by Lauren Smith
“Like each other? Good heavens, Perdita, I certainly don’t like him.”
Perdita poured herself a new cup of tea and dropped two lumps of sugar into it. “I was quite convinced you might…because well…”
“Because…” Alex focused on her friend, wondering what Perdita meant. The fact that her dearest friend seemed to think she and Ambrose liked each other was not reassuring.
“You didn’t sleep with Mr. Worthing last night, did you?” Perdita changed the subject slightly, and Alex didn’t like where this question was headed.
Alex blanched. “No! Of course I didn’t. Why would you say that?”
Her friend’s cheeks pinkened. “Oh, Alex, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it, I just thought after last night’s dance…you and he seemed so…Well, it seems he escaped Mr. Merryweather’s cows…” Perdita didn’t finish. Her eyes were focused on something behind Alex.
Alex turned her head in the direction of her friend’s attention. There was a group of men near a fountain at the center of the garden. Ambrose had just arrived, and when he saw her, he smiled at her. The expression was predatory, but rather than scaring her, it made her skin flush and her body tingle in secret places.
After a moment of them simply staring at each other, he made his way to the group of men, which included her father. He was clapped on the back and welcomed amongst the men. He immediately settled into their set and raised one booted foot on the edge of the fountain, and he was leaning in, one forearm braced on his raised knee. He started speaking, and from what Alex could see the men of Lothbrook were listening avidly, her father included.
Alex sighed and turned back to Perdita. “We did see each other last night.”
Perdita’s gaze whipped back to her. “But you said…”
“We only talked. He found me in the kitchen, eating my post-ball tart.”
“You talked?” Perdita chuckled. “What do rakes talk about?”
“Apparently their sisters.” Alex couldn’t suppress a grin at the memory.
“Mr. Worthing has a sister?” Perdita perked up this news, and it made Alex admit how much she would miss Perdita. She would be leaving for London in a few weeks because her mother was determined to take her to some dinner parties and balls in hopes of snaring a desperate impoverished aristocrat. Perdita’s father was only a baron, and her mother was in a constant quest for a higher title.
“Yes, Violet sounds like quite a dear. Apparently she’s living with an aunt who’s obsessed with fashion.”
“It’s a pity you could not invite her here. That would certainly be one way to kill his ardor. Surely he wouldn’t seduce you while his sister is here.”
“Seduce me? Perdita, he’s not going to do that.”
Perdita’s brows rose, but neither of them spoke as two ladies came over to the tea tables to retrieve some sandwiches. Alex and her friend sipped their tea, nodded at the other ladies, and murmured polite hellos. Once the ladies had moved along, Perdita leaned in close to Alex.
“Mr. Worthing’s reaction to you last night says otherwise. He looked like he wanted to eat you like you were the delicious tart.”
“Perdy!” Alex burst out laughing.
The men near the fountain turned their way, curious to see what had caused her to burst out in such loud amusement. Ambrose’s brown eyes were warm and dark as they settled on her. Something equally warm and dark stirred in Alex. His gaze promised heady kisses, roving hands, and passionate domination.
“You’re blushing, dear,” Perdita whispered around her cup of tea.
Alex blinked and ducked her head. The men around Ambrose broke apart, and he headed their way.
“Should we ask him about Mr. Merryweather’s cows?” Perdita whispered through giggles.
“Oh hush!” Alex bit her lip to keep from snickering. That would be most unladylike, even though she felt quite compelled to jump with glee.
“Ladies.” Ambrose inclined his head.
“Mr. Worthing.” Perdita rose and glanced at Alex. “Anyone need more tea?” she offered.
Alex and Ambrose both shook their heads.
The second Perdita had walked away to the farthest tea table, leaving them alone, Ambrose held out a hand to Alex.
“Walk with me?”
It was a terrible idea, she knew it, but she couldn’t help it. She placed her hand in his, allowing him to draw her up. He tucked her arm in his, the action drawing them close, the intimacy of it heating her inside.
