Edith Layton (15 page)

“We have three options,” he said dryly. “We could stand here where we oughtn’t to be, and block the way of other couples going where they shouldn’t. We could go back inside and pretend it was the enthusiasm of the dance that swept us out here. Or, we could stroll to the end of this terrace and find a place where we can’t be seen.”

She stood absolutely still.

“You
did
say there was something you wanted to talk to me about?” he asked gently.

Well, yes, there had been, Kate remembered, feeling both relieved and disappointed. But now she couldn’t recall just what it was. She was too dizzied by how quickly they’d left the ball. And standing alone in the dark with a man changed everything—with
this
man, she corrected herself.

He was formally dressed in black jacket and black satin pantaloons. He even wore a black patch over one eye. Everyone had joked about his resemblance to a pirate. She hadn’t, she’d worried about it, because she knew what the patch concealed. It should have been too soon for him to be up and about, but his bruises were almost all healed, and his ribs must have been, too, because he moved with his usual fluid grace.

She looked at him, as worried about his health as her own peace of mind. Dark and dressed in black, yet in no way did he blend into the darkness. His linen was too white, his smile gleamed too brightly. She thought that smile was mocking, and that she deserved it.

“Yes. There was something I wanted to talk about,” she said. She glanced down toward the darkened edges of the terrace. “But I thought you worried about my reputation.”

“I do,” he said, laughter in his voice, “which is why I suggested a darker location.”

She nodded, feeling like a fool. But she took his hand and walked down the long terrace with him until they came to a dark place at the end of it. Then she slid her hand from his, because his touch made her senses fizz too much. She could see him clearly once her eyes adjusted to the darkness, but only the bolder expressions on his bold, piratical face.

“Now,” he said, “what’s the problem now, Kate?”

“My cousins,” she said, and frowned, trying to find the right words. Even with rehearsal, it was difficult. The darkness, and being alone with him, made everything different.

“Your relatives? Which ones?” he asked, his voice suddenly less amused.

“The Swansons,” she said, and thought he relaxed.

“Shall I have them removed?” he asked.

“I don’t know that there’s anything you can do,” she said, ignoring his joke. “But I did think I’d ask your advice, because it might influence our plans. You see, they’re trapping me into all sorts of engagements with men I don’t want to see. They tell Sibyl they’re doing it to save me from you,” she said in frustration, “because you’re too much for a simple girl like me to handle. But I wonder about their real reasons.”

“You think they’re jealous? I’m flattered.” His voice was warm with suppressed laughter. “But they might have a point.”

“I don’t know what their reasons are, but it means I won’t be able to see you as often as you’d planned,”
she explained. “Because, for example, I had to see Lord Markham yesterday, and I don’t know which of us was more unhappy about that.”

“Markham?” Alasdair asked. His voice let her know she’d shattered his lighthearted mood. “But he’s a very bad man, Kate. I know, I’m hardly the fellow to say something like that. He has a deservedly bad name. Those rumors about his late wife are bad. I’m the last man on earth to credit rumors. Still, there are other stories I know are true. I could tell you more, but I won’t. His reputation with women is not one I care to share with you. That should tell you enough. Your cousins shouldn’t encourage him. Why the devil did you agree?”

“How could I say no?” she asked in frustration. “They said if I didn’t, it would ruin Frances’s day, because his friend asked her to go walking—if I went along, too, with Markham. So I was caught. It turns out Markham thought I had a fortune! Now, I ask you, where do you think he heard that? I explained the truth to him, but I think he thought I was just being coy. That’s not all. I have to go to tea with Lord Fitzhugh tomorrow, because
his
friend is taking Chloe. I escaped before Henrietta came down this morning, or who knows who I’d have to walk out with next!?”

“Did you never consider simply saying no?”

“How can I simply say no to them? I might be able to deal with it, but my poor aunt! And Sibyl? It would be too cruel for them.”

“You have a point. But I think you have it wrong. They don’t have dark motives, they simply need you to go with them because the gentlemen wouldn’t take them out if it weren’t for you. Didn’t that ever occur to you?”

“Whatever their reasons,” she said, refusing to hear
the tender amusement in his voice, “my visit to London has not been…quite what I envisioned. I’m only staying on here now because of our agreement.”

