She’s my poetry, my song.
Ruthlessly, Alec thrust the blasted line from his head. She would not be Lovelace’s “poetry.” She wanted something better than that—excitement and passion, as well as companionship. And only Alec could give that to her, thank God.
The applause faded into chatter now that the reading was over. Ladies gathered their shawls and reticules, and men stuffed their programs into coat pockets. A few people converged on the dais to speak to the poets milling there.
Katherine rose without looking at him. “I’ll be right back. I want to congratulate Sydney. It won’t take me long.” She hurried to the end of the row. But instead of going to the front, she swept through the doors bordering the auditorium, clearly headed for wherever the poets congregated after the reading.
Alec stood there flummoxed. Should he let her have her few minutes alone with Lovelace?
She’s my poetry, my song.
Alec’s eyes narrowed. Not a chance.
Stuffing his gloves in his coat pocket, he pushed through the crowds until he emerged into the less choked hall adjoining the other assembly rooms. Within moments, he spotted her. Since she moved against the flow, she hadn’t gone far in her steady press toward the upper end of the hall. Toward Sydney, blast her.
“Miss Merivale, wait!” he called out.
By some miracle, she heard him and halted. As he approached, color rose in her cheeks, but at least she didn’t run. She even waited for him, eyes flashing.
“What is it, Lord Iversley?” she asked primly, as he reached her.
Only then did he realize he’d come after her with no plan whatsoever. A thousand comments rose to his lips. Sydney is an ass… You deserve better… I want you, and he only admires you.
But he wasn’t skilled at pretty words like her poet suitor. His skills lay elsewhere. He glanced over at the open doorways leading to empty assembly rooms. “This way,” he said, taking her arm and tugging her across the now-thinning flow of traffic into the nearest room.
Thank God she went willingly. But as soon as he closed the door, she set her shoulders. “What do you want? I told you I’d only be a moment.”
“I’ve held up my end of the bargain. Now you owe me my reward.”
As awareness dawned, she swallowed visibly. “Why here? Why now?”
Because I want to banish Sydney from your thoughts. “Why not here and now?” he countered, striding up to haul her into his arms.
She shot him her best imploring look. “Please, Alec—”
“No,” he snapped. “I’ve heeded your ‘please, Alec’ too many times already today. So before you trot off to Sydney, I’m getting what I came for.” Giving her no more time to protest, he kissed her.
He’d expected some resistance, but what she did was worse. She stood still, not fighting him but not responding, either. It was like kissing a statue.
Temper flaring, he jerked back to glower at her. “Kiss me back, blast you.”
Her expression was eerily composed after the heated confusion she’d shown when their hands were caressing.
“You didn’t mention anything about my having to kiss you back. You wanted a kiss, that’s all. And now you’ve had it.”
“I said a reward. And this is no reward.”
Though her blush acknowledged the truth of that, she wriggled free of his hold and headed for the door. “It’s all the reward you’re getting from me.”
He reached her just as she laid her hand on the doorknob. Catching her by the arm, he dragged her as far from the door’s inset window as the small room allowed. Then he lifted her onto a nearby table, ignoring her shriek of protest as he trapped her between the hands he braced against its surface.
“I let you talk me into sitting through two hours of damned awful poetry, so by God, you’ll give me my rightful reward if I have to keep you here all day.”
Challenge shone in her face. “Kiss me again if you wish, but I can’t help my response. I don’t feel that way about you.”
“The hell you don’t,” he bit out, then grabbed her by the shoulders and covered her mouth once more with his.
The anger that rode him made him kiss her too hard, too fiercely, so this time she did fight him, fisting her hands against his chest and nipping his lip like some wild thing.
As her resistance registered in the midst of his anger, he fought to bring his volatile emotions under control. He forced himself to be more gentle, to kiss her with the consideration she deserved. She wasn’t going to accuse him later of assaulting her when he had merely wanted her to fulfill her promise.
