“She shouldn’t make that kind of instant judgment.” Alex frowned. “She behaved poorly.”
“Perhaps she’s under some strain. Anyone can behave badly if they feel stressed.”
He raised a brow. “Miss Stobart was reared in the heart of society. She should control herself better. In any case, she should not be here.” He sighed and pushed his fingers into his hair, dislodging his wig. It fell to the floor with a flump.
What would his short, dark hair and well-shaped head feel like under her palm, if she curved her hand around it? She pushed her mind away from the unruly thought. She’d never know.
With an unnervingly sincere gaze, he took the three steps that separated them. “Allow me to explain. I won’t ask you to do anything that compromises you.”
“Like being in my godfather’s library alone with you and with the door closed?”
He gave a startled laugh and looked around as if noticing they were alone for the first time. “By God, yes. Should I open the door to assuage your sense of propriety?”
Connie couldn’t help it—she smiled. It could have infuriated him, a man boxed into a corner but instead he joined her and that was, perhaps, even more dangerous. Because he had the most attractive smile she’d ever seen. Sensuous with a touch of wicked humor and totally irresistible.
“I’m older, on the verge of thirty. Safe.” She smiled ruefully. “And sometimes lonely.” She swallowed, fighting back self-pity.
“But you’re not desperate.” He took her hand, his touch balm to her loneliness. “I can tell. There’s a scent, an air, or something.”
Rich, handsome, high-born, he was probably pursued as hard as any partridge in August. The foolish image forced a laugh out of her. “I was reared to think of the men as the chasers, the women as prey but it’s the other way about with you.”
“It is truly charming to meet someone so honest,” he said. “And I don’t mean that in any derogatory way. You should come to London. You’d be a sensation.”
She wouldn’t let him turn her head. That was foolish talk. “Lady Downholland spoke of holding a ball to celebrate my marriage to Jasper.” She was looking forward to expanding her experience, living a little.
“I fear then it will be too late.” He released her and moved away. “We should go.” He picked up his wig in one fluid movement. “Though I’d rather stay here, dust or not.”
Chapter 3
For the next several days, Connie avoided the many entertainments her aunt had set up. Jasper had still not arrived but he had sent word and apology that he would be late, kept by a tedious business affair in town. He was, he said, putting his estate in order before his marriage, so he wouldn’t have to attend to it after.
In the company of the other guests, Alex treated her with polite respect, but no more. It suited her, she told herself stoutly. At least neither were pretending their friendship was anything other than he had said but she did wonder why he hadn’t bolted from his unwanted, ardent suitors before now.
Escaping from the prospect of what promised to become an excruciating musicale one afternoon, she made her way to a small storeroom, where she found another nest of family books. Thankfully, these were collections of letters, bound into volumes, rather than the huge inventories and she carried the half dozen books into the library, to the table she had commandeered for her use during this visit.
She paused in the doorway. “Good afternoon, sir.”
Alex glanced up and smiled, then returned to his book. He’d come here for the last few days, poring over the receipt books she’d found the day she met him. “Did you know they made their own spirit here in the old days? It was called raspberry cordial but from the ingredients listed here it contained considerably more than raspberries and water. They were skilled at the use of the still. Ladies could indulge in spirits without appearing unladylike, one imagines.”
“And ratafia is different?” She put the books down at the end of the table. “Flavored with almonds but completely lethal. I’ve seen one of my aunts take glass after glass and not able to stand up at the end of the evening. Aunt Joleta is famous for the problems she has with her legs. It isn’t her legs, it’s her balance.”
He looked up, a smile wreathing his features. “I have relatives like that. One of my aunts never goes anywhere without her sedan chair and a pair of sturdy footmen to carry her around. Sometimes I look forward to old age. They call it eccentricity. In me it would be something far worse.”
Age would suit him. She doubted he’d lose his power or that magnetic presence.
She shook her head. “Sometimes it’s because they have nothing else. They’re missing something.”
He straightened. “Sometimes it’s because they aren’t satisfied with what they have.”
“Are you speaking from experience?” She should really put a guard on her tongue, but with him it was so easy to say what she thought.
He nodded curtly. “I’ve known people like that. They destroy everything to get what they want. Then they don’t want it.”
“Will you be like that?” She shouldn’t have asked such an impertinent question and turned away, picked up one of the books. “I’m sorry. I always say too much. I try so hard not to but it happens. Could you pretend I didn’t say that?” Usually she had no problems with people she didn’t know well but she found herself relaxing far too much around him and not reminding herself who he was and what he represented. Money, power, influence.
“No.” He sounded closer.
His proximity disturbed her, sent her heart racing and tightened her throat. Even now, even when she couldn’t see him or feel him, she sensed him. The scent of his light citrusy cologne washed over her in a seductive wave. Ignoring it was no longer possible, although she’d tried to do it for days now.
“No, I won’t pretend. People do that too much. You’re charming, Connie, and you shouldn’t let people cow you.”
