The Stranger She Married (28 page)

Miss Stockton said, “Lady Amesbury. Ah, yes. You are married to that horrible cripple who never shows his face. How terrible it must be for you.” Her expression of triumph underscored her mocking pity.

Alicia raised her chin. “On the contrary."

Miss Stockton shivered dramatically. “I'd rather remain unmarried than have a beast for a husband."

"Lord Amesbury is a kind and devoted husband, and I'll thank you not to speak ill of him.” The hypocrisy of her words twisted in her stomach.

Guiltily, she glanced at Cole who gave no indication he had heard the exchange. Then his eyes flicked her way briefly.

Even though she and Cole were not paramours in the complete sense, they were playing a dangerous game that would only lead to disaster. And, if the ladies in the withdrawing room were correct, she would only become one in a long line of illicit lovers should she succumb to his advances.

After dinner, the host made a toast to his grandfather and they all raised their glasses to a man who had reached his one hundredth birthday. The guest of honor gave them all a toothless grin, and in halting tones, thanked them for their friendship.

Later, as the lights burned low, and the strains of a waltz began, dancers sought out lovers and drew closer. Others left together in search of a more intimate setting. Cole drew her to the dance floor. She hesitated, but went with him.

"What is it, love?” he murmured, his warm breath stirring the tendrils next to her ear.

She shivered. “Please don't call me that,” she pled weakly.

"Why?"

"Because you don't mean it."

He eased her closer, his beautiful smile brightening his already handsome face. “Do you want me to mean it?"

"No."

"Why not?"

She steadied her breathing. “You should know."

Cole's intoxicating, male scent permeated her senses. His light touch was fire through her silk gown, awakening an undeniable ache for him. His smile deepened further and his eyes darkened with a longing that exceeded hers. The potency of his desire made hers even more acute.

No. Not him.

"Please.” She sounded plaintive, childlike to her own ears.

"Please, what, Alicia?” He asked in low, provocative tones.

A deep quiver began in the bottom of her stomach. “Please don't look at me like that."

"I don't think I could stop myself if I tried,” he murmured close to her ear. His breath warmed her cheek and neck, and only succeeded in deepening her desire.

Several ladies circled purposefully, and Alicia realized that Cole needed to find a wife, if only to protect him from the lecherous women who had targeted him. And he was right, he needed an heir. Then why did he attempt an affair with a married lady instead of seeking a wife?

"And then what? Add my name to your rather long list?"

He pulled back enough to study her features. “What list?"

"The one that includes Josephine and Violet."

A puzzled frown creased his brow and he pursed his lips. “Josephine Winchester?"

"I don't know her surname, but she was a tall lady with red hair."

Cole's frown deepened. “That sounds like her. What list?"

"The one of all your past paramours. I heard them in the withdrawing room, discussing you and that you prefer widows and how you chose a new lover every Season."

Looking deadly serious, he led her from the dance floor without waiting for the end of the dance. He took her out of the ballroom and began to open doors until he found an empty room. He drew her inside, closed the door, and turned to her.

The look he fixed upon her left her with the urge to squirm. He shook his head slowly. “Alicia. I had hoped you knew me by now."

"I thought I did, but...” she trailed off helplessly.

"Remember the harpies? You clearly met them. I have a reputation, that's true, but believe me when I say that it is grossly exaggerated. I did have an affair with a widow last year, but she decided to go live with her sister in Scotland, and we parted ways. But I was very discreet, and I would be surprised if anyone knows about it. There have been few other love interests. Not Josephine Winchester or anyone named Violet, whoever she may be."

Alicia looked hopefully up at him. She wanted to believe him, but the things they said about him seemed too much in line with his character. His charm, his magnetism, all exuded dangerous sensuality, which made believing him a heartless philanderer all too easy.

He sighed. “And a few months ago, I was at a house party. I went to my room to discover a beautiful widow, with whom I have been acquainted for years, in my bed. I'm only human, Alicia. She offered enthusiastically and I accepted—"

"Please,” Alicia cut in. “I do not want to hear the sordid details. I know that you frequently engage in lechery and—"

"Only if you listen to rumor,” he said with an angry tinge to his voice.

