Lord of Fire

by Gaelen Foley

  “My lord!”

  He gestured with the gun. “Take it off.”

  She looked into his steely eyes and promptly decided she wasn’t about to argue with a madman holding a pistol. With shaking fingers, Alice untied the cinched cord of her belt, then lifted the brown robe off over her head, revealing the demure cotton morning gown that she had changed into before leaving her chamber.

  His gaze traveled over her with slow, scorching heat. “Throw it on the floor.”

  She obeyed.

  “Place your hands behind your head.”

  “Please—you’re making a mistake—”

  When he narrowed his eyes at her in warning, she shut her mouth and quickly linked her fingers behind her head. He thrust his weapon back into the discreet leather holster inside of his shirt and closed the space between them, putting his hands firmly on her waist. He patted her sides, then circled behind her and began searching every inch of her body with his deft, deadly hands. With a small cry, she jerked her arms down and squirmed her hips away from his touch, but he captured her wrists and thrust them up behind her head again.

  “I suggest you cooperate, mademoiselle.”

  “This is absurd! I am not armed!” she protested with a scarlet blush.

  “Be quiet and stand still, or I shall strip you of every stitch of your clothing, and richly enjoy doing so.”

  She nearly choked. Good God, what had she gotten herself into? If only she had stayed in her room! She held her tongue and did her best not to flinch and twitch as his large, roaming hands explored her.

  “You are very tempting, you know,” he said in a musing tone, “but I’m a little insulted that they should send such an amateur. Were they trying to get you killed?”

  “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Ah, of course, you don’t. Darling, you had better think fast about how you want to play your hand, because I know your kind all too well. I know why they sent you, of course—to lie with me, then stab me in my sleep.”

  She gasped at his words.

  “And yet—” His lips hovered by her ear as he ran his hands slowly up her belly. “—I could almost believe a night with you would have been worth it.” He lifted her breasts in his palms. She jerked back with a small cry into the hard wall of his chest right behind her, her heart pumping in a tumult of confusion, arousal, and fear.

  Her chest heaved, thrusting her breasts more fully into his hands, but her breath had formed a tangled knot in her throat. She could not speak, could only feel the heat of his hands burning through the thin muslin of her gown, igniting bewildering forces in her blood. With his powerful arms wrapped around her, she could feel every inch of his lean, iron body molded against her—the angular jut of his knees nudging the backs of her legs, the slopes of his strong thighs against her buttocks, the sculpted plane of his stomach pressing against her back, and his muscular chest pillowing her head.

  “Pity,” he whispered. “We fit together perfectly.”

  A bewildering tremor ran the length of her body at his words; then he moved on, resuming his search. Her heartbeat tripped to a frantic staccato as he lowered himself to a crouched position by her right hip and slid his hands under her skirt.

  “What are you doing?” she forced out in a wobbly voice.

  “Just this.” He ran his touch with leisurely slowness up her stockinged leg and hooked his finger into her garter, tracing it all the way around her thigh. A traitorous shiver coursed through her. Sizzling warmth flooded her lower body, making her burn with mortification. “What’s your name?” he murmured, lightly tickling the back of her knee.

  Her head was spinning. Her knees were weak. She thought of lying to him or making some kind of stand, but she could barely think with his hands all over her. Her heated skin had turned maddeningly sensitive to his every caress. It was humiliating to have one’s body react so to such a fiend. She shivered and jerked involuntarily, aroused and infuriated, as he took his time about his task.

  “Your name, ma chérie.”

  “Alice,” she replied through gritted teeth. “Get your hands off of me.”

  He looked up again and stared at her in sudden stillness. “Alice what?”

  “Alice Montague. I’ve come to get Caro—to rescue her from you!”

  Shock flared in his eyes. He swept to his feet and stared at her.

  She tilted her head back to meet his stunned gaze, for he was over six feet tall, with shoulders twice the width of hers.

  “You’re Alice Montague?”

  “Isn’t that what I just said?”

  He narrowed his silver eyes and picked up a length of her hair with a skeptical expression.

