Helen Dickson by Highwayman Husband

her horse died, my father carved its likeness and gave it to her one Christmas.’
    ‘It—it’s beautiful. Your father must have been extremely talented,’ Laura remarked generously.
    ‘No, he wasn’t,’ Lucas countered. ‘You’re being too kind. He would be the first to tell you that he was no craftsman. It’s a poor likeness, but Mother loved it.’
    After placing the carving on the mantel beneath the portrait he turned, folding his hands behind his back and looking thoughtfully about the room with deceptively lazy eyes.
    ‘This is one room in particular I would like to make use of. It was my father’s study. We spent many an hour discussing matters that were of import at the time—issues from as far afield as India and America, to what was happening here at Roslyn. Sometimes Mother would be seated by the fire, quietly occupied with her sewing—listening.’
    ‘Why did you go away?’ Laura found herself asking, forit puzzled her, when he had so much here in Cornwall, why he would want to leave it.
    Lucas shrugged absently. ‘That is a question I have asked myself countless times during my imprisonment. My parents didn’t want me to leave Roslyn, but they didn’t try to dissuade me, either. I was young and restless, with a sense of adventure and a yearning to see foreign places. I wanted more than what Cornwall had to offer, so I went to work for the government. I suddenly found myself surrounded by intrigue—danger. It appealed to me. But in the end I always knew I would come back to what I know and understand. My father knew it, too. Roslyn is my home—my life,’ he finished quietly, as if speaking his private thoughts aloud.
    Uncertain of his mood, and with a sense that he had momentarily forgotten she was there, Laura remained still, watching him.
    After a moment Lucas’s gaze came to rest on her once more. A shaft of light slanting through the window fell on her small proud head with its crown of shining curls. With her delicate hands clasped in front of her, her dark eyes were watching him intently, causing something to stir within his heart.
    She was completely female, not just feminine but womanly, lovely, and she also had the softest, most inviting mouth he had ever seen. There was a vulnerability about her, a sweet, wild essence that still belonged to the girl he had married, and he remembered how these qualities had appealed to him as much then as they did now. Despite the unpleasant circumstances which had led to their marriage, he had felt proud to have her at his side on their wedding day.
    Unconsciously she reached up a hand to brush away a wisp of hair, and the movement of her arm lifted the rounded fullness of her young breast. Lucas’s eyes narrowed in appreciation and he felt his blood run warm in his veins and the heat of it move to his belly.
    He didn’t understand why Laura had such a volatile effect on him, but he understood that he wanted her, wanted her soft and willing in his arms. He tried to tell himself that this growing fascination with his wife was merely lust caused by two long years of abstinence, but he knew it was more than lust that held him enthralled.
    Shoving his hands into his pockets, he moved closer to where she stood and looked down at her. His expression was grave and serious, at the same time inquiring. ‘Do you enjoy your life at the manor, Laura?’ he asked unexpectedly. ‘A young woman—alone in this great house without company?’
    ‘I—I have John and his wife.’
    ‘They’re good, loyal people, I grant you, but they are servants.’
    ‘Their position has nothing to do with it. I have become extremely fond of them both, and class them as my friends.’
    ‘Do you not long for the gaieties of city life?’ he asked, watching her closely. ‘I wouldn’t blame you if you had chosen to seek the social whirl. Do you regret not doing so?’
    ‘Do I look regretful? I don’t long for any kind of social whirl,’ Laura told him frankly. ‘I am