For a horrified moment, Stanton thought she intended to throw herself to her knees at his feet, but then she seemed to realize she would no longer be visible to the people below.
To catch herself, she staggered melodramatically, then teetered as she raised the back of one hand to her brow. “I cannot go on this way,” she wailed. “I love you so, no matter how cruel you are to me—”
Stanton wasn’t entirely sure how it happened. Perhaps she became too caught up in her own performance, or perhaps it was the trailing skirts of the elaborate gown, but suddenly Alicia lurched sideways, hit the balustrade with her hip, and then began to tip over the railing of the box.
Still shocked motionless with dismay at her public theatrics, Stanton almost didn’t react quickly enough. It was only when she shot a surprised and horrified gaze to his that he realized she was truly about to fall.
The crowd below gasped in delicious horror and several ladies screamed even as Stanton leaped for her. He caught one flailing hand and wrapped his other arm about her waist even as her feet completely left the floor and she began to flip backward.
Stanton almost lost her when the railing began to crack beneath their combined weight. From the corner of his eye, he saw something fall to the crowd below. Wrapping both arms about Alicia, he swung her high and around, pulling them both back from danger as the railing failed completely and fell.
They rolled together across the carpeted box, ending with her beneath him. The sound of the crowd rose about them as the people who had gathered to help catch the falling lady fled the falling bits of balcony railing.
Stanton heard only his own racing heart and the gasping breathing of Alicia against his face. He wrapped her tightly in his arms and tucked his face into her silken neck.
She hadn’t fallen. She wasn’t broken and bleeding on the floor below. She was safe and warm in his arms, clinging fiercely to him and shaking from reaction.
Or perhaps it was he who shook. That moment when his grip had slipped—he’d never felt fear like that before.
That fact alone was enough to bring him to his senses. He released her smoothly and stood, holding out one hand for her to take.
Alicia gazed up at Lord Wyndham in confusion. He gazed calmly down at her, as if he were merely a stranger helping a lady up a step. She blinked. Less than a second ago he had been holding her so fiercely—
Obviously, her imagination had failed her again, for she now saw no hint of that desperate emotion on his face. Bemused, she took his hand and allowed him to raise her to her feet.
The crowd beneath erupted into cheers, the opera performance forgotten in the drama being enacted above them. Alicia blinked at the sea of faces now revealed by the lack of railing. They were smiling . . . cheering . . . her!
“So turns the fickle tide of Society,” said a deep warm voice in her ear. “It seems our passionate affair has quite caught their fancy.”
Alicia snorted. “And why not, when we deliver such entertaining fare?”
It didn’t bode well for her mission, however. How in the world was she to enact her vengeance if Society loved her instead of loathed her?
“I’m simply relieved your bodice remained in place, such as it is.”
Alicia raised a brow at him. “That should teach you not to disrespect the feminine arts. It takes work to look this scandalous. I’ve seen ancient battle armor less formidably constructed than this bodice.”
He bowed mockingly. “I concede to the mighty bodice— although I insist that this gown go back to the dressmaker. It seems she forgot to finish the neckline.”
“Very well.” Alicia shrugged. “Its work is done. I could hardly wear it again, lest I diminish its impact.”
“Heaven forefend,” Stanton replied wearily. “Now, I shall have one of my men escort you home. I have another matter to attend to. That railing was deliberately weakened.”
She nodded. “Indeed. I would very much like to know who rigged this box with a trip wire.” She bent to hike one side of her skirt to reveal her ankle. “I felt it cut me.”
Indeed, there was a fine bloody slice through one stocking.
Stanton clenched his jaw. He’d not suspected a trip mechanism, although now it seemed obvious. Why else tamper with the railing unless one could guarantee someone would fall against it?
What he wasn’t prepared for was the fierce jolt of primeval protectiveness which shot through him at the sight of her bloodied skin. The wound was nothing—a mere scratch—so why did his vision begin to redden at the thought of getting his hands on the perpetrator?
