Page 17 of A Lord in Want of a Wife (Daring Debutantes #2)

He followed her to the galley stores. They searched through everything but knew there wasn’t anything there. He had no understanding of herbs so he couldn’t even identify what was there. Her knowledge was equally sparse and so they ended up staring at each other in confusion.

And there he saw her true reaction to Lord Wenshire’s statement. Fear etched hard lines on her face, and so rather than fruitlessly looking through jars he couldn’t identify, he sought to comfort her instead.

‘Humming likely strained his throat. He’ll be fine after a good night’s rest.’

She looked at him, her eyes hard. ‘Do the ladies in England accept lies so easily?’

He sighed. Polite lies were the stock and trade of the ton , but she had a point. Burying her head in the sand would not help her. It was possible that her father would die sooner rather than later, and then she would be alone in a very big world.

‘I swear I will help you if he cannot.’

She dropped her hands on her hips. ‘And how can you help me if all your plans are for my sister?’

It was a peevish statement, but he understood its cause. ‘She will go nowhere without you. You know that.’

Frustration built in her face until he thought she might hit him. Instead, tears filled her eyes as her fists balled on her hips.

‘I hate this! Why does she get the dowry? You don’t want her!’

He had thought the same thing a thousand times, but he had come to terms with the statement.

‘She is his blood kin,’ he said gently. ‘It’s only natural that he give his coin to her.’

‘But she’s not!’ she exclaimed. ‘We are the same! Two half children. She is a little too old to be his child, and I am a little too young. Neither of us—’ She cut off her words at his shocked face. And then her eyes widened as she pressed a hand to her mouth.

‘I didn’t mean to say that,’ she whispered. Then she squared her shoulders. ‘You are right, of course. Grace is his daughter. She’s the right age. I am just an extra piece of baggage hanging around her neck.’

Another lie, though the emotions were the same. ‘You are not baggage,’ he said, his words careful. ‘And she is not his child.’

‘Of course she is—’

‘The monks lied,’ he realised as he made the logical conclusion. ‘They heard a white man would take an orphan off their hands and offered up you and her. They likely never even looked for his true child.’

‘If the child survived, it would have gone to the temple like the rest of us. There is no other place for us.’

He nodded. ‘There is now. You are here. You have a father who cares for you.’

She dashed away tears that seeped from her eyes. ‘I shouldn’t have come. I should have stayed at the temple and waited for Ah-Lan to return.’

He hated the sound of another man’s name on her lips but consoled himself that this horrible Ah-Lan was far, far away.

‘You are here now. You have a new life ahead of you. And your father has a simple cough—’

‘That has plagued him for months.’

He nodded. ‘That happens. You know it does. His lungs are weak, but he will get better once he is on English soil.’

‘You don’t know that,’ she said, her voice tight as she fought tears. ‘And when he is gone, what will happen to me?’

The anguish in her voice destroyed him. It didn’t matter that the danger was far-fetched. She was a woman used to being cast aside. And so he did the one thing he knew would help her.

He took her into his arms.

He pulled her tight against him as she cried against his chest. He stroked her back and set his cheek against the top of her head.

‘It’s not so bad a gamble that you have taken,’ he said. ‘A frightening one, to be sure, but that just shows how brave you are.’

Her tears had slowed, but she wasn’t able to speak yet. So he kept talking, keeping his voice soothing as he gave her his truth.

‘Your father is a wealthy man who generously took you in. You need only trust him for a time. He has offered to care for you as a father, and you honour him as a daughter would.’

‘I don’t need a father,’ she murmured against his chest.

‘In this world, you do. At least until you have a husband. But never fear. Lord Wenshire has a great deal of life left in him. You’ll see. And that gives you time to pick the perfect husband.’

It was the truth, but the knowledge ate at him. If only he had the time to wait for her. If only her father thought to give even half the dowry to Lucy, Cedric could find a way to make it work. If only his own father wasn’t such a wastrel as to put Cedric in this position.

If onlys didn’t help anyone.

He held her there, his thoughts turning darker by the moment. He was in an impossible situation. She was equally stuck. And they had no choice but to endure because that was what one did.

But there was some comfort to be found. Something that would not damage her chances of a husband and perhaps would ease his own hunger for her. Something forbidden, and yet impossible to refuse.

She had stopped crying. She lay her head on his chest and fitted her body to his. How his body hungered for her.

‘Lucy,’ he whispered. ‘We cannot wed. This only causes pain.’

She looked into his eyes. ‘Kiss me,’ she said.

He tried to be honourable. He knew his thoughts were going into a very dangerous place. But another part of him liked the idea.

If he ruined her, if they were caught together, would Lord Wenshire insist they marry? And would he dower her? Would that be a way to force her father’s hand?

‘Kiss me!’ her words were a command, but still he resisted. He counted himself an honourable person. He did not want a wife by trickery, even one who fired his blood so fiercely.

He stroked his thumb across her cheek. He looked into her eyes and hungered. And he resisted.

‘No,’ he said.

‘Yes,’ she said.

Then she dragged his head down to hers and kissed him. More shocking still, she thrust her tongue into his mouth. It was like taking a knife to all his restraint. His basest desires broke free.