by Baird Wells
Palms raked over her ribs, and he drew her arms over her head and onto the smooth slab. “A sailor.” She felt his grin against her breast. “And yet you guarded your virtue.”
“Not easily,” she admitted. “He was very good with his hands.”
“Of course he was. Tugging on his rope all day.”
His fingers on her thigh cut her laugh and replaced it with a gasp. His knee worked between her legs, followed by a hand. Alix knew his cues by now, what would follow. Stretching farther underneath him, she closed her eyes and fought an impulse to rush. He came into her slowly, pressing until it reached a sharp pain deep in her belly.
Alix rose up, welcoming it, lost to sensation.
Trees rustled, intruding on her reverie, and for a moment she worried at being discovered. Then Spencer pressed again, found her mouth, and worry melted away.
* * *
Stretched out along the blanket, Spencer cradled Alexandra on his shoulder, watching ripples in the lake and fumbling his breeches closed one button at a time.
Slender fingers swatted his hand. “Let's not be so hasty,” she murmured into his chest, words bent by a smile he couldn't see.
“For your own good,” he mumbled, “and for my own good, we must. For now.”
She rolled away, onto her back beside him, an arm under her head. Spencer ran a hand from her throat over her breasts and wondered again how they'd found themselves together, how fate had thrown them in each other’s way.
“I've been thinking.” Alexandra yawned, stretching up into his palm. “Now that I can think.”
“Sounds ominous.”
That earned a black look.
“You aren't married.” Her voice was rich and sleepy, making his heart race.
“No, I am not.” He wondered if she caught the relief in his voice.
“Never?”
“I was in danger of it, twice. But no, never.”
“Why haven't you?” she asked.
Content, exhausted, he wasn't keen on deconstructing the choices that now found him alone. “Why haven't you?”
“I believe I’ve explained why.” A chill flattened her words.
“Before Paulina and Silas. Why didn’t you marry then?”
“I'd rather rely on myself.”
Not the answer he had expected. “Meaning what?”
She wriggled impatiently beside him. “We’re not speaking of me. We're speaking of you.”
“Not anymore,” he dodged. “Explain what you mean.”
Alix sighed and rolled closer, bringing her body into dangerous proximity. “Until Van der Verre, I don't think any man had ever told me what to do. Not even my father. He asked, but he knew better than to make a fight for himself.”
He smiled, imagining the strong-willed young woman she must have been back then. “Wise man.”
“Mm. It was an attractive quality to more than one suitor. It was fine that I went about unescorted. Desirable that I could work a trap line or had visited the native villages. Adorable really, unconventional even!” There was a bitter edge to her words. “But, of course, all that foolishness would come to a stop when we were married.”
“Suffocating,” he added, grasping the depth of her apprehension.
“An embarrassment,” she countered, then lay quiet a moment. “I enjoy having company to dinner. I can mind my manners and keep still at the theater. But I won't be ordered about, and I'm too set in my ways now to change. There's a whole world outside of mother's parlor.”
Spencer folded his arms beneath his head, not a word to say, lost in thought. He couldn't say that he’d never met a woman quite like her. There may have been one or two in all his travels, but no one who’d knocked the wind from him in quite the same way.
She sat up and pulled her shift over tousled locks. “Now, answer my question.”
“About marriage? Oh.” Spencer shrugged, more to himself than to Alix. “I don't know what circumstances conspired for my bachelorhood.” He turned the idea over in his mind, considering all the things which had set him against marriage. A vague impression formed. “No,” he corrected. “That's not completely true.”
“What, then?” Alix had leaned herself against the rough trunk of an oak, legs drawn up, watching him intently from her little post.
“I was fifteen, perhaps sixteen, when my father married Bennet's mother. She was three years my senior. A long story to how it all came about, but it was really more of a business arrangement. They got on well enough, but father was twice her age, almost more of a parent than a husband. Sarah was sweet, ignorant, and a little dull. Luckily, they were eager enough for each other in the beginning; otherwise, Bennet would be a nonsum. Unrest in France, and then revolution, took up more and more of my father's time. He traveled almost constantly, and when he was home, there was no one for him to talk to. Sarah resented his being away but hardly made him feel welcome when he was there. It might have been different, if she'd understood his work. But she never did. I'm not sure she could.”
“So choose better for yourself. It isn't like that for everyone,” said Alix.
“No, but you could distill my views on the married state from all of that. I didn't know any better. Sarah prattling on about Lady Jersey's ball. My father nodding and hmming, trying to compose a letter. Cold silence in between bites at supper.” He sat up and rested an arm atop his knees and poked at their small fire, renewing its thin wisps of smoke. “The army was my first love. What I chose anytime there was a choice to be made. Then I discovered enjoyment of a woman, and without the crushing vice of contempt for one another. Lust and some affection with an end in sight. I could have the army, a relationship, and my peace in between.”
“How practical of you.”
“It was,” he retorted, not grasping her jest until her face fell. Spencer realized he was agitated and shrugged. He couldn't form the words to tell her that practical was all it had been.
Alix nestled deeper into the soft gathers of her shift and leaned her head back so that he couldn't see her eyes. “I'm grateful for it. Is that unkind?”
