Diane Gaston - Rumours in the Regency Ballroom - Scandalising the Ton / Gallant Officer, Forbidden Lady

He had no answer.

He forced himself to look directly into her lovely face. “Please know, dear lady, that I speak truly when I say I have no wish to hurt you, no wish to ever hurt you.” He gave her a wan smile. “I told you before that I would act as your friend. I came here as such.”

“A friend.” Her gaze softened.

She stepped forwards and touched his arm. Even through his layers of clothing, the contact seared him with need, a need he knew he must deny. When he looked in her eyes, though, he saw a yearning to match his own.

“Lydia,” he whispered.

Lydia thought she must have gone completely mad. She gazed into his eyes and was content to be caught there, like a leaf caught in a whirlpool that pulled it into its depths.

She ought to send him away now. She ought to forget what she’d done two days before, wantonly bedding him, a man well known for his conquests of women.

He had acted nothing like she’d supposed a rake would act. He had never pushed himself on her, never spoke words of seduction. She had pushed herself on him, in fact. She had been the one who’d spoken words of seduction. And she felt herself about to do so again.

Her hand on his arm trembled against the fabric of his coat, damp from where the rain had soaked through. She had only to move her hand away and let him go.

Instead, she raised her hand to his face and lightly grazed his cheek.

God help her, she was weak. And wanton.

From the moment of seeing him framed in the doorway, her body had craved the return of his touch, the passion of his lovemaking.

She traced her finger from his temple to the perpetually upturned corner of his mouth. He remained still, giving her the power to choose if she wanted more or not. She almost wished he would seize her now, take her by force. Even though his eyes darkened and his breathing accelerated, he still waited for her to choose.

What harm would it do? she thought. What harm to have his arms around her again, to have his practised touch drive away the worries that seemed to double and triple with each passing day? She was lonely. What harm to pass time with him? He knew the same people, attended the same entertainments. She missed being a part of it all more than she would have guessed.

But what she missed most was what a man could give her, what Adrian had given her. If the newspapers only knew what a wanton woman she’d turned out to be, a woman who bedded a man merely because he’d been kind. She shuddered to think what would be written of her if they knew.

She let her hand fall away.

Adrian’s gaze turned puzzled. He did not say a word. He did not move. He would leave if she told him to, she knew.

Or he would stay.

Her choice.

She stepped closer to him, her aching ankle reminding her how he had so gently tended it. What had come after his gentle care now consumed her. His kiss. What his touch had aroused in her.

What harm to feel that delight one more time? What harm?

Lydia slid her hands up his chest until her arms encircled his neck. The hair at the nape tickled her fingers and his collar felt cool and damp. She rose on tiptoe and tilted her face to him, letting him know she’d made her choice.

He groaned with a man’s need and bent forwards, placing his lips on hers, tentatively, as if he still would permit her to change her mind.

She did not want to change her mind. She wanted her body to sing with the pleasure he could create. She wanted to be joined to him, like one. She wanted to not be so terribly alone.

He drew away slightly, then crushed his lips against hers with a man’s command. The effect was exhilarating.

His kiss, familiar but new, deepened. Her lips parted and their tongues touched, the sensation intimate and delighting.

He pressed her to him, and she could feel the evidence of his arousal beneath his clothing. That womanly part of her ached with desire to feel his length inside her again. She wanted him to sweep her away, to make her forget everything but him.

Her heart pounded wildly.

She’d once forgotten everything but Wexin. Wexin’s kisses—chaste compared to Adrian’s—had once made her feel secure in a future of happiness, but Wexin, while kissing her, had the stain of blood on his hands, the murder of a friend.

Lydia pushed hard against Adrian’s chest and backed away. The look he gave her was wild, heated, aroused and confused.

She put a hand to her forehead. “Forgive me.” She dared to glance into his eyes. “Forgive me. I cannot do this. I must not.”

He breathed heavily, and it seemed to her he was fighting to keep calm.

“Lydia.” His voice was so low she seemed to feel it more than hear it. “Why deny this passion between us?”

She stared at him. How could she explain that she could never again allow a man to have that sort of power over her?

“I must deny it.” Her voice sounded mournful and weak. She must never again be weak. She lifted her chin. “Please leave, Adrian. Do not return.” She walked behind the chair again and clutched its back.

“Lydia.” His eyes pleaded.

She held up a hand. “Do not press me, Adrian.” She took a deep breath. “I have enough worries.”

He turned and started to walk away. Lydia did not know which feeling was the greater: relief at his departure, or sorrow.

Before he reached the door, he stopped and turned back. “Before I walk out, tell me something, Lydia.”

She waited.

He looked directly into her eyes. “Do you need money?” She inhaled sharply. “What makes you think I need money?”

His hand swept the room. “You light fires only for show.You have no flowers. And there is the matter of your servants—”

“I have servants,” she retorted. Well, three servants, but he need not know the number was so small.

Would he tell the creditors and reporters? If word of her true situation escaped, all of England would know the shocking state of her finances. Even Levenhorne and the men at the bank did not know how bad it was, how close they’d come to having nothing to eat.

“I came here to offer you help,” he said. “How much money do you need?”

“I don’t need money.” She felt her cheeks heat. “But if I did, I would not take yours.”

His brows rose. “Why?”

“Why?” She gave a nervous laugh. “Would that not mean I was in your keeping? Do not mistresses accept money from their…patrons?”

His eyes creased at the corners. “I make the offer as a friend, nothing more.”

She glanced away. Truth was, she still needed money for the most pressing debts. It would buy her time until her parents returned and her father could help her. At present, her only hope was that her sister could find a way to help her, to get money to her without her husband’s knowledge. Lydia had sent Mary to pass on a letter through her sister’s maid.

“I do not need your money, Adrian,” she whispered.

“I offer it without obligation.”

He said this so sincerely, she almost believed him, but she’d believed Wexin, a murderer who professed to love her, who bought her trinkets, while spending every penny of her dowry. It made no sense that a near-stranger, a known rake, would offer her money without expecting something in return.

“It is not your place to help me,” she told Adrian. She blinked. “If I needed help, that is.” She squared her shoulders and forced herself to look directly into his eyes. “Please leave now, Adrian.”

For a moment he looked as if he would cross the room to her, but instead, he turned and walked to the door. She twisted away, not wishing to watch him disappear out of her life.

His voice came from behind her. “I am your friend, Lydia. Remember that.”