Rogue in Red Velvet

by Lynne Connolly

  “You should dance,” she said as the country-dance came to a close. “Here is your partner, my lord.”

  “A royal decree, my dear.” With another bow, he turned to Connie and offered her the support of his arm. He led her on to the floor.

  With the ball well under way, people were moving around more freely. “I had no idea who she was,” Connie confessed. “I nearly made the most dreadful faux-pas.” Then she glared at him. “I still haven’t forgiven you.”

  “I would appreciate a few words in private,” he said.

  She pokered up. “I hardly think that would be a good idea.”

  “Please?”

  “No.”

  So much for begging. He tried another tack. “If you do not, I’ll say what I have to in the middle of the dance floor. I’ll sweep you off your feet and propose extravagantly. See if that won’t start a rash of men proposing to you. You’re an heiress now, Connie and the hounds are off the leash.”

  She choked but she had no time to reply, for the dance was starting and when they executed the first steps, she fell to glaring at him again.

  The good thing about a country-dance was that couples could leave the floor part way through and not interfere with the more boisterous romping. The bad part was that a couple wouldn’t spend the whole of a dance together. This was one of those dances, when they changed partners and eventually met up with each other again right at the end. Alex kept his attention firmly fixed on her. When he could do it without his manners falling short, he caught her gaze and it was as if that instant of perfect shock happened again, just like the first time they met, as intense as ever. Surely, she couldn’t ignore that pull between them.

  But she could. At the end of the dance, she was forced to hold his hands while they danced down the floor together, with the others forming an arch then formed their place in the arch, fingers linked. When it was done, he didn’t release her so she could applaud, but dragged her closer and laid her hand firmly on his arm.

  The call came from the end of the room. “My lords and ladies, supper is served.”

  “Are you hungry?” he murmured to her.

  She had to lean closer to hear him, which had been his objective in not speaking up. “No.”

  “Then come.” He tried to lead her in the opposite direction to the supper room. “Or should I make good on my promise?”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “Try me.”

  She sighed and gave in, letting him take her out of the room.

  Chapter 19

  Alex knew Kirkburton House well and without hesitation, he led her to a small salon on the same floor as the one where the ball was taking place but not opened for tonight’s festivities. He had the key, purloined from one of the footmen in return for a hefty vail. The bribe had also paid for several lit candles, set in candelabra placed on the furniture around the room.

  The room was formally arranged, the effect gloomy, with heavy, William Kent furniture, the upholstery and drapery dark green, relieved only a little by mustard.

  Not the best surroundings but he didn’t care. They were on their own for the first time that evening and the relief overwhelmed him, rushing in on him like the unstoppable tide. He clenched his fists, hiding them behind him. She turned with a smile, one he wanted to kiss off her face. “They’ll miss us if we take too long.”

  “I waited. They’ve been dancing and drinking, they’ve spread all over the public rooms. They’ll all think you’re in another room. The shock of the announcement has worn off a little and they’re talking about it.”

  Her smile turned wry. “I should have known you’d have considered all that.”

  He opened his hands, and spread them before him. “That’s what I am.” It was important she understood that, considering what he was about to say. “But sometimes I do go too far. As I did with you. I’m sorry, Connie, more than I can say.”

  She folded her arms. “What are you sorry for?”

  He might have known she’d want him to talk it out with her. Any other woman would have counted the apology as done but she wanted to pin him down. She wanted him on his knees? Then he’d do it. Whatever she wanted.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t consult you before I confronted Dankworth. But I’m not sorry I confronted him. You couldn’t have helped, Connie. I did it playing piquet with him, a two-player game and in any case, I did it at Mother Dawkins’s. He needed bringing down. He was upsetting a lot of people, not just you and me. Considering I never intended to force him to make good on his debts, he got off lightly, better than if some others had got hold of him. Connie, will you accept my apology? I’ll do whatever you want.”

