by Never A Lady
He turned toward her and frowned. “When? Where?”
“This morning when I returned home after my appointment with Mr. Jennsen.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Ah. For his private reading.”
“Yes. I didn’t see anyone, but I felt a…presence.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”
“It slipped my mind. And it was nothing, really. Just a feeling I experienced when I stepped from his carriage.”
“He escorted you home?” His voice sounded tight.
“Yes.”
“So he knows where you live?”
“Not exactly. The driver left me several buildings away.”
“I don’t want you going out unescorted anymore. It’s too dangerous. Either Nathan or I will accompany you wherever you need to go.”
“As I’ve no desire to place myself in danger, I agree.” Since he’d claimed that honesty was the most important quality in a person, she decided to give him some. “I was also quiet because I felt rather overwhelmed. And woefully out of place.”
“I gathered that, which is one reason why I thought you might like to escape to the gallery.”
Embarrassment heated her face. “I didn’t mean that I didn’t enjoy—”
“I know. But anyone not accustomed to being a guest in a house like this would feel out of place. I can only assure you that you fit in beautifully.”
They continued walking, and she cast desperately about in her mind for something to say other than kiss me. “Your brother and Lady Victoria are very much in love.”
“Yes. Nathan deserves every bit of happiness he’s found. Indeed, I find myself envious.”
“Of what?”
“The way she looks at him. The way she lights up like a candle whenever he walks into a room. I can only imagine that it’s a very heady experience—to have someone care for you that much. To care that much for someone.”
“I imagine so. Although surely it’s something you’ve experienced.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Surely you are looked at in such an adoring manner with frightening regularity.”
“Not to my knowledge. Who, pray tell, would be gazing at me in such a fashion?”
“I would hazard to guess any female with a heartbeat.”
He glanced at her, and amusement kindled in his eyes. “Would you? And why is that?”
“You realize, of course, that this sounds like another shameless fishing expedition for compliments.”
They turned a corner, entering an even more dimly lit corridor. Large, framed paintings lined the walls on both sides, and she paused before the first picture, leaned forward, and squinted. “The light is not very good. It’s rather difficult—”
Her words died with a swift intake of her breath as he brushed his fingertips over her wrist, just above where her lace glove ended, then slipped one long finger inside the material to stroke over her palm. Heat gushed through her at the sensual intimacy of the gesture. And in a heartbeat all her firm and emphatic resolve dissolved.
“It’s rather difficult…?” he prompted.
She swallowed to find her voice. To breathe. “To see.” She bit her bottom lip to contain a moan of pleasure from the slow, hypnotic caress of his finger.
Colin slid his finger from her glove and touched it to her soft mouth, then stepped closer to her, the tension that had gripped him all evening abating only slightly now that he’d finally gotten her alone. Her eyes widened slightly, and she stepped back. Her shoulders hit the paneled wall between two portraits of Wexhall ancestors, and she gasped. Perfect. Just how he wanted her—trapped and breathless.
Setting his palms on the wall on either side of her head, he leaned closer and said softly, “I think that I would very much like to hear a compliment from you, Alexandra.”
She raised her chin. “I’m certain you would. However, you are supposed to be introducing me to the Wexhall ancestors.”
“Very well.” Keeping his gaze on hers, he jerked his head left. “That gentleman is the brother to”—he jerked his head to the right—“that gentleman. Most likely. The chubby fellow depicted behind me is their uncle. Probably.”
“For a person who offered to give me a tour of this gallery, you seem remarkably uninformed.”
“Ah, but did you not tell me that men rarely say what they mean?”
She moistened her lips, and he nearly groaned. Bloody hell, he had never, in his entire life, wanted to kiss a woman more.
“Are you saying that when you asked me if I’d like a tour of the gallery—”
“I meant something altogether different.”
“I…see. As you’ve stated your wish for a compliment, am I to understand that ‘would you like to tour the gallery’ really means ‘I wish to hear nice things about myself’?”
