by Lauren Smith
Who knew that Rockford had such an enchanting daughter? He’d come here often as a lad before leaving for school, but he’d never noticed her. She’d been tucked away in the nursery, six years his junior. As a younger man he’d never paid attention to the earl’s private life.
He’d been surprised to discover that Rockford had a daughter when he’d heard Langley boasting about the wager he’d put in White’s betting book. It had been out of duty to his father’s friend and an intent to prevent the young lady the most harm by making her seduction quick and painless. But now that he was here and had seen her, spoken to her, Ambrose wanted to make her seduction long and pleasurable. He could spend months slowly turning her ire against him into irresistible sexual hunger.
He knew he shouldn’t be enjoying the earl’s hospitality when his plan was to pluck the daughter’s virginity like a ripe apricot. An apricot whose sweet juices would taste like nectar when he buried his head between her thighs. He might be a cad, but still better him than the other men at the club who’d wished to take on the wager. Ambrose’s former friend, Vaughn, now Viscount Darlington, had been debating on whether to sign his name to the betting book.
A shudder racked Ambrose at the thought. A spitfire like Alex would not last long in bed with a man like Vaughn. Vaughn liked his bedplay on the rough side. He didn’t hurt women, but the need to dominate was always present, and gentle-bred ladies like Alex might be frightened. Ambrose didn’t have the same needs as his friend. Every now and then he liked to tie a woman up so he could torture her with slow kisses and touches in ways she’d be too shy to allow otherwise. For some women, taking control away from them helped them relax and enjoy passion.
A woman like Alex with a defiant streak was not a woman who should be tamed. She should be seduced into wild wantonness. Alex would be a wonderfully sensual creature, and the man to open her eyes would be richly rewarded.
There was a soft knock on his door.
“Come in,” he replied.
A young lad of eighteen or nineteen entered; his clothing identifying him as a footman.
“Good evening, Mr. Worthing. My name is Ben. The lady of the house sent me to see to you as your valet while you are here.”
“Thank you, Ben.” He smiled at the lad, who set about unpacking his valise.
Toeing off his boots, Ambrose leaned against his bed and started on the buttons of his waistcoat. Ben helped retrieve his clothes as he removed them piece by piece. When he was down to breeches and a white lawn shirt, he raked a hand through his hair and focused on tomorrow. Mrs. Darby had invited him to her annual picnic by sending him an invitation when he’d had to pass her on the way out of the assembly hall, and he knew Alex was going because she and the Darby girl, Perdita, were friends. Ambrose’s lips curved up into a smile, one of delicious wickedness. Picnics were excellent for seductions. It was impossibly easy to get a woman behind a hedge or a tree and have his way with her. The fact that they could be discovered at any moment only heightened the intensity of their release.
Ben held out his knee-length silk damask banyan, and Ambrose slid it on. It fit close to his body. He left his trousers on for the moment; he waited to remove those until he was certain he was going to bed.
“Thank you, Ben. That will be all for this evening.”
“Good night, Mr. Worthing.” The young man slipped out into the hall and closed the door, leaving Ambrose alone with his thoughts.
Ambrose was in the middle of debating whether to go to bed when he heard the soft click of a door open down the hall. Intrigued, he put his ear to the door, listening to bare feet padding past his door. The footfalls were distinctly feminine. Ambrose grinned. Servants wouldn’t be barefoot, but the daughter of the Earl of Rockford might.
“Let it never be said I skipped such a perfect opportunity.” He chuckled and eased his door open.
The billowing shape of Alex’s nightgown partially covered by a dressing gown was a beacon in the dark hall. Her hair was unbound, the long locks flowing down to the middle of her back, the ends slightly curled. As she tiptoed down the hall, her ankles drew his attention like no other ankles had. They weren’t tiny or delicate, but they were seductive. He wanted them to lock around his waist or link around his calves as he pounded into her, making her writhe in pleasure.
Soon. Soon.