  “Ow,” she muttered, as his light grasp tugged her head. “Let go of my hair.”

  “Be quiet,” he muttered. He studied the color of her hair for a very long moment, then dropped it abruptly. As it swung back down over her shoulder, he braced his hands on his waist and glared at her.

  “What is it?” she asked in worry, shrinking from him.

  “You’re Alice,” he accused her, his smooth voice gone oddly strangled.

  “Yes.”

  “Caro’s sister-in-law.”

  “Yes.”

  “The one that takes care of the baby.” He fairly sneered.

  “Yes! Did she mention me?”

  His silver eyes narrowed like a wolf’s sizing up a lamb. “Alice goddamned Montague. How the hell did you get in my house?” he yelled in a sudden crescendo that made her jump.

  “You don’t have to curse at me!”

  His hands planted on his lean waist, he waited for her explanation with a quite terrifying look of brooding sarcasm.

  Alice refused to show her fear. She scowled up at him, staunchly holding her ground. “I told you, I came to bring Caro home. Your gatekeepers tried to keep me out, but fortunately, I was able to make them see the urgency of my request; then your butler told me he would fetch Caro for me, but he never did, so I came myself. I thought it was a costume ball.”

  His left eyebrow shot up. “A costume ball?”

  “Yes.”

  He seemed to find her blunder amusing, though his smile was far from kind. “You realize this is extremely easy to verify. All I have to do is bring Caro in here to find out if you’re really who you say you are.”

  “I wish that you would. I have traveled three counties to fetch her,” she said with a weary sigh. “Her son is very ill.”

  His sardonic expression sobered instantly. “Harry? What’s wrong with him?”

  “He has the chicken pox,” she replied, startled that he knew Harry’s name and that he showed even a flicker of concern. “All he’s done is cry for her,” she added, on her guard but relaxing by a degree or two. “It’ll be worse over the next few days. He just broke out this morning.”

  “It was a hell of a lot of trouble for you to go to, coming here. For your information, chicken pox aren’t that serious.”

  “They are if you’re three,” she said indignantly.

  “Well, you’ve got me there,” he retorted under his breath. Shaking his head, Lucien turned away and went to the table beneath the dragon’s-eye windows. He pulled out one of the wooden chairs for her. “Sit,” he ordered, then stalked over to the door and hauled it open. “Find Lady Glenwood and bring her to me immediately,” he ordered the two big, black-clad men posted there.

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Alice sank into the chair, overhearing his command with considerable relief. The men marched off to do his bidding. Folding her hands nervously in her lap, she tucked her feet under the chair and watched him in trepidation as he slowly closed the door. He just stood there for a moment, his head down, the red light playing over his broad back and athletic shoulders; then he turned around and leaned wearily against the door, his angular face veiled in shadows.

  He slipped his hands into his trouser pockets and stared at her, keeping a wary distance. In her mind, she could still feel his ha
nds gliding up her legs. She quickly tucked her chin, avoiding his penetrating gaze.

  “Miss Goody Two-Shoes,” he taunted softly.

  She stiffened, sliding him a frown. “I do not appreciate being called that.”

  His insolent gaze traveled over her body. “I hear you’re quite the little saint.”

  “Compared to whom? Caro?”

  His cynical smirk widened to a genuine smile at her retort. “I daresay you’re having a bit of an adventure tonight, aren’t you?”

  “An ordeal is more like it.”

  “Well, you seem to have come through it all in fine spirit.” He pressed away from the door and sauntered toward her.

  Her heart began pounding anew as he approached, and once more, she felt the inward shudder of fate as he drew near. Gooseflesh rose on her arms as though someone had walked over her grave. He stopped beside her, the lean, belted waistband of his black trousers at her eye level. She dared not meet his gaze, but felt the throbbing heat that radiated from his body, smelled the musky male scent of him; then she noticed the great cylindrical bulge in his trousers. It was right in front of her eyes, after all, and too astonishingly large to miss. She tore her gaze away from that region and cursed herself for looking, but now that she had noticed his most manly attribute, she could not seem to forget about it.

