by Gill, Tamara
* * *
Alessa stood at the side of the Earl of Lytton's ballroom floor and ground her teeth. Marco stood behind her, but another guard, not Rowan, stood alongside him. For the past week, she had not seen Rowan and had vague, indifferent answers to her queries from Marco that annoyed her to no end.
She refused to dance with anyone who asked her. Her mood had been sour, and there was little point in pretending to be otherwise.
"My dear, you're scowling at everyone," Aunt Rosemary said at her side, procuring two glasses of Ratafia from a passing footman. "Whatever is the matter, my dear?"
Alessa debated telling her ladyship of her troubles but then thought better of it. She would definitely tell the duke, and then she would be on the first ship home to Atharia.
"I think I am getting my courses. I feel very put out and upset," she lied, facing her ladyship. "Would you mind if I returned home? With my guards accompanying me, you are more than welcome to stay and enjoy what's left of the ball."
Aunt Rosemary looked about, debating her words. "If you're sure, Your Highness. I do not mind cutting the night short and returning with you if you prefer."
Alessa reached out, taking her hand. "No, you stay and enjoy the ball. I shall retire for the night. I think that is what I need."
What she really needed to do was find out where Rowan was and demand to know how he could just up and leave her without a goodbye at the very least.
After all they had done together, how could he treat her so coldly? How could he think it was suitable to treat a woman in such a way? Alessa downed the sweet beverage and handed the glass back to Marco to deal with. "I shall see you in the morning, my lady."
Her ladyship smiled, and Alessa started off toward the doors, her guards fast on her heels. Now all she needed to do was figure out how to escape their notice, too, so she could find Rowan and ask him what he was up to.
The fiend would not get away with treating her so deplorably.
The ass.
* * *
Rowan lay on the cot in his small room rented from a widow of a merchant in Spitalsfield. The sounds of the city, of the people plying their nightly trades, the drunken racket of men who walked from tavern to tavern halted any sleep he was trying to gain.
The scent of damp and the pungent fellow who lived downstairs wafted into his room. He had asked for time away, had not explained to Marco why he needed to step back, but something about the other guard's willingness told him he understood his troubles.
Some of them, at least.
The words that Alessa had said to him not a week before ran through his mind. She had wanted him and no one else. That she thought him honorable and kind. Honest!
What a farce that all was. He was none of those things. He was a killer, plain and simple. His soul was cursed, and she deserved so much more than he could ever give her. He could not allow her to change his mind, to let him consider they could have a future. They did not, and he would be a fool to believe otherwise.
She would have no future at all had he done what he was hired to do. Had he completed the job and killed her when he had the chance, there would never be a future even to imagine.
She deserved to know the truth. To know everything that he had done in his life. The many murders, bribes, fights, and deals he'd made. Including the one against her. How could he allow someone so pure, sweet, and innocent to even be within a foot of him?
He ought to be hanged for his crimes, not admired by the woman whom he had sworn to kill.
A knock sounded on his door, rapid and hard. He jumped from the bed, ready to give whomever it was that interrupted his mental anguish a fist to the nose.
He wrenched the door open, ready to do exactly that, before the breath in his lungs expelled. He glanced up and down the corridor, pulling Alessa into his room before shutting the door just as quickly. He thrust the bolt across the door, locking them in and turned to face her.
She was pale and breathing heavy, the black hood she wore of such a high quality, he couldn't help but wonder how she had not been mugged and stolen of it.
"What are you doing here? How did you even find me?" he demanded, holding her shoulders and shaking her a little as if that would give him the answer any quicker.
"I stole into Marco's office after a ball this evening, and he had your address listed in his ledger for wages. I wrote it down when he was relieving himself," she said, her voice calm and matter-of-fact.
She pulled out of his hold, slipping the cloak off her hair and gifting him with the view of her long, golden locks. They were pinned up as if she were still attending a party or ball. When she slipped the cloak off altogether, the golden silk gown coming into view, he knew she had come from an evening out—another night where men fell at her feet and worshipped her. The types of nights he could never offer her, no matter how much he wished he could.
"You are lucky to survive coming here dressed like that. That gown alone could feed a family for months. Some would have stripped you bare and left you naked and alone in the street without a care. Do you know that?" he asked her, his tone harsh and critical.
He hated admonishing her, but she needed to know she could not chase him down in this part of the city and think it was all well and safe. It was not. Men like him lurked the streets, and she did not want to run into the likes of him out there.
"I have a gun, Rowan. No one was going to hurt me, and I've paid the hackney well. He is waiting for me outside."
Rowan walked to the window and wrenched up the pane, shaking his head at the street below where no hackney cab waited. "Really, Your Highness? Where is your carriage?"
She tsked tsked and came to stand beside him, looking out on the street. Her mouth opened on a disgruntled puff, and some of his anger dissipated. But not by much.
"What if you had the wrong address? What if what I had told Marco had been incorrect?" Which it had been, and that Marco knew his true location was a failure he would have to remedy, and fast.
