“Sweetheart, you don’t know—”
“I want you,” she breathed, and he lost the battle. He entered her gently, testing her readiness. She was slick and wet against him. He pushed, feeling her muscles clench around him—giving, accepting. She gave a ragged cry, and he froze.
“Sweetheart, did I hurt you? I’ll stop,” he whispered. God, he prayed, please don’t ask me to stop.
In answer, she kissed him, pulling his head to her mouth and savaging it with her own. Her tongue met his wildly, and he returned the kiss with equal fervor. Between their bodies, he readied her, stroking the nub at the center of her folds until her head was tossing back and forth on the pillow, and she arched against him. On her scream of pleasure, he entered her, thrusting hard, burying himself in her sleek folds.
Her legs tightened around him, squeezing him, pulling him deeper. And he was far from gentle. He had no restraint, no boundaries. With a groan, he thrust into her, movements slow, then fast, deep, then hard.
He was out of control, overwhelmed by the sound of her cries, her touch, her taste. Instinct took over, and he held nothing back, left no part of himself untouched by her. At that moment she was his, and he gave equally of himself.
Ecstasy and something else—something more than the physical—shuddered through him. He was part of her. They moved together, breathed together. It seemed even their hearts beat as one. Together their bodies tensed, and he felt her tighten, felt her tiny convulsions. With a last thrust, they rose to meet the pleasure as one.
Chapter 17
A few moments later, Alex lay on his back, trying to catch his breath and his reason. His lungs were cooperating, but not his mind. The image of Lucia’s eyes—violet, almost black at her climax—was imprinted on his mind. He’d known those eyes would be the end of him. Known the first time he’d seen her in the Pools’ garden that life was never going to be the same. Bloody hell, he’d known the first time he’d ever seen her, when she was a giggling schoolgirl he’d much rather have scolded than kissed. And perhaps that was why he’d kept his distance. It was inevitable that if he saw her again, saw those azure eyes light on his face as they had that first time, he’d fall. And he was falling, drowning in the deep uncharted waters of her eyes—an ocean he neither understood nor wanted to understand.
He reached for her, pulling her close, breathing her in. She murmured, fluttering her eyelids, then closing them. Her breathing slowed, and she fell into a light sleep. For a long, long time, he watched her.
“Alex?”
He was moving. The earth was shaking beneath him.
“Alex?” a female voice hissed. “Get up.”
He opened his eyes, and Lucia punched him in the ribs. He scowled. “What the bloody—”
“The door,” she whispered with a terrified look in that direction.
“Selbourne!” Pounding sounded on the other side. “Open the door before Hodges here throws me out. Dash it, Hodges, if you so much as lay one scrawny finger on this tailcoat, I’ll throw you out.”
Alex groaned and tried to pull the sheets over his head, but Lucia beat him to it, fastening them just under her chin.
“Lord Dewhurst has arrived, my lord,” Hodges called from the hallway. “Do you still wish to speak with him?”
“No,” Alex mumbled, gaze still on Lucia. Her azure eyes were dark and huge, glorious hair in a tangle from sleep. He started to reach for her.
“Alex, my brother,” she said. “The note.”
“Selbourne!” Freddie called, and Alex swore.
“If your valet wrinkles this tailcoat, I cannot be held accountable for my actions.”
“Stubble it, Freddie,” Alex called, moving away from Lucia. “I’m coming.”
“Wise decision,” Freddie said from the hall. “Step back, Hodges. I’m giving you fair warning.”
Alex rose and scooped his trousers from the floor and yanked them on. Lucia gasped. “What am I going to do? Should I hide?”
Alex laughed. “No.” He crossed to his clothespress and extracted a robe. “Put this on.” He tossed it to her, but she made no move to take it. Instead she stared at him—panicked, vulnerable, beautiful.
“Dash it, Selbourne. What is taking so long?”
Alex clenched his jaw, and Lucia jumped in alarm, looking wildly about. Alex went to her, draping the robe around her shoulders. “Relax.”
“But—”
“Freddie’s not going to talk. You can trust him.”
