“And yet…” Alex ran his finger down the curve of her cheek. Her skin seemed to warm to his touch; she resisted a powerful impulse to turn her face against his hand, seeking further caresses. She was simultaneously mortified and fascinated by her response to him. She could feel the arousal building deep inside her again, tight as a knot.
“And yet you want me,” Alex said.
“I want a carriage with matching grays and a diamond necklace from Hatton Garden,” Joanna said, “but it is not going to happen, just as any sort of affaire between us is not going to happen.”
“Is it not?” His voice was dangerously soft. His hand fell to the hollow at the base of her throat, his touch as gentle as the brush of a butterfly’s wing. Joanna could feel her breathing catch. She knew that the pulse there would be pounding; her heart was racing so fast now that she could feel the beat of it against the silk of her bodice. Alex ran a finger along her collarbone, dipping his hand beneath the ruffled neckline of her gown to caress the upper curve of her breast in a touch that was fleeting and yet wrenched so deep a sensation from Joanna that her knees almost buckled beneath her. Her nipples hardened instantly and a tiny gasp broke from her lips. Alex’s gaze was intent, dark, focused, utterly consumed with desire. He slid the slippery silk from her shoulder and his lips replaced his fingers, drifting down across the tender skin of her neck and the delicious line of her breasts to dip into the hollow between them, his tongue flicking, hot and shocking against her skin.
Joanna’s mind spun with dark, erotic images, her body melting into slow, luxuriant pleasure. It was like a game, a dare, a test of how far he could push her, and she knew she should stop it, stop him, but she did not want to because she was trapped in a web of sensual delight.
She felt his palm against her breast, warm through the silk of her chemise. The spread of his fingers against the slippery richness of the silk made her gasp again, the thought of his hands on her body with only the thin material between setting her shaking. She reached out to steady herself and her hand brushed the edge of the table, her wedding ring catching on the wood. It was a tiny thing and yet it caught her attention, not because she felt that she was in any way being unfaithful to David’s memory—such a thought was laughable given their estrangement—but because it reminded her who Alex was. Her late husband’s best friend, a man who disliked her and yet could make such exquisite love to her that her body hummed and sang under his touch.
Wrenched by a spasm of self-disgust, she pulled back and he let her go. He was breathing as hard as she was. His gray eyes were smoky dark.
For a moment neither of them spoke and then Alex smiled. “So,” he said, his voice very soft, flagrantly seductive. “Have you changed your mind? Can I come with you?”
Joanna was so disoriented that for a split second she wondered what he was talking about. Then she remembered. Spitsbergen, the Arctic, the voyage…
She stared. “Did you kiss me simply to try to seduce me into consenting?”
Alex looked amused at the chagrin she could not keep from her voice. “No,” he said. “I would not have stopped there if I was trying to seduce you.”
“I stopped,” Joanna said. “You did not.”
He shrugged. “I might have known that we would quarrel about that, as we do about all things.” He shot her a challenging glance. “You enjoyed it.”
Her chin came up. “So did you.”
“On that we do agree then.”
Again there was a taut silence.
“How vexing you are,” Joanna said. “How maddening it is that I can find you so utterly infuriating and yet—”
“And yet you wish to tear my clothes off and make love to me?” He smiled at her evident outrage. “Forgive me, you know how very direct I can be.”
“What I wish to do or do not wish to do makes no odds,” Joanna said. “You still cannot come with me to Spitsbergen.”
The words came out with stark finality and Alex looked taken aback.
“You refuse me—after that?”
“That was a mistake, Lord Grant.” She stepped back to try to gain some breathing space. “David’s daughter is the only thing that brings us together, Lord Grant. I am going to fetch her from Spitsbergen. You will be going wherever the Admiralty posts you, I imagine.” She held his gaze. “And since you have always made it so clear that you desire no emotional ties or responsibilities, perhaps you will wish to exercise your guardianship via the lawyers in future?”
Alex looked angry now. There was an ominous stillness about him. “Are you still trying to imply that I shirk my duty?”
