“Oh, dear,” she whispered. There was only one character of the ton who fit that description, and she wanted to be far, far away from him. “Well, I think it’s grown rather close in here, don’t you? Perhaps we should heed Zeus’s silent counsel and stroll to where a window might be cracked open, or perhaps a strategically placed ter-race door?”
He was very intelligent, the earl was. He took her hand and deftly but discreetly manoeuvred her to the periph-ery of the room, where she could sense a door awaited their escape.
Suddenly, there was an almost violent brush of air that forced their hands apart. Then Sheldon was snatched from her side, right before she heard the thud of his body hitting something solid.
“I doona know who ye are,” Alynwick growled in his unmistakable brogue, “but yer hands are no’ where they belong.”
The earl tried to reply, but his rasping voice alerted Elizabeth to the fact he couldn’t take in air. The wave of shock from the crowd told her that the Highland beast was either choking him with his bare hands, or had thrust his arm, which she knew was as thick as a tree trunk, against poor Sheldon’s windpipe.
“Stop this at once,” she demanded in a hiss. “You’re making a scene.”
She could feel when those dark eyes landed on her.
“I’m making a scene?” he retorted as if accusing her of making tongues wag.
Prickles of awareness raced down her spine, and Elizabeth knew the cause stemmed from the fact that every guest of the Sumners had their eyes fixed firmly on her and the mad marquis. “I insist you stop this now, Alynwick. Everyone will talk.”
“Doona worry, lass, we’ll give them somethin’ tae talk about, because yer leavin’ with me.”
“The devil I am!” she yelped in outrage. “Alynwick, dear God, pay attention to what you’re doing. I can hear Sheldon struggling for air.”
“Sheldon, is it?”
The sound of tussling, of fine wools brushing together, came to her ears, and she thought about throwing herself forward, hopefully between them. But if she fell to her knees, or worse, the floor, it would cause even more of a scene.
“Here now, what’s all this fuss about?” The masculine growl that came next Elizabeth was relieved to hear.
“Sod off, Sussex,” Alynwick muttered.
“Come now, my lord,” her brother said. His voice was smooth and light, but Lizzy heard the edge of warning in it. “We needn’t have such violence here.” It was a subtle warning to the marquis. The Brethren Guardians, of which her brother and the marquis were both members, did not need this sort of notoriety. Indeed, just by coming to break up the pair, Adrian was putting the Guardians at risk—because no one knew that Sussex, Alynwick and Lord Black shared more than the most polite and distant acquaintance with each other. If the marquis didn’t cease this madness, then everything they had fought to keep from the prying eyes of the ton might very well be in jeopardy.
“Murder at the Musicale,” Sussex drawled. “I can read the headlines in the morning papers. I doubt you’re interested in giving the masses something other than sugar to sweeten their morning tea.”
Alynwick growled something in that familiar beastly way of his. That was followed by another rustle, a rasping gasp and a brush of masculine-scented air that swept past her—Alynwick being shaken off his lordship.
“Apologies, Sheldon. I am quite certain that the Marquis of Alynwick did not mean to introduce himself in such a way.”
“The hell I didn’t!”
“My lord,” Elizabeth whispered, moving a step toward the rasping earl and reaching out for what she thought might be his arm. “Are you all right? Can I summon a footman to fetch you something? A drink, perhaps?”
“Don’t even think to touch him in my presence,” said a dark, menacing voice in her ear. The sound made her shiver, as did the mysterious scent of his Scotch-laced breath washing over her. “If you doona want him torn tae pieces, leave him be.”
She didn’t want this—the marquis standing behind her, crowding her—and she stiffened, discovered the safe barriers she always erected when she found herself in his company. “You are nothing but an animal,” she snapped, careful to make certain no one but Alynwick could hear her outburst. “Unhand me this instant.” But the brute wouldn’t listen, and instead pressed closer to her, his big palm cupping her elbow in a fierce grip.
