by Lara Temple
You can’t be in love with someone else. You have to love me.
Everything from the moment she had come to his study weeks ago came back to him, like beads finally strung together. He should have seen this. How could he have not realised? He must have realised, somewhere along the way. Because he wasn’t surprised. Just in agony. He should have left long ago. He should have guessed there was more behind the fact she had never married. Beneath the vulnerability and the pain he had preyed on for his own purposes.
‘What happened?’ he forced himself to ask.
She shrugged, not looking up.
‘Nothing. He didn’t want me.’
The pain hit again and he waited for it to peak and subside. He wanted to tell her she would get over it and forget it, as he had with Rowena, but he said nothing. Because it was obvious that she had not forgotten it. The pain was still there and the loss. Emotions that had nothing to do with his blind, childish fixation on Rowena. He could feel them and for the first time he really knew what they meant and he didn’t know if he could bear it. He reached out to the anchor of violent fury he felt against this man she wanted. He wanted to hurt him. Annihilate him. He would erase him. He strode forward and took her hands, drawing her to her feet.
‘He’s a fool.’
Her lips parted, but he didn’t give her a chance to respond. He raised her face and kissed her with a desperation he could do nothing to mask, pulling her against him, wishing he could strip her bare, strip the universe bare of anything that separated her from him. She didn’t pull away and her body shuddered against his with a tremor that shot through him like a galvanic force, tightening his body unbearably. He wanted to clear her mind of everything but him and what he was doing to her. He wanted her naked, crying out his name as she climaxed. He wanted to be buried in her so deeply he would never come out.
He bent to find that spot just below her ear that had made her cry out before. She did not disappoint him, whimpering as his mouth abraded the soft skin, her hands fisting on his coat, and he was swamped by a surge of both triumph and torture. He could make her desire him. But he wanted more. Infinitely more. He couldn’t stand the thought she might be thinking of someone else.
He kissed her, carefully, softly, the atavistic urge held back by a strange fear. Her hands released his coat, moved gently against his chest, mirroring the soft brush of his lips over hers, and he gave in, sliding his hands into her hair, deepening the kiss, and she moaned against his mouth, sinking against him once more, her hands pulling him to her. He felt her body shaking against him and the strange tentative fear was swamped by heat and triumph and resolve—he would show her what pleasure was; he would erase any thoughts she had of anyone but him.
‘Say my name,’ he demanded hoarsely.
Her eyes drifted open, already dreamy and lost. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out and he traced his fingers over the damp, flushed curve of her lower lip before bending to brush his mouth over it, coaxing, teasing.
‘Say my name.’
‘Adam…’ It was barely audible, a slide of air on air, but it burned through him and he moved away slightly. She reached up, her hands around his neck, pulling his head back to hers.
‘Adam.’ This time his name was lost against his mouth as he kissed her fervently again and her lips parted without protest, slanting under his to give him full access. He bit gently into her lower lip, running his tongue lightly across it, and she moaned.
He slid his hands over her back, her hips, pressing her back until they both came up against the desk. He raised her so she was seated on the wooden surface and he moved between her legs and he felt himself hot and hard against the juncture of her thighs. Her body jerked slightly as if in surprise and then melted, her hands pulling herself against him so that her breasts were pressed to his chest. Adam’s knees buckled for a moment under the intensity of his body’s response to that sign of her need.
‘Alyssa…’
Her eyes opened again, but there was nothing dreamy in them now; they were hot with emerald fire that fed the stretching, demanding urgency that ran like a vortex through his body.
‘My wild girl,’ he whispered, his hands threading through her hair, loosening it from ribbons and pins until it spilled over them, a warm, honeyed waterfall that gleamed even in the dim light. He drew one silky lock down over the soft skin above the bodice of her plain muslin dress, over the beautiful breasts he was aching to uncover. Her legs clamped against him, as if trying to draw him closer or reject him, but he ignored her and slid the dress from one shoulder, following its descent with his mouth.
‘Adam…’ she whispered, her head arching back in unconscious surrender and he obliged, sliding the fabric slowly over her breast. She shivered as he bared her, her hands tightening almost painfully on his arms as he touched his mouth to the soft swell. He kissed her breast slowly, just skimming the heated, tightening flesh. He could feel her breaths, short and hard, beneath his lips and her hands moved against him almost jerkily, grasping his shirt, dragging it up until her fingers found his skin as if she needed to attach herself to him directly. Her touch spread over his sides to his back, and as she moved, his blood rushed to follow the torturing path of her hands until it was unbearable.
He pulled up her skirts enough to slide his hand over her thigh, under her backside, raising her against him, a cry of protest and desperation gathering deep in his throat at the unbearable silkiness of her skin and the undeniable heat that met his erection even through their clothing. He hadn’t realised how hard he was until he felt himself against her. He was prepared for her to pull away, but she just tightened her legs against him, as if to anchor him there.
‘Adam, please,’ she gasped, her eyes locking on his, translucent and demanding. Her mouth was open and moist and her brows contracted as if in pain. But the maddening, burning, wonderful movement of her hips against him spoke of another suffering.
