by Croft, Pippa
‘Do you mind.’
There is only one man who makes his questions sound like orders and I don’t even need to turn round to know whose hand is at my elbow. What I am not prepared for is the sight of Alexander Hunt in full military dress uniform.
Chapter Seven
Still dizzy from the reel, I wobble on my heels. Angus has stepped aside as Alexander fills my vision. I want to hate him, but I’m too pole-axed by his sheer physical presence.
He isn’t quite the tallest man in the room, he just seems as if he is. In the uniform, I swear he stands up even straighter. He’s wearing tight-fitting black trousers like riding jodhpurs, and a short red jacket with claret lapels and cuffs over his white shirt and bow tie. He faces me, and it’s then I notice two tiny badges of airplanes on the lapels. It’s as if every eye in the room burns into us as he settles his hands either side of my waist.
Angus, arms folded, lurks at the side of the floor and I feel guilty. But not very. In fact, overwhelming desire comes closer to my feelings right now, though I would rather die than let Alexander know it. Some of the people around us are waltzing properly, but we’re in our own little universe. His breathing quickens as he rests his fingers on my bare back, and though it’s the lightest of touches I feel as if he’s scorching my skin.
I’m desperate to distract myself from a fierce urge to press myself against him. ‘That was pretty abrupt …’
His lips curve in a smile of triumph. ‘It was.’
He pulls me a little closer, and my breasts brush against the cloth of his jacket. My senses are alive to every tiny movement of his fingertips on my skin and to the sensuous way my dress clings to my body.
‘Don’t think this changes anything …’ I challenge him to look away first, but his gaze is rock steady, his eyes burning into me with an intensity that takes my breath away.
‘Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it.’
He seems to inch a little closer and now we’re barely even moving to the music while everyone circles around us. His breath is warm against the nape of my neck, making every pore tingle deliciously. I close my eyes briefly, revelling in the hardness of his chest against my breasts, knowing I should break away, but losing the battle, and before I even know it’s happening our mouths meet in a hot, deep kiss.
It’s so unexpected it almost knocks me off my feet and it’s a second before I respond. When I do, there’s no holding back, I relish the taste and texture of his gorgeous mouth. His hands slip lower down my back to my bottom, pulling me tight up against him. There’s absolutely no doubt of how he’s feeling about me and every inch of my body zings with desire.
Even when our lips finally part, I don’t want to open my eyes and face the world but, gradually, I become aware of the buzz of voices in the room. The music has stopped and there’s only the two of us now. Everyone else is leaving the dance floor, some of them glancing over their shoulders at us while others watch us from the sidelines.
We’re the centre of attention, but Alexander keeps his eyes on me and takes my hand in his.
‘Let’s get out of here.’
Maybe it’s my dress that makes me almost trip over my heels or maybe it’s because my legs are watery, but I’m struggling to keep up as he pulls me across the vestibule towards a door beneath the grand staircase. Maybe I catch sight of Immy and Rupert as we exit the room, but most of the faces around me are a blur. I know I’ve had too much champagne and that I’m crazy to allow Alexander to whisk me off like this, but any common sense I had flew out of the grand sash windows of Rashleigh Hall when he marched on to the floor.
A guy calls out to him from a fug of cigar smoke as we pass. ‘Alexander!’
‘Not now.’
‘What about the game later?’ he shouts.
Alexander’s reply is almost feral. ‘I said, not now.’
So there is a game later and I wonder if I am part of it, a stake to be played for and won because what Alexander wants he gets. I don’t care right now and, anyway, I’m more than equal to any challenge he cares to throw at me.
We shoot through a library, stopping at a panelled door on the far side. Finally, he releases my hand.
‘And what’s this?’
‘Somewhere we can talk.’
He takes a key from the pocket of his trousers and inserts it in the lock. The door opens, he steps into the black space and flicks a switch. The room is bathed in a muted, almost green, light.
