“Is it for me?” A tinge of excitement threaded her voice. “This was your business?”
He loved seeing her happiness. He hadn’t given her enough since he’d brought her home. “Part of my business. Another parcel should arrive tomorrow.” He moved the platter to make more room near her on the table, then rose, fetched the box, and placed it in the space he’d created. “Open it,” he said, lifting his glass as he sat again.
The box was so large she couldn’t see into it while seated. Slowly she pushed back her chair, stood, and untied the ribbon. The paper fell open, and she raised the lid, set it aside, and reached inside with both hands to part the tissue that protected the contents.
“Ooooh,” she breathed.
“Take it out.”
She did, lifting it by its handle. Polished silver gleamed in the gaslight. “A basket,” she said reverently. “A…solid silver basket?”
“Sterling,” he confirmed. “For your sweets. The Marchioness of Hawkridge’s specialties deserve much better than wicker.” He sipped, watching her stare at the basket, letting the potent liquid slide down his throat as her expression stole his heart. “It won’t be too heavy to carry with you when you go visiting, will it?”
“No.” She clutched it like she might never let it go. “It has a glass liner,” she informed him as though he might not know.
“You wouldn’t want to be trailing crumbs.”
She still stood there, slowly turning it this way and that, watching the light bounce off its shiny surfaces. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
“I’m glad you like it,” he said, although glad seemed a very tame word. Thrilled would more accurately describe his feelings. He’d wanted so much to find something she’d like. He hated visiting shops—Vincent ordered all of his clothes—but he’d walked from shop to shop all afternoon, searching for the perfect thing. Refusing to buy anything until he found it. And it seemed he had.
She was looking a little bit shaky, so he rose just long enough to move behind her and push her chair toward the back of her knees. “Sit, before you drop it.”
She lowered herself gingerly, holding the basket on her lap, her fingers tracing the chased and pierced decorations, the floral swags and raised ribbons and bows all fashioned out of silver.
He moved the box from the table to the floor by her chair, where she could reach into it. “There are more gifts inside,” he pointed out.
“I can see.” She folded the basket’s fancy handle down and pulled it back up. “Why?” She looked over at him, dewy-eyed. “When you have so much to do, why would you spend your day buying me something like this?”
Because he wanted to give her a nice night.
No, that wasn’t the whole truth.
Because he couldn’t say the words she needed to hear. Because he couldn’t risk loving her. Because he was sure she’d leave him when she failed to clear his name, and he was hoping against hope that a silly silver basket would keep her near.
But he didn’t say any of that.
“Because you deserve it,” he said instead.
“I do not,” she said, her voice thick. “I defy you at every turn.”
“Every other turn,” he disagreed agreeably. “At the alternate turns, you delight me.”
She sighed and reached into the box, pulling out a book bound in fine leather dyed robin’s-egg blue. The cover was embossed with gold designs, the pages edged with gold leaf. “This is lovely,” she said though an obviously tight throat.
“It’s blank inside. For your recipes. After you copy the ones you like, I thought you could start your own tradition. Our family could add to it every year.”
“Our family,” she echoed softly, not quite meeting his gaze. She set the book aside and pulled the next item from the box, her eyes widening as the fabric unfolded in all its transparent glory. “Dear God in heaven, what is this?”
“A nightgown,” he said.
At that moment, two footmen returned to clear their dishes. Her cheeks burning, she stuffed the garment back into the box and plopped the book on top. “It’s lovely, too,” she said quickly, sounding like she wasn’t quite sure.
It took everything he had not to laugh. “Shall we take it upstairs and have a closer look at it?”
He couldn’t wait to see her in it.
Chapter Forty-Three
*
THE NIGHTGOWN WAS ONLY the first of the scandalous garments in the box. There were seven nightgowns, in fact—one for each day of the week—of delicate silk gauze, gossamer georgette, and tissue-thin tiffany. As Alexandra pulled them out, she draped them on the bed. She’d never seen a nightgown that wasn’t white, but these were almond and pale blush pink, powder blue and soft peach, with delicate edgings of lace and intricate, exquisite embroidery.
Under the nightgowns lay seven chemises of nearly transparent Swiss muslin. They weren’t shapeless like every other chemise she’d ever seen, but fitted to mimic a woman’s curves. Instead of plain white, they were various pastel colors adorned with elegant trimmings and needlework.
There were stockings of the finest silk. There were satin garters with dainty rosettes.
“There are no drawers,” Alexandra noticed.
Tris just grinned.
He seemed different tonight. More relaxed, less worried. She didn’t know what had prompted his change of heart, but she didn’t want to question it. She’d rather enjoy it instead.
After the afternoon she’d had—starting with Elizabeth’s letter and ending with three fruitless interviews—she wasn’t about to risk the one thing that seemed to be going right.
By the time she finally reached the bottom of the box, the bed was strewn with garments that made her blush to look at them. She suspected there was only one kind of woman who wore these sorts of things, and she didn’t even want to think about where Tris might have found them.
Windsor must be a very wicked town.
“Are you going to model something for me?” he asked.
She felt her face heat even more.
