“The lavender one? And Ranelagh’s not mine, not in the remotest way.”
“Yes, the lavender one, and he’s yours right now, waiting for you because he wants to see you enough to drive all the way from London, knowing the entire family is in residence. You have to give him credit for courage,” Tina said with a twinkle in her eye.
“Or foolhardiness.”
“Not an altogether displeasing trait in this instance. I’d say he wants you badly. Now, go,” Tina commanded. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“You’re corrupting my nobler impulses.”
“Good. It’s about time. You have far too many noble causes and charities for a young woman. You spend half your time taking care of others, not to mention the years you tended your husbands. You’re allowed to think of yourself, darling, and have a little fun. Now, if you aren’t gone in two minutes, I’ll call your mother back and make you both play bridge with me after the baby goes to sleep.”
“Horrors!” Alex jumped to her feet. “I’d sooner walk over hot coals than play bridge with my mother.”
“There,” Tina replied brightly. “The very best incentive to go and see darling Ranelagh. Once I’m recuperated, promise to bring him out for tea so I can see the stunning legend for myself.”
“Don’t say that. I particularly dislike his legendary status.”
“But you’ve brought him to his knees, haven’t you, darling? Or at least a long, long way from London. That has to mean something.”
“It means he likes sex.”
Tina shook her head. “Sex with you, my sweet,” she amended. “I doubt there’s a dearth of women in town who would be willing. Now, bring the lovely man for tea someday soon.”
“He doesn’t drink tea.”
“What man does? We’ll ply him with ouzo.”
“I’ll extend your invitation. And thank you,” Alex said softly, “for all your sensible advice. I really do like him.”
“Think about that baby.” Tina smiled at her friend.
“You’re not exactly helping me to be virtuous.”
“You could talk to him about it.”
Alex laughed. “And watch him run.”
Tina lifted her brows. “Maybe … maybe not.”
Chapter 21
But Alex didn’t have the opportunity to say more than yes to Sam’s query about sleeping at the Adelphi before he kissed her hard and long and deeply.
Some minutes later, as they sat side by side, gently rocking to the rhythm of the carriage, their hands entwined, their smiles indication of their good spirits, she did mention Tina’s facetious proposal.
Rather than shrink from her improbable comments, Ranelagh replied casually, “A baby—really. I haven’t thought about it—for say—my entire life.”
She punched him then because he was obviously mocking her. Once they were finished tussling, and once they’d stopped kissing again, he smiled at her in a particularly sensual way. “You know, maybe it’s not such a bad idea after all.”
Her gaze half narrowed. “You know it’s ridiculous, and I’ll sleep with you anyway, so you needn’t be polite. I wouldn’t have even mentioned it, except babies are on my mind.” She smiled at him. “Tina’s little girl is so soft and cuddly and adorable. I held her for the longest time, and she looked up at me with her big blue eyes and I think she even smiled once. I instantly melted in a puddle of love. So you see, I’m not exactly rational at the moment. You needn’t take it personally.”
“Maybe I don’t mind taking it personally.”
“Are you proposing?” She fluttered her lashes playfully.
“It depends.”
“On what, pray tell?”
“Whether you become pregnant or not.”
“Ah …”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means—never mind, Ranelagh, you wouldn’t understand.” She was about to take issue with his callousness and disinterest in love, until she remembered with whom she spoke.
“No, tell me.” His gaze took on a challenging gleam. “I think my perspicacity is as good as anyone’s.”
“I don’t want to argue and you don’t seriously want a child, so let’s change the subject.”
“Maybe I like the subject.”
“Until I mention marriage.”
He tried to conceal his horror.
“There, you see.” She grinned. “And I’m not perspicacious at all.”
“I’m not completely averse to the idea of marriage,” he said carefully.
“So long as it isn’t yours.”
He couldn’t help but smile. “I suppose you’re right.”
“And I suppose if I’m looking for a father for my child, I should be sensible enough to look elsewhere.”
It bothered him more than he thought to consider that alternative, and, conscious he was placing himself in serious jeopardy, he said, “Don’t put me entirely out of the running.”
“There are certain circumstances, then, in which fatherhood”—she lifted her brows—“and marriage wouldn’t be completely anathema to you?”
He swallowed. “I’m thinking there might be.”
She laughed. “You certainly know how to charm a lady.”
He smiled back. “Consider, darling, I’ve never even thought of fatherhood until a few minutes ago. Give me a moment or so to adjust.”
She glanced at the carriage clock and began silently counting.
“Bitch,” he whispered with a grin.
“A very hot one,” she whispered back with a delicious wink.
This time he glanced at the clock. “We’ve forty minutes before we reach the Adelphi.”
“More than enough time,” she replied cheerfully.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
“I didn’t know you ever waited to be asked.”
“Sometimes I do.”
“When ladies are talking about marriage?” she noted archly.
“No.” He didn’t say talk of marriage always fell on deaf ears. “When I’m not sure how much politesse is required.”
“I’m not interested in politesse, darling. Only that.” She pointed between his legs.
