Free Days of Rakes and Roses by Anna Campbell Page A

sweet scent, roses and Lydia and a hint of female musk that despite everything offered him hope. “This is the last time, I swear.”
    “You’re being cruel.” She turned toward the doors. On her ashen cheeks, tears shimmered in the torchlight. He was a cad to torment her like this.
    “I’m leaving, Lydia.” He raised an unsteady hand to caress away her tears. Her cheek was satiny beneath his fingers. “I can’t stay and watch you marry another man.”
    He heard her breath catch and she swerved to peer at him through the gloom. “L-leaving? Where? When?”
    “My aunt left me a small estate in Devon. I’ll go there tomorrow and stay until I decide what to make of the rest of my life.” His voice sank into bitterness, even as he knew that he was unfair to prick her guilt. “I don’t really give a tinker’s curse.”
    “Oh, Simon…” On a shuddering sigh, she pressed back against the wall.
    Recognizing with unworthy satisfaction that she wasn’t going to run, he released her. He placed his hands flat on the stonework on either side of her, trapping her with his body without touching her. He’d reached a stage of need where he couldn’t trust himself to stop if he touched her. He’d wanted her before he’d left England, but the way he wanted her now was excruciating.
    The prospect of losing her forever tore his guts out with tweezers. He’d loved the young Lydia with a boy’s volatile passion, but the woman she’d become lived in every breath he took, every beat of his heart, every moment of his existence.
    “This is ripping both of us apart.” His voice was thick with frustration and love and pain. “Better I go.”
    “So this is good-bye?” She sounded dazed, as if his words made no sense. Distantly, a piano played a short introductory phrase and a meltingly sweet soprano began to sing in Italian.
    Che farò senza Euridice? Dove andrò senza il mio ben?  “Hell, Lydia…” he groaned.
    His heart pounded with a dizzying mixture of excitement and anguish. He felt as though he teetered on a precipice over a raging river. Around him the night whispered dangerous encouragement to him to make her his. Now. While he had the chance.
    Lydia straightened, narrowing the space between them. She was so close that he felt the warmth of her body. Her rose fragrance made him crazy with desire. God in heaven, how could he resist her? Just one last kiss. Surely that wouldn’t tempt heaven to proclaim his destruction.
    On another groan, he leaned down and pressed his mouth to hers.
    He gave her no quarter. He wanted to mark her soul, so that as long as she lived, part of her would always be his. He wanted her touch to burn a hole in his heart that would never heal. He wanted this final moment they shared to extend into infinity.
    Unhesitatingly she kissed him back and he tasted more tears. But stronger than sadness, he tasted urgency. He thrust his tongue into her mouth and felt her shiver with arousal. Her shaking hands formed claws in his coat, drawing him roughly down to her. Everything vanished except explosive heat. He’d never known its like. He’d never know its like again.
    “Oh, Lydia, I’ve missed you so much,” he muttered in despair, lashing his arms around her and crushing her to him. How could she marry Berwick when they created such magic?
    “Simon, darling Simon…” she whispered, pulling away to place a hundred glancing, agitated kisses across his jaw. She clung so tightly that he felt the supple body beneath her silk dress.
    He caught her face between his hands, holding her still. His mouth found hers again, submerging her wildness in the wildness of another kiss. She arched toward him, linking her hands around his neck, bringing him closer.
    “Good God!”
    The harsh exclamation seemed to spring from another universe. Simon’s hold tightened around Lydia’s waist. Until angry hands seized him and wrenched him away, sending him staggering against the balustrade.
    “Grenville…”