He followed the gleam of the chestnut hair that bounced in loose waves down her back. She led him on a merry chase without even knowing it, when she turned down the hall and into the kitchens. Ambrose ducked back out of sight before she could have seen him. The scrape of wood against stone told him she’d pulled back a chair from one of the counters. After the clink of silverware and a moan of pleasure, he simply couldn’t continue denying himself the view of whatever she was doing. He purposely stumbled into the kitchen, as though surprised to find himself there.
Alex froze, fork poised near her parted lips, a chunk of what looked like blackberry tart speared on the fork tines. Her lashes flared up, her eyes unusually wide as she watched him.
“So sorry to interrupt…uh…what is it exactly you are doing?” He glanced about the kitchens before approaching the opposite side of the counter and taking a seat facing her.
Alex was as red as a cherry. “Mrs. Cooper always leaves me a tart after the balls. She knows I get hungry because we don’t have a chance to eat while all of the dancing goes on.”
“Smart woman, your cook. Mind if I have a bite?” He plucked the fork out of her hand and dipped it into his mouth.
“Hmmm, that’s good. Truly exquisite, like being in bed with a courtesan.”
The look on her face was worth his rather colorful choice of words.
To his surprise, Alex laughed. “You are comparing food to…to that?”
“Food and sex? Absolutely, my dear. They are even better together, though.”
The responding enlarged pupils of her eyes made his mouth water. Alex was a fascinating contradiction. A virgin, but a woman who felt desire quite strongly and was aware of how there could be pleasure in bed for both partners, not just the man. A woman who knew about sex but hadn’t experienced it. A rare find in her level of society.
She was curious—he could see that in the way she watched him steal another bite of her tart and lick his lips. She wasn’t in the least bit afraid of him. Skittish, perhaps, of physical contact, but not afraid. She was terrified of his reputation, but of him? No. And it was a rare woman who could separate the two.
“I think you say these things on purpose to unbalance me.” Alex crossed her arms under her breasts, which only pressed her breasts up, giving him a much better view.
“You’re right, Alex, love. I find the task of unbalancing you deliciously challenging.” He would love to unbalance her right back onto the counter and feast on her rather than the tart, but it was still too soon.
“Have you ever had a decent conversation with a woman? One you weren’t attempting to seduce?”
The question caught him off guard. Her bluntness was an admirable trait.
“Of course,” he scoffed.
“Really? With whom?” she challenged.
He blustered for a moment. “With my mother and sister.”
“You have a sister?” Alex uncrossed her arms and leaned forward, eyes bright with interest.
“Yes. Violet is seventeen. Just had her first season. I was beating men off with a stick. Though I suspect that has more to do with her inheritance. She’s lovely, but shy.” Ambrose loved Violet. She was a little darling.
There was something about little sisters, the way they were a brother’s constant shadow. He’d never minded that she’d followed him about, and they’d shared more than one adventure when they visited friends in the country, until Violet had been deemed too old to chase after him in the fields. He had hated that she’d grown up, hated that she’d become a beautiful young woman who would someday marry a man and leave home. He wouldn’t have ever admitted it aloud, but Violet was as dear a friend to hi
m as Vaughn had once been. And when she married, her life would be full of children and she’d forget all about him. The thought filled his heart with a thick heaviness. She was polite, kind, and thoughtful. Any man who thought he deserved her would have to pass some highly rigorous tests of character before Ambrose would approve of the match. If he didn’t think a man was up to snuff, he would advise their father against the man.
“Is she in Edinburgh with your parents?” Alex asked.
He shook his head and returned the fork to her. To his amusement, she didn’t discard it but took another bite. There was something about them sharing a fork that made his blood heat. It was intimate, yet not in the way he was used to.
“She’s still in London. Poor thing is living with our aunt Gertrude.” Ambrose pitied his sister for that. If it wasn’t an issue of supervision, he’d take Violet to his bachelor quarters on Jermyn Street, but that simply wasn’t done.
Alex took another bite of the tart and sighed again with obvious pleasure. The lady had a sweet tooth; he rather liked the thought of that. Feeding a woman sweets was a pleasurable experience for them both, especially when he could taste the sugar upon her lips during a kiss…
“I take it your aunt Gertrude is difficult?”
He snorted. “Difficult is putting it politely. The woman has a room filled with just bonnets. Don’t even ask me about her shoes. Violet has little interest in fashion, and spending time with Gertrude must be torture. I’m sure they shop on Bond Street every day!” He cringed at the thought. Violet would much rather find a bookshop and spend hours tucked away in a corner, reading about some ancient philosophy or science.
Alex chuckled but then sobered. “I know what that’s like, to be trapped in the city with someone who does not share your taste in amusements. Perhaps someday I might meet your sister in London.” Alex reached across the table, her hand catching his, unaware of her actions until it was too late. Ambrose could have pushed her in that moment, but he thought better of it. His skin burned where she touched him, and he didn’t want her to remove her hand. So he simply covered her hand with his and responded honestly, without an attempt to seduce or charm her.
“I’m sure my sister would like that.” He then rose from the table, disconnecting their hands.
The look of disappointment that flickered in her blue eyes didn’t escape him. She had enjoyed their contact as much as he had. He circled around the table and came over to her, bracing one hand on the table beside her. Then he leaned in and brushed his lips over the crown of her head.
“What was that for?” she asked.
“For an enjoyable evening, Alex.” He took his leave, hating to walk away from an opportunity. But Alex was a woman who needed a soft-handed seduction. Once she was his, though…he’d take her in a thousand places, in a thousand ways. He would stoke her inner fire until she was an unstoppable inferno of passion.
The little hellion would be a delight in bed. But tonight he was happy to leave his body unsatisfied, as the rest of him had thoroughly enjoyed their conversation. It was different when he talked to her. He never spoke of his family to ladies he wished to bed—that made a woman desire emotional intimacy. He didn’t fear Alex would fall in love with him. He wouldn’t let her. The wager required her seduction and ruination, but he wanted to enjoy being with her. He stopped dead just outside his room, shocked at what he’d just realized.
I enjoyed being with a woman outside of bed. That was a first. Aside from his mother and sister, he found women altogether boring unless they were naked beneath him, yet Alex had him spellbound. Knowing this unsettled him.
Why? What made her so different from all the others? Half of him wanted to turn around and get straight back on his horse and return to London, but the rest of him was determined to stay and figure out what made Lady Alexandra Rockford so fascinating.
Chapter 5
Ambrose was lost in a dream of kissing Alex in a garden. The wisteria bloomed on overhanging trellises above them, and she lay beneath him on a blanket, her cheeks flush with arousal and her lips parted. Those dreamy blue eyes, like the petals of cornflowers, drew him deeper and deeper into her. Their lips met languidly, each kiss wet, soft, and impossibly hot. How long had it been since he’d reveled in a single kiss without anything more?
Too long…since he’d been a lad stealing kisses from an upstairs maid when he was seventeen. Back then, kisses had been the height of his erotic knowledge and the best thing in the world.
“Would you ruin me, Ambrose? Break my heart?” the dream Alex murmured, her fingertips tracing his jaw as he gazed down at her. Around them the scents of the earth, a mix of bitter earth and sweet blooms, was almost as drugging as her touch.
“I have to, love—better me than another man.” His reply was soft as he stroked her collarbone with his index finger and watched the swells of her breasts lift and fall with each exhalation. “I have to…” he repeated, but the slowly growing guilt ate away at him.
Her lashes lowered and she closed her eyes. He dipped his head, ready to catch her lips with his—
A rap of knuckles on the door made Ambrose jolt awake in bed. The dim predawn light was a faint gray that barely penetrated the windows.
Lord, what time was it?
“Yes?” he called out when the knocking came again.
The door opened, and Ben, the footman who attended him last night, carried in a tray.
“I’m so sorry, my lord. I am here with your breakfast, per your request.” Ben approached the bed and set the tray across Ambrose’s lap before he set about pulling away the thick damask curtains on the bed, letting only a feeble bit of light in.
“My request?” Ambrose stared at the large bowl with blue flower-patterned china sitting on the tray next to a glass of juice.
“Er…yes,” Ben replied, a little shy. “Your morning porridge to be served at six in the morning. Our cook, Mrs. Cooper, prepared it especially for you, to your liking.”
Ambrose’s gaze dropped to the offending bowl, and with a sigh, he picked up the spoon and dipped it in. Maybe some porridge wouldn’t be too bad. He’d be able to go down and eat with the rest of the house in a few hours. He blew on the steamy porridge and then slipped the spoon in his mouth.
A bitter, salty taste hit his taste buds like a blow to the face.
“Ack!” He spewed out the vile-tasting concoction and snatched the cloth napkin off his tray and wiped at his mouth.
Ben had been in the midst of laying out a new set of trousers and froze, his eyes wide as he stared at Ambrose.
“Who said I requested this?” He waved at the bowl, still smacking his lips before he took a very, very long gulp of juice. It barely erased the over-salted porridge.
“Um…” Ben shuffled his feet. “I was told by the housekeeper, who was told by the cook, who I believe was informed by Lady Alexandra.”
“You’ve got to be…” His words trailed off into a low growl.
“Right…well, I’ll just leave you to eat…” Ben started to back out the door, his face a little pale.
Ambrose let him go. He could tell the lad was frightened, and Ambrose knew why. He was letting his anger bubble up to the surface, but the only one who would pay for this was Alex, and he was going to be ruthless…by making her desperate for him. He wouldn’t go easy or slow—he’d take over her senses and overwhelm her with passion.
Alex, love, you’ve set the rules for our game, and I intend to win.
*****
Alex was perched on the edge of her seat, delicately licking off the last bit of honey from her fingertips, when the dining room door opened. Ambrose strode in, his tall, lean legs finely on display in buckskin trousers. He tugged absentmindedly at his gold-and-cream striped waistcoat as he scanned the room. When his eyes settled upon her, he smiled.
“Ah, breakfast,” he announced and came over to sit directly across from her. “I’m simply famished.” He reached for the tray of toast and then added bacon and eggs to his plate.
>
Carefully wiping her hands on her napkin, Alex sipped her tea and studied him. His hair was a little mussed, as though he’d run his hands through it. The dark strands revealed a hint of red when the midmorning sunlight illuminated them. How curious. Her hands itched to reach out and touch his hair, to get a closer look. She abruptly shook herself out of such strange daydreams.
“How did you sleep, Mr. Worthing?” she inquired, knowing all too well that poor Ben had woken him up four hours earlier with salty porridge. The footman had rushed straight to the cook, who’d told the housekeeper, who’d come to Alex, distraught over having upset their guest. Alex had assured the woman that their guest was not at all upset, even though she knew he was. But that had been the point of it all. To infuriate him into leaving.
“I slept well enough, thank you for asking.” He hummed softly as he spread marmalade on his toast, and Alex’s lips parted in shock. That hadn’t been the response she’d been expecting. So he wasn’t going to admit he’d been woken up far too early? Interesting…
“And you?” he asked. “Did you sleep well? I imagine dining on tarts before bed might give you sweet dreams.” His brown eyes were as warm as the honey in the pot beside her.
Startled by his lack of reaction to her scheming, she answered honestly. “No…the rain…the sound of it on the rooftops and the gables makes me restless.” She shivered at the memory, and his eyes darkened.
“Are you sure you slept well? I see dark circles under your eyes.” She tested him, seeing if he would mention the little morning surprise she’d planned.
“Well enough.” His look sharpened as though he sensed what she was fishing for.
“You could skip the shoot my father had planned.” She smiled smugly as she thought of Ambrose missing out on an activity he clearly favored.
“No, I’ll be quite fine. I’m resilient, you see,” he murmured, his voice a little too low to be prudent over breakfast.