by Anna Bennett
He couldn’t help himself. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to help me remove my trousers?”
“Good night.” She released his waist and nimbly ducked out of his embrace.
“Wait,” he said. “May I ask you something?”
“What is it?” She tossed her head—a subtle act of defiance that only made him want to crush her mouth with his.
“I wondered if you enjoyed yourself at the ball last night.”
“I did,” she answered warily, “and I believe your grandmother did as well.”
“I’m sorry I missed it,” he said.
She glared at him for a long moment, as though she doubted his sincerity. At last, she said, “Never fear, I predict you shall receive more than your share of ball invitations in the future.” Her chilly tone didn’t deter him—he knew from experience that beneath her hard shell she was warm and passionate. He only had to crack through her exterior, and if it took a bit of effort … she was worth it.
“True,” he said earnestly. “But I would have liked to attend last night’s ball … with you.”
She sniffed. “That is exceedingly easy for you to say when your injury made it impossible.”
“I would not have said it if I didn’t mean it.”
She stepped closer, her eyes flashing in the darkness. “And I suppose you would have asked me for the first dance, paraded me around the ballroom, and introduced me to all your important friends—if only your injury didn’t prohibit it.”
Chuckling, he reached for her hand and smoothed his thumb across the back. “Is that so difficult to believe?”
She pulled away. “I’m not as naïve as I appear, your grace.”
“It’s Alex. And what does that mean?” he said, all too aware that the conversation was a minefield.
“I am not under the illusion that you were suffering alone all evening. I trust you found a pleasant distraction.”
He blinked. “You think I spent last evening with a woman?”
“Maybe. Last evening, this evening, tomorrow evening—it is none of my concern.” But her voice cracked, as though she did care.
“Beth,” he said softly, “I was here last night. Alone. And I was at my club tonight, With Darby.”
“My,” she sniffled. “Two whole nights without female companionship. That must be a personal record.”
“I wasn’t without female companionship,” he countered. “I was with you yesterday, before the ball. And I’m here with you now.”
“I’m your grandmother’s companion—not yours.”
Smiling at that, he placed a hand on her hip and drew her closer. “Even you have to admit that there is something between us.”
“I don’t pretend to understand it,” she said breathlessly.
“Nor do I. But I will tell you this.” He circled an arm around her waist. “I don’t like that you danced with someone else last night.”
Chapter NINETEEN
Beth huffed, indignant. “I will dance with whomever I choose.”
“That doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Alex growled.
A shaft of moonlight shone through the window at the end of the hallway. Beth’s room and the dowager’s were on the opposite end of the house, leaving this entire wing to the duke. At this late hour as they stood in the doorway of his bedchamber, it was easy to imagine that only the two of them existed, and the steady pressure of his hand on her waist was both thrilling and distracting.
“How do you know I danced with someone?” she challenged.
He hesitated a second too long. “A beautiful woman always has dance partners.”
Of all the—“Lord Darberville told you.”
“We had dinner tonight,” he admitted. “Why’d you have to dance with Coulsen?”
“Why wouldn’t I? He was well-mannered and kind.”
“Damn it, Beth. Most men aren’t to be trusted.”
Oh, that was rich. “I see. And I suppose you are exempt from scoundrel status?”
Ignoring her question, he said, “You don’t know anything about Coulsen. You shouldn’t be dancing with strangers.”
“Let me make sure I understand,” she said slowly, attempting to keep her temper in check. “You may consort with whomever you wish at any time of the day or night, but I am not permitted to dance in public with a gentleman to whom I’ve been properly introduced?”
He winced as though the evidence of his bullheadedness wasn’t entirely lost on him. “Something like that.”
She clenched her jaw but didn’t pull away. “You are insufferable.”
“That’s hardly news,” he grumbled.
And then the realization struck her, warming her insides. “Do you want to know what I think?” she mused.
“Always.”
Sliding her palm up his chest, she tipped her face to his. “I think … that you are jealous of Mr. Coulsen.”
“Not bloody likely.” Staring at her hand on his waistcoat, he paused for the space of a heartbeat. “Maybe.”
A cold corner of her heart melted a little, but she couldn’t resist teasing him. “Say what you will about Mr. Coulsen. What he lacks in social standing and wealth, he makes up for in other ways.”
Alex snorted. “Let me guess—he ties his cravat in a fancy knot? Or recites stilted poetry?”
Beth slipped a hand around his neck, pleased that he didn’t flinch when she touched his scarred skin. “If you must know, he is an excellent dancer, and his manners are perfection.”
In a blink, he captured her wrists and pinned them to the wall behind her, pressing his hips to hers. “Good manners are highly overrated.”
Before she could reply, he slanted his mouth across hers, kissing her like he wanted to claim her. Like he’d die if he couldn’t have her.
Desire blossomed in her chest and slid lower. She arched her body, needing to touch more of him.
“Oh God, Beth,” he murmured, grazing her neck with his lips. “Tell me I’m not mad. Tell me you feel it too.”
He sounded so sincere, so genuine that she had to remind her heart to remain aloof. She was no one special to him. If he was jealous, it wasn’t because he harbored tender feelings toward her. He’d said himself that a dog always wanted another dog’s bone.