She opened her mouth and then closed it. “You truly don't?"

His blue eyes found hers and he actually looked embarrassed. “You wouldn't believe how many ladies have tried to seduce me. I suspect that, regardless of the outcome, they tell their friends they were successful, as if it's some kind of accomplishment. According to rumor, others I have never touched boast of an affair, and of my ... er ... skill.” Decidedly uncomfortable, he cleared his throat.

Harpies. They were using him even worse than she thought. “I'm sorry. I should have known better than to listen to such vicious gossip."

"I cannot even look at another woman now. I only want you."

Before she realized what was happening, or had time to be afraid, he gathered her into his powerful arms. His lips found hers and gently, skillfully kissed her mouth, sending tingles throughout her body. He crushed her against him and drew deeper kisses from her until she completely melted into his arms. There was no fear, only sweet, velvet pleasure and white-hot need.

His lips moved from hers down to her throat where he kissed a tingling trail of flame, and then slowly worked up to her lips again. He deepened the kiss and she completely succumbed to his will. Burning desire rose up inside of her. She arched her back and strained against him. His hands caressed her quivering body, drawing out a soft moan. His lips moved over her face, her eyes, her cheeks, her temples. They returned to her lips again.

This time, her hunger matched his. Their ragged breathing became one. His taste, his scent, the warmth and power of his body flooded her senses. Kissing her passionately until her head spun, he slowly laid her down on a nearby divan. As his mouth moved downward and he slipped her gown off one shoulder, a glimmer of conscience broke through.

"We mustn't,” she whispered hoarsely.

"Don't be afraid.” His mouth engulfed hers. Bright need flamed her body as he drew progressively hungrier kisses from her. There was no fear, only a driving ache for more.

Again, the conscience broke through.

"Cole, please, we cannot do this."

With a ragged groan, he raised his head, his lips swollen and moist from their kissing. His darkened eyes revealed passion she had never dreamed.

"Please, stop.” She hoped her voice sounded more determined than she felt.

His voice was achingly gentle. “I won't hurt you."

"This is wrong."

"How can it be wrong? I love you, Alicia, and I know you have feelings for me.” Desperation appeared in those blue eyes but he touched her face with unsurpassed tenderness, gliding a finger across her cheek and then brushing the pad of his thumb over her lower lip.

He loved her?

Tears came to her eyes. “I am married, Cole."

"I know,” he whispered.

"Please, don't make this more difficult than it already is. You know this is wrong. I belong to another, who—"

"—Whose very presence makes you shrink in terror.” A bitter edge lanced his voice. “You would be faithful to him rather than be with me, but you won't honor your marriage vow to him and be with him as his wife."

She pushed him away and sat up, still giddy from the force of his passion and her own that so quickly rose to meet it. Shame and confusion jumbled against each other.

"You ask me to be unfaithful to my husband. You would betray your childhood friend. Your kin."

He opened his mouth and then clamped it shut, with no excuse to offer. He took several steadying breaths. “Alicia, if you weren't married to Nicholas, would you—"

Her confusion transformed into anger. “I was just beginning to think you actually possessed some scruples, Cole Amesbury, or perhaps even—heaven forbid—a heart.” She made an inarticulate sound of derision. “I should have known. I don't know why I let myself continuously be fooled by your deceptively pleasing face. Everything those women said about you is probably true. And any man who'd purposely shoot another man obviously has no heart."

His breath caught loudly in the silence. He stared at her as if she'd slapped him and the color slowly drained from his face. Outside, she heard voices and footsteps approaching, but they passed by the room.

She shouldn't have said that. She truly didn't mean it. In her frustration, she had lashed out at him unfairly, hurting him, but it was too late to take it back. And if it drove him away, she would deserve it.

Besides, if this were his true character, even if she had married him, he would never be faithful. No man who would seduce his own cousin's wife had the moral fiber to stay true to his own vows. And such a man would only break her heart.