He rubbed his lips over hers, measuring their softness. He tugged playfully at her lower lip with his teeth. And the longer he worshiped her mouth with his, relishing the tender lips and drinking in her hot little breaths, the more she yielded, until soon she was kissing him back.
Only then did he deepen the kiss. Exulting in her response, he delved over and over into the sweet heat of her silken mouth. She flattened her hands on his chest, then clung to him, her fingers grabbing fistfuls of coat as she strained higher against his mouth.
By God, she was soft everywhere—not just her lips, but her hands and her waist and her hips… He would never get enough of this heady enjoyment, never be able to drink his fill of her delicious mouth.
Only when she stiffened and tore her lips from his did he realize he was cupping her breast. Her achingly soft breast. The one he wanted to take in his mouth and suck—
“Touching me isn’t… part of your reward,” she gasped.
But she didn’t push his hand away or slap him, which told him plenty. “I know.” He branded her neck with kisses, his hand still kneading her breast.
“You shouldn’t… do it.”
“Why not? Because you don’t feel ‘that way’ about me?” he growled against her ear. He rubbed his thumb over the tip of her breast, fiercely pleased when her nipple hardened.
“Please… Alec…”
The breathy little sigh fired his need to greater heights. “Tell me again how you hate having my hands on you, my mouth on yours—”
“You don’t play fair,” she grumbled.
“The man who plays fair loses, sweetheart, and I hate losing.” He pressed an openmouthed kiss to her blush warmed cheek. “Tell me you hate this.” He caught her earlobe in his teeth, her delicate little earlobe he could nibble on all day. “And this.” He kneaded her breast. “And this.”
“I hate… I… don’t want…”
“Tell me what you do want.” So I can drive that blasted Lovelace from your mind once and for all.
But Katherine’s mind was miles away from Sydney. Alec’s hand, that hot, questing hand that had driven her mad during the reading, was all she could think of, caressing her breast, fondling it, searing her with this wild excitement.
She should protest the outrage. She should push him away.
But no wonder all those ladies in the Rhetorick looked rapturous when men touched them so intimately. It was the most deliciously naughty feeling. Only think what it would be like if he touched her bare flesh…
As if he’d read her thoughts, Alec began to unbutton the bodice of her riding habit.
“Alec, what are you doing?” she tore her mouth from his to whisper, scandalized. Fascinated. Dying to see how far he’d go and what it would feel like.
When had she become so very wicked?
He nipped at her earlobe again, sparking an electric sensation along her every nerve. “Tell me what you want.”
She couldn’t catch her breath. Another button came free. And another, while she waited in shameless anticipation. “Not this,” she said feebly.
“No?” Her bodice gaped open, and Alec slid his hand inside, then beneath the low neck of her chemise to cup her naked breast.
She sucked in a breath and curled her fingers into his coat.
“You don’t like this?” he asked, his voice low, guttural.
“Oh, my word,” she choked out. Sin s
He nuzzled her cheek, his breath ragged against her skin. “I wanted to touch you like this last night, sweetheart. But I didn’t dare.”
“Yet you dare to do it now?” she whispered, then shivered delightfully when he moved his hand to fondle her other breast.
“If that’s what it takes to convince you that you want me as much as I want you, then I’m eager to oblige.”
Before she could answer, he kissed her again, so deeply and thoroughly that she hardly noticed him settling his body between her thighs until her skirts inched up to accommodate him. Then catching her behind her hips, he pulled her flush up against him, so tightly she could feel the bulge in his trousers even through her bunched-up riding habit and petticoat.
“Alec, you have to stop this.” She sighed against his lips.
“Not yet.” He rubbed his thickening flesh against her, rousing a strange new ache between her legs. “Not until you admit you like having my hands and my mouth on you, that you like having me touch you.”
He caressed her naked breast so temptingly that she groaned aloud.
“Tell me,” he urged. “Tell me you want me, Katherine.”