When he next spoke, he seemed to have put some measure of control on his anger, for his brogue had all but disappeared, leaving behind a silky English accent that worked its way along her body.
“Animal, am I? Should I throw you down now and cover you, as befitting the animal I am?” he whispered.
She would not encourage his wicked behaviour with an answer. But Alynwick was never one to back away from a challenge, or wickedness.
“In the animal world,” he growled, “the alpha is the leader. He must exert his power and let everyone know he is in charge—and he’s, ” Alynwick said of Sheldon, “trespassing on my hunting grounds.”
“This isn’t the jungle, and your laws have no jurisdiction in the ton.”
“You think not?” he purred. “The ton especially is a jungle, a feeding ground for prey like yourself. I’m merely exerting myself as chief predator.” Oh, she wished she could say what she really wanted to, and wish him to hell for the scene he had created and was bent on pursuing. But she was a lady, and must act the part while every eye of the ton looked on.
“Shall I call for your carriage, perhaps, Sheldon?” her brother enquired of the earl. Then his voice changed, as if he were looking in the opposite direction. “Lizzy, Lady Lucy approaches. She’ll escort you to our carriage. The evening festivities, I am afraid, have come to a rather abrupt cessation.”
Before she could sense any movement or sound, Elizabeth’s arm was taken firmly in hand, and she was whisked away with a rustle of silk, amidst shocked gasps from the Sumners’ scandalized guests.
“Let me go at once,” she demanded in a low voice, but the marquis didn’t hear her, or at the very least pretended he hadn’t, as he all but dragged her out of the salon and into a place that was much cooler and quieter.
“Whatever barbaric law you subscribe to, Alynwick, I am not one of your subjects. Unhand me.”
Silence. But his hold strengthened on her elbow, and his pace increased, so that she was forced to hurry her steps to keep up with him.
“You devil,” she explained, trying to disguise the alarm in her voice. “You’ll make me fall with this pace!”
“Shall I carry ye, then?”
“Don’t you dare, you heathen!” she spat breathlessly.
“Where are you taking me, pray?”
“Someplace quiet, where I can thrash you in private.” Her mouth dropped open in protest, but no words emerged. Only Alynwick and his fiendish ways could render her speechless and gauche. She hoped he hadn’t seen her expression, or the way she could barely keep up with him.
“This will have to do,” he muttered.
Her world was one of black obsidian, and she could not tell if he had brought her somewhere equally as dark, or merely shadowed. It was quiet, she knew. The distant clang of silver and china told her that they were closer to the servants preparing the midnight luncheon, and farther away from the salon. Whether they were in a room or a hall, she could not tell. She hated not knowing, of being blind to everything, when she had never been anything but these past twelve years. That she was not in control while in Alynwick’s company sent a jolt of panic down her body. Of anyone, she most feared being vulnerable when he was near.
The wall was cool against her neck and bare shoulders as he swung her around and pressed her against the plas-ter. She sensed him before her, his heat, the scent of his body. He loomed over her, his heavily muscled, tall frame standing so near her short, voluptuous one that she was forced to share the very air with him. She should lift her chin up, an act of defiance. Try to meet his gaze head- on. But she had no knowledge of her eyes, and what they might d
o, where they might be directed, and she would not give him a glimpse of her weakness, no matter how fleeting it might be.
So she stood quietly, willing her breathing to slow and become controlled. Her head was lowered, her face averted, turned away from him. His breath kissed her skin as she maintained her stance, knowing she was not meeting his gaze, but showing him indifference. He touched her, the faintest graze of his fingertips along her cheek, and she struggled against him, pushing away from his touch. It only made him press closer to her—obscenely closer, for she could feel the way his abdomen moved against her gown with each of his breaths.
“Say something,” she declared, despising the fact that she couldn’t see his face and expression. Was he looking at her? Smirking? Having a good laugh at her expense?
“What would you have me say?”
In a fit of frustration she stamped her foot. “How could you!” she demanded, thinking of how she must have looked to the Sumners’ guests as he dragged her out of the salon. “Oh,” she whispered, “what have you done?”
