Rebecca Hagan Lee (17 page)

"Only a blind man would fail to notice and appreciate what's standing there."

And Blake wasn't a blind man. He stood at the bottom of the grand staircase as Cristina descended it. He registered the fact that she wasn't alone, that his aunt was by her side carefully negotiating the stairs. But he only had eyes for Cristina. Her transformation from housemaid to lady left him awestruck. With her thick hair coiled in a sleek chignon at the nape of her neck she seemed older and more poised and as untouchable as a piece of Dresden china until she smiled. Smiled, as she was smiling at him now, with warmth and just a hint of natural seductiveness. He was sure he had never seen any woman look quite as beautiful. The paleness he had complained of earlier complimented the dark green of the dress and emphasized the incredible green of her eyes. His breathing became labored as he gasped at the overwhelmingly lovely picture she presented.

Blake slowly realized she was waiting for his reaction and he spoke hoarsely, "I never dreamed anyone could be so lovely."

Cristina came to life under his warm praise. "Thank you, milord. And may I say that you and Lady Wethering make a very handsome couple?"

Blake smiled at her. "Then the three of us should make quite a sensation, don't you think?" He assisted the ladies with the wraps Perryman handed him, then offered his arm, first to his aunt and then to Cristina.

Cristina returned his smile and slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow.

She might have made the trip into London on a magic carpet for time seemed to float along in luxurious fashion. She remembered as if in a dream the magnificent restaurant where they feasted on food fit for the gods and the lavish theater where they saw the hit play of the season and the Prince of Wales who, it was rumored, was currently enamored of the leading lady. But Cristina couldn't remember a single line or the plot of the play. She forgot about it as soon as the lights dimmed, and concentrated on Blake--the way he smiled at the antics on stage, the line of his profile, the masculine scent of him sitting close to her, and the way his eyes sparkled with some inner light whenever he caught her looking at him under the cover of her lashes.

The sudden brightness of the lights at intermission startled Cristina after the intimacy of the darkened theater. Blake rose to his feet, stretched, helped his aunt to her feet, then took Cristina by the arm and led the ladies into the lobby for refreshment.

"Oh, no," Blake groaned as he secured two glasses of champagne for the ladies.

"What is it?" Cristina asked.

Blake turned to his right and nodded. Cristina followed his gaze to the royal box where the Prince of Wales nodded in recognition.

"He's seen me," Blake explained. "Drink up. We'll have to pay our respects."

It was Cristina's turn to groan. She had wanted the night out with Blake so much that she hadn't given a single thought to the possibility of being seen and recognized when according to her mother's lie, she was supposed to be staying with friends in the country while Patricia was in Italy.

"It won't be so bad," Blake told her. "Aunt Delia is here and she's a perfectly suitable chaperon. And I'll think of something to explain your presence." He took the ladies' empty glasses and placed them on a tray, then did his best to shield them from the crush as they pushed their way through the crowded lobby and headed for the royal box.

Cristina kept silent but her heart seemed to flutter at the knowledge that Blake was willingly assuming responsibility for her. She had never been so close to the Prince of Wales and at first she was surprised by the sheer size of him, but his renowned charm overcame her repulsion and she relaxed under the warm twinkle of his blue eyes. Blake bowed to the prince and stepped forward to present Cristina. "Your Highness, may I present Lady Wethering, my aunt, and Miss Cristina Fairfax?"

"By all means, Lord Lawrence, I am always happy to see friends like Lady Wethering and to welcome a new face, especially one as lovely as Miss Fairfax's."

"Thank you," Cristina murmured. "Your Highness is most gracious."

"Not at all, my dear lady." The Prince of Wales was thoughtful. "Fairfax?

You must be Lady Fairfax's famous daughter." He studied Cristina. "I am well acquainted with your mother. I've spent many a lovely afternoon in her company." The look that passed between the two men did not go unnoticed by Lady Wethering or by Cristina.

She hesitated a moment before replying in a low voice, "Sir William Fairfax is my father, Highness, and Patricia is my mother."

"I see the resemblance," the prince commented with a tactful smile. "And now that I think about it, I remember you...."

Cristina drew in a long breath, trying to still the hammering of her heart.