“I… I…”
“Tell me!” he demanded as he pressed between her legs so firmly that pleasure bolted through her, making her cry out.
“Yes, you devil, yes—I want you!” she practically screamed.
His eyes shone with triumph, as if he’d won a battle. Which he had, of course.
Ashamed, she hid her face in his coat. “There, you got what you wanted.”
“Hardly,” he murmured. “I want much more than that from you.”
That statement brought her fully to her senses. “Well, you can’t have it.” She grabbed his hand and tried to pull it out of her gown. “Stop touching me.”
“Katherine—”
“Now, Alec! Before someone sees us in here, and my reputation is ruined forever.”
He hesitated, the fierce hunger in his face feeding her sudden panic. Then he stiffened, as if fighting for control over himself.
When at last he drew his hand from her bodice, she could have wept with relief. “Thank you,” she whispered. Swiftly she fastened her buttons, but when she tried to get off the table, his body still held her pinned there. “Please let me down.”
Clasping her about the waist, he pulled her off the table until she slid slowly down his body, every inch of his rigid flesh branding her even through her skirts.
His eyes darkened. “One more kiss,” he whispered, “then we’ll leave.” And before she could even protest, he took her mouth again.
Chapter Ten
Jealousy has no place in a rake’s arsenal,
for it makes a man foolish and liable to err.
—Anonymous, A Rake’s Rhetorick
Sydney glanced at the clock in the back room where all the poets were gathered. He’d seen Katherine leave Iversley and head into the hall. So where was she? Hadn’t she been coming to offer him her congratulations?
She hadn’t been waiting when Sydney entered, and the thinning crowd had revealed no sign of Iversley inside the assembly room, either. Sydney scowled. That dashed scoundrel had probably talked her out of coming back here, the way he had tried to keep her from attending the reading.
Unsuccessfully, of course. Satisfaction spread through Sydney as he remembered Katherine’s smiles. Take that, Iversley. She came anyway, didn’t she? Came to see me. And perhaps she was waiting for him even now in the hall…
He headed for the door, but Julian stepped into his path, blocking his exit. “For God’s sake, don’t make a fool of yourself over some silly chit.”
“Stay out of it, Napier. This does not concern you.”
Jules flushed. “So it’s ‘Napier’ now? What happened to ‘my dearest Jules’?”
“Shut up!” Sydney hissed. “We’re not alone.”
“I know that.” Glancing around the room to make sure no one noticed, Jules stepped closer and lowered his voice. “The same way you know, even if you won’t admit it, that anything concerning you concerns me.”
A delicious shiver swept Sydney. Jules’s hints about the nature of their friendship became bolder by the day, and—what was worse—more accurate.
No, what was he thinking? He didn’t feel like that about Jules. It was unspeakable, intolerable. Sydney loved Kit. He always had and always would. Jules—Napier— didn’t understand the pure and holy love that could exist between a woman and a man, purer than the… the wicked sort of friendship Jules wanted.
“Leave me be.” Sydney pushed past his longtime friend. “You’re wrong about me and Kit. Utterly wrong.”
Pain slashed over Jules’s face. “You only wish I were, because that would mean that you are not a—”
“Don’t you even say it!” Sydney snapped. “I’ve told you time and again—all I want is to marry Kit and have a family. But you won’t listen.”
“Because that’s not what you want. That’s what you’ve been told to want. But I know better.”
Sydney swallowed. He should never have responded to Jules’s surprising kiss a few weeks ago. Though they hadn’t spoken of it since, it had changed everything between them. Worse yet, it had crystallized all that had been wrong his entire life, and made him want—
No, he didn’t want that. He couldn’t. But Jules refused to see their one kiss for the mistake it had been.
“I can’t be what you want, Jules,” Sydney whispered. “Can’t you see that?”
“No, I can’t.” Jealousy turned Jules’s tone bitter. “I care more about you than she ever could. For God’s sake, man, she came here with Iversley!”