Should Marco find out the truth of his being near the princess yet again, he was as good as dead, no matter if Alessa vouched for his life.
"I suppose I would have been in trouble then, but you are here, and everything is well. No need to get so irritated with me, Rowan. It is I who is angry at you and not the other way around."
He crossed his arms over his chest, raising his brow. "Really. Do enlighten me, Your Highness, why I am out of favor."
She copied his stance, and he felt the utter fool holding on to the position he stood. Even so, he continued to stare her down, wanting to know how he was at fault for trying to do the right thing.
He had never tried to do the right thing by anyone until Alessa. She ought to be proud of him. If she knew the truth, that was.
Chapter 13
"Because you are obstinate and argumentative, simply because you are poor and I am rich. That is what it comes down to, does it not? You think I'm above you, and you are beneath me. But you're mistaken, Rowan."
He failed to see how he was wrong about those facts. They were as clear as night and day, and she was fooling herself if she thought they did not matter. "Again, enlighten me, Your Highness."
She sauntered up to him, raising her chin. He had the overwhelming urge to kiss her puckered lips and wipe that smug look off her face. Instead, he steeled himself to listen.
"I am more than what I was born, just as you are. We are not just products of our upbringing and surroundings, our haves and have-nots. I am a person under all the sparkle, the diamonds, and silks. Why can you not admire me for me and forget about everything else that surrounds us?"
What she asked was impossible, but goddamn, so very tempting. He did want her. He did not want to share her with anyone, not now or ever. But how could they have all that they wanted? It was impossible and not fair for either of them to dream such things when they were not plausible.
Rowan reached out and clasped her cheeks. Her eyes all but begged him to see her, the real her.
And he did see the Alessa beneath all the sparkle, as she called it. He had recognized some time ago the good, honest heart that beat in her chest. The kindness she exuded to those around her, wealthy and poor alike.
"I do see you, Alessa. Never doubt that I do, but wanting something does not make it possible. You must see that."
Her hands came up to settle on his chest, and he felt his blood quicken. They were alone here. No one knew where she was, and they would certainly not expect her to be with him. Spitalsfield, in particular, was no place for a princess. It was no place for anyone, really.
She shook her head. "I do not see that at all," she said, obstinate to the very end. “Now kiss me, you infuriating man before I expire from waiting."
He needed no further urging, no matter how much he wished their time could last forever. That them being together wasn't merely a dream, but a reality. But it was not. They were worlds apart, and he would lose her. It was only a matter of time.
He fought to do what was right. To not allow her to hope for more. To not allow himself the same, but as she stared up at him, the need that radiated from her, he could not deny her anything. He had wanted to kiss her the moment she had entered his room, and he fell into that want without remorse. He took her mouth in a searing kiss, warmth and need exploding through him like never before.
She welcomed his kiss, her hands fisting the material of his shirt. He knew he looked poor. He was living in reduced circumstances compared to her. This room, sparsely furnished and with the pitiful fire burning in the grate, was no place for Alessa to be. No place for him to make love to her.
But he would. The selfish side of him taking what she offered even though he knew it was wrong. He would have this night, give her this one memory and then never touch her again.
He scooped her up into his arms, carrying her the two steps to his bed before lowering her. The mattress was lumpy and old, and he cringed.
Stop, Rowan. This doesn't seem right.
She frowned up at him, a question in her pretty blue eyes. "I do not care about the bed, about the room, anything. I only care about you. You are who I want. I would not be here if that were not the truth."
Her words went some way in soothing his guilt, but not all the way. Rowan kissed her again, taking his time to savor the sweet taste of her lips, the glide of her tongue that maddened him. His cock hardened, and he ached to have her, to make her his. To have the one thing that no one else ever would have.
Her innocence. If he were so fortunate, her heart as well.
"Undress me," she gasped, breaking the kiss. "I want to feel you. All of you."
He kneeled between her legs, helping her to sit up and discard her heavy cloak. Her gown had numerous buttons running along her spine, and it took more time to free her of it. She grinned when it finally gaped at the front, and she was able to shuffle out of it.
Rowan ripped his shirt from his breeches, tossing it to the floor without care. She sat before him in nothing but her shift and silk stockings.
The skin on her calf to her thigh was so soft, unmarred by a hard life. He played with the small, pink ribbon that held it in place, ticking her flesh with it. "I do adore these silk stockings. And upon your legs, they’re a work of art," he teased.
She lay back on the bed, leaning upon her elbows. "How fortunate of me to find a man who appreciates a ladies unmentionables." Her lips twisted into a mischievous grin, and he chuckled.
"Hmm, I think I shall leave them where they are." Her eyes widened in awareness. Rowan untied the little ribbon at the front of her shift before pulling that, too, free from her person and discarding it on the floor.
He swallowed, reveling at the sight that she made, so pure and perfect. Not a blemish marred her skin. She was the epitome of privilege, but right now, she was also his. He could not believe the woman in his bed wanted him. He was a nobody with nothing to offer, and yet, there she sat, her eyes heavy with desire and need.
