by Gaelen Foley
They had made love less than an hour ago, but she was happy to give herself again if that was what it took to make him see that he was safe in her arms. He would not be used or exploited; he would not be abandoned or betrayed. If he needed her surrender in order to feel like a man again after the shattering blow to his pride of having to sell himself as a rich woman’s plaything, then she would yield gladly and give Alec full control.
He took it hungrily, savoring her body’s welcome with a lusty look of intoxication, but a moment later he rolled her onto her back across the bed and simply took her. Took what he wanted. No love play, no teasing games. He was hot and hard between her legs, urgent and commanding, with quick, deep thrusts.
His bare chest crashed against her with every stroke; his harsh breathing rasped at her ear. Becky winced with slight discomfort at his primal roughness but did not dream of stopping him. It was bliss to give herself this way: body and mind, completely, heart and soul. Her hands glided up and down his smooth, rippling sides in unwavering assurance; she opened herself to his plundering without regret.
She was fascinated by the way he ravished her now, the deepest, truest Alec revealed beneath his glittering charm and many masks—a man starved for love. Oh, yes, she had begun to understand how his mysterious mind worked.
He needed this.
She wrapped her legs around him. Rising up onto his hands over her, his hips pumped fiercely as he took his pleasure of her. With a ragged murmur, he asked if she wanted to come again. She shook her head, breathless. This is all for you.
He lowered his lashes and accepted the gift.
After a time, he gripped her harder, holding her under him just the way he wanted her. He clutched her breast in his hand. “Oh, God, Becky!” he gasped harshly, then went rigid in her arms, seizing his climax with thunderous force. His groan was long and strange and faded to a whisper.
There was no sound, then, but his panting as he lay heavily atop her.
She stroked his back and cradled his head in the crook of her neck. “I love you,” she whispered.
“Even now?” he asked in a husky murmur.
“Always.”
He pressed up onto his elbows and lowered his head, kissing her with rich, drowning depth, his body still sheathed in hers. Ending his wholly possessive kiss, he withdrew from inside her and moved lower, laying his head on her chest with a shaky exhalation.
“I don’t understand,” he said.
“You will.”
Becky savored him, petting him and wishing she could shield him from the world with her love.
“You really are a very gentle girl.”
She smiled softly at his pensive murmur but said nothing.
Alec splayed his hand across her belly, staring thoughtfully at it. After a moment, he lifted his head and looked into her eyes. “Are you still going to marry me?”
“Do you still want me?”
His eyebrows rose in surprise as he sat up and stared at her. “Want you? Good God, Becky, you’re the only woman I’ve ever met who could keep me in line.”
She gave him a wry smile, but her eyes beamed with joy at his answer. “You’re not so difficult. A challenge, but . . . worth it.”
He flashed one of his brilliant, rakish smiles and scooped her onto his lap.
Becky wrapped her arms around his neck and gazed, smiling, into his eyes. “Of course I still want to marry you. You’re the only man who could ever make me truly happy.”
“Me?” he whispered, staring at her with the fragile bud of true, deep trust only now beginning to unfurl in the depths of his eyes.
She trailed her fingertips down his cheek. “Yes, my darling. You.”
He pressed a soft kiss to her lips.
“No more secrets between us, Alec. Promise me that,” she pleaded, pulling back a small space. “I know if you give me your word, you’ll never break it.”
“My darling wife, I could refuse you nothing.”
She smiled, blushing at his tender endearment. Of course it was not official yet, not until they said their vows, but it was only a matter of time.
“You have my word,” he whispered as he gifted her with another kiss. “No more secrets between us, ever.”
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
Reborn.
Alec awoke the next morning filled with new fire to protect Becky and restore her to her home.
He left the house early before she awoke to scout out the situation with Westland in anticipation of the next phase of their mission—revealing Kurkov’s crimes to the authorities.