“Protected you,” he replied. “Sheltered you from the company of one who could never know you—not like how I know you.”
Refusing to pay any heed to the last of his statement, or the intimacy that seemed to be created between them, Lizzy forged on, thinking it best to steer him away from any reminders of the past. “Whatever were you thinking to do such a thing? Have you grown so uncouth?”
“Truth?” he murmured, and she refused to melt at the sound of his silken voice.
“Are you capable of speaking it?” she taunted.
“Aye. Are you capable of hearing it?”
Snorting with indignation, she motioned for him to continue. She did not, however, expect him to whisper into her ear, “I thought I might carry you off, back into my den, where I would play with you, paw at you, before devouring you whole.”
She shivered as she felt his hand brush along her gown.
“And there is quite a bit to devour, isn’t there?” he went on. “You’ve turned into a right armful, haven’t ye? Plump as a Rubens’ model, ye are,” he said, his deep voice rumbling in his chest. His comment only made her more vulnerable —and incensed. Churl! To speak of her figure in such a way was positively unforgivable. She had gained a few stone over the years, it was true, but it was grossly ungentlemanly for the man to mention it.
Using some of her anger, she said in a haughty voice,
“I demand to know what you are about, sir. The truth. ”
“And I demand the same. What the devil,” he growled back, “are you about?”
“Not that it is any of your concern,” she sniffed in her best matriarchal tone, “but I am at a musicale, enjoying myself. I didn’t realize it was a crime.”
“Oh, aye, ’tis a crime, all right, looking the way you do, making every eye in the room turn your way. Making them stare at the picture you present.” She gasped, unable to help it. Such a cruel, cold bastard. She was a mature woman who could think what she wanted, say what she desired, and what she thought of Alynwick was nothing but the truth. She, more than anyone, knew just how cold and cruel, and every inch a bastard, the Marquis of Alynwick truly was.
His comment was beyond shocking, and she had to struggle to put herself to rights. She was an independent woman, a strong woman, and she would not let a member of the opposite sex demean her in such a way. She might be blind, but she always carried herself with dignity and decorum. If the occupants of that room were gawking at her, that was their problem, not hers.
Just as she opened her mouth to give him a scathing set-down, he leaned forward, and she felt a faint wave of heat against her cheek.
“How can you go about like this, knowing everyone is watching?” he growled. He was closer now, his breath fanning her mouth. She could smell the Scotch, almost taste the sweet spice on her tongue. “I canna bear to see it.”
When she would not answer, he pressed closer, the heat of his body greedily absorbed by her traitorous one.
His mouth was even closer now, next to her ear, his voice almost a caress. “You show too much, Lady Elizabeth, reveal what is meant to be kept hidden, to be indulged and shared only with one that may appreciate the gift.”
“As I am completely blind, my lord, I have no idea what you are talking about. Just what am I showing?”
“I refer to the garment you have chosen to arrive in.”
“What could be the matter? It is an evening gown, sir.
Or have I had the misfortune to leave the house without my dress? Is that it? Am I naked?”
“You might as well be for what little it covers up.” His voice had changed. It still held anger, though she could not fathom why, but there was something else there, and she reached up, smoothed her hand along her throat, to discover for herself what atrocity Alynwick saw displayed before him.
“That gown,” he rumbled in a dark, seductive voice,
“is an invitation to sample what you so willingly display.” She stiffened at his absurd statement. “I have no notion what you insinuate is being displayed.”
There was a smile mixed with the edge in his voice.
“Lass, you ken damn well what I mean.” His body shifted, and hers jumped as if being lanced with a lightning bolt as she felt the smooth texture of his nails grazing the mounds of her décolletage. Oh, God, he’s running the back of his hand along me.
“Such a sight, lass, makes a man dangerous,” he murmured, though Elizabeth could hardly hear him for the roar of blood in her ears, and the outrage that made rational thought impossible. “Such a display is just what a man needs before he dies.”
