She sighed, arching her back to intensify the contact between them. He edged her back a step, then another, until the backs of her legs touched the wall. Lifting her gaze, she drank him in. What was it about this man above all others that melted her resolve, that made her want to cast aside her reservations and delight in the earthy pleasures to be found in his arms?
His hands spanned her middle, lingering over her waist, settling at her hips. With one hand, he skimmed a light path over her ribs. His hand grazed her clothed breast, cupping the sensitive flesh against his palm. His nimble fingers made short work of the fasteners at her bodice, and he peeled away the fabric, baring her to her chemise.
And then, his lips pressed light caresses to the swell of her breasts. Each touch of his mouth to her flesh rippled pleasure through her body, from the bud of her nipple to the toes that curled with delight inside her slippers.
He slid her chemise lower, baring her to his eyes.
“You’re even more beautiful now,” he whispered, then kissed her again.
His irises had transformed from hazel to a deep, mossy hue. Dark brows framed his expressive eyes. What would it be like to look into those eyes every night of her life, to lie in his arms…in his bed…and warm her heart with the passion he could not hide?
He dipped his head. She gasped with pleasure as his lips closed over the bud of her breast. His tongue traced intimate little circles around the sensitive flesh. Tenderness infused every touch, every sensual flick of his tongue against her skin. Pure bliss filled her senses, and she heard a little moan, realizing through the haze of desire that it was her own voice.
As the delicious sensation surged through her, she writhed against him. A sweet, hot ache kindled between her thighs, and she canted her hips. Pressed to his lean body, she cradled the hard ridge of his shaft against her softness. He was hard with wanting, straining against his trousers. And yet, he held back, taking nothing for himself. Giving her bliss with his tongue and his touch.
He lifted his head, claiming her mouth once again. She savored the feel of him. Sleek muscle sheathed his broad shoulders. Beneath the linen of his shirt, his muscles tensed. She slid her fingers beneath the fabric, drawing in the warmth of his skin. His biceps flexed beneath her touch, strong and powerful and lean as a panther on the prowl.
With a grin, he scooped her into his arms, with as little effort as if she weighed no more than a child. He carried her to the settee and placed her there.
Dropping to his knees beside her, he kissed her again. His hand glided over her skirt, slipping beneath her petticoat.
“I want to touch you,” he whispered against her lips.
For a heartbeat, she considered the guard who patrolled nearby, but the press of his lips to a deliciously sensitive spot at the base of her throat silenced the nagging harpy in the back of her thoughts.
“Yes,” she murmured, nearly mindless with need. “Please. Yes.”
His hand skated along the length of her thigh, infinitely gentle, stirring delicious tingles of sensation. Exploring her softness. Kindling her desire. Tempting her to abandon all restraint.
With a sweep of his fingers over her achingly sensitive flesh, he stirred the first flickers of need to a blaze. Hunger filled her every cell. A sweet bliss washed over her, and she canted her hips, wanting more. More of his touch. More of his tenderness. More of his words of love.
“Darling, I want to hear you…when I give you pleasure.” His voice was low and husky, raw with longing.
The gravel-edge plea touched a wanting deep within her. She arched against him, pleading with each movement of her hips for the decadent sensations that were pulling her toward a mindless vortex.
Her inner muscles contracted and pulsed. Much more of this, and she would go mad. Or so it seemed. She couldn’t define the hunger. But it was so very real. A bittersweet ache only he could soothe.
“Oh, Benedict. Yes…yes.”
She cried out. Softly, for his ears only. Unrestrained in her delight, drinking in every pulse, every sensation, every moment of pleasure.
Each breath sounded amplified against her ears. She rested her head against his broad chest, secure in his arms. Content and utterly sated.
And yet, wanting more.
Wanting his pleasure, as he had wanted hers.