“Why?”
“If you had married, or I had, we wouldn't be here together.”
The words gave him pause, and Spencer recalled with a pang how little time they had left. “Come here.”
Alix crossed the quilt and knelt beside him. Spencer skimmed his hand over her curves through the soft chemise, then tugged her into the crook of his arm. A faint smell clung to her garments, her familiar blend of amber and musk. Thick strands of black hair kissed his bare shoulder. He rested a hand to the small of her back and pulled her fully against him. She nestled into the embrace, sighed, and then they were quiet. He turned the problem of her leaving over in his mind, and tried to wrap his head around the time they'd spent together. Five days had sounded like an eternity, before she’d arrived. Now it was nothing, a drop in an ocean. He struggled to understand why.
Sun filtered in through the trees, low on the horizon, finally lending the air a comfortable warmth. Wind rushing through leaves in sharp gusts pricked his instincts, warning of a storm. He brushed kisses over her forehead, pressed one to her temple and sat up. “We should start back.”
She didn't answer, or move. Spencer rested two fingers on her cheek and turned her face toward him. “What's the matter?”
Alix inhaled slowly, exhaled almost as slowly, and shook herself. “Nothing.”
Something had been the matter, he was certain. But she smiled, sat up and leaned her head on his arm. The moment passed, and Spencer let it go.
* * *
They hunched over the narrow dining room table, and Alix wondered by their proximity and distraction, why they made any pretense of hiding their cards. She had seen Spencer’s hand no less than four times, and he had seen hers.
Wind rattled the panes beside them, hinting at a storm she couldn’t have predicted earlier at the pond. “I think we’ll be confined indoors tomorrow,” she offered, drawing a card without being cer
tain it was her turn.
His fingers pressed the bend of her arm and traced a rough path to her wrist. He claimed her cards and set them on the table. “We’ll muddle through.”
“We have cards,” she chuckled, pointedly ignoring the meaning in his words.
“I enjoy cards, a great deal in fact,” he swept their abandoned hands into the discard pile. “But I believe that is true of many men. I would play them with you every day, but for fear you’d grow bored.”
“There’s such a variety of games!” she protested. “You cannot bore me with cards. Father and I played them every night until he was too ill; I never tired of them.”
“No cards with your brother and Mrs. Paton?” he quipped.
“Chas and Paulina have as little to do with each other as possible. When they do interact, I am not often included.”
“How do you fill the hours? Books, I recall. And what else?”
Alix held her breath and weighed the danger of what she was about to confess. “I read every bit of business correspondence in the house, any ledgers Paulina keeps about, anything she brings in regarding the company.”
“Sounds dry,” he teased.
“At first it was just for my benefit, to see if my shares were being managed and where the money had been put. One night, I found a letter from a shareholder tucked into the ledger; he was deep in the pockets and begging Silas to buy him out.”
Spencer shook his head slowly, brow furrowed.
“The amount he was asking was a pittance, and I have no doubt Silas wanted those shares back. But he never does a favor for anyone, wouldn’t help someone unless he was helping himself. So he hadn’t answered, probably biding his time to get the shares for even less.”
A small smile played at his lips. “I perceive this wait was a boon to you?”
“What I did was dangerous, but I was desperate. I pawned my mother’s ruby ring and got twice what the shareholder was asking. Not without a great deal of bickering,” she grumbled, “and not nearly what it was worth. But I sent the money to my father’s solicitor with instructions.” She swallowed at the memory. “I hadn’t spoken to him in years, not since my father died. I had no guarantee he wouldn’t tell Silas, or give me away by accident.”
“My God, Alexandra,” breathed Spencer, claiming her hand.
Awe in his voice thrilled her head to toe, and a pang in her chest stung at how brave she’d been, once. “I engineered my coughing powder, to be assured of time alone and then, I wrote. Even while we’ve been in England,” she dared, “I’ve penned all the offers I’m able.”
Spencer leaned back in his chair, idly shuffling the deck and grinning. “I admit I’m terrified of you at the moment. Perhaps we will not play cards anymore.”
“I’ve been letting you win,” she said.
He set aside the deck and leaned in, taking both her hands. “And I’ve no complaints about it, so long as I have your company in exchange.”
“You know I wouldn’t arrange it otherwise,” she muttered to the table top, too shy to meet his eyes. “That’s why I am here.”
“I want this with you, Alexandra; every day, more than anything. This moment could comprise the remainder of my life and I would die content.”
She wished he hadn’t said it, hadn’t planted the hope in her heart. “I don’t --” she stopped and blinked back tears. “I’ve learned not to think about tomorrow or next year, but we have each other now. This moment is my life.”
He was staring at her with a look that filled her heart to bursting. “How can I give you back, when it’s over?”
“I don’t have an answer, not for you or for myself. I have an affair with you,” Spencer ducked his head at the word and made her smile, “and that is the point at which my life begins and ends.”
“You cannot ask to have an affair, Alexandra,” he chided, mimicking his words at Broadmoore.
“Why not?” she demanded and squeezed his hands.
“Because by the time you had asked me, I think we were already having it.”
