Page 6 of The Wayward Lady (The Wayward Widows of Willoughby Hall #1)
A s spring turned to summer, Kendrick and Lavender met several times a week in his garden, weather permitting, and worked on their book. He usually took his typewriter outside, working from the table where he’d been sitting when Lavender had first fallen into his life. He wrote while Lavender sketched, and they fell into a comfortable rhythm, a partnership unlike anything he had ever known.
The contract had returned from his solicitor, ensuring she received her fair share, and he hadn’t missed the tentative pride shining on her face when she signed her name. He had gleaned enough to know that her husband had left her destitute. She had told him that until the duchess had offered her a place at Willoughby Hall, she had feared she would find herself out on the street. He hoped that the book did well enough that she would have a little nest egg of her own. He never again wanted her to know what it felt like to have nothing to fall back on. He felt a strange protectiveness over her that he couldn’t explain. She was just so sweet, so innately good, and he wanted her to be happy.
At last, they sent the finished product to his publisher, and he realized in dismay that their reason for getting together so often had disappeared.
She must have decided the same because several days went by without her dropping by to visit. He found himself pacing his estate, looking for her around every corner, forced to admit how much he missed her. It frightened him how much she had come to mean to him, how his days had started to revolve around her.
It wasn’t until the fifth day, which was gray and dreary, that he once again glimpsed her walking down on the beach. He and Daisy raced down the trail worn into the side of the cliff, eager to see her.
She’d bent down to pick something up from the sand when they approached her, and once again, his gaze was drawn to the delectable sight of her wearing those trousers that hugged her bottom and thighs, leaving little to the imagination. She’d rarely worn them when they were working on the book, and it had been hard to refrain from asking her to do so. He often dreamed about her wearing them, dreams that left him hot and aching.
“Lavender,” he called, not wanting to startle her. “How are you?”
She looked up at him, and he didn’t think he imagined the look of pleasure in her eyes. “I’m fine. How are you?”
Better, now that I’ve seen you . But he couldn’t say that. So he merely shrugged. “Bored now that we’re no longer working on our book.”
“As am I,” she agreed, holding up another piece of sea glass. It glistened in the sunlight, reflecting shades of blue and green like a miniature ocean captured in glass. Its edges were smooth and worn from its journey but retained a hint of the original shape. “I’m back to looking for sea glass.”
“I like this one,” he told her, peering down at it.
“So do I,” she murmured, slipping it into her pocket.
A crack of lightning split the air, and the resulting boom of thunder made them both jump. Storm clouds gathered on the horizon, moving in over the ocean and casting an ominous shadow over the beach. He had been so focused on finding her that he hadn’t even noticed them until now.
Lavender’s eyes widened with surprise and awe at the sudden change in the weather. The air crackled with static electricity, mirroring the charged emotions suddenly swirling between them. “It was good to see you, but I’d better head back. It looks like things are about to get nasty.”
Returning to Willoughby Hall the way she had come would involve a long, circuitous route along the beach. He gestured to the pathway up the cliff. “You can go this way and then cut across my garden. It’s shorter.”
She gave him a grateful look, obviously having already calculated that the odds of making it home before the storm hit were not good. “Lead the way.”
“No,” he insisted, very interested in having a rear view of her glorious curves in those trousers as she made the climb. “Ladies first.”
She held his gaze, seeming to guess his reasoning, then grinned and started climbing agilely up the path. It wasn’t the easiest climb, even under good conditions. About halfway up, the storm caught them, rain pouring down and quickly making the ground beneath them slick and hard to navigate.
They were about a dozen yards from the top when she lost her footing and slid back toward him. He did his best to plant his feet and catch her, but they both went down hard. He knew a moment of sheer terror at the thought that she would roll over the edge, but she landed on top of him with a soft cry, sprawled inelegantly across his body. She was so soft and sweet against him, a comfortable blanket of femininity.
She looked down at him, raindrops catching on her long eyelashes, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “Oops,” she said with a laugh. “This might not come as a surprise to you, but I’m terribly clumsy. Thank you for catching me.”
“Anytime,” he assured her hoarsely, clutching her tightly to him, his heart still racing at the thought that she could have tumbled off the edge of the cliff. He didn’t know what he’d have done if he’d lost her. “Are you all right?” he asked, gently tucking a few wet strands of hair behind her ear as the rain continued to pour down around them, getting them more drenched by the second.
“I’m fine.” She shifted, the trousers she wore allowing her to straddle him, braced her hands on either side of his head, and looked down at him, rain catching off her eyelashes.
