by Kelly Boyce
She did not have the opportunity to finish. Alexander bolted from the room, the door slamming back against the wall with little heed to the noise it created. He was halfway down the hall before Hen could even turn around. It took only seconds after that before Margaret bolted past her after him and Hen was forced to spin on her heel and take off after them both. One would have thought catching up to a seven-year-old would be an easy task, but the girl was as swift-footed as a doe and they were well into the ballroom before Hen caught her. By then, she had already witnessed her grandfather’s prone body and reacted accordingly, leaving Hen to pull her away and do her best to calm her.
As sleep ebbed away and her memories returned, so did Alexander. His jacket and cravat were long gone and something about the casualness of which he carried this off and the fact they were alone the bedchamber, filled her with awareness.
She pulled herself into a sitting position, resting her back against the pillows, careful not to disturb the sleeping kitten. Other than an ear twitch, Merlin remained deep in his peaceful slumber. How she envied him.
“How does Lord Franklyn fare?”
Alexander dropped to the edge of the bed. Exhaustion drooped his shoulders and threaded through his voice. “Better. Apparently he suffered a fever months ago that left his heart weakened.”
“Will he recover?”
Alexander sighed and fell backward, his head landing solidly in her lap. She should have been shocked, scandalized by such familiar behavior. Yet she wasn’t. Something about the quietness of the house, the privacy of the room, the two of them alone together felt so natural that she did not question it. Shock and scandal had no place here.
“I do not know. He claims he needs exercise to strengthen his heart and the doctor tells him he should spend the rest of what days he has left playing the invalid.”
Hen lifted her hand and let her fingers thread through Alexander’s hair. It was surprisingly thick and soft. He gazed up at her and a small, almost thankful smile, curled the corners of his mouth.
“And what do you think?”
“I do not think my father is happy playing the invalid. He made his best attempt but given he feels worse now than he did before, he has determined if his days are numbered he will spend them as he sees fit and not lying about like he’s already passed on.”
Alexander’s voice caught on the end of his words and her heart lurched. How clearly she remembered the moment they told her she had lost her own father. It had been several weeks after the fire before she had been well enough to receive the news and understand it. She had a recollection of his rushing back into the house after saving her, in order to get Mother and then nothing beyond that. One of the servants claimed she had run after him, but her injuries made it impossible to catch up to him. They had pulled her back out, did their best to douse the flames that ate at her flesh.
But neither her father nor her mother had been as fortunate to escape the burning structure that had once been their home. The news had come down upon her like a guillotine, cutting her off from the world she had always known and thrusting her into a new one where she was an orphan. The reality of this hit her hard and fast with no time or ability to prepare, but seeing the pain etched into Alexander’s features now, she was not sure advanced warning that the event waited on the horizon was any kind of consolation.
“I think your father has the better idea. None of us truly know how long we have, do we? We sometimes think we have all the time in the world, but we’re promised nothing in that respect. Perhaps it makes more sense to live life to the fullest while we can, so that we might not have regrets should later not be as long as we would have liked.”
Alexander turned his head to better look at her. “You’re awfully wise for one so young. How did that come about?”
She continued to thread her fingers through his hair, letting the softness glide against her skin and the need to do more pool low in her belly. “I suppose I have some experience when it comes to hiding away from life instead of living it.”
He made a grunting sound and returned to staring at the canopy above the bed. “I’ve made it my life’s work.”
“Have you?”
“Indeed. I was quite maudlin about it too. I don’t know why your brother kept coming to visit. He should have given up on me years before.”
“I believe he had every faith you would find your way back to the land of the living. I just wish he could now see past his own anger to realize the one thing he wished for is the same reason he is angry with you now, which seems a little foolish in my estimation.”
“He is protecting his little sister whom he loves more than life itself.”
“Protecting me from what? A simple kiss?”
He glanced up at her again. “Was it just a simple kiss?”
“Do you think it not?”
Alexander pushed himself up and leaned over her, one hand resting near her hip. “I think there was nothing simple about it. I believe the kiss we shared was a prelude and I think your brother understood this.”
“A prelude? To what?”
“To all the kisses that would follow.”
Heat rushed through her. “Are you telling me there are to be more kisses?”
He nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving hers.
“I see. And when might these kisses begin.”
“You have only to say the word.”
“Any word?”
“Any word at all.”
“Such as—kiss me? Would that suffice?”
His brows lifted as if contemplating her suggestion. “I believe it would, yes.”
“And yet you still have not kissed me.”
“That would be because you keep talking and I’m having difficulty hitting a moving target. I would hate to miss and land my very practiced kiss upon, say, your nose. Or your eyelid.”
A small laugh escaped her. She had never seen him behave with such an air of lightness about him, especially in the midst of such a dark night. Maybe he needed the escape. If so, she was only too happy to provide this for him. “Would it be so awful to kiss my nose or eyelid?”
“Perhaps not. Should we find out?”
“I shall leave it in your capable hands.”