He couldn't remember her from Marlborough House. He couldn't have seen her there. She waited for what seemed like hours without daring to breathe before the prince completed his sentence.

"From the last presentation. I pride myself on always remembering the prettiest girls. I didn't expect to see you again during the season. I understood that you were to be married and I heard your mother was on the Continent."

Blake struggled to keep from wincing. Trust the Prince of Wales to remember Patricia Fairfax's infamous wager and the fact that Patricia had claimed her daughter would be auctioned to the highest bidder bearing a wedding band.

Ignoring the consequences of his declaration, Blake answered for Cristina.

"Miss Fairfax has been staying at my parents' country house until quite recently and staying with Lady Wethering since her arrival. I agreed to escort her to the theater tonight."

The Prince of Wales turned his attention to Blake. "I see. I compliment you on your choice of companions, Lawrence. See that you show her a good time."

"I will, sir," Blake promised.

The interview ended and the remainder of the evening passed in a romantic haze as Cristina ceased to be aware of anything except the look in Blake's onyx black eyes and the thrill it sent up and down her spine.

Neither of them spoke during the quiet ride to Lawrence House, both of them afraid of breaking the fragile spell the night had woven around them and of waking Lady Wethering. It was so quiet in the carriage, Cristina was certain Blake would hear the rapid pounding of her heart and know that she was as affected by him--by the nearness of him.

A sigh of longing escaped her lips as she remembered the way he had made her feel whenever he kissed her, wonderfully alive yet strangely content and at peace with the world.

The carriage slowed, then rolled to a stop beside the steps leading to Lawrence House. Cristina came out of her reverie to find Blake assisting his aunt out of the carriage. With Lady Wethering safely entrusted into the care of the footman, Blake turned to help her alight from the vehicle, Cristina gasped at the fire that ripped through her at his touch, then glanced up and met his gaze.

His dark eyes seemed to smolder with a depth of emotion that was almost painful to witness.

But Cristina couldn't look away.

His hands shook slightly as they lingered on her waist and the feel of his long, strong fingers sent tiny sparks through her many layers of clothing.

"I've spent the last few weeks trying to convince myself to let you go wherever it is you want to go." Blake's voice was low and rough.

He lifted her out of the carriage but didn't release her. Cristina felt the tremor of his muscles and heard the dull thud of his heartbeat as he held her a hairbreadth away from his body. "I failed."

"I've no reason to leave," she whispered. "And no where else to go."

"I tried to stay away," he vowed.

"I know," she whispered.

"But I can't."

"It doesn't matter," she assured him, "because I don't want you to stay away."

Blake took a deep breath. "Are you certain?"

She heard the slight catch in his voice as he asked the question. "Yes."

"I won't be able to stop at kissing," Blake felt compelled to warn her.

Cristina had to understand that this time, he wasn't playing at passion. It wasn't a game. And if he began making love to her, if she allowed him to make love to her, she had to be sure it was what she wanted--because his control was tenuous at best. If Cristina changed her mind, he wasn't at all sure he could walk away. He had waited too long--wanted too much--wanted her too much.

"I might not be able to walk away."

"I won't ask you to."

"Good," Blake muttered seconds before he set her on her feet. He wanted to envelope her in his arms. He wanted to sweep her off her feet and carry her into Lawrence House, but propriety demanded that he keep his distance. They were standing in front of the house and in full view of his aunt, the driver, and the footman. The most he dared to do was hold her a moment longer than necessary and to allow himself the brush of her gown against his leg.

"I can't take this much longer. You've been driving me mad all evening

...," he managed to whisper as he took hold of her elbow and escorted her up the steps to the front door. Blake dismissed the footman as Perryman opened the front door.

"If you'll see to my aunt," Blake directed, handing the butler his top hat and gloves, "I'll assist Miss Fairfax."

Perryman obliged by removing Lady Wethering's wrap, before reaching out to take Cristina's. They stood in the entrance hall and it was all Blake could do to keep from tapping his foot in frustration as he waited for his aunt to bid them good night.

Instead, she turned to Perryman and said, "I think we could use a nightcap in Lord Lawrence's study."

Perryman remained where he was, a quizzical expression on his face. "A nightcap, ma'am?"

