she had no right to be. Jake Linley was not hers. He had offered no promises or vows of love, he had only said that he wanted her. And despite her lack of experience, she was aware that love and desire could exist independently of each other.

  “Is it someone I am acquainted with?” she asked dully. “Did she marry someone else?”

  Jake stared at her in the burgeoning silence, his large body visibly tense. The way he leaned forward conveyed a sense of energy that would soon break free of all constraints.

  Oh, the way he looked at her, his eyes light and hot in his shadow-tricked face…. She would swear on her life that he felt more than mere desire for her. “Not yet,” he said huskily.

  Her heart began to slam against her ribs with almost frightening violence. “Who is she, Jake?” she managed to whisper.

  He gave a soft groan and stood, hauling her impatiently against his body. “Who do you think she is?” he said, giving her a little shake. Then he seized her mouth with his.

  The remnants of her self-possession shattered. Jake kissed her with tender fury, while his hands wandered compulsively over her body, molding her tighter, harder against him. “I adore every quarrelsome, terrifyingly logical inch of you,” he said, dragging his mouth over her cheeks and chin and throat. “I love it that you’re as smart as hell and not afraid to let anyone know it. I love your green eyes. I love the way you are with your family. My beautiful Lydia—”

  “You idiot,” she choked, tearing her lips away. She had never been so overwrought. “You would wait until thirty-eight hours before my wedding to tell me this!”

  “Thirty-six and a half.”

  Suddenly the insanity of the situation struck Lydia as funny, and she began to gasp with laughter. “I love you, too,” she said, overcome with a sense of the absurd. Jake kissed her more aggressively then, until her insides felt hot and molten, and her body ached with need.

  She laid her hand on the side of his face, the masculine scrape of close-shaven bristle making her palm tingle. “You’ve never indicated that you felt anything for me other than scorn.”

  “I’ve never scorned you.”

  “You’ve been an absolute devil, and you know it.”

  He had the grace to look somewhat penitent. “Only because I knew that there was no chance of ever having you. It made me a little testy.”

  “Testy—” Lydia began indignantly, and he smothered her with his lips once more. Passion flared between them in a swift, white-hot conflagration. Panting, she opened fully to his demands, letting him explore her at will. His tongue teased hers, savoring the flavor of wine mingled with the intimate taste of her mouth. She felt the tremor that shook him, and gloried in the realization that he wanted her with a desperation that rivaled her own.

  Ending the kiss abruptly, Jake held her at arms’ length, as if their physical proximity posed a mortal danger.

  Lydia curled her hands gently around his wrists. “Why are you so convinced that it would be impossible for us to be together?”

  “Isn’t that obvious?” he countered tightly. “How can I ask you to accept a life that is so much less than what you’ve always had? As Lady Wray you’d want for nothing, and your children would be members of the peerage. You can’t give that all away to become a doctor’s wife. More often than not, I have to leave the house in the middle of the night to attend to someone, and during the day the place is always overrun with patients. It’s bedlam. And on top of that, I’m not wealthy, and I have no wish to be, which would require you to make a sacrifice that you would probably come to regret.”

  “I would have to sacrifice something in either circumstance,” Lydia pointed out. “Either I marry a peer who doesn’t love me, or a professional man who does. Which would cause me more regret?”

  “Before tonight, you had no objection to marrying without love,” he said sardonically. “Why does it suddenly matter?”

  “Because I didn’t know how you felt! You never gave me a reason to hope. And if I couldn’t have you, I thought I might as well take Lord Wray.” She rubbed her wet eyes with the heels of her hands. “I’ve always cared for you—why else do you think we perpetually strike sparks off each other?”

  His mouth twisted wryly. “I just thought I had a special talent for annoying you.”

  A breathless laugh escaped her, and she seized the lapels of his coat in her hands. “I want you,” she said urgently. “I want you in every way, forever.”

  He was shaking his head before she even finished the sentence. “You might change your mind later. Do you really want to take that risk?”

  Lydia was no coward, nor was she a fool. She understood how many obstacles lay between them, and how difficult it would be for two such strong-willed people to accommodate each other. But she was a Craven, and Cravens were notoriously relentless when it came to getting what they wanted. “I’m a gambler’s daughter,” she pointed out. “I’m not afraid of taking a risk.”

  Jake regarded her with a rueful smile. “What about making the sensible choice?”

  “Some choices are so important that they have to be made by the heart.”

  Taking her hand, he kissed her fingertips one by one. “When did you decide that?” he asked from behind the screen of her slender fingers.

  Lydia grinned recklessly as she sensed that his resistance was deteriorating. “Two minutes ago.”

  “Don’t allow your decisions to be influenced by physical desire,” he warned gently. “Trust me, when the afterglow has faded, you will see things in an entirely different light.”