While not shy, she was so very aware of what people said about her. A childhood of blurting out inappropriate comments had only added to her discomfort in company. She was supposed to not care but she did and sometimes it hurt too much, even when the criticism came from people she didn’t particularly care about. “I should have a thicker skin.”
“Or someone who understands you and wants to take care of you. Do you think Jasper Dankworth will do that?”
She didn’t look on Jasper as a soul mate. “I’m sure I can learn to live with my unfortunate vulnerability. Please don’t concern yourself.”
She turned, the book she’d picked up, forming an effective barrier between them. “I found some letters this morning. Shall we see if they connect with the entries in the inventories?”
He returned to the inventories. “What dates do you have?”
“This one is 1589.”
She flipped through the letters. “These are a quarter of a century later. A shame because they won’t marry up. What about the other inventories?”
She was glad of his help with the heavy books they’d collected in the dusty storeroom, now thankfully properly cleaned. He spread them out on the long table and she opened the letters and flipped through them. At least they’d been bound in roughly date order. She fetched the other documents and books she’d discovered and they matched them to the books by date, occasionally reading out juicy extracts, showing the quaint habits of a bygone age, or strange connections with their own.
Slowly a picture formed, of people and the way they lived. Not dry historical characters but living, breathing people. “I love this.”
He glanced at her. “I can tell. You glow when you make a new discovery. In a way, it’s a shame you don’t hire yourself out doing this kind of work. My father would employ you in a heartbeat.” He leaned back in his high-backed chair, one he’d pulled over from a nearby window embrasure. “You could make a career of it.”
“The Downhollands have an interesting history.” Her heart quickened. She’d dearly love to, but because of her birth, he
r status and her sex, she had little opportunity. “Careers are for men.”
“Tell that to the florists of London, the women who run successful businesses in the city and for that matter, the housekeepers and lady’s maids.”
She turned with a smile. “That’s a very enlightened point of view.”
He shrugged. “It’s a practical one. I’ve never ignored what I can see and experience.” The expression in his eyes heated, and their gazes locked and held. Slowly he got to his feet and stood over her.
She didn’t give way this time. He gazed at her and this time she met the warm, desirous expression in his dark eyes, the way he crowded her, as if to protect her. But danger lay in his closeness, an intimacy she didn’t know how to manage. Her body responded, softening and dampening for him.
“So what am I experiencing here?” he murmured. Someone on the other side of the table wouldn’t have heard him clearly.
She licked her suddenly dry lips. “I don’t know.”
“I think you do.” His arms went around her, holding her close to his strong body and he brought his mouth down to hers.
She expected fast ravishment but what she got was slow seduction. His lips touched hers, then he grazed them, adding a final, loving touch that she couldn’t resist.
He held her in his thrall, spellbound and finally she admitted the truth of her feelings for him. She wanted him, so much, and even though she couldn’t have him, she’d at least have this. She’d lain awake longing to know what his kiss was like, how he’d feel.
Exquisite, that was how. His tongue flicked out and touched her lips, outlined them. The featherlike brush sensitized her, readied her for him, made her want to feel him deeper, more intimately.
She parted her lips, just a little. He darted his tongue in, tasting, then out, then with a groan, he tilted his head and pressed his mouth more firmly over hers, sealing them together. She grasped his waist, impatiently shoving his coat aside, getting as close as she could to that firm, male skin. Only his waistcoat. He spread his hands over her back and held her close, making her feel absurdly safe, all the time plundering her like a pirate. He swept his tongue into her mouth, exploring her like a man dying of thirst. She gave a single sigh of acceptance and relaxed back into his arms, letting him support her.
She’d never experienced anything like this, this sense of oneness, of two people striving together toward a mutual end. He tasted wonderful as he marked his presence on her heart and soul, there for all time.
He devoured her, taking her mouth in a ravishment more complete than she’d ever known. This wasn’t a kiss—it was lovemaking.
When he drew back, he gazed at her from under heavy lids. “Who’d have guessed you’d be so irresistible?”
His words, just breathed against her lips, reflected her own feelings. Except she’d half expected it and never thought she’d have the chance to discover if she were right. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”
“No, we probably shouldn’t.” He held her, watching her with an intensity that missed nothing. Connie stayed where she was, aware of the danger but lulled by his very presence.
“So what happens now, Connie?”
She was damned if she’d stop now. The recklessness she’d suppressed for most of her life emerged, blinking into the daylight. For once, it would get its way. Her last chance to taste true desire, she wasn’t about to give this up. But there was this, and there was reality. “By the end of this visit, I expect to be formally betrothed to Jasper Dankworth. At the moment I’m a free agent with an understanding, no more.”
“Is that an invitation, Mrs. Rattigan?” He gave her a wicked smile.
She didn’t know what to say.
“I won’t do anything you don’t want and we’ll do nothing more than kiss here. Anyone could come in.”
Startled, she jerked back.
He hauled her back again. “We have a little cover and enough time.” He dropped a kiss on her nose. “Sweet. You taste sweet.”