“There’s a neat solution. When we’re back inside we’ll go over days and make appointments. I’ll reserve your time in advance so you can safely turn down other requests, because of me. Let me play the villain, I’m used to it. I’ll make a great many requests so you don’t have to ever see anyone you don’t want to.”

“But if we see each other all the time, we really will have to become engaged!”

“All right. Then you have my permission to make any date for any day you want, and let me know later. I don’t have that full a social calendar—that’s why we’re doing this, remember? Will that do?”

“It would. Oh, that is a relief. Thank you,” she said, smiling radiantly at him.

She waited for him to say something.

He didn’t, he just stood looking at her. He’d turned his back to the house, so she couldn’t see his expression, only his outline against the stain of light that showed through the draperies in the windows behind him.

But he could see her clearly. She wore an elaborate satin gown the color of copper pennies. It had many flourishes, draping over her form, concealing everything and yet hinting at all he remembered seeing the day she’d worn that simple milkmaid’s frock.

“Shall we go in now?” she asked.

“Shall we?” he asked slowly, in return. But he made no move to go. Instead, he brushed a curl back from her cheek, his long, cool fingers just barely grazing the skin at the top of her cheekbone.

It was an odd sort of caress, hardly a caress at all, tender and affectionate rather than passionate. But it
made her breath stop. “I thought you were going to be mindful of my reputation,” she said.

“I am. Oh, Kate, you have no idea of how much I am.”

Now he stroked a curl at the side of her head. She knew that if she turned her head, her lips could touch that hand.

“I thought you said this was to be a mock flirtation,” she said.

“So I did,” he said, and moved closer.

He was so tall he had to lean down to let his breath stir her hair as he breathed in her scent. They stood like that for a moment. She felt his warm breath against her eyelashes and caught the scent of his shaving soap. It smelled like pine and berries. She closed her eyes so she couldn’t see his face, so she couldn’t be held responsible for what she discovered she most wanted him to do. And so she only felt his lips barely, fleetingly, touch her own. Warm, soft, they only brushed against hers, leaving a bright, tingling shock—before they lifted away again.

Her eyes flew open. “You said you’d do nothing to endanger me,” she said, surprised how breathless she sounded, how weak her protest. Embarrassed when she realized what she was really protesting about.

“Yes,” he said. “Do you feel endangered?”

But this sounded like a game to her now. “Is this a test? Are you trying to frighten me away?”

“Am I? Do I frighten you?”

“I thought you wanted me to help you reestablish yourself. So then, why try to confuse me?”

“Why indeed?” he asked, sounding surprised.

It shattered the moment.

He stepped back. “Forgive me. I meant what I said
in all sincerity. I didn’t count on my own rude impulses. See what comes of meeting a man like me alone in a darkened place?” he asked on a forced laugh. “Instinct overpowered reason. But not for long, my reasonable friend. Come now, let’s steal back into the house and forget this lapse of mine, will you?”

She nodded, because she didn’t like to lie.

“But, Kate,” he said suddenly, “believe me, I’d never endanger you. And if you should at any time feel awkward or unhappy about our agreement, tell me, and we’ll be done with it.”

“I’m not such a poor sport as that.”

He looked down at her and said, in a tight voice, “Understand me, Kate, before you so flippantly agree to continue our bargain. It might be dangerous for you in other ways. I have a past, I have enemies. This last incident, I was attacked in the street. It put me in mind of it. It occurs to me there are people who might endanger you, as a way of spiting me. So. You still agree?”

“Of course,” she said, troubled by this sudden earnestness. She realized that the attack had unsettled him, he sounded very unlike himself. He might be able to dance, but now she saw he really wasn’t yet healed. It accounted for his worry, and maybe even for the strange moment they’d just shared. He’d been rocked, she saw that now. She did what she could to allay his fears; she had none, except for him.

“I think I’ll be safe,” she assured him. “I wouldn’t have agreed otherwise. Unless, of course, you think your enemies will come snatch me out of my bed?”

“No. That’s not my point. It’s just that my incident, and your cousins’ manipulations, made me realize you’re vulnerable. I ask you to be careful. Don’t go
with people you don’t like or trust. I’d never let them harm you. Believe that. But I can’t be everywhere.”