“No. It means ‘I want to feel your hands on me.’” He leaned back from the wall, then reached down to clasp one of her hands. Slowly, one finger at a time, he removed her glove. When he finished, he tucked the bit of lace inside his waistcoat and pressed her bare palm against his cheek.
Still holding her wrist, he turned his head and pressed a kiss against her palm. He inhaled the subtle citrus scent of oranges, then reached down to remove her other glove, pleased that she kept her hand against his cheek.
Her fingers slowly explored his jaw, and if he’d been capable of doing so, he would have laughed at his body’s swift and powerful reaction to her gentle touch. A touch he craved with a fierceness he was at a loss to explain but which was categorically undeniable. After tucking her other glove into his pocket, he took both her hands and pressed them to his chest.
“If you intend to kiss me—”
“There is no ‘if’ about my intention to kiss you, Alexandra. I’ve wanted to touch you, kiss you, since the moment I arrived this evening. I thought dinner would never end.”
“I must warn you that if you wreak havoc upon my coiffure or gown, your brother and sister-in-law will certainly notice.”
“Undoubtedly.” He didn’t bother to tell her that they’d be able to tell they’d done more in the gallery than gawk at portraits anyway just by looking at her, as he intended to see that she was well kissed.
“I don’t want them to form a poor opinion of me.”
“Why would they?”
“They believe I am married.”
“My brother knows you are not.”
“You told him?”
“Given that he knows married women are not to my taste, he guessed. I merely confirmed his correct assumption. As for Victoria, I suggest you tell her. She is very discreet. But if it makes you feel better, in the interests of some form of propriety…” He again planted his palms against the wall on either side of her head, then leaned forward until their lips nearly touched. “There. I won’t touch you with anything but my mouth.”
And then his lips were on hers, and he felt as if he were sinking into a dark abyss of pleasure and need where only she existed. Her fingers gripped his jacket, urging him closer, and he fisted his hands against the wall to keep his promise. Her lips parted, and he delved inside, exploring the satin of her mouth. Need, hot and wild, surged through him, and he stepped closer, pinning her against the wall with his lower body. His erection jerked inside his breeches, and he slowly rubbed himself against her softness, a low growl vibrating in his throat. Twining her arms around his neck, she rose on her toes and pressed herself more fully against him, undulating her hips in a manner that peeled away several more layers of his rapidly vanishing control.
He broke off their kiss and buried his face in the warm curve of her neck, his ragged breaths reverberating off her fragrant skin. Bloody hell. What this woman did to him with a single kiss was absurd. He lifted his head and noted with grim satisfaction that she looked as aroused and glazed and dazed as he felt. At least this fierce passion he felt wasn’t unrequited.
Her eyelids fluttered open, and she brushed a single, tentative fi
ngertip over his lips. The impact of her slumberous gaze and that gentle touch grabbed his heart and squeezed.
Normally she kept her feelings so carefully hidden, but now they all shone in her eyes. Wonder. Arousal. Curiosity. Anticipation. Vulnerability. Uncertainty. Confusion. Need. He recognized them all so easily because they exactly mirrored his own feelings. But where women were concerned, vulnerability, uncertainty, and confusion were new territories for him.
How in the bloody hell had a simple kiss turned so…complicated?
His body throbbed with the overwhelming need to kiss her again, but before he could do so, her eyes widened and filled with panic. With an exclamation that sounded rife with self-recriminations, she pushed him away, then ducked beneath his arm.
“I must go,” she said, her voice tight. She turned to leave, and he caught her arm.
“Alexandra, wait—”
She swung toward him, her eyes dark pools of distress. “Please let me go,” she whispered. “I don’t want…I cannot…” She drew a deep, shaky breath. “I wish to retire.”
“You mean you wish to run away. From me. From what is between us.”
The sadness and vulnerability reflected in her gaze nearly undid him. “Yes. Let me do so. While I still can.” She laid her hand over his. “Please, Colin.”
