by Gayle Eden
A waft of Edmund’s woodsy soap reached her nose, but she did not turn her eyes from the empty fireplace even as she heard his bare footed tread.
It was obvious he stood there, simply regarding her, before he spoke evenly, “You wished a word with me, Alex?”
“Several words, actually,” she muttered and then finally looked at him. Wishing she had not. He was in only toweling, another piece he rubbed at his wet raven hair with. Between face and low waist, below his knees, brown muscled skin was flushed from his bath.
He stopped his action, resting the toweling around his nape and then finger combing his hair—an action that sent arm and chest muscles flexing.
“Is it your intention to drag me to every assembly and ball in London for the rest of the season?” That was not what she planned to say, but rather what came out.
His tawny eyes went over her hair and gown, pausing on her face and causing the usual havoc to her senses she did not need. “It is imperative that we substantiate the facts—”
“Facts.”
He ignored that snort and went on, “That we met four years ago and fell madly in love. That we kept our marriage a secret for our own reasons, and conducted trysts—”
“Those are not my stories. They are yours.”
“They are.”
Alex arose and faced him. “I don’t see the point in it. We are wed now. It does not matter what we do or say. The gossips—”
“It matters to me.”
Her back stiffened. “Yes. I have noticed.” Her eyes went down him.
He stood that for a moment, and then turned to his wardrobe, taking out shirt, trousers, the trappings of formal ware; he dropped the towel and began to dress as if she were not standing there watching.
Alex did not want to, but he was a beautifully masculine man. She would have to be blindfolded not to look at him.
She uttered, huskier than she wanted, “You are turning me into a female version of your town persona, Edmund. I never cared for that side of you before, and I don’t now.”
He had his trousers, and polished boots on, and was buttoning a crisp shirt. Using a long mirror inside the wardrobe door, he eyed her via reflection whilst he did so. “I’m aware of your opinions, Alex. All of them. But until I find out who broke into my sister’s house—and whom they meant to harm by releasing that entry, I insist you trust me.”
“I do not see that it could have done any damage to anyone, but me. As to that, seeing as who my father is, and given who my sisters are…”
He finished and reached for a neck cloth, draping it around his collar. He turned to face her. “Don’t you? Are you not aware, that there are any number of reasons, someone would do so? To sever a friendship between myself and the Marquis, to destroy my relationship with Adam, to paint me in the light of seducer seeing as how you were only nineteen when we first spent time alone in my sister’s house…”
“Of course. Your rep.” Alex sighed and shook her head.
He tied the cravat and pulled on his coat, a thigh length one with silk lining. Walking over to stand close to her Edmund looked down, locking eyes with her. “Mine and my Countess.”
“I don’t bloody care what they think of me!”
“I do.” He held her gaze for long moments. Edmund opened his mouth to say something else and then shook his head. “Fetch your cloak and gloves. We will be late as it is.”
Alex walked to the door and paused, turning to find him standing there simply watching her. “It won’t last, Edmund. I won’t play this role forever.” She turned and opened the door, collecting her things.
* * * *
At the Ellington’s, Edmund was very aware of Alex’s brittle mood. In fact, he was aware of her mood from the time she had arrived in London. He was in part astonished she had adhered to his wishes and dictates this long.
The schedule was grueling, the suppers and teas, balls, were taxing to get through. She was beautiful, even angry with him, aloof in her own way while her bitterness got the best of her. Long used to playing the indifferent role, Edmund found himself challenged at times by the memories of their intimacy, and by the vision of her, the mere scent of her perfume.
Although he had witnessed a worse fate years ago when his sister came to London, he could not say he had felt such a rage and a gut sick feeling at the lewd mockery and speculation the worst rags unleashed on Alexandria, due in part to her being the daughter of a Rakehell. The worst part was the lies; other men who claimed to have met her for trysts, others who claimed she was the mistress of many. Alex could ignore it. He could not—would not.
