by Gaelen Foley
“And where have you been?” she asked coolly. “The ball was over hours ago.”
Alec straightened up again, suddenly grasping the cause of this chilly reception. A glance at the wall clock reminded him that it was now past four in the morning. Oh, bloody hell. God only knew what she thought.
The hour was very late, and she still had no answers about Lady Campion. Having no firm information to go on, she had no reason not to suspect the worst. But if Becky-love thought it possible that he had been out to this late hour in the company of another lady, then how far might she have gone in flirting with Rushford, the famous stealer of mistresses?
“Nick, old boy, a word, if you please?” Alec asked coolly.
“Certainly,” Rush shot back with a reproachful stare. “Miss Ward, if you will pardon me?” he said to Becky, clearly having rolled out his best manners for her.
Quite a change from when they had first met on Draxinger’s doorstep, Alec thought cynically, unhappy to know that his friend could be a formidable rival when he chose. Becky dismissed the future marquess with a ladylike nod. Rushford rose and bowed to her before exiting, while Alec stood simmering beside her chair. He gestured to Rush to go ahead of him toward the drawing room across the hallway.
When Rush walked past him, Alec, still bristling, reached his hand into the moist bread pudding and tore off a small handful, shoving it defiantly into his mouth as he held Becky’s mutinous stare.
She narrowed her eyes at him.
When Alec strode into the drawing room, he did not mince words. “Hands off, Rushford. This one’s mine.”
Rush raised his thick black eyebrows and then laughed at him, shaking his head. “Don’t be a jackass, Alec. I’m not making a play for your lady. Calm down.”
“She is to be my wife!”
“Not if you don’t tell her the truth about Eva,” he said flatly.
Alec’s face drained. “What did you tell her?”
“Nothing. You have my loyalty, of course. God knows the girl’s been trying to get it out of me all night, but no damned way am I getting in the middle of that. She told me all about the two of you, though,” he added.
Alec set his hands on his waist. “Oh, did she?”
“I can be a very understanding listener.”
“When you’re trying to get a female into bed.”
“Not this time. Of course, if you don’t want her, then that’s another—”
“I want her!”
Rush raised his eyebrows. “You might try telling her that, then, because she’s not sure what you feel for her.”
Alec turned away restlessly, his jaw set at a stubborn angle, for he did not need Rushford telling him how Becky was feeling.
“What the hell is the matter with you?” his friend persisted. “Good God, man, you’re engaged to be married! How could you keep something like that from us? We are your friends! At least I thought we were. I knew you had something up your sleeve, but—perdition, a fiancée?”
“I couldn’t tell you!”
“Why?”
“Because she is in danger!” he finally exclaimed, fed up with bearing it all on his own shoulders. “Someone’s trying to kill the girl, Rushford. Did she mention that?”
“No,” he answered, shaking his head in amazement.
“The situation is very serious. I’ve been hiding her here with me to keep her safe. That’s why she was on Drax’s doorstep that night,” he explained. “She wasn’t a harlot, she was on the run. She got caught in the storm. She had nowhere else to go.”
Rush took a step toward him with an angry expression. “Who could harm that sweet creature?”
Alec shook his head. “I didn’t tell you, and I’m still not sure I can, because I cannot risk anybody being careless. Not when her life is at stake.”
“So, that’s why you’ve been acting so bloody bizarre.”
Alec shrugged. He didn’t think he had been acting all that strange.
“Damn me,” Rush marveled. “If that’s true, all the more reason why you need us—me and Drax and Fort. You should know by now you can count on us.”
Alec stared at him. “Can I?”
“Aye! For your sake, and hers. If that darling lady is in danger, you must allow us to help you protect her.”
“You must not speak of her to anyone.”
“Of course!”
“Very well.” Alec nodded ruefully. “I could use someone to watch my back.”
“Whatever you need.” Rushford clapped him on his scarred arm and nodded.
“Come by with Fort and Drax tomorrow noon and I’ll explain.”
