Once Upon a Wager (33 page)

Was that disappointment in her eyes? God knew he wanted to crush her to him. He wanted to run out into the street and shout that she was here, that she'd been here for most of the night. He wanted to take her to Rotten Row and kiss her in front of everyone, so that the whole of society would know she was his. But all he had left was his honor. And she'd been denied choices for too long.

He moved toward the door to call for Potter, but turned when she spoke. “Alec … did you see my letters in the box that held the linchpin?” She sounded embarrassed now.

“I did, but I haven't read them. I wanted to ask your permission.”

“They're just ramblings,” she said, looking away. “At turns heartsick and angry and terribly personal. Perhaps it would be best if they were forgotten.”

“I will do that, if it's what you wish. But I would like to read them. They are a piece of you that I've missed. The whole time I was gone, I wondered how you were, and if you ever thought of me.”

She flushed. “You don't need to say that, Alec. You hardly had time to think of a lovelorn girl back home.”

Lovelorn. He seized on the word. “It would surprise you to know just how often I thought of you, how much I missed you.” His voice cracked on the words. “If you will wait here for a moment, there are some things I'd like you to see.”

He turned and headed out into the hall. After speaking with Potter, he ran up the stairs to his bedchamber, his heart pounding in his chest. He'd never planned to show her his letters. He had said and revealed too much in them, but it was the only way he could think of to show her the truth. That he'd carried a part of her with him ever since that day.

• • •

Annabelle stared at the letters Alec had left with her before heading sheepishly upstairs, claiming he needed to shave before returning to Marchmain House. There were dozens of them. Each and every one written to her.

She had never imagined the things he'd suffered. As a young woman, she'd made him into a kind of storybook hero. In reality, Alec was far more human. He was flawed and imperfect, and after reading the letters he had never expected her to see, she loved him all the more. If she were very lucky, perhaps he felt the same way. Taking a deep breath, she decided it was time to find out.

His lodgings were not overly large. Indeed, they were modest for a man of his position. He'd told her that following the war, he found it difficult to take up many of the trappings of his privileged life, and she could now understand why. Walking through the upstairs hall, she knocked tentatively on one door and then the next. When there was no answer, she moved to a third, rapping her hand against solid oak.

“Yes, Potter. Come in.” Alec's voice was muffled through the door.

She didn't bother to correct him. Instead, she turned the handle until it clicked and slipped into the room. Alec was standing with his back to her, naked to the waist, running a sharp blade down a lathered cheek as he stood above a small wash basin. He was peering into a minuscule mirror, surely a remnant from his army days. She'd never seen him like this … in the bright morning light, shafts of sun touching his shoulders before slipping down to his narrow waist. He must have just bathed. His hair was still wet and inky black. Small droplets of water dripped from the curls at his neck, and ran over muscles and sinew.

“Does Miss Layton require anything?” he asked, still intent on his shaving. When she didn't answer because her voice had died in her throat, he peered at her in the mirror, dropping his blade with a clatter into the basin.

“Annabelle!” He grabbed a towel that lay beside him on the washstand and quickly wiped the remaining lather from his face. A fresh linen shirt was draped over a nearby chair, and he reached for it. “Please don't,” she said, shocked at the sound of her voice, strangely thick and throaty.

He went completely still.

“Don't put your shirt back on. You are far too beautiful for that.”

“Annabelle, you cannot say such things to a man. What has your aunt been teaching you?”

“She told me if I was ever lucky enough to fall in love, I should do everything in my power to hold onto it.” Her heart was beating furiously. “She said I should never shy away from telling that man I found him beautiful.”

His eyes glinted with emotion as she walked to him. She felt mesmerized, as if she were being pulled by an unseen force to run her hands along his face, and across his chest, to marvel at the feel of his warm flesh beneath her own.

His breathing went raspy at her touch. “Annabelle, despite your bold claims, I don't think you know what you are tempting me to.”

She smiled then, because she couldn't be so close to him and not feel his body with her hands. “In all truth, I don't know. But I am eager to find out. I remember that night at Marchmain House, the way you made me feel. I want to make you feel that way.”

With a low groan, he reached for her, pulling her tightly against him. He smelled of soap and shaving cream, but there was something else. Something thrilling, because it had to do with passion in a way she didn't yet understand. He captured her lips with his own, pulling at the bottom one, begging his way into the warmth of her mouth. As his tongue met hers, she curved her hands around his waist, teasing at the place where fabric met skin. He shuddered, and her body flooded with warmth, especially in that place where he had touched her before.

“Alec,” she whispered. “I want you to forget that woman you held. I want to replace all of your thoughts of her with thoughts of me.”

“God, Annabelle. It has always been you. You can't know how I have dreamed about feeling your body beneath mine, of feeling myself inside of you.”

“Then show me.”

Lifting his head, he stared into her eyes. “Do you know what you are asking? Because if I start, I will not stop. I won't let you go.”

“That is all I've ever wanted.”

He lifted her off her feet and carried her to a large, imposing bed in the corner of the room. Laying her down gently, he smoothed her hair across his pillow, running tentative hands down the length of her arms, molding them to the span of her waist, and down the curve of her legs.

“You cannot have any idea of how stunning you are, Annabelle,” he said softly. “If this were not morning, I'd swear I was dreaming. So many times, I've imagined you here. These last weeks, I wondered if I'd spend the rest of my life watching you from a distance.”

