Instead she clung more tightly to his neck, savoring every bit of his kiss. It went on and on, a feast of sensation beyond her experience. She smelled the smoke on his breath, tasted the tart sweetness of champagne on his tongue, felt the muscles in his shoulders flex beneath her fingers as his kiss grew rougher, fiercer, faster, until her head swam and her body surged against his lean, hard frame, the way she’d always imagined it would do if Sydney ever—
Sydney! Oh, Lord!
Shoving the earl away, she broke the kiss. For a moment they merely stood staring, both panting too heavily for decorum.
Somehow she found her voice. “Thank you. That was a most enlightening… lesson. Now if you’ll excuse me—” Her heart pounding, she started to escape before she lost complete control.
But that cursed hand of his shot out once more to stay her.
She glared at him. “You must let me go in, before my mother comes looking for me.” Or worse, Sydney discovered them together.
Her commanding tone only made him smile. “Must I?”
Panic swirled in her chest. “Please?”
His smile faltered. He searched her face. “Afraid to continue the lesson, sweetheart?”
The rasped endearment gave her pause. She’d assumed this was merely some whim of his, but if he meant more by it…
No, that was absurd. The Earl of Iversley could have any woman he wanted—he didn’t need to seduce a virgin. And if he really was as wild and reckless as everyone said, he certainly wasn’t ready to settle down with a wife.
“The lesson is over,” she said firmly.
“Surely it’s a lesson that bears repeating.”
“Definitely not, Lord Iversley.”
For the first time that night, anger darkened his features. “Call me Alec, not Lord Iversley. I don’t want you thinking of me as anything but Alec.” He tugged her closer. “Who’s already eager to repeat your lesson on kissing.”
“No, we can’t.” Shaking her head, she struggled against his hold. “I have to go… Alec. Please.”
Something dangerous flickered in his eyes. Then it vanished, replaced by a smooth smile she didn’t entirely trust. “All right. For now.” He dropped her arm. “But I warn you—this isn’t the last you’ve seen of me.”
“It has to be,” she protested. “Fm marrying Sydney.”
“Are you?”
The words hung in the air, their very existence questioning all her plans for her future. “I am. So I suggest that you leave me alone from now on.”
As she turned and fled into the ballroom, she heard him murmur in that husky rasp of his, “There’s little chance of that, sweet Katherine.”
Chapter Four
A woman is like a locked box. If you break
in, you risk destroying her. The wise fellow
finds the key.
—Anonymous, A Rake’s Rhetorick
Buoyed by his triumph, Alec watched her march off, her shimmering silk gown highlighting every wiggle of her tight little behind. The sight made his blood pound in his temples.
Now he not only wanted to wed her, but to bed her. As soon as possible.
He wanted to taste her again, to explore that mass of fiery hair with his hands. To lay her down and strip her bare. Find out if her flesh was as milky and flawless beneath her exotic gown as the creamy skin of her neck and the upper swells of her breasts. Or if the impish freckles scattered over her pert nose showed up on the slender belly or the undoubtedly long legs—
Careful, man, remember the rules—don’t let your urges run away with you. You’ll have her soon enough.
Oh, yes, he’d have her. Katherine didn’t realize it, but she’d handed him the secret to capturing her. Beneath her propriety and uncommon good sense lay a wild passion barely held in check by Lovelace’s admonitions and her upbringing.
He understood too well how it was to yearn for freedom from a choking tether. Unlike Lovelace, he was willing to release her from it, to run free with her when they were alone, and that would be her undoing. Alec had trained enough horses to know you couldn’t keep a wild mare tethered for long. Katherine needed to kick up her heels, and he’d be the one to release her into the pasture.
But it would be his pasture, only his.
Smiling smugly, he returned to the ballroom. Perhaps he would ask her to dance. That would keep the pressure on.
Feeling someone come up beside him, Alec turned to find Gavin Byrne cradling a glass of champagne and surveying the milling crowd. Alec lifted an eyebrow at his half brother. “Checking up on me?”