She couldn’t let herself be taken in, or worse, fall in love.
On the other hand, she wasn’t going to walk away from this—a chance to grow closer to Alex, to connect with him on another level … to peek into his wounded soul.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I feel it too.”
“Come with me.” He laced his fingers through hers, pulled her into his bedchamber, and closed the door behind him. “Stay here,” he said, “while I light a lamp.”
Nodding, she closed her eyes, imagining what the infamous duke’s bedchamber must look like. A massive bed heaped with tasseled pillows? Silk bedsheets in decadent red and black? Walls lined with paintings of naked couples engaged in scandalous acts?
She felt his hand on her hip and opened her eyes, fully prepared for the shocking display that awaited her.
Only, the room, now dimly lit, looked rather ordinary. Masculine, yes—but tasteful. “Oh,” she said, taking in the muted blues and browns. “It’s not what I expected.”
“You were thinking something more along the lines of a bordello?”
She shrugged. “Yes, actually.”
“Beth,” he said, kissing the back of her hand. “There’s something you should know.”
“I don’t need to know everything,” she protested. “It’s probably better if I don’t.”
“I’ve never brought a woman to my room before.”
She told her silly heart to hold firm. “You’ve probably never had an eligible woman living under your roof. If you had…”
“That’s not fair,” he scolded. “Why can’t you believe that this”—he pulled her body flush with his—“is special?”
She wanted to. But the people she trusted invariably let her down. Her o
wn father—a vicar—had gambled and played so deep that he’d secretly wagered her older sister’s hand in marriage. And when her parents died suddenly, most of her relatives had turned their backs on her and her sisters. More recently, when they’d become laughingstocks of the ton, Beth’s few friends had abandoned her.
But maybe Alex would be the one to prove her wrong. Maybe he would restore her faith.
“Make me believe,” she whispered, pressing her forehead to his. “Show me this is real.”
“Real?” He caressed her cheek, thoughtful. Then he said, “Do you believe in dragons?”
“What does that have to do with—”
“Like the creatures in your mythology book. Do you believe in serpentlike, fork-tongued dragons?”
Dear God. Maybe he’d been hit in the head as well as the knee. “Of course not,” she said slowly. “By definition, mythological creatures are just that—make-believe.”
“What would you say if I told you that I could show you a dragon?”
“In a book?” She was doubting the wisdom of entering his bedchamber. With every twist of the conversation, she realized she was in way over her head.
“Not in a book. Right here, with me.”
“I wouldn’t believe you.” Unless dragon was some sort of euphemism for his … that is, perhaps he used it to refer to his—
Good heavens.
He smiled, his white teeth gleaming in the dark. “Come.” Pulling her by the hand, he limped around the end of his four-poster bed and swept aside thick curtains to reveal French doors leading to a small balcony. He opened the doors and led her through, guiding her to the wrought-iron railing that overlooked a lush garden. A warm breeze rustled the tree leaves and kissed her skin.
“You have a pet dragon living among your rose bushes?” she asked.
“No, not down there.” He pointed to the northern sky. “Up there.” Pinpricks of light shone through a velvety black backdrop.
“Is it an invisible dragon?” she asked, skeptical. “Or perhaps it’s flown away? Because I’m still not seeing it.”
“It’s there,” he said confidently. “If you know where to look.” Shifting her in front of him, he lowered his head so his eyes were level with hers and pointed to a spot on the horizon. “Do you see that steeple in the distance?”
“I think so.” Her hands braced on the railing, she was very aware of his hard body behind hers and his breath near her ear.
“Follow a straight line directly above it to the brightest star. That’s the ear of the dragon—one point of the triangle that forms his head.”
“Oh,” she whispered, oddly touched. “A dragon made of stars.”
“A real dragon. He’s Ladon, charged with guarding the golden apples.”
“I remember the story,” she said. “Hercules had to steal the apples as one of his twelve labors.”
Alex moved his outstretched arm, outlining the serpent. “The creature’s body winds up and slightly to the left, then way over to the right, and curls up again.”
She leaned into the solid wall of his chest as she squinted at the stars, not really seeing a dragon—but not really caring.
“Sometimes,” he said softly, “things that seem fantastical can be real. Now do you believe?”
“I think I might be starting to,” she admitted.
“Only starting? Then I have a little more convincing to do.”
Slowly, as if they had all the time in the world, he swept aside her hair and kissed the back of her neck, kneaded her shoulders, and stroked the tops of her arms.
He was so sweet and attentive that it was easy to forget the image of him as a rake who’d pleasured at least a dozen different beautiful women in the past year. At the moment, Alex was focused on her. His hands on her body, his lips on her skin.
Nothing could have been more real.
Around them, the city slept, the silence punctuated only by the whisper of a breeze or the distant howl of a dog. She and Alex were queen and king of all they surveyed, and the moonlit balcony was their lofty throne.
When her knees wobbled, he turned her to face him and plundered her mouth with his. She kissed him with equal fervor, and restraint gave way to abandon. The iron railing was at the small of her back, but he held her tightly, wedging a hard thigh between her legs and letting her feel his arousal.