“So you
will
deal with my cousins?” she asked, striving for a lighter note.

“All of them,” he said with no trace of humor. “I promise you.”

He offered his arm. She placed her hand on it, and they went back to the door they’d left by. They waited for the right moment. Then she went dancing in with him, as though they’d been carried away by the music and then carried back in by it again, should anyone see them, dare anyone ask them.

But they’d been seen, of course. He’d counted on it.

K
ate was very quiet in the carriage on the way back to the Swansons’ house that night. She bid an absentminded good night to her aunt and cousins when they got home and told a disappointed Sibyl that they’d have to postpone their usual after-event discussion about everyone and everything until the next day because she was so weary. She was, but the truth was there were some things she couldn’t share with Sibyl. She refused the services of a helpful maidservant, went into her room, and closed the door firmly behind her.

Now she had time to reflect on what Alasdair had done. It hadn’t been much. He’d only let her know that he was a man and she was a woman he desired, if only for a moment. But that was more than enough for her. She was surprised, shocked, flattered, titillated, and deeply concerned about it.

It was like having a dear friend turn on you, she thought as she stripped off her gown…. It was not, she realized as she lay it down slowly. Because Alas
dair St. Erth hadn’t turned at all, he’d simply gone straight down the path his life was set upon. She’d always known who and what he was. He’d never denied it. And though he made her laugh, and their ideas often meshed, he wasn’t really a friend, and if she’d deluded herself about that when she’d agreed to his odd bargain, there was no way she could anymore.

Kate went to the pitcher and bowl on her dresser and washed herself vigorously. Then she slid her nightdress over her head, turned down the lamp, sank to her bed, and sat quietly, hands in her lap. She remembered how still he’d grown, the air of expectation that had vibrated between them, the feather-light touch on her cheek, the soft kiss that was as much an inquiry as an advance. She hadn’t known the answer to his silent question, or if she had, hadn’t dared give it. But one thing was clear. In that moment, he’d wanted more. He might have said he’d reverted to type, and maybe it was only that. But when he had, he’d wanted to keep on kissing her. And she’d wanted him to. Oh, how she’d wanted him to.

That simple kiss, that merest touch of his lips on hers, had set her senses fizzing, waking her to lusts she didn’t know she had. She’d wanted to drag his head down to taste more. It shocked her that she hadn’t as much as it shocked her because she’d wanted to.

There it was. It was really too bad she hadn’t been as blithely impervious to him as she’d told him she was. Maybe she really had been then. Not now, not anymore, and she couldn’t deny it anymore either. It wasn’t just that he positively radiated masculinity. Not masculinity, she corrected herself. She knew many men who did that, from the local blacksmith to her own father. No. What Alasdair St. Erth radiated was something else. Something she’d never known, and only a man like him could do it—but since she
hadn’t done it, she didn’t know quite what to call it and was sure a well-brought-up young woman wouldn’t even try.

Her convoluted reasoning made her smile.

She absently ran a hand over her coverlet, smoothing it. The plain truth was that the thought of their making love had occurred to him, and to her, too. Her hand stilled. The blasted man
made
a person think of it. His face, those knowing eyes, his purring voice, the very scent of him. He entered a room, and everyone became his audience. He stood on a terrace in the dark with a woman, and made her wish it were darker so she could blind herself to the truth of the night and bury herself in the unknown splendor she might discover in his dark embrace.

Kate shivered at her own melodramatic thoughts, pulled back the coverlet, crept under it, and lay very still. She was a realistic woman. But Alasdair was a very dangerous fellow. She was sure she had the self-control to prevent anything of the sort ever happening again, of course. After all, apart from considering herself a moral person, she believed in hard facts, and they were all on morality’s side.

He’d always been honest with her. Except for his one lapse tonight, his interest in her was solely his interest in their charade. He trusted her not to be attracted to him, not take anything he said or did seriously as he pretended to be courting her. He wanted to be reestablished in society. He would be. Then he’d look for a wealthy titled woman to wed, as men of his kind and class did. Whatever his pleasures were—and she’d thought about them much too often—he wouldn’t take them with a respectable young woman from the countryside. That thought was a relief as well as a sorrow to her these days.

