by Never A Lady
“Alexandra…” He fisted his hands in her hair, gently lifting her head. “Come here.”
Uncertainty flickered in her eyes. “Did I not please you?”
“Yes, God, yes,” he managed to say while urging her to her feet then guiding her to spread her legs and straddle him. Not sure how to explain this unprecedented need to feel her skin pressed to his, to touch her deeply, with his entire body, he simply said, “But I want to feel all of you.”
When she was poised above him, he grasped her hips and brushed the tip of his erection over her drenched sex. Her lips parted, and, gripping his shoulders, she slowly lowered herself on him, a hot, wet impalement that dragged a ragged groan from his throat. When he was buried to the hilt in her tight sheath, the final tether on his control snapped. Reaching up, he fisted one hand in her hair and dragged her mouth to his while his other hand palmed her breast.
But it still wasn’t enough. He thrust upward, every muscle straining, his tongue stroking inside her delicious mouth in tandem to his body’s strokes inside hers. She writhed against him, and his entire existence narrowed to where his body was joined to hers. His groin tightened and quickly—whether too quickly or not quickly enough he didn’t know—he felt her clench around him. Breaking off their kiss, he leaned back and absorbed the sight of her arching her back, the sensation of her fingers digging into his shoulders, the sound of her low moan as she climaxed. When her spasms subsided, he quickly withdrew, an effort that nearly killed him. His breathing ragged, he wrapped his arms tightly around her, holding her close, heart to heart, and his release exploded through him.
His heart rate had nowhere near returned to normal when she stirred and lifted her head. Opening his eyes, he saw her—flushed, hair in wild disarray, lips moist and parted, a look of sated satisfaction glowing in her droopy eyes.
Something inside him seemed to shift…something that told him that while for right now, this moment, this was enough, it would never, could never, be enough with this woman.
Nineteen
Alexandra looked out the window of her bedchamber in the Wexhall town house and sighed. The leaden, heavy sky perfectly reflected her mood, the swirling dark clouds matching the maelstrom of emotions roiling through her.
Leaning her forehead against the cool glass, she wistfully studied the garden below—the last time she’d ever do so, as this was the last night she would spend in this house. Lord Wexhall’s party was scheduled to begin in less than an hour, and tomorrow, regardless of the outcome of the evening ahead, she intended to keep her promise to herself and return to where she belonged.
Had only a week passed since she’d arrived? She turned, and her gaze panned over her luxurious surroundings. It frightened her how quickly she’d become accustomed to all this. The quiet elegance. The sumptuous meals. Limitless hot baths. The warm, huge, comfortable bed. Her every need attended to. Her budding friendship with Lady Victoria, who, in spite of her lofty social position, was unpretentious and kind, and in Alex’s mind, the epitome of what a lady should be.
While she still suffered pangs of discomfort from the knowledge that she didn’t belong in this social stratum, she couldn’t deny she’d basked in the pampering and, for the first time in her memory, having someone take care of her.
But she couldn’t afford to forget where she came from, to where she was destined to return. This brief time here, living this life, was nothing more than a magical, gossamer dream spun of fragile glass. A gift to be cherished and fondly remembered, but not to be confused with reality. As was her time with Colin.
Colin…
Her eyes slid closed. Dear God, how was she going to say good-bye to him? The mere thought filled her with an ache so profound, so enervating, she’d forbidden herself even to think about it over the past week. Instead, she’d savored every minute she’d spent with him, hoarding her memories of each treasured day, every new experience, like a miser guarding gold, refusing to acknowledge the constantly ticking clock in the back of her mind that counted down the time until this whirlwind fairy tale would end. When they both went on with their separate lives—lives that, given their divergent situations and social stations, would no longer intersect in any way.
