Lord Paul closed the distance between them. “Go to the devil.”
“Stay away from Claire.” Alex’s voice turned callous. “If you hound her, I will call you out. I beg of you, give me a reason—any reason.”
Lord Paul’s eyes suddenly cleared. “You’re after her for revenge. Goddamn me, why didn’t I see it earlier?” His voice deepened. “You set me up with unlimited credit at Reynolds. Anything I wanted to play with no limits. How long did it take you?”
Alex delivered a bored inspection of Lord Paul’s mussed clothes. “Not long with your taste for debauchery.”
“You don’t give a damn about anything except settling the score. You were the one who destroyed Alice. Not I.”
Alex reined in the overwhelming urge to attack. If he hit the man, he wouldn’t stop until Lord Paul’s lifeless body littered the floor. “We both know why she died. How do you live with yourself?”
“My conscience is as pure as a choir of angels.” Lord Paul delivered an appraising glance. “Let me share a secret. Lady Claire is an incomparable. A jewel of the finest quality. There is no comparison to any of the other women I’ve had. Trust me.”
Alex’s breath hitched. That was the crux of the problem. He had trusted Paul. When Alex had prepared his first speech for the House of Lords, Paul had spent the afternoon with him. Politically astute, Paul had rewritten entire sections. He’d listened to Alex give the speech, then advised which points to emphasize. The next day, Alex had received a standing ovation.
They had shared the same life experiences—attended the same schools, belonged to the same clubs. There were once friends. He knew where Paul came from and how he thought. But could he believe Paul’s claim that he’d slept with her? He’d lied about Alice, and he had to be lying now. There couldn’t be another explanation.
Lord Paul lifted a corner of his mouth in an arrogant smirk. “Claire has the most delightful set of—” He brought his hand up to his heart and sighed. “You’ll discover the treasure trove on your own.”
The vision of Lord Paul’s hands on Claire tainted his final act of revenge. He forced himself to focus on Lord Paul and closed the distance between them. “You are foul”—he gritted his teeth and narrowed his eyes—“but I’ve never thought of you as a liar.”
“You always were a judgmental prig. Maybe that’s why Alice always sought my company instead of yours when she was troubled.” Lord Paul cocked an eyebrow.
Lord Paul spoke the truth. Alice had always sought Paul’s counsel. But he’d be damned before he showed any reaction to the pain inflicted.
“For what it’s worth, the next time I finish with a lover, I’ll send a note. If Lady Claire is any indication, you obviously enjoy following me in bed,” Lord Paul said.
Alex grabbed him by the neckcloth and twisted. Only the toes of Lord Paul’s shoes touched the thick carpet. “If you as much as hint any of these tales to others, I’ll kill you without thought or ceremony. Now leave before my good humor escapes me.” He gave a forceful push, sending Lord Paul crashing into the closed door.
Lord Paul flashed a rancorous grin as he brushed his coat. “You will pay for what you’ve done. I promise. I will not let you ruin Claire the way you did me. Or Alice.”
* * *
Before Alex entered the drawing room, he took a moment to smooth his coat and cravat as he composed his anger and pain. He refused to give countenance to the claim Lord Paul had Claire in his bed. She was a lovely, well-bred woman. Such lies would not follow her once they were married. No one would sully her. He’d risk duels and curses before he’d let her suffer.
The taunt that he had ruined Alice was close to the truth, as he had failed to protect her from such evil. It mattered little at this point. Everything he’d done in the past year was for Alice. That was the only thing that mattered. If he sheltered Claire, it might provide a semblance of salvation and some relief from his ever-present guilt.
Claire faced the fire with her back to him. She either had not heard him approach or didn’t care.
His gaze slowly followed the sweep of her dress before coming to rest on her shoulders. The image of the dark blue silk against her ivory skin presented a charming tableau, one that any master would be delighted to paint. The fire caught the shimmer of her hair, reflecting flames of dark red. She was beautiful.