‘After you,’ he says, as politely as if he’s letting me go ahead of him in the lunch line, though his hungry look makes me feel as if I’m about to be devoured.
Immediately my senses tell me that this place looks, smells and feels different to the rest of Rashleigh Hall. The ceiling is lower, giving it an air of intimacy, and the walls are panelled with dark oak and painted a rich red above the dado rail. Mahogany chairs and deep-buttoned sofas line the walls, which are hung with hunting prints. All of this is cast in shadow, in contrast to the billiard table that dominates the room, the green baize cloth lit by a suspended chandelier.
The place has such a consciously masculine feel that I can almost hear the soft hiss of gas lamps and smell the cigar smoke in the air. It is so obviously designed as a retreat from the world, a place where no lady would have ever set foot unless she was invited for a very specific purpose.
That image both excites and repels me; like so many aspects of Alexander Hunt and his set do. The door closes with a soft click as he locks it and the rest of the world no longer exists. The band music is so faint that I have to strain to hear it, and only the distant pulse of a bass line reminds me that, yards away, several hundred people are dancing and partying.
As he approaches, the key is outlined in the pocket of his trousers, which sends a tiny shiver through me. My heart feels as if it is trying to escape from my ribcage at the realization that I am locked into a small room with Alexander. There is no escape now for either of us and I’m not sure how I feel about that. My reaction is to retreat deeper into the room, stopping by a chaise. I want him badly but I also realize I’ve walked – or rather waltzed – right into his hands.
I run my hand over the leather of the chaise, cooling a palm made hot by his firm grip on it. ‘Is this a private room?’
‘Yes, it is.’
‘How did you get the key?’
He crosses towards me and my stomach flutters a little. ‘I know the family.’
Moving away from the sofa, I rest my hand on the billiard table. ‘Ah. Of course you know the family. Do you know everyone?’
‘Only the people I need to.’ As he sits down, the fabric of his trousers strain over his thighs. Throwing his arm along the back of the chaise, he spreads his legs wide and I’m mesmerised by those long legs encased in tight black trousers.
He allows his gaze to drift down my body from my head to my feet. It’s a slow, deliberate assessment – everything he does has a purpose – obviously designed to unnerve me and, of course, it does. ‘How’s your ankle, by the way? I noticed you were able to manage a reel with Angus.’
‘You know, it turned out not to be as bad as I’d first thought.’
‘My treatment must have worked wonders, then.’ His deep voice is silky smooth and sends shivers through my body.
‘My powers of recovery must be better than you expected and maybe the damage wasn’t as bad as you thought in the first place.’ I throw him a triumphant glare, but, as if my body wants to prove him right, my ankle throbs on cue, followed by a few places higher up.
‘In that case I’m delighted to be wrong.’
‘Is that a new experience for you? Being wrong?’
‘Not new, but certainly unfamiliar.’ He uncrosses his legs, making space for me on the sofa. ‘And why don’t you sit down, please.’
No other man I’ve ever met could make the simplest of words sound like an invitation to get naked. He angles himself towards me, and I notice that his face is tanned, like he’s been caught out in the sun, even though th
e skies have been grey in Oxford since he left. Perhaps Immy’s theories about his absence having something to do with his army work are right. Perhaps he also looks a little tired underneath the sunburn and that, inexplicably, makes him seem almost human and even hotter.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t call you,’ he says.
I shrug. ‘I think you may be confusing me with someone who cares whether you call or not.’
‘Oh, really?’ He seems amused, and when his knee nudges mine through my dress my thigh tingles. He’s a tall guy, well-built rather than bulky, yet he seems to take over any space he enters. I clasp my hands together in my lap. ‘So have you been anywhere nice while you’ve been away?’ I ask.
‘ “Nice” is not the word I’d use, but I have been out of town, as you might say.’
‘Out of town?’
His laugh is brief and ironic. ‘In a manner of speaking.’
Is it me or has he edged closer? My chest rises and falls a little faster and I’m seized by an urge to wipe the smug expression from his arrogant lips with my own. He brushes an imaginary mark from his trousers. Unhelpfully, the gesture draws my attention to the muscles in his thighs.