As the week had passed, her love for him had burned brighter, yet so had the heartbreak looming on the horizon. She’d attended three more soirees as Madame Larchmont, but although she’d listened carefully, she hadn’t heard the killer’s raspy whisper. No one had approached either her or Colin in any manner that could be construed as suspicious, nor had any further accidents occurred. Still, the parties had been torture, pretending she didn’t notice the bevy of Society diamonds glittering around the man she loved, one of whom he would choose to be his wife.
She’d seen Logan at all three soirees, and on each occasion he’d accompanied her for a turn around the room and to the beverage table. Colin clearly didn’t like the man, his jaw clenching whenever he saw Logan or his name was mentioned. But she liked Logan. He was intelligent, wickedly witty, and she found his company enjoyable and his attentions flattering. Indeed, she could understand why so many women found him so tempting, and if Colin didn’t already own her heart, she suspected Logan Jennsen might have had a chance at doing so.
With no further information or clues about the conversation she’d overheard in the Malloran study, the entire mystery seemed as if it had happened in another lifetime, to another person. The week had passed in a blink, a collage of walks in the park with Colin and Lucky, accompanied at a discreet distance by Emma and John, who clearly enjoyed each other’s company. Shared meals, long talks, and heart-stopping intimacies.
To her delight and amazement, Colin never seemed to tire of touching her. Smiling at her. Laughing with her. And the things he taught her! Such as how to play backgammon, especially the version where the loser is required to make love to the winner. As far as she could tell, that rendered her the winner, but she wasn’t going to quibble. He also taught her a simple, yet scandalous tune on his pianoforte, a lesson made even more enjoyable when she suggested they act out the lyrics to the bawdy ditty.
Her favorite lesson, however took place in his billiards room, where he taught her how to play billiards—and the even more interesting “how to make love while bent over a billiards table.”
He’d come to her bedchamber every night, indulging her on each visit with a sweet offering of marzipan and iced cakes before indulging her sensual appetites. Sometimes their lovemaking was slow and gentle, other times fast and wild and furious. He was a generous, exciting, and adventurous lover who encouraged—and inspired—her to be adventurous as well.
An image blinked through her mind of last night…he’d brought with him a small bowl filled with creamy frosting he’d pilfered from his kitchen. After decorating her naked body with dabs of the sweet fluff, he’d partaken of the treats he’d created, much to their mutual delight. Afterward, she’d been only too pleased to return the favor. Indeed, the night had been the perfect ending to a perfect day…
She squeezed her eyes shut, savoring the kaleidoscope of images of yesterday’s outing playing through her mind. Colin’s early-morning arrival with a crateful of oranges that looked suspiciously like Emma’s and the announcement he had a surprise for her. Then the appearance of Emma, with a wide-eyed Robbie, who held an obviously besotted Lucky, in tow. The three-hour ride in his elegant carriage to a destination he refused to reveal. Arriving at a beautiful, stately home, nestled in a verdant meadow.
He called the property Willow Pond and explained he’d purchased it several years ago, although he rarely used it. He hadn’t yet visited the house while in London and thought she’d enjoy a day away from Town with her friends. The fact that he knew, understood, how much she missed Emma and Robbie, how in spite of everyone’s kindness she still felt out of place in the luxurious Wexhall town house, touched her deeply.
The weather had been glorious and after a tour of the magnificent house and grounds, they’d all shared a picnic lu
nch along with his footman John in the shade of a massive willow set by a small lake at the far border of the property.
Just before entering the carriage to return to London, she’d looked back at the beautiful house and grounds and remarked how she couldn’t imagine owning anything so fine and not using it. That it seemed such a waste. He’d frowned, and had stared at the house for a full minute, then had nodded in agreement. In all the days she’d lived, yesterday had been her very favorite, and she’d remember it for as long as she lived.
But she’d awakened this morning knowing that this magical time was about to end, and all the heartbreaking, unwanted images she’d managed to bludgeon back all week attacked her from every angle. Colin, smiling at his new wife. Laughing with his new wife. Bringing his new wife sweets. Making love to her. Taking her on private picnics at his country home.