She’d be going home soon. However exciting lovemaking might be—would certainly be—with him, it would be foolish and futile, if not downright disastrous for her, if indeed, he’d even consider it when he was in a more rational mood.

Kate sat up. She actually ticked off more reasons on her fingers, to be sure of them. She’d want to marry someday. Her husband would expect her to be virginal. Even if she could somehow get around that, she couldn’t dare jeopardize herself, because however pleasant Alasdair might find it, he could simply walk away when it was done. She might have to walk away bearing his child. Even if not, she’d walk away bearing his imprint, and she was certain she’d never be able to forget that, mind or body. She was running out of fingers when a thought struck her, and it made her want to strike herself on the head. Instead, she flung her head down hard on her pillow, as though that would drive some sense into it.

She moaned into the feathers of her pillow. However pleasant he might find it?
Alasdair St. Erth?
Apart from danger and the immorality of making love to him, the man was an expert at lovemaking. And the truth was that he might not find it pleasant with her.

Kate had a frank mother and chatterbox girlfriends, so she knew more about the mechanics of the act of love than many more sheltered misses did. Lovemaking entailed the removal of clothing, if it was done right. Alasdair would surely do it right. She looked down at herself, and saw nothing but coverlet. But she knew the geography of her own shape. Too well. Her body was not perfect. One of her breasts looked a little higher than the other, and though she hadn’t seen any more naked women than she had men, her thighs were probably too plump.

The women he’d known were experts at the art of seduction, they must certainly have better physical attractions. Her own experience was limited to the few kisses and embraces she’d experienced here and there in her career. Resourceful young men and women, even if respectable, managed to get a
little
wooing done. There’d been Jeremy Porter, but they’d been much too young. Peter Price, who’d been much too eager. John McMasters, who’d been too clumsy, and Simon Fletcher, and he’d been impossible. But Alasdair!

Kate sighed. She might dream of his touch but he was way above hers. It would be like an accomplished dancer trying to teach someone who had seldom danced a set of intricate steps. It could be done, but it wouldn’t be much fun for the instructor. Certainly not half so much as dancing with another expert. Although, if a person had a sense of rhythm, it might be…

Kate sat up straight. What was she
thinking
!

She stifled a moan. She was thinking of him, of being with him. Wondering what that kiss would have turned to if she’d cooperated, what would have happened next. She needed to know, her body wanted to know. It was buzzing with excitement just remembering that moment on the terrace, her breasts were tingling, her stomach felt strangely liquid and warm, and her…

Kate itched and burned and grieved for her impossible yearnings. Alasdair was a
very
dangerous man, she thought with sorrow and trepidation.

And she’d given her word to keep seeing him.

Well
, she muttered as she gave her pillow a vigorous thump and turned it over to a cooler side before she laid her troubled head on it again, her word was her bond. And that was that. She’d help him, then
clear out of London as soon as she decently could—in every sense of the word. She could only hope she could clear him out of her head someday.

Kate lay absolutely still in the hopes that sleep would eventually find her, because she was fairly sure she wouldn’t find it very soon herself.

Alasdair strolled home from the ball alone, head down as though in abstracted thought, body tensed, waiting for another attack. He wasn’t looking for trouble, precisely. Only looking to see if there’d be any. He could have taken a coach or walked with Leigh, but he was using himself as a lure to see if anyone was still interested in obliterating him. This time he’d be ready—and eager. The streets were empty, so there was ample opportunity, and he was giving anyone interested even more by seeming to be so lost in thought. He wasn’t entirely healed, but mostly so, the thing that hurt most now was his pride. He was a master of revenge. He’d been surprised once, and wanted a chance at reprisal.

There were streetlamps on each corner and a lantern in front of every house he passed, still, as Alasdair knew too well, it wasn’t really safe. London was a city of shadows at night no matter how wealthy the district. Streetlights and lanterns didn’t dispel the dark. Instead, they actually lent deeper shallows in which to hide. He ambled onward. He had to go more slowly than he usually did, because the damned patch on his eye gave him a one-sided look at the world. It was there for cosmetic reasons, the eye didn’t look good, though his sight was normal again. But he wanted to look unconcerned, and whipping the patch off when he left the ball would make him look too mindful of his surroundings.