“Then I have only one question,” he replied smoothly. “What do you want to do about a baby? Yes or no?”
She looked at him for a breath-held moment, began to answer, changed her mind, and finally said very, very softly, “Yes and no.”
“That’s not going to work.”
“I know.”
“So I should be careful.”
“It probably would be best.”
“Probably?”
“I want a baby too much right now to answer with any sanity.”
“I could be sane for us both if you like.”
“I’m not sure I do.”
He took a small breath because he suddenly found her ambiguity tempting. When it never had been before. When he’d been scrupulously careful to leave no by-blows behind. When talk of babies in the past would have speedily sent him in the opposite direction. “Why don’t I ask you later,” he said mildly.
“Tina’s little girl is so warm and soft,” Alex went on as though he hadn’t spoken. “With the sweetest little curls.” Her voice went soft. “She has little, little dark ringlets …”
“If you want a baby with ringlets,” he whispered, kissing her temple, the pink flush of her cheek, “I could see what I could do.” Gently turning her by the shoulders, he brushed her mouth with a smiling kiss. “You just have to put in your order.”
A baby of her own—how unutterably priceless. Sam was fully capable of making good on his offer too. And she wasn’t completely sure she didn’t want him to. “What should I order?” Her voice was hushed; a small, exultant glow lit her eyes.
“Order twins—a boy and a girl and then we don’t have to decide which to have first,” he answered, confident and assured. He unclasped the pearl and amethyst brooch that secured the white collar of her gown.
“First?
” A tiny frisson quickened her senses.
“Of course.” He unhooked one of three concealed hooks under the tailored pleats that adorned the front of her green linen bodice. “Don’t you want a large family?” A second hook came free.
“I don’t know …” Her mind was racing, her pulse leaping at his touch, desire and extravagant hope running riot.
“You don’t have to. I’ll decide,” he told her, unclasping the last hook, easing open her bodice. “All you have to do is nurse our babies with these luscious breasts,” he whispered, sliding her chemise straps and gown from her shoulders. “I’ll decide when to make you pregnant.” He tugged away the silken wisp of underclothing caught on her nipples, brushed her garments down off her arms, gently cupped the fullness of her breasts. “And when our babies have drunk their fill, I’ll take a taste for myself.”
She glanced nervously out the window. “Sam … there are people on the road. We shouldn’t.”
But she was breathing hard and he’d been wanting her since he’d left London on his pilgrimage to Briana Hills. “I’ll pull down the curtains.” Quickly putting action to words, the interior was soon dimmed to a golden glow. “We’re alone, darling. No one can see us, no one knows who’s riding in my carriage.” He gently lifted her chin and smiled. “There’s no need for alarm.”
“Easy for you to say,” she replied, smiling faintly. “You’re not lusting for a baby.”
“I’ve lust enough for the baby’s mother—enough to keep you in my bed forever, and as for these”—he ran his palm over her ripe, lavish breasts—“these pretty nipples obviously want to be sucked when they’re jewel hard like this. We’ll have to do something about that.” He brushed his fingertips back and forth over the taut crests, and her concentration seemed to slip away.
Their predilection for sexual play was nicely matched, the reason perhaps he’d overcome his prejudice against drawing room visits, the driving impulse for his journey south, and he didn’t care to have the lady’s reservations get in the way. Sliding his hands under her plump breasts, he lifted them into high mounds, bent his head, and licked the tip of one nipple. “I won’t drink much,” he promised, his whisper warm on her skin. “Our babies need it more.”
“Lord, Sam—don’t … say that.”
He ignored her protest because she’d sighed in a particularly gratifying way the instant he’d touched his tongue to her nipple and languorously arched her back. It was acquiescence and consent; it was breathy longing. It also conveniently thrust her nipple into his mouth, and while he wasn’t entirely sure she hadn’t acted deliberately, he was currently undertaking to make one taut tip measurably longer.
“You’re much too tempting …” she purred some moments later, hot desire shimmering through her senses, every tantalizing compression of his mouth sending fevered ripples down to her vagina.
The lush witchery in her voice contradicted her words, and he might argue degrees of temptation with her glorious breasts pressed into his face and his willingness to have a baby indication of her extraordinary charm. But examining his unease always fell just below staking himself to the cross in any list of priorities. “Let me tempt you a little more,” he said instead, and he slowly drew her nipple taut, stretching it gently until she uttered a wild, frenzied cry.
Soul-stirring flame raced downward, and she felt herself open, unfurl; she could almost feel the mouth of her womb ready itself for conception, and rather than struggle to escape, she experienced instead an irresistible urge to mate. Squirming against a fanatical throbbing need, driven by primal longing, she grabbed his dark hair and held him captive at her breast, wanting the voluptuous sensations never to end, but more desperately wanting him deep inside her.
“Please, Sam, I can’t wait!”
But he didn’t stop sucking, ignoring her when she tried to lift him away, tightening his grip on her breasts instead. If someone had asked what was driving him, he wouldn’t have known. He never even made love in carriages—or at least not in years. There wasn’t room; he preferred comfort. As he preferred not being obsessed if he had the choice.
