“Yes, I do,” she returned, pulling free and tugging on her coat. “Barbara Sinclair already knows about me. Sooner or later everyone else will. I doubt Alex would want the scandal.” In an odd way, it made her grateful to Lady Sinclair. Whatever lay in her heart, Alex’s mistress would undoubtedly make it impossible for her to remain. She had no choice but to carry out her father’s wishes.
With a last look at the marvelous gown, she went downstairs and said her good-byes to the Downings, then climbed into the hack Gerald had hired for her. The Duke of Furth had very nearly seen her, and yet it seemed more important that Alex had not even hesitated to protect her from her uncle. More than anything else, she wanted him to look at her again as he had when they had kissed, as though he would shatter if he couldn’t have her.
A few lights were still on at Cale House as she hopped down from the hack. Wenton pulled the door open as she topped the last step, and backed into the shadows of the entryway while she handed him her hat and gloves. She turned and he helped her off with her greatcoat, hanging it on its customary rack.
“Is Alex home yet?” she asked, though she wasn’t certain her heart was steady enough to see him again.
The butler didn’t answer, but instead ran his fingers under the collar of her coat and skimmed it off her shoulders.
“Wenton!” she exclaimed, shocked. As soon as her hands were free of the garment, she whipped around to let the butler know exactly what she thought of his behavior. “What do y—”
A hard, warm mouth clamped down over hers, smothering her protest. She knew the feel, the touch of the lips covering hers, and after a stunned moment returned the kiss with all the frustrated passion that had been gathering inside her. A hand reached up and tugged the band free from her hair, letting the short, wavy locks fall loose around her face. Alex forced her back until she came up against the door. Only when he had her pinned there did he lift his head.
“Alex—”
“Shh,” he murmured roughly. “Shame on you for leaving me there like that,” he chastised. His eyes lowered, and his hands swiftly went to work on her waistcoat. “Drive a man mad, then vanish. Not this time, chit.” In a moment he had it open, and pulled it off her shoulders, as well. “I’m only bloody human, after all.” It dropped to the floor beside her coat.
“I didn’t mean—”
“Ruthless, you are,” he muttered, continuing as though she hadn’t interrupted. His mouth claimed hers again, teasing it open with his lips and his tongue. Kit’s fast, unsteady breath stopped in her throat as his long fingers touched her cravat and began to untie it. His mouth trailed along her cheekbone to her ear, and she gasped as he took the sensitive lobe between his teeth. Her heart beating raggedly, she pressed against his lean, tall form, feeling the growing hardness through his breeches, and the sudden warmth between her own legs. As the cravat drifted to the floor, she gathered her wits enough to glance about the darkened hallway.
“Where is Wenton?” she whispered, jumping a little as his hands touched her waist and began pulling her shirttail out of her leggings.
“Sent him to bed,” he murmured in her ear.
“And everyone else?” she insisted, gasping as her shirt came free and he began lifting it in his hands.
“Sweet Lucifer, chit. To bed, for heaven’s sake,” he whispered.
She pulled her shirt down again, too accustomed to caution to be able to give in even to him in such an exposed place. “What if they hear something?”
“Christine,” he murmured in exasperated protest, and stepped away.
She thought with sudden, cold dismay that she had ruined it again, and started toward him, ready to say, or do, anything to convince him to continue. He held her off with one hand, then bent down and swiftly picked up her scattered things. With a swift tug he pulled her against him and kissed her, then easily swung her up into his arms.
“Where are we going?” she queried shakily, leaning up to kiss his ear in an awkward imitation of his own actions.
He swallowed. “Your bedchamber, my dear,” he whispered, turning for the stairs.
“Your bedchamber,” she corrected, with the last bit of rational thought left her. She wanted him, with a fierce, burning hunger, but she would not make it so easy for him. Whatever she might be, she was not Barbara Sinclair. She would not let him pass her off in his mind as a mistress to be bedded and forgotten—whether that’s what she was or not.
