by Dare, Tessa
“Don’t they fall into bed with you anyway?”
“That’s true. But they might do so a half minute faster. Over months and years, those half minutes add up. So let’s hear the rest of the tale.”
She put away the soap and vinegar. “My father was American. After the Revolution—”
“The rebellion,” he corrected.
“—he became a seaman. He’d worked his way up to first mate when they anchored in Manila harbor. Theirs was one of the first ships to open trade with the Philippine Islands. Aside from the Spaniards, of course. Anyhow, they anchored for a few months. That’s where he met my mother. And they fell in love.”
“She was a Spanish colonist, then?”
“Mestiza. My grandfather was Spanish, but my grandmother was native to the island.”
Fascinating. This information solved a few mysteries that had been lingering in Chase’s mind. Life on a trading ship would have taught her the value of goods—everything from the ribbon around her neck, to telescopes and comets. He supposed her mother had blessed her with that bounty of dark hair and her delicate snub of a nose—and her father was likely to blame for her stubborn, independent streak. Those Americans just wouldn’t be told what to do.
“So if your father was American, and he met your mother in the Philippine Islands . . . how did you come to be living in England?”
“That’s a long story.”
He looked pointedly at his bandaged hand. “I won’t be doing any more work tonight.”
She paused. “After they married, my father sailed back to Boston. He promised to return once he’d found a partner and bought a ship of his own. It was only supposed to be a year, but in the end, it took him more than three. When he finally returned, he found that my mother had died. He was no longer a husband.”
“But he’d become a father.”
She nodded. “Most men would have left me to be raised by my mother’s family, but my father would have none of it. He took me aboard his ship, and off we went. The Esperanza was our home for the next decade. He’d named it for her.” She smiled a little. “The same way my mother had named me after him. His name was Alexander.”
“That’s appallingly romantic.”
“Isn’t it? And if you think that’s treacly, wait for this part. My father went down with the Esperanza in a storm. Died in the embrace of his true love, you could say. And that’s how I ended up in England.”
“Hold a moment. There are a few bits missing from that story.”
Such as the part that would tell him who to blame for stranding her in a strange country, alone. And whether that someone was still alive and available to be pummeled.
She changed the subject. “How did your parents meet?”
“Let’s see.” Chase drummed his fingers on the table. “My father was a second son. He had connections, but no money. He found a young woman with money, but no connections. He proposed, she accepted, they were married. A year later, I came along. And then we all lived miserably ever after.”
She was quiet for a moment. “I like my story better.”
“I like yours better, too. But coming back to the matter at hand, my history should only underscore the point. I’ve no idea what a family looks like. I cannot be a satisfactory guardian. Hell, I don’t even have dogs. Commitment isn’t in my nature.”
“You’re simply too virile to be tied down, is that it?” Her eyes teased him. “Must be all those antlers.”
“Don’t make light of it,” he said in a warning tone. “And while I’m on the subject, it’s inadvisable to wander the house at night in the home of a known rake. Your reputation could be compromised.”
“I’m not worried. You said the thought of seducing me would never even cross your mind.”
“Yes, but sometimes,” he murmured, “a man acts without thinking at all.”
He leaned in as if drawn to her, trying to convince himself that a kiss would be for her own good. Just a little one, of course. A mere brush of his lips on hers. It wouldn’t be so very terrible of him. It would be a tiny bit terrible of him, and that was the point. To put the punctuation mark on his warning. Beware. Turn back. Here there be monsters. He’d be doing her a favor, really.
Right. He’d bedded Venetian acrobats less flexible than his morality.
She put a hand to his chest. “Wait.”
Wait, she’d said.
“Wait” wasn’t “stop.”
“You can afford to act without thinking,” she went on, “but I have to reason things through.”
“Reason things through,” he echoed, nonplussed.
“Whenever I’m faced with a decision, I consider the arguments for and against.”
“Remind me. What decision are you facing?”
“Whether or not to allow you to kiss me.”
He stared at her.
“That was your intent, wasn’t it? To kiss m—” She paled in horror. “Oh, Lord. It wasn’t, was it? I’ve misunderstood.”
“No, no,” he assured her. “It was my intent.”
“Oh.” She exhaled, and the pretty flush of pink returned to her cheeks. “That’s good.”
“Is it?”
“I’m not certain yet. The ‘against’ pile is rather large.” She plucked lumps of sugar from the sugar bowl and began counting them into a heap on the worktop. “I’m your employee. You’re my employer and a shameless rake. You’re clearly trifling with me. I might lose your respect. I might lose respect for myself. I might give you the idea that I’m willing to allow further liberties—which I am not.”
“I never imagined you were.”
“But in the ‘for’ pile . . .” She gathered a cluster of sugar lumps with her right hand, adding them one by one. “If it would be just the once—”
“It would be.”
“—with no further entanglement . . .”
“I despise entanglements. The mere thought of them makes me itch.”
“And you must have accumulated some talent for kissing, considering your history. So I suppose I could do worse.”
Hold a moment. Worse? He couldn’t let that pass unchallenged.