She blinked. “But—but what will he think of me? I’ll never be able to look him in the eye again.” She pulled her arms through the sleeves of the robe, then cinched it tight, clutching the collar closed at the neck.
“Good,” Alex said, heading for the door. “I don’t want you looking at him.” Reluctantly he turned away from her. He liked seeing her bundled in his robe, her hands swallowed in the sleeves and the hem trailing on the floor. With a shake of the head, he chalked up another broken rule. Sleeping together, waking together—these were intimacies too domestic for his taste. He’d intended to take her home long before now.
Annoyed with himself, Alex yanked the door open, not trying to hide the tousled covers or the fetching picture Lucia made, sleepy-eyed and rosy-cheeked, sitting on his bed.
“Dewhurst,” Alex nodded to his friend. “Thank you, Hodges.” He dismissed his man, who looked just as perturbed as Alex felt. “You may go.”
The stiff-necked valet bowed and turned away.
“Meddlesome old frump,” Freddie said and sauntered through the doorway. “Ah, good evening, Miss Dashing.”
Alex shut the door, and while Lucia turned a shade of purple, Freddie settled himself in the armchair by the fire. “Got any gin?”
“No. Let’s go downstairs. I have something to show you.”
Freddie peered about the room. “Brandy will do.”
“Dewhurst.”
Freddie tossed him a look full of meaning, and Alex paused. Despite his nonchalance, Freddie’s appearance wasn’t up to his usual standards. Two buttons on his waistcoat were open, and his cravat dangled sloppily down his white lawn shirt. His wavy blond hair was mussed, and there was a look of fatigue in his eyes and strain in his voice.
Alex crossed to a side table, poured a hefty dose of gin in a glass, and handed it to him. “Downstairs,” Alex said, inclining his head toward Lucia.
“Alex, I deserve to know what’s going on.”
Freddie took a swallow of gin. “I agree. This concerns Miss Dashing as well.”
“But how do you know?” Lucia squeaked. “You haven’t even seen the note.”
“I know where your brother is,” he said.
“You do?” Lucia jumped off the bed. “Is he still in France?”
Alex handed Freddie Dashing’s note. Freddie skimmed it. “This confirms it.” Freddie pulled on the lace of his sleeves and returned the note to Alex. “He’s staying at Madame Loinger’s in Calais, or at least he was. One of my sources heard he’d gone to Paris. And, as you know, my sources are always correct. Well, almost always. There was that one time—”
“Shut up, Freddie!” Alex ran a hand through his hair. “I know he’s in France, but what the bloody hell is he doing there?”
“What else?”
Alex stilled, and his blood chilled in his veins. He shook his head. No.
Freddie nodded, the look on his face grim.
“What?” Lucia asked, watching the exchange. “What’s wrong?”
“Wentworth, that bastard,” Alex said. “What’s he thinking sending a boy over there?”
“Then John is in France, but why? We’re at war with France.”
Dewhurst rose. “I’ll leave you now.”
Lucia turned to him, fear and uncertainty etched on her face. “Thank you, Lord Dewhurst. It’s not good news, but I feel better knowing where he is.”
Freddie bowed. “My pleasure, Miss Dashing. Good evening.”
“I’ll be back in a moment,” Alex said. “Wait her
e. I mean it, Lucia.” In the hallway he said, “Freddie, send a message for my ship to be readied. I want to leave at the first possible—”
Freddie held up a hand. “It’s already been done. You can go now, if you wish. It looks as though you have a few other matters to attend to first, however.” Freddie arched a brow at the door behind them.
“I’ll take care of Lucia.”
“I’m sure you will,” Freddie said with a grin.
Alex took a step forward. “You’re a dead man if this gets out.”
“What do you take me for?” Freddie said, looking hurt. “But I’d be remiss in my duty as a gentleman if I didn’t warn you that if you hurt her, I’ll have to kill you.”
“So she got to you, too.” Alex shook his head. “Well, get in line.”
“Just be gentle, Alex. For once.”
Alex turned back to his room. “I know what I’m doing, Freddie.”
