Julia London (80 page)

“I am
not
a coquette!” she exclaimed indignantly. The
footman produced the cloak, and Alex reluctantly let her go to help her into it. He watched her warily as he plunged his arms into his greatcoat, and taking his dress hat from the footman, quickly caught her arm again and ushered her out the door.

“In that you are quite mistaken. You string them along like some greatly decorated
kite.
Jesus, I cannot even count them all! Goldthwaite, Westfall, van der Mill, and that brute Madgoose—good God, I wonder what on earth possesses me to want to see you? I must be out of my mind!” he said harshly. He glanced upward; a light rain had begun to fall. With an exasperated sigh, he hurried her down the steps toward his waiting coach. Lauren was oddly silent. He warily looked down; she was staring straight ahead, but he could see the tears glistening in her eyes. “Oh God,” he groaned. “Lauren—”

“I am not a
coquette.
I am very honest, I truly am,” she said in a trembling voice.

It had the instant effect of a painful slap across his face. He abruptly picked up his pace toward the parade of coaches, dragging her along. “Don’t cry!” he pleaded under his breath.

“I know I must seem so to you, but you do not understand, you could
never
understand,” she blurted helplessly, stumbling next to him. Alex nodded at one of his coachmen. “I do not want their attentions! I did not
want
to come to London, but I had no choice! I would have been perfectly content to stay at Rosewood, and I am going back as soon as I possibly can, maybe even
tomorrow
!”

The coachman swung the barouche door open, and Alex unthinkingly grabbed Lauren by the waist and lifted her inside. Her hands shot out to catch the sides of the narrow doorway, effectively stopping her entry as she glared at him over her shoulder. “And I did not
ask
you to see me, whatever
that
means!” The coachman nervously bowed his head, obviously wishing he were somewhere else. So did Alex. He
gave Lauren a hearty push that sent her tumbling into the lush interior, and followed her by fairly leaping inside and slamming the door shut after barking instructions to the driver.

She had landed on her hands and knees on the velvet squabs, and set about righting herself, murmuring incomprehensibly under her breath, and taking deep breaths against the sobs that lodged in her throat.

“Lauren, dear God, please don’t cry. I did not mean to—”

“I do not string them along. Ethan,
he
encourages them, but I have
never,
” she mumbled. “He would have me marry the fattest purse, and will not leave me be until I have done so, because there is no other answer for Rosewood. But I don’t think that! We can trade things, like milk and wool, and honestly, I do not
have
to marry,” she said miserably. “And I have explained to Magnus I cannot marry him, but he harbors some fantastic idea that I will change my mind…”

He would have kicked himself if he could. He had been angry, irrationally jealous of Bergen, and uncommonly rash with his words. The coach lurched forward and Lauren clutched the squabs, looking so forlorn that Alex instinctively, blindly, came across the coach and gathered her in his arms.

She did not resist him.

“I did not mean to upset you,” he muttered against the top of her head. “I would not upset you for the world.”

“You cannot upset me.” She sniffed, and incongruously wiped a tear from her cheek.

He slipped two fingers beneath her chin and tilted her face upward, forcing her to look at him. “I am sorry,” he said. “It was a wretched thing to do, even to Madgoose. But I was mad with—Bloody hell, I do not pretend to understand what it is about you that causes me to act so irrationally, but I cannot help …
feeling
the way I do. God,
Lauren, I want you, do you know that? I want you like I have never wanted anyone in my life…” His voice trailed off as the enormity of what he had just uttered weighed in around them.

She seemed just as stunned. Her eyes pooled; her bottom lip trembled slightly. It was more than he could bear, and he tenderly kissed her forehead. He heard the soft choke of another sob, and leaned down to kiss her mouth. Her lips were unbelievably inviting—soft and moist, the taste of salt on them. As he shaped them to his own, she sighed softly.

That small sigh awoke a ravenous desire in him. His tongue slid slowly along the crease of her lips, then slipped inside to savor sweet, sweet mouth. Her fingers curled innocently around his wrist, and the seductive allure of that single act pounded away at his considerable defenses. Despite a weak objection from his conscience, he suddenly pulled her to him