“I’m simply dying to know what you and Miss Darby were laughing about.” Ambrose led her through the meandering rows of rose bushes and toward a distant archway that led away from the gardens.
“We weren’t talking about you, if that’s what you believe.” Alex’s tone was slightly defensive, but that was because she felt quite guilty that they had been doing just that.
“Actually, I do believe that.”
They reached the archway and walked through it. Behind them the garden remained full of the guests, but ahead of her and Ambrose, there was a wooded glen.
“Where are we going?” Alex drew up short as she realized they were almost out of sight and shouting distance of the remainder of the guests.
“We’re going to have it out, my dear. It’s time we had a little chat about salty porridge, cow fields, and it’s about damned time I did this…”
He spun her around, and she was swept toward his mouth as he claimed her with a kiss.
Chapter 7
Ambrose captured Alex’s lips in a ravenous kiss. She thumped her hands against his chest in a mixture of shock and protestation, but when he cupped her face in his hands and deepened the kiss, his rough fingers against her skin, she had to admit she didn’t want him to stop.
A thrill shot through her as she felt his tongue trace the seam of her lips, probing against the line of her mouth, and she wondered what she was meant to do. She was so new to this type of intimacy, and he was so practiced. She closed her eyes in wonder, waiting to experience what he would teach her with his hands and mouth next.
“Open for me, love,” he murmured against her mouth, and she did.
A little gasp escaped her when his tongue slipped inside her lips. Her tongue sought his, playing with it, and she reveled in the wicked sensation of how it felt to kiss a man like this. It wasn’t chaste, wasn’t sweet. It was a raw, carnal, pleasurable kiss she didn’t want to end.
Ambrose curled one arm around her waist, panting softly as he moved her backward. She tripped over a clump of grass, and they tumbled to the ground. They shared a startled laugh, but Ambrose demanded her attention again, molding her body to his beneath him. He slowed his gentle assault on her senses, drawing back to gaze down at her. Propped on his elbows as he was, hips pressing against hers, she was fully trapped, yet the questioning in his eyes undid her. She knew in that moment if she demanded he let her up, he would have let her go. It was reassuring, and yet she felt in charge too, which made her feel safe, even when they were doing something that could lead to her ruination if they were discovered.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he whispered.
He bent his head, licked her lips, and nibbled them. Alex whimpered, rolling her hips against his, seeking something she barely understood. It was hard to describe, but from the moment he kissed her, she’d begun to surrender to the wild urges rising from the darkness inside her, a wicked need to feel him, to lie skin to skin with him in the grass and not care what anyone would think.
“You’re killing me, sweetheart,” he growled in warning.
“It hurts…it’s throbbing,” she confessed against his neck. She nipped his right earlobe before she pressed kisses to his neck. His skin was slightly salty from a faint sheen of sweat, and she found that strangely erotic. He wasn’t some fantasy she’d dreamed up—he was a real man who was kissing her, driving her mad with desire.
His hands turned frantic, tugging at her gown, rucking it up past her hips. Ambrose shoved her petticoats up until he got o
ne hand into her drawers and cupped her mound. She jolted at the sudden possessive but gentle touch.
“Tell me no if you want me to stop,” he murmured between kisses against her lips.
“No, don’t…stop…” She panted hard as she sought to adjust to the wild building of excitement in her body. This was absolutely a terrible idea, and she couldn’t fathom why she wanted him to touch her and kiss her when they’d only known each other for a day, but there was something about him that drove her a little mad…
Ambrose stole another kiss before he slipped one finger between her thighs and into her.
“Oh!” She jerked at the feeling of the intrusion. It was frightening and exciting and strange. He was touching her there, inside. She shivered and clung to him, watching his eyes, searching for any hint that he would take it too far before she was ready. But only a gentle, burning hunger was in his gaze, and it was layered with an urgency she felt inside herself.
“Shh…relax for me, sweetheart,” he encouraged.
She cupped his face and kissed him, relaxing into his touch.
