Chapter Thirty-Nine
The Redington House parlor remained silent until the sound of the front door closing behind Edmund and his mother echoed from the hall.
Lydia refused to glance away from her mother to watch him leave, but the moment he’d turned away from her, the room had instantly felt colder.
A chill claimed her fingers and toes and an iciness wrapped around her lungs.
She may not have wanted him to witness this exchange with her mother, but she’d been undeniably strengthened by his presence.
His expression when she’d asked him to leave had nearly changed her mind. His eyes, usually sparkling with humor and charm—or passion—had been shadowed and dull, like those of an injured boy uncertain of his place.
She had to hope he understood.
Ralston spoke first. “Aunt Angela, you will explain what this is about.”
“I don’t have to explain anything. You have no authority over me.”
“With my father overseas, I am the head of this family,” Ralston stated with firm gravitas. “I’ve also been responsible for my cousins for years now, which you insisted upon.” He arched an imperious brow. “I recall you saying something about how the obligation to others would keep me humble.”
“It clearly hasn’t been effective,” the marchioness retorted.
“You seem quite happy with the arrangement when I’m cleaning up your sons’ messes; paying their debts and ensuring their reckless behaviors don’t become gossip fodder for our delicate society.”
Lydia watched as her mother visibly struggled with her desire to argue with Ralston. After a moment, she lifted her chin. “So, what are you going to do about this mess Lydia’s landed herself in?”
“Are you referencing the mess you designed and constructed, Mother?” Lydia asked with raised brows.
Lady Loxmarch scoffed at the accusation. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“What’s truly ridiculous is that even after all these years of me telling you who I am, you refuse to see me. You refuse to know me. You insist on forming me into someone I cannot be and don’t wish to be.”
The marchioness tossed up her hands. Her eyes flashed. “For God’s sake, Lydia! It’s just marriage.”
Lydia remained steady. “It’s a future I don’t want.”
“You’ve got no choice, now, my girl.” Her mother’s voice rose as she jabbed a finger toward the doorway.
“That woman will ensure everyone in this city is aware of your indiscretion so she can claim allegiance to the Fairchilds. This was supposed to stay within the family. Now all of London will know of it.”
“What do you mean it was supposed to stay within the family?” Ralston asked sharply.
“Oh, Good God!” the marchioness replied in angry exasperation. “Fine. I admit it. I needed Lydia to understand that she couldn’t continue as she has been. She needs the protection and security of a proper marriage. But nothing was getting through to her. She was becoming a social pariah.”
“It must have been terribly frustrating when the notes threatening to expose my secrets to scandal didn’t have any effect.” Lydia tilted her head. “It never occurred to you that I’d ignore them. Or that maybe I didn’t have any secrets worthy of scandal.”
“It made no sense,” her mother noted. “All the times you disappeared from parties and dinners. For hours. You had to be doing something perilous.” An almost pleading note entered her voice. “I was trying to protect you.”
“I was reading, Mother. I don’t particularly enjoy parties, so I slip away to a quiet place to read.”
The marchioness glared back at her. “How in hell would I have known that?”
“You could’ve talked to me. You could’ve listened.”
Lady Loxmarch scoffed again, rolling her eyes. “What young woman doesn’t enjoy society?”
“Me,” Lydia exclaimed, followed by a heavy sigh. “And you’re still not listening.”
“And you continually refuse to do what’s best for you. I had to do something.”
“So, you hired a man to blackmail Lord Darlington so he’d agree to ruin her.” This calmly uttered statement came from Charlotte, who’d put the pieces together rather quickly.
“Bloody hell,” Ralston muttered in response.
“The request was to bring me to the brink of ruin, wasn’t it, Mother?” Lydia clarified. “Scare me into complying with your wishes. I’m sorry it didn’t work out the way you wanted.”
“Because of Darlington,” the marchioness sneered. “That insolent—”
“And thank God for it,” Lydia interrupted sharply. “He heard what I had to say and believed me. I can see now that you will never understand. And I’m done fighting you.”
The marchioness took a step forward. “So, you’ll finally marry?”
Lydia stared back at her mother in stunned sadness. Then she gave a small shake of her head and turned to Charlotte. “May I stay here for a while?”
Charlotte shared a look with Ralston, then nodded and stood. “Of course. As long as you’d like. Let’s get you settled in.”