With a whirl of her dress, she greeted him with a genuine grin before it faded into a practiced smile. She drew a deep breath, then waited for him to approach. Authentic smile or not, he was drawn to her almost as if he were caught in a magical web, the pull too great to resist. Silently, he acknowledged the inevitable truth. He didn’t want to resist her—no matter how inconvenient for him.
Whatever this was between them, he couldn’t lose perspective. He had to remember Alice. His hoarse whisper broke the silence. “Lady Claire.”
She regarded him with clear, observant eyes. “Lord Pembrooke.”
“Please, it’s Alex. That’s what my family calls me.” He smiled slightly to put her at ease, but remnants of hurt still shone in her eyes. Was she mourning the loss of Lord Paul? He resolved to make her forget everything except for him.
Neither of them had their gloves on for the evening. He took her hand, the warmth and softness of her skin threatening to whip his amorous thoughts into a full frenzy. With deliberate ease, he bowed and turned her wrist to meet his lips. Her spicy scent, a bergamot orange with sandalwood, brought back the memory of her clinging to him at Lady Anthony’s ball. He allowed his lips to linger before tasting her skin with his tongue.
Her quick intake of breath at his forwardness encouraged him to continue. His thumb lightly toyed back and forth across her palm. He needed to touch her for his own reassurance. She bewitched him like a temptress.
Her lips parted as if she would welcome his kiss. Her green eyes darkened when he lifted his gaze to hers.
“I saw Lord Paul as I arrived. Is everything all right?”
Claire stilled, then responded in the gentle tone he was coming to recognize. “I told him it was finished between the two of us.” Her expression held little emotion. “It’s hard to explain. Yesterday, I expected to marry him. Today, I’ll be with you.”
Inside, Alex relished his triumph. In that moment, she had agreed to relinquish her fate into his hands. Her acceptance was a heady start to the evening.
“Shall we leave … Alex?”
The slight hesitation before she spoke was a lightning rod. Desire shot through him again as his name fell from her lips.
Claire tugged her hand free and donned her evening gloves. “Let us continue the conversation in the carriage.”
He mimicked her movements with his own gloves. The absence of her warm touch was a loss, but her acknowledgment that she was his lightened his mood considerably.
* * *
Claire considered the Marquess of Pembrooke’s black carriage. It rivaled any of the Duke of Langham’s vehicles. The coach looked like Alex—big, dark, handsome—and the devil to drive. Six restless horses, anxious to start the journey to the opera house, snorted and stomped in unison.
Alex reached out to help her into the carriage. His gloves accentuated the elegance of his large hands and the power that resided there. After she entered, he squeezed her fingers and lingered before releasing them. His touch caused her heartbeat to perform the same erratic dance she’d experienced in the drawing room when he had kissed her wrist.
After she settled in the front-facing seat, Alex quickly entered and sat opposite her. Although cloaked in shadow, his presence filled the carriage. It pushed at her from every angle, almost as if he touched her. She looked out the window for some diversion, trying to keep her thoughts from wandering back to him. After an eternity, the carriage lurched into motion and the clip-clop of the perfectly matched team set off.
“Do you love him?” His low voice hummed.
The unexpected question caused Claire to choke with a cough. She covered her mouth with her hand in an effo
rt to hide her distress. Alex came out of the darkness and handed her his handkerchief. She shook her free hand in an attempt to stop his gesture.
He took her upheld hand and pressed the cloth into her palm before he closed his fingers around hers. Alarm crossed his face. “Claire?”
She regained the ability to speak, but her throat protested the effort. “No. I have no … I meant what I said earlier. I never want to be reminded again.”
“Good.” His unfathomable, slate-colored eyes darkened to a lustrous obsidian hue.
She became increasingly uneasy under his scrutiny. It was as if he enjoyed watching her discomfort. His silence made it difficult to find anything to converse about. Nevertheless, she was not a coward and forced herself to watch him in return. His evening attire enhanced his masculinity and did nothing to hide his strength. All of it—his body, his smell, and his allure—overpowered her. He reminded her of some wild animal and, caught in his lair, she was unsure what he would do. None of her other fiancés had affected her this way. She closed her eyes in an effort to collect her composure.