  She jumped when he captured one of her long tresses again and ran the length of it slowly between his fingers like a satin ribbon. Resenting the galling forwardness of his touch, she glanced up at him angrily only to be captivated by his smoldering, hypnotic stare.

  When he spoke, his voice was an intimate murmur that could have coaxed the deepest secrets from her heart. “Virginal Alice Montague. Tell me, what do you think of what you’ve seen here tonight?”

  She shook her head and looked away, blushing. “I do not know.”

  He lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze, diamond-sharp, crystal-clear. “Does it arouse you?”

  Her eyes flared with shock. She could not find her voice even to tell him that she had no intention of answering such a question, but he cut her off before she could speak.

  “Don’t lie,” he chided in a velvet whisper, holding her chin between his fingertips so she could not look away. He gazed at her as though his keen, crystalline eyes could see into the depths of her heart, things she had never revealed to anyone—the unruliness of her passions, the hunger in the core of her. His gaze seemed to accept it all with dark, satin gentleness. “Tell me,” he breathed. “Let me remember how it felt to be as innocent as you.” He paused, though she did not reply. “Have you never seen people making love before?”

  Wide-eyed, her heart in her throat, she gathered her courage and shook her head after a long moment. His expression softened. He gazed down almost tenderly at her. She had never seen such hunger in a man’s eyes before, such stark, hurting loneliness. She quivered in response to it, flooded with the strangest, tingling feelings as he picked up her hand and lifted it to his lips.

  He placed a gentle kiss in her palm, then pressed her hand to his chiseled midriff. A soft gasp escaped her lips, not merely that he should do such a thing, but at the feel of his bare skin beneath her palm. It electrified her.

  She looked up at him, helpless, trembling. Her voice was a strangled whisper, the weakest of protests. “My lord—”

  “Shh, Alice, I can see it in your eyes. Go on. I won’t bite. All is allowed in this place. Your curiosity is . . . quite natural,” he finished hoarsely.

  Hesitantly, she glanced at her hand, so pale and delicate looking against the sun-bronzed iron of his body. She bit her lip, knowing she was playing with fire, but truly, he was as beautiful as a god. His body was like a fine classical sculpture, while his broody, quicksilver sensitivity registered a thousand different emotions in his chiseled face, or hid them all. Though she didn’t dare move even a finger to explore him, she didn’t pull her hand away, either. She noticed in fascination the fierce rhythm of his pounding pulse.

  “Your heart is racing,” she said, sweeping her gaze up to his face.

  His eyes burned like stars; his face was shadowed. He stroked her neck, his fingertips coming to rest on her artery. “So is yours.”

  Oh, God, she wanted him to kiss her. She closed her eyes, savoring the power of his large, deadly hand on her throat even though she knew that every second of this indulgence was extremely dangerous. It was madness to encourage him, but his touch was so irresistibly gentle.

  When she dragged her eyes open again, the concentrated need in his angular face had intensified near the point of agony. As her gaze drifted downward over his heaving chest and lean waist, she saw the clear outline of his massive erection through his snug black trousers. His eyes pleaded with her to touch him while he caressed her arm all the way down to her fingertips. Her pulse escalated to an even wilder rhythm as she realized in shock that she wanted to. She swept her gaze back up to meet his. They stared at each other. Her breathing deepened with a savage rhythm as he began inching her hand lower, making her feel every exquisite plane and muscled ridge of his belly.

  All of a sudden, a knock sounded at the door, breaking the spell just as her hand reached his waist. The sound snapped Alice back violently to her senses. Good Lord, what was she doing? With a gasp, she yanked her hand out of his light hold as though she had been burned. “You are bold, sir!”

  “And you are blushing.” He slipped her a narrow, charming little smile and went to answer the door.

