It was her turn to shake her head, casting a wild-eyed glance over his shoulder to the fraction of the ballroom yet visible to her. Couples paired off. Laughter abounded. Silks swirled. Lights glistened. No one seemed aware of their intimate tête-à-tête amidst the corner holly bushes and jeweler’s cotton that was meant to be snow.
“I do not dare become more familiar with you, my lord,” she confessed, using her most scolding tone. “You have done enough irreparable damage to my reputation for one day.”
“I am the man who will be your husband, Alexandra,” he said simply, shocking her with his pronouncement. “Would you not care to get to know me?”
His words chilled her. She stepped to the side, slipping from his warm presence and putting a more respectable distance between them. “My brother has spoken to you, then, and that is the reason for our discourse this evening.”
“I have spoken with your brother, yes.” He matched her steps, effectively boxing her in against the holly once more. His jaw tightened as his gaze swept her face. “But he did not give me permission to ask for your hand. Thus, in answer to your question, no, my dialogue with Ravenscroft is not the reason I’m standing before you.”
She wanted to believe him. Her foolish, foolish heart fluttered. Hope, a chimera she had long believed buried, flitted to the surface. Could this witty, beautiful man truly want her for herself and not because he had lost his head and ruined her in the carriage before witnesses?
“What is the reason?” she dared to ask.
“Is it not apparent, Danvers?” His grin returned in full force, and Lord Harry Marlow at his most charming was a magnificent sight to behold, even for a practical woman of science such as herself.
If her heart beat faster and heat slid through her body like warm honey, it could not be helped. As objective as she liked to believe herself, before her—and within her flustered reaction—stood the proof that she was only human, all too susceptible to a rakish smile and a knowing touch. And lips that knew how to coax and fingers that knew just how to pluck her hungry nipples…
No. She must not allow herself to stray once more into ruin.
She took a deep breath and recalled the conversation. “Nothing is apparent, Lord Harry. Surely you ought to know that the world is never what it seems.”
“All too true,” he acknowledged with a grim air that suggested he felt the meaning of those words to his core. “But the reason I’m standing before you now is that I want you to be my wife. I want to kiss you and touch you the way I did in the carriage earlier today, only I do not want to stop until we have both reached our pinnacles. First, however, I want to dance with you.”
Shocked by his admission, Alexandra allowed him to take her hand and tuck it into his elbow. Allowed him also to steer her into the heavy sea of revelers. Allowed him to sweep her into a waltz and plant unwanted notions inside her mind.
“What do you mean by ‘pinnacles’?” she asked as he guided her round the floor as if she were the keenest dancer he had ever partnered with.
Lord Harry gave a laugh, keeping his gaze trained high above her head. She watched, mesmerized, as his prominent Adam’s apple dipped in his strong throat, the only indication that her query had affected him.
“Give me time, Danvers, and you shall see,” he promised.
Chapter Six
Boswell House was a monstrosity, it was true. Even with one hundred seventy-six chambers amongst its sprawling wings, there was not one room that called to Harry the way its lake did. The lake was vast, settled into the land naturally so Boswell House presided over it like a monarch reigning upon a throne. As lads, Harry and Spencer had fished in the lake, had splashed in it, had paddled about in wooden boats pretending to be invading navies.
It seemed somehow fitting to return to the lake now with snow a pristine white along its banks and ice forming a beautiful, silver crust of skin over the waters. Especially with Lady Alexandra at his side.
“How lovely,” she exclaimed softly, taking in the view of the glistening wintry lake.
The crisp cold of the air kissed her cheeks with a becoming blossom of pink, and her blue eyes were wide. A stray tendril of copper hair had worked its way free of her coiffure and blew across her freckled nose.
“The loveliest,” he agreed, unable to resist catching the flyaway curl and tucking it behind her ear.