As Lady Redington guided her from the parlor, Lydia never looked back. She thought she heard a sharp indrawn breath and subtle movement from her mother, but a low sound from Ralston stopped it.
Less than twenty minutes later, she was dressed in one of Charlotte’s nightgowns—a gorgeous French negligee with swathes of lace and a deep slit up the thigh with a matching robe designed more to enhance than conceal the light gown beneath.
Her cousin’s wife smiled and apologized for the risqué style, saying she had nothing more modest.
Lydia didn’t mind. The dark, plum-colored silk and lace was beautiful and elegant and somehow empowering.
After helping to remove the pins from Lydia’s hair then plait it in a single braid, Charlotte left her in the guest room with a glass of wine and a gentle promise that things would look different in the morning.
Lydia wasn’t sure she believed her.
Not the slightest bit tired, she curled up in an armchair before the fireplace and sipped her wine as she stared into the flames.
She thought she’d be angrier that her suspicions about her mother had proven correct.
But she was just saddened by a great sense of loss.
Perhaps a part of her had hoped her mother would suddenly understand once Lydia confronted her.
Now she knew the marchioness would not so easily alter her position.
Her unsatisfied ambitions and the frustrating lack of her own autonomy had only ground the older woman deeper into the ruts of societal expectation.
They would never agree on what was important.
All Lydia could hope for now was that the marchioness might finally let her be.
Closing her eyes, she allowed her head to rest back on the cushioned headrest of the chair.
She knew she hadn’t fallen asleep, but her mind had wandered enough that the quiet knock on her door startled her into a gasp.
Answering the knock, she saw a young maid who bobbed a quick curtsey. “Excuse me, m’lady. This is for you.” She held out a tightly folded note with a blush on her cheeks and a shy smile. “The gentlemen said to make sure the house was quiet before bringing it to you.”
Lydia took the message with a whispered thank you, and the maid quickly disappeared down the hallway. Stepping back into the room and closing the door, Lydia felt a familiar thrill as she opened the note.
It could only be from one person.
Go to the window.
That’s all it said, no signature. Not even an initial. But she knew.
At the window, she pulled back the drapes just a few inches. She quickly spotted Edmund standing beside a tree down below, apparently scanning the building for a sign of movement. As soon as he spotted her in the window, he dashed toward the house.
With a gasp and soft laugh of surprise, Lydia unlatched the window casement.
The man was mad. A few moments later, his grinning face appeared over the windowsill. Then his broad shoulders, then the rest of him as he launched himself into the bedroom.
“You’ve lost your mind, you know,” Lydia noted with a shake of her head as he righted himself.
It looked like he was going to argue, but the words caught on a harsh grunt as his gaze slid over her silk-clad body in a heated rush.
“Fuck me,” he muttered in awe.
“Stop it,” Lydia ordered, folding her arms over her chest, which only pushed her breasts higher against the plunging neckline of the gown.
His desirous gaze flickered up to hers. “Never.”
The deep gravel vow sent shivers up her spine to dance across her nape. The single word shouldn’t have brought her so much pleasure. But it did. “What on earth are you doing?”
“I needed to know you were alright.” His tone was earnest despite the hunger in his eyes.
Warmth slid through her. “How did you know I’d be here?”
He shrugged. “You weren’t at home, so I assumed…”
A half-smile tilted her lips before she lowered her chin to hide it as a strange melancholy gripped her. “Well, I’m quite fine, as you can see,” she replied.
He took a couple of steps toward her. A bright anticipation flared to life in her core, but she tensed to contain it. There was a hint of concern in his expression that irritated her pride.
“That must’ve been difficult for you,” he said gently. “Your mother—”
“My mother has always possessed a singular goal when it comes to me. It doesn’t surprise me that she’d go to such lengths.”
“A lack of surprise doesn’t make the betrayal less painful.”
“True. But now, everything is in the open,” She lifted her chin, determined to look forward. “Ralston has aligned himself with me, which means I shall have a buffer against her.”
His brows dipped. “She will continue trying to force the issue?”
Lydia shrugged. “If she does, she will fail. I will not be manipulated by her or anyone.”
He smiled and gave a nod of acknowledgement before his features shifted into regret. “I’m sorry…about my own mother. She threatened to spread gossip if I didn’t bring her along tonight.”
