Chapter Seven
Lucas knew, even as his mouth moved against hers, that he was making a mistake. She was a young woman with no experience of the world and gentlemen—save for Canterbury. That Lucas seemed a better option in comparison was hardly surprising, but not a guarantee she would be best off with him.
But he wanted her. Madly. He knew he ought to pull back, but she tasted like honey, and his hands refused to obey his commands as they tangled in her hair, tugging just hard enough to elicit a gasp.
His erection strained against his breeches, and he ached for her.
To slip between her wet folds and inside her.
He wanted to watch the look in her eyes when she climaxed again, all for him.
Possessiveness seized him, and he bit her lower lip, then licked away the sting. She gripped his shoulders, but rather than fleeing from the sudden burst of pain, she pressed closer.
He kissed her the way he wanted to ravish her—with savage intensity. There was no gentleness left in him; the morning had stripped him raw, and she had found him at his most vulnerable.
She had gone looking for him. She had asked him for another kiss before she left, and so he would ruin her for every other gentleman who attempted to kiss her—even if the thought of her offering this sweetness to another gentleman made him see red.
When he opened her mouth, she obeyed, meeting his tongue with his. Her hands traced across his chest, and he had the absurd urge to strip off his clothing so she might feel him skin to skin.
Laughter interrupted them, the sound of it sending a chill into Lucas’s chest, cooling his ardor. He broke the kiss, stepping in front of Gwen as though he could shield her from view.
Canterbury stood before them, his cravat untied and his coat rumpled, hanging loosely off his shoulders. The man looked as though he had spent the better part of the night awake, drinking too much. His bloodshot eyes narrowed in on Lucas.
“I should have known you would make a move on the girl before I could,” he said, his lip curling in a sneer. “Is that why you chose now to ruin me, Lucas?”
Lucas wrapped his hand around Gwen’s arm, commanding her to stay behind him. He recognized the signs of impending trouble, and Canterbury had trouble written all over him.
He knew he should never have come out here. Should never have kissed Gwen, no matter how much he’d wanted to. Impotent rage fired in him because he knew precisely what was coming, and he was powerless to stop it.
“I see I have a bargaining chip,” Canterbury said, his gaze flicking from Lucas’s face to where Gwen was struggling to emerge from behind him.
“A rendezvous in the early morning? And wearing such attire. Quite shocking. Positively scandalous. What do you suppose the world will think?” Canterbury tutted.
“And all before her first Season. I thought better of you, Lucas.”
Gwen finally squirmed out from behind him. Sunlight burst from behind the horizon, the soft glow of a new day bathing them and scattering the mist. The first tendrils of warmth reached them in the air, trees tipped with gold.
“You cannot blame him,” she said, raising her chin. “I was the one who joined him. This is my fault.”
“Gwen,” Lucas growled.
Canterbury’s bloodshot eyes met his, and a garish grin split his face. “The choice is simple, Lucas. Call off the bailiffs, or I will ruin her forever.”
*
Gwen gasped at the sheer audacity of the man—as though he could use her to fulfill his own gains. But Lucas’s expression had set in a cold, dark way that made her both thrill and cower inside.
This was no idle threat. And Lucas would act accordingly—with force.
Canterbury took a step forward, a smirk tugging at his lips. He already looked as though the worst had come to pass—she could imagine him in gaol exactly as he was now, disheveled with a light of insanity in his eyes. Desperation did terrible things to a man.
If he had been a different sort of man, she might have pitied him.
But she couldn’t find it within herself to pity a monster.
How ironic that Lucas had declared himself a monster the first time they had met when he was nothing more than a man. This, here, was the true monster, and no urbane civility could hide the truth.
“You will gain nothing by attempting to threaten me,” Lucas said coldly.
Canterbury’s lip curled. “I know you care for her. And I know you would never been seen to compromise a woman. So what is it to be?” He stepped forward again, until he was almost toe to toe with Lucas, not seeming to notice the disparity in height or the dangerous look in Lucas’s eyes.
“Will you call off your hounds, or will you allow her to be ruined?”
“It is too late to call anything off,” Lucas said. “You know that as well as I do. The writ has been signed.”
In one quick movement, Canterbury grabbed Gwen’s arm, hauling her from Lucas’s side to his own. “Then perhaps I will have to be the one to ruin her. I will not go down alone, Duke.”
Gwen snapped her head up, her own fury fueled by the murderous look that passed across Lucas’s face.
He would not threaten her and get away with.
She pulled up her leg and stomped against his shoe as hard as she could. The small heel connected with the fleshy part of his foot, and he let out a hoarse yell, stumbling back. Gwen stumbled with him, fighting to free herself. His fingers tightened, and when she turned, she saw why.
He had reached the edge of the path, tipping down the slope to the lake.
She saw the exact moment panic hit. There was nothing he could do to stop this. Time seemed to slow, the seconds dragging, and Gwen threw her weight backward.
Lucas launched himself at her, his fingers grazing her arm as Canterbury’s weight yanked her inexorably down.
They bounced, her body colliding against his, and she drew in one frantic breath.
Then screamed as Lord Canterbury pulled her into the lake.