Unknown to any save the Marquis, Edmund had challenged four men to a duel right in the middle of Whites, with the Marquis as his second. Thus far, he had gotten no satisfaction. Two took off to the country and the others offered such profuse and embarrassing apologies that Edmund was disgusted with them. It was not at all as satisfying as if he could get his hands on them in the boxing ring. However, as the Marquis had drolly said, cowards operate that way. Never in his life had he experienced such rage as he did on Alex’s behalf. He scarcely knew himself when his blood surged hot enough to strangle some lying bastard with his bare hands.
Coolly sipping champagne at the moment, Edmund picked Alex out of the crowds, having just finished a dance with her father. She was standing on the sidelines with her sisters—he imagined, muttering about his high handedness. He almost smiled. Almost, but not quite.
In truth, he had acted without great mental debate. At his arrival in London, his sister was upset, quite naturally in a panic. When the Marquis arrived and the journal entry came out, his mind immediately shifted from looking for an enemy of his sisters—or perhaps one of her friends, to giving the explanation and truth he owed to her father.
The Marquis was easy compared to Adam. No man wanted to look the fool, regardless of how the relationship may have evolved; Adam expected more honesty than that. Adam quietly quit London, telling Edmund he thought it best until the talk died down.
The Marquis did not go easy on Edmund, particularly when discovering the affair picked up during the season and at Hawksmoor. As much as he proclaimed Alex an adult and responsible for her choices, he also flat out asked Edmund if it was his intention to betray Adam, and make Alexandria his mistress.
Edmund found himself defending Alexandria—defending them both, without words to describe what they had. He shared with the Marquis those words Alex used: no marriage, no affair… but at the end of a bottle of brandy, he had confessed that he never stopped wanting Alex, thinking of her. He rattled off his plan, the elopement, what he would do to counter the rumors, and by dawn told the Marquis that he and Alex would work out the rest once the gossip died down.
There was a simple truth behind his actions however—Edmund saw a chance to have Alexandria as his wife, his lover, and he took it. He took it, and he was paying the price for maneuvering someone like Alex into a position she had not chosen.
A waltz struck up. Edmund set the glass aside and went to join his wife, catching her eye just when her last partner moved away to fetch refreshment. Bowing, he offered his hand. Alex took it, and then they were on the floor, going through the steps of a dance he no more desire to perform than a jig, but used any excuse, to take Alex in his arms.
As usual, the tension crackled. Warmth spread over his skin at her scent. The expressive sherry eyes that had been avoiding him during the whole of the ride, met his too often to hide that she felt the currents between them too. Each touch and turn, each sweep and glide, he could feel her lithe body and feel his own burning to have it skin to skin.
Frame and sinew rigid by the time they finished, he tucked her arm in his and headed for the French doors. Outside, Edmund felt her pull away. He watched her walk a few steps ahead, before she turned and regarded him after a head to toe sweep.
“I think I know who took that journal.”
His brow rose.
“Lady Melanie Billington.”
E
dmund carefully extracted a cheroot and lit it. “What makes you think—?”
“—Not me. Jo,” she cut him off. Her chin lifted just the slightest. “Jo was in a dress shop earlier today and saw your Lady friend speaking with a…shall we say, shady looking character. It seems they were having an argument, because Lady Billington owed him money but she alluded to the fact that since the release of the contents did not have the effect she desired, she would not pay him…”
“What makes Jo assume—”
“Oh, come now Edmund,” Alex sounded irritated. “Jo heard your name, and mine. It seems your escort of Melanie for so many years gave her good reason to hope you would ask for her hand. Moreover, whilst she could tolerate your side street mistress, she grew rather concerned when you escorted me to that ball. And—she followed us.”
“Very well. I’ll take care of it.”
Alex stared at him. “Yes. Do get your sister’s journal back.”
“I made Melanie no promises, Alex. I was not her lover.”
“I did not accuse you of it.”