He frowns. ‘Forgive me for saying it, but you seem very tense … I can understand it if you’re angry with me for not calling you, but it couldn’t be helped.’
‘Like I said, I’m not bothered.’
‘Good, I’m glad that’s clear between us. You see, I had thought you might have wanted to see me again, but now it looks like I misread the signals from you. I’m only human, despite what you, may think.’
‘I don’t think anything about you, Alexander.’ Fifteen–love to me, I think.
‘That’s most unfortunate because I do think about you.’
Fifteen–all. Actually, damn, I think he aced that game. ‘Oh.’
‘However, if I’ve genuinely never crossed your mind in the past few days and you’ve absolutely no interest in me whatsoever, then perhaps I should give up thinking of you at all.’
My fingers are warm and when I glance down I find he’s taken them in his.
‘If I had thought about you …’ My voice falters because his thumb is circling the hollow of my palm in a way that looks innocent yet feels like the prelude to something intensely erotic.
‘In the event of that slim possibility …’
‘Very slim … oh …’ His jacket brushes my bare arm and shivers of sensation dance through my body. ‘If I – ah – had thought about you, I suppose I might – just might – have been wondering where you had been, but …’
‘You haven’t given it a second’s thought?’
‘Not even a nanosecond’s.’
He gives an exaggerated sigh that has my hackles rising. ‘In that case, I won’t have to disappoint you by saying that I can’t tell you anyway. You’ll have to trust me.’
‘Trust you?’
‘Is it really that hard?’ He leans so close to me that there’s only the silk of my dress between my skin and his thigh. Suddenly, the impulse to press my mouth to his again is almost overwhelming. It’s as if some drug has been injected into my bloodstream that’s stolen away my inhibitions. I can’t blame the champagne. It’s the wickedly sexy gleam in his eyes, that seductive voice, the whole incendiary package that is Alexander Hunt.
‘Why don’t you try me?’
‘I haven’t been in Oxford because I’ve been … working. Do you remember the phone call I took while you were in my house?’
I feign an interest in a hunting print on the wall. ‘Possibly.’
‘That was work saying I had to leave that evening. I didn’t know when I’d be back.’
I hardly trust myself to speak anyhow, because I know I’m still a little high on the champagne and a lot high on Alexander’s sheer physical presence and the intriguing prospect of finding out more about him. Not, of course, that I want him to know that I’m remotely interested in any aspect of him.
‘So do you have to go off on these jaunts often?’ I ask, trying to keep my voice on the polite side of bored.
‘I never go on “jaunts”,’ he says, imbuing the word with thinly disguised contempt. ‘As for having to disappear off in the middle of my course, that shouldn’t happen at all. We should be keeping term, of course, according to the college rules.’ He hesitates and his mouth tilts in a maddening smile. ‘But I don’t like to play by the rules, as you’ve probably worked out by now.’
‘Ah ha. I get it now. You’re a rebel. That explains everything.’
‘A rebel?’ He gives a soft laugh. ‘I hardly think so, but if that’s the way you like to imagine me then I can live with it.’
The way I like to imagine him? I almost hate the guy, but I want to wipe the smile off his smug, gorgeous face with my mouth even more. And I swear he opened those long legs even wider, leaving me in no doubt that he’s as turned on as I am.
‘So, you have a sabbatical for a year?’ I ask in what I hope is an aloof kind of way.
‘Of sorts, and hopefully I won’t have to go off too often from now on.’
‘How long have you been in the army?’
‘Since I left Oxford the first time. I did my first degree here after I left Eton and then I went to Sandhurst.’
‘Ah. Sandhurst. Of course. The officer training college.’
‘Well done.’
‘I’m not entirely ignorant of British history and culture, whatever you may think.’
He shakes his head. ‘On the contrary, I’d never make that mistake. I suspect your knowledge extends to some very esoteric fields.’
