She could have kissed him again, but she wanted to look at him. She wanted to watch his pleasure, she wanted to see him watch hers. So she began to move as he dug his hands into her hips and arched beneath her, matching her rhythm.
Pleasure came rushing forward almost immediately. Not just of her aching, twitching body, but of her entire being. In that moment, she knew this was where she belonged. This man was her home. And that realization jolted her into the most powerful orgasm she had ever experienced. It seemed to flow through her entire body, a pleasure that touched every part of her and brought tears to her eyes. She rocked into him, crying out his name as she tremored around him.
He groaned out an incoherent sound of pleasure and then pulled himself free of her, pumping against his hand as he drew her in for a long kiss.
She slipped back onto the bench next to him, tucking her feet beneath her as she rested her head on his chest. She felt the beating of his heart, strong and powerful there. The rhythm of it matched her own, and she curled her hand into a fist against it.
“I don’t know why I need you so much,” he whispered, his lips grazing her temple.
She looked up at him, loving every angle of his face, loving even the scar that marred the perfection there. She didn’t want perfection. She wasn’t perfect herself. The scar represented who this man had once been. Who he had become. And in that moment, everything in her heart became very clear.
“Alexander,” she said, her heart pounding. “I-I love you.”
He stiffened against her, his face going from relaxed and content to taut and unreadable. He slowly moved away from her, forcing her to sit up. Then he got to his feet and stared down at her.
“What did you say?” he asked.
She swallowed hard. “I said I love you.”
He shook his head and spun away from her, pacing down to the water’s edge. She let him stand there for a moment, but it quickly became clear that he had no plans to come back to her.
Her hands were shaking as she got up and followed him. “I-I’m not asking—”
“Stop.” He turned on her, his eyes flashing with emotions that he couldn’t hide. She could see him trying to do so, but the rawness was there, harsher and harder than it had been even when he spoke of his past.
“Alexander,” she whispered.
He shook his head. “Why? Why would you say that?”
“Because it’s true,” she confessed, her hands shaking. “I have spent a lifetime alone, feeling lost. With you, I’m found. And I think if you look inside yourself, you feel the same way.”
“I don’t,” he snapped, but his voice cracked. “I don’t feel anything, Marianne, that is what you don’t understand. I am not some savior you can run to, declare your love and find some ending like in a fairytale. I am a bastard, I always have been. Whatever small amount of love I had to give, it died with my sister. I will never love you back. I will never give you the life you desire. The one you deserve.”
“You are punishing yourself for sins you committed years ago,” she argued, unwilling to let him push her away when everything had just become so clear to her.
“No, Marianne, I’m not,” he said. His voice was becoming calmer and his face harder. “I’m just fucking you. Do you understand? You are nothing more to me than a body to fuck. There is nothing else to it. Get that through your head.”
She stared at him, searching for the warmth she knew he possessed. Trying to find the gentleness that lurked beneath his hard exterior. But there was none. He had crushed it, hiding it from her just as he insisted on hiding his heart.
In that moment, she realized he might never be capable of sharing more. That recognition tore her in two.
She nodded slowly. “I see,” she whispered, praying she would not burst into tears.
He turned away from her. “I’m returning to the house. Will you go with me?”
She pursed her lips. “No. No, I’ll make my own way back.”
He hesitated, then set his jaw into a hard line. “As you wish, Marianne.”
He turned and left her there, standing beside the water, her heart full of gifts that he was unwilling to accept. Her heart filled with an ache that he refused to acknowledge or heal because his own pain was so stark. So clear.
And she had never felt so alone in her entire life. Nor so uncertain. Laying herself on the line had not resulted in the happiness she had briefly glimpsed with this man.
And now it threatened any future she might make with her sister. Because there was no way Alexander would want her here now. His face had made that clear, as had the cruel way in which he had dismissed her.
She had no idea what to do.
Chapter Eleven
Alexander burst back into the house, his chest burning with pain, with anger and with something far stronger. Something he didn’t want.
Hope.
When Marianne had stood before him, so bravely making her confession of her heart, what had stirred most powerfully in him was hope.
That and fear. Gripping fear of what he could destroy if he accepted her love. He had devastated his sister. He could not bear to do the same to Marianne.
He could hardly breathe as he moved to go to his study. He needed to be alone, to think without Marianne’s presence in every corner of his heart. Only even his office was not safe from her. He stared at his desk and thought of how she had intruded upon his pain there. Confronted him there. Touched him there, body and soul.
“Bollocks,” he snapped out to no one in particular.
“Your Grace?”
He gripped his hands at his sides and faced the butler. “What is it, Jones?” he barked.
Jones did not respond to the harshness he was faced with, but only said, “I am sorry to bother you, sir, but you have a visitor.”
Alexander fought the urge to snarl in response and tried to regain his composure. “A visitor. I am not expecting anyone. Who is it?”
“The Earl of Martingale, Your Grace.”
Alexander swayed slightly. “The Earl of Martingale is dead.”
“Er, the newest Martingale, Your Grace. He says he is Lady Marianne’s cousin.”