“Famous last words.”
He shut the door on Freddie’s admonishment. Lucia was perched on his bed, hands at her neck clutching his robe closed. Her face, flushed with pleasure earlier, was now pale and drawn.
“I have to see Wentworth directly.” He tossed her gown and chemise to her from the pile of discarded clothing at the foot of the bed.
“Alex, what’s going on? Why is John in France?”
“Get dressed. I’ll take you home, then call on Wentworth.”
“Then you know this Wentworth? The same one in John’s note?”
“Yes.”
He pulled on his shirt.
“Who is he? Will he see us this late?” She hadn’t moved, hadn’t touched her dress.
Alex glanced at the clock and immediately wished he hadn’t. It read nearly four. “You’re not going.”
She crossed her arms. “Oh, yes I am. This is my brother.”
“Dammit, Lucia.” He sat down to tug on his boots. “Don’t argue. I’m taking you home.”
“Well, at least tell me who this Wentworth is and why John is in France. I need to know that much.”
He lifted his other boot. “No. You don’t.” He pushed her chemise toward her. “Get dressed.”
“Very well.” She snatched up the garment. “But we’re not done discussing this. I—” Her voice frayed and broke off.
Alex stared at the stain on the bed that had been covered by Lucia’s chemise. The small patch of scarlet stood out starkly on the white bedsheets. Guilt smacked him in the face. Damn, he didn’t want to think about her lost virginity right now. That he had taken it.
“Alex, I—” she began, holding a hand out to him.
He evaded her grasp, rose, and walked into his dressing room. There he poured water from a pitcher into a bowl and retrieved a towel. “Use this to wash away the blood,” he said. Thank God she had the chemise on. He set the bowl on the nightstand beside her and handed her the towel. She took it without looking at him.
“You needn’t feel bad about…what happened.” Her fingers clenched around the towel as if it might give her courage. She looked him in the eye. “I take full responsibility for my part.”
He stared at her. She never failed to astonish him. The little fool actually thought she’d ever had a choice once she entered his bedroom. He’d known he’d have her the first time he’d seen her.
“The responsibility is mine,” he said. “No one would blame you, least of all me.”
“Blame?” Her voice was weak, and her eyes downcast again. “Is blame to be assigned then? As if—as if what we shared was a crime.”
He reached out to her, tipped her chin up with his hand. Tears pooled in her eyes. “No,” he said. “You’re right. Blame is the wrong word. It implies regret, and I find myself in a position without regret.” He smiled wolfishly. “How can I regret something that gave me so much pleasure?”
“I suppose that’s the rake in you talking.”
He grinned. “That’s the man in me talking.” He nodded to the bowl of water. “Get dressed. I’ll be back in a moment.”
He withdrew to his dressing room, more to give her privacy than anything else. But the moment he was away from her, the guilt gripped him again. He leaned against a wall to steady himself from the onslaught of feeling. No, he didn’t regret her—regret their lovemaking. But he knew she would. In time she would view tonight differently, and she would resent him. Resent him for taking her virginity and leaving her to fend for herself with her bumbling fiancé and his dictatorial mother.
“I may have to sail for France this morning,” Alex said when he entered the room again.
Lucia almost dropped her gown she was holding in front of her. “You’re going after John?”
“Yes.” He sat on the edge of the bed next to her. “He may need assistance.”
Lucia clutched the bedpost. “Do you think he’s in prison? Is that what they do to Englishmen found in France?”
They did that and a lot worse to spies in France, Alex thought. “I’m sure he’s fine, but I’d like to see for myself. Freddie’s information is several weeks old, but Madame Loinger is an old friend. She can probably help.”
Lucia scowled and gripped the post until her fingers were white. “I’m sure she’ll be more than eager to help.”
“She’s a friend,” he said vaguely.
“And is that what I am now, Alex? A friend?”
He ran a hand through his hair. It was starting already. Bloody hell. Maybe it was better to end this with her angry. It would be easier for both of them to walk away.
“I noticed Lord Dewhurst wasn’t very surprised at finding you with a woman tonight.” Her voice was acid.
