Page 35 of A Proposal to Wed (The Beautiful Barringtons #9)

O h. Goodness .

Lucy’s mind went blank at the touch of his mouth against her own. Which was good, because she was furious at his unfounded accusations. Her husband didn’t trust her. He might never. Which was a daunting prospect.

A sigh of pure pleasure left her.

He cupped the back of her head, lips moving sensually over her own. Devouring every inch of her mouth. This was…like floating on a soft summer breeze. Or the first taste of lemon cake, when the tartness exploded on your tongue. Bliss, in its purest sense.

“Don’t ever throw a bloody biscuit at me again,” Harry said with a hint of a smile. The graze of his teeth along the bottom of her mouth had her gasping as his tongue flicked out to storm between her parted lips.

At the touch of her tongue against his, a groan came from Harry.

He pulled her out of the chair, pressing Lucy along the muscular lines of his body, so close, she could feel Harry’s heart beating against her own. Trailing her fingers boldly down his chest, she curled them in the fabric of his shirt, hanging on to him as if her life depended on it.

He worshipped her lips, leisurely adoring every line of Lucy’s mouth. Gentle, but demanding. Possessive and yet tender. So unexpected, much like the way he had undressed her the night before. Harry held her with such care, as if Lucy were a piece of the thinnest glass.

A sound left her, needful and wanting, one Lucy had never once made before.

Harry pulled away, cupping her cheeks. “Am I forgiven?”

Lucy stared up at him, disappointed the kiss was over. She was quite happily breathless.

“For now,” she answered.

His mouth pulled into a smirk. “Fair enough, my lovely girl.”

The endearment made Lucy’s entire body hum and produced the most curious ache in her heart.

Harry stared down at her, eyes growing serious and dark. “I—did not care to know Dufton had—approached my wife on the street. I don’t care for Dufton at all, as it happens. Never have.” Fingers trailed over the slope of her neck. “And I didn’t expect—” He looked away. “Well, I just did not.”

Lucy refused to allow this ridiculous nonsense to continue another moment. She took a step back, allowing her fingers to slide down his arms.

“Lord Dufton was presented to me over dinner,” she started in a whisper. “Lamb was served,” she said more forcefully, forcing her tongue to behave. “I only received a sliver of lamb and one potato, which was fine, really, since Father prefers his lamb exceedingly rare.”

“Lucy.” Her name sounded…broken.

“I was informed, rather than asked, that Dufton was courting me. I did not welcome his attentions. I could not, though it did not matter. Father’s dominion was absolute.

” Her words trembled slightly, but she did not lisp.

Refused to falter. “Dufton didn’t seem to mind if I ate a bloody scone on occasion.

So there was a small space of time, miniscule, mind you, when I thought—he might not be so terrible a husband.

My foolishness was quickly remedied.” Lucy’s fingers circled his wrist, feeling the hard bones.

“A man’s birth is no indication of his character, Harry.

It most certainly isn’t in Dufton’s case.

Lord Dufton might be a gentleman, but he is a terrible human being.

I would never ask him to meet me for any reason.

And even if I were so stupid, I would never do so outside the home of your closest friend. ”

Lucy took another step back, moving out of the circle of his warmth, unhappy at seeing a small sliver of doubt still hovering in the deep mist of his eyes.

He didn’t quite believe her, but she knew better than most that it takes time to ignore beliefs you’ve held onto for far too long.

Harry wasn’t ready to admit he was wrong.

Such a brilliant man, yet still something of an imbecile.

“Given recent events,” he said, “I think it best we depart for Ormesby sooner rather than later. I can’t have Dufton accosting you in the streets. I’ll advise Bartle to start packing and send Mrs. Bartle and Lizzie on ahead tonight. I want everything ready when we arrive.”

“Ormesby.” Lucy wasn’t familiar with the name, though she was sure the village was in Yorkshire.

“I have a house there. Close to Middlesbrough. That’s where Pendergast is.”

Lucy didn’t care to stay in London, as it happened. Not after seeing Dufton today. Nor did she like being in the same city as Father. Harry had a total of four flower beds in his tiny garden; Father could pop out of any one of them like some embittered vole. “Did you see my father today?”

“I did.” His features shuttered.

Lucy waited for him to say more, maybe call her his lovely girl once more, but he did not. Harry’s mood likely had much to do with being exposed to Gerald Waterstone as much as Dufton’s unwelcome appearance. Father knew exactly where to strike at an opponent to inflict the most harm.

“Bartle and some of the staff will follow, but the rest will stay in London. I need to make travel arrangements. I’ll see you at dinner.” He made a short bow and sauntered out of the library, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click.

Once Harry left her alone, Lucy flounced back into the chair, still angry. Somewhat aroused after that kiss. And unable to enjoy another word of Lord Thurston.