“Honey for breakfast.” She gave him a cheeky grin. Connie struggled to regain her common sense but the more he gazed at her the more impossible it became to do so.
“Or your own dulcet self.” His eyes darkened and gleamed.
She wasn’t experienced enough to interpret but it was warm and it heated her all the way through. “What is it?”
“I have a compulsion to taste you all over, discover where your honey is the most delicious.” He swallowed and his muscles tensed around her. “But I will be content with what I can see. For now.” He kissed her throat, flicked his tongue out and followed the strong tendon down to the hollow of her throat, where he lingered and soon had her gasping his name.
“I’ve never considered Alex a particularly wonderful name.” He breathed the words over her neck, so intimately. “But when you say it, I can’t imagine a better one. Say my name again, sweetheart. Just like that. As if you want me.”
Oh God, she did, she did want him. How could a simple kiss have escalated to this? To this yearning? She was drowning in him, in her need for him. But she’d only known him for a very short time. She couldn’t let him take this much further, although how could she stop him when she wanted it so much? This was dangerous, really dangerous.
He caressed her waist and she felt it through all the layers she wore as if he branded her skin. She turned, trying to get close to him and he laid one sweet kiss on the upper curve of her bosom before he returned to her mouth.
He took his time, tasting her, coaxing her response. Tutoring her. She gave him everything he asked for, opening her mouth to his onslaught. His hand shook when he clasped her wrist and stroked the inner skin.
How could such a public part of her body be so sensitive?
His thumb slid up her arm, toward her elbow. He slipped his fingers under her sleeve and gave the inner part of her elbow the same treatment, all the time taking her mouth in kiss after kiss.
Hungrily, she gave him as much passion as he gave her, willing to follow him wherever he wanted to take her. As long as he didn’t stop.
He glided his hand back down her arm, gripped her wrist and drew back. “No more,” he said, gasping for breath. “You try my control.”
Disappointment flooded her being. She wanted more, so much more.
He smiled down at her. “You’ve not had much experience, although thank God you’re not a complete innocent. But I’m further along this path than you and I know that if I press myself on you now, you’ll accept me but you might regret it later.”
With a rough growl, he bent and took another kiss. She gave it, moaning into his mouth, the sound setting up intimate vibrations.
He tore his lips away from hers. “We can’t. Truly, Connie, we can’t. You’re close, so am I. I only have so much self-control and I want you so much.”
At last, she understood this went two ways and women had power in this situation, too. Nobody had explained that before and she’d never seen it. She’d lost her mother early, too early to make an impression on her. She’d been brought up by her loving father and a succession of nursemaids and governesses. Even he’d gone now. And he couldn’t have told her about this. Her marriage hadn’t shown her that either. Nor the friendships she’d made with men in the local assembly rooms and on the hunting field before her marriage. Nobody. Just as nobody had told her about this yearning.
His hands shook before he took a deep breath and firmed his hold on her. “Come. Sit.”
She never expected him to respond like this. A dalliance was all she’d expected from this practiced seducer, someone to give her one precious experience before she entered the marital state for the second time. The secret place between her legs had dampened. And it angered her that she didn’t know what to call it. No coy, feminine euphemisms, she wanted to know. How could she have lived this long, been married and know so little about herself? He would tell her, if she asked.
She pushed her thighs closer together.
Holding her hand, he took
her to the chair he’d occupied and she sat while he drew up another similar one and sat next to her. Immediately he reached for her hand again. He brought it to his lips and kissed her palm but then lowered it. They sat together, hands clasped.
“You’ve never experienced that before, have you?”
She shook her head.
“It’s simple lust. We’d have done something stupid, or I would. With the door unlocked and in a public room, I’d have thrown your skirts over your head and taken you.” He watched her, seemingly in control of himself but under his plain maroon waistcoat his chest moved more strongly than usual. “Why aren’t you pulling away, scared?”
She had stopped being scared of the truth years ago. “Because it’s true. You’d take me and I’d let you.” At this moment, she didn’t care. He could have her any way he wanted her.
With those cold words, he’d been trying to push her away but they didn’t succeed.
He glanced down at her skirt, then up. “You shouldn’t move like that. Or I will take you, dammit.” He swallowed and took a couple of deep breaths. His fine woolen waistcoat moved and the gold buttons glinted in the sunlight streaming in from the large windows to one side of them.
Fortunately, this room wasn’t on the side of the house where people would be strolling and taking the air. Her blood went cold. She hadn’t even thought about someone seeing them. He’d swept her away, but she had to admit she’d done some of the sweeping herself.
“Let me tell you a story. I’ve talked about my cousin Winterton before, haven’t I?”
She nodded. Oh, yes, nobody could miss reports about the Earl of Winterton.
“He’s glorious. He awes everyone when he puts his mind to it. I can do it but not as magnificently as he does. Julius is the pink of the ton, the arbiter of fashion.”
“I read that about you, too.”
He laughed, a low rumble. “You have?”
“We can read in the north.”
Rogue in Red Velvet Page 3