Cole turned away and rubbed his hand over his face before returning his gaze to her. “So that's it?” The pain in his expression nearly crushed her.

Unable to speak, she lowered her eyes.

He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. After another deep breath, he stood and held out a hand. She let him pull her to her feet. He squared his shoulders, opened the door, and peered out. When he was satisfied that no one would see them leave the room, he stepped through the doorway.

"Tell Mary and Charles I took a hackney to White's.” His stalked away.

Oh, how badly it hurt to know she'd wounded him!

Yet, perhaps it was better this way. Without him always so near, she may learn to love her husband, or at least truly be a wife to him, and then he wouldn't abandon her. And Cole would be free to find a wife who would overlook his many indiscretions and give him his heir.

She waited until she composed herself and then went to find Mary and Charles. Mary was dancing. Charles leaned against a column nursing a drink.

Charles held a hand out. “Dance with me, Cousin Alicia, I beg you."

She nodded numbly, unable to form words enough to refuse, and let him lead her out to the floor.

As they followed the dance pattern, he looked at her in concern. “Are you unwell?"

She managed a wan smile. “I believe I'm tired."

"Shall we go?"

Alicia nodded. “Yes, thank you. Cole left already, I believe. He said something about going to his club."

He nodded. “He hates these things. I'm surprised he came at all tonight."

"I believe it was under duress from his father."

"Ah. That explains it."

Mary arrived then. After a startled look at Alicia, she turned to her husband. “I have grown rather weary and wish to return home, if you have no objection."

Alicia smiled in gratitude for her perceptiveness.

Charles nodded. “I promised to meet a few friends at Brooks, but I'll take you ladies home first."

They fetched their wraps, thanked the hostess, and climbed into the carriage. Mary chatted happily, and Alicia was grateful no one required her to make a contribution to the conversation. She stared out the window, reliving the passion of Cole's kiss, cursing her own unfaithful heart, wishing for things best left unsaid.

The carriage pulled up in front of her husband's London home. In the moonlight, it loomed ahead like a cursed fortress. Her home. Her prison.

After preparing for bed, she paced the room, sleep lost from her.

How could she be so drawn to a man like Cole? He was a rake who trifled with other men's wives, even his own cousin's. He gambled. He dueled. He was probably the most skillful liar in London. There was nothing to recommend him.

Except his astonishing good looks. And his charm. And his ability to coax a smile and even a laugh from her when she needed it most.

Trivial things. In time, these would fade and leave only the ugly truth of his soul.

But he had saved her from a terrible marriage by convincing his cousin, a good and honorable man, to marry her and give her a life of comfort. From their first meeting, Cole always treated her with compassion and gentleness. In spite of the fact that he was a sought after bachelor who clearly had his choice of beautiful and wealthy ladies, he remained by her side, escorting her anywhere she wished to go.

And without hesitation, he protected her from the highwaymen at great personal risk; an act of valor she knew had little to do with his devotion to his cousin. And more, he was a man of great feeling, tormented by ghosts of the past, and desperate to find redemption.

So who was the real Cole? The good, honorable gentleman? Or the unconscionable rake?

He was right about one thing; she refused to cuckold a husband with whom she had yet to share her bed.

She was the real monster.

[Back to Table of Contents]

After passing one of the most miserable nights of his life, Cole stood in the receiving room of a fashionable home in London, his stomach clenching as he gazed upon whom he once believed the most beautiful lady in all of London.

Vivian's smile, so provocative a year and a half ago, now looked only vulgar. “If it isn't the brave defender of my honor."

"Did you know he died?” he demanded angrily.

Her smile never dimmed. “Pity.” She moved toward him with the languid movements of a predatory feline.

He stiffened. “I came to ask you a question."

Her eyes focused on his mouth and her voice dropped to a purr. “The answer is yes. My husband has been most inattentive and I've been dreadfully lonely. You look absolutely divine. Better than candy. Come upstairs."