He hesitated, then shifted her closer against him. “Mine,” he agreed huskily, and headed up the stairs.
She half expected and more than half wanted to be dumped on the mattress and set upon, but Alex stopped beside the bed, set her on her feet, and dropped her clothes to the floor. He kicked the door shut in a satisfyingly impatient masculine manner, stopped for another lingering kiss, then strode over to the fireplace, tossed a few more logs onto the flames, and returned to stand in front of her.
“I believe this is where I am supposed to offer to take myself elsewhere and leave you in peace,” he said softly, reaching out to caress her cheek. “I—”
Shaking with a sudden alarm that he might actually abandon her in this state, Christine closed the small distance between them and lifted her hands to pull his face down to hers. As she had been wanting to do for what seemed like forever, she ran her fingers through his wavy black hair. “Don’t go,” she whispered.
“I was about to say that I have no intention of doing any such thing,” he continued. “Not tonight.”
His hands skimmed down her back, and then tugged at her shirt again. For a moment she couldn’t breathe. He wanted her. Not Barbara Sinclair, or any other of his stupid mistresses. Alex wanted her. Trembling, she lifted her arms, and he pulled the garment off over her head. For a moment he paused, looking down at the tight wrap that bound her chest. Slowly he ran his finger along her skin just above the cloth, and she shivered again. He found the knot that she used to bind the thing, but abruptly embarrassed, she pushed his hand away.
“I want to see you,” he said. “Let me see you.” Alex smiled, and her heart skipped a beat. He was so handsome, with his disheveled hair, tousled by her fingers, and a hungry glint deep in his azure eyes. “You’ve kept yourself hidden from me for weeks,” he continued, “and now tonight you let half of London see your splendid bosom. Don’t torture me further, dear one.”
Shakily she lowered her hand. He undid the knot, and slowly pulled the wrap from around her, making every soft tug of his fingers on the cloth a caress along her whole being. When the wrap finally slid to the floor, baring her breasts to his intense gaze, he stopped and took a quick, held breath.
“Finally,” he murmured, lifting his hands to caress them. “And well worth the wait, I might add.” Slowly he ran his thumbs over her nipples, bringing them to thrilled attention.
She gasped in response, and his gaze immediately returned to her face. She smiled shakily, and with a return smile he bent his head and kissed the base of her throat. His lips ran slowly along her shoulders and her collarbone, and down her sternum. His tongue traced a circle around her areola, and then he took her nipple into his mouth and sucked lightly. Unable to help herself, she moaned and arched against him, twining her fingers through his hair. Without his ever having touched her before, it amazed her that he could know so easily how to arouse her, how to set her trembling.
Alex trailed his lips over her left breast, then sat her down on the edge of the bed to pull off her boots. “You’re wearing too damned many clothes,” he grumbled with a half-annoyed grin, but she could see that his hands were shaking a little, and that he was not so composed as he apparently wished her to think.
“Well, take them off,” she demanded breathlessly, and he chuckled.
Christine ran her fingers along his shoulders and arms restlessly, wishing he would hurry before he remembered how little business they had being together. Once she was in her bare feet he pulled her upright again, and went to work on the buttons of her breeches. He was lo
oking at her face closely, gauging every expression, and with a swift, soft smile he leaned down and brushed his lips along her cheek. “My chit,” he whispered, and the possessive tone made her tremble.
Her breeches followed the rest of her garments to the floor, and he spent a long moment gazing at her. “Sweet Lucifer,” he finally murmured. “You are exquisite.”
This time his kiss was hot and demanding, and she rose on tiptoe against him as his hands slid down her waist to her hips and buttocks, then pulled her closer still. Her bare skin beneath his touch seemed to burn in the night air, and the hardness pressing into her through his breeches was unbearably close, and unbearably far.
“Alex,” she murmured, her hands tugging at his waist, “now you’re wearing too many clothes.”
He laughed, sending her floating again, then reluctantly loosed his arms from around her to shrug out of his coat. “Let’s remedy that, shall we?” Her shaking fingers trailed and tripped over his as they both worked to remove his waistcoat, and she nearly choked him in her haste to pull off his cravat.