Alex’s breath left her in a soft rush when he began to slide his finger in and out. His penetration of her deepened and quickened. Ambrose commanded a mastery of her, with hands and lips, creating a physical symphony of pleasure. It built and built, the tension inside her wound tight as a band. When his tongue began to mimic the thrusting erotic play of his finger, it was too much for her body to bear. Alex shattered into a million glittering stars, her release tearing through her like a strong tide.
When she finally drifted down to earth, she was dimly aware of Ambrose’s hand leaving her and pulling her skirts down to her knees. He was groaning as he shifted on the ground.
“Bloody hell, I won’t be able to walk for a minute,” he panted in obvious frustration.
Confused, Alex looked over at his lap and then saw the bulge in his trousers. “Are you…do you need me to…” She had to admit she was rather fascinated by the idea of touching him in the way he had intimately touched her. He’d pleasured her, and surely it was only fair that she reciprocate—not that she had any idea what to do except touch him.
Ambrose threw his head back and sighed. “I won’t ask that of you, love. You’re sweet to offer, but…” He shook his head.
“I want to.” She reached for the placket of his trousers before he could stop her, and his body responded by jerking at her exploring touch.
“Fuck!” His rough curse would have made her blush if her own face wasn’t already flaming from her determination to discover the secrets of his body.
“What do I do?” she asked in a husky whisper, her fingers trailing down the length of his erect shaft.
A fierce light lit his eyes as he watched her tease him lightly with her touch.
“You’ve got to stroke me, sweetheart, please.” He leaned forward, burying his face in the heaving valley of her breasts as he placed one hand on hers, guiding her through the motions. He rocked against her body, echoing the movement of lovemaking as her hand kept a firm grip around the silken hard length of his shaft.
Ambrose raised his head as he reached the moment of his glorious completion, his eyes locking with hers. What she saw there robbed her of her breath. Raw, exquisite desire, mixed with shock and something soft in his gaze. He was beautiful, a god, and he was rocking between her parted thighs as though she were his personal heaven. Something hot splashed on her hand, and Ambrose growled in pleasure, shuddered, and then collapsed heavily on top of her.
Panting, he rested his head on her breasts again, nuzzling the flushed peaks barely concealed by her gown. Surely there was nothing better in the world than this, the warm sun on her bare skin, the feel of cool grass like silk beneath her and Ambrose’s weight on top of her. He pressed soft kisses to her cheek, his breath shallow and slow as though he was ready to fall asleep. Every muscle in her body was relaxed, and she felt languid, almost lazy. It would have taken Mrs. Darby and a parade of the rest of Lothbrook’s matrons to make her even lift her head.
The sudden image of those matrons made Alex twitch, and clarity started to pierce the delightful haze in her head. Mrs. Darby or anyone else could stroll this way and spot them!
Rationality began to inch back in bit by agonizing bit. She was lying just outside the garden with a coldhearted rake between her legs, and her life could be destroyed if anyone saw them.
“What have we done?” she gasped, struggling to push him off. With a groan of protest, he moved off her and lay flat on his back, uncaring that his male parts were completely exposed.
“We’ve just had one of the best picnics ever.” He chuckled, a schoolboy grin making him utterly irresistible when he glanced her away.
Alex had to stop herself from smiling back. Pulling herself together, she slapped his shoulder. “For heaven’s sake, fix your trousers! You’re flapping about in the wind, and someone could see us! See you!” She couldn’t imagine what horrors would follow if the Lothbrook matrons caught sight of Ambrose’s sizable male appendage while he stretched out in the grass like some Italian lothario. It might strike them dead with fear or shock them with the scandal.
With a sensual chuckle, he fixed his trousers and then palmed one of her bare thighs possessively. “Enjoy the afterglow, sweetheart. You can tear me to pieces later.”
Alex wanted to argue, but when he reached up, clapped a hand over her mouth, and dragged her to lie back down in the grass beside him, she stilled and relaxed. He released her mouth and stroked a little pattern on her collarbones.
It felt good—too good.
“Just relax for a minute,” he encouraged. “Don’t let what we’ve done go to waste. This is sometimes just as good as the moment of ecstasy itself.” He seemed almost surprised when he admitted this.