She opened her eyes and turned to stare at the bed…the bed she’d shared with him, and her insides went hollow. Maybe it would have been better for her never to have experienced the pleasures and wonders she’d shared with him, for she couldn’t miss what she didn’t know. Certainly it would have been smarter. But such thoughts were useless, and she needed to put them aside. Force herself to concentrate on the upcoming evening.
She, Colin, Nathan, and Lord Wexhall were all prepared and determined to find the killer tonight and stop anyone else from being hurt. And then, tomorrow, she would leave.
And the hurting would just begin.
With his features arranged in a bland expression that belied the tension gripping him, Colin slowly swirled his snifter of brandy, his gaze scanning over the dwindling guests remaining in Wexhall’s ballroom. It was nearly 2:00 A.M., and the party was drawing to a close. Alexandra had not heard the voice, and nothing untoward had occurred. Was it possible that the killer’s plans had changed? That the plan had been abandoned? Or perhaps only postponed? While he prayed the plan had been abandoned, his gut told him such was not the case.
Bloody hell, he wanted this over. Wanted to know the identity of the killer, stop any further crimes, and have justice served so they could all resume their normal lives.
His normal life…An unpleasant sensation cramped his insides. Resuming his normal life meant finding a bride, a task that had grown more unpalatable as each day of the previous week had passed. Casting his eye over the elegantly dressed young women remaining in the ballroom, he was forced to face the fact that not one of them, in spite of their beauty and wealth, their breeding and family connections, appealed to him in any significant manner. Most of them were actually quite charming and any one of them would make an acceptable wife, but none, no matter how long he conversed with them, sparked the interest that Alexandra elicited with a glance.
Alexandra. His gaze shifted to the alcove where she was conducting a reading. This past week with her had been…amazing. The happiest days he’d ever spent. And the thought of them ending filled him with an ache he couldn’t name. The nightmares and sense of dread that had brought him to London still persisted, but when he was with her, she dispelled all the darkness.
“The party’s drawing to a close and so far, nothing.” Startled from his reverie, he turned to find Nathan standing next to him.
Irritation rippled through him. “Stop sneaking up on me.”
Nathan’s brows rose. “Start paying attention. Especially since the night isn’t over, and you might be the one in danger.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to me,” he said, filled with grim determination, although his instincts continued to tingle in that same unsettling way they had all evening.
“Not if I can help it,” Nathan agreed.
“Where’s Wexhall?”
“Foyer. Saying good-bye to his guests. Victoria is with him. As well as a pair of his trusted men.”
They stood in silence, watching the remaining guests file from the room. After several minutes, Nathan said, “Lady Margaret is leaving the fortune-telling table. I wonder if her future predicts her upcoming marriage?”
“She’s betrothed?” Colin asked, surprised but not particularly interested.
“Not yet. Is she about to be?”
“How the hell would I know?”
“You’d know if you asked her to marry you.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Perhaps because you’ve claimed to be in search of a wife, and she seems to possess all the qualities a man in your position might require? Or have you changed your mind about marrying?”
A frown jerked down his brows. “No, I haven’t changed my mind. It…must be done. And it’s long past time I fulfilled my duty.”
“I agree.”
“Says the man who would inherit the title should I kick off without an heir.”
“Bloody right. The day you shed your bachelor status and get to work on producing an heir, my sigh of relief will rustle every leaf in England.”
They lapsed into silence. Several minutes later, Alexandra joined them, and he had to fist his hands at his side to keep from reaching for her.
“It seems our killer may have had a change of heart,” she said in an undertone.
“Very possible,” he murmured, feeling more relaxed now that she stood next to him. “Especially since it’s known from the note you left Malloran that the original plans were overheard. But I suspect the plot would only be postponed rather than abandoned.”
“Unfortunately, I agree,” said Nathan. “Even more unfortunately, now we have no way of knowing what’s planned.”