“No,” Joanna said. She pressed her damp palms together. “No, of course not. Not in any material sense at least.”
“And I do not intend to evade my responsibility to Nina either.” Alex moved restlessly. “So I will accompany you on the journey and keep you safe. You can scarcely offer her a good home if you are sick or injured or dead.”
“But I do not want you with me,” Joanna argued, feeling her temper rising again, irritated by his stubbornness. “I have told you! Can you not see—”
“I can see that you are afraid of our attraction,” Alex said bluntly, “and that is why you are denying me.” His eyes were an intense dark gray. “You are afraid that if we spend time in one another’s company we will become lovers because that is what we both want.”
Joanna’s throat dried at his words. That was precisely what she was afraid of.
“We might, of course, kill one another first,” she said politely.
Alex smiled again, that adventurer’s smile. “We might. It is a risk worth taking.”
“No, it is not.”
“You are trying to pretend that nothing happened between us.”
“No,” Joanna said. “I am not. I cannot deny our inconvenient attraction.” She made a helpless gesture. “But I do not wish for an affaire with you.”
Alex stepped closer to her.
“Yes, you do,” he said. “I can tell you do. Whatever is between us burns you as fiercely as it does me, Joanna.”
Overwhelmed by his physical proximity, Joanna could only shrug helplessly. “You see—we always disagree.” She tilted her face up to meet the intensity of his gaze. “I don’t deny that I want you,” she said honestly. “I do not like it, nor do I understand it, but—” She broke off. His hand was on her wrist again, his touch warm, compulsive, drawing her closer. She stepped away, swept by fragile, turbulent emotion. She did not for a moment believe that this man was like her late husband. Alex might be direct and even harsh, but he was never untrustworthy or dishonest. She felt it. She knew it instinctively. He would never physically hurt her. Yet indulging in an affaire with him would be madness. Once their desire burned out there would be nothing left but reproach and dislike.
“I will not do it,” she said. “You think me shallow, and as light with my reputation as many other ladies of the ton, but I am not, and even if I were, you are the very last man I would take as a lover. I would never give myself to a man who has no respect for me.”
Alex’s dark gaze was hooded. “You damn near did.”
“Which is why I do not intend to see you ever again,” Joanna said.
The temperature in the room fell as swiftly as though a door had opened to allow in the coldest winter night.
“You will see plenty of me,” Alex said. “I fully intend to be on that ship.”
“I don’t want you there,” Joanna said, holding fast to her temper.
“Your wishes count for nothing in this,” Alex said. “I cannot in all conscience as Nina’s guardian allow you to wander into danger through your own stupidity.”
Joanna gritted her teeth. “How arrogant you are! I do not need a hero to protect me. I can think of nothing worse.”
She broke from his grip, grabbed her cloak and bonnet from the chair and flung open the door.
“Brooke,” she said, throwing Alex a defiant look. “Lord Grant is leaving.”
“My lo
rd.” The prizefighter bowed to Alex with an exquisite courtesy that barely masked his hostility and stood to one side to allow Alex to exit. Alex ignored him. He took Joanna’s hand and pressed a kiss on it. She felt the brush of his lips on her skin and repressed the response that flared through her.
Brooke rocked back on his heels, spoiling for a fight. “My lady?” he said, but Joanna shook her head. Alex stood back courteously for her to pass and they went out.
In the street the night was dark and hot. The pugilist club members were spilling out of the inn now that the bout was over, raucous and full of ale and good humor with the money they had won. When they saw Joanna, a ragged cheer broke over the crowd. They surrounded her, pressing close, bowing, wanting to kiss her hand. She saw Alex watching, his expression darkly disapproving in the glow of the lamplight and she felt reckless and defiant and blew kisses to all her admirers. The riotous mood of the crowd swelled; Alex’s frown correspondingly deepened. Two pinks of the ton made an elaborate leg to Joanna, competing to quote sonnets in her praise whilst the more disorderly elements in the throng booed so loudly that Joanna felt obliged to intervene before there was a breach of the peace.