He chose a nightgown off the bed, palest lavender with black lace and violet embroidery. “This one,” he said, handing it to her.
It felt like nothing. Silky, slinky nothing.
“Do you require assistance with your dress?”
“Just the buttons,” she said, and turned to let him unfasten them. She shifted the nightgown in her hands. Silky, slinky nothing.
“There,” he said when the back of her green dress gaped open. He kissed her softly on the nape of her neck, then settled on one of the striped chairs, sipping from the glass of port he’d brought upstairs with him. “Use the dressing room. I’ll be waiting.”
In the dressing room, she shakily stripped out of her frock, chemise, shoes, and stockings, then dropped the nightgown over her head and smoothed it down over her hips. The fabric whispered against her legs. It felt like nothing on her body. Silky, slinky nothing.
She turned to see herself in the looking glass. Dear God in heaven, it was more shocking than nothing.
Her nightgowns all had high collars that tied at the throat. This one had a wide, low neckline. Her nightgowns all had long, full sleeves. This one had tiny puffed sleeves that began halfway off her shoulders. Her nightgowns were made of yards and yards of billowing, opaque fabric. This one was a slender column of diaphanous material that clung to her every curve.
She could see right through it.
The small bodice was split in the middle and gathered beneath her breasts. Strategically embroidered blossoms didn’t conceal, but rather served to draw the eye. A narrow, black satin ribbon secured the top…a single tug to untie that bow was all it would take to have the bodice fall open and expose a scandalous amount of bosom.
“Are you ready yet?” Tris called.
Alexandra swallowed hard. A man didn’t buy a woman a nightgown like this unless he wanted her. And heaven knew she wanted him.
She was as ready as she’d ever b
e.
Drawing a deep breath, she exited the dressing room, walked quickly through the sitting room, and paused in the bedroom’s doorway. She dropped her gaze, then raised her lashes, giving him the look.
Juliana had said it would make men fall at her feet, and it seemed she’d been right. Judging from the expression on Tris’s face, Alexandra figured it was a good thing he was sitting.
The way his eyes widened and filled with hunger made her heart begin to pound. He rose and started toward her. He’d already stripped to his trousers and turned down the gaslights, and the contours of his naked torso gleamed in the faint glow.
She met him halfway, licking suddenly dry lips. “Will you kiss me?” she asked softly, reaching up to sweep that always unruly lock off his forehead.
It worked this time. He crushed his mouth to hers.
This—the two of them together without the realities of life coming between them—was the one thing that seemed to work. She wrapped her arms around him and let herself sink into the kiss.
He tasted of rich port and hot desire and his own unique flavor she’d come to crave. Her fingers twined in the too-long hair that covered the back of his neck. As his hands wandered, a shimmering haze seemed to creep over her, obscuring her thoughts, dissolving her bones. She leaned toward him, into him, pressing herself against his hard, warm body, already wanting to take him inside her.
“Hurry,” she whispered.
“Not tonight,” he said with a low laugh, pulling the pins from her hair and dropping them to the floor with little pings.
He’d removed all the garments from the bed, and he laid her upon it, gently, spreading her long curls out over the pillows. Unable to resist him hovering above her, she reached to touch his bare chest, to smooth her palms over taut skin and muscle.
“You’re beautiful,” she said.
“That’s supposed to be my line.”
“But you are.”
“You’re beautiful,” he countered, his gaze wandering the length of her in the transparent nightgown.
She knew he could see everything…and if his expression was any indication, he plainly liked the view. She flushed from her head to her toes. Wordlessly, his gaze locked on hers, he shucked off his trousers, climbed up beside her on the bed, and proceeded to kiss her until her head swam.
When he finally released her lips, his mouth trailed past her chin and down her throat, blazing a warm trail toward her breasts encased in the gossamer nightgown. His lips skimmed the violet flowers, his breath hot through the thin material. As she arched up to meet him, he closed his mouth over a nipple, suckling through the fabric.
A Lady of Distinction would definitely not approve of this nightgown. It was so flimsy and immodest, she felt his mouth on her almost as though the garment wasn’t there. But it was there, and she wanted it gone. She wanted his mouth on her skin. This was torture. Pure torture. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, but he just switched to the other breast, lavishing it with similar torturous attention.
She really couldn’t take it.
She tunneled her fingers into his hair and lifted his head, noting his look of stark surprise. “Here,” she whispered, pulling one end of the black satin bow that secured the nightgown’s tiny bodice. It fell open, baring her to him, and she held her breath.
After a moment, she raised her chest, offering her breasts to him like they were some irresistible sweet.
Not, however, a sweet there was a recipe for in her family’s cookbook.
His lips quirked in a half smile, and he moved down, skimming his mouth across her nightgown-clad stomach instead.
More torture. He kissed across her waist and down her belly, tender kisses she could feel, but not the way she wanted. He kissed his way down one of her legs, slowly and sensually, and even more slowly and sensually up the other.
She was melting. She was dying, and she was melting. She was melting into the bed, and if he didn’t touch her skin—bare skin—she’d dissolve into a puddle of need.
“Tris,” she whispered.