“I’m making sure Eleanor invited our little heiress as promised.”
“Lady Jenner has been very helpful.” More helpful than he liked, actually.
Byrne chuckled. “Made advances, did she?” When Alec looked surprised, Byrne added, “I have no illusions about my present mistress. She has a lusty appetite, and I don’t mind if she indulges it. I’m certainly not faithful to her.”
“I suppose that shouldn’t surprise me,” Alec said tightly.
Byrne laughed. “Your life abroad wasn’t as wild and reckless as people say, was it?”
Alec slanted him a glance. “Why do you think that?”
“I looked into it.” Byrne swirled the champagne in his glass. “I discovered that my little brother is more interesting than I knew. Why didn’t you tell us you were the Alexander Black who can stand atop a cantering horse and shoot a hole through a plum at a hundred paces?”
With a snort, Alec jerked his gaze away. “More like a cantaloupe. The thing shrinks with every retelling. Soon they’ll have me shooting at a mustard seed.”
“It’s still impressive.”
“A trick, nothing more.”
“Yes, but not a usual skill for a lord. Something you learned abroad?”
“You could say that.” After Alec’s uncle had seen him perfecting a riding maneuver Alec had learned from local gypsies, he’d ordered Alec to perform regularly for all his friends. Alec had readily agreed, preferring the riding to his other chores.
Until the day at nineteen when he’d learned what his uncle had told his friends—that Alec was “a gypsy’s bastard,” which accounted for his skill with horses and his banishment to Portugal. Of all the lies his uncle could have told, how ironic he should choose one so painfully close to the truth.
Alec had left his uncle’s house that day, and Alec’s “father” had cut off his allowance to force him back into the cage he’d so carefully selected. But by then Alec had grown tired of cages.
“How do you know about my riding abilities, anyway?” Alec asked.
“I spoke to the proprietor of Stephens Hotel. He says you saved his life when he was a cavalry trooper. Says he would never have escaped a Frenchman’s saber if you hadn’t taught him how to ride ‘fancy,’ as he put it.”
“He exaggerates.”
“I doubt it, or he wouldn’t have given you free lodging. Besides, I’d already heard of the daring Alexander Black. You’re a legend in horse circles.”
“You’re not in horse circles.”
“Who do you think funds the bets on the Derby?” Byrne quaffed some champagne. “Is it true Wellesley hired you to teach the English cavalry after he saw you train the Portuguese recruits?”
Alec shrugged. “I enjoyed the work, and I had to fend for myself.”
“You could have traded on your status as a lord.”
“You mean, used my title to get credit? Or to gain invitations to the chateaus of people like my father? No, thank you. I much preferred working with horses. And it paid well enough to support me.”
Byrne ran his gaze over Alec. “But not well enough for fine clothes like you’re wearing now, I’ll wager.”
A grim smile crossed his face. “You’d be amazed how easily an earl can gain credit at the best tailors when no one knows he’s broke.”
“I thought you didn’t want to add to your debt.”
“I can’t woo an heiress in rags, can I?”
/>
“True.” Byrne glanced away. “Send your tailor’s bills to me.”
Alec stiffened. “I told you I didn’t want your money.”
“I can wait for repayment until you marry. If you don’t take too long.”
A shiver ran down Alec’s spine. He’d rather be in debt to a tailor than his Machiavellian half brother. On the other hand, he didn’t need more strangers dunning him. “Very well,” he bit out, “I accept your generous offer.”
Byrne laughed. “You really hate this, don’t you?”
“Begging? Taking charity? I loathe it.”
But he also hated that Edenmore’s tenants lived in cottages with leaking roofs and broken windows because his “father” had fallen behind on the upkeep. And that the stables, which once held the finest bloodstock in England, now contained two old jades and a cart horse. And even that the woods on the south end had been so plundered by poachers that a lonely but enterprising boy could no longer catch a rabbit with—
No, he mustn’t get sentimental. That was where Mother had gone wrong, yearning for an affection her husband couldn’t give her, which had made her ripe for the prince’s plucking. Alec wouldn’t be so foolish. He understood the rules as his mother had not, and he would play by them for now. But when he got his estate in order, by God, he would tell society to go to hell.