But lust inundated his soul and something more rare. And maybe he was fighting to save his soul. He’d do what he wanted, not she. He would decide where and when and how, as though physical command would prevail over the ravenous desire that had brought him here today, that kept him here even after talk of babies.
So he didn’t stop. In some odd way, his freedom was at stake. He licked, teased, tasted, he devoured and manipulated. He tugged on her nipples with his teeth so she had to sit up straighter, moving from one to the other, sucking them in turn gently, thoroughly, punctiliously, until she was more than running wet with desire; she was sobbing frantically for him. Then he sucked harder, so sublimely hard, she braced her hands on her thighs and pressed her breasts into the exquisite, aching agony. He seemed not to notice, and when she should take offense, she found his indifference perfidiously arousing. As though she existed only for his pleasure and she was there to be used—no more than a receptacle for his passions and lust.
Sam’s sexual faculties were, as ever, superb. He was consummately aware of Alex’s level of arousal—of his. And he was fast moving into a rash, ungovernable mode, when delay and discipline had always been his strength. But nothing made sense today, nothing about his wanting her made sense.
Maybe he’d drunk too much brandy while waiting at the villa, or perhaps the lady’s charms were too outrageous, or maybe his reckless impulse to make babies was a sign of some insanity. Whatever the cause, he was very near to mounting her, because he had this overwhelming need to be on top. When it would have been more reasonable in the confined space to have her sit on him. When if he was truly sensible, he’d run like hell.
“Sam, please, please—please!”
He covered her mouth with his hand. “Don’t,” he muttered against her breast, not wanting to hear the heated hysteria in her voice, not wanting to hear the echoing desperation in his brain.
He swore softly, shut his eyes, swore again—and then he gave in to lust, gave up any illusion of control, tumbled her back on the seat, tossed up her skirts, wrenched her drawers open, and gave her what she wanted—what he wanted, what some overriding spirit of begetting wanted.
He could barely stay on the seat, one leg on and the other braced with his foot against the door, but he met her frantic rhythm with his own pounding assault, and they pitched and rolled with the racing carriage and flung themselves at each other, delirious in their eagerness, furious, rampant, uncontrolled.
Until at the very last—when consummation was trembling on the brink—deep-seated duty clamored to be heard, the alarm finally breaching Alex’s consciousness. “No!” she gasped, shoving hard against his chest. “I don’t want a baby!”
He was already withdrawing as she spoke.
Although his deep-seated sensibilities had nothing to do with duty.
Freedom had been his spur.
While the lovers were struggling with radical notions like babies and marriage, a discussion was under way in the parlor of a small house Farris kept for unofficial meetings. He’d spoken with Collins after leaving Sam, and now the two barristers had been joined by Farida and her brother Mahmud to negotiate a settlement.
Farris had opened the conversation with a warning he’d already delivered to Collins: His client was willing to make a settlement, but only if he could be assured Farida and her brother returned to Egypt.
“Lord Ranelagh commissioned me to relay those stipulations to you,” he finished, surveying the brother and sister seated across the table from him.
“First, tell me how much he’ll pay me,” Farida replied coolly.
“I’m afraid you would have to agree to leave the country first. Without that agreement, I can’t begin negotiations.”
Mahmud opened his mouth to speak but quickly shut it again as his sister shot him a stern look.
“Very well, I agree,” she said, willing to say whatever
was necessary to get what she wanted. “What will he pay?”
“A thousand pounds.”
“Surely you jest. The man is worth millions.”
“He’s already paid you a considerable sum.”
“And well he should after what he did to me. I was an innocent when I met him, and now—” She affected an anguished look. She’d dressed today in a gown suitable to her virtuous pose, a white muslin buttoned to the neck.
“He paid your gambling debts as well,” Farris said brusquely, not taken in by her false modesty.
Squeezing out a tear, she waited until it ran down her cheek for all to see. “I was only trying to raise enough money to support my dear brother and myself after we were cast out on the world by the infamous man.”
“Considering the content of the accusations in question, perhaps the viscount would be willing to offer my client more than a thousand pounds,” Collins interposed. He, too, knew what Ranelagh was worth. Although the viscount’s disregard for scandal had to be taken into consideration as well.
“I could authorize another five hundred,” Farris said. “But that would be my limit. The lady may not wish too-close scrutiny into her life as well. I suggest you take it.”
“Surely you’re not questioning my virtue,” Farida retorted heatedly.
“I’m not, miss, but the viscount is. There’s a possibility we could publish our own account of your relationship with Lord Ranelagh.”
“But would you,” she said with a degree of composure both barristers marveled at. Neither man had any illusions about the lady’s character.
“If it were necessary.”
“Farida!” Mahmud blurted out, his agitation plain.
“Leave the room!” she ordered, her voice sharp as a knife.
The young man jumped from his chair and immediately withdrew from the parlor.
“Now then,” she said calmly as the door closed on her brother. She slowly surveyed the two lawyers. “Where were we?”
Seduction in Mind Page 17