When Sydney glared at him, Jules added cruelly, “Or is that the real reason you’re trying to keep her? Because you can’t bear to lose even her to him. And all because of some silly schoolboy rivalry—”
“Don’t be absurd.” But Julian’s words rang in his ears as he headed out the door into the hall. It was true—until Iversley had started sniffing around Kit, Sydney had actually toyed with the idea of not marrying her.
But the earl was infuriating, with his title and easy manner and reckless disregard for rules. Sydney always followed the rules, was terrified not to.
Except when it came to Jules.
Heat flooded his face so powerfully that he scanned the hall to see if anybody had noticed. But it was empty. No remaining audience members and no Iversley and Kit.
Dash it all if he didn’t feel relieved. Relieved, of all things! What kind of man was he?
He sagged onto a bench that sat against one wall and buried his face in his hands. When had everything become so muddled? Kit was pressing him for marriage, Mother was against it, and Jules—
He sucked in a breath. Jules wanted him to really break the rules, to leave England and go to Greece with him on an extended trip. Sydney laughed madly. Mother was actually enthusiastic about that idea. She thought it would separate him from Kit so he could find some “better” woman.
If Mother only knew what Jules intended for them…
A thrill shot through him that he squelched ruthlessly. He mustn’t think of Jules like that. He mustn’t. It was wrong. The man’s plans were simply impossible. A life outside of England engaged in— No, he couldn’t.
Besides, how would Mother manage all alone? And there was Kit to consider, too—Sydney could never leave her to Iversley. That scoundrel would ruin Kit’s life. He could never make her happy.
Yes, but can you?
He wanted to. He really did. It was just that Kit had grown into such a… a woman. Suddenly, the amiable playmate who’d joined him in all manner of innocent boyish activities—boating and fishing and climbing trees—had become this creature of blatant femininity who scared the devil out of him. He still enjoyed their talks and admired her clever mind. But the thought of sharing a bed with Kit—Katherine—made him break out in a sweat.
It’s only because you’ve never been with a woman. Jules confused you, that’s all. Just kiss her as she asked, and that will break the ice and then everything will be fine.
But what if it wasn’t? What if, God forbid, he hated it?
No, Jules was wrong about him. Sydney stood up and strode down the hall. He’d prove it, too. He’d find Kit, and he’d demand that she stop spending time with Iversley. Then he’d take her in his arms and—
A muffled noise from one of the nearby rooms broke into his thoughts. Curious, he approached the door—the only closed one in the hall—and peered through the little window to the inside.
His heart stopped. Iversley was kissing Kit. Anger surged through Sydney. How dared that blackguard touch his Kit?
Sydney opened the door. He would put a stop to the man’s insolent attentions.
Then he caught sight of Kit’s arms, looped about Iversley’s shoulders, clinging to his neck. She was kissing the man back. And when Iversley moved to kiss her neck and her ear, her face showed pure rapture—her eyes were closed and her lips were parted and she looked as if she’d finally found heaven.
And Sydney felt… nothing. No surge of jealousy, no outrage… nothing.
Well, that wasn’t entirely true. The sight of such passionate fervor made him wish he were the object of it. He was envious.
And to his horror, it wasn’t Iversley he envied.
“Unhand the lady, you blackguard!”
As the words penetrated the sensual spell Alec wove around her, Katherine shoved him away. Dreading what she would see, she turned her gaze slowly to the door.
Lord preserve her, it was Sydney! How much had he witnessed? Had he been here when Alec removed his hand from her bodice a few moments ago? Judging from his furious expression, he might have been.
Except that his fury seemed directed more at Alec than at her.
Alec turned, too, his expression carefully controlled. “Good afternoon, Lovelace.” Not “This isn’t what you think,” or “Sorry, Lovelace, didn’t mean to steal your woman.” Then again, Alec was always honest about his desires.
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