Lady Alexandra's Excellent Adventure: A Summersby Tale (9 page)

“First of all, failure is not an option and second of all I must tell you quite adamantly that I would never divulge any secrets under torture. That you would even make such an assumption—”

“Are you really such a fool, my lord, as to think for one minute that you would not talk if your nails were being pulled out and your limbs cut off,” Alexandra cried in exasperation as she interrupted him. “Why do men always presume themselves to be so invincible all the time?”

Michael stared at her in disbelief. He could not ignore what she was saying, regardless of how much he wished to deny her accusation. It was true that he had never fallen prey to an enemy, but he’d always believed that if he ever did, he would withstand anything for the sake of his country. Alexandra had just cast serious doubts on that and it shook him rather violently to acknowledge her point of view.

She sighed. “I’m sorry, my lord. I find that I am being quite rude of late. It’s not my place to question your sense of duty or your honor. Please understand that it’s this whole dratted business that has me so out of sorts. I’m quite worried about our potential for success, and I happen to care about . . .” She stopped herself instantly and there was suddenly a very perplexed look upon her face, as if she’d been about to say something that she knew she’d come to regret.

“What?” he asked.

“Hm?” Her eyes took on a look of complete incomprehension as if she was doing her very best to feign ignorance.

“What is it that you care about?” he asked in a low murmur.

“Oh . . . er . . . nothing really . . .” She made a sound much like a nervous chuckle before sticking her hands in her pockets and shrugging her shoulders dismissively.

Nothing indeed?

“It wouldn’t happen to be my welfare would it?” He moved a little closer and couldn’t help but smile when he spotted the telltale blush upon her cheeks.

She snorted. “Of course not . . . that would be preposterous, Michael.” Again she chuckled with apparent uneasiness. “I mean really . . .” She turned her head away as if something of far more interest had suddenly caught her attention.

Michael, however, stood as if nailed to the ground. That one simple sentence had given him a world of insight. Alexandra had not only used his Christian name but she had also made that small uneasy sound that women tended to make when they were shy or embarrassed about something. However, the Alex
he
knew was
not
the sort of woman to be shy or embarrassed about anything, which led him to deduce that she must have finally taken a liking to him. The thought pleased him to no end. In truth, it surprised him just how much it pleased him, but there it was. It simply did.

Now, to test the theory
.

Pushing the thought of Ryan hunting him down and beating him to a bloody pulp from his mind, he took a step forward, toward Alexandra. She didn’t move.

So far so good.

Feeling a bit more confident, he took another step until they were standing no more than half an arm’s length apart. She remained where she was, gazing up at him, expectantly. It was almost as if she
wanted
him to kiss her. The realization stunned him. Alexandra Summersby, the most unruly, feisty hoyden he’d ever encountered in his life, was presently gazing up at him with that same doe-eyed expression that he’d seen a hundred times before. He felt the corners of his mouth start to twitch with the beginnings of a chuckle. It really wouldn’t do to laugh now, he warned himself. It would be most unfair, ungentlemanly and unkind to say the least. Yet for some annoying reason he couldn’t seem to stop himself. The expression on her face was so completely out of character. Never in a million years would he have imagined her to look at him like that—eyelids batting of their own volition and her lips puckering in expectation as she leaned slightly forward. Yet here she was doing precisely that—it was much too comical to stop the smile crossing face.

And that was when she hit him.

It wasn’t a faint slap on the cheek. No, Alexandra put all her weight behind the right hook that landed squarely across his jaw, throwing him completely off balance.

Damnation!

“What the devil are you—”

“Who the hell do you think you are?” she hissed, cutting him off.

“You hit me,” was all he could think to say as he raised his hand to his rapidly bruising cheek.

“And you bloody well deserved it,” she said, seething with rage.

He supposed he did. Still, he never would have expected her to hit him . . . or to do it so painfully well. Besides, he hadn’t actually laughed, he’d just smiled . . . a bit more than usual perhaps. And he’d felt like laughing, but she couldn’t possibly know that, could she? Judging from her expression, perhaps she could read his mind. He met her eyes, and looked a bit deeper—beyond the anger—and what he saw filled him with guilt. She was hurt.
He’d
hurt her, and he’d never regretted anything more in his life.