Alexander smashed his teeth together so hard that his ears rang. He stared at Jones, then let his gaze slip down the hallway. So Marianne’s cousin was here. Which meant the man must have gotten wind of her scandalous arrangement with him. That he had come to save her was promising. At least she wasn’t as alone in the world as she seemed to think. Perhaps this was better. Alexander could send her back with her cousin. Send her away where he couldn’t hurt her and she couldn’t dissolve all his walls.
He ignored the sting in his heart at that thought and nodded. “Yes, of course I’ll see him.” The moment he said the words, he shook his head slightly. Since he was scarred, he’d been uncomfortable meeting strangers, and yet today he was so focused on Marianne that he’d not given that a thought. Odd. “Er, where has he been put?”
“The green parlor, Your Grace.”
He nodded again, his feet somehow reluctant to move even though the solution that now presented itself was exactly what needed to happen. For Marianne. For himself.
“Lady Marianne will be returning to the house shortly,” he said as he forced himself to walk. “Send her to join us when she does. Until then, I would like privacy.”
“Of course, sir,” the butler’s voice said, fading off as Alexander made his way down the long hallway to the parlor where his guest awaited. The door was shut and he drew a long breath before he opened it and joined the man who was now Earl of Martingale.
As he entered the room, the man at his fireplace turned and Alexander took the measure of him. He was older than Alexander by fifteen years. He had a round face with thinning hair and a ruddy complexion.
Of course, he felt the man take his measure, as well. There was no mistaking the stare, the curiosity as Martingale looked at his face. Slowly, Alexander closed the door be
hind himself before he moved forward.
“Lord Martingale,” he said, extending a hand cautiously. “Good afternoon.”
He expected Martingale to refuse his offer, but the man stepped forward and shook his hand firmly. “Your Grace,” he said as his gaze flickered once more over Alexander’s scarred face. “I realize I was not expected.”
“I suppose I should have expected you,” Alexander said with a grim frown. “Considering the circumstances.”
He motioned to the chairs before the fire and the men sat down. Martingale leaned forward, draping his elbows over his knees. “The circumstances, Your Grace?”
Alexander shifted. Where was this man’s righteous anger? His desperation to come to the defense and aid of his female relative? Where was his drive to save Marianne from the clutches of a man who would ruin her? Had ruined her. Martingale should be calling him out right now, not sitting with bored politeness in his parlor.
Yet here Martingale was able to meet Alexander’s eyes easily and there seemed to be no anger in his countenance or attitude. But the only reason he would have come here was for Marianne. The two men didn’t know each other otherwise.
“I assume you have come here on behalf of Marianne,” Alexander said carefully.
Both Martingale’s eyebrows lifted. “You think I’ve come to rush to the aid of my cousin? Hardly. I’m pleased to have her gone.”
Alexander stared at the man in shock for a moment as he tried to process those words. “You—you cannot mean that,” he said at last. “You must have guessed the nature of my arrangement with her.”
Martingale smiled, but there was no warmth or generosity to it. “You’ve made her your mistress, yes? I can hardly blame you. My cousin is quite comely. I should have thought of that myself, honestly.”
Burning anger flared in Alexander’s chest and he gripped the armrests of his chair to keep from flying across the space between them. “I am surprised to hear you say that.”
“She never made a good match, one that might have raised our family fortunes,” Martingale said with a shrug. “She knows that she is to be on the street in short order. Making a bargain with you may be the first intelligent thing the chit has done in years.”
“If you haven’t come to stand up for Marianne’s honor, why are you here?” Alexander asked, barely able to remain civil in the face of this man’s coldness and cruelty.
Martingale leaned back in his chair, folding his fingers together with a smile. “Marianne’s leaving has saddled me with another problem all together. Her sister.”
Alexander straightened. “Juliet?”
Martingale nodded. “Yes. You see, Marianne has abandoned her.”
Leaping to his feet, Alexander glared at the man. “That is not true and you know it. You gave Marianne a month to find a new arrangement. She has now and Juliet will join her shortly.”
“Do you think anyone will believe that?” Martingale drawled, remaining in his seat despite the fact that Alexander towered over him, fists clenched at his side. “When they find out Marianne has whored herself out to a beast in the countryside, will they blame me for finding another arrangement for the child?”
Alexander felt the color drain from his cheeks. He knew Marianne loved her sister deeply. The idea that she could lose the girl would shatter her. “Another arrangement?” he repeated. “What the hell are you saying?”
“I cannot take her, Your Grace,” Martingale said. “I’m not equipped and there are no other relatives. So what will become of her, I am not certain. She might go to an orphanage, perhaps. Or a workhouse.”
Alexander let out a cry of anger and grasped Martingale by his cravat. He yanked the man to his feet and twisted the fabric in his hand, effectively cutting off the air to Martingale’s lungs as he shoved him back against the wall. He leaned in, enjoying how the bastard was turning purple as he clawed at Alexander’s hands.
“What do you want?” he growled, and slowly relaxed his grip, letting the other man have air at last.