Actually, I have the feeling that compared to Alexander, in some fields I’m a complete novice, and does he have to look at me in that ‘scorch your panties off’ way? ‘But military academy … that sounds tough,’ I murmur, saying anything to cover the rogue blush that’s started at my chest and is rapidly rising up my neck
He gives a wry smile. ‘It wasn’t a holiday camp and at times I’d have given everything I owned to be anywhere else, but I survived, as you see, and now I love my job.’
His row of medals draws my attention. No, I can’t tease him about those, because I know they don’t hand them out like candy to just anyone. I’d love to know what he’s done to get them, but I’d rather rip out my fingernails than ask him. He’d only give some flippant reply anyhow.
‘So, what are you? You turned up in the uniform tonight, after all. Can you tell me or will you have to kill me?’
He regards me levelly, only for a second, but it seems a hell of a lot longer. I feel as if he’s weighing up his opponent and deciding on a course of action. My blush heats my face, but to my relief he glances down at his chest with a sigh of resignation. ‘I’ve been to a mess dinner with some colleagues, straight from, well, from where I was earlier today.’
‘And these?’
Before I realize what I’m doing, I reach up and touch one of the tiny airplanes on his lapel with my fingertip.
‘The Paras. I’m a captain in the Parachute Regiment.’ Pride adds a richer texture to his voice as he says this and he can’t help lifting his chin a little. So I’ve found his true passion. Not his degree, not his estate, but the army. For some reason, I’m shivering inside, but I still can’t resist teasing him.
‘So, no guarding Buckingham Palace in a bearskin? I thought you might have been in some kind of Guards regiment.’
His tone turns icy. ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you.’
I drop my fingers from his lapel, aware I touched a raw nerve. ‘What makes you think you’ve disappointed me?’
‘People make assumptions.’
Wow. That was spiky, but I won’t back down now. ‘So, it’s Captain Alexander Hunt, but that’s not all, is it?’
‘Immy must have told you about the rest by now. I’d be amazed if she hadn’t.’
‘She said your father’s a marquess although, frankly, that means nothing to me.’ He laughs softly and it’s clear my remark has amused rather than
offended him, but he continues with faultless politesse.
‘Actually, it means precisely nothing as far as I’m concerned too. Other than the fact that, by an accident of birth, I’ve been extremely fortunate. Or perhaps not, depending on how you look at it. My father wants me to leave the army and learn how to run the estate properly.’
‘And you don’t?’
He looks at me as if I’ve gone crazy. ‘Of course not. I want to carry on in the service. I’m not ready to swap the uniform for tweeds and a wax jacket and spend my days poring over accounts books and meeting land agents. I’d rather die.’
My skin prickles at the vehemence in his voice. ‘You don’t mean that.’
‘Perhaps, but I’m not going back to manage Falconbury until I absolutely have to.’
I notice there’s no mention of a mother, which must mean she left, or worse, and he has a thorny relationship with his father from what I can gather.
‘Well, if it’s any consolation, when it comes to family expectations … I can understand those. I love my parents to bits, and they’ve always had big aspirations for me, but …’ His thigh bumps mine through the confection of my skirt and I can hardly keep still with him so close to me. Whether he likes it or not, I have to edge away.
I get up and cross over to the billiard table and pick up a ball because I need something – anything – to distract me from his sheer animal presence.
‘So your parents didn’t expect your aspiration to involve flying halfway round the world to get away from them?’
I am so surprised at this insight that I laugh out loud. ‘No, they didn’t. Like you, I suppose I deliberately went against their expectations. My mother is a wonderful woman, but I think she envisaged me at least being in the same country; she said she couldn’t really understand why I couldn’t do my master’s in the States. My father thought the same, but he might have been more worried that something would “happen” to me. I had such a hard job to make them accept I was coming to Oxford.’
‘Well, I’m very glad you chose Wyckham or we’d never have met.’
‘That’s luck for you,’ I say lightly.