  Although Lydia was well informed about physical passion, that particular word was unfamiliar. “What do you mean, ‘afterglow’?”

  “God help me, I want to show you.”

  “Then do,” she said provocatively. “Show me what an afterglow is, and when it’s gone, we’ll see if my feelings extend beyond physical desire.”

  “That could be the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”

  “One little afterglow,” she coaxed. “It shouldn’t take too much effort. I already feel as if a thousand fireflies are dancing in my
stomach.”

  “Definitely the worst,” he said darkly.

  Determined, she brought her body against his and stood on her toes to embrace him. Her soft mouth grazed his cheek and jaw, while her hand glided down the exciting length of his body, from the solid plane of his chest to the sturdy vault of his ribs. And lower. Excited and abashed, she explored the hard, heavy rise of his erection, her fingers curving over the jutting shape. He groaned faintly and caught her wrist. “My God. No, wait…Lydia, I’m dying for you…for so long I…” He pulled her hand away and fumbled at the back of her gown, popping silk-covered buttons from the tiny loops that tethered them.

  She felt the bodice sag, the heavy celery-green silk dropping to the damp crooks of her elbows. Breathing heavily, Jake lifted her and sat her on the table, then reached for the front of her corset. He displayed an outrageous familiarity with female undergarments, unhooking the lattice of stays with an ease that even Lydia couldn’t have matched. The corset, still warm from her body, was dropped heedlessly to the floor, and her body was left soft and unconfined save for the fragile muslin of her chemise. Lydia swallowed hard, experiencing a flicker of uncertainty as his large body came to stand between her thighs, his trouser-clad legs nearly disappearing in the gleaming mass of her skirts.

  “For a man who claims not to be a seducer,” she said, “you show a remarkable lack of hesitation.”

  His fingertips brushed the strap of her chemise over her shoulder. “I’m making an exception for you.”

  Her shaky laugh ended in a soft moan as she felt his hot, moist mouth graze the side of her neck. He murmured soft words of reassurance as he held her, caressed her, nudged her chemise ever lower until she was obliged to pull her arms completely free of it. Bending her backward, hooking his supportive arm beneath her, he nuzzled the tender weight of her breast. His breath teased the pale pink nipple, and his lips rubbed lightly over the very tip. Finally, after she was flushed and taut, and pleading for more, he drew the entire peak into his mouth. His tongue swirled over her in velvety passes, preparing her for the exquisite nip of his teeth.

  She arched up to him in unequivocal surrender, amazed at how easy it was to trust him. It seemed impossible that she could have thought of him as her adversary, this man who made her feel so cherished and safe. Even in her innocence, she sensed the ferocity of his desire, but his every movement was exquisitely gentle and loving. His hands stole beneath her skirts, caressing the shape of her legs through the layers of silk stockings and muslin drawers. Entranced by his softly questing kisses, Lydia didn’t notice that he had untied the tapes of her drawers, until she felt him tugging them down past her hips.

  “Don’t be afraid,” he whispered, pausing to cuddle and reassure her. “I just want to give you pleasure. Let me, Lydia, let me touch you…”

  Unable to resist him, she relaxed into the hard curve of his arm, shivering a little as he pulled the drawers from her legs. His fingers slipped behind the vulnerable back of her knee, sliding easily over the thin veil of silk stocking. He left trails of fire wherever he touched, inside her thighs, down to her ankles, gliding along the outside of her legs until he reached the naked curve of her hip. Panting for breath, she focused on that warm, large hand, suddenly wanting him to touch her in the secret place between her thighs, where she was damp and pulsing and swollen. As she felt the curve of his smile against her cheek, she realized that he was teasing her deliberately.

  “Jake,” she gasped. “Please. What you’re doing…it’s unbearable, I’m going mad…”

  “Then I’ll have to do it some more,” came his devilish whisper, and he traced a light, tormenting circle inside her thigh.

  A whimper caught in her throat, and she clutched at his shoulders, her fingers digging into the resilient muscle. He was merciless, letting his fingertips graze the edge of the dark triangle of curls between her thighs. Finally, when her need had built to an urgency that was almost painful, she felt him part the plump cleft and stroke the flesh that ached so sweetly.

  “There,” he murmured, his fingers circling the slick opening of her body and gliding to the delicate peak above. “Is this what you want?”

  She could only respond with an incoherent sound, while delight immolated her. He kissed her deeply, while at the same time he slid one finger inside her melting flesh. Her moans were absorbed by his ardent kisses, and the intimate channel of her body clung tightly to the gentle invasion. He stroked inside her, his touch deft, gentle, rhythmic, seeming to relish the wild quivering of her body.

  Driven into a sensuous frenzy, Lydia clawed helplessly at his shirt-covered back and his waistcoat, frantic to feel the hard body and warm skin beneath his clothes. Oh, God, she wanted him to be naked, for him to cover her body with his own, and ravish her for hours.