“This is no more than I deserve for turning my back on my duty for so long,” he added. “Which reminds me, why didn’t you tell me Miss Merivale is ‘nearly engaged’?”
Byrne snorted. “It was hardly worth mentioning. Society has awaited the announcement of their betrothal for years—the man can’t be seriously interested.”
“You might be right.” Alec’s gaze swung to Katherine. She must have patched things up with her poet suitor, because they were now chatting amiably with Mrs. Merivale. “He doesn’t seem to want her badly enough to settle matters, and I gather he doesn’t need her money.”
“Hardly. He’s worth at least twenty thousand a year. Though I doubt any man would object to being handed a hundred thousand pounds outright.”
Alec’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure it’s so much? Miss Merivale doesn’t act like an heiress, and Lady Jenner said the squire left them only a small estate.”
“Not even Eleanor knows that Miss Merivale will inherit a fortune from her grandfather upon her marriage.”
“You’d think Mrs. Merivale would shout that from the rooftops.”
“She’s pinning her hopes on Lovelace. Why solicit fortune hunters when she has a rich prospect already in hand?”
Alec scowled. “So the mother is partial to Lovelace.”
“Only if he comes up to snuff. Believe me, she’ll welcome any presentable gentleman. Though I believe she’d prefer a wealthy one who won’t need her daughter’s fortune for much beyond paying the late squire’s debts.”
“Especially the debt owed to you.”
Byrne shrugged. “It’s not my fault Merivale couldn’t gamble worth a damn. Or that he died before he could tap his daughter’s expected fortune to repay me.”
“And since Lovelace is taking his sweet time proposing, you thought to hedge your bets by bringing me in.”
A small smile touched Byrne’s lips. “It can’t hurt to have two of you on the field. Even if you don’t win her, you might prod Sir Sydney into offering. The result is the same for me—Miss Merivale gets her fortune, her grasping mother pays off the five thousand owed to me, and everybody is happy.”
“In other words,” Alec bit out, “you don’t much care if I’m the one to win her, as long as you get your money.”
Byrne casually flicked a cherry blossom off his coat. “If you don’t like the competition, say the word. I’ll find you another heiress.”
“No,” Alec said, surprising himself with the swiftness of his response. “No, I want this one. But I don’t like being manipulated. You intended all along to play Lovelace and me against each other, you devious bastard.”
“Devious? I’m not the one marrying for money or hiding that fact from the lovely Miss Merivale, am I?”
Alec glared at him. “Why tell her now and ruin everything?”
“Because she’ll find out eventually. And when she discovers she’s been tricked into giving up her beloved poet for a penniless earl whose estate lies in a shambles, there will be hell to pay.”
“Not if I can help it,” Alec snapped. “She’ll have no cause to complain about our marriage, fortune or no.” He could certainly do better by her than the old earl had by Alec’s mother. “I know how to keep a woman happy.”
“Thanks to all that debauchery you engaged in abroad.”
Alec ignored Byrne’s sarcasm. “Granted, military camps provide few opportunities for that, but I’ve had my share of women.” The occasional camp follower, a bored officer’s wife, and, briefly, a Portuguese mistress.
“Do you intend to tell Miss Merivale what you were really doing abroad?”
“And explain why an earl’s heir found it necessary to fend for himself? I don’t think so. She’ll have to accept me on my own merits.”
“That’s asking a lot.” Byrne cast him a taunting glance. “Especially when you have Lovelace, the consummate gentleman, to compete against. And if she’s in love with him—”
“She’s not.” Or she would never have kissed me with such enthusiasm. “Scoff at my chances, but you’ll see—I’ll steal the filly from Lovelace before he even knows what happened. I’ll loop the halter about her pretty neck so loosely she won’t realize she’s caught until she’s stepping blithely through her paces.” Alec scanned the room. “Now excuse me, but I must find someone to introduce me formally to my future wife.”