He lowered his voice to a seductive drawl. “Sweeting, you’d be hard-pressed to do better.”
“Precisely,” she agreed, matter-of-fact. “I may as well have a pleasant experience for my first kiss.”
Chase couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Her first kiss? What a travesty. That lush, rosy mouth was eminently kissable.
She bit her bottom lip, as if she could sense him staring. “Goodness, I suppose it could be my only kiss. That’s rather lowering to contemplate, but the possibility can’t be discounted. Another lump in the ‘for’ heap, isn’t it? Knowing that even if I die a spinster, I won’t be an unkissed one.”
He watched her slide another sugar lump into the pile. “If you truly make all your decisions this way, you must drive shopkeepers mad.”
“I don’t typically ponder them aloud.” Her face flushed.
“Far be it from me to stop you. I have a stake in the conclusion.” He plunked his elbow on the worktop and propped his chin in his hand, studying her. Her little one-person debate had him riveted. As did her fetching features when she was deep in concentration.
As many women as he’d charmed and seduced in his life, he could honestly say he had never, ever encountered a woman like this one. Her background wasn’t the half of it.
She rolled a sugar lump back and forth with the tips of two fingers. He wanted to suck those slender fingers into his mouth and run his tongue over them, between them, lapping up the sweetness until she gasped with forbidden pleasure. The fantasy was so vivid, he could taste it.
Good God.
Chase straightened, cleared his throat, and rapped his knuckles against the worktop in an affable manner. “Let me know when you have your answer, then. I’m available Thursday next, if that suits.”
With her eyes still trained on the sugar, she signaled for a pause. “One moment
.”
Naturally, the answer would be in the negative. No woman of her sense, given the opportunity to consider the matter fully, would weigh both sides and arrive at acceptance. That was why he sent his conquests spinning off guard with charm and flattery, why he dazzled them with lush surroundings and sparkling wines. Why he kept his liaisons to one night, and no more.
Because if a woman looked too close and thought too long, she would see the truth: He was a despicable, shameless cad. Alexandra Mountbatten knew it. She’d understood him from the first. Her answer would be no.
So why was he holding his breath in anticipation?
Perhaps the brandy had muddled his senses.
Or perhaps he couldn’t help wondering how it would feel for a rational, clear-eyed woman to see him—truly see him—and still find him worth the risk.
His heart clawed up his throat and battered his eardrums, and all because a tidy little governess was taking longer than usual to reject him. Absurd. Stupid, really.
At last, she put an end to the suspense.
“I don’t want you to kiss me,” she said, “now that I’ve thought it through.”
See? There it was. She was clever enough to see the black, rotted mess where his soul ought to be, and she wanted no part of it.
She lifted her tiny, delicate hand to his cheek. Not to deliver the slap he deserved, but in an exploratory caress. Her gaze drifted over his face like an apple blossom, finally coming to rest on his mouth.
“I think . . .” She wet her lips. “I think I’d rather kiss you.”
And before Chase could begin to reckon with the shock of those words, she did.
Chapter Ten
The moment she touched her lips to his, Alexandra knew she’d made a severe miscalculation. Her carefully tallied sugar lumps were merely sweet piles of lies. By insisting on taking the lead, she’d told herself she could satisfy her curiosity and retain control.
Control. Hah. She couldn’t control something she scarcely understood. No more than a landlocked, untraveled farmer could board a Yankee clipper and set a course for the moon.
Alexandra hadn’t the faintest idea how to navigate passion.
However, within moments he began to lead the way.
Her kiss became his. A series of light, teasing brushes of his mouth against hers. He tasted her upper lip, then the lower. Taking his time, as though the kiss were a puzzle. As though he found her compelling. Fascinating.
And then he nudged her lips apart and swept his tongue between them.
Oh. Oh, dear.
Alex was startled by the intrusion, reeling with sensations, but she didn’t dare pull away.
To the contrary. She dared to move closer.
This was her first kiss. Good or bad, awkward or accomplished, she’d remember it for the rest of her life. But more than that, she wanted him to recall it, too. He’d forgotten her after their chance meeting in the bookshop. This time, she was determined to etch herself on his memory. No matter how many kisses had come before hers, or how many would come after—this one, he would remember.
No shyness. No hesitation. She meant to give as good as she received, or die of mortification trying.
As he deepened the kiss, she leaned into the embrace, sliding her hands up his shoulders until her fingertips met at the nape of his neck. He wore his hair clipped short there, and she teased her fingers through the dense fringe.
He moaned softly, and the sound was pleading. Resonant with longing. Vulnerable.
Then, with a growl, he caught her up in his arms and lifted her body against him. Her thin shift might as well have been nothing. Her toes barely scraped the floor. His tongue stroked hers in a bold, suggestive rhythm, and she couldn’t catch her breath. Heat built between their bodies, welding them together. His uninjured hand gathered to a possessive fist, gathering and twisting the back of her shift.
He wasn’t leading any longer, but overwhelming her instead.