He desired her. Three cruel years of being called a wallflower had taken its toll on her confidence. No girl could hear the label day after day, and live it ball after ball, without being affected. But tonight, at least while she was in his arms, she could shrug off the name like a dowdy dress.
And be the woman she truly was, underneath.
Growling, he slid a hand up her side, cupped her breast and tweaked its tight bud with his thumb. She let her hands slide down from his waist, over his taut backside.
“Beth,” he breathed, “I’ll never have enough of you.”
The laces of her gown already loose, her neckline dipped shockingly low, exposing her breasts to the cool evening air. Wantonly, she gripped the rail and arched her back, eliciting an appreciative curse from him. He dipped his head, taking one of the taut peaks in his mouth. A lovely ache began there, then spiraled downward, settling in her core. “Alex,” she murmured, “I need … you.”
She knew he was going slowly for her sake, but she didn’t want slow. Slow was tentative and ethereal and magical. She wanted powerful and primitive and real.
As though he understood, he wrapped an arm around her waist, lifted the hem of her gown, and rocked against her. His trousers pressed to her naked flesh, he moved in a rhythm that entranced her—and set her blood on fire.
In a million years, she’d never have guessed that she’d lose her virginity to the most infamous rake in London in the middle of the night on an open balcony.
But she was about to, and—Lord help her—she wanted him with all her heart.
“Can I touch you, Beth?” He sounded as desperate as she felt. “I want to please you.”
Unable to speak, she nodded, her cheeks flaming in a mix of embarrassment and desire.
“Jesus.” His hand traced a tantalizing path up the inside of her thigh, and his fingers found her entrance, teasing the warm, wet folds there and driving her mad. “Tell me what feels good,” he said.
“You would know better than I.” Her head lolled, and she grasped his shoulders for support as his fingers grazed the most sensitive spot.
“There,” he said, his voice brimming with satisfaction.
“Yes.” A beautiful tempest gathered inside her, fierce and itching to burst from the clouds.
Utterly intent on pleasing her, he bent his head to her breast once more, circling his tongue around the tip as his wicked fingers stoked the storm, bringing it closer. She could almost hear the thunder, could almost feel the ground shake—
He lifted his head abruptly and frowned. “Did you feel that?”
Dizzy with wanting, she swallowed. “What?”
Suddenly curt, almost cold, he dropped the hem of her gown and inspected the ground near their feet. “The balcony shook.” Narrowing his eyes, he focused on a small crack between them and the door to his room. “Damn it. It’s not safe—go!”
Chapter TWENTY
Alex yanked Beth away from the railing and shoved her in front of him, toward the doorway leading from the balcony to his room. Beneath her feet, the crack turned into a fissure, and the balcony tilted precariously. “Jump!”
She leaped just as the floor beneath them lurched. Alex fell backward and slammed into the iron railing, unable to see her. The balcony was still attached to the house—for now—but hung at a forty-five-degree angle.
Dear God. He couldn’t bear it if anything happened to her because of him. “Beth!”
She peered over the base of the doorway, on all fours.
At the sight of her, unharmed, the vise around his chest loosened.
“Don’t move,” she ordered. “I’m going to get help.”
“There’s no time.” He’d no sooner said it than the balcony shifted again. Besides, anyone who came to rescue him would know that Beth had been in his room. “Stand back—I’m going to jump.”
“But your leg!”
“I’m too worried about falling to my death to feel pain.”
“That’s not funny,” she said.
“Move out of the way.” He positioned himself so he could use the railing as a springboard. “This balcony is about to fall off the side of the house.”
“Be careful!” She crawled backward, and he gathered his strength, mentally counting to three.
One … two … three.
He leaped toward the house just as the balcony collapsed entirely. His body slammed against the crumbled brick and mortar, knocking the breath out of him and almost making him lose his grip. Somehow, he hung on to the bottom of the doorway by his fingertips, his legs swaying.
Through a cloud of pain, he heard Beth’s voice. “Hold on, Alex. I’m going to help you up.”
“Move away from the edge,” he gasped. “It’s not safe.”
“I’ll return in a moment.” She disappeared from view but returned three seconds later—with his bed sheet. “When I tell you to, you’re going to use this to haul yourself into the house.”
She left one end next to his white knuckled hands and disappeared again. After a bit of shuffling and grunting, she called out. “Now!”
Good God. There was no way he would risk pulling her down with him. He’d use what strength he had left to try to haul himself up by his fingertips, and if he fell, maybe he’d be lucky and land in a bush. He hazarded a glance below him to check—and damn if he didn’t hang directly above a pile of jagged stone and bent iron. Shit. Falling wasn’t an option.
Ignoring the sheet hanging next to him, he strained to bend his elbows and lift himself. If he could place one elbow on the bottom of the doorframe, he’d have the leverage he needed to drag the rest of his body into the house.
“Alex!” Beth called to him from inside. “Grab the sheet. I’ve wound it around the leg of your bed and am holding onto the other end. Trust me.”