Before they had gone to sleep last night, he had filled her in about her cousin putting the Hall up for the whist drive and how he had gotten into the contest himself, staking his rooms at the Althorpe on the game. She had been moved by his willingness to sacrifice his home to try to win back hers, but after last night, God’s truth, it was the least he could do. They were in this now together, all the way.
As he drove through Brighton in his hired phaeton, he couldn’t get her face out of his mind. Not that he wished to. The sweetness of her violet eyes gazing at him as he had taken her by storm.
She said she loves me.
His brain could not stop marveling on it. Lovers had said those three sweetly treacherous words to him in the past, in their effort to own him, but he had believed none of them.
He believed Becky.
No one had ever been so abundantly kind to him. So patient with him. Accepted him so completely. No one had ever believed so much in his essential worth, least of all himself.
He had crossed a line with her last night that he had never ventured past before, a place beyond which there could be no turning back. He had gone willingly, drawn past the fear; she had lured him out of his dark familiar world into this strange new country, and it was like awakening in another world.
It all looked the same, streets and houses, sky and trees, but the strong gold light of dawn struck every surface at a new angle, bringing everything into sharp focus. The earth seemed newly cleaned as after a hard rain, and there was a smell of true freedom in the air.
Though in one sense he was in a state of blissful bewilderment, he felt better equipped than ever before to deal with whatever came his way. He had only set out last night to tell her the truth because he owed her that, she deserved it; he had not expected fair Becky to deal the demons of his old self-doubt a deathblow. But apparently she had.
He had long wanted to change, but for the first time in ages, he felt as if the power to do so was in his hands. At last, his destiny was his own to control: No longer was he subject to the bidding of Robert or the rest of his elder brothers, not Lady Luck nor Lady Campion, nor even his own compulsions. The reins were in his hands now.
Somehow Becky had given him back to himself.
He wondered what she thought today of his inability to repeat those three dangerous words back to her. The last thing he wanted was to hurt her. He had been afraid as he sat there faltering last night that she would get angry at him, but instead, she had smiled tenderly.
He did not know why those words were so difficult for him, but his voice locked down in their presence, as though he alone knew that they comprised some black magic spell that, if uttered, would summon Mephistopheles.
Mephistopheles apparently didn’t scare Becky Ward. Alec was beginning to wonder if anything did. How she surprised him over and over again with her strength.
For a few minutes this morning, in wonder and reverence, he had watched her while she slept, trying to comprehend what made her so beautiful, what made her so brave. He had seen in her eyes the pain that his confession had caused her, and he had watched her triumph over it. Courageous, dauntless female. She inspired him.
Could it be love, in fact, this fierce, tangled burning in his chest? But he had always believed the poets when they said love was all sweet breezes and gentle brooks. Deadly dull, he had always thought it sounded.
What he felt for Becky was more l
ike a firestorm inside him, a primal certainty that he would burn down the world if it threatened her. This “love” of which the poets sang bore little resemblance to the violent ardor that he felt for her.
In any case, he recalled again her urging him to forgive himself for the error of his ways, and though the idea intrigued him, it was a damned lot easier said than done. Perhaps when he had accomplished what he had set out to do and put the deed to Talbot Old Hall in her hands, and was satisfied that she was permanently safe, maybe then he could do as she asked.
Maybe then he would deserve it.
By the time he returned to the villa from his morning’s reconnaissance for the noon meeting with his friends, his mood had darkened after what he had seen: Cossacks, still posted discreetly outside the Westland town house.
He was glad he had kept a distance, for Kurkov was still apparently monitoring all comings and goings from the duke’s home. Though out of uniform, Kurkov’s men had stood out to Alec’s practiced eye.
Large, rough, non-British-looking men loitering here and there, trying to look inconspicuous, might have been able to blend in back in London, but Brighton was less crowded and more refined. The Cossacks were watching the house from all four corners, but when the duke’s carriage pulled away, two of them had followed in a plain covered carriage, while the others held their posts.