Releasing her was the absolute last thing he wanted to do, yet he couldn’t deny her. His hand slipped slowly from her arm, and the instant she was free, she turned and walked swiftly away.
After she disappeared around the corner, he leaned his shoulders against the wall and tipped back his head, somehow feeling more alone than he’d ever felt in his life. He slipped one of her gloves from his pocket and raising the bit of lace to his face, he closed his eyes and breathed in her delicious scent. And whispered the single word reverberating through his brain.
“Alexandra.”
Her name ended on a groan. Damn it, why wasn’t there some magic elixir he could swill to obliterate her from his mind? Make him forget how much he wanted her. Erase the memory of how perfectly she fit in his arms and the taste of her from his mouth. Eliminate this pounding hunger to make love to her and the equally strong craving simply to be in the same room with her. Talk with her. Laugh with her.
Never in his life had he experienced such confusing feelings for a woman, not even those to whom he had been deeply attracted or with whom he’d shared a bed. Those encounters had been pleasant, lighthearted, yet without exception ultimately forgettable.
While he certainly found great pleasure in Alexandra’s company, nothing about his feelings felt lighthearted. No, this felt…intense. Vivid—as if everything around him was suddenly in sharper focus, the colors brighter and more brilliant, making it seem that his life had previously consisted only of shades of gray. As for her being ultimately forgettable…
A rough sound pushed past his lips. If he lived until the next century, he knew in his soul that he’d never forget her. She’d continue to haunt him as she had for the past four years—before he’d known so much as her name, let alone the taste of her kiss and the feel of her arms wrapped around him.
Her presence was keeping him from doing what he’d come to London to accomplish, yet he was finding it impossible to look for a bride when all he could think about was her. A woman who, given his responsibility to his title, he couldn’t marry.
But you could make her your mistress, his inner voice whispered.
His conscience, his honor, and his integrity all immediately balked at the idea of an adulterous affair. Once he spoke marriage vows, he would not dishonor them.
You’re not married yet, his inner voice reminded him slyly.
He opened his eyes and lifted his head, staring down at the lace glove he held. No, he wasn’t married yet. He wasn’t even betrothed. He could make her his mistress until that time. They could enjoy each other until he decided upon a wife. They’d be discreet. He’d make certain she was taken care of—her and the cause dear to her heart. Then…they’d say good-bye.
His heart raced with anticipation. He was convinced. Now all he had to do was convince her.
Fourteen
Alex lay in the soft, comfortable, warm luxury of the magnificent bed in her elegant bedchamber, wishing with all her might for sleep to overcome her. She tried, as she had for the past several hours, to empty her mind, but it simply could not be done. Not while he filled every corner.
She closed her eyes but found no relief from the sensual memories bombarding her. Of his strong arms caging her in against the gallery wall. The heat of his body surrounding her. His masculine scent invading her senses. Lowering his head…
She vividly recalled the delicious taste of his kiss. The exquisite sensation of his body pressing into hers. One touch was all it had required for him to strip her of all her fine resolutions. One touch is all he’d needed to make her want more. Make her want everything.
A frustrated sound blew past her lips, and, with an impatient gesture, she pushed away the bedcovers and sat up. She stood, then paced the length of the room several times before pausing to stare into the remnants of the fire glowing in the grate. She blew out a stream of air and watched the embers glow brighter and realized that she felt just like those smoldering remains…heated, waiting, ready, merely a breath away from flaring into flames.
She knew what went on between men and women in the dark. Had heard it, witnessed it more times than she cared to remember. She knew that much talk was devoted to such things, but from what she’d seen, it warranted little excitement. Indeed, the entire process had always struck her as something messy, to be avoided.
Until Colin had kissed her. His touch made the carnal acts she’d once dismissed ignite into desires she could not quell. Desires she wanted to explore. Desperately. With him.
But did she dare?