They followed the last of the guests from the room, and a quarter hour later, after the door closed behind the last partygoer, they stood in the foyer with Wexhall and Victoria—the five of them exchanging glances filled with a combination of relief and unease.
“Rather anticlimactic,” Wexhall murmured.
“Yes,” said Colin. “But I don’t think this is over. The next big soiree is the night after next, at Lord Whitemore’s town house. We need to maintain our vigilance.” He noticed Alexandra stiffen at his words, but before he could question her, Victoria reached out and clasped Nathan’s arm.
“If you all will excuse me, I’d like to retire,” she said.
Colin turned to his sister-in-law and noted her paleness. Nathan stepped in front of her and grasped her upper arms. “Are you feeling unwell?” he asked, his voice filled with concern.
She smiled, but the effort was weak. “Just very fatigued.”
Without a word, Nathan scooped her up in his arms. Victoria let out a mild protest, then simply wrapped her arms around her husband’s neck when he headed toward the stairs. “We’ll discuss our plans further in the morning,” he said over his shoulder.
Wexhall cleared his throat. “I believe I’ll retire as well. It’s been an exhausting night, and I’m not as spry as I used to be.” He looked at the brandy snifter Colin held. “I trust you can show yourself out after you’ve finished that?”
“I can.”
He turned to Alexandra. “Will you be joining Sutton for a nightcap, Madame, or may I escort you up the stairs?
“A nightcap sounds welcome,” she said.
Wexhall waved his hand toward the corridor. “There’s a fire laid in my study. Enjoy yourselves.”
As soon as he’d climbed the stairs, Colin extended his hand. “Shall we?”
She slipped her gloved hand into his and warmth spread up his arm. Five hours and nineteen minutes had passed since he’d last touched her—not that he was counting—and it was far too long. The eleven hours and twenty-seven minutes since he’d last kissed her felt like a lifetime. But he would remedy that the instant they reached the study—as well as the twenty-two hours and four minutes since he’d last made love to her.
After he closed the door behind them and turned the key in the lock, he set down his drink and yanked her against him, covering her mouth with his, his kiss filled with all the pent-up longing and frustration and concern he’d suppressed all evening. And everything fell away except her. T
he way she felt in his arms. Her delicious scent. Her lush lips. The warm silk of her mouth. The velvet sweep of her tongue against his. The indescribable way she made him feel.
Aching with the need to touch her, his hands slipped down, over her hips, intending to gather up fistfuls of her bronze skirt. Before he could do so, however, she pushed against his chest, breaking off their kiss, and stepped away from him. When he moved toward her, she back away and shook her head.
“That’s not why I came here with you.”
Something in her voice filled him with unease. Adopting a casual demeanor, he moved toward the decanters. “That’s right. You wished for a nightcap.”
“I’ve no desire for a drink. I wish to talk to you.”
“Very well.” He approached the leather sofa near the hearth rug, noting her rigid stance. “Shall we sit?”
“I prefer to stand.”
His unease multiplied. Bloody hell, had she heard something tonight? Seen something? Had someone insulted her? “All right.” He moved closer, but sensing her need for space, left the length of the hearth rug between them. “What is it you wish to discuss?”
“Us,” she said in a cool voice.
His brows shot upward at her unexpected answer. “What about us?”
“I want to tell you how much I’ve enjoyed our time together. It’s been…magical. And lovely. You’ve been lovely.”
An odd, sick feeling rushed through him, tightening his gut. “Thank you. I’ve enjoyed our time together as well.”
“Please know that I wish you every happiness.”
“As I wish you.” He gave a light laugh that didn’t sound nearly as casual as he’d wanted. “Speaking of happiness, I thought tomorrow you might enjoy an excursion to Bond Street. We could—”
“No.”
He tried to shove aside the sense of dark foreboding flooding him and failed. “If there’s something else you’d prefer to do—”