Shyly, she glided her fingers over the breadth of his shoulders. Slipping beneath his crisp linen shirt, she curved her hand over his shoulder, feeling the sleek power of lean muscle. The sheer maleness of him filled her with a craving to feel those muscles tense beneath her fingertips as he reached that delicious peak of sensation. She wanted to feel him shudder with the fulfillment of release. She wanted to hear him call her name, rough with passion, and desire, and sensual delight.
She slid her hand along the flat, hard plane of his chest. He let out a breath, as if he fought for control of his impulses. She did not want him to restrain himself. That was the most distant thing from her mind.
No, she wanted him to fully express his passion. She yearned to feel his response to her touch, to express the ecstasy he felt as she had given voice to hers.
With a smile, she ran the fingers of her left hand through his hair, savoring the silky texture of the wheat brown strands, as she ran the fingertips of her other hand through the feathering of dark hair that spanned his chest and tapered into a line bisecting his middle. A deeper brown than the strands on his head, the hue accented the meld of muscle and flesh and bone.
Pressing a kiss to his lips, she shifted her right hand lower, tugging his shirt loose from his trousers. Sliding beneath the fabric, she explored the contours of his male body.
His belly was hard and ridged with muscle, his skin bronzed. Growing bolder, she allowed her fingers to trace the same path he’d drawn on her with his touch. He shuddered with awareness.
His trousers could not hide the evidence of his arousal. The ridge of his erection pressed to the fabric, straining for release. Her mouth went dry with a primal yearning.
Gently, tenderly, she reached out to him. With the tips of her fingers, she caressed the length of him. Growing bolder, she cupped her fingers around his shaft. He groaned, even as he throbbed against her tender possession.
She let out a sigh, wondering if she possessed the daring to open his trousers and bare his body to her.
Sensing her thoughts, he gently shook his head. “We must not…go any further. I cannot guarantee my restraint.”
She pulled in a breath, fortifying her fragile daring. “And if I do not wish you to conduct yourself with restraint?”
He gulped a breath, and for a heartbeat, it seemed he might actually be praying for strength.
With a leisurely gentleness, he put an arm’s length between their bodies. His eyes gleamed with heat, even as he smiled. “This night was for you, darling. I wanted to bring you pleasure. Tonight, you gave me what I needed…you, in my arms, my name on your lips.”
Chapter Fourteen
“Tell me why you left London.”
For such a very long time, Alex had wanted an explanation, to hear from Benedict in his own words why he’d left her. Now, as she sat nestled on a settee before the hearth, her head resting comfortably against his shoulder, she calmly voiced the question that had once seemed a not-quite-healed wound.
This time with Benedict seemed so natural. So right. The sense that they belonged together filled her with emotions she’d thought long dead. She’d hesitated to speak the words for fear of shattering their tenderness. But she had to know. She had to understand.
Even more than she yearned for his kiss, she needed the truth.
He brushed a kiss over her brow. “You might have loved an impoverished viscount. I do believe you would have. But I…I could not live my life indebted to others.”
“Indebted? I’m afraid I do not understand. Your father’s estate was substantial,” she whispered, snuggling closer. The feel of hard, sleek muscle beneath her fingertips kindled a gentle fire within her.
>
“That’s where you’re wrong,” he said, his tone gentle. “My father was a habitual gambler, an irresponsible sot. He never earned a penny in his life, having lived off a stipend from my grandfather’s estate. Father never expected to come into the title. My uncle Leo had been the heir. But he was killed, and Grandfather had no choice but to look upon my father as his successor to the title.”
“I would not have cared that you weren’t wealthy. You know me better than that.”
“Of course I do.” He pressed a quick kiss to her lips. “But my mother—she was a different story. She despised the way my father had lost their fortune. Only one thing frightened her. Above all else, she was terrified by the prospect of losing her status in Society. She was never willing to curtail her spending. Why, my mother would have happily sliced off a digit rather than do without the latest styles coming out of the Continent.”
His mouth tightened, then relaxed as she swept her fingertips along the stubble coating his jaw, gently easing the tension that filled him.