Perhaps that was his intent. To hide behind intimacy. Draw her close as a way of holding her at a distance. Strange. She would have to ponder it further, once pondering was a viable option again. At the moment, his kisses were erasing her mind.
That was probably just what he desired.
Abruptly, he set her back on her feet. As they parted, her impulse was to lower her eyes and back away slowly. However, she forced herself to stand her ground and meet his gaze. She’d given it her best effort. She’d always have that much. If he found nothing memorable about this encounter, at least she would know that she’d held nothing in reserve. There was pride in that.
She searched his face for any hints of approval or disdain. His expression, however, revealed nothing but confusion.
He blinked down at her. “Christ.”
As reactions went, she couldn’t decide how to interpret blasphemy.
Maybe he didn’t know, either.
He took her hands from about his neck, placed them back over her eyes, turned her by the shoulders, and guided her out the kitchen door. “Go back to bed, Miss Mountbatten. This never happened.”
This never happened.
Not for him, perhaps. But for Alexandra . . . ? That kiss had happened. Really, truly happened, in every part of her body. In the days to come, the kiss occupied almost all of her mind, as well.
She now understood why his attentions as a lover were in such great demand. All reason had deserted her when his lips touched hers. Only feeling had remained. Heat and scent and strength and taste.
He’d tasted like . . . she couldn’t name it, precisely. What was the taste of a deep, masculine growl? Part brandy, part sin . . . and wholly intoxicating. Just the memory sent a languid drunkenness seeping through her limbs.
She gave her thoughts a shake.
She had to stop thinking of it and put the encounter behind her. Ever since last autumn, she’d been wondering how kissing him would feel. Now she knew, and her curiosity was satisfied. For him, it amounted to nothing. A boring evening at home.
This never happened.
She must concentrate on her duties instead. This was a brief period of employment. She had a future to finance.
“I’m hemming a handkerchief, Daisy. Would you like to join me?”
Daisy looked at her older sister. Rosamund shrugged in silent, grudging permission, as though to say, If you must.
“Now, then.” Alex beckoned the younger girl closer. “Why don’t you have a go?”
Daisy obediently took the half-finished work from Alex’s hand. Her stitches were hesitant and clumsy, but Alex showered her with praise and encouragement when she reached the corner. “Well done, Daisy.”
“No it’s not. It’s all crooked.”
“But an excellent start. No one should expect perfection on the first attempt. All you need is a bit of practice. After the edges are done, I’ll teach you to embroider letters. We’ll begin with this one.” She traced a letter in marking chalk. “Which letter is that?”
“D.”
“And can you guess why I’m going to teach that one first?”
The girl smiled shyly. “Because it’s for Daisy.”
“Exactly so.” Alex was pleased. One letter of the alphabet learned, five-and-twenty to go. She would celebrate the smallest of victories. “And once you learn to embroider, you’ll be ready to take on all sorts of projects. Tablecloths, serviettes . . .”
“Serviettes?” Rosamund groaned. “Why would we embroider little flowers and monograms on scraps of cloth meant to catch spittle and dribbled soup? It’s repulsive, if you think about it.”
Alex had never considered it that way, but now that Rosamund mentioned it, it was a bit disgusting.
“It’s not all embroidered serviettes,” she said. “There are countless practical applications for needlework. Every girl should learn to mend a garment.”
“And why don’t boys learn to mend theirs?”
“Some do learn. It was a man who taught me to sew.”
Rosamund arched a
n eyebrow in skepticism. “Truly?”
“Truly. I was raised on a ship. No ladies aboard.”
“Tell us more,” Daisy urged. “And not about the sewing. Tell us something exciting.”
“What is there to tell?” Rosamund said. “She didn’t meet with any mermaids.”
Alex hesitated. Relating the story to Mr. Reynaud had been imprudent enough. She was supposed to be transforming these two girls into young ladies. Telling her charges about her own wild childhood would scarcely aid her goal.
And if she failed, she wouldn’t be paid.
That was it, then. No tales of the high seas.
Mrs. Greeley came to her rescue. “Miss Mountbatten, you have callers. Two young ladies. They’re outside, on the pavement. I would have asked them to wait on you in the drawing room, if not for the . . .” Her nose wrinkled in disgust. “The animal.”
Two young ladies and an animal? That could mean only one thing.
“Thank you, Mrs. Greeley.” Alex rose to her feet. “Rosamund, if I go down to visit my friends for a half hour, may I trust that I’ll return to find you, your sister, and this room unscathed?”
“Don’t worry. I’m still putting the final touches on our escape plan. We’re not going anywhere today.”
“Good.” She added under her breath, “I think.”
She hurried downstairs and out the front door to find her friends waiting in the center of the square. Nicola, Penny, and a nanny goat exploring the green on a collar and lead, like a lapdog out for a constitutional.
Alex flung her arms around each of them in greeting. Penny gave the most marvelously tight hugs, and Nicola always smelled like burnt sugar. Alex’s heart wrenched. She hadn’t realized how deeply she’d been missing her friends.
“It’s so good to see you both. Why have you come?”
“Emma’s had her baby.” Nic held up an envelope. “The express arrived this morning.”