Such dogged persistence sent a chill down Alec’s spine. He supposed Kurkov was going out of his mind, knowing Becky was still at large, still possessed of information that could nail his coffin shut. If the prince was going to those lengths, then it was entirely possible he had also bribed a servant within the Westland household to spy for him, Alec mused. Such practices were easy enough to arrange. He recalled an incident a few years ago at Knight House when an underbutler had been dismissed for tampering with Robert’s mail. The chap had been reading letters from the duke’s political associates among the Whigs and reporting his findings to unnamed persons in the Tory party. Once the insolent cur had gotten the science down of using steam to pry off the wax seals, he even helped himself to reading a few love letters written to their sister Jacinda, from her countless beaux.
In any case, Kurkov’s resourcefulness made matters all the more difficult for Alec and Becky. Not only was the Duke of Westland unlikely to take either of them seriously, having already determined that Becky was an afflicted madwoman and Alec a scoundrel, but it now seemed impossible to reach His Grace at all without Kurkov discovering them first and heading them off at the pass.
Perhaps there was someone else whom they could bring their case to instead of Westland, Alec mused as he strode back into the villa. Count Lieven, the Russian ambassador? He was a powerful man and certainly seemed to bear his mighty countryman no love. . . .
These thoughts swirled through his mind as he told Becky what he had found, both of them waiting for his friends to arrive.
All of a sudden the front door flew open. Draxinger appeared, looking tempest-tossed. “Alec! Calamity! I must speak to you at once! It is Parthenia!”
Alec strode into the hall to meet him while Rush and Fort followed Draxinger in. “What is it?”
Drax gripped Alec’s arms, searching his face wildly. “I spoke to her last night at the ball—me and Fort. Do you know what she said?”
“No. I’ve no idea. What?”
Drax swallowed hard. “She told me—to my face!—that she intends to accept another man’s offer of marriage. She taunted me with it. It took me half an hour to get her to say who it was!”
“Prince Kurkov?” Alec asked with a wince.
The earl gasped. “How did you know?”
“Gentlemen,” Alec said wryly, sweeping a gesture toward the drawing room. “Won’t you please come in?”
Draxinger nodded, looking stricken, and made his way up the stairs in a daze. Alec watched with a wry twinge of lingering jealousy as Rushford greeted Becky warmly and bowed to kiss her hand. “Miss Ward, you look even lovelier than yesterday.”
She gave him a smile of thanks, but then noticed Alec’s stare and discreetly blew him a playful kiss before going upstairs behind Rushford.
Fort was the last to go up, but he harrumphed at Alec as he passed him at the foot of the stairs.
“Is it true you’re getting married?” he demanded.
Alec nodded, chagrined now to have been caught keeping still more secrets, this time from his friends. “Aye, Daniel, it’s true.”
Fort stared at him, marveling. “But, why?”
Alec laughed quietly, clapped him on the shoulder, and turned Fort toward the stairs. “Come and meet her and you’ll know why, my friend. She is the most wonderful creature.”
“You could have told us!” he muttered with a scowl.
“And give you a chance to talk me out of it?” Alec asked in amusement.
“Precisely! Looks like our fun’s over. Ah, well. Congratulations, anyway.” Fort succumbed to a rueful smile and headed for the drawing room.
As he watched his best friend trudging up the stairs, Alec couldn’t help feeling like a bit of a heel for having kept them in the dark. Well, hell, his friends had never been known for their discretion. On the other hand, he had no choice but to trust them now. Somebody had to guard Becky, after all, while he was in the whist drive.
He joined them in the drawing room and spent the next hour explaining their quest to regain Talbot Old Hall and to bring Kurkov to justice. The latter part of their discussion nearly sent Drax into a fit of apoplexy.
“We must warn Parthenia! She cannot be permitted to marry this fiend! I’ll call him out! Yes! That’s it! I’ll cut him down on the field of honor!”
“Don’t be daft,” Rushford drawled.
“Lord Draxinger, it’s not just that Mikhail is a renowned warrior himself,” Becky spoke up. “He uses all those Cossacks to carry out his dirty work for him. Mikhail doesn’t waste his time with duels. He’d just as likely have you killed before the hour of the duel arrived.”