She pulled him down, angling his head in her hands as she brought his mouth back to hers. Moving her hands down his body, she instinctively cradled his hips against her, even as she felt a hard jutting at the apex of her thighs. The weight of it sparked a flame within her, and when he groaned, she fought to peel away the layers of clothing still between them. She fumbled with the buttons of his breeches until he gave a weak laugh, grasping her hands with his own.

“You're going to be the death of me, Annabelle. Let me savor you. Let me see you naked in my bed.”

She sat up so he could loosen the innumerable buttons running down the length of her back. Her glorious dress was a crumpled disaster now. All the more reason to strip it off.

“I thought this so lovely earlier,” he murmured. “I'm less fond of it now.”

“I think women's fashions should make a better use of ties,” she said. “One pull and they are open.”

His arms encircled her, his hands working at the buttons. When his fingers trembled with the last of them, she reached behind her to tear the buttons apart. She felt hot now; her clothes couldn't come off fast enough. As he pulled the dress from her body, then her corset and her pantaloons, she nearly gasped with pleasure.

Then she remembered, and she grabbed at the sheet, swiftly pulling it over her legs. She didn't want to see him draw away in shock or, even worse, pity. He said she was beautiful, but he'd never seen her like this—mangled in places and grotesque.

“Let me see you, Annabelle.”

It took every ounce of courage to loosen her grip. Heart slamming in her chest, she watched his eyes caress her body, lingering on her breasts as he pulled the sheet away. They followed the line of her stomach, past the curve of her hips to the top of her thighs. Lower still they traveled, nearly black with desire, past the sweep of her legs, down to the pink tips of her toes. Every movement was tense and tightly controlled, as if he were wound like a spring.

How could he not have seen them? But of course he had. With a shuddering breath, he ran his fingertips along the arch of her left foot, giving only the barest smile as she squirmed at the sensation. His fingers continued past her ankle, smoothing along her calf, dipping into the shadows behind her knee until he reached the angry ridge of her scars, purple and distended, even after all this time. As she held her breath, he brushed his hand gently across them, his touch soft and light as he traced them.

“They are horrible to look at, I know,” she whispered.

“Annabelle, it would be so easy to pretend you are fragile, that you need me to protect you and keep you safe. But I know what you have survived. This is the proof of it. It is not your beauty that makes me love you. It's your strength.”

She melted then, her breath easing from her on a sigh because his hands continued their slow perusal, moving along her inner thigh to settle at the folds between her legs. He tucked a finger between them and inside, and she nearly came apart. “Of course, this part of you has its merits, too,” he breathed.

She could feel the moisture, slick on his fingers, as he withdrew them and eased upward, teasing the bud there until her hips began to rock uncontrollably. The pleasure was nearly unbearable. Helpless, she looked at Alec. His eyes were dark and intent, his jaw tightly clenched as he watched her writhe. And then, just as before, waves of sensation engulfed her. She moaned aloud, driving her hips against his hand, her body heightened to every nuance of pleasure.

“God, Annabelle.” He was looking down at her, his breath coming in labored pants, his body still tense, his pulse throbbing at the base of his throat. She reached up, trailing her hand down his chest, pausing to brush a fingertip across one nipple before continuing downward to settle her hand on the hard ridge pushing against the fall of his britches. He moaned as she ran her fingers up and down its length. She couldn't help but marvel at its heat and hardness.

“You were supposed to show me all about this. Do you remember?”

He reached for her hand then, pushing it against him briefly before edging away, just out of reach. “You have always been a curious sort,” he said with a pained laugh. “And I'll live for the day when I can indulge that curiosity, but this must wait. I want us to be married.

“You will marry me, won't you?” he asked, suddenly sounding unsure. “I love you with all my heart.”

“I'll only marry you on one condition,” she said, her face gravely serious.

“Anything. Name anything.”

“I don't want to wait. I'm far too impatient.” She sat up, and tore at the buttons that separated him from her, until a hot throbbing met her hands. He groaned, as if waging some final battle, and then he gave into her, urgently freeing himself from the britches he wore, kicking them away as he pushed her back against the bed. When he covered her body with his, she almost cried out, because that restlessness had begun to build inside of her again.

She'd never felt anything like his weight upon her, warm and pulsing. He kissed down the curve of her cheek, between the valley of her breasts and up to their tips, taking each into his mouth until she was certain she'd scream. All the while, she could feel the insistent throbbing, so close to her heat.

“Annabelle,” he said, staring into her eyes, sweat beginning to bead at his temples. “Are you sure? There will be pain this first time.”

She didn't care. “I've known my share of pain, Alec. I want you as close to me as I can have you.”

He kissed her then, deeply, as he edged open her thighs. And as he entered her gently, even through the initial flash of pain, she felt something tugging deep at her heart. He raised himself above her, arms cradling her on either side as he slowly moved in and out, her body adjusting to the slick friction between them until there was more pleasure than pain. She watched his face as he gazed at her, both of them unblinking. With each stroke, his eyes softened, his breath hot against her body. Could he feel this thing she felt? The hot frisson, the building heat that crept up upon you, stealing your thoughts, until there was only sensation?

She loved the sound of their bodies moving together, the tangle of his sheets around her legs, the feel of him as his muscles tensed. She was straining toward that feeling. She only knew he was at the center of it, building in pressure, pressing upon her until suddenly the most exquisite sensation took hold, stunning her with its power, its pleasure magical. When she cried out, he buried his head into the curve of her neck, moaning her name as his hips bucked against hers.