Page 50 of The Marquess of Secrets

Nuzzling her neck, he whispered, “I want you. I want to taste you, every part of your soft skin. I want to be inside you with my cock surrounded and embraced by your warmth. I want to move in out of you, make love to you for hours on end.”

Harrison couldn’t stay quiet. With Lydia wrapped in his arms like this, the confession spilled out of him. Will she recoil and pull away? Harrison wouldn’t blame her if she did.

A soft moan escaped her as she writhed against his stiff shaft. God, he was in blissful agony.

“But it will be on your terms—if you decide you even want me at all,” Harrison whispered. “All will be well. I will see to it.”

Exhaling shakily, Lydia rubbed her cheek against his arm. There was no reply to his impassioned declaration, but her being in his bed like this was enough. They lay together for a long time; he even drifted off to sleep once again. Harrison awakened when she pulled from his arms and sat upright.

“Heavens, I fell asleep as well. It’s past one in the morning. I’ll be heading to my bed. Thank you, Harrison, for understanding. Will we share breakfast?”

“If you wish. Eight o’clock?”

“Yes. May I accompany you to the terminus in the afternoon? To assist? Please. I am stronger. My voice has all but returned, the cough has diminished greatly. I need to be useful.”

Harrison laid his hand gently against her back. “It is damp below ground. The air is humid and not altogether fresh. It could exacerbate your lung condition. However, you’re a nurse, and if you believe you've recovered enough, then accompany me for a few hours by all means.”

Turning, Lydia kissed his forehead, picked up her slippers, then scurried from his room, softly closing the door. An innocent kiss and his insides were aflame.

There was no doubt whatsoever that he’d give her the time that she needed. In the interim, he was in absolute anguish.

For he was falling for her, no use denying it. Harrison will have to keep his emotions in check and not overwhelm her.

As for protecting his heart—too blasted late.

* * *

For three days, Lydia accompanied Harrison to the terminus. They spent part of the late afternoon and early evening, and she hadn’t done much more than serve bowls of soup and assist the nuns with various duties.

On the third day, Harrison tasked her with sorting the newcomers according to medical priority. How pleased she was to be given this significant duty.

Sister Monica watched her interaction with Harrison. Obviously, the nun suspected something, for their arrivals and departures were similar. But she was polite and still knew her as Miss Best.

Sitting along the far wall near the entrance were the recent arrivals. Lydia spent time with each one, their stories more heartbreaking than the last. Thankfully, none seemed to be suffering from any severe maladies, except dehydration and malnutrition—conditions of the poor. And excessive weariness.

She stopped before a man wearing patched and torn trousers. He sat on the ground, legs bent, his arms resting on his knees, his head hanging low. He’d placed the blanket over his head as if hiding.

Lydia crouched down. “How may I help you, sir?” she asked kindly.

His hand shot out from under the blanket and gripped her wrist tight.

“Do not make a sound.”

She recognized that voice. It dripped with menace.

Huntsford. Oh, God—how did he find her?

Her heart raced, but Lydia admonished herself for feeling anxiety.

Get control. Do not allow this man to frighten or intimidate you any longer.

He squeezed tighter. “I know what you’re thinking. How did I find you? It’s an interesting tale,” Huntsford murmured. “Did it have anything to do with the fact I am being followed?”

Oh, blast it.

Mr. Robins was correct. Huntsford knew.

Harrison had told her of the conversation in the pub two nights past. Frankly, she wouldn’t have given John Huntsford that much credit for brains. Since he was so self-absorbed, she imagined he wouldn’t notice if anyone watched him. But he had.