The ice did not crack, and neither did anyone break a limb, though Lady Alexandra did fall on her rump once, much to her chagrin. Afterward, they shared warm mulled wine and sat beneath furs, watching the snow as it began to fall in earnest. The sensation in Harry’s chest blossomed and swelled.
It had a name: happiness.
And it had a source: Lady Alexandra Danvers.
Chapter Seven
Lord Harry Marlow possessed more charm than a human male ought to be physically capable of producing. So much charm it seemed to defy the laws of science. As Alexandra roamed the extensive gardens of Boswell Manor on her own, boots crunching through the snow, she decided he must be an oddity. An outlier. For not only was he beautiful, and not only did his kisses make her weak, and not only was he capable of setting her at ease in a way no other suitor had, but he was also achingly kind and clever.
Over the course of the house party, he had been attentive, making every effort to spend time in her presence. Through all the entertainments planned, from trimming the tree to caroling to Christmas charades, he had not strayed far from her side. When he was not in a chamber, it seemed less gay for his absence, and she found herself waiting restlessly for his appearance.
To say her reaction to him was vexing was an understatement. The strange, quivery feelings he produced within her with nothing more than his presence baffled her. It was as if her body was attuned to him, as if some deep, primal part of her recognized its mate.
She did not like it.
He was a beautiful distraction, keeping her from the pursuit of far more worthy causes than stolen kisses and silken touches beneath her skirts. Why, she had not even added to her weather prognostics map in all the time since their infamous carriage ride together. Her head needed to take the reins from her heart, and she had to stop this silly longing for the man.
For though he was endlessly charming, she could not shake the needling suspicion he acted out of a sense of duty. The Duke of Bainbridge’s teasing words from their skating party returned to her. I would hate to see Ravenscroft break your nose as he threatened.
Was he only being charming because of the threat Julian had made against him? Or because of the threat of scandal that would taint him and his reputation if they did not wed?
He was an MP, after all, and he needed to maintain his good standing. A sudden gust of wind sent snow into her face from the hedges she meandered between. It was as if mother nature had sneezed upon her. She stopped, blinking to clear the snow from her lashes and dab at her nose.
“Allow me.”
The voice, butter smooth and rich and deep, sent the same ripple of warmth through her it always did. She blinked some more, and there he was, the object of her frustrated musings, as golden and gorgeous as a god in the winter’s sun. Her heart pumped frantically as he gently dabbed at her face with a monogrammed handkerchief that smelled deliciously of him.
“Thank you, my lord,” she said softly, willing herself to become inured to his allure.
She held still for his ministrations, telling herself she must end this fascination she had for him. She must be stern and strong. She must cleave to science, to her principles. She had never intended to marry, and there was no reason to change her mind now.
No reason at all.
Except…
“You are the loveliest creature I have ever seen, like a snow fairy queen here in the midst of all this winter’s white.” His gloves fingers brushed her chin, tipping it up. “May I kiss you, Lady Alexandra?”
If he kissed her, he would erase her ability to think. All logic would flee from her mind, disappearing like the sun from the sky before a sudden summer storm.
Her lips parted. She was going to tell him no, but then she made the mistake of falling into his eyes.
“Yes,” she breathed. “Please do.”
And then his mouth was upon hers, firm and warm and knowing, at once familiar and new. Thrilling. Delicious. Everything she wanted without knowing she needed it. She forgot all her earlier determination, abandoned it to the wind as if it had never been.
For how could she think of anything but Lord Harry when his lips were coaxing hers in the sweetest possible way?
Her hands found his shoulders, then twined around his neck, and she pressed herself shamelessly against him, her breasts crushed to the broad strength of his chest, her skirts trapped between their seeking limbs. The brims of their hats knocked together, and hers gave way, falling down her back to land in the snow.
She didn’t care what happened to the hat.
She didn’t care about keeping him at bay.
All she cared about was his kiss.
Thank heavens they were alone in the gardens and obstructed from the view of the main house by the immaculately manicured hedges. More scandal was the last thing either of them needed.
She parted for him on a sigh of pure need, and his tongue slipped inside her mouth. He tasted of tea and sugar and himself, that dark and divine temptation she had come to know as Harry. He groaned as if he was as tortured as she felt, everything inside her clamoring for more, for more than she could comprehend.
The kiss deepened, and then she knocked his hat from his head too, and her fingers were somehow in his hair, and she was shamelessly arching into him, sucking on his tongue. That was the problem with Lord Harry Marlow—he was intoxicating, and whenever she was in his presence or in his arms, he consumed her every thought.
He was all she wanted.
Could she not have him and her intellectual pursuits? Could not a woman of science also have…whatever this was?
The greediness within her told her she could. If it was real, what he felt for her—and it certainly felt real now, as real as that part of his anatomy which was currently prodding her—she could become his wife without losing anything. Indeed, for the first time, it occurred to her all she would gain in marrying Lord Harry.
Him and all his glorious kisses and wicked touches and sinful embraces.
Oh.