“Oh, my dear,” he said, pulling himself closer so that the warmth of his breath and a hint of brandy mingled to tease her senses. “I have not yet even begun with what my hands can do.”
A thrill chased through her, stopping only long enough to create a deep ache between her legs. “You should stop talking now, my lord.”
“Alex.”
“Alex.” His name escaped on a sigh as his lips touched the tip of her nose then her eyelid as she fluttered them closed and left them that way. He moved to her cheekbone, then the edge of her jaw. His lips touched and teased and titillated and the sweet ache grew until she wished to push her hand against it for relief. Then his lips left her jaw and moved to her neck.
To her scars.
She stiffened.
“Don’t,” he whispered.
But how could she not? “They’re ugly.”
“They’re beautiful.”
She opened her eyes. “Don’t placate me. I know what they look like. I see them every day.”
“Then you do not see them as I do.”
“What way is there to see them other than as they are?”
Alex moved from the bed in one swift motion and crossed the room to where a full-length looking glass was tucked near the corner. He lit the lamp on the table nearby then returned. Dear Lord, what was he about?
He held out his hand to her in invitation. “Come.”
“Where?”
“Just come. I will show you.”
She shook her head and scooted to the edge of the bed, taking his hand and allowing him to lead her over to the mirror. The image before her was the same one she saw every day, save for her hair piled atop her head instead of draping over her shoulder. The lamplight competed with the darkness to soften
the image staring back at her, though it was Alex standing behind her, his hands upon her shoulders that captivated her attention. How handsome he was. Such a mix of intensity and masculinity, goodness and intelligence, strengthened by a thread of humor that showed itself when she least expected it. His light brown hair, stormy eyes, and chiseled features, caressed by the wavering light, took her breath away.
“You’re staring,” he said.
She blushed but didn’t look away, soaking up his image, imprinting it into her mind. “You’re very handsome.”
“And you are very beautiful. Look.” He nodded toward her image in the mirror. With reluctance, she followed his request but, again, saw nothing out of the ordinary.
“It is as it’s always been.”
“And it has always been beautiful.”
Her gaze met his and she raised a skeptical eyebrow. He returned it with a smile as his hands slipped from her shoulders and disappeared behind her back to where the small buttons lined the back of her gown. “May I?”
Her mouth hung open and her eyes widened. “Unbutton my dress?”
He smiled and she swore it was the grandest smile she’d ever seen from him. It almost overrode her shock. “Yes. Scandalous suggestion, isn’t it?”
But he didn’t appear the least repentant over it and somehow that made the idea feel perfectly normal. A clear indication she had taken all leave of her senses. She made a sound, part laugh, part choke. Alex undid one button, then another. He stopped and glanced up at her reflection in the mirror. She did not stop him. She should. Everything in her screamed that if he took one look at her fully, if he saw the breadth of the scars that no other, save for her doctor, aunt and lady’s maid had witnessed, he would be mortified. He would turn away from her for good and ruin the beauty of this moment forever. But something in her wanted to allow him to see her. Needed to. The part of her that had always held out the hope that someone would see beyond the scars. It was that hope that kept her rooted in place as Alex’s nimble fingers undid the buttons, keeping his gaze fixed on her as she held the bodice in place when the sleeves sagged down to her elbows, exposing her back.
She closed her eyes, unable to watch his reaction as he studied the mottled skin where the scars spread across part of her back in snaked tentacles where the fire had licked her skin with its evil tongue.
“Does it hurt?”
“No.” In truth, the worst of the burns had never hurt. The doctor had told her it was because the fire had reached deep enough beneath the skin to destroy the ability for her to feel the pain. Although, the doctor had failed to mention that the real pain would come later, when she faced others who were less considerate than he.
“Can you feel this?” Alex bent his head and kissed her shoulder where the worst of the burns resided.
She shook her head. “I’m not sure how to explain it. It is as if I can feel the pressure of your lips pushing down, but I cannot feel the sensation of them atop the skin.” And yet that wasn’t quite true, because just the fact that he kissed her skin at all sent a riot of sensation throughout her body in places that were nowhere near where his lips rested.
“And here?”
The pressure of his fingertips trailing down the length of her back made her knees quiver. “In some spots, I can feel your touch and in others I can only feel the pressure. The doctor said it depends on how deep the fire burned into the skin.”
“Then I am afraid I shall have to explore every inch of you so I will know which spots are which.”
She opened her eyes and caught him smiling at her with such wickedness it was a wonder her dress didn’t disintegrate beneath its potency and fall at her feet, a pile of cinder and ash. “My lord, your words are positively sinful.”
“I cannot disagree, but I must admit that seeing such beauty may, indeed, be the sweetest sin I have ever experienced.” His hands slid beneath her gown from behind and reached around to rest on her belly. “Will you let it fall away?”
“The dress?”
“The dress…your inhibitions…your good sense that what we are doing in this moment is wrong.”