“The friction between my parents devoured any happiness they’d had together. While my father was alive, I stayed away as much as possible, immersed in my studies. And thoroughly besotted with you, might I add.”
“Thoroughly besotted,” she said lightly. “I rather like the sound of that.”
“It’s the truth, Alex. I couldn’t get enough of you. Ever.”
“Then how did we get to this point?” she asked, speaking the words from the heart. “How did we lose each other?”
He heaved a sigh. “I would like to blame my youth for the choices I made, but I will not make excuses. After my father died, I inherited not only the title, but debt. And responsibilities. The obligations of the estate fell on my shoulders, a burden I felt acutely. My father’s creditors were many, all demanding payment. Our home was in dire need of repair, and there were few assets that might provide for my mother’s necessities, let alone her wants. And there is the matter of the household staff, good and loyal employees who have relied on our funds to provide for their families. I needed funds, and I needed them quickly.”
“So, you took to making money through the market for rare antiquities?”
“I had two choices. Marriage to some daft heiress whose father wanted to buy his daughter a title or go into the tombs and use my skills to profit from my endeavors.”
Two choices. She had not even been one of his alternatives. The realization doused her ardor like a dip in a cold stream.
“I cannot help but notice that staying with me was not even considered among your options.”
“Devil take it, Alex, that was not the meaning I intended. You, of all people, should know that.” He plowed a hand through his sandy brown strands. “Of course I considered remaining in London…with you. God knows I wanted to. But I had nothing to offer you, no assets beyond a worthless title.”
“That would not have mattered to me. How could you believe it would?”
“I was a fool.” He cast his gaze down, as if he could not face his own truth. “I wanted you desperately, more than you can imagine. But I did not deserve you. I believed if I accumulated the funds to settle the debts and give a wife a proper home, perhaps then, I would have been worthy…but by then, the chasm between us seemed insurmountable.”
“Your greed led you to cast aside your ethics. Should I have ignored the bargains you’ve made, deals with the devil you sealed, enriching your own coffers at the expense of history?”
“You weren’t capable of looking the other way. A woman like you would want no part of the money I’d made.”
“I never wanted wealth, Benedict. We would have found a way to a rewarding life together. How sad that you did not consider that.”
His expression took on a darkness that seemed unfamiliar. Suddenly, he did not seem like the same man who’d kissed her and loved her so tenderly.
“Blast it, Alex, how can you believe I did not give that possibility any thought? I wanted you with me. Every day. Every night. But I could not expose you to the danger that surrounded my endeavors. You were so young when I left. Your father would have forbidden our marriage.”
“I would have gone with you. In your heart, you knew that.”
“I don’t doubt that you would’ve put yourself in harm’s way. The places I’ve gone are not fit for a woman, much less a gentle woman like yourself.”
She cocked a brow. “A gentle woman? Perhaps I should take up residence in some fairy-tale castle, to hear you describe me.”
“It’s not like that, and you know it.” The faintest of smiles brightened his face. “For a time, I entertained the notion that I would make my fortune and return to find you waiting for me with open arms. But it didn’t take long to see that would not be the case. The life I had chosen for myself is a hard one. There is little honor among those who’ve sought my services.”
“Quite so,” she agreed. “Now, the question is, what will we do about this impasse between us?”
She watched emotion flicker over his features. He reached for her, his hold firm and gentle.
“This,” he said as he claimed her mouth in a kiss that spoke of healing and tenderness, of seduction and surrender.
“My, you do present a most convincing argument,” she whispered when he eased away.
Releasing her, he framed her face in his hands. “I was hoping you’d see it that way. Fate has decided to bring us together again.”
A sliver of doubt pierced her heart. She longed to savor this close contact, but it all seemed to be happening so quickly. Danger had heightened their emotions. Was this little more than a tempting mirage? Could she be allowing herself to feel too much, too soon?
