Sweet Torture (Fated for Love) (10 page)

Lydia grabbed his chin and brought his lips to hers. He was surprised
, but then took over the kiss, and took her further into the abyss with each languid stroke of his talented fingers. Of their own volition, her hips had begun to move against him, her body searching for the peak of pure rapture. This was what she wanted, this pure need, and pure passion. She would remember this moment forever despite her minds desire to slip into oblivion. Tonight would have to be their last tryst before she returned to her old self, and fell in line with her mother’s plans. She could not be so deceitful as to accept one man’s courtship while carrying on with Devon. As far as she had fallen from her virtuous pedestal, she was not as low and uncaring as to do something like that. The moment was bitter sweet. He pushed her harder to the top, stroking the sensitive bead tucked in her womanhood, and the soft haven inside her until finally, she let go of all thought and gave into his demands. She shattered into a thousand blissful pieces against him, his mouth catching her soft cry of release.

However, the moment didn't last.
As soon as the glow began to fade, she was consumed with sadness, and a longing so deep that unbidden tears instantly formed. Devon continued to stroke and sooth her, until he felt the evidence of her sadness.

“Christ
, Lydia, did I hurt you?”

She could only shake her head no
, afraid that if she spoke she would only cry more. As it were, tears began to fall rapidly, and Lydia frantically wiped at them.

Devon hugged her tight. “What is wrong Lydia
, tell me.”

“I…
we have to stop,” She choked out before burying her head in his shoulder. Her shoulders quaked with sobs, and Devon fished in his pockets for a handkerchief.

“I can’t understand what you are saying
, love.” He leaned back, and pushed her to sit up and face him.

Lydia took a deep breath
, and tried to regain some composure. “My mother returns tomorrow, and the following evening Lord Caverly will escort us to the Stillwort ball. She has encouraged his pursuit of me, and soon he will openly court me. We have to end it, Devon. It’s time to say goodbye and… and I don’t want to, but I have to—.”

Devon felt the blow like a ton of bricks. They had to end it so that she could be courted by some doddering old fool
, and likely marry him. The thought alone summoned a rage so black it scared him. He was stunned into silence, unable to settle the tangle of emotions inside that seemed to all be screaming in defiance, at what she said. How could he end something that consumed him nearly every day and night? How could he end something as precious as the look and feel of her climaxing in his arms? Her pleasure was his pleasure, her teasing smiles, her soft moans, and every sigh of release. They all belonged to him.

Lydia slid off his lap and straightened her skirts
, afraid of the silence and violent energy that radiated from him. “Please say something.”

“I don’t know what to say beside
s… no.”

“No?”

“That’s correct.”

Lydia was baffled. His response was no?

“No to what
, exactly?” She dabbed at her eyes.

“All of it,
no.” He stood and adjusted his breeches. Her proclamation had killed his ardor, saving him the trouble of hiding his erection as he escaped the musicale unnoticed.

“You
’re being very obtuse, Devon.”

Devon stood before her in silent rage. He could not give up so easily what she clearly was accepting
, despite saying she didn’t want to. She was going to just walk away from everything they felt.

“No
, as in you don’t have to marry Lord Caverly, and we can continue our… affair.” The word felt dirty. What they had between them was so much more than a passing romance, and he knew it. She had to know it, too.

“I can’t just defy my mother’s wishes. We knew this would come to an end
, Devon, we both agreed to it.”

“Bugg
er that, Lydia, and grow a spine.”

“My spine is perfectly
intact; it’s you who is going back on your word. We made a bargain, did we not?”

“I don’t give a damn about your bloody bargain, I want you
, and I will not see you married off to some old fool destined to live the rest of your life as his nurse maid.”

“I beg your pardon
, but it’s not your concern what I do with my life, is it?” Lydia turned away from him. Anger and sorrow washed over her like a wave. How could he do this? Didn’t he understand how much this was hurting her? How much she longed to be with him? She could feel his eyes burning a hole her back. “What would you like me to do, Devon? Turn my back on my mother? My reputation? Would you set me up in a house on Half-moon Street, and come see me whenever you like?

Devon spun her around. “Don’t pretend you don’t know how I feel about you. That is not what this is
, and you know it.”

“Do I know how you feel about me? I can’t say that I do
, Devon. We have never discussed our feelings, let alone did I think you were capable…” She stopped, afraid of hurting him further and herself by even uttering the word love.

“Capable of loving you?” Devon’s eyes bored into her. “Is it I you find so unworthy
, or yourself?”

“Don’t be cruel.” Lydia shivered in his hands. She wasn’t
cold but her body shook from the torment of her emotions, and the open wounds of her vulnerability.

“It is not I that is cruel
, Lydia. That has always been your talent. I’m standing before you begging you to be with me, proclaiming myself very capable of loving you, and giving you all that you desire, but you don’t want to believe me. That is cruel.”

“What are you saying?” Lydia gasped.

“I love you, Lydia. What is so heinous about me that you can’t marry me, love me, have my children, and spend the rest of your days with me?” His voice echoed with pain as he spoke the words. They reverberated throughout the small dark room like the presence of a ghost—invisible but impossible to disregard.

“I…” Lydia choked on the words. In that moment
, she could not say them back no matter how much she longed to, because loving him, being with him as he wanted was impossible.

“So
, it is I you find unworthy. What have I done to deserve it?” Devon pleaded.

“You have done nothing
, Devon. You are a young, handsome gentleman, and you live your life exactly as you should.”