‘Adam, please,’ she repeated hoarsely, her hands skimming down his chest to his waist, burning him. He knew what he had to do, what he wanted to see… He bent his head to kiss her neck as he moved his hand between them. His body bucked as his fingers slid down to the moist fire below and he almost exploded there just from touching her. Her body shuddered at his touch, but the shudder turned into an almost animal cry as his fingers brushed that small, essential inch of skin. He stroked her there again and again while his other hand traced a line from her throat to her shoulder, pulling down more of the bodice of her dress to reveal both breasts, trailing his fingers lightly over the warm, pliant skin. Her flesh tightened under his touch and a moan deep in her throat sent thunder through his veins. He bent to brush his lips across her breast again, coaxing her with his fingers, his senses filling with her. He could feel her whimpers echoing through her body wherever he touched her. He drew back slightly and saw disbelief, wonder and an incredible need in her unveiled eyes.
He had never seen anything even close to that look on her face and he wanted it. He needed it. Her eyes closed again as he increased the pressure of his fingers, then relieved it to brush her just lightly. He was shaking with the effort to hold back, but he wouldn’t stop now. He wanted more from her.
‘Look at me,’ he bit out, his voice a tight growl. He withdrew his hand slightly and her eyes flew open at the sudden loss of contact.
‘Look at me,’ he commanded as he returned his hand, stroking her once, lightly. He wanted her looking at him as she climaxed, he wanted to see the need, the pleasure in her incredible eyes. He wanted his face burned in her mind when she came.
Her eyes locked with his, the blood rushing to her cheeks as she half-realised how far she had gone, but his hand was there again, the other moving to the breast his mouth had abandoned. She gave in fully, her eyes on him, squirming against his hand, trying to increase the pressure. His rhythm controlled her breathing now and she followed, shaking with
each touch, her eyes drowning in his blackened gaze.
‘My name,’ he rasped. ‘Say my name.’
‘Adam…’ she complied and her head arched back, her eyes closing, her hands tightening on him as she came.
Adam didn’t move, torturing himself with the last of her shudders. At that last moment before she had closed her eyes he had seen the wonder there, the sudden incredible joy. And he cursed himself for wanting to see that. His whole body was so tense he didn’t think he could move away if someone shoved a pistol into his back now. He wanted to take her. His body told him there was no stopping now. She wanted this. He could take her, make her unequivocally his. There would be no going back from it. He would take away her choice to refuse their marriage.
The implacable brutality of that final thought cut through the blaze of desire. He wanted this more than he could remember wanting anything, but he knew he could not force her hand. She already thought him thoroughly ruthless and manipulative. To take advantage of her like this would only confirm it. And she would be right. He could not do that, no matter how desperate he was to keep her. He wanted more from her and that meant he had to demand more from himself.
But he had marked her. He had seen her as no one had ever seen her. And in his present state he thought he might kill before he let anyone else witness that. The primitive possessiveness of this thought shocked him back into some sanity and for the first time he felt the cold air against his skin. He forced himself to draw down her skirts. Her eyes flickered open, meeting his with a languid, faraway look that seared through him. He was about to throw caution to the wind when her expression changed to consternation. In one lithe movement she slipped off the desk, turning her back to him as she arranged her dress.
He watched her back, his body tense and singing with the need to turn her around, take her back to that peak of pleasure and join her there. He had no idea what to say. Should he apologise? Words would hardly answer here. Yet he did not know what else to do.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said and saw her stiffen. ‘I should never have taken advantage—’ He stopped abruptly. There was nothing he could say that would explain or justify it. ‘I have to go now. Pack and we will discuss tomorrow if and where you should go. Please stay indoors.’
He didn’t wait for her to respond. He needed to leave before what was left of his resolve melted completely.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Alyssa pulled the blanket more closely about her, wondering if she had the strength to set a taper to the wood stacked in the fireplace. She was not sure if the weather had really turned, or whether this was just the numb cold of confusion. Since it was punctuated by burning heat when the memories of that afternoon intruded, as they often did, she thought it must be just a symptom of her internal chaos and not a sign the unseasonably warm summer weather was abating.
She could hardly believe she had acted as she had, with such total abandon. She had practically begged to be touched. She’d had no idea it could feel like that, that her body was capable of such pleasure. It seemed incredible that such capacity for joy had been dormant in her all this time, waiting for release. She felt larger, more present in the world. And she knew that no matter what happened with Adam going forward she would not be able to put the genie back in the bottle. It was only terrible that after such a cataclysmic upheaval in her little world, he had dared to apologise. She felt again the blaze of fury she had experienced at his words, a blaze that had contrarily held her silent, too shocked and ashamed even to speak. She wished she had…
It occurred to her suddenly that though Adam had apologised, perhaps he had known precisely what he was doing. He had played her skilfully. She might be innocent, but she was not a fool. He had taken it into his mind that the only way to proceed was as he had initially suggested. To turn this sham engagement into a marriage of convenience. And he had taken her as far down that path as his honour had permitted him.