Drax cursed. “Well, we’ve got to do something.”
“We will warn Parthenia—after the whist drive,” Alec said pointedly.
“Why not now? She’ll be at the ladies’ sea-bathing beach in a quarter hour—”
“You know her schedule?” Fort cried. “What is happening around here?”
Rush chuckled. “Oh, leave him alone, Fort.”
Drax turned red, neither confirming nor denying the obvious.
“The main thing is Parthenia is not in danger yet.”
“At least not till she marries Mikhail,” Becky added under her breath.
“Nevertheless, it would put my mind greatly at ease if I could talk to her about it,” Drax said.
“You mustn’t yet,” Becky murmured, shaking her head.
“Besides, Parthenia won’t see you, remember?” Rush reminded him.
“Oh, right,” Drax said, crestfallen. “She hates me. I forgot.”
“And so does her father,” Fort offered drily.
“Try to get ahold of yourself, Drax. You see, this is why I was so hesitant to tell you all this!” Alec exclaimed. “We cannot have any overreactions. Parthenia’s pride might end up bruised when her suitor is exposed as a felon, but if you don’t guard your tongues, Becky could end up dead.”
“I could do it,” she volunteered suddenly. “I could warn her.”
They all looked at her, taken aback.
Folding her arms across her chest, Becky leaned her hip against the sofa’s scrolled arm. “Not even Mikhail with all his guile and all his soldiers can get into the ladies’ sea-bathing beach,” she said, looking from man to man with a frank demeanor. “I could go there and talk with Parthenia secretly, inside one of the bathing machines. Tell her what’s afoot. No one need even see us conversing.”
“Why, she could, at that,” Drax murmured.
“Absolutely not,” Alec said flatly.
“Why?” Becky countered. “If all of you are taking so much trouble for my sake, then it
’s only right that I should help. Besides, this is easy. I could do it in a trice. It’s not as if Mikhail or his men can come anywhere near there. The ladies’ beach is private for the sake of the swimmers’ modesty. Women only.”
“Well, yes and no,” Fort interrupted.
Becky looked at him in question.
Fort hesitated, his expression turning sheepish. “Up the hill from the ladies’ beach there happens to be a lookout point where, if you’ll pardon my saying so, any interested young man with a telescope can see, uh, everything.”
Her eyes widened. “Really?”
Alec scratched his cheek as his friends and he exchanged guilty glances.
“Yes, but we could go up there and if we find any fellows spying through telescopes, we could shove them down their throats,” Drax suggested in growing conviction.
“Or toss them over the cliff,” Rushford cheerfully agreed.
“I see what you’re getting at and it all sounds easy enough,” Alec conceded, “but if we tell Parthenia the truth about Kurkov, what if she slips and lets him realize that she’s on to him? Then she could be in real danger—and so could Becky.”
“I needn’t tell her everything,” Becky said in a reasonable tone. “Just enough to put her on her guard.”
“Won’t she recognize you?”
“I doubt it. If we were in Buckley-on-the-Heath, then she would probably remember me, but out of that setting, she won’t be able to place me.”
“Can she be trusted, Drax?” Alec asked, turning soberly to the earl. “Can Parthenia keep her mouth shut if we warn her to keep Kurkov at arm’s length for the time being?”
“Absolutely. I will vouch for her. Parthenia is not some vapid ninny. She’s an intelligent young woman. And besides,” he added wryly, “if she can keep me guessing about her true feelings when we’ve known each other for years, then I trust she can jolly well hide her emotions from him.”
“I agree.” Becky stood with firm confidence. “It’s the best solution. Not only can we warn Lady Parthenia to keep a distance from my cousin, but if we get her on our side, we can also go through her to make sure her father reads my report at the exact moment when it’s most advantageous for us that he do so. Westland will listen to Parthenia before he’ll listen to any of us. But I won’t tell her enough to make her terrified of Mikhail. He must perceive no change in her outward demeanor or he will become suspicious.”