Devon let go of her and turned away. His blood ran cold with anger and disappointment. “So
, it is my womanizing, gambling, drinking, devil may care attitude that you have so often scorned me for, which is to blame? It is, as you say, how I should live my life as a gentleman, but also makes me ineligible to marry you? I, a viscount—son and heir to the Marquess of Ellsley? Have I missed anything, or are you quite finished ripping my heart out?

“Devon
, please,” Lydia sobbed.

“I think I am beginning to understand
,” Devon said coldly.

“You couldn’t possibly understand
.” Lydia wrapped her arms around herself. There was no use continuing the torture. He could never know the pain and sorrow he would bring her for all he claimed he loved her. Because of her mother, she knew better. Men did not love the same way women did and in the end, his love would not keep him from the arms of another woman. He was a beautiful creature of lust and passion, but she could never cage him.

“It matters not.” He turned to her and with slow predatory steps came before her until she was surrounded by his nearness
, but he never touched her. “You want me just as much as I want you, and I am not above using that to keep you. I won’t stop loving you just because you are determined to play the ice queen until death. Soon you will have to face your desires, and they will lead you to me.”

Lydia stood silent with her head bowed. Everything inside her wanted to lean into him
, let him have his way, but amazingly, she didn’t move or speak as he brushed by her, and left her alone in the small dark room. The pain was acute. She wanted more than anything to run to him, but she couldn’t. Her resolve was firm, and from here, she would go on as she should and hold her head high. She crushed his handkerchief into her eyes breathing in the scent of him, and committing it to memory while willing the tears away.

She couldn't rejoin the guests, not looking as she did
. She would need to devise a way to leave the musicale without any one seeing her. A sudden idea occurred. She peeked out of the door of the small room, and was relieved to see no one was in the hall. She discreetly returned to the music room where she pulled the bell cord, and stood with her back to the wall. When a footman arrived, she asked for a maid. Lydia waited nervously until a young maid entered and politely bobbed.

“I’m so sorry to bother you but um…
oh dear, this is quite embarrassing. It seems my monthly courses have arrived quite unexpectedly, and I wondered if you could fetch me my cloak, and have Lady Ellsley meet me in the hall?” Lydia grimaced.

“Oh
, certainly!” The maid smiled sympathetically. “I’ll be right back, my lady, just you wait right here. Who shall I tell the message is from?”

“
Lady Lydia.” Lydia replied.

The maid quickly retreated
, and Lydia sighed in relief. Certainly, a feminine problem would keep whispers of her odd behavior out of the papers and ears. The maid returned with her cloak and helped her into it. Leading her to the hall, she brought Lady Ellsley with Olivia following. Lydia repeated her excuse for leaving, she was sorry to make them leave early but they both insisted it was perfectly all right. She must have looked dreadful given their comforting words and assurances.

Finally
, in her room and tucked in bed, Lydia relived her argument with Devon, and the bitter taste of want that would surely haunt her forever. There was nothing to be done. She would rather suffer from wanting him and never having him, than be put through the shattering humiliation and betrayal her mother had endured with her father. What was it about a man that he couldn’t love one woman and be faithful to only her? Were men mindless animals at the mercy of their bodily urgings? Certainly not, that would be giving them an excuse. Some men were just not meant to be husbands. Some men could not live up to their marriage vows due to selfishness and thoughtlessness. Her own father was the grandest of specimens, and she owed it to her mother to heed her advice. She would never forget Devon, but she could not allow herself to love him and give her heart away to a man destined to break it. He was everything she could ever want in a husband, except for one thing. Knowing him and his past, she could never trust him. A rake could not be reformed, as many would like to claim.

If only she knew what he would do now? He did not leave her
with the feeling that he was letting her go. In fact, he seemed quite determined to prove that she could not let him go. What would he do? Would he shame her publicly? There were so many questions, and Lydia had no answers. She closed her eyes and all she could see was Devon. She could hear the ragged timber of his voice as he declared he loved her. Those words were so lovely, and yet each one felt like a knife to her heart.

She wanted to love him back…

A wrenching sob violently tore from her throat. Lydia was overcome by an agony so consuming she cried uncontrollably. She hated herself because she did love him; she wanted everything he had said about being with him and having children.

She
turned onto her stomach and covered her head with the pillow. She screamed into the bed, shouting her anguish into the mattress like a madwoman. She was mad, mad for a man she could not have no matter how much she wanted him or he wanted her. Lydia cried her sorrow into the bed until it was soaked with her tears, and her throat was raw and dry. She cried until there was not a single tear left in her body, and all her energy had left her. She fell into a deep dreamless sleep; a kind so deep that you don’t hear your dearest friend enter your room, brush the sweaty strands of hair from your face, and pull the covers you had so violently kicked away up over you again.

Olivia looked down at Lydia
, and a tear slid down her cheek. This was no ice queen. Whatever was going on, it was tearing her friend apart, and Olivia was sure it had something to do with Devon. Olivia had seen a look on Lydia’s face of late that was quite familiar to her. It was the look of longing. Somehow, her brother had broken through Lydia’s façade and was breaking her heart. Olivia was going to have a talk with him, and it would take all her strength not to scratch his eyes out.

Lydia had returned to her home early the next morning. Olivia found Devon answering letters for their father after luncheon in the study. She silently entered and closed the door. Devon looked up and raised an eyebrow quizzically.

“If you’re looking for
Father, he is meeting Lord Smithers about a horse.” Devon resumed his writing without giving her a second glance.