This woman was going to be his wife. How impossible it seemed that days ago, she had not been a part of his life when now he could not fathom a future without her in it. Looking at her took his breath and made his chest feel at once light as a bird and heavy as a boulder. It was the strangest sensation, defying description, and he had never experienced anything comparable.
“You are not even looking at the lake, my lord,” she pointed out softly, the color in her cheeks deepening beneath his regard.
“No,” he agreed, unable to look away from her. “I am not.”
“Cease tarrying, brother,” called Spencer then, interrupting the moment. “By the time you finish gazing into Lady Alexandra’s eyes, it shall be the spring thaw and all the ice will have melted.”
“Rotter,” he muttered beneath his breath, for his brother was no better. He was lovesick for his wife. Louder, he called, “We merely stopped to enjoy the view.”
“I heard that, and I am not a rotter,” Spencer returned amiably. “I have excellent ears, you realize.”
“For an old man,” Harry quipped. In truth, Spencer was only a few years his senior, but that did not mean he was above making the jab, particularly when his brother was enjoying his discomfit so damned much.
“I distinctly recall sharing a boyhood with you, so if I am an old man, I am afraid you are as well,” Spencer said, quirking a brow.
“You always made me be the Spanish Armada,” he remembered without heat. “And then you insisted upon defeating me.”
“I wanted to be Sir Francis Drake,” his brother admitted, grinning unrepentantly. “We could not both be England, after all. There can be one victor and one loser, dear brother.”
As the heir, Spencer had always gotten what he wanted. The trend had not ended when they had become men. Boadicea was the personification of that fact, but somehow, with Lady Alexandra clinging to his arm, Harry no longer felt the ache of remorse or the stinging sense of loss he had once felt whenever he considered the woman his brother had taken as his bride. There was instead a sense of rightness settling over him, the knowledge that though he had not been able to see it at the time, something—or rather someone—more uniquely suited to him had come along.
And he could be happy with that someone. Happier than he could have been with any other woman. He knew this instinctively, and the more he considered what Spencer had said to him, the more he knew his brother was right. He could have lost his head with any number of ladies over the years, and yet it had only been her.
Lady Alexandra Danvers.
“While I would dearly love to listen to the two of you argue about playing naval heroes in your youth, the day is cold, and I fear I shall not last much longer outdoors,” interrupted Boadicea then. “We have not even skated yet.”
The feelings he had once nurtured for her had altered, and thank God for that. He could not spend the rest of his days mooning after his brother’s wife, regardless of how lovely and witty she was.
“I have never skated before,” Lady Alexandra ventured then. “I must admit that balancing one’s self upon sharp blades atop a layer of ice covering a large body of water seems like a rather poor choice to make. A form of torture, perhaps, rather than an entertainment.”
Harry chuckled. The intricacies and eccentricities of her mind would never cease intriguing him, he was certain of it. “When you phrase it in such a fashion, the art does sound questionable indeed.”
She flashed him a smile he felt in his gut. “The art of madmen, one might say.”
“You only say so because you have never skated before, my lady,” Spencer said.
; What a happy little quartet they made, just the four of them and a handful of servants, having left the rest of the revelers behind in the warmth of Boswell House. Snowflakes began to gently drift from the sky in that moment, flitting to earth like tiny bits of down. Harry could not have imagined such a day, when he could peacefully coexist with Spencer and Boadicea and not have the splinter of jealousy embedded painfully within him.
“You shall have Lord Harry to hold on to if you lose your balance,” Boadicea told Lady Alexandra, her eyes twinkling. “Surely that is the antidote to the torture.”
Lady Alexandra flushed adorably once more. “There is that to recommend it, I suppose.”
She supposed? How he wanted to kiss the coyness from her lips. Instead, he covered her hand on his arm with his, giving her fingers a gentle squeeze. “Careful now or you shall bruise my pride unalterably, my dear.”
Her lush mouth twitched, her eyes gleaming with mirth into his. There in that moment, snow swirling around them, laughter in his heart and on her lips, he felt the slide begin. The inevitable, inexorable pull to this woman above all others. He could not shake the belief she was the other half to make him whole. The woman who would drive him to distraction, now and forever.