  Anger and confusion thudded in her temples as she tucked her still-tingling hand in her lap. She scowled, furious at her own bewildering state of arousal. She had never felt such things before. Wet and aching between her legs, she squeezed her knees together firmly under her skirts, trying to remind her body that her head and her morals were in charge. Lucien Knight was not. Lust was hardly a sentiment to which she aspired. She slid a furtive glance his way, wondering why he had not yet opened the door. He just stood there, one hand on the doorknob, his head down. Then she realized he was struggling to bring his magnificent body under control.

  As though he felt her gaze on his powerful, V-shaped back and lean, muscled derriere, he slowly looked over his shoulder and met her stare in raw longing. Neither of them spoke for a moment, swept up in a totally unexpected, unsought, unwanted attraction of dizzying power.

  “Shall I come to you tonight?” he asked very quietly.

  She gasped and tore her gaze away, her heart pounding. “No!”

  Heaven above, the sooner she collected her sister-in-law and left this wicked place, the better. First thing in the morning, she would race home to Glenwood Park and forget everything she had seen here tonight, which including him. Especially him.

  She heard his vexed, long-suffering sigh, then a snick as he turned the lock.

  The minute he opened the door, Caro launched into the room and threw her arms around his neck. “Darling!”

  Alice’s eyebrows shot upward at the sight of the haughty baroness, tipsy and disheveled, her hair wet from the pool, her brown robe falling over one bare, white shoulder. She clung to Lucien, unaware of Alice standing at the other end of the room.

  “Did you miss me? Did you need me, my bad boy?” She thrust her hand between his legs, caressing him where Alice had not dared to. “Were you jealous? You should be,” she chided with a drunken laugh. “I’ve been coming my brains out down there. I’m quite addicted! But I have a plan, you see. I’ve been building up slowly, saving the best for last. That’s you.”

  Alice’s greeting wilted on her tongue. Shocked, she watched her sister-in-law rubbing against him, riding her leg up the side of his thigh. Caro slipped her hand inside his open shirt and pulled him closer.

  “Take me, Lucien,” she panted, biting his earlobe.

  Alice clapped her hand over her mouth. Good Lord! No wonder Lucien had scoffed when she had said that she had come to rescue Caro from him. What a sickening display! If anything, Lucien needed rescuing before the baroness d
evoured him.

  He cleared his throat and plucked her roaming hands gingerly off his body. “Er, Lady Glenwood, there’s someone here to see you.” He turned and gestured toward Alice with the detached interest of a spectator at a polo match, as though merely curious to see what would happen.

  Caro followed his gaze and discovered Alice standing there. The lusty mirth drained instantly from her face, which took on a waxy pallor. With a stricken look, she lifted her hand automatically to smooth her damp, tangled hair. “Alice! W-whatever are you doing here?” the baroness stammered weakly.

  Unable to meet her sister-in-law’s gaze, Alice looked at Lucien in misery, wishing the ground would open up and swallow her. A flicker of some guarded emotion flitted through his deep gray eyes, but he offered not a word to ease the excruciating silence. He did not care about all this, she realized. What was left of her family was being finally destroyed before his very eyes, and he probably found it amusing. How she wished she had stayed home with Harry and held onto her willful ignorance about the full extent of Caro’s debauchery. Clearly, it had been a mistake to come.

  “Harry has the chicken pox,” she replied at last in a leaden voice. “You must come home. We leave at dawn.”

  Caro gazed helplessly at her, her façade ripped away as though, through Alice’s eyes, she had peered into the most painfully truthful of mirrors. She turned to Lucien, at a loss. He rested his hands on his waist and just looked at her.

  There was a long, hollow, excruciating silence.

  Then, without warning, Caro lashed out at them in explosive rage. “How dare you come here?” she screamed at Alice, her face twisting with fury. She started toward Alice like she wanted to claw her eyes out, but Lucien grabbed her arm, holding her back. “Get her out of here, Lucien! How could you let her come in here? I swear to you, Alice, if you say one word to me, I’ll throw you out of Glenwood Park! You’ll never see Harry again!”

  “Calm yourself,” Lucien ordered curtly.

  “Let go of me!” Caro called him a dozen filthy names as he pulled her roughly back to the door and handed her over to the guards.