“It doesn’t feel wrong.” Truer words were never spoken. Being with Alex like this, exposing herself to him, while frightening, felt perfectly natural. She could not imagine doing such with anyone else. His reaction to her, his ability to make her scars insignificant, to make her feel beautiful despite them, was the greatest gift anyone could bestow. Regardless of what came of this night, she would be forever grateful and never regret a moment of it.
Hen straightened her arms and her dress slipped downward, eased along by Alex’s hands that slid over her hips slowly sending a riot of need pulsating through her. She leaned into him and was rewarded with a swift intake of breath as her back met with a hardness that told her she was not the only one affected by what was happening between them. She smiled in response and wiggled her bottom a small bit.
Alex groaned. “For an innocent you are decidedly wicked.”
“I may be innocent but I’m not a fool. You forget, most of my dearest friends are married.”
“Do ladies talk about such things?”
She laughed lightly at the shocked expression that replaced the enraptured one he wore only seconds earlier. “You would be surprised at what proper ladies speak of when they are in the company of trusted friends.”
“Good Lord. I shudder to think.” He shook his head. “Forgive me, but I need a distraction from such thoughts.”
Alex dropped his head and kissed her unscarred shoulder. Her breath caught in her throat as his lips trailed up the curve of her neck while his hands reached for the ties of her stays. Soon, her breasts were released from its confines as one more article of clothing fell to the floor to join the others, leaving only her thin shift. Hen opened her eyes. The lamplight danced over her nearly naked body, the light and shadow revealing the outline of her curves beneath the soft linen.
She was but a hair’s breadth away from becoming fully exposed to the man whose touch set her body aflame in a way that expunged the damage the fire had left riddled upon her skin until it no longer mattered. What magic he possessed to be able to do so, to bring her to this point where the thought of letting her shift fall to her feet did not send her running from the room in horror or humiliation.
She turned in his arms and her hands cupped his face, an action that appeared to surprise him. Had no one ever touched him so? She smiled. “I believe you promised me a kiss on the lips, my lord.”
He returned her smile and his arms wrapped around her waist bringing her fully against him, his need for her evident. “I did, didn’t I? How remiss of me to not have done so. But first, I must warn you.”
“Warn me? Of what?”
“Of the consequences.”
“Ah.” Her smile grew. “And what might they be?”
“Marriage.” One eyebrow rose and his mouth twisted to one side. “To me, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, dear. Is there another alternative?”
“Not unless you wish your brother to call me out and given what an expert shot he is, I’m certain it would not end well for me.”
She winced. “I would not like to see that.”
“Then I’m afraid you must submit to becoming a future duchess.”
“Sounds positively dreadful.”
“Likely it will be. I’m told I can be quite surly.”
“Really? I find you quite pleasant. Also, you are a wonderful kisser and as I am unwilling to give up such a lovely experience as kissing you once more, I hereby agree to your terms and agree to become your wife.”
His arms tightened and the lightness that brightened his features only seconds earlier darkened with solemnity. “Will you? Truly? I’m afraid I carry much baggage with me. A daughter who, as I’m sure you’ve determined after Lady Ottley’s outburst, is not my own.”
“She is yours in every way that counts and that is all that matters.”
“Also I am not pleasant to be ar
ound a good percentage of the time.”
“I find I like you even when you are unpleasant. Now, stop attempting to dissuade me. I am determined to have my kiss and I will not let a silly thing like marriage stand in my way.”
“Very well then,” he said, lowering his head until his lips where a whisper away from hers. “But remember, I did try to warn you.”
“Shut up and kiss me, my lord.”
“Alex.”
“Shut up and kiss me, Alex.”
Chapter Sixteen
Alex would remember this moment until his dying day. The second her lips pressed against his, igniting a fire inside of him that burned through every inch of his body with such ferocity it was almost unbearable. And yet, in the same moment, so delicately beautiful he could not even put it into words. All he could do was fall into it, fall into her and allow every wall he had erected over the years crumble at her innocent expertise, at her sweetness and strength, at the promise of a future he had given up ever knowing.
He fell into this wondrous kaleidoscope of sensation and emotion with such completeness he did not recollect when he pulled her shift from her body, or his shirt from his.
When he broke their kiss, her hand touched upon the intricate design that circled his bicep, dark and twisty and too bold to ignore. “I have heard about these markings,” she said.
“You have?”
She glanced up at him and offered a sweet smile. “Rumors abound. When did you get them?”
After Edward died. He’d been so deep in his cups he barely remembered the event, only that he had been desperate to hang onto his son, to have something he could carry with him forever. But he didn’t tell her that, or speak Edward’s name. He rarely did. Speaking his son’s name aloud brought too much pain rushing to the surface, robbing him of breath. He avoided it whenever possible.
“Many years ago,” he said.
“Does it mean something specific?”
He hesitated. He did not wish to color this night with painful memories but nor did he want to lie to her. “It is a Celtic design that refers to family.” Father and son to be exact, entwined together on the branches of a strong oak that stretched across his left bicep so that when he stood straight, it was even with his heart, standing sentinel as if to protect it from further damage. “Does it displease you?”