  A smile curled her lips and relief swept through him. “Anything?”

  “Anything,” he said firmly. “I know you asked me and I promised. I should have visited you and discussed it first. But the opportunity arose and I did it.” He paused and yes, he had to tell her anything. “You no doubt heard that Julius and I were attacked in the street by footpads.”

  “Yes I did.” He hoped it was anxiety for him that shaded her gaze now.

  “It wasn’t footpads, it was paid ruffians. Dankworth had paid them to do it. Oh, they mentioned a shady overlord but I believe that was an attempt to set us off the trail. If he’d take that risk, he must be getting desperate, I thought. I wanted to speed matters up. Get him gone. That’s why I didn’t have time to tell you about my plan to take him.”

  “You should have told me.” She frowned, seemed to recall it would crease her face powder. “I was worried about you.”

  She glanced away, bit her bottom lip and released the plump morsel pinker than before. He wanted to soothe it, then arouse it, coax it to open for him. Yes, anything. He’d say anything if she’d come closer, if she’d let him kiss her.

  “I’ve never wanted to protect someone so much before. And I know it’s irrational sometimes and I know it’s wrong because I promised you but it’s done now and I want your forgiveness.”

  Was that a smile that flickered across her face so briefly? “There is a way you can earn forgiveness.”

  “What? Tell me.” He dared to reach forward and grasp her hands. She let her fingers lay in his palms and he loosely closed his fingers over them, covering her but she could pull away any time she wanted to. She chose not to.

  “Promise to remember that I prefer to make decisions for myself. Never do it again.”

  He tugged and she took a step closer, so that the front of her gown brushed the fall of his breeches. His cock came to instant attention. “I promise. But you have to be there to ensure I never do it again, don’t you?”

  “Ah.” She hadn’t thought of that. Doubt clouded the guileless blue of her eyes.

  Softly, he drew her closer, heard the shush of her gown as her skirts compressed against him. “You’ll have to stay with me, just to be sure I’m not doing something to protect you. Hiding the truth.”

  As her mouth opened to reply, he stopped it with his lips.

  After one languorous kiss, he drew away, opened his eyes and gazed down at her face. He never wanted to see anyone like this again, except her. Her eyes glowed, her skin begged for his touch, his kiss. He could do nothing but oblige. Her mouth opened as he touched her lips, inviting him inside. There was no way on earth he could resist her now. He was lost and he rejoiced in the fact. Hunger for her rose and overwhelmed him, destroying sense and gentility.

  Connie couldn’t refuse him. It was some kind of spell, the result of his years of seducing women, of learning their ways. But this was special, it belonged to them alone. She’d let herself believe it. He’d said all the right things, except for the last, which her mind tussled with while her body slid into unimaginable delight. He slid his hands around her waist, urged her to step back but he came with her, his aroused body pressing against her, revealing in explicit detail what he felt for her right this minute.

  Between her thighs, her body melted for him. Her breath came sharper and she exha
led down her nose as he kissed her, longing for his touch, everywhere.

  When the sharp realization came to her, she’d gone too far to care. She felt him so well because he’d lifted her skirts and only a few layers remained between them and nakedness.

  They couldn’t do this now. She jerked away, staring up at him in shock.

  He trailed his fingers down her cheek. “Hush, sweetheart. I’m going mad for you here. You’ve bewitched me completely. Let me have a taste, a small flavor of paradise.” His low growl vibrated against her neck when he kissed it, tongued the pulse at the base, which was throbbing so hard she could hardly breathe.

  He pushed the lace aside and kissed the upper slopes of her bosom, long and lavishly. Her nipples hardened into sensitivity and the soft silk of her stays felt like sand when she moved restlessly. He groaned and lifted a breast free, drawing her nipple into his mouth with a hunger only rivalled by hers. She wanted him to touch her more than she wanted her next breath.

  Tingles spread through her, increasing in intensity, so she reached out and gripped. Her hands met velvet and the buckram shaping his coat scrunched under her fingers.