“I imagine he wasn’t.”
“A common occurrence, is it?”
His arm shot out, and he grasped her hand. She tried to tug it away, but he held on. “You knew who I was when you came here, and I’m not going to start apologizing for it or for who I am and what I’ve done in my life. Besides, there’s a long line of malcontents ahead of you.”
“I see.”
“Is that what you want?” He gripped her arm more tightly. “An apology?”
Her gaze met his, and the tension ebbed out of her. “No. No, you’re right. You have nothing to apologize for. In fact—” She squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired and…worried.”
And beautiful, he thought. With the firelight behind her, he could see through the thin material of the chemise. The luscious curves of her hips and breasts caused the blood to roar in his veins. The tension crackled between them.
He wanted her. One last time. The last. And he was in no mood to debate with his conscience. “Come here, Lucia.”
She raised an eyebrow quizzically.
“I thought we were leaving.”
“Come here.”
Her eyes warming to indigo, she moved between his legs. Reaching up, he took two fistfuls of her hair in his hands, wrapping his fingers in it. “One last time,” he murmured.
She sighed as he drew her forward, lowering her head to kiss her, then releasing her hair and circling her waist. He pulled her against him, his mouth making a wet circle around her nipple through the sheer fabric of her chemise.
“Alex,” she breathed. “My brother. You said you had to see Wentworth.”
He pulled the straps of the chemise down, his fingers caressing her bared breasts, rolling her hard nipples over his palms.
“I do.” He kissed her rounded stomach, hands moving to lift her chemise over her knees, then her thighs.
“I thought it was a matter of some urgency,” she panted.
“I do feel a sense of urgency,” he murmured against her navel, his fingers stroking her inner thigh and then entering the cleft between her thighs.
She moaned. “So do I.”
He tossed her chemise on the bed and knelt before her.
“Then come here,” he said.
For once, she seemed only too happy to comply.
Chapter 18
An hour later, Lucia and Ale
x came down the grand staircase. Alex took no care to muffle his footsteps, and Lucia frowned at his broad back. She still had difficulty believing only Hodges, Alex’s valet and butler, resided in the town house. She could only imagine the debauched picture she would present to poor old Hodges. Her rose dress was ruined, wrinkled and torn, her ball slippers were soggy and mud-stained, and she’d forgotten her gloves at home.
She’d tried to repair some of the damage the night’s activities had wreaked on her appearance, and Alex had even offered to help. She shivered. Once again, he’d played hairdresser. His warm hands cupping her head, his skillful fingers running through her tangled curls, and the brush of his breath on the nape of her neck had aroused them both, causing yet another delay. Finally Lucia had settled for scrubbing her face and tying her heavy locks back with a pink ribbon she’d stashed in her reticule. The style was simple but functional.
At the foot of the staircase, Alex said, “I’m going to order the carriage and speak to Hodges. Wait here for me.”
She nodded, descending the last of the stairs.
“No creeping out of windows,” he lectured, a glint of amusement in his gray eyes. She huffed and tossed her hair, the effect ruined by the simple style. He grinned at her and disappeared down the hallway. She hadn’t yet persuaded him to allow her to accompany him to this meeting with Wentworth, but she was working on a plan. After that, Alex would sail for France, and even Lucia realized that trip was beyond her reach. She shivered and remembered that she’d left her cloak on the bush outside the library window. She went to retrieve it, and it wasn’t until she was back in the foyer that she began to wonder if she’d latched the window. But Alex would return in a moment, and he’d lecture her if she wasn’t waiting right here.
She didn’t have time for an argument, especially not now that Alex was finally acting with some urgency in the search for her missing brother.
She was contemplating another sense of urgency when she caught her reflection in the large gilded mirror hanging near the foyer’s door. Unlike most bachelor residences, it seemed everything in Alex’s house was either gilt or crystal. His preferences were tasteful and expensive. Her own family was well-to-do, but she knew the Dashing family fortune paled in comparison to those of the brothers Selbourne and Winterbourne.
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