Lady Alicia was eyeing him with some consternation. “Are you ill? Did you strain something when you caught me?” She leaned close to peer into his face. “You must be more careful.”
“Someone wanted you dead,” he said slowly. “Now why would that be?” No one but the Four knew of their investigation. Then again, a notorious lady might have made a few enemies on the way . . .
Lady Alicia’s eyes widened. “I—” She stopped short. Stanton’s attention was caught by the abrupt lack of expression on her face. It was rather eerie in fact, for Alicia’s lively features were never still.
“What are you thinking?” he asked, more gently than he’d intended.
She exhaled and smiled brightly. “Nothing. Nothing at all. I shall see you in the morning . . . about eleven, if you please.”
“I was thinking a bit—” Earlier. But she was gone, with nothing but a fluttering of the curtain remaining.
The next morning, Garrett was calmly packing while Alicia was panicking enough for both of them. “Did you remember the gray satin gloves that go with the—”
“I remembered all the gloves, and all the gowns. I even remembered to include a few pairs of the vast collection of shoes that you billed to poor Lord Wyndham.”
Alicia paused long enough to sniff indignantly. “Who knows when I’ll have another chance to buy shoes,” she reminded him.
Garrett folded his arms. “You’re dressed. You’re packed but for your toiletries. You have plenty of time—”
Even in the bedchamber one could hear the authoritative rapping of the door knocker. “Oh, blast. He’s early!” Alicia patted her hair unnecessarily. “Finish quickly. I’ll distract him.”
She flew from the room and down the stairs, intercepting Gunther before he could open the door. “I’ll get that,” she told him. “And by the way, you’re fired.”
That would teach him to rat out his mistress! It had to have been Gunther, for every time she’d sent him on an errand, Wyndham had been able to mysteriously interfere.
Now, to deal with Wyndham himself . . .
She was late when he’d specifically ordered her to be on time. Therefore, Alicia decided upon a preemptive strike. She threw open the door to frown at Stanton. “How dare you show your face here after the way you behaved last evening?”
That outrageously unjust statement had the desired effect. Lord Wyndham stopped short and actually seemed to be casting through his memory for the alleged offense.
The moment was priceless, and far too much for Alicia. She collapsed into laughter and turned away, leaving him fuming on the doorstep.
She wiped at her eyes and looked back to see him still standing there with a deadly glint in his eyes. “Why are you still out there?”
“I have yet to be invited in,” he said, biting out each word with precision.
She put her fists on her hips. “That is ridiculous. I think I shall leave you there to ponder the stupidity of clinging to propriety on the doorstep of a house which you, in fact, are paying for. I shall be in the parlor should you come to your senses.”
Casting him one last glance that plainly said she found such an event highly doubtful, she turned away.
She’d scarcely taken two steps before his hand came about her elbow. She glanced up at him. “For someone so constrained by propriety, you do seem to lay hands upon me rather often.”
He glared down at her. “We hav
e a timetable to adhere to and some basic rules to discuss. I do not have time for your theatrics.”
She rolled her eyes and pulled her arm from his grip. “If you came here to spout rules at me, I’d prefer not to waste a moment on such nonsense.” She smiled coquettishly at him. “Since we have a timetable, of course.”
“We have an agreement, Lady Alicia. You are to assist me in finding this person. You must adhere to certain rules if we are to succeed.”
She folded her arms. “You are repeating yourself, Lord Wyndham. Furthermore, I can break my side of the agreement at any time. I have two feet. I merely need to walk out of that door.”
“I could make sure you don’t leave this house.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You could try.” Then she shrugged and quirked her lips in that way that drove him mad. “That would not help you find your mystery lord, would it?” She smiled fully and batted her eyes in false flirtation. “I declare, I am beginning to forget the sound of his voice!”
Lord Wyndham growled. She blinked at the sound. “Was that you?”