  “Hold on to me,” he murmured, his breath hot against her skin.

  With a movement she hadn’t expected and couldn’t have stopped if she had, he went down on to one knee and kissed her thigh, high up, close to where she wanted him. Sensation shivered through her body, rendering her helpless.

  He held her legs, pushed her against the wall behind them and then reached for something and dragged it across the polished floorboards. “Lift up, precious.”

  He grasped her ankle, lifted it and put it down on what felt like a small footstool. That meant her legs were open to him and he could see everything, do what he wanted. Oh, that made her melt. Already the tops of her thighs were wet with her arousal. He could do anything to her, no matter how undignified she looked. She even helped him by scooping up handfuls of her skirts and holding them out of the way. She’d missed him, missed this, and if he stopped now she’d kill him.

  He kissed her, his tongue flickering against her as he tasted her most intimate juices, sliding along the crease at the heart of her body.

  Thrills spread up her spine, and she clenched and unclenched her hands. He licked, and she pressed closer. “More,” she said, her voice breathless.

  He obliged.

  She cried out and lifted a fist to push it into her mouth, afraid someone might hear, heedless that the movement lifted her skirts even further, exposing more of her body to him. He could have it all, if he carried on doing this marvelous thing she had no name for, if he never, ever, stopped drinking from her and teasing her with the tip of his tongue.

  Then he took that knot he’d told her was her clitoris into his mouth. She sobbed as shards of agony shot through her. Agonizing pleasure, such that she writhed against him, trying to get away then pushed closer.

  The pleasure coalesced, became an impetus she couldn’t deny. He continued his wonderful torture, holding her steady but driving her into such bliss that she leaned back, her head thudding against the paneled wall behind her head.

  Mercilessly he worked her, heightening the sensations until she thought she couldn’t bear any more then she knew she couldn’t bear any more and then she hung, pausing for one fraught, unbelievable moment before she fell.

  Plunged into the abyss, landed on a hard surface, bounced. She opened her hands, reached, clutched, found something soft, something she pushed aside and vaguely registered a thump before she found purchase in the short strands of his midnight hair.

  He pushed fingers into her, how many she couldn’t tell and she clenched viciously against them, cried his name and let him take her wherever he wanted.

  She couldn’t fight it anymore. She was his.

  A sharp sound rent the air when he pulled away, cursed softly when she took a few strands of his hair, too sluggish to release him in time and then stood to catch her as she almost fell into his arms, helpless in her excess of passion.

  He half carried, half dragged her to the nearest sofa and leaned her against the rigid back, while he put her and himself to rights. She watched him in a dream as her throbbing body returned to normal. Let him care for her.

  He tucked her breast back into her bodice, lingering to deliver one last kiss to the upper curve, then fluffed her skirts before smoothing them back into place over her elegant side-hoops one by one, ensuring they were all straight. It was more than she could do. He’d make a good lady’s maid.

  “How did you learn to do that?”

  His eyes widened and he stared at her. “That’s new to you?”

  She shook her head in disbelief. She hadn’t imagined it possible. “Nobody—that is, John, my husb—”

  He put one hand over her lips. “Connie, no. Don’t call him that.”

  “But that’s what he was.”

  “Was, sweetness, was.” He glanced down and frowned. “Damn, I thought I heard a rip. I’ve torn the lower flounce of your petticoat. Do you have pins?”

  “Of course.” She reached into her pocket and found the small packet that most women had about them for just such an emergency. He took it with a smile. “Now what did you do with my wig?” He looked around. “Ah yes.” He picked it up and paused before a large pier-glass ensuring it was properly in place. It took him but a second or two, then he was back with her, kneeling at her feet and lifting her petticoat but not for the same reason he had done earlier.

  The door opened.

  Connie, lost in a dream, started in alarm. He stared up at her, a warning in his dark eyes. She had to trust him now, because that was what he was asking her. To trust him.