Blast!

Rubbing her sore knuckles with her hand, she turned to go. He didn’t want her to—not with this bad air between them—he had to explain. She cursed under her breath and was just getting ready to step back into her room when he broke from his trance and reached for her wrist, wrapping his fingers around it. “Let go of me,” she cried in clear frustration as she tried to yank herself free.

“Alex,” he said, pulling her toward him. “I’m sorry I laughed, truly I am . . . it was badly done of me and not at all meant as an insult. Please stay.” She eyed him skeptically, not at all ready to fall into his arms. Well, it seemed as if an explanation was in order. “The look on your face was so . . . well, you looked as if you were hoping I might kiss you, and it just seemed funny because . . . well, to be perfectly honest, you’re just about the last person I ever expected to find looking at me like that.”

There, that should do it
.

The look on her face however, told him that he might be dangling over the railing in another second unless he did something drastic to alter her state of mind. With a quick tug, he drew her into his arms. Then, before she had the chance to launch into another verbal attack or give him yet another beating, he closed his mouth over hers.

Heavenly
.

She struggled like a caged animal at first, but a heartbeat later, he felt the tension flow from her body and she sagged against him. He tightened his hold and pulled her closer, his right hand resting on the small of her back while the left remained upon her shoulder. She smelled of lavender.

Testing the waters, he ran the tip of his tongue along her lips and felt her quiver—a delightful response that made his own pulse quicken. When she put her arms about his neck, he knew she wasn’t about to run away from him. He pulled back a little to take a look at her. Her eyes were still closed, her perfect lips slightly pursed from kissing. He ran the pad of his thumb along her cheekbone and watched her sigh in response. What a charming creature she was.

Without another moment’s pause, he crushed his lips against hers.

During the course of his life, Michael must have kissed at least a hundred women. But this was different. This was new and refreshing and it was . . . he wasn’t sure exactly what it was, but it felt
better
somehow. Strange choice of word perhaps, but there it was.

Pressing her closer, he deepened the kiss with his tongue. He felt her stiffen for a moment, but then she sighed, allowing him to coax her tongue to follow.

He’d know for a while now that he wanted to kiss Alexandra, but he never would have guessed just how captivating he would find it. In fact, he’d thought himself capable of keeping it brief, his only intention being to sample what she had to offer, but this was proving far more difficult than he’d anticipated. She was so soft and pliable beneath his touch—all traces of her prickly, tomboyish character completely evaporated, save for her choice of clothes. And he’d been overly surprised to discover that there was something quite erotic about the fact that she was wearing breeches. Her legs were clearly defined beneath them, but more importantly, so was her firm and perfectly rounded backside.

His right hand drifted down to grasp onto one of her buttocks. She groaned faintly in response, arousing him even further.

Good God
.

He had to stop this now before he took her right there on the balcony for all of Paris to see.

And that was when the stabbing sense of guilt that he’d thus far managed to contain, suddenly surfaced in full force. He’d given Ryan his word of honor that he would steer clear of his sister unless he intended to court her. Well, he had no intention of doing any such thing. Indeed, now that she’d shown her interest, he was very likely to tire of her rather rapidly he knew.

He was just about to pull away, when she beat him to it.

“Well,” she said as she looked him dead in the eye. “That was far better than I would have expected.”

Michael blinked.

“However, it’s growing exceedingly late, and I must be off to bed. Alone—before you get any ideas in that presumptuous head of yours.”

She sent him a coy smile as she slipped from his arms and walked away. “Good night, Ashford,” she called over her shoulder as she sashayed back inside her bedroom and pulled the door closed behind her. He heard the lock click.

Well, that was a first
, Michael thought to himself. He had always been the one to walk away, leaving the girl staring after
him
. With a sigh of exasperation he leaned against the railing to look down upon the street bellow. The nights were growing warmer though the slow breeze was leaving him quite chilly now that he was standing there alone.