His lips followed the path of his fingers. Those seductive lips of his, which could pleasure and tease, or thin with cruelty, were grazing her chin, working down the column of her throat as he gently inserted his fingers into the cleft between her breasts. “Oh, aye, to die in arms such as this, and to be buried in such soft, lush flesh, is what every man should wish for.”
“You are drunk, sir,” she cried, her fingers fisting in the folds of her silk gown.
“Not too drunk, luv,” he drawled before flicking the tip of his tongue in the hollow of her throat. “No’ so far in my cups not to be able to pleasure ye the way yer asking for by wearing this gown and revealing all this creamy flesh.”
“It was not for your benefit, I assure you,” she retorted, but he only chuckled as he lowered his head and allowed the silken ends of his unbound hair to cascade over her bare shoulder.
“Nevertheless, lass, I’ll take what I can get.” Determination paid off, for she waited, breathless, as Alynwick slowly dragged his mouth across the expanse of her bosom. When she could see him in her mind, she raised her hand and struck him hard against his cheek, the sound a loud crack in the quiet.
“I am asking for nothing. You, on the other hand, are asking for another sharp slap.” He laughed, reached for her wrists and raised them high above her head, holding her captive. She was stunned by his reaction, shocked that he had not been at least startled by the sound slap she had given him.
“Do it again, Beth,” he rasped, and the name on his lips—the only lips to have ever called her that—made her struggle in his hold.
“Again,” he said, almost panting. “Touch me again.”
“You are a degenerate!” she spat, but he only held her wrists tighter. “You disgust me.” How could he still be aroused? she wondered. And she truly felt ill, thinking that he might have taken some pleasure from that slap, and her present struggle.
“I might meet my end tonight. What can you give me in case my death might come to pass?”
“A good kick in your nether regions if you do not un-hand me this instant. Besides, you will not die tonight, or any other night, for the devil doesn’t want you in his realm, because you are even more evil and wicked than Lucifer himself!”
“Aye, I am, and I’ve come to give you a taste of that wickedness.”
“I have never been tempted by your
evil bent.” The air stilled, and she bit her lip—but it was too late.
“Oh, aye, lass, you were once. You were tempted and torn asunder by it. Should I remind you what it was like to sin with me?”
He pressed up against her, his mouth found hers and he claimed her fully—not softly, beckoning, but hard and strong. His mouth twisted over hers, opening, parting her lips. Stealing her breath as he stroked his tongue inside, commanding her with deep sweeps as that insistent, searching tongue mated with hers in a fierce joining.
Oh, that it had been horrendous and grotesque. But it was not. His invasion robbed her not only of her breath, but of her thoughts, and the inner voice that reminded her that she had once followed him down this very same path, and he had abandoned her, left her alone and ashamed on a road that led nowhere but to heartache.
“Beth,” he groaned as he broke away and buried his face in her throat. “I dinna want this night to be like this—dinna want more sins heaped on me before I go to that field.”
“Is that it, then?” she snapped, pushing him away.
“You thought you ought to give me a kiss to make it all better? To placate what is left of your tarnished honour?”
“I didn’t want to die with things left unsaid. With you thinking… Well, with the way things are between us.”
“You are fighting some idiotic duel over some tart you’ve bedded, and you’re afraid you might lose? And before you go to hell you want to be forgiven?”
“No, I want to apologize.”
Lizzy stopped him from saying anything else. “Save your breath, Alynwick, because it’s useless.”
“I’m sorry, Elizabeth. This may be the last time I can tell ye—”
“I don’t give a damn about how sorry you are, or that you have at last come around seeking forgiveness. And furthermore, I will take this moment to relieve you of the misapprehension you are labouring under. I do not care, and have not cared for a very long time, whether you live or die, Lord Alynwick. I only regret that it will be someone else’s bullet that may put you out of your misery, and not mine!”
Temptation & Twilight Page 3