Edmund tossed the cheroot. “No. You did not. Would you even care, I wonder?” He turned to go inside. “Stay with your family until I have had a word with Lady Billington.”
* * * *
Alex did. She returned to her family, and after whispering to her father where Edmund had gone, she and Val watched Jo dance with Van Wyc, who was more than able to take Jo’s rather energetic and flirtatious nature in stride.
“I was half afraid it would be Leland,” Val leaned over and whispered.
“I thought of that too. But what good would it do him to harm the duchess or my rep?”
“Blackmail.” Val shrugged. “I’m almost relieved it was simply a jealous female.”
Alex’s gaze moved, but she could not find her husband, nor Lady Melanie. “Had Edmund waited and Jo found this out as she did, we could have avoided this marriage, this bloody whole season. Were he not so arrogant and high handed, he could been appraised, and then forced some retraction or explanation—turned it all around, I’m sure, with Lady Billington’s cooperation.”
Val’s gaze rested on her profile. “He may have. Nevertheless, I think what he did was not only honorable, Alex. It was sensible, considering you two are lovers.”
“Were,” Alex muttered.
“Are.” Val grunted. “Whether he has bedded you since the wedding or not, sister, that waltz, by anyone observing it, was performed by two people who are lovers.”
Cheeks flushing, Alex could not deny that around Edmund, touching, looking at him, she wanted him.
Val laid her hand on her arm. When Alex glanced at her, she murmured, “You could not have gone on as you were, Alex. In spite of the...er—excitement of trysts, and your independent spirit. Yes, you and Edmund are opposites, but on some level, you obviously reach him like none other does. Forget how it happened, or why. You could have what most only dream of—”
Alex blew out a breath. What was that? She only knew what she had wanted… and a cold and polite ton marriage, any sort of marriage based on anything but a lasting passion—was not it.
She raised her head and spotted a ruffled looking Lady Billington heading for the exit, and turned back to see Edmund making his way across the room. His eyes cold jasper and jaw rigid, it was apparent that he had not waited to shake the emotion unleashed on the Lady before leaving some private spot.
He was before her soon, and after kissing Val’s hand said, “Shall we leave early for our box?”
Alex stood and took his arm, casting a wry smile at Val whilst they left.
In the coach however, she had scarcely let down her hood before Edmund turned, cupped her chin, and kissed her ruthlessly.
Lips damp and breath catching, she eyed him when he eased up to regard her in turn. “What was that for?”
His tawny eyes flashed. “Consider it a prelude.”
Shivering in both desire and surprise, Alex muttered, “What did you uncover?”
“Melanie Billington is a bitch.” He fixed her hood up and crossed into his seat. “Your sister was right, except when her plan backfired—it seemed she sought to ruin you and imagined I’d make a hasty and proper marriage to her. Quite the imagination, I’ll say. She was more determined than ever to, as she says, destroy me—and having further read the entries, finding more names, damming information—or at least what alludes to that, she was going to blackmail me to protect Sonja, and blackmail them as well.”
“Not a very smart plan.”
“No. But, a greedy one. It seems her father made some bad investments and she was most eager—desperate in fact—for me to propose. Now that that fell through, she resorted to this. Her imagined betrayal on my part is the added icing for her. She wanted to hurt me, through Sonja.”
“How did you get her to confess?”
He looked out the window. “Quite simply, I threatened to turn the tables. I promised that my sister and I would fabricate another journal, filled with damming information on her, and see that it fell into the right hands. I also promised to expose her father’s circumstances and destroy any chance she might have of snagging herself a husband. Among other things.”
“And she backed down. Spilled everything, just like that?”
He glanced at her. “She did. Unlike you, Alex, Melanie lives in terror of losing her rep and position.”
Alex shrugged and looked away. “Perhaps she really loved you, Edmund.”
“She doesn’t know me.”
“Who does?” Alex muttered.
“You, Alex.”
She did not get to respond as they reached the theater. However, those words lingered in her mind while they sat through the play, and the stares and whispers. It was always going to be a part of her life, speculation and gossip, Alex decided. She knew that Edmund found it intolerable.