Damn
.

Alexandra was unlike any other woman he’d ever met and she was beginning to get under his skin. It was a rather disconcerting admission for him to make, but there it was.

Still, he was only just getting to know her, he reminded himself. Perhaps, he would still discover that she wasn’t nearly as appealing as he presently found her to be. Besides, the whole attraction was very likely based on the fact that there were no other women around to draw his attention.

Feeling as if he’d finally solved a great mystery, he headed back inside. There was nothing for it. He would simply have to control his urges and keep his distance from her or he’d find himself heading for the altar before they even managed to complete their assignment.

C
HAPTER
T
EN

M
ichael stepped down from the carriage that he’d hired to take him to rue de Rivoli. He paused for a moment as he regarded the large palace that lay before him—a vast and magnificent edifice that seemed to dwarf Carlton House in both size and opulence. Straightening his back and taking on an air of arrogance that only those of extreme wealth and importance were capable of managing, Michael strode toward the sentry that guarded the imposing entrance of the French Emperor’s residence.

He handed his calling card to one of the guards and stated his purpose. It identified him as Monsieur Michel Laurant, having purposefully avoided taking a title that might be known among Bonaparte and his cronies. The man, who appeared only marginally less arrogant than Michael (due in no doubt to the fact that he was not only French but Parisian to boot) stepped inside to convey the message to a higher authority who remained invisible to the public.

After ten minutes, the guard returned and gave Michael a haughty glance before opening the door just wide enough for Michael to step inside. “Monsieur le Docteur will receive you now.”

Michael squeezed past the insufferable man, trying terribly hard to hide the beginnings of a wide smile. He had asked to see a Monsieur Philippe Allaire, who Sir Percy had assured him would be William’s cover name. Well, it appeared as if the would-be double agent had turned himself into a doctor—perhaps Bonaparte’s very own private physician.

Michael stifled a grin as he followed a footman up a long flight of stairs. He must remember not to underestimate his opponent, for it did appear as if Lord Summersby was a very determined man. Then again, should he really have expected anything less of Alexandra’s eldest brother? He wondered what she would think of William’s ingenuity. In any event, he had newfound respect for the man, traitor though he may be.

Michael’s shoes clicked sharply against the polished marble floor as he followed the footman down a corridor flanked by partially nude sculptures of what he presumed were renditions of various Greek or Roman gods. The images immediately drew his thoughts to Alexandra and the captivating question of how her breasts might compare with the perfectly rounded ones of the statue. He cursed beneath his breath when he felt himself begin to strain against his breeches. This really wasn’t the sort of thing he ought to be thinking of as he readied himself to meet with her elder brother. There was a code of behavior among gentlemen, and besides, he’d promised Ryan that he would keep away from her.

Bloody hell!

It wasn’t as if Ryan was a close friend, but still, he liked the young lad and as he reminded himself, he’d given him his word—the word of a supposed gentleman. Not to mention that, despite appearance, Alex
was
a lady.

He wasn’t even supposed to have kissed her!

Michael’s mental haranguing came to an abrupt halt when the footman suddenly stopped before a heavy wooden door and gave it a loud knock. A muffled murmur that Michael couldn’t quite distinguish sounded from within. An instant later, the door was opened and Michael was ushered into a splendidly lavish drawing room with plush rugs full of elaborate floral patterns in varying shades of blue. Silk upholstered furniture in gold tones and beautifully carved tables inlaid with mother of pearl occupied the space. The walls were filled with gilt-framed paintings of biblical scenes resplendent with images of angels, beams of light emerging between puffy white clouds, and gowned figures gazing heavenward in a mixture of fear and reverence. It was all a bit too gaudy for Michael’s tastes, though he didn’t give this much thought. After all, he wasn’t the one who had to live there.

There were two people present in the room, a sturdy man whom he took to be none other than the infamous Lord Summersby himself, and a lady with whom he appeared to be in the middle of a rather animated conversation. Michael quickly noted the resemblance between William and Ryan, though William’s hair appeared to be a shade darker. The lady sat with her back toward the door, dressed in a lilac walking gown and a matching Spencer jacket.