He left it, and walked on. To anyone who might be
watching him he looked unarmed and unaware. He was neither. But as he paced down dark streets nothing troubled him but his thoughts.

Those thoughts were of Kate. She was walking out with the likes of Fitzhugh and Markham? Alasdair scowled. Markham was rumored to have killed his wife. No one could be sure of that, but everyone in the know knew he enjoyed beating the women he bought for temporary pleasure. And Fitzhugh had a hot temper and a cold heart. Surely Kate’s cousins knew they weren’t the sort of men she should associate with. What was their game? Were they so starved for companionship they were willing to compromise their cousin for a chance at a few moments in her reflected popularity? Or was it something else? He’d have to watch that situation more carefully.

It felt strange to be worrying about someone else. Strange, but somehow right. In fact, he’d felt impelled to warn her about another danger. He’d tried to caution her about her other cousins, the Scalbys. Instead, he’d only hinted at danger and warned her away from himself. He hadn’t meant to do that. Hell, he hadn’t meant even to touch her, but she’d looked so damned touchable.

He’d seen her upturned face, her lovely body, the way she waited for him to make the next move after he’d led her down into the darkness. She’d grown as still as he had as the possibilities of their situation became clear. He’d heard muted snatches of conversation from strollers in the garden, the music from the house faint and far away. But he clearly heard Kate swallow, as she waited for him to make a move.

He’d had to touch her. He simply had to feel the texture and quality of her skin. He’d never kept such steady company with a woman he hadn’t touched. It
was ridiculous to see her so often and have to keep his hands to himself. She must have thought so, too. She stayed still, her eyes wide and her breathing rapid, obviously waiting, complicit.

Her skin was cool and smooth. And so then he couldn’t resist the impulse to feel what her mouth was like. Her lips were pliant and warm, very sweet indeed. She hadn’t responded. She’d only stood there quiescent, submissive. Thank God the very artlessness of her reaction had awakened him to danger, or he’d have gone further, though he’d never meant to. If she’d responded with ardor, he’d have been lost.

Alasdair’s shoulders tightened at the thought. Passion not only muddled a man’s thinking, it destroyed his ability to react to his surroundings. It was dangerous, it distracted a man, distraction disarmed him, and that could kill him. Fortunately his passions never overwhelmed him, because he never gave himself over completely, always reserving a part of his mind, always aware of where and who he was. Desire had always been a simple urge for him to satisfy, like being thirsty and taking a glass of water. He’d see an attractive woman, and react to her. She’d let him know by word or gesture if she was available. That was that.

His reaction to Kate tonight was different. It was swift, unexpected, irresistible. He’d found her attractive when he’d first seen her, but he hadn’t felt an overwhelming spike of lust. He’d never have enlisted her help if he had. Alasdair smiled grimly. He would have. He’d have enlisted the Devil himself if it got him closer to his foremost desire in life. If she’d been of easy virtue he’d have used that to his benefit, too. But she wasn’t, she was respectable. He’d accepted that, and thought that in enlisting her help he was safe from any entanglements.

Instead, he found her more alluring every time he saw her. He liked her, had come to know her, and liked her even more. And wanted more, though he hadn’t thought of acting on it. Until tonight.

That was so untrue that he frowned fiercely. Things had come to a pretty pass if he was beginning to deceive himself. He’d been thinking about doing more for some time. Contemplating how good it would be to make love to a woman he liked. How nice to wake with one he still desired the next morning, and then make slow tender love again by the light of day so he could see as well as hear every breath of pleasure he gave her.

Nice? Good? Tender?
Alasdair shook his head. Those words had never stirred his desires before. But Kate had. She’d done it to the point that he’d reacted without thinking. It startled him. And interested her. He was sure of it.

He wanted her, and that wasn’t something he’d anticipated. He’d given his word not to harm her, and an affair certainly would do that. He smiled at his folly. An affair would likely be the last thing he’d get from Miss Kate Corbet—in every meaning of the word. Even if he’d given in to his inconvenient desire and had taken her in his arms to discover more, she’d have been upset and remorseful the moment she stepped out of his embrace. One didn’t have affairs with women like her, one married them. Only this one man couldn’t do that until his mission had been accomplished.