She moved away from him and sat up. "Then why did you stop?"
He stacked his hands behind his head before answering. He counted to ten. He was fully occupied trying to keep himself from tearing his pants off and having his way with her.
"I didn't want you to stop."
He groaned. His jaw was clenched tight and his brow was covered with perspiration. In the darkness, Taylor could barely make out his expression. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. She wiped them away with the backs of her hands. She felt humiliated and miserable. She wanted to hide and weep and, oh, God, she wanted Madam back.
Taylor didn't say another word. She scooted over to the very edge of the bed, trying to get as far away from him as possible, then pulled the covers up. She squeezed herself into a ball, closed her eyes, and fought to keep herself from openly sobbing.
Several minutes passed in silence. She thought he'd fallen asleep. She wanted to leave the bedroom and go back to the parlor. She'd sleep on the lounge again. She knew she was close to losing her composure, for she could feel it disintegrating even now, and she didn't believe there could be anything more humiliating than breaking down in front of him. It had been many years since even Madam had seen her cry. She would have been appalled and ashamed of her granddaughter. Taylor didn't think she could bear it if Mr. Ross witnessed her grief. He would surely find her lack of discipline and control disgusting. She felt ashamed just thinking about the possibility.
She had to get out of there. She tossed the covers back, sat up, and started to swing her legs over the side of the bed. He caught her before she stood up. Taylor didn't even have time to struggle. Lucas moved with lightning speed. He pulled her across the bed, wrapped his arms around her waist, and flattened her against him. Her backside was snug against his groin. His chin rested on the top of her head. He wasn't going to let her go anywhere.
"Taylor?"
She wouldn't answer him. He wasn't deterred. "You wanted me to make love to you for all the wrong reasons."
She tried to move away. He tightened his hold. "You did want me, didn't you?"
She wasn't going to answer his question, but then he started squeezing her and she realized he wasn't going to let up until she gave him what he wanted.
"Yes, I did," she whispered.
"You would have regretted it in the morning."
She thought about his statement a long minute. Then she whispered, "Probably," just to appease him. She didn't believe it though. She wanted Lucas tonight with an intensity she'd never, ever experienced before. The way she was feeling terrified her. Taylor always wanted to be in control. She needed to be disciplined with her emotions and her reactions. Fear had done that to her. And Marian. Taylor had learned from her older sister. Marian hadn't just protected her from Uncle Malcolm's lust, she'd also taught her how to take every precaution imaginable, both mental and physical, to ensure that she would never become a victim to any man.
And then along came Lucas Ross. Taylor didn't know how to protect herself from him. She'd done just fine for quite a number of years, even became engaged to William Merritt and planned a wedding, all the while never giving even a part of her heart away to her fiance. Although she was devastated by his betrayal, the truth of the matter was that the scandal and the humiliation were more appalling to her than the loss of William. She really hadn't been overly surprised, because Merritt had, after all, lived up to her expectations.
Lucas came from an altogether different kettle of fish. He wasn't at all like the other men she'd known. He was kind and caring and considerate, and oh, God, she really wished he'd stop it. Without even trying, he was tearing away all her shields, and she knew if she wasn't constantly on her guard, he'd sneak right in and steal her heart.
"Taylor?" His voice was a gruff whisper.
"Yes?" she whispered back.
"When I take you, you're only going to be thinking about me."
He rubbed his chin across the top of her head in a gentle caress. "You were thinking about your grandmother tonight. It's all right," he added. "You need to mourn."
She shook her head. "Madam told me I couldn't," she explained. She turned in his arms and rested the side of her face on his chest. "She made me promise I wouldn't wear black. I'm supposed to look to the future, not the past."
The sob caught her by surprise. Lucas rubbed her back and pulled her closer. "What else did she tell you?"
"To remember her," Taylor whispered. The tears were falling rapidly now. Taylor couldn't stop the flow. "She wanted me to tell the babies kind stories about her."
Lucas assumed she was talking about the babies she would have in the years to come. "She'll be remembered," he said then.
He didn't think Taylor had heard him. She was openly sobbing now and apologizing for her conduct every other minute.
"Sweetheart, it's all right to cry."
She didn't agree with his opinion, but she couldn't stop weeping long enough to tell him. She didn't know how long she carried on. It seemed forever to her. Then she got the hiccups, and God, she was a mess, crying all over Lucas and making the most horrendous, unladylike noises.
He didn't seem to mind. He got up, found a handkerchief, got back into bed, and handed it to her. After she'd mopped her face with the thing, he took it away from her, tossed it on the nightstand, and pulled her back into his arms. He was being extremely gentle. The kindness he was showing her only made her weep all the more. After a while, he tried to get her to calm down.
"Hush, love. It's all right."
He must have repeated that promise a good ten times. Nothing was ever going to be all right, she thought. Madam wasn't ever coming back. Taylor was now all alone and fully responsible for two two-year-olds, and Lucas Ross didn't know spit about what was going to be all right and what wasn't.
She was too drained to argue with him. She literally cried herself to sleep while she held onto her husband and let him comfort her. She felt safe and protected. Dear God, she never wanted to let go.
Chapter 9
Fortune knows we scorn her most when most she offers blows.
—William Shakespeare,
Taylor overslept. Victoria came looking for her friend at half past eight o'clock. She was worried about Taylor and explained in a rush to Lucas the minute he opened the door that Taylor was late meeting her for breakfast. Was she ill or had she forgotten they were supposed to dine together in the Ladies Ordinary a half hour ago?
Lucas didn't tell Victoria about Taylor's grandmother. He shook his wife awake, then took over the task of escorting Victoria to breakfast. He wasn't hungry and therefore only ate a single portion of the sausages, fish, biscuits, gravy, baked apples with cinnamon, poached eggs, and potatoes. Victoria ate a single dry biscuit and a glass of freshly mashed and squeezed apple juice.
His wife's friend was nervous this morning. Since she kept giving worried glances around the crowded dining room, he assumed she was concerned about the other diners. He tried to put her at ease, first by trying to get her to talk about her family. He realized his mistake the minute her eyes started getting misty. Talking about her parents and her friends back in London obviously upset her. Lucas then turned the topic around to her future in Boston. Victoria became even more agitated.
Someone let out a shrill squeak of laughter across the dining room. Victoria jumped a good foot in reaction, then cast a quick look over her shoulder. She had an intense frown on her face.
"Is something the matter?" he asked.
Before Victoria could answer his question, Taylor appeared at the table. Lucas immediately stood up and pulled the chair out for her. She thanked him without looking at him and then sat down.