  “How soft you are,” he whispered raggedly, withdrawing his finger to stroke and play with her once more. “Lydia, the things I want to do to you…”

  “Do them now,” she managed to say through her clenched teeth.

  He gave a husky laugh and carefully lowered her to the table. The scarred wood was hard on her back, the edge of it digging into the backs of her knees as her legs dangled helplessly.

  “Don’t stop, don’t,” she implored as she felt him rummaging beneath her skirts.

  He pushed her legs wide apart, and his hot breath fell against her inner thigh. Dazedly she realized that he was sitting on the chair, with his face just above the tangle of private curls. An unthinkable notion crossed her mind…surely he wasn’t going to…no, it wasn’t possible…but his arms hooked beneath her knees, and as she groped clumsily to stop him, he grasped her wrists and trapped them at her sides.

  A low cry escaped her as she felt his mouth touch her, lavishing her with wetness and scalding heat, and the slippery caress of his tongue. He suckled her leisurely, making a sound of primal enjoyment as he tasted the feminine liquor of her body. His hands released her wrists when they trembled and relaxed in his hold, and he moved to grasp her clenching buttocks in his palms. His tongue found the tiny place where sensation had accumulated in a burning knot, and he flicked it with lush strokes. She sobbed as pleasure rushed through her in waves and billows and endless ripples.

  Even after the last eddies of sensation had faded, and she was quivering with exhaustion, Jake seemed reluctant to leave her, his mouth continuing to nuzzle her fragrant, salty flesh.

  “Jake,” she moaned, struggling to sit up, the table creaking with her movement.

  He stood and cradled her head against his shoulder, and they shared a kiss that was subtly garnished with her own intimate flavor. “How is that for an afterglow?” he asked hoarsely.

  “I want more of you.” Lydia reached for the front of his trousers and pulled inexpertly at the placket of concealed buttons. “All of you,” she clarified throatily, her fingers brushing against the thick, straining shape of him.

  “God, no.” He jumped back as if scalded. “I’m not going to debauch Derek Craven’s daughter in his own wine cellar. For one thing, you deserve better than that. For another, he would probably castrate me by some medieval method.”

  “I don’t know where everyone gets these ideas about Papa. He is really the kindest, most wonderful—”

  “Father-in-law from hell,” Jake muttered, recalling the comment he had made earlier. He heaved a sigh and picked up Lydia’s discarded corset. “Well, one thing is certain—I’ll handle him a damn sight better than Wray would have.”

  Lydia fumbled with her chemise, then sat still as Jake hooked the corset around her. “Does that mean you’re going to propose to me?” she asked hopefully.

  Expertly he pulled the drawers up over her ankles. “We’d better negotiate first.”

  Lydia hopped from the table and pulled the undergarments back into place, tying the tapes neatly. “There is one other fault of mine that I forgot to mention.” The satin of her skirts rustled as she let them drop back into place.

  “Oh?”

  �
�I hate to compromise.”

  “So do I,” he said, and they shared a rueful grin.

  Jake went to pour another glass of wine. He drank deeply, then regarded Lydia with a steady gaze. “There is one point that I can’t yield on. If we marry, I won’t accept your father’s money, or that damned obscene dowry. If he wants to establish an account that is yours alone, so be it. But you’ll have to accept the kind of life that I can provide for you. That means no gifts of mansions and fine carriages and the like from your family.”

  Lydia parted her lips to argue, then closed her mouth. If that was what he required to retain his pride and self-respect, she would have to adjust to it. For heaven’s sake, how much did she need to be happy? She would have her work, and a pleasant life, and most of all, a husband who loved her. That was infinitely more appealing than a luxurious but empty existence as Lady Wray.

  She went to him and linked her arms around his waist, thrilling in the freedom of touching him. “What about the money that I earn from my work? Would you have an objection if I kept that?”

  His brows drew together. “Is that a hypothetical question, or have you actually earned some?”

  Her shoulders lifted in a modest shrug. “I’ve made a little here and there, inventing things. Last year I designed a relay modification for telegraph companies…and I have this idea about atmospheric propulsion…”

  “How much have you made so far?” he asked suspiciously.

  “Just a few thousand.”

  “How many thousand?”

  “Not more than, say…twenty.” The sum was nothing compared to Craven standards, but Lydia knew that the average person would probably consider it significant.

  Jake closed his eyes and downed the rest of his wine.

  “I’m sorry,” Lydia said hastily. “It’s just that Cravens can’t seem to help making money. There’s my father, of course, and then my mother has earned quite a lot from her novel-writing, and last year my brother Nicholas took it in his head to start a shipping company with propeller-driven vessels—”

  “Nicholas is eighteen,” he said, staring at her with patent disbelief.