“I assumed it was something like that.”
“But you won’t have to worry about her going forward.”
Lydia tilted her head. She believed him. “Alright.”
With each sentence they spoke to each other, it felt more and more as though they both wished to be speaking of something else—or doing something else—entirely. It was in the air around them. Unspoken, unacknowledged need.
Lydia took a breath that caught in her throat.
She turned away before he could see the well of emotion in her eyes, and strode to the table by the chair where she’d set her glass of wine.
After taking a sip, she studied how the firelight reflected on the crystal glass as she mused, “I should thank you for helping me resolve things. I imagine you’re anxious to get back to… your usual social activities.”
A heavy silence followed her words.
She sensed him behind her before she felt his hand on her shoulder and his voice at her nape. “There is still a great deal to explore. To learn. Honestly…” he murmured, “we’ve barely begun.”
Ignoring the sparks of intimate longing his touch inspired, she recalled Bridget’s words about how he’d put his own future at risk for her. “It would be foolish to continue now that others know of our…association.”
Another long pause.
Lydia had to bite her lip to keep from saying something she shouldn’t.
“Hmm.” The low sound of acknowledgement cascaded down her spine as his hand smoothed down her arm. “Then we should probably make the absolute most of tonight.”
Gently turning her to face him, he took the glass from her hand and set it back on the table.
When she looked into his dark golden eyes, she saw his hunger and a hint of that wicked rake.
His smile was slow and intimate, warming and softening her muscles.
Chasing away any reticence or denial. “Don’t you agree? ”
Desire sparked brightly throughout her body, stirring deep emotions before rushing through her blood like molten fire.
She might regret this one day. But not tonight. Tonight, everything drew her to him in that moment. Stepping into him so her silk-covered body pressed to his, she draped her arms over his shoulders and tipped her face upward.
“I can find no reason to argue,” she replied with a smile.
Something bright and bold and breath-stealing flared in his eyes. With a low sound, he wrapped his arms firmly around her, lifting her to her toes as he found her mouth with his.
She expected fire and passion and the deep lick of his tongue.
She got a soft, reverent press. A gentle molding. Then a weighted sigh.
It was the sigh—sounding like a prayer and feeling like a promise against her lips—that melted her completely. She hummed deep in the back of her throat and took his face in her hands. Holding his glittering, half-shielded gaze, she flicked her tongue over the seam of his lips.
His eyes flashed then darkened, and his arms tightened around her, squeezing the breath from her lungs. But she didn’t need air to breathe. She just needed the taste of his kiss.
Feeling bold, she covered his mouth and ran her tongue along his lower lip before drawing it into her mouth. His moan was rich and thick as it rumbled through his body.
He seemed to like the play of her mouth.
His obvious pleasure made her bolder, and she continued to tease with hot flicks of her tongue and the sharp edge of her teeth.
Until his body grew tense and his breath came shallow.
Lydia felt possessed, compelled, totally bewitched by him and her unshakeable desire for him.
She would’ve thought that experiencing such a consuming need for someone would make a person feel vulnerable and lacking in autonomy.
But she didn’t think she’d ever felt more aligned with who she was and what she wanted.
She would’ve been happy to torment him forever.
But after a bit, he slid one hand up her back to grasp the base of her braid in his fist and gently pull her back.
His gaze was sharp and penetrating as he gazed into her eyes.
“Lydia, love,” he graveled. “I don’t want to rush through this. If it’s to be our last night…” His voice dropped into silence, as though he lost any words that might follow.
Lydia’s own words had also been stolen. Instead, she looked into his gorgeous eyes and offered a smile as her hands moved to untie his neckcloth.
His lips hitched upward and he released her to begin removing his coat, then his vest. Very quickly, his shoes followed. Breathless and giddy, Lydia tugged and shoved his clothing away from his body. Tossing each piece aside before addressing the next. Until finally, he was naked.
Her heart, her lungs, the functioning of her brain all came to a sudden halt as she moved her gaze greedily over his form.
From his tousled brown hair and rakish grin, to his broad, muscled chest and taut abdomen, down his lightly furred legs to his handsome feet, before bounding back up to where his erection stood proud and needful against his belly.
And there she stopped, completely devoid of breath or any rational thought.