“You shall have to prove it to me, my lord.” She gave him a minx’s smile, and he could not deny he was smitten.
He would do his damnedest for the rest of their lives to prove it to her, if she would but let him. “I am ever a man who appreciates a challenge.”
“Come,” Spencer said then, an unwelcome interruption. “The servants have laid out benches for us to put on our ice skates.”
For a moment, Harry had forgotten he and Lady Alexandra were not alone. It was a jarring realization. But he guided her to the benches just the same. In no time, the four of them had donned their skates and had made their trek to the lake’s frozen surface.
Spencer and Boadicea wasted no time, skating onto the ice hand in hand. With a sound of undeniable, almost childlike joy, Boadicea skated in a circle about Spencer, arms wide, beaming at him. Lady Alexandra remained rooted to the shore, however, her fingers digging into Harry’s arm.
He turned to her. “Do you not wish to skate, my lady?”
“It is not skating itself I fear,” she admitted softly, “but falling.”
“I cannot help but to think that a most rational and normal fear.” Her errant curl was back, and he once more stowed it behind her ear, allowing his gloved fingers to linger there. “But if you do not try, you will never master the art. And if you do not master the art, you will be bound to fall again and again.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Or I can simply avoid ice-covered lakes for the rest of my life.”
“Also a rational decision,” he agreed, studying her face, memorizing the contours, the shape of her freckles, the fullness of her lips. God, she was gorgeous, and interesting and so bloody smart. “Except, if you avoid ice-covered lakes, you will also forever be denied the delight of sliding across them on sharp blades.”
“Who invented such a ludicrous notion, do you suppose?” she asked, smiling at him yet again.
“Someone who lived near a frozen lake and spent the winter gazing upon its icy expanse, thinking traversing it sounded like great fun,” he suggested.
She pursed her lips. “Is it great fun? It seems to me the inventor was far more likely to have been someone who needed to cross the frozen lake for survival rather than entertainment.”
Of course his science-minded lady would think so.
“Come with me and discover the answer for yourself,” he invited, guiding her toward the edge.
Spencer and Boadicea had skated a good distance away, beyond earshot but well within sight. It was just as well, for though Harry enjoyed having Lady Alexandra alone, he could not control himself. Here, he could speak freely and yet be forced to refrain from further compromising her.
“I do not know,” she said then, the hesitancy in her voice giving him pause. “Perhaps you ought to skate without me, my lord.”
Where was the bold, daring creature who strutted about in her brother’s trousers and boots?
“Do you trust me, Danvers?” he asked her sternly, tipping up her chin and holding it in a gentle touch, forcing her to meet his gaze.
Her brilliant eyes scorched him alive. Copper lashes fluttered over them, hiding them for a moment as she searched inside herself for the answer. He waited, holding his breath, his body tensing. If she said no…
“Yes,” she said, giving him another beautiful, soft smile. “I do, Lord Harry.”
Victory flared within him, and her words made his chest swell. Absurdly, he wanted to shout out the announcement, hear it echo in the hushed stillness of the winter world.
But he did not. Instead, he slowly led her onto the ice. When her skates first made contact with the lake’s frozen skin, she wobbled, clutching at him frantically, her eyes wide with alarm.
“Oh, Lord Harry,” she protested. “Perhaps this is a bad idea. Perhaps we ought to merely sit beneath the warm furs back on the benches while the duke and duchess skate. We could have a delightful conversation and sip mulled wine instead of falling on our rumps and breaking our limbs.”
He shook his head slowly, his gaze hovering over her lips of their own accord. How he longed to feel it beneath his once more, so soft and smooth and supple and delicious. “This is a far better idea, for it means I can once more have my arms around you.”
“Oh,” she said again, sounding breathless. “Yes. There is that to commend skating, after all. Likely the only thing, I fear. Have you not wondered what would happen if the ice should break?”