Awareness surged through him, causing every nerve to tingle and his heart to thump erratically. The urge to press his lips to hers was overpowering, a primal need he couldn’t resist any longer. He had wanted her... needed her... since the moment they’d met. He wrapped one hand around the back of her neck, pulled her head down to his, and captured her surprised cry with a deep, passionate moan of his own. She hesitated only briefly before allowing her tongue to meld hotly with his. They kissed hungrily, pressing deeper into the soft mud beneath them.
It had been seven years since he’d last held a woman this way, and the intensity of his reaction to having Lavender in his embrace was both inevitable and agonizing. She was like pure heaven, fitting perfectly against him. His cock swelled painfully, and he knew she must feel it because she ground her core against him, trying to get closer even through the layers of clothing that separated them. This indication that she might welcome him between those lovely thighs almost made him come on the spot.
He slid his hands down her back, at last resting them upon her glorious bottom that he’d fantasized about so often. He clasped the lovely round curves tightly, feeling as though he’d died and gone to heaven.
Daisy whined softly, pushing her wet nose against his arm, breaking the spell. Bloody hell, what was he doing? As much as he wanted to lose himself in her kiss, he knew he needed to stop this before things went too far.
He still hadn’t told her about Isabella.
Reluctantly breaking the connection, he pushed himself up from the slippery ground and helped her to her feet. Her blue eyes were wide with confusion and desire, and a smear of mud adorned her otherwise flawless cheek.
“Kendrick...” she breathed, her voice raw.
“I know,” he murmured helplessly. “But I need to get you out of the rain.”
He pressed one more quick kiss to her forehead before taking her muddy hand and pulling her the rest of the way up the trail, being very careful of his footing. Once they reached the top, they dashed through the garden to his cottage. His heart was still racing, and his body buzzed with energy from their passionate exchange.
By the time he shut the door behind them, they were both drenched, as was Daisy, who immediately shook herself in front of the fireplace, spraying Lavender with even more water.
“I probably look like a drowned rat,” she said with a rueful smile, not seeming to mind Daisy’s antics.
“You look lovely,” he hurried to assure her. Had he ever seen anything as adorable as this woman in her bedraggled state? She made the dark, angry beast inside him lay down and wag its tail. She made him want to be a better man, a better person. If only he was free to show her that.
He hurried over, grabbed a heavy wool blanket from the back of the sofa, and wrapped it around her shoulders, closing his eyes for a moment as he breathed her in. She smelled of rainwater and mud but also faintly of lavender, which was so fitting it made him smile despite his rioting emotions.
Such a simple pleasure, to take care of a woman this way, but it had been so long... He’d had no idea how much he’d missed it.
Clearing his throat, he stepped away and gestured to the sofa. “Sit down and try to get warm. I’ll build a fire.”
“Thank you,” she breathed, and he could tell she was as lost in the moment as he was. He wondered if it was him she was thinking of right now or her late husband. Even if he were free to have a relationship with her, was she ready for that? It had only been a little over a year since she had lost her husband.
The thought sobered him, and he moved to the fireplace, messing with it until it roared, trying to rein in his racing thoughts.
He felt like the worst kind of bastard. Lavender was the sort of woman who deserved a man’s whole heart. She was not someone you trifled with. And he did not have his whole heart to give. He was still technically a married man, for Christ’s sake. What did he have to offer her?
Taking a deep breath, he turned to look at her, already hating himself for what he was about to do. Why couldn’t he have just enjoyed his friendship with Lavender instead of trying to turn it into something more than it probably was? Why had he kissed her? She had been a friend to him, a true friend, and now he’d ruined everything.
“About earlier... on the path,” he said haltingly. “I am so sorry, Lavender. I should not have done that.”
She blushed scarlet and lowered her gaze to her lap, twisting the edge of the blanket as a shiver wracked her. “It’s all right,” she said softly. “I... quite enjoyed it.”
Dear Lord. She would tempt a saint, and he was no saint. He crossed the room and sat beside her on the sofa, fighting the urge to pull her into his arms and warm her up the way he most wanted to. “I enjoyed it too, but I think it is only fair to tell you that... I am married.”
“Married?” she squeaked, her face awash with disbelief and her voice rising incredulously. “What do you mean, you’re married?”
He just shook his head, knowing that nothing he said, no excuse he offered, would justify what he had done. He should never have acted upon the desire roiling within him. He had dishonored them both by doing so.
She surged to her feet, her wide blue eyes welling with tears. “I have to go,” she said, her voice trembling. “I shouldn’t be here.”
“I am so sorry.” He caught her hand, but she pulled it away, dropping the blanket on the back of the sofa. “At least let me give you an umbrella,” he said weakly.
“I do not need anything from you, Mr. Wycliffe.” She glared at him and turned away, squaring her shoulders.
And then she walked back out into the storm, leaving him alone with his guilt and regret.