Page 55 of A Lady in Name

He put his glass to his lips again, and Lucy watched the remainder of the liquid disappear into his throat. Recklessly, she followed his action, tipping what was left in her glass into her mouth. It swept like fire down her throat and she almost choked. Coughing, she staggered, the empty glass wavering in her fingers.

Stefan seized the glass and caught her before she could fall, supporting her while she recovered her breath. “What in the world did you think you were doing?”

“Only what you did,” she gasped out, her voice a little rough.

“You little fool! I am accustomed to it.”

She was holding on to his arm, but she let go then, and Stefan had to catch her about the shoulders again. “It is not the first time I have had brandy, I’ll have you know.”

“But I’ll wager it’s the first time you’ve knocked it back in one go.”

Lucy chuckled. “True. And it may well be the last.”

“I should hope so.”

She gazed at him owlishly. “Are you becoming autocratic with me again, my lord?”

Stefan grinned. “I should not dare, Miss Graydene.”

“So I should hope,” she retorted, and hiccupped.

Stefan drew her towards the desk so he might set down both glasses. “That’s better.” He turned to her, and found her leaning back in the circle of his arm, her eyes gazing up at him, in their depths a dark burning that spoke straight to his soul.

“Oh, Lucy,” he uttered on a groan, and lowered his mouth to hers.

The touch against her lips was feather light, but liquid flame swept down Lucy’s body. His mouth moved on hers, the pressure gentle and shifting, sending a warm breeze snaking after the initial flame.

The next she knew, she was caught up in an embrace so violent the breath felt as if it were knocked from her chest. Her lips were seized, tightly pressed against his, and all down her body she could feel the hardness of muscle.

Into her mind seared remembrance of the feel of Stefan’s thigh against her own when she was tightly closed with him in the curricle. And with it, a pulse ten times the power she had experienced before thudded in her secret well.

The sensations lasted but a moment, for Stefan released her abruptly, pulling back with his hands at her shoulders, and staring into her face with shock in his eyes. Lucy stared back, her mind cloudy with a need she barely understood.

“Oh, my God, what have I done?” His voice was guttural, his eyes seemingly on fire.

Lucy could not speak. Her breath came short and fast through parted lips and the only thing in her head was the ardent prayer he would not let her go.

“God help me,” he ground out, and then his lips found hers again.

The kiss began with the selfsame shifting pressure, but stronger, persuasive, melting Lucy’s bones. Then she gasped as the tip of Stefan’s tongue slipped lightly across her lower lip. Fire streaked through her and she opened her lips to his.

Like velvet, the tongue probed gently, seeking for hers. Each little touch flicked like a leaping flame within her, and the deep well pulsed more strongly. Lucy could taste the brandy again, and as of instinct she answered with her own soft touch, matching her tongue to his.

She heard Stefan’s indrawn breath, and his hands at her back slid down, drawing her close so that heat almost overcame her. She moaned softly, powerless as her legs turned to jelly.

Stefan felt her sag, and the sudden weight brought him faintly back to consciousness. The enormity of what he was doing filtered into his mind until it was too insistent to be ignored. Groaning, he tugged himself out of the kiss, and opened his eyes to see Lucy flushed and languorous, her lips swollen, her eyes cloudy.

“Oh, dear God,” he uttered, holding her as she lay half-swooning against him. “Lucy, we must stop!”

She did not hear him, or she was too lost to pay him heed. Stefan could feel the heat of her limbs, and his response made him desperate. He looked round for succour. He must put her from him before things went far beyond what might be mended. The nearest chair was his own on the other side of the desk. He looked again at Lucy. She was incapable of walking. If he let her go, she would slide to the carpet.

Stefan slipped his arm under her knees and lifted her bodily into his arms. Her head fell against his chest, and one arm snaked up around his neck. She was only semi-conscious, and he wondered at it but a brief moment. The brandy! It must have kicked in as he was kissing her. No wonder she had so readily abandoned herself to his assault.

He carried her around the desk and set her in the chair. She sank down, sliding a little until her head was resting against the chair back. Her eyes rolled and closed.

Stefan looked down at her with dismay tinged with longing. He ought to carry her to her bed. But he could not trust himself so far. There was no further purchase in denial. He had desired her from the first. She had unsettled him almost from the moment he set eyes on her. But Lucy was taboo. He remembered the moment in the night hours in the Half Moon, when Lucy’s fear had surfaced that she might resemble her wanton mother. But Stefan was no rake, and he liked Lucy too much to treat her with such contempt.

He must thank his stars she had approved his plan for her relief. The sooner she was removed from here the better. She was temptation, and he could not give in to that.