He licked his lips, the corset pushing up her breasts, making him ache. He wanted to strip her naked, but the sight of her, a siren in his bed, overrode his need.
She lay down, beckoning him with her arms, and he lowered himself upon her. Her legs cradled his ass, pulling him against her. Rowan groaned, rocking into her quickening flesh. She bit her lip, sighing in agreement. He'd never heard a more erotic sound in his life.
He reached between them, ripping his front falls open and pushing down his breeches. His cock sprung free, and he guided it against her wet, glistening mons. She felt so good, so wet and ready for him.
"Promise me you will never hurt me, Rowan," she asked him, clasping his face in her hands.
He nodded, steeling himself to take his time, to never hurt her, not here or in the future. Not unless it was for her own good and safety. "I promise, Alessa."
She arched her back, placing him at her entrance, and the temptation was too much. He thrust into her, taking her and making her his. Taking her innocence and what ought to be a gift to her future husband.
A little sense of pride, of glee, ran through him that he had been the first man the princess had ever been with and wanted in this way. A man so far beneath her he ought not to even wipe her boots, nevertheless have her as a bedmate. He was a dangerous man, untrustworthy and mean, and created by the people who made up his horrific childhood and adolescence.
Alessa should not have him anywhere near her person, and yet she did and never had he ever felt more complete than he did right at this moment.
* * *
Alessa stilled at the stinging pain that caught her unawares. She had wanted Rowan so much, had ached for him so much that the uncomfortable feeling assailing her was a bit of a shock.
He leaned down, kissing with slow, tempting strokes against her lips. "The pain will only last but a moment. Try and relax," he urged, not moving and letting her adjust to his size.
And what a size he was. She felt overly full as if they did not fit, and yet, there was a glimmer of pleasure there too. A secret she was yet to realize that tempted her to relax and trust in his words.
She had already experienced incandescent ecstasy without intercourse, but there had to be something else that she was to find out. Men and women were made for such acts. Alessa dedicated herself to do as he suggested, and within a few moments, she no longer felt so at sea.
She pulled him down for a kiss, reveled in the feel of his lips, his tongue, his need of her that she felt with every caress, every touch and stroke. He pushed into her, and she sighed, understanding what it was that left women delirious for their husbands night after night.
Her sister had been one of them, and now Alessa too. She would never be the same again. Not now that she understood what she could have, what Rowan could give her whenever she wanted.
However, would she ever live without him as he wished?
She could not. She had to have him come with her to Atharia. There was no choice but for them to marry and do this exquisite joining every night for the rest of their lives.
Alessa wrapped her legs about his back, taking him deeper. He understood her need and increased his pace, his lips hard and demanding, and she decided she liked that he was a little rough about the edges. He had always been honest, told her his thoughts and opinions without the fear of hurting her feelings.
Everyone walked about her as if they were walking on fragile ice, and she hated it. No one was honest. No one was themselves. With Rowan, he had always been the opposite, and she adored that about him.
It was why she trusted him now with this, the ultimate act of trust.
She kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. He thrust into her with delicious strokes that teased and taunted her to madness.
Her blood felt aflame. Her nipples ached and puckered hard against her corset. He teased her with each stroke, and she could not get enough. She took all that he gave, the need, the feeling of completeness overwhelming her, building within her body like a kaleidoscope of feelings.<
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She thrust up against him, needing more, wanting him harder, faster. To take her and not care about the consequences. He understood her silent plea and thrust harder, faster, and then she was floating into an abyss of pleasure that was too much and yet never enough.
"Rowan," she gasped, her climax muffled by his kiss. He took her with a madness that threw her into more delicious spasms. She held on to him, both of them entwined as one as he found his own pleasure with her.
For several minutes they lay entangled. His warm breath kissed her neck with each exhale before he slumped to the side, pulling her up into the crook of his arm. She snuggled into him, placing a small kiss on his muscular chest.
"I thought when we had been alone before that nothing could surpass what you gave me, but tonight, well…" she said, a silly grin lifting her lips. "Tonight was simply enlightening. I had no idea such pleasure was possible."
He stared down at her, a lazy smile upon his lips. He looked relaxed and happy, more so than she had ever seen him before. A little feminine pride roared through her that she had done that to him. A woman of no sexual prowess had made him succumb to such heights.
"It has never been this way for me either, Alessa, if that is what you wanted to know. You are a remarkable woman, and I adore you."
His words, sweet—and something told her truthful to the very core of them—left her discombobulated. She had not expected such endearments, but she adored him too, loved that he was different. That what they had was unconventional, complex, and wonderful.
It gave her hope for them. That perhaps she could persuade him to fight for her, not be so quick to walk away just because their social standings were so vastly diverse.
They were more than what they were born.
"Tell me tomorrow you will be standing behind me once again at balls and parties. I have missed you so very much with you being away."