He took a step toward her. “You believe you have nothing to lose by taunting me thus?”
She raised her chin. “I have nothing, therefore I can lose nothing.”
He came another step. She had never been so near him—at least not while upright. He truly was a very large man. An icy tingling began in her belly—or was it fiery? Either way, her mouth still went dry at the way his shoulders blocked the light.
“There is always more to lose,” he told her, his voice a husky rumble that worked its way beneath her very skin.
That did it. Her knees went fully weak and she staggered back a step. Or rather, she meant to back away. Apparently, her body had something else in mind. She found herself fully pressed to his broad chest.
Startled, she pulled away, but it was too late. His hands came to grip her shoulders and pull her closer.
“Lady Alicia, you continue to surprise me.”
“And me,” she gasped. She meant to back away, she truly did, but then she had that thought.
It was the thought that had caused the entire mess that was her life. It was the thought that led her to eat too many green apples when she was twelve. It was the thought that led her into the arms of a liar.
Always the same thought—and always followed by the most terrible consequences.
What is the worst that could happen?
Not a bad thought in itself. The fault always seemed to lie in her lack of imagination. The worst was always much, much worse than she’d envisioned.
She quickly ran down the list of terrible things that could ensue from kissing Lord Wyndham.
He might kiss her back. That would not be so bad.
He might not. That would be a pity, yet survivable.
Then again, considering the dark heat she sensed within him at this moment, his passionate response might land her in his bed . . . or rather, her bed, since they were in her house.
Hmm. She had no reputation to shatter and no virtue to lose. What she did have was one very large, very comfortable bed and two very weak knees.
Yes, all in all, she rather thought she might want to kiss Lord Wyndham.
So she closed her eyes and lifted her face to his, lips slightly parted. And waited.
8
Stanton couldn’t move. She was too close . . . too real.
This was a mistake.
Alicia continued to wait. Finally opening her eyes, she stepped back. Her eyes narrowed. “Never mind. I’ve reconsidered helping you. Piss off.” She turned to stalk from the room.
Stanton came out of his daze in an instant. His witness was walking off the case. He caught up with her in a few swift steps.
“You cannot reconsider, Lady Alicia.”
She turned. “Oh? Can I not? Observe.” She moved away from him.
Stanton ignored a lifetime of social training and caught her by the arm, pulling her closer. “You belong to me now.”
Startled—and angry, he’d do well not to forget angry— green eyes fixed on his. “I beg your pardon?”
“I paid for a mistress—put her in a house, bought her a new wardrobe, a new staff. I demand that certain services be rendered in return.”
She gazed at him for a long moment. “Very well. But only once.”
Then she went up on her toes and kissed him.
It was a clumsy, untutored kiss—the kiss of a sheltered girl, fervent and hesitant at once. The innocence of her lips on his transported him directly back to his first achingly sweet kiss, to the boy with the shaking hands and the pounding heart, his first taste of female lips on his. Another time and place—indeed, another Stanton entirely.
Except that boy of the past still lived within him. And what had happened next still loomed over his present. He couldn’t allow himself to kiss her back . . . but neither did he stop her. He merely went very still, neither advancing nor pulling back.
This gave Alicia a delicious sense of power. She allowed herself to selfishly explore his lips with hers, tantalizing herself with the differing textures and sensations.
There was the heat of him that sank into her flesh through her lips and her hands where they rested upon his hard chest. There was the surprising softness of his mouth and the tickle of shaven skin above and below. She found herself enamored of the corners, where she could taste it all.
She became aware of the racing of his heart as it pounded against her palms. Had she such a power over his very pulse? She tested her theory by slipping the tip of her tongue between his lips.
More heat. More enticing masculine tastes. Coffee. Mint.
Him.
He still did not kiss her back, although his grip on her shoulders was fierce. However, she became aware of a different response as he pulled her closer still.