  Expressions of shock marked the various people crowding around the doorway. Some smiled. They were crowding in to view her downfall. At their head stood Miss Stobart, triumph on her face. “I knew they’d come in here.” she said shrilly. “I saw them. He makes a habit of luring females into empty rooms at balls. Or maybe she lured him, don’t you think, sir?”

  She’d brought Lord Downholland with her. Her last attempt to regain the inheritance for her betrothed. Lord Downholland merely stared at them.

  What astonished Connie was the sight of Alex swiftly closing his hand over the packet of pins. They were his excuse. He only had to say he was helping her mend her skirt and he was free to leave, unhindered.

  He stayed where he was, kneeling before her.

  Heat flooded through her when she realized what the people staring at them would think. By not insisting they lock the door, she’d taken the decision away from him, just as he had her, even though she hadn’t meant to do it. He didn’t look as unhappy as she imagined he would.

  “I hadn’t planned to perform this before an audience.”

  Amusement lacing his low tones, he turned back to her. He took one of her hands and placed a kiss on the back of it, then retained it, pressing it warmly between his own. “Mrs. Rattigan, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  She gaped then remembered to close her mouth. It took her a moment to find her voice. “You can’t mean that.” Not in public, where her rejection could mean his public ridicule.

  “Never more serious. You have stolen my heart and my senses. I want nothing more in this world. Please say yes.”

  His gentle urging melted her but it was the expression in his eyes that convinced her. He meant it. This wasn’t for sport, wasn’t to avenge himself against Miss Stobart, wasn’t because he’d been forced into this situation in any way. He meant every word.

  And because she wanted this more than anything else in her life, she said, “Yes. Yes please. Oh, Alex!”

  He got to his feet, clasping her hands.

  She wanted more, to celebrate the moment with a full embrace. She laughed shakily. “I should have said, ‘Lord Ripley, you honor me with your proposal. I can do nothing but accept your most flattering offer.’” She tore her gaze away from his, to her godfather. “Will you say I said that the first
time, if you please?”

  Miss Stobart colored an interesting shade of plum and she’d forgotten to school her expression. She scowled, revealing her age, appearing as nothing more than a child in her mother’s clothes.

  Connie almost felt sorry for her, but Louisa’s act of spite negated that. “Well what did you expect?” she snapped. “For his lordship to get to his feet and walk away? Do you really know him so little?”

  Stobart really was a stupid woman. Or wilfully blind, which amounted to the same thing.

  Alex wouldn’t have left her. She’d seen his sincerity. He would have asked her, had perhaps been planning to all along. If she’d seen any doubt in his face, any at all, she’d have refused him. That would have been acceptable, except they’d been alone but she was a widow, not an innocent miss and a little latitude could be allowed before she would have compromised herself.

  They could have pulled it off. Nobody would have known what had transpired here tonight. But he’d wanted to and the thought warmed her from the inside out.

  “Do you wish us to announce the happy event tonight?” asked Lord Winterton.

  She hadn’t noticed him coming in. Strange how a man dressed so flamboyantly could move so discreetly when he wanted to.

  “If you wish it. I think it might be best, because I have plans for our marriage sooner rather than later.” Alex glanced at her, smiling fondly. “Now I have her, I’m not letting her go.”

  She saw an intent in his gaze she wasn’t at all sure about but the dark, glowing promise heated her desires.

  Julius took her free hand and bowed over it formally. “May I be the first to offer my heartiest congratulations?” He turned. “Perhaps we could leave the happy couple with Lord Downholland to hammer out the details.” He walked towards the door and then turned back at the last moment, as the spectators had reluctantly filed out. “I haven’t congratulated my best friend and one of my dearest new friends.” He offered his hand and wrung Alex’s comprehensively when he gave him it. “You won’t regret it.” He released Alex and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “Welcome to the family, Connie. Such as it is.”