“Hmm?” He spread her legs, pushing the nightgown down between them to kiss the insides of her thighs. Each kiss sparked a thrilling spurt of pleasure, not only where he was kissing, but also higher. Where a hot ache was building to unbearable proportions.
“I want this nightgown off,” she told him. “I cannot stand this.”
He raised his head for a moment, his smile one of masculine pride. “Ah, then I’m doing my job,” he said. And he returned to it, spreading her legs even wider to place a kiss in the most intimate place imaginable.
She shuddered and gasped, and he kissed her there again. This was wicked. It was more wicked than the nightgown. It was more wicked than the most wicked thing A Lady of Distinction mentioned in her entire, pedantic book.
And it was making that hot ache escalate to something all but unendurable.
Then he inched the nightgown up to her waist and kissed her in the same place without it between them.
And that was more wicked than anything she’d ever imagined.
“Oh!” she breathed as she felt his mouth caress her, wet and hot, his tongue soft and slippery sweet. She wanted to say more—her mind shouted You cannot! and You shouldn’t!—but all she could seem to manage was that little mewling oh!
He widened her legs with his hands, releasing a hum of pure enjoyment that vibrated all the way to her core as his tongue found the secret place her fierce ache was centered.
And then she quite simply couldn’t say anything, couldn’t form anything more than incoherent little moans. But that oh! must have made an impression, because he flicked that place again and again until she sobbed with pleasure, arching against his mouth as waves of exquisite passion rippled through her.
Only when the last tendrils of sensation had faded did he finally lift his head and draw the nightgown farther up and off.
Still trembling with the aftermath of his loving, she thought she might expire from utter bliss when his warm weight came over her, when he slipped inside her to join his body with hers. She wrapped her arms around him, squeezing tight, wanting more than anything for him to find the same pleasure he’d given her.
And she was shocked to find the feelings building in her once again.
He moved slowly, reverently. “Look at me,” he whispered, and she raised her languid lids to see him gazing into her eyes, the familiar silver darkened with desire. He bent his head to take her mouth, and she tasted herself on his lips. The blood rushed faster through her veins.
Tristan took his time, deriving joy from her reawakening, the warm slide of her skin against his, the sweet shudders as his tongue swept her mouth. He could feel warmth turn to heat, feel her wrap herself around him, feel her quiver as the passion spread through her supple body. And when they were both ready, her beautiful low moan sent him hurtling over the edge.
It was, without a doubt, the most gorgeous span of time he’d spent with any woman, ever.
And now he had to end it.
Their bodies still joined and clinging, he kissed her forehead, both cheeks, her nose. “I need to leave you now,” he whispered before settling full on her mouth.
“Hmm?” she murmured when he finally allowed them both to draw breath.
He hated this. But he had no choice.
“I’m going to sleep in the Queen’s Bedchamber. Vincent will lock me in.”
She blinked hard, and her soft mouth dropped open. “You’re going to leave me?”
He eased out of her, wincing at her little sound of loss. “Just until morning,” he promised as he levered himself to her side. “For your own protection. If I sleepwalk again, I don’t want to be able to leave the room. I don’t want to be able to get to you or to anything that might harm you.”
“I don’t want your protection, Tris.” He’d never heard such hurt in her voice. And disbelief. “I want you here with me. How can you make love to me and then just…leave?”
“How can I not? How ca
n I keep endangering you night after night? What kind of man would that make me?”
She offered no answer, but her eyes were pleading. They were going to destroy him, those eyes. Destroy his resolve, and destroy everything he was trying to be.
Before that could happen, he climbed from the bed and went to fetch his dressing gown.
Chapter Forty-Four
*
ALEXANDRA LAY IN HER marriage bed, stunned.
And alone.
She could scarcely believe Tris had left her. Not after the evening they’d just spent. Her gaze went to the filmy lavender nightgown pooled on the floor, to the silver basket and the beautiful book beside it. Gifts, she knew, from his heart.
Perhaps he couldn’t bring himself to say he loved her, but men—especially enterprising men like Tris—didn’t care to visit shops. Only love could drive him to spend his day choosing such perfect presents for her. Presents that demonstrated thought. Presents that showed he understood her. Presents that fit her, specifically, not any other woman.
Well, with the possible exception of the wicked underthings. But she didn’t want to think about other women those might fit.
Of course, he’d left for Windsor before learning she’d gone off to interview three former servants. Perhaps he wouldn’t have bought her beautiful things if he’d known that. Had he really left her alone in bed as a precaution to protect her? Or was he drawing away because he was angry she wouldn’t call off her investigation?
She didn’t really believe it was the latter, especially considering the way he’d made love to her. She blushed just thinking about that. Those hardly seemed like the actions of an angry man. But she wasn’t sure…because perhaps he’d been angry but then found himself lost in temptation when he saw her in that wicked nightgown.
She just wasn’t sure. And she wanted answers. And she wasn’t the type of person to sit and wait for answers to come to her. Or lie in bed and wait for answers to come to her, either. She was the type of person who went out and found answers for herself.
Good Guy Heroes Boxed Set Page 92