"A drink, man," Lady Wethering told him. "Sherry for me and for Miss Fairfax and a nip of something stronger for Lord Lawrence. And some of those chocolate things left over from tea," she glanced at Blake and Cristina who both shook their heads, "one of those chocolate things left over from tea for me." She dismissed the butler with a wave of her hand and headed down the hall to Blake's study.

Perryman looked to his employer.

Blake nodded his assent and Perryman left to prepare the refreshments.

Blake glanced around the empty room then pulled Cristina closer, bent his head, and kissed her. He'd meant to kiss her gently, meant to take his time, but the unique taste of her--the champagne-flavored essence of Cristina--filled his senses until he couldn't seem to get enough. He moved his mouth over hers, kissing her deeply, hungrily as he clung to her like a drowning man clinging to flotsam in a raging sea. She had become his anchor in a world suddenly gone topsy-turvy. His only reality.

Cristina returned Blake's kiss with a fervor that matched his own, meeting the thrust of his questing tongue with her exploring one. She wound her arms around his neck as hot, fluid desire overwhelmed her. She kissed him as if he were the only thing on earth that mattered to her, as if he was the only sustenance she needed. Her knees weakened, and she shivered in reaction to the touch of his fingers against the bare flesh of her neck and shoulders.

"Perryman must still be looking for one of those chocolate things I had at tea," Lady Wethering's loud voice echoed through the hall. "Otherwise I'm sure he should've returned by now."

The sound of his aunt's voice brought Blake back to his senses and he suddenly realized that he'd spent several minutes kissing his houseguest in the front entryway of his home where any of his staff might witness it. He pulled his lips away from Cristina's and stepped away, forcing himself to put space between them when what he really wanted to do was eliminate it. He stared down at her. Her hair was mussed where he'd tangled his fingers in it and her eyes were dark with passion. Color stained her cheeks and her chin, from the flush of passion and the brush of his face against her baby-soft skin. And her mouth was swollen. Blake frowned. There was no disguising the fact that she looked exactly like a woman who had been well and truly kissed.

"Oh, my," Cristina breathed, looking up at him with eyes that seemed as deep as a Scottish loch. "I forgot about your aunt. To be perfectly honest, I forgot everything except you."

Her admission and the shy smile that accompanied it were nearly his undoing. "To be perfectly honest so did I."

Cristina reached up and smoothed her hair. "What will Lady Wethering think?"

Blake had no doubt what Lady Wethering would think. He braced himself for the setdown he knew he deserved as he escorted Cristina into the study.

"Well, boy, I see you made good use of your time. The gel looks as if she's been thoroughly kissed."

Blake's jaw dropped open.

Lady Delia was seated on the leather sofa facing the door and there was no escaping her sharp gaze. "I may be old," she announced, "but I'm not dead. I recognize flying sparks when I see them and I was positively singed by all the sparks flying about tonight. I thought you two might need a bit of privacy."

She narrowed her gaze at Blake. "Not too much, mind you, we can't have the servants gossiping. Nor can we have anyone casting aspersions on Miss Fairfax's good name, but I don't think there's anything wrong with a man and a woman sharing a few kisses--as long as she's willing." She turned to Cristina.

"Are you willing, gel?"

Cristina blushed.

"Very well," Aunt Delia continued. "I'm willing to turn a blind eye upon occasion so you can indulge in a little romancing, but I'll not countenance even a breath of scandal. If anything happens to this gel, I'll hold you responsible." She reached out and tapped Blake on the knee with her cane as she directed her remarks at her nephew. "And I'll expect you to do your duty by her. Do you understand?"

"I'm perfectly aware of my responsibilities," Blake replied warily. "But I'm not so sure you understand yours. I asked you here in order to chaperon Miss Fairfax and I intended that you keep her safe from everyone--including me."

"Especially you," Delia laughed. "Did you think I was born yesterday, boy?

For all that they choose cold-blooded careers, the Ashfords are a hot-blooded lot. Your uncle, God rest his soul, couldn't keep his hands off me before we were married and afterwards, after I'd learned a thing or two, I couldn't keep my hands off him. And although I'm not privy to what goes on in their bedchamber, I suspect it's the same for your mother and father."