He dragged his mouth down her throat, sucking her sensitized flesh, and she tipped her head back, granting him access above the collar of her coat. It may have been a frigid winter’s day, but she was aflame, burning from the inside out, and not even her toes were cold in her boots. He warmed her in a way the sun could not, from deep within, in that secret place she had never before realized existed.
But just as quickly as his kisses had begun, so too did they end. He withdrew his mouth, staring down at her with eyes that blazed with verdant fire. If gazes could consume, he swallowed her whole now, and she was a willing sacrifice.
“I could kiss you all day and never stop,” he said gruffly, passing his gloved thumb over her lower lip once, then twice. “But I fear if I carry on in this fashion, I shall have your skirts up around your waist, and I shall be on my knees before you in the snow, and that is the sort of scandal neither of us can weather.”
She struggled to catch her breath, for her wits to return. The world around her seemed somehow different after that kiss, the greenery even brighter as it peeked from beneath white caps of snow, the sky overhead impossibly blue, more brilliant than she had ever seen it before, not a cloud as far as she could see.
“Not to mention,” she forced herself to say, striving to be flippant, as if he had not just changed everything, “the damage the snow would do to your trousers. And I daresay kneeling in the snow would prove dreadfully cold. Your kneecaps might freeze.”
What a stupid thing to say, and she wished she could recall it the moment it left her tongue. But it was too late. His regard did not change, however. He continued to watch her as if he wanted to devour her. And she liked it.
“I would gladly kneel before you in the snow any day, Danvers, frozen kneecaps or no.” His lips quirked up in a slow smile, and there, once more, was his effortless, abundant charm.
Her stomach quivered. “First your nose and now your knees. It would seem the Danvers family has nefarious designs upon your
person.”
She had not meant to reference Julian’s threats, but they were once more foremost in her mind, mingling with the fear the man before her did not truly want her. Alexandra’s pride would not allow her to be the woman any man was forced to wed.
He grimaced. “Pray forgive my brother’s ill attempt at humor. I fear it is not a talent at which he excels.”
She did not doubt Bainbridge’s words had been spoken partially in jest, but she also knew her brother, and Julian was fiercely protective of the women in his life. He had likely delivered some manner of threat, and if there was ever a time to work out once and for all, whether Lord Harry was being pressured to court her, it was now.
“I am certain Julian was a beast,” she said. “He is as protective as a mama bear. But I need you to know that I do not want to be a duty, not to you or any other man. I would far rather be a desire.”
He cupped her face then, with such a ginger, reverent touch she could have sighed again. “You are anything but a duty. I desire you more than I have ever desired another.”
Her breath caught, and she searched his eyes, uncertain if she dared believe him. “You do?”
“I do,” he affirmed without pause. “More than any other.”
More than Boadicea? The unworthy thought leapt to her mind, but she dismissed it. His kisses in the carriage and on every occasion since had dispelled the rumor that he was in love with the Duchess of Bainbridge.
“You have not been courting me because you have no choice?” she persisted.
He was so handsome, the sun making his blond hair glint as if it were made of pure gold, that he stole her breath. His smile deepened, creating small crinkles at the corners of his eyes that she found endlessly riveting.
What would he do, she wondered, if she kissed him there? And why did that small imperfection on his otherwise flawless face affect her so? Why did it make her long for him even more?
“My dear Danvers, I have been courting you because I wish to make you my wife. And because now I have had a trousers wearing weather prognosticator in my arms, I cannot fathom ever settling for anyone else.”
His words should not have settled in her heart like a promise, but they did.
And she should not have reached for him once more, drawing his mouth down to hers for another kiss, but she did.
This kiss felt different. It felt like the beginning.
She stepped back before either of them could deepen the kiss, her lips tingling. “I had better get back to the party before I am missed. We must think of your poor kneecaps, after all.”
He threw back his head and laughed, and the sound echoed through the quiet of the garden, laden with the same promise and joy she felt bursting to life within her.
Chapter Eight
“I am so happy to have caught you alone.”
Harry, poring over a book in his brother’s private library and nursing a brandy, started at the sound of his sister-in-law’s voice. Boadicea sailed over the threshold in that boisterous yet elegant way she had, resplendent in her aubergine afternoon gown, her distinctive auburn hair swept into a Grecian braid. A pleasant warmth infused his chest at the sight of her, just as it would with any cherished acquaintance he was pleased to see.
He stood, acknowledging her presence. “What do you require of me, sister dear?”
Yes, it still smarted a bit to call her sister, but he knew the source of that emotion all too well: his pride. Spencer had won her heart, and as much as Harry loved his brother, losing to him in the battle for a lady’s hand nevertheless stung. He had always been the charming brother. He ought to have won.
And yet, looking upon her now, glowing with happiness, and beset by a new, previously unimaginable fascination for Lady Alexandra Danvers, he could not help but be relieved that he had not.
Boadicea stopped when she reached him, her blue eyes bright with excitement. “What do you think of Lady Alexandra?”