There went her mind again.
“No. The lake here is not overly deep, and there are plenty of able-bodied men about to assist us should we require it.”
“But my lord—”
“Hush.” He skated backward, pulling her with him, and after a glance over his shoulder toward Spencer and Boadicea, then another for the servants on the bank to make certain no one was paying them any heed, he acted, pressing his lips over hers, firm and swift. The contact was hot, the connection between them just as passionate and overwhelming as it had been in the carriage.
Before he could be tempted to deepen the kiss, he pulled away, smiling down into her dazed expression. “There is also that to commend skating.”
“I think you are persuading me the art of ice skating may not be solely reserved for madmen after all,” she said, staring at his lips as the snowflakes danced around them.
Another surreptitious glance revealed everyone else was still distracted. “Are you entirely persuaded, my lady?”
Catching on to his game, she shook her head in the negative, her countenance grave. “I do believe I require some additional persuasion, Lord Harry. If you are able to offer some, that is.”
He skated them in a circle, kissing her soundly as he did so, this time allowing his tongue to trace the seam of her lips and then sink inside for a taste before lifting his mouth from hers. “How about now?”
“Hmm.” She pretended to contemplate. “Perhaps just a bit more.”
Laughing with unrestrained joy, he kissed her yet again. Kissed her harder, open-mouthed and hungry, forgetting where they were, forgetting they possessed an audience, forgetting he was meant to act with propriety. Until the sound of skates carving the ice pierced the fog of desire clouding his brain.
He broke away from Lady Alexandra as Spencer and Boadicea skated toward them.
“Try to conduct yourself with a regard for the proprieties, brother,” Spencer cautioned, every bit the icy duke with his reproach before he winked, softening the grim starch of his countenance. “I would hate to see Ravenscroft break your nose as he threatened. The Marlow family nose is perfectly straight, you know, Lady Alexandra. I daresay you would not like Harry’s pretty face to become so afflicted, would you?”
Boadicea gave Spencer a playful swat. “Do behave, husband.”
“Me?” he a
sked with mock innocence. “Behave? Wherever did you get such a ludicrous notion?”
Their love for each other was as nauseating as ever. But this time, it did not nettle him. Did not burrow beneath his skin or chafe him. This time, he held a woman in his arms who was warm and lovely and sweet-scented.
“Julian did not dare to threaten your nose, did he?” Lady Alexandra demanded, searching Harry’s gaze.
“Not in so many words, my dear,” he soothed, shooting his brother a venomous look of stern reproach. One day, he would get even with the blighter. One day. “If you will excuse us, I am doing my utmost to teach Lady Alexandra how to ice skate.”
Slowly, he guided her across the frozen lake, putting some distance between them and his laughing brother, who was once again enjoying himself far too much. As Harry watched, Spencer whispered something into Boadicea’s ear, and she threw back her head for a delighted laugh.
He turned his attention to the woman in his arms as he held her tightly round the waist and led her farther away. A snowflake stuck to her lashes, then another to her lips before melting. She was stunning, like some sort of pagan ice goddess come to life. And she was his. All his.
“You need not fear for my nose,” he told her at last with a smile. “I have every intention of winning you over.”
She gazed up at him as if she were seeing him, truly seeing him for the first time. “I am beginning to fear you already have, my lord.”
He could not quell the raging rush of desire and happiness that assailed him at her words. How grateful he was he had taken her skating, for what better excuse to hold her in his arms?
He suppressed the urge to kiss her again, tamping it ruthlessly down. “Good. That is precisely what I wish to hear.”
The day was bright all around them, filled with the brilliance of the sun reflecting off all that pure snow. Flurries continued to dance from the sky in intervals. They skated for hours, hand in hand, until their cheeks were flushed, until they were laughing, until they had stolen at least half a dozen more kisses from each other when heads were turned.
The Night Before Scandal (Heart's Temptation Book 7) Page 5