“Go home and sleep it off, Lord Selsey,” she said when one sprig of nobility tried to kiss her and almost took a tumble in the gutter. “You are foxed.”
“Devil a bit, ma’am,” Selsey said. “Still sober enough to offer you my hand and my heart—”
“Again,” Joanna said, sighing. “Your guardian would never allow it, I fear.”
“We could elope,” Selsey said hopefully, rebounding off a lamppost and seeming only slightly cast down as Brooke picked him up by the scruff of the neck and deposited him in the road.
“I need hardly worry for your safety at present,” Alex said, forcing his way through the mob to her side, “since I perceive you have more than a hundred men devoted to your service.”
Joanna smiled. “Yes. Are they not delightful?”
“They are drunk and rough,” Alex said.
“And totally dedicated to me,” Joanna pointed out. “I love them.”
“We love you, too, ma’am!” one pugilist shouted, whilst the crowd whooped and cheered.
Selsey, who was being steadied by his almost equally drunk friend, was blinking at Alex like an owl. “I say!” he exclaimed. “But surely… My God, it is you! Lord Grant, a tremendous honor to meet you, sir!” He attempted another bow and almost overbalanced. “I say, chaps…” He addressed the crowd at large, “It’s Alex Grant, the explorer, you know, the one who wrestled a puma to the ground to save the life of his friend and discovered the ruins of Azer…Azerban… Discovered some ruins in the desert anyway, and—”
Within seconds, it seemed to Joanna, Alex was besieged by well-wishers. The boxing crowd, full of bonhomie, were ready to laud this latest hero who had crossed their path.
“A kiss!” someone shouted. “A kiss from our Lady of the Fancy for Lord Grant!”
Alex turned, the wicked challenge flaring in his eyes. “Lady Joanna? Surely you would not disappoint your admirers.”
“Of course not,” Joanna said recklessly. She stood on tiptoe, intending to give him a peck on the cheek, but Alex cupped her face in his hands and brought his mouth down on hers and the night faded away and the sound of the excited crowd rang in her ears and the stars wheeled and spun overhead.
“I thought,” she said as Alex released her and steadied her with a hand on her arm, “that you had no desire for celebrity, Lord Grant?”
“I do not,” Alex said, “but I did have a great desire to kiss you again.”
“Hypocrite,” Joanna said and heard him laugh.
She watched the crowd submerge him and carry him off. “Totally eclipsed, I fear,” she said, smoothing her gloves. “I have lost all my admirers to Lord Grant and he does not even want them!”
“He shows well to advantage,” Brooke said with a sly sideways glance at her. “I’d like to see him in a fight.”
“You almost did tonight,” Joanna said. “I thought you were going to start a mill earlier.”
Brooke shrugged. “Wouldn’t do that, milady, not when you have a fancy for him.”
“I do not!” Joanna said. She blushed. “Brooke—”
“Just let me know when you don’t like him anymore,” Brooke said, “and I’ll plant him a facer.” He held the door of a hackney carriage for her. “Here you are, milady. It’s Tom Finn—” He nodded to the driver. “He’ll see you home all right and tight.”
As Joanna glanced back, she could see the Duke of Clarence wading his way through the crowd about Alex and clapping him on the back. The two of them were practically being carried along the pavement by a riotous mob in search of the next alehouse. And it served Alex Grant right, she thought, if he had become the unwilling hero of the boxing fraternity. He needed to lose some of that stern disapproval.
She shut the door of the carriage with a decisive click and sat back with a sigh. She knew that Alex had not conceded on the matter of escorting her to Spitsbergen. He was like a burr against her skin, an irritation that she wanted to be free of but which also fascinated her. Joanna shifted uncomfortably on the seat of the hackney carriage. She could not explain her attraction to him. She wanted to break it. Yet if she was honest, she had to admit that she also wanted him.
“I would never give myself to a man who has no respect for me.”