“I suppose the question is, Why are we here? What will come of this?”
An insistent knock upon the door interrupted her thoughts. Inspector Eddington’s muffled voice carried through the wood.
“Miss Quinn, you have a visitor,” he said. “Mr. Colton has arrived.”
“Colton? Are you certain?”
“I’ve no doubt,” the inspector said.
“Please, show him in,” she said, opening the door. Turning to Benedict, she lowered her voice, speaking for his ears rather than the inspector’s. “What in blazes has brought the man here at this hour?”
Benedict cocked a brow. “Perhaps he got wind of my late-night visit and has charged to the rescue. Guarding your virtue and all that rot.”
“I’d say he’s far more concerned with my life than my innocence. I am firmly on the shelf, in case, you’ve forgotten.” Alex managed a little smile. “In any case, this cannot be good news. Only dire news would tear him away from Jennie at this hour.”
Dressed in an overcoat and black Homburg hat, Colton marched inside her study. His eyes narrowed as his gaze lit on Benedict.
Benedict’s eyes flashed a scowl. “What the bloody hell is going on? Isn’t there some hoodlum you should be interrogating?”
“Eddington informed me of your presence upon my arrival. Believe me when I say I have more important concerns than following you about the city.” He slanted Alex a glance. “In any case, I am confident Alexandra knows better than to involve herself with scoundrels.”
Benedict’s gaze hardened. “Why, precisely, are you here?”
Alex settled her attention on Colton. “I am certain you would not take it upon yourself to spy on me, now would you?” she said. “There is no need to cast aspersions. Please, tell us what has brought you here. I am quite sure you’d rather be at home at this atrocious hour.”
“Indeed,” Matthew said. “As Marlsbrook is here, you’ve saved me the time and effort of proceeding to his residence with the notification. There has been a development—there has been another death.”
“Dear God— Who?”
“Alfred Rooney. The man hanged himself in his cell.”
Chapter Fifteen
Bloody hell. Rooney was dead, but the knowledge brought Benedict no sense of relief. Rather, it brough
t the menace he and Alex faced into sharper relief. Was a conspiracy at play? How had a killer gotten to the surly thug while he was under guard, jailed in an iron-barred cell?
Benedict reached for Alex, taking her hand in his. Matthew Colton’s harsh stare revealed his displeasure at the sight, but Benedict did not give a damn about the man’s opinion. Alex was shaken, her complexion paling, her mouth thinning with her distress. She desired reassurance, even if that consisted of little more than the touch of his skin to hers.
“He would not have killed himself,” Benedict said. “Rooney was murdered.”
“We cannot be certain,” Colton said, his tone grim. “But we suspect your theory is correct. Rooney had displayed no sign of remorse. No fear. Despite his remarks to you about the executioner, he’d boasted to his jailers that he’d soon be a free man.”
“Devil take it, Colton, how could this happen while the man was imprisoned?” Benedict demanded. “Obviously, one or more of the jailers is involved.”
“We are investigating that possibility.” Colton settled his attention on Alex. “I understand this must be upsetting to you. Trust me when I say you will be protected.”
“I have no doubt of that.” She held her chin firm despite the slight tremor in her voice. Benedict squeezed her hand, feeling her light response against his fingers.
“Come and stay with Jennie and me,” Colton said. “Jennie would be able to relax if she knew you were safe in our home.”
“You know I cannot do that.” Alex’s voice strengthened. “I would not dream of risking your safety. And are you forgetting the children? I cannot put Douglas and Sally in harm’s way.”
Colton nodded somberly. “I was afraid you would see it that way.”
“How could I live with myself if I brought danger to the children’s door?”
“I will explain your reasoning to Jennie,” Colton said. “Given this new development, I see two alternatives. First, we can arrange a stay on the Continent until we apprehend those responsible for the deaths.”
When a Lady Desires a Wicked Lord_Her Majesty's Most Secret Service Page 13