Michael hid a smug smile. What a pleasure it would be to finally encounter a true lady of breeding, just the thing to prove to himself that the only reason he found Lady Alexandra in the least bit enticing was because she had, until now, lacked any competition.

He stepped forward just as William looked up. “Monsieur Laurant. Please join us,” he said as he got to his feet and gestured toward a comfortable looking divan.

Michael inclined his head in acceptance while he watched William’s gaze shift toward the footman who was still holding the door ajar. “That will be all,” he said stiffly.

The footman paused momentarily until William’s look hardened, and he waved his hand in an effort to shoo the impertinent man away.
“Allez . . . vite!”
he hissed at him.

Muttering an almost imperceptible “
Oui monsieur, Le Docteur
,” the disgruntled footman quickly exited the room.

“Tea?” William asked as Michael sauntered toward his designated seat. He flashed him a lopsided smile. Funny how ridiculous such a question sounded under the circumstances.

“May I present my sister, Lady Alexandra Summersby,” William said. “I believe the two of you have already met.”

Michael’s mind screeched to an abrupt halt that seemed to stretch for all eternity before slowly whirring back to life again. His head came around at a snail’s pace until his eyes settled upon the woman who was seated in one of the two armchairs. She was gazing up at him with a . . . he couldn’t tell if her smile was one of triumph or mischief. Her eyes sparkled as she raised one eyebrow. “Lord Trenton. How good of you to join us.”

How good of you to join us?

The little hoyden
.

He had a good mind to wring her neck just then, though he wasn’t quite certain that William would look too kindly on such a maneuver.

Instead, he gritted his teeth and bent over her outstretched hand, brushing his lips against her knuckles. This was not the Alexandra he’d grown accustomed to. No, indeed he was used to seeing her garbed in breaches and a loose fitting shirt, her hair carelessly tied back with a ribbon.

The transformation was nothing short of astounding. She appeared to be the very paragon of what a true lady ought to look like. Hell, even her hair had been perfectly arranged in a tight chignon—not a loose strand in sight. How she’d managed that feat without a lady’s maid confounded him. He supposed that Mrs. Bell must have stepped in and been of some assistance.

“Well, my lord?” Her eyes bore into his while her smile edged slightly more upward. “What do you think? I picked it up in a small boutique. The modiste assured me it was quite à la mode.”

“It suits you remarkably well, my lady. In fact, I dare say it’s quite an improvement.”

Why he’d added that last bit was beyond him. Well, perhaps not entirely.

Though he’d grown rather fond of seeing her in the snug breeches that shamelessly put her hips, thighs, and backside on constant display, he wasn’t about to let her know it. Besides, he enjoyed jibing her. Particularly when his efforts were so easily rewarded with that scornful glare she seemed to reserve entirely for him.

“I couldn’t agree more,” William stated. “Really Alex, you can be quite the lady when you put your mind to it. Brandishing swords and pistols, as fun as that may have been when we were children, is not entirely befitting for a lady your age. Frankly, I don’t understand why father still allows it.”

“Well, he did try his best by sending me off to Aunt V,” she reflected. Her tone was light, yet Michael still managed to catch the hint of bitterness that laced her words. “Perhaps, it was simply because I made it plainly known that I was happy as I was. Boys always have all the fun you know, and when given the choice between studying fashion plates and climbing trees . . . well, the fashion plates always came up rather short I’m afraid.”

William chuckled. “Then it’s a miracle indeed that you have any sense whatsoever in regards to what a lady ought to wear.”

“I am not a complete idiot,” Alexandra shot back. “I
can
tell the difference between a chemise and a petticoat, though I was not at all comfortable with being strapped into my corset—unnaturally confining thing that it is.” Michael’s and William’s mouths fell open, and she rolled her eyes. “Oh for heaven’s sake! It’s not as if I’m not wearing one. After all, they did manage to squeeze me into the dastardly contraption in the end. However, I—”

“Alexandra . . .” William cautioned her in a tight voice as he cast a glance in Michael’s direction.