Finally, he broke the silence. “I consider myself most fortunate to have such a beautiful and fascinating bride.”
“Alex, please. There’s no need.” She shifted in her seat and took a deep breath to ease her discomfort. “I’m not the type of woman who has admirers outside the suitors who find my investments my most attractive feature.”
She waited for a response, but none was forthcoming. The lull in conversation turned into a noose around her neck, one she had to escape.
“In truth, I lead a boring life. I work at a charity and take social calls. I rarely attend entertainments or ton events.” Even to her own ears, she sounded dull.
Still, he said nothing.
“It’s true my fortune is legendary in more ways than one.” She couldn’t stop the ramble of her words. “We both know it isn’t large enough to overcome most men’s fear of the curse.”
“Do you believe you’re cursed?”
“Sometimes.” Why else would she have traveled to a gypsy camp on her own, desperate to find some relief from her bad luck? She’d even thought of going to Scotland and finding a white witch who could reverse the curse.
“There is no curse.” His deep baritone resonated throughout the carriage. “Do you know why I want you?”
His voice was a potent elixir that had her relaxing … until she understood the question. Her chest ached from a ragged intake of breath. She couldn’t form a response. The air pulsed with the tension of his statement. At this moment, she would give every pound she possessed to escape her past. She would like to be Claire and not a bank account or a piece of property or a cursed joke. And he was giving her that chance.
His silence settled around her, causing her stomach to tangle into knots. She waited for ages, the rattle of the carriage wheels and the rhythmic clop of the horses the metronome of time passing.
In a deep, gentle cadence, he broke the silence. “Claire…” His voice caressed her as he leaned toward her and emerged from the shadows as if he were a hero in a gothic novel. A grimace crossed his face before he continued, “When I announced our engagement at Lady Anthony’s ball, I thought we’d have a typical marriage between a peer and his wife. A comfortable friendship. But…” He stopped and let his gaze follow the length of her body before coming to rest on her face. “I didn’t expect to find you so desirable that I no longer trust myself with you. If I had my way, I’d topple you in that seat this very instant.” He moved closer without touching her, but the heat of his body enveloped her.
She stiffened in shock, not knowing how to stop the building thrum of desire between them, or if she even wanted to. His scent, spicy and all male, so different from hers, wrapped around her willpower, and she shamelessly drew forward. She waited for his touch.
Alex’s voice dropped to a low, sensual pulse, stirring the warmth low in her belly. “I’d kiss and suck until your lips were red and swollen.” He sighed before he brought his mouth to her ear to whisper, “Then I’d nip at your earlobes while telling you every wicked thing I’d do to you. I’d undress you ever so slowly, every inch of your satin skin unveiled for my enjoyment. I’d bite with my teeth, then soothe with my mouth until I laid your breasts bare. I’d worship your nipples until they hardened and you begged for relief. While I pleasured you, my hand would wind its way under your dress. I’d caress a path on your skin until I found your most secret place.”
Her body vibrated. My God, his words raged a storm inside her body.
In slow motion, he braced his hands on the leather seat framing her hips and leaned forward until their bodies were a scant inch apart. “I’d put my fingers inside you and give you the sweetest torment with each caress, over and over until you screamed my name as you surrendered to the rapture. Then, Claire, I’d mount you until we both cried out our pleasure … together.”
She couldn’t move. White-hot heat swept through her body with the force of a tidal wave and hampered her simple ability to breathe. His scent covered her, marking her as his.
The carriage came to a halt. The sounds of various voices drifted into the vehicle. Alex reached toward her, and with the barest of caresses, the gloved knuckles of his hand slowly rubbed her cheek. Her body screamed for more while her mind cried, Stop!