And it was her fault. She had put the final card into his hand with her foolish admission about having been in love and rejected, adding the potent ingredient of pity into his considerations of duty, responsibility, propriety and convenience. And lust. She had no doubt he wanted to bed her. She had seen the blazing desire in his eyes as he had turned to leave and it had been a kind of mercy, but if she was brutally honest with herself she would have to face that she was not unique in this sense. Just so, he had probably wanted to bed his string of mistresses and Venetian countesses. As much as she might want to, she would not delude herself that the passion he’d bestowed on her was as extraordinary for him as for her. But until he had pitied her he had never crossed the line of true seduction as he had that afternoon. And even then he had drawn back, though she would never have stopped him. Her whole body flushed with shame and remembered pleasure. She’d had no idea it could feel so good, so right…
She knew it might take more strength than she had to oppose his will if he really wanted to go ahead with this marriage. Or perhaps she was already there. She tightened her hold on the blanket. At the moment the thought of sharing his life with his other…interests seemed more than bearable. And perhaps, if she really set her mind to it, could she make him care for her?
After all, she was smart and she understood him. She was not blinded by the rakish charm. What drew her to him was what lay beyond it, the struggle between his strength and vulnerability, the irreverent humour and the need to be taken at face value. She straightened slightly. Whatever he might think, she was better equipped to give him what he needed than anyone she could think of, selfish countesses included. And she already knew he could give her what she needed, if only he was really willing…
She started in alarm as the door out to the garden swung open. For a moment she thought it was just the wind. It was already getting dark and all she could see was the shaded lines of hedge and trees. She moved towards the door, reaching out to secure it.
‘Please don’t call out, Miss Drake. It would force my hand and I would prefer not to shoot you.’
Alyssa froze, staring at the thin figure that had moved into the doorway, and the pistol that was aimed at her unwaveringly.
‘Consider,’ Libbet continued in the same low, calm voice as he stepped into the study, forcing her to move back. ‘If you were to cry out, that little maid of yours might come running and I shall be forced to hurt her, which is not at all what I would like. Your father, on the other hand, would probably not come, would he? Or if he did, I would hardly suffer the same qualms. A very unsatisfactory parent, by all accounts. Not at all what a father should be.’
Alyssa listened, her mind racing as she tried to rearrange her thoughts.
‘What do you want, Libbet?’ she asked as calmly as possible.
‘Your company, Miss Drake. Unfortunately you hold the only other piece in this puzzle and so I am afraid you must come with me. I am willing to pay you the courtesy of a chance to say your goodbyes to Lord Delacort. This is because you are a kind person and you have simply been caught in a situation not of your making. I am asking you, please come with me and don’t make a fuss.’
Out of everything he said, she reacted to the only thing that mattered.
‘Where is Lord Delacort? What have you done with him?’
He considered her.
‘He is safe, for the moment,’ he replied slowly. ‘Do you want to see him or not?’
‘Where is he?’
‘Come with me and I will show you.’
‘Is he hurt? Have you hurt him?’
‘Not yet. Will you come or must I end this here?’
Alyssa could feel her nails digging into her palms. She had never felt such fury, but she knew she could not afford to indulge it. This madman had Adam and therefore he had her.
‘Let us go.’
He nodded and indicated the door to the garden.
‘Your usual mode
of egress, if you don’t mind.’
She stepped out into the garden, her mind slowly sliding the pieces into place, rearranging everything that had happened since Adam’s return in light of this one shocking fact. She knew now that this quiet man had been spying on them all these weeks, watching Adam and her. Knowing everything about them, plotting…
She looked back at him over her shoulder. She had to keep him talking. Perhaps she could discover something, some leverage.
‘You are Percy’s father,’ she said wildly and the blue eyes softened for a moment.
‘I could tell you realised…the way you looked at me this morning at Milsom’s.’
‘You’re wrong. I didn’t…not until…I was just thinking how terrible it must be for you to have to be uprooted like that, without any say in the matter. That Percy never considered asking you if you even wanted to go with him. That’s all. It never occurred to me that…’
Libbet cocked his head to one side, considering her.
‘Of course I would go with him. He is my son.’
‘Does he know?’
‘Of course not. When she was dying Edith made me promise never to tell him. She knew if Somerton ever found out, he’d make the boy’s life a living hell. My Edith was a beautiful angel, she never could stand up to that old brute. I never had a thought above my station until she walked into the house that first day, the loveliest thing I had ever seen. And the most miserable. I never meant for it to happen, but I could not help myself, nor could she. I swore to her I would take care of our son and make him a fine man for all to admire. And I have. I will see him in his rightful place.’
The simplicity of that statement clicked the last pieces of the puzzle into place.
‘Timothy. And Ivor.’
He nodded, directing her down a path she knew led only to the old dower house which now stood empty. Now that they were so close, her fear began to overcome her need to understand. She just wanted to find Adam and find him alive. And she wanted this quiet, gentle man dead with a certainty she couldn’t even begin to comprehend but which muted her fear.