Based on the evidence presented in the front of his trousers, Stanton Horne, Lord Wyndham, wanted to bed her, Lady Alicia Lawrence.
And if size and hardness were any indication, he wanted to do it now.
Now. Stanton’s thoughts were simple and urgent. Now. Here. Immediately.
She was refreshingly sweet when she wasn’t speaking—so tentative and yet so willing. There were things he could do to a woman like that, things that would please them both enormously—for a time, anyway.
This one wouldn’t shy. She would take it all and ask for more. She could match any amount of lust, if one allowed her to.
If he allowed himself to.
God, if only he dared. Unfortunately, he feared if he truly released his passion upon Alicia, he might never forgive himself.
He felt her fingers fumbling at his neck. She was untying his cravat while she gently ran her tongue over his teeth. Aching need pulsed within him at her eagerness. Now. Now.
He took her shoulders and pushed her back from him. Raising his gaze to the ceiling for a moment, he breathed deeply—once, twice, thrice. At last a shred of control returned. He cleared his throat and looked at her. “Not now. We have a—”
“A timetable.” She had one hand pressed to her temple as she stared at him with wide eyes. “Right. God forbid we upset the timetable.” She backed away, clearing her throat. “I’ll just check on my maid’s progress then.” She scurried from the room, leaving Stanton to let his shoulders drop with sudden deep exhaustion.
Voluptuous, sensual Lady Alicia, alone with him in the carriage all day.
It was going to be a very long drive to Sussex. Hopefully, the chill in the air would cool his heated blood.
A few hours later, Stanton was verging on a slow boil. Lady Alicia Lawrence was continuously getting in his way.
“Must you sprawl?”
She was lolling across the opposite seat, toying idly with the velvet-covered buttons tufting the cushion. Her skirts trailed over the floor of the carriage, forcing him to sit nearly pigeon-toed in order to avoid treading on the silk. She slid her gaze his way, raising a brow at his gruff tone.
“I’m not
sprawling on you, so why should you object?”
“You consume more space than any three women.”
She looked thoughtful. “Do men take up more space than women?”
He wasn’t sure where this was headed. “I suppose. Men are generally larger.”
She snorted. “Have you seen some of the ladies of the ton?” Then she narrowed her eyes. “Yet even they are expected to ‘consume’ less space, aren’t they? Ladies are not supposed to lean back on a chair, no matter how weary. Are the backs of chairs put there solely for the use of men?”
Stanton closed his eyes. “Yes. The backs of chairs are the sole province of the males. You must not touch your flesh to it or you’ll grow copious amounts of hair there.”
He opened his eyes to see her staring at him.
She blinked. “You have a sense of the ridiculous. Why did you never mention this? How could you leave out something so important?”
“So sorry,” he said wearily. “It won’t happen again.”
She lifted a corner of her lips. “You’re an untapped keg, Stanton. How marvelous. Now I won’t be forced to bait you out of boredom.”
“Oh, please,” he said flatly. “Don’t stop on my account.”
She tilted her head at him. “Oh, this will be fun.”
He sighed. “I preferred you when you were rude.”
She grinned. “Too bad. You’re my new playfellow.”
“Oh, dread.”
She laughed delightedly. Stanton had to admit that she had a delicious bubbling laugh—the sort that made one want to laugh along.
If one was the laughing sort.
Unfortunately, there were too many unanswered questions streaming through his mind to spare time for such amusements.
Last night’s incident at the opera, for one. As murder attempts went, it had been oddly complicated. There were so many ways in which the sabotage of the opera box might not have worked—if no one had neared the railing, if someone had spotted it before darkness shrouded the opera house, if the perpetrator had been spotted in the complicated act of arranging it . . .
In addition, there was Lady Alicia herself. Surely she had not intentionally deceived him on their first meeting—yet how could he not have seen how attractive she was?
Celeste Bradley - [Royal Four 04] Page 7