Regency Pleasures and Sins Part 1. Louise Allen

you here!” As she tried to bypass him, he seized her by the shoulder.

      With an inarticulate cry she wrenched out of his grasp, scuttled sideways and whirled to face him, arms raised protectively over her head.

      As if to ward off a blow. The realization exploded in his brain and radiated in shock waves through his body.

      He’d known, intellectually, that her husband must have abused her. But not until this moment, as she half crouched before him, her breath coming in gasps, her eyes dilated and feral as a cornered animal’s, had the reality of what she must have lived with, fled from, truly registered.

      While he stood there staring at her, incredulous and horrified, she slowly straightened, lowered her arms back to her sides. Her wide, watchful eyes never left him.

      Blind rage filled him, a sick revulsion at the indignity she must have suffered. Though given the evidence he’d just witnessed there was little need to ask, he couldn’t seem to stop himself from voicing the awful truth.

      “He hurt you.”

      She nodded, a quick jerk of the chin.

      “Often. Badly.”

      She pressed her trembling lips together and squeezed her eyes shut, displacing a single tear that tracked down her cheek, a glaze of liquid diamond in the moonlight.

      “Ah, Sparrow,” he whispered against the ache in his throat. “I’m so sorry.” And walked over to gather her against his chest.

      She trembled within the circle of his arms, trying not to weep. He’d guessed her most shameful secret, and yet he’d not turned from her in disgust after she cowered before him like some sort of brute beast. Instead, he sheltered her in his embrace, offering her refuge while she regathered the few tattered shreds of dignity Charle ton had left her. For that mercy alone, did she not already love him, she would surely have given him her heart.

      Not for more than a year, since Aunt Mary had entered her final illness, had Laura been embraced by another human soul. How she had missed the sweet peace conveyed by simple physical closeness. For long moments after she’d recovered her composure, she could not make herself move away. But when finally she did force herself to push against his chest, he released her instantly.

      “How long?” he asked quietly.

      Even now, ‘twas best not to be too specific. “A number of years.”

      “And he … misused you from the first?”

      She sighed. “Nearly.”

      “Did your family not suspect?”

      “I ran back to them the first time. But he came after me, so charming and regretful, that he convinced them—and me—'twas all a silly misunderstanding, that I was young and overreacted. I believed him—until the next time. And then it was too late. I was watched too closely.”

      “Until one day you felt you could stand it no more?”

      He cannot be a saint … there must be some stain on his honor he would not want revealed … But no, Charleton was too clever. Even if she told Beau what had happened, it would end up her word against her husband’s—and which was the court likely to believe? Better, still better to say nothing. “Until I could stand no more,” she agreed.

      He took her hand and kissed it. “Were these medieval days, I would find him and kill him, but we are supposed to be more civilized now. Won’t you leave with me, let us fight this together?”

      So he might protect her from Charleton. Her champion. Another tear escaped her. “N-no. I’m sorry, but I cannot. I’ve suffered much to construct a haven here. Please, please do nothing to jeopardize it.”

      “Only legal action can prevent that,” he repeated, and then smiled, his voice softening. “Though I truly believe it best, I’d never force you. You know that, don’t you?”

      Gentleness with strength. Not sure she could reply without her voice breaking, she merely nodded.

      “I’ll be back for you, Laura. Soon. With plans to win your freedom so foolproof and irrefutable you shall have to agree to them.”

      He wouldn’t be back, of course. There was no safe haven for her beyond this place—and in any event, once Lord Beaulieu returned to London and the press of his business there, he would soon forget the dowdy, troublesome little nurse who’d dared oppose his authority. During his rare moments of leisure, he’d doubtless have any number of lovely ladies eager to distract him from remembering.

      An upsurge of longing swelled in her, and a bitter regret for the closeness they’d almost attained. Swallowing hard, she nodded.

      “You are right, my sparrow, I must get some sleep, else I’m likely to fall asleep in the saddle tomorrow. But before I go, would you grant me one favor?”

      “If I can.”

      Slowly, as if to ensure he did not alarm her, the earl reached over to caress her cheek with one knuckle. “Would you take down your hair for me?” he asked. “Let me see the moonlight cast shadows on that lovely auburn hair, as the sun did that first morning in your garden?”

      His reverent touch, as if she were a precious object to be handled with awe and respect, melted any remaining caution. When he started to move his hand back, Laura caught it, held his palm against her temple. With her other hand, she stripped off the nightcap, splayed her fingers to comb out the braiding, then shook the tumbling plaits free to cascade over her shoulders, down the back and sides of her worn woolen wrapper.

      “Like this?”

      Moonlight silvered his sliver of smile. “Like that.”

      Emboldened, she sought his other hand, brought it up to twine in her rippled locks, arched her neck and bent her head back, thrilling to the feel of his fingers against her scalp, the delicious shivery pull of his hand through her hair.

      He caught her chin, steadying her. And bent his head toward hers.

      He was going to kiss her, as he had the garden. A rush of memory awakened every sense, and a greedy exultation filled her.

      She’d never be the mistress he’d hinted she become, never have days or weeks or months to delight in his company. But perhaps, if she could entice him to it, she might have tonight, just one night in which the coming together of man and woman held all the joy and tenderness that most intimate coupling should contain. A joy she had never yet experienced, and once he left her, likely never would.

      Please, her mind whispered like a prayer as she raised her mouth to his. Give me one perfect night.

       Chapter Fifteen

      She opened her mouth to allow him entry. Encouraged by his moan of response, the sudden tightening of the fingers cupping her face, she tentatively moved her tongue to stroke his. She felt his body shudder, and in one swift move he slid his hand from her face to wrap his arm about her shoulders, binding her closer.

      Yes, she wanted closer, wanted the plush of his tongue probing, exploring, igniting shivers of sensation that tingled all the way to her toes. She reached up to tangle her fingers in his dark hair, pull him nearer so she might launch her own exploration into the delicious peaks and valleys of his mouth.

      The warmth of him heated her despite the barriers of greatcoat and wrapper, but she craved more contact, yearned to feel the bone and muscle of his body against hers. Impatient, she pulled loose her robe, tugged at the buttons of his coat.

      With a shuddering gasp he broke away, pushed her back. “Ah, Sparrow, I want you too much. I must leave now, while I still can.”

      “No!” she cried, catching his hand. “Please … don’t go. Not yet.”

      He went entirely still, turning the full force