Bloody hell. She had sought him out on a matchmaking expedition. The truth of it was, he had spent the last week courting the lady in question by any means possible. He skated with her on Boswell Manor’s frozen pond—she had fallen on her rump and blushed so red her cheeks had put apples to shame. He danced with her, sang carols with her, took her for a walk in the gardens after the snow finally ended. He chatted with her. He wondered if her allure would ever lessen. Somehow, it only increased with each day.
But that did not mean he wished to examine the way he felt for Lady Alexandra with Boadicea now. Or ever.
He raised a brow. “I think I have compromised her and am obligated to marry her.”
She tapped him on the arm. “But do you like her? Are you in love with her?”
“Of course I like her,” he was quick to admit. Perhaps too quick. “She is intelligent and unique, and her wit never ceases to entertain me. She is also beautiful.”
And about as graceful as a plow horse, but he found her lack of affectation endearing. She was unapologetically herself, and damn if it didn’t make him want her all the more.
“Are you in love with her?” Boadicea persisted, slanting him a knowing look. “I have been watching the two of you together all week, and Spencer thinks me quite silly, but you are such a well-matched pair. Lady Alexandra is a member of my Lady’s Suffrage Society, you know, and she is not only clever but kindhearted and good. She is exactly the sort of wife you deserve.”
After one week, he was not prepared to say he was in love. The last time he’d imagined himself embroiled in that finer emotion, he had been hopelessly wrong. He did not dare trust himself now. Did he?
“I like her,” he allowed. “Do not meddle, Boadicea.”
“Meddle?” She pressed a hand to her heart and sent him a look of feigned innocence. “Why would you ever think me capable of such a thing?”
He tamped down the grin that threatened to give him away. “Because I know you.”
“I may have provided Lady Alexandra with some guidance,” his sister-in-law confessed without a hint of contrition. “But before I tell you anything more, I must be reassured that your intentions are honorable. Look me in the eye and promise me, Harry Archibald Marlow.”
Good God, she had invoked his hated full name. He had revealed it to her just the once, and the minx had never forgotten. But part of him was clamoring to know what sort of guidance Boadicea could have given Lady Alexandra, and what it meant for him. The wickedness within him dared hope it involved some time away from the watchful eyes of their friends and family and fellow revelers, who were attuned to the slightest impropriety.
“You must never call me that,” he gritted. “But you have my promise that my intentions toward Lady Alexandra are only honorable. I mean to make her my wife. Now please do elaborate upon the aforementioned guidance you gave my future betrothed.”
Boadicea winked. “Oh, I shan’t tell you a thing! That would spoil the surprise. But if I were you, I would find the nearest opportunity to find my way to the north tower.”
The north tower was precisely where he had intended to take Lady Alexandra that first day before the rude interruption of their families and fellow guests. “The north tower? You do realize that it has not been habitable since my grandfather was a lad, do you not?”
It was an exaggeration, but not much of one. The north tower was part of the original castle that Boswell House had been built around, and it was drafty and dark and filled with the ghosts of the past.
“Perhaps it is not as unwelcoming as you think,” Boadicea said. “Go have a look for yourself, Harry.”
His mind was instantly inundated with an image of Lady Alexandra—Danvers, as he liked to think of her—alone in the north tower, conducting meteorological studies, her fingers smudged with ink as she fretted over her prognostics map.
“Perhaps I will,” he said with casual nonchalance, as though the mere thought of Danvers with her odd little tool and her enthusiasm for the scientific didn’t make his cock go half-rigid in his trousers.
“I promise you that I will make Lady Alexandra my wife if she and her irate brother will have me,” he grumbled. “I also promise you that further use of my middle name will result in me watering your holly bushes in a fashion you will not appreciate.”
Yes, he would piss in her potted holly. Why not? He was feeling rather reckless these days, and he had nothing left to lose.
Her mouth formed a perfect O of astonishment. “Harry Arch—”
“Do you dare to risk it?” he interrupted, pleased with himself for shocking her. Boadicea was not easily surprised.
She pressed her lips together. “No. Be gone with you. But be forewarned that I may have shared your full name with Lady Alexandra.”
He ground his teeth as he left the library to the sound of his sister-in-law’s laughter. If Danvers invoked his hated full name, he had a different sort of punishment in mind for her. And it would be far more pleasurable than relieving himself in his sister-in-law’s living Christmas decorations.
The north tower of Boswell House was like an enchanted world. Alexandra could not have been more pleased that Boadicea had shown her this room, so far away from the main house and all its occupants. It was the proper height for meteorological observance. But even with its fresh new paint, sumptuous carpets, and comfortable furniture—not to mention the sunlight that filtered in the windows—to delight, studying the weather was not her primary pursuit.
Instead, she was sitting, legs tucked beneath her, draped on a particularly comfortable divan, flipping through the pages of a book that was riveting, shocking, and intriguing all at once. Boadicea had given her the thin, leather-bound volume, requiring her complete discretion.
It was an illegal book, filled with naughtiness. With lewdness and lasciviousness.
Naturally, Alexandra had given her promise to keep the book’s existence to herself.
The Night Before Scandal (Heart's Temptation Book 7) Page 6