“I’m sorry.” She grimaced, finally loosing the thing.
He smiled and bent down to kiss the nape of her neck. She tugged his shirt free, then pulled it off over his head. The warm, male scent of him sent another surge of moist heat between her legs. Alex removed his boots, and a moment later his breeches and stockings followed hers to the floor. As she looked down at his unfettered, aroused manhood, a twinge of uneasiness ran through her, but then he was kissing her again, and cupping her breasts in his experienced, long-fingered hands.
“Trust me,” he breathed. “Just this once.” Laying her down on the bed, he slid up beside her. His mouth teased at her breasts again, and she groaned, rising up against him. “You like that, don’t you, chit?” he murmured, lifting his head to look at her, amusement and desire in his eyes. “You like me to touch you.”
“Yes,” she returned breathlessly.
His mouth trailed lower, his lips and tongue caressing her ribs and belly and tickling her navel, and then moved still lower, to the blond tangle below. “And do you like this?”
“Alex, stop teasing,” she pleaded, wondering if he was driving her mad intentionally.
He lifted his face to look at her, while his hand brushed up along the inside of her thigh. “No tease this time,” he said in a rather unsteady voice, and lowered his head again. As he reached the apex of her thighs she instinctively tried to close against him, but with his hands and his mouth he convinced her to relax again.
“Please,” she whispered almost soundlessly, writhing beneath his expert ministrations. “Alex.”
He slid up along her body to meet her eyes again, to kiss her deeply, probing her mouth demandingly with his tongue, while his hands continued to explore her. She had wanted this, wanted him, since she had set eyes on him. Her own hands began a hesitant exploration of his shoulders, his back, and his chest, and she tilted her head a little sideways to kiss his nipple. He made a small sound deep in his throat that turned the burning inside her to molten fire.
“Alex,” she whispered again.
In response he moved over her, pushing her legs farther apart and settling his hips over hers, his hard shaft pressing against her, hot and throbbing. And he hesitated. “Are you certain?” he asked, his voice strained and his expression telling her that it would kill him if she said no.
But he had asked her, anyway. “Yes,” she returned breathlessly, loving the feel of his hard weight on top of her. She raised her head to kiss him.
He kissed her back, his mouth teasing relentlessly at hers, while his hand stroked at the hot, secret, sensitive part of her so that she gasped again. She wanted more of him, she wanted everything, and when slowly, so slowly, he eased inside her, she gave a mingled cry of pain and wonder and desire.
Alex stopped. “I’m sorry, sweet one,” he murmured tightly, holding very still. Gently he kissed her closed eyelids. “I know it hurts. But it means you’re mine now. Mine only. It will stop hurting. I promise, waif.” He began to move, slowly and carefully, and she gasped again, her eyes shooting open to look into his, but the pain had already begun to recede, as he had promised. “Better?” he whispered, shifting a little and brushing hair from her eyes.
She groaned, half shutting her eyes again as sensation flooded through her. “Yes.” He raised up on his hands again, and kissed her once more. The movement of his hard staff inside her increased, his rhythm strong and steady and deep, and she began instinctively lifting her hips to meet him.
“Beautiful,” he whispered, almost wonderingly, and lowered his dark head to lick her breast.
Her back arched, a deep, growing tension building through her, and she reached down to clasp his buttocks, pulling him deeper inside her, trying to make the two of them one with a compelling urgency that she understood without knowing. He felt it as well, for she could see it in the azure eyes that watched her every expression, could feel it in the rhythm of his body moving inside hers. Finally she shuddered as the tension exploded, in a pulsing pleasure unlike anything she had ever experienced in her life.
Feeling the change in her, Alex smiled. He slowed the rhythm of his hips and deepened his thrusts, and she groaned and gasped his name. With a quickening motion he shuddered, much as she had, then lowered his head to bury his face in her shoulder. Slowly and carefully he settled his weight back down on top of her.