Time to follow the rules—at least until he could get her alone again.
Katherine ought to be relieved. Sydney had forgiven her “outburst,” as he called it, and had easily fallen back into the way things were.
A pity she couldn’t do the same. But her thoughts kept straying to Lord Iversley’s kiss, so surprisingly tender, then hot, then—
Oh, why couldn’t she forget it? It was an interesting experience, that’s all. She’d had her taste of passion, and it was enough. It had to be; she was marrying Sydney.
“Shall we visit the card room, my dear?” Sydney asked, offering her his arm like the perfect gentleman that he was.
Nothing like a certain earl who backed her against a marble rail and took liberties with his mouth and his hands and his—
Curse him. “Yes, that would be lovely.”
“No, indeed,” Mama interrupted. “It’s kind of you, Sir Sydney, to show Katherine so much attention, but you must allow her to converse with her other admirers. It’s not as if you two are betrothed, you know.”
When Sydney winced, Katherine wanted to sink through the floor. Mama was about as subtle as a sledgehammer. “You know very well, Mama, that I have no other admirers.”
“Nonsense,” Mama persisted. “That nice Mr. Jackson asked about you earlier. And I’m told that the new Earl of Iversley was watching you, though I’m not sure which man he is. Do point him out, so I can get you introduced—”
“Mama!” Katherine protested, as Sydney flushed a dull red. “I have no desire to meet Lord Iversley. You know what they say about him.”
“I know that Lady Jenner claims his income is—”
“Sydney,” Katherine broke in, “would you be a dear and fetch me some punch? All this dancing has me parched.”
Flicking his gaze between her and her mother, he released her arm and gave a gentlemanly bow. “I’ll be happy to fetch whatever you wish.” Then to her shock, he seized her hand and brushed a kiss to it. When he straightened, his smile was tremulous. “I’ll count the minutes while we’re apart.”
As he hurried off to the refreshments room, Katherine gaped at him. Had Sydney actually kissed her hand? Was he finally realizing how he’d neglected her?
“Very nicely done.” Mama’s gaze followed the baronet as he di
sappeared beneath an arched doorway festooned with an entire tree’s worth of cherry blossoms. “Shall I assume that Sir Sydney has finally—”
“Don’t assume anything, Mama. Sydney isn’t… quite ready to discuss marriage.” She added brightly, “But as soon as his mother feels better—”
“His mother, bah! Time for you to relinquish your fancy for Sir Sydney and look elsewhere. You’re too old to waste any more years waiting around for him.”
“Yes, any minute now I shall fall off my rocking chair and break a hip. And then where will I be?”
Mama frowned at her. “You’d best watch that clever tongue of yours, missy. Men don’t like impudent women, as my father should have told you when he was filling your head with all his nonsense about books and numbers.”
Katherine tipped up her chin. “Some men like a clever woman.” Lord Iversley seemed to, anyway. Not that his opinion mattered in the least.
“You mean Sir Sydney, I suppose. But he hasn’t offered for you, has he? So give some other man a chance. If you can’t bring Sir Sydney to the point, he won’t serve your purposes.”
Katherine set her shoulders. “You mean your purposes.”
Mama shrugged. “Yours. Mine. The family’s. Same thing.” She dropped her voice to the supplicating purr that had never worked on Papa, but still roused Katherine’s guilt. “I only want what’s best for all of us, dearest. Your brother simply must go to Eton, and your sisters must be able to spend every season here in town until they marry—”
“I never did,” Katherine pointed out.
“Because you have Sydney. And we had no money for more than one season.”
True. And Papa had never wanted his wife and daughter to be in town while he was behaving like a bachelor.
Not that she’d minded all that much. Her quiet life in Cornwall was good enough for her… really, it was. And whenever she tired of supervising her sisters and remaking her gowns to save funds, she had Sydney to discuss poetry with. When he wasn’t dancing attendance on his mother, that is.
In the Prince's Bed Page 4