During a break, Alex went to the gardens with him to smoke, and shared a sip from his brandy flask. She could tell he was no more interested in the play than she was. In fact, distracted when his eyes were on her, there was amber fire in them.
It seemed forever before they were headed homeward. Alex got to her room, stripped and washed, drawing on her ivory silk night rail. The maid brushed her hair. Alex arose after they left, turning down lamps, opening the shutters to the fogged moonlight, feeling the silk on her skin, the light brush of her hair against her shoulders and back. She heard the door click, smelled his scent and heated skin before his arms slid around her from behind. Edmund’s lips grazed her shoulder. He breathed her in before stepping back and turning her in his arms. Alex’s hands reached for his shoulders.
He dipped in for a deep and ravenous kiss. Flames of passion seemed to combust at first taste.
She was angry, vexed at him, and needed to vent, but right now…. Oh, right now….
In the warm gloom, their breathing was diminutive. Aroused mouths were hungry, tongues erotically taking from each other. Alex felt his hands skimming her body, sliding up the gown. She moaned low amid the kiss. He cupped her buttocks, pulling her tightly to him. He was completely nude, hot and hard, burning, sizzling it seemed.
Edmund lifted his head, skimming the gown off her. Alex met his famished gaze seconds before he lifted her up and took her to her bed. Beside her, half raised, his palm skimmed her body in between nibbles at her lips, love bites down her throat, and maddeningly short laves at her nipples.
Squirming, Alex cupped his face with one hand and tugged his hair, her breath catching because the weeks of emotion seemed to have super sensitized her flesh. The need in her body was tightly coiled.
“Easy, easy…” he whispered against her skin, mouth doing its magic while his hand found her sex and his finger began to glide in the slick arousal.
“I can’t.” Alex moaned, opening her legs, arching her neck, and wanting more and more. She was so aroused her legs shook. She could not deny the entry of his finger felt good, his in and out thrusts making her contract and move her hips.
“So hot. So passionate.” He leaned up further and eased down to suckle her breasts, his fingers now teasing the bud in earnest.
The climax caught her unaware, an almost painful and quick one, that Alex scarcely grasped hold of.
Edmund moved over her, between her legs, lifting them onto his hips. The head of his sex eased smoothly inside her. His voice was gruff, body hot, when he uttered, “Hold onto me, Alex.”
Her hands found him, nails biting into his back muscle. It did not hurt. In fact, she moaned rather loud in pleasure as he began to fill her, finally sinking deeply. “Oh, Edmund. It’s…yes…”
He made a sound, a half laugh, half groan, and began to move. The more he thrust, the more she enjoyed it. Alex did not think to keep that to herself. She whispered and arched, met him stroke for stroke.
“Not too rough this time.”
“Why?” She had shifted her hold to his hard buttocks.
He growled sexily, “Because I intend to stay in you all night, and this time, will be short.” So saying he thrust short and quick, muttering a few curses as he climaxed.
Feeling his shudders, Alex rather enjoyed the soothe of his seed inside of her. She did not mind when his body settled more on her. Breathing his damp skin, stroking his back, she whispered, “I liked that, Edmund.”
He turned his head, looked at her with heavy lidded eyes, and dilated pupils. “I know, love. Give me a bit and I’ll give you more to like—than that.”
She smiled and released him. He rolled off her. They cleaned themselves and then lay on the bed, Alex on her side watching Edmund. He lay with his eyes closed. She tried to remember that she was angry with him. She tried to bring the image of him cold and aloof in her mind. However, he looked sensual and relaxed. His body, as she slanted a glance down it, was beautiful. In addition, she remembered what he had said in the courtyard at Hawksmoor.
Rising a bit, she leaned over and touched her fingers to his mouth. His lashes lifted. He looked at her. He did not move while she traced it, then further, across his jaw line, up the high cheekbones.