Martingale sucked in long breaths as his color returned to something more normal. He struggled in Alexander’s grip, but couldn’t escape. “I-I want money,” he burst out. “You’ve bought one of my cousins, haven’t you? And now that I see you, it’s clear you care for Marianne somehow. Perhaps you would buy the other and solve both our problems.”
Alexander stared at him, this bastard in a perfect outfit with his perfect hair and perfect face. He wasn’t scarred like Alexander, but he was the monster in this room at the moment. And all Alexander wanted was to save Marianne from him. Save her from the pain of losing her sister.
Save her because he loved her.
That realization hit him in the gut and nearly buckled him. But he stayed strong because that was what she needed him to be. He slammed Martingale back against the wall once more, hard enough that the prick’s head bounced against it and he let out a whining cry of pain.
“Where is she?” Alexander growled. “Where is Juliet?”
“Still at home,” Martingale gasped. “She’s still at home. I stopped by to see Marianne three days ago and found out where she had gone from a servant. I have not yet cast Juliet out and I don’t have to. I only want some compensation for the trouble. It isn’t asking much.”
“Here is what you are going to do,” Alexander hissed, bringing his face close to Martingale. “You are going to leave that child alone. I will come to fetch her straight away. I will come myself, and if I find that even a hair on her head has been harmed, I will cut you down in the street. In the street, sir, do you understand?”
“And what will you give me?” the little weasel asked.
Alexander was almost impressed by his singularity. Most men would have pissed themselves by now and simply be begging for their lives.
“Aside from allowing you to continue to breathe?” Alexander asked, twisting the cravat again ever so slightly. “I will pay you five thousand pounds. But for that I want more than Juliet. For that, I want your silence. You will never speak of Marianne’s bargain with me, not to a single soul. You will never bother her ever again, nor make light or sport of her father’s misdeeds in public or private. If you do, I will make sure you pay.”
“Five thousand pounds?” the man repeated. “That hardly seems enough for—”
Alexander narrowed his eyes. “The other option is that I kill you and bury you in my garden, Lord Martingale. Do you think that I won’t? You called me a beast—would you like to test that theory?”
“N-No!” Martingale burst out. Alexander released him when he tugged against his grip this time. Martingale immediately deposited himself on his ass on the parlor floor as Alexander walked away.
“Excellent. Then we’ve come to terms,” Alexander drawled, pleased to see that Martingale’s throat was red and rubbed from his cravat being tightened there. It would do the man good to see the bruised reminder of what had happened here. “Now get out.”
Martingale hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. Yes, of course.”
He said nothing more, but hustled from the room. Once he was gone, Alexander poured himself a drink and slugged it back, his mind twisting not on the bargain he’d just made but the realization Martingale’s arrival had forced him to make.
He loved Marianne. But did that change things between them? Did he deserve to love her after all he had done? After what he had caused in the past?
He didn’t know, but he suddenly wanted to see her. He strode from the parlor and into the foyer, where Jones was watching Martingale ride down the drive like a demon army was pursuing him.
“Good, I see the trash has taken itself away,” Alexander said.
“Quite, Your Grace,” Jones said, his tone a little more smug than Alexander would have expected. Alexander smiled slightly at the butler.
“I was surprised that Lady Marianne did not join us. I would have thought she’d rush right in when she heard her cousin had joined us.”
Jones turned toward him. “I’m sorry, Your Grace, Lady Marianne has not returned.”
Alexander wrinkled his brow. It hadn’t been all that long since he left Marianne by the lake, but he’d expected her to come back by now. That she hadn’t…
“I need my horse,” he said, trying to keep the concern from his tone and from his heart. An almost impossible task when he had a sinking feeling that Marianne’s absence did not bode well. “Now.”
Marianne walked along the road, but she had no idea where she was going. All she knew was that she couldn’t go back to face Alexander again. Not now at least. She needed space.
She needed to figure out what to do after one confessed one’s heart, only to have it soundly rebuffed.
She stopped, stepping off the path, and bent her head as tears gathered in her eyes. She balled up her fists and pressed them there, willing away the weakness of her tears. Failing miserably. She wanted to sink down into the grass by the road and just cry. Or scream.
But she couldn’t. Back in London, her sister awaited. She had to figure out what to do so that Juliet would be protected.
“Oh God,” Marianne whispered. “I cannot even protect myself.”
There was a thunderous sound in the distance. A rider was approaching. Marianne turned to face the person and her breath hitched. Even from a distance, she recognized Alexander’s frame. He was heading straight for her and he was coming fast.
She smoothed her hands over her gown and straightened her shoulders, trying to put on her bravest face as he pulled up short and swung from his horse. He tossed the reins aside and crossed the distance between them. His expression was lined with worry and anger as he caught her forearms.
“Where were you?” he asked, giving her a gentle shake before he pulled her against his chest.
She felt his heart pounding as he cradled her close, and she couldn’t help it. Despite his rejection of her, she wrapped her arms around him and clung to him, breathing in his scent and his presence. Soon enough she knew she would lose both, for he couldn’t want her to stay here after everything that had happened today.
Stealing The Duke Page 9