* * *
Alix raised her fists higher. “Just a swing. One.” Spencer was accounted a masterful boxer, at least according to John, and she was eager to see how it was done. She was also bored with her book and ready for Spencer to be done with business for the day.
Spencer, for his part, was less interested.
“No!” he barked, focused on scribbling out a letter.
“I won't hit back.”
He smirked, still not looking up. “That does not concern me.”
It was clear he didn't appreciate just how determined she was. She reached out and pulled his second piece of paper away and tossed it to the floor.
“Alexandra.” More scribbling.
She pressed a finger to the brown glass inkwell, raised it by the rim, and threatened to tip it.
“Miss Paton!” Spencer's chair scraped the floorboards. He shot to his feet, grabbed a discarded handkerchief, and held it at the ready.
Seizing her chance, she leaned across the desk and jabbed him in the ribs.
“Stop.”
Another jab, this time in the midsection. She ground teeth into her cheek to quell the laughter straining her chest.
He grabbed her wrist, brows set into a frown, and stalked her around the desk. “I won't strike you, but I will make you regret your provocation.”
Laughter tore free, at the absurdity of his words and a suspicious twitch at the corners of his mouth. “I would absolutely love to see you try.”
Spencer swung with his free hand, loose knuckles biting her ribs through the fabric of her dress.
“Ow!”
He grinned and raised his eyebrows.
Alix steeled her courage, smiled sweetly, and sunk her teeth into the meaty webbing between Spencer's thumb and forefinger.
“Goddamit!” He shook his hand and she darted away, raising her arms in triumph. “I think I'm bleeding!” he cried, not looking half as distressed as he sounded. “You fight dirty.”
There was an ominous drop in the way he pronounced 'dirty', as though he really had no problem with it at all. As if, she shivered, he had no qualms following suit.
“You,” he wagged a finger, circling the desk, “are in very dangerous territory, Miss Paton.”
Days together along with a little wine this afternoon had made her bold. Alexandra spread her arms wide. “Do your worst.”
Spencer lunged.
She only dodged him thanks to a tell she’d learned over their days together, a twitch of his jaw indicating that he was about to spring. He got the back of her dress and she squealed, a fit of giggles stealing her breath. Jumping three steps was all that freed her, snapping the fabric from his grip.
She nearly ate floorboards when she reached the hall, taking the turn too quickly so her stockings lost traction. Running into the pitch black dining room, she pressed herself beside the cupboard and willed her breath to come slowly.
She listened intently, but there was only silence. Not so much as a footstep echoed through the house. Her ears strained until they filled with the sound of her own blood pounding through her heart.
Then there was a cough, followed by a long groan. Boots scraped against the floor. “Oh God, Alexandra! My ribs.” Another cry. “I've broken my ribs.”
She snorted. What a load of hogswallow. Still, she could use his position to her advantage. She would risk a quick glance into the hall to see what could be seen. Creeping to the doorway, she braced.
Fingers twisted the fabric of her bodice and dragged her through the doorway with a force that snapped her from the room.
She drew back a fist, prepared to jab again, and Spencer held up his hand, grinning. “I wouldn't.” He grasped harder at her neckline; a button popped from the back of her dress. “You are in enough trouble already.”
She shivered at his threat, then followed through anyhow and swung. He seized her wrist, stopping the blow and plowing into her with unstoppable force. It drove
her into the shadowed dining room and tumbled her against the table.
Spencer rucked up her skirts. Cold air kissed her legs, and the rough tabletop bit the backs of her knees. He brought his lips to hers with violence, pinching the flesh of her bottom lip between their teeth.
Alix held her breath, anticipated the hard pressure against her leg. Instead he dropped low, and moments later his lips brushed her knee. He bit the inside of her thigh, digging until she cried out and clutched his hair. It was a feeling more than pain, beyond pleasure; it was pure sensation. He traced the band of her stocking with his nose, panting hot against her skin.
His hand pressed into her belly and urged her back. Alexandra fell against the table and dug nails into its underside. “Please,” she whispered, prompted by a throbbing between her legs. “Spencer, please.”
His laugh was the deep sound of pure male satisfaction. It vibrated through her thigh, redoubling the ache above. “Beg, Alexandra. Plead with me.” Hands ran under her skirts, gripping her backside and forcing her knees apart.
“No.” She pressed harder against the table, sucking breath after breath through her nose. “I won't beg.”
Spencer's tongue dragged a wet trail from her hip along the crease of her thigh. His shoulders opened her further. Alix realized what he was about, began to protest, then bit her tongue. The idea was illicit, and wonderful; why should she stop him? Pressure from his mouth between her legs tore a moan from her chest, raised her back from the tabletop. “I won't beg,” she rasped again, feeling the hollowness in her own words.
He made another slow pass and pressed until she squirmed to get away, all the while digging her heels into his back to keep him close.
Then he laughed. “You will.”
* * *
Spencer had no notion of time when the sound woke him. It was dark, and no fire burned in the grate. A rumble separated itself from the thunder that had bellowed off shore all night, something more immediate, more dangerous than the weather. Muscles taut and heart pumping, he sat up, Alexandra following suit.
“Someone is in the house,” she whispered.