“Done. I’ll be on my way. You two will no doubt want to be alone. By the way, a word of warning: She’s rather furious at you at the moment. I’d tread lightly if I were you. Tell her about Eva, Alec. She isn’t Lizzie Carlisle. This girl can take it.”
Alec frowned, not appreciating being told how to handle his woman, but Rush never shrank from speaking his mind. “Don’t drive her away like you’ve done with all the rest. I’m telling you as your friend, this girl is the best thing that ever happened to you.”
“I know,” he admitted under his breath.
“Whatever you do, don’t set her off,” Rush added with a twinkle of roguery in his eyes. “Chit’s got a kick like a racehorse, trust me.”
Alec smiled wryly, and Rushford took his leave.
After shrugging out of his formal black tailcoat, Alec headed back toward the dining room to see Becky, but she appeared first, prowling into the drawing room. He stared hungrily at her as she passed him, going restlessly to pour herself a sherry, pure poetry in motion in a low-cut evening gown of scarlet satin that clung to her generous curves.
“Lord Rushford’s gone, then?”
“Don’t weep, cherie. He’ll be back tomorrow,” he taunted gently as he tossed his coat across a nearby chair’s back. “Though I don’t think there’ll be any pudding left for him by then.” He sauntered toward her, pinning her in his heated stare. “Not a single bite.”
She sipped her sherry with a guarded pout, thwarted desire crackling in the air between them after a few days of pent-up frustration.
“Pretty gown,” he purred, looking her over boldly as he passed behind her. “What’s the occasion?”
Becky turned with a quelling stare. “I had hoped we would be celebrating having gotten the Hall back from Mikhail. So? What happened?”
“All in good time, my dear. First, tell me. Are you wearing that pretty frock for me or for Rushford?”
She snorted. “I was in my night rail when he came sneaking around the villa. It was the first thing I grabbed from my dressing room and one of the few things I can put on without the maid. She’s sleeping.”
“Rushford saw you in your night rail?” Alec checked his exasperation, clenching his jaw. “Don’t you know he is one of the most notorious roués in the ton?”
“Even more notorious than you, Lord Alec?” she asked innocently.
He narrowed his eyes in warning.
Staring at each other in seething hostility and mutual lust, they circled like prizefighters warming up in the ring.
“Why are you home so late?” she demanded. “Tell me where you’ve been. Or am I not allowed to know that, either? Am I supposed to just take your word for it?”
He knew that he had brought this on himself, that his silence and secrets had jolted her trust in him, but at the moment, he could only shake his head. “You know, it’s very strange that you tell me to trust you, when it seems you don’t trust me.”
She set her glass down with a flushed glance. “I’ve been worried sick!”
“Worried? Or jealous again?” he asked mildly.
“You’re the one who’s jealous! Where were you? What happened with Mikhail?”
“What happened with Rushford?”
“Nothing! He came looking for you. I let him keep me company.”
“Is that all you let him do?” he demanded, hooking an a
rm around her waist as she turned her back to him.
“Don’t be a fool.”
“Do you think this little game of yours is amusing?” he whispered by her ear as he pulled her against him, holding her captive around her waist. “That’s how duels get started, cherie.”
He felt her tremble. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“He wants you, you know.” Alec skimmed the curve of her neck with his lips. “And do you know what else, Becky-love?” he whispered. “So do I.”
“Let go of me, you brute.” She pushed her elbow against his chest, but he did not release her. Her struggle, in point of fact, was not very convincing. “I have no idea where you’ve been all these hours—or with whom! Was that horrible woman at the ball? I swear, if you were with her, Alec—”
He cut off her question with a hard, claiming kiss, turning her partly in his arms. “I wasn’t with anyone,” he ground out, taking her hand and pressing it to his hardening cock. “I already told you I’m yours. You see? And you’re mine. You seem to need reminding.”
“Oh, what’s the matter, love?” she retorted in a breathy whisper. “Silly male jealousy?” Her gleaming eyes mocked him, dared him, flung down a sensuous challenge.