“You damn near did…”
David Ware had ridden roughshod over her feelings and her self-respect and she had learned the hard way never to let that happen to her ever again. She would not give herself to another adventurer, to a man who would stay only long enough to enjoy the pleasures of her bed and would then be gone on the next expedition, the next challenge, the next adventure. No woman would ever be able to hold Alex Grant because his first love would always be to travel and explore. With Alex it would be a brief taste of delicious pleasure—and she was sure it would be utter bliss to take him as a lover—and then it would be the bitter taste of loss and that would last a lot longer. And Alex could never trust her, never like her, for David’s shadow would always come between them. Even if she told him the whole truth of David’s cruelty, she doubted that he would believe her. He had been David’s friend since childhood, David had saved his life, she could see that it was a point of honor for Alex to keep faith with his friend’s memory.
She reminded herself of that as she went upstairs to try to sleep.
The night seemed long and the bed empty.
Chapter 7
THE ROOM WAS HOT and stuffy. It smelled of beeswax polish and dust and it was as far from the fresh salt air and open horizons of the sea as Alex could imagine. As soon as he stepped inside he had felt trapped and on edge. Despite his being a sailor, a most superstitious breed of men, Alex had never considered himself irrational. Yet now he had a strong conviction that something bad was about to happen and as he looked at the men sitting around the table his stomach roiled with tension.
The week had already been extremely trying as a result of David Ware’s inexplicably cavalier behavior in dragooning him into wardship of his daughter. Alex wanted to forgive Ware and to understand why his friend had acted in this manner, but he could not come up with a rational explanation other than that Ware had wanted to do the best thing for the child and had thought that he would be a reliable guardian. That did not really fit with the facts. It left unanswered questions that were starting to torment Alex through his sleepless nights. If Ware had wanted what was best for Nina, why had he never mentioned her before or taken an interest in her welfare? Why, when he had known that he was dying, had he not told Alex of the baby and entrusted her to his care, instead of requiring that Joanna make this perilous journey to the Arctic to rescue her instead? There seemed to be no satisfactory answers and it was becoming more and more difficult to explain away or close his eyes to the less-than-admirable aspects of Ware’s behavior—his infidelities, his lack of care for those who depended on hi
m, his harshness when opposed.
Alex’s encounter with Joanna the previous night had not helped, fueling both his anger and his sexual frustration until he was boiling with it. He had been utterly determined to accompany her to Spitsbergen and was thwarted by her refusal. They were at an impasse. He was even more irritable over the lamentable lack of control he appeared to have over his physical desires, wanting Joanna but distrusting her, aching for her at the same time as wanting to shake some sense into her.
As though that were not bad enough, he had felt a completely unexpected and unwelcome urge to comfort her in the tavern parlor. He wished he could attribute her tears to female manipulation, but he instinctively knew she had not been pretending. Her distress was all too real. She had been pushed to the edge of control by the shocking revelations of the week and he had wanted to shield her with a powerful desire that owed nothing to lust and was more about protection. Now, that was particularly worrying.
Alex ran a hand over the back of his neck, trying to ease the tension in his muscles. The entire situation was maddening. Joanna Ware infuriated him.
He felt bewitched.
He had also been surprised in Joanna. He acknowledged it. He had made judgments, assumed that she would be as inclined to indulge in a love affair as were many fast widows of the ton. But when she had refused him she had spoken with a passion and sincerity he could not doubt. It was a different Joanna Ware he had seen in that moment, a woman quite contrary to the superficial, confident society hostess.
That morning he had tried to burn off his bad temper and his bodily frustrations with a bout of fencing at Henry Angelo’s academy. It had probably been a mistake, for his leg ached like the devil now and he hated the fact that more and more he was beginning to notice the restrictions the old injury was placing on him. At the back of his mind was a fear, faint but persistent, that one day it would prevent him from exploring and would confine him to “home,” wherever that might be, like a caged animal pacing the rest of its life out in captivity. The thought appalled him. And then when he had arrived back at Grillon’s, Frazer had greeted him with the news that word had come at last from the Admiralty about his next posting.
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