Breathing hard, Kit ran her fingers over his sweat-slicked back, wishing they could stay this way forever. He slowly lifted his head, then raised himself up on one elbow to look down at her. He stayed that way for a long time, searching her face, while she dared not look away. This man, this Englishman, this rakehell and interfering peer, couldn’t be an enemy, because she loved him. Only one question remained, the one that could determine her path: she still had no idea what, other than simple lust and desire, he felt for her.
With his free hand he gently curled a damp lock of her hair behind her ear. “I believe I have failed your father,” he said dryly, slowly caressing her bare skin with the palm of his hand.
“It’s about time,” she replied with more courage than she felt. He left her feeling so…vulnerable, and yet so strong, at the same time.
He gave a slow, lazy smile. “All that talk about a dress that was too big, and shoes that were too small, and then there you were at the Thornhills’, Diana in all her glory. Good God.”
“That was a different dress,” she reminded him with a pleased grin, and kissed his chin.
That caused him to kiss her thoroughly for several moments. “I know that,” he finally returned, running his finger along her lower lip, “but it does conjure a certain image, you know.”
Slowly he shifted off of her. She frowned as he removed himself, and he grinned at her. “Wanton,” he murmured, sitting to pull up the blankets, for the room was still chilled even with the fire going. He tugged the smooth sheets up around her shoulders and then settled himself back down beside her.
“You need another pillow,” she commented, turning her head to face him. “Whatever do you and Barbara Sinclair do with only one pillow?”
“This is not where Barbara and I spent our evenings,” he said.
Her deduction had been correct, after all. “Why not?”
“Why do you insist on discussing my former mistress when I only wish to lie here and look at you?” he queried instead of answering.
He liked looking at her. “Your former mistress?” she repeated. “Does that make me your current mistress?”
Alex frowned, his expression telling her he did not wish to contemplate that at the moment. And neither did she. Not when tonight was all they had. “I don’t know what it makes you, Christine Kit Riley Brantley. Other than a great deal of trouble, of course.”
The string of names served to remind her of the one thing that had troubled her about the evening. “You are acquainted with the Duke of Furth,” she stated, daring him to deny it.
“I a
m,” he answered, only a slight shift in his body alerting her that he was less easy with his answer than he wanted her to think. “I never said I wasn’t.”
“No,” she agreed reluctantly, “but you implied—”
He stopped her argument with a kiss. “Not tonight, chit,” he said softly. “Nothing to lie about later.”
She looked at him closely, could read nothing in his eyes but a reflection of the curiosity and desire in her own. “Not tonight,” she agreed.
He leaned over her and kissed her again, then slid his hand around her waist to tug her against him. “Good.”
Christine chuckled, delighted that he desired her again already. “Now who is the wanton?” she asked slyly.
“We shall see. After I learn every inch of you, chit.”
“Every inch?” she repeated, shivering in anticipation.
“Every inch? Inside and out.”
“Oh, lud.” She chuckled, then groaned as his mouth closed again over hers.
Alex awoke before Christine. Her face was only a few inches from his, as they had ended up sharing the single pillow, after all. One of his arms was draped across her shoulder, the other half-asleep under her side. Their legs were such a tangle that without moving, he couldn’t tell where his ended and hers began.
For a long time he lay there watching her soft, slow breathing. Rakehell though many called him, she was only the second virgin he had ever taken. The first had been on his wedding night, and Mary’s response had been as different from Kit’s as ice was from fire. As for Christine Brantley, his hunch that first morning, when he had watched her devouring his breakfast, had been correct. As a female, she was dangerous.
Kit stirred in her sleep and tucked herself closer against him, trusting him in her dreams, at least. He shifted his arm so he could curl his fingers into the blond halo framing her face. Before her arrival, he had rarely spent a night alone, and had hated the mornings that followed—the expected coquettish banter and the rehearsed, unfelt excuses over how sorry he was to have to quit the bed, but he really did have things to do.
Lady Rogue Page 26