Alec shook his head with a narrow, simmering smile. Such fight. Such spirit. Her fire filled him with dark delight. Impertinent vixen. He cupped her nape in a soft but masterful hold and drew her nearer, staring hotly at her lush, rosy lips. “Don’t forget who you belong to.”
He kissed her again, roughly, and her soft groan with his tongue in her mouth, opened wide for him in eager reception, told him all that he needed to know. He caressed her face, trying to temper his wild need for her; they both paused, took a breath, and then simply tore into each other like starved people at a feast.
Alec’s hands were shaking like those of an untried youth. He touched her everywhere, greedily. He stroked rosy satin; he wanted white skin. He tore her lovely bodice in his haste to get his hand on her breasts while she flew through the buttons of his waistcoat, dragging the vest off his shoulders.
He plucked the pins out of her upswept hair and brought it tumbling down, letting it spill luxuriously through his fingers like so many strands of sable silk. Then he knelt before her, hungrily sucking on each of her rigid nipples. She hugged his head to her bosom, tangling her fingers in his hair. She tugged his white shirt off over his head a few moments later, and then, bare-chested, he pulled her down onto the floor with him, fierce and reckless in his haste. Becky kept pace with him as no woman ever had.
Both of them on their knees, Alec bent her over the long silk chaise, lifted her skirts, and took her from behind with quick, hard thrusts.
She arched her back and urged him on; he grasped her hips and quickened the pace, simply ravishing her in raw, mind-numbing bliss without a word between them. His cock was enormous sliding into her, a lancer’s pike, a frigate’s mast. He’d never been so hard in his life. Caressing her round bottom, he trailed his fingers up her back and grasped the silken rope of her hair, dragging her head back gently, just hard enough to make sure she knew who was in charge. She groaned in helpless pleasure, submitting to his mastery, perhaps despite herself.
He closed his eyes, savoring the velvet wetness of her dripping core. As he stroked the warm, supple curves of her back, his whole body tingled with celestial sensation. “Ah, Becky.” He wrapped his arm around her thin waist and rained steamy kisses on her back, her nape, her shoulders. He told her with his body, with his proprietary hold, as his fingers dug into the soft flesh of her hips; he told her with every deep stroke, buried in her to the hilt; and even with the light teeth marks that he left on her tender shoulder; that under no circumstances was he letting her back out of this marriage. “You’re mine,” he whispered.
She groaned his name, quivering violently as his middle fingertip played ever so lightly over her pebble-hard center. “Oh, yes, Alec. Don’t stop.”
“No, Becky, never.”
She carried him away with her when the hot wave of her release crashed through her nubile body, making her shudder and grind against him, her backside slapping wildly against his groin. Her skin damp with sweat.
Alec buried his face in her hair and followed her blindly into oblivion. A few final pumping heaves of his hips lunging into her, and he was flung out in another world, where there was only this woman and pleasure and sweet darkness.
“Becky,” he breathed as she quieted in his arms. He could barely open his eyes, but as a bead of sweat rolled down his cheek, his embrace around her slim waist gradually changed from one of dominance to chastened affection. Still inside her, he nuzzled the sweet shoulder that moments ago he had covered in love bites. “Ah, angel. You are miraculous.” She let out a quivery little sigh as he withdrew. “Are you all right?”
She nodded, suddenly turning shy after their wild mating. Alec smiled, taking in her crimson blush. She was just too adorable, he thought, besotted.
“Come here.” He fixed her torn dress a bit, fastened his trousers, and glanced warily into her eyes. “Do you want to talk now?”
She lifted her eyebrows, searching his gaze. “Do you?”
Alec gave her a somber, wordless nod. Maybe if he stopped running from his demons and instead looked them straight in the eyes, the past would lose some of its terrible power over him. Yes, it was time to have done with it, and face the consequences.
Becky cupped his face in her hand and then nestled her cheek against his, her long lashes dusting his skin. “Whatever it is, Alec, we’ll get through it together.”