“Well, you know, I’ve never paid much heed to dressing appropriately,” she continued. “So naturally I managed to get the darn hooks caught on my chemise and . . .”

“That is
enough
, Alexandra!” William said, his voice so tight it might just snap.

Alexandra stared at her brother’s outraged face, but he wasn’t looking at her. Following his line of vision, her eyes settled upon Michael’s smoldering expression. The man looked as if his cravat might suddenly strangle him.

Heat washed over her, prickling her skin from her hairline down to the tips of her toes as understanding dawned on her. She’d seen that look the night before—as if she was a delectable desert that he was getting ready to sink his teeth into. Heavens! This must be the wicked face of desire, Alexandra realized with a shudder, and it was so plain in Michael’s eyes that the words
I want you
might as well have been written in bold letters upon his forehead.

In spite of how wonderful their kiss had been the night before (and it had been earth shatteringly wonderful to say the least), Michael’s expression still surprised her. Not that it didn’t please her—after all this was what she wanted: for him to like her—but she’d somehow imagined having to work a little harder at it, given that she had all his previous experiences to compete with.

A churning warmth settled in the pit of her stomach as she recalled the way he’d held her on the balcony. What had her plan been? To throw it all back in his face once she’d proven to him that she was just as agreeable as any other warm-blooded female? Yes, that was exactly what her plan had been.
But is that still what I want?
she wondered.

She had no desire to marry or bear children and since it would be William’s duty to produce an heir at some point in time, she’d always imagined having a brood of nieces and nephews to dote upon—all the joys without the hassle, so to speak. And then of course there was that constant nagging fear of getting too close to another person—to allow herself to care . . .
to love.

She watched Michael carefully for a moment as he sat down, realizing with a sudden urgency how desperately she longed for him to hold her again. His reputation was that of a notorious rake—the sort that every Mama would warn her chaste daughter to stay away from.

However, since marriage was not on Alexandra’s list of priorities and, more to the point, never would be, she considered Michael Ashford in a very different light. Indeed, he could be the very man who might enlighten her in an area where she was suddenly very keen on being enlightened. And though a man like Michael
must
marry, being the rake that he was, it shouldn’t be too difficult to get him to ignore the proprieties.

Would it be possible, she wondered slyly, to convince him to take their kiss one step further? It would certainly be scandalous. She would face the very real threat of ruination, not to mention that her brothers would undoubtedly kill both of them if they realized what was going on. But it was precisely the sort of danger and impropriety that spoke to her adventurous spirit. And, if she were to experience the true goings on between man and woman at least once in her life, who better to show her than a handsome man with plenty of experience?

Recalling where she was, she pushed the thought from her mind and favored the two gentlemen with her most winning smile. “Suppose we continue where we left off?” She turned toward Michael. “My lord, we were just admiring this wonderful piece of weaponry when you arrived. Tell me, what is your opinion of it?” She lifted a harquebus that she’d been cradling in her lap and then looked across at Michael, hoping for an answer. Instead, it seemed as if he were finding it difficult not to laugh. Irritating man. Donning a disapproving frown, she merely said, “my lord?”

“Forgive me,” Michael chuckled. “But to see you sitting like this, dressed in all you finery while holding a rifle in the same manner that any other young lady might be holding her embroidery . . . it really is rather amusing.”

Deciding to ignore him, she turned to her brother instead, only to find that he was having much the same problem as Michael. For lack of anything better to do, she rolled her eyes in response. “Sixteenth century I presume?”

“I do believe it is,” William said with a cough that immediately ironed out his expression.

“One of Bonaparte’s?”

“Mine actually. I acquired it the other day with the intention of adding it to my collection back home.”

Reaching forward, Michael took the musket from Alexandra’s hands. It had clearly been well looked after if the sheen of the wood was any indication. “I agree. It’s quite something to admire.” He handed the weapon back to its rightful owner.