“Take a minute. My driver and groomsmen have instructions not to intrude unless I signal.” He took charge with quiet assurance. “If I’ve shocked you, forgive me. I look forward to the day I can have you. Until then, know the depths of my desire for you.” Alex exhaled his frustration. “There is nothing I want more than to have you in my bed.”
She closed her eyes and placed her hand over his while he gently caressed the apple of her cheek. Her emotions were so convoluted, she doubted she’d ever regain control. “Alex—”
He moved as if to embrace her in a kiss.
Every muscle in her body tensed into tight little knots she doubted could ever be untangled. To her utter despair, he drew away.
“The next time you believe you’re cursed, come to me. I’ll show you that you aren’t.” Power radiated from his body as he relaxed. “Give me a few moments. Then, shall we go inside? I want the entire audience to see you’re mine, my future wife.”
Chapter Five
Claire didn’t wear provocative gowns to the opera, or anywhere else, for that matter, but the dress she wore tonight was vibrant in color and movement. It was the perfect choice after Alex’s declaration in the carriage that he wanted people to notice they were together.
His private box fell conspicuously direct center above the stage and set back a sufficient distance from the other boxes. Any sense of privacy vanished when several audience members ogled them with their opera glasses. Holding the single-lens contraptions to their eyes, they gave the appearance of formally dressed pirates ready to claim the spoils of the fight—namely, the first to spread the gossip that Lady Claire Cavensham had attended this evening’s performance with the Marquess of Pembrooke.
As Alex escorted her to a seat in the back, his hand, possessive in touch, rested on the curve of her lower back. After they settled, he leaned intimately toward her. “My mother and sister shall be joining us. I want to share our announcement.”
Claire’s earlier prurient tension had melted, only to be replaced by another desire. She would meet his family. “I look forward to seeing Lady Daphne again. However, I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting Lady Pembrooke.”
“My mother doesn’t go out much in society since my sister’s death. This year is different now that Daphne’s out.” A hint of a smile crossed his face as his eyes lit from within. With a slight shift in his seat, he claimed the edge of her chair as if sharing his innermost secrets. His leg pressed against hers, and the heat of his touch transfixed her. “Daphne is confident and poised in social settings, yet her warmth and humor readily shine. I’m really quite proud of her. She’s grown into an accomplished young woman.”
Claire
’s heart did a somersault when she gazed upon his face. He was charming in his attitude toward his sister. His love of family was readily evident. She experienced a jolt of immediate joie de vivre. Within a week, she would become part of their family. She wanted the current marchioness to become a fast friend and hoped their relationship would blossom into one as close as mother and daughter. The joy was short-lived when she remembered that any such future happiness would be tied to Alex and his reaction to her secret.
“I only wish Alice were here to see Daphne’s Season.” He leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees. His gaze settled on the other side of the theater. “She’d be euphoric at her sister’s success.” He was lost in thought for a moment, his face expressionless except for the fine lines at the corners of his eyes that made his pain obvious.
Claire didn’t want to intrude upon his grief, but she had to offer some comfort. “I was acquainted with your sister, but I wish … I wish I’d known her better.”
He straightened and wordlessly placed his hand over hers and gently squeezed. The movement was so subtle that no one in the theater would have noticed the gesture. However, it told her volumes. Her sentiment had brought him a respite from the sorrow.
His lips tugged upward as he leaned close. “You and she would have become fast friends. I’m sure of it.” With a shift of his body, he increased the space between them.
His movement signaled that the topic was closed for discussion. He’d share a part of himself, then pull away. He’d demonstrated that skill in the carriage this evening and now with Alice. It made the truth hard to deny. He might have said he didn’t believe in the curse, but perhaps he’d pushed her away so as not to risk it. A wise decision, as the curse couldn’t affect him if he kept his distance from her. Still, tonight left her wanting more. She wanted to know everything about him.
The private door opened, and an elegant lady in her mid-fifties entered with Lady Daphne. Both were dressed at the height of fashion. The woman had to be Alex’s mother, as his gray eyes were the mirror image of hers.
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