He wrapped his arms around her and closed his eyes, praying as he held her that these were not just pretty words. Then he stood, lifting her with him.
She clasped her hands behind his neck and held his stare as he carried her slowly upstairs to the summer bed.
“I had grown used to winning. Winning . . . well, it was who I was. But about a year and a half ago, you see, I hit a losing streak at the tables. A rather . . . spectacular losing streak.”
A short while later Alec began his confession. His low murmur reached Becky from the shadows on his side of the summer bed. They had changed into their nightclothes and assumed their respective sides of the separated bed, which had already served as the intimate setting for so many whispered conversations.
Moonlight filled the room; a slight breeze stirred the curtains. Becky turned onto her side and stared at his muscled silhouette.
“Faro and hazard,” he said with a low sigh. “Games of chance were my poison. There’s no strategy to it. Just put your money down and see what happens. Those were the kinds of games I loved to win.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. It made me feel . . . Singled out by fate. Beloved by the goddess of fortune. Chosen. I guess that sounds absurd.” The pillow rustled as he shook his head, staring up at the canopy above them. “But if it made me feel uniquely blessed to win, then losing, as you may imagine, made me feel cursed. I kept thinking I could turn it all around—as if I were being tested. I refused to give up. One more throw of the dice, one more hand at cards. I became fixated on regaining my golden status.”
“Why did it all hold such appeal?” she asked softly.
He considered the question. “I guess it took my mind off other things.”
“Like what?”
“Well, for instance,” he said hesitantly, “like how I could have everything and still not be happy. More and more of everything could still not . . .”
“Fill the emptiness?” she asked softly.
He turned his head and just stared at her for a moment. Slowly, somberly, he nodded.
“Go on.”
Lying back again, he stared up at the canopy with his arms folded under his head. “The longer I hung in there, trying to turn it around, the worse it seemed to get. It was a disaster taking shape, but still, I refused to admit defeat. Robert warned me a few times that I was getting into dangerous territory, but I didn’t listen. Finally, h
e cut me off in an effort to force me to quit. He had no other choice, really. It was for my own good—but I did not intend to take that lying down. Instead, I made a few discreet inquiries about taking out a bank loan to cover my expenses until my luck returned. Bad idea, yes, I know. In any case, the reputable moneylenders around Town heard that I had been cut off. Without Robert’s backing, they wouldn’t grant me a farthing. And then things got really . . . interesting.”
“What happened?”
“Some of my creditors caught wind of my situation and came banging on my door. I had borrowed all I could from my friends; I owed them all. I couldn’t bring myself to ask for another penny. Even a ruined gambler’s got his pride. I was so angry at myself, so disgusted,” he said, his voice thickening. “I had bailiffs lying in wait for me to drag me off to debtor’s prison, and I knew Robert was going to leave me there, because he had told me so. He feared that was the only way I was ever going to learn.”
Becky listened in silence.
“Well, I knew that if I allowed myself to be locked up, it would be the end of Lord Alec Knight, captain of all London rakehells,” he said cynically. “It was bad enough to have inexplicably become a loser overnight, but debtor’s prison would have made me a social outcast to boot. Ton life can be damned shallow, God knows, but it’s the only sort of life I’ve ever known. I wasn’t thinking clearly,” he admitted in the darkness. “And so I went off and did something . . . incredibly stupid.”
“What was that?” she murmured.
“I took a loan from Mr. Dunmire.” He rolled onto his side and propped his cheek in his hand, his elbow resting across his pillow. His eyes glimmered in the silvery moon-glow. “He’s a sort of underworld businessman, part criminal. He owns half a dozen crooked gambling hells throughout the East End. Brothels. Low pubs that usually feature cockfight pits. He’s got an army of blacklegs who prey off the Fancy. I knew it could be suicide to deal with him, but as the only honorable option that remained held, shall we say, limited appeal, I signed on the bottom line.”