The question reverberated through her mind, and she resumed her pacing. If she were to offer herself to him…would he accept? Most likely. Men did not turn down such offers—did they? Especially if they knew there were no ramifications or consequences as she was hardly a Society lady bent on extracting a marriage proposal from him. And especially if he knew the liaison would only be for the short duration he remained in London. She would expect nothing from him except the promise to take precautions to prevent her from conceiving a child. It was obvious from his body’s reaction when they kissed that he wouldn’t be physically averse to the idea. And surely a man in his position, a man who’d spent years as a spy, was well acquainted with discretion.
Did she dare?
Yes, her inner voice whispered. The female inner voice that she’d forcibly muffled all these years, which now demanded to be heard.
No, her common sense countered, reminding her that she barely knew this man. That he risked nothing while she risked a great deal.
But then her heart chimed in, insisting that even though she’d only spent a short time in his actual company, thanks to her card readings, she’d known about the dark-haired, green-eyed man long before she’d ever seen him in Vauxhall. That man was, without a doubt, Colin, and he’d lived in her imagination, in her heart and soul, for years. He was the man she’d always wanted, and this was her chance—her only chance—to have a very small part of him for a very short period of time.
Did she dare?
She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. Yes. Yes, she did.
She would offer herself to him. And with any luck, he would be hers for a brief, magical time.
The instant she made the decision, a sense of relief washed over her. The pondering was done and the decision made. All she needed to do now was act upon her decision. And she intended to do just that the next time she saw him—which would be tomorrow.
Her gaze strayed to the mantel clock, and she realized that it was nearly 1:00 A.M.
Tomorrow had already arrived.
Anticipation curled through her, and she wrapped her arms around herself. No longer able to stay still, she walked to the French win
dows and looked out on the garden below.
The full moon cast the small garden with an ethereal silver glow. London’s ubiquitous fog lay close to the ground, rising from the grass with ghostly, vaporous fingers. In the center of the garden rose a stately tree. As she watched, it appeared as if a shadow near the tree trunk moved.
Alex’s gaze riveted on the spot, and seconds later her heart stuttered when she realized that the shadow was a person. Before she could decide how best to raise an alarm in this unfamiliar household, the shadow detached itself from the tree and moved stealthily toward the hedges surrounding the perimeter of the garden. A shadow that moved with a familiar limp.
Her breath caught, and for a brief instant before the shadows swallowed him again she saw him clearly. What on earth was Colin doing here?
She pressed her hands against her chest, absorbing her sudden frantic heartbeat. Was it possible his thoughts reflected her own? That he’d come intending to make her his lover?
She didn’t know, but she refused to wait another moment to find out.
Colin stood in the inky shadows cast by the Wexhall town house. From his vantage point he could scan the entire garden area, and thus far in his vigil had seen nothing out of the ordinary. The deep ache he experienced when fatigued throbbed in his leg, but he knew that even if he returned home and climbed into bed sleep would elude him. Indeed, it was for that very reason he was here, patrolling the grounds. The instant he’d closed his eyes, all he could see was Alexandra. Her beautiful brown eyes. Her soft, plump lips. Her teasing smile.
Then his imagination had jumped to life, flashing erotic images through his brain. Of her, lush and aroused. Naked in his bed. Under him. Over him. Of him, buried deep inside her. With a growl of frustration, he’d abandoned his bed and paced. Stared into the fire. Attempted to read a book. Washed down two pieces of marzipan with a hefty swallow of brandy. Anything to make the time pass until he saw her again.
But no matter how many times he’d glared at the mantel clock, time refused to move faster. Nothing erased her from his mind. And bloody hell, nothing relaxed the erection his sensual thoughts of her had inspired. Since sleep was clearly out of the question, he’d decided to at least make himself useful and patrol around Wexhall’s town house to ensure her safety. His inner voice informed him that such a patrol also meant he’d be closer to the object of his desires—to which he’d firmly admonished his inner voice to be quiet.