“Do you not often lie like this afterward?” she asked him, laying one hand on his chest. The silk of his waistcoat was soft beneath her fingers, and she marveled at the intricate stitching of the beautiful garment.
“I…not usually,” he said with a sigh. “I rarely feel this…sated.” A little smile curved his lips, and for some reasons Alex loved that smile more because it wasn’t forced, nor was it false. He was being himself with her, just Ambrose, not a rake intent on leaving a trail of broken hearts behind him.
She and Ambrose lay together, bodies pressed close, their breaths mingling, neither of them speaking. Every few minutes her body would twitch, her inner muscles spasming with an aftershock of pleasure.
“I take it that was your first time to climax?” Ambrose asked after a moment. She gave a shaky nod. “And what did you think?”
Alex laughed softly. “I can see why people are always guarding us unmarried ladies from men like you. You’re dangerous. This”—she waved between their bodies—“is dangerous.”
Ambrose tightened his arm on her waist and sighed. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”
She thought they would get up soon, but Ambrose kept hold of her, and she liked feeling so close to him. He brushed a stray curl away from her cheek.
“Alex, why haven’t you been to London? You didn’t debut. The daughter of an earl would be in high demand during the season.” The backs of his knuckles stroked her cheek, and then he cupped her chin. His other hand toyed with the fabric of her gown, the actions far too intimate, the sort of thing a lover would do.
“I don’t care for London. I like the country.”
“Alex,” he warned softly. “I know it’s more than that. You’ve never made an attempt on the marriage mart. Why?”
Alex flushed. She didn’t want to talk about Marshall or how her heart had never recovered from the pain of his breaking off their secret engagement. Going to London would mean facing Marshall and her past heartache.
“I should go. We’ve been gone too long already. Someone might notice.”
Ambrose sat up, eyeing her skeptically. “You’re allowed to have your secrets, sweetheart. Lord knows I’ve enough secrets to fill an enti
re townhouse on Half Moon Street. But people are talking.”
“People are talking?” Lord, she sounded shrill. “What people?”
“People.” He glanced away.
“Who?” She grabbed his neckcloth and yanked, catching his attention.
“The men in the clubs.”
“You mean I’m being talked about in the clubs?” That was completely taboo. Gentlemen weren’t supposed to even utter a lady’s name inside a gentlemen’s club. And if they were talking, it was a bad thing. A very bad thing. A tremor of dread rippled through her, leaving an empty feeling inside her that seemed to grow larger each passing second.
“Yes, more or less.”
She swallowed down the dread and tried to approach the matter as logically as she could and frowned at him. “Am I in the betting books?”
Ambrose’s brows arched. “You know about those?”
“Of course I do. I’m not a half-wit. What are they betting on?”
He opened his mouth, his brown eyes suddenly guarded. Before he could answer, Perdita’s voice on the other side of the garden wall was calling for them.
“We’d better go.” He pulled her to her feet and checked her hair and gown for leaves and grass. When they were both presentable, Ambrose escorted her back to the garden.
Perdita rushed toward them, and her eyes widened. “Where have you two been? You’ll never believe what’s happened!” She was rambling so fast that Alex caught her friend’s chin and gently squeezed until Perdita’s face slackened, and she gazed at her friend with pursed lips.
“Sorry, Perdy, but you were rambling.” Alex smiled and dropped her hand. “Now, what is it?”
“It’s a scandal, that’s what!”
Alex glanced in panic at Ambrose. Had they been seen? He gave her the slightest shrug.
“What scandal?”
“Viscount Darlington has arrived. No one invited him. He simply rode up in his coach and walked in! Mama fainted dead away when he bowed and kissed her hand. Every single lady is now circled around him. There’s nothing like an impoverished titled gentleman with a body like a Roman god. You know every woman with a fortune would be happy to marry him. Lord, I hope my mother gets no ideas about buying a title for me. I should loathe being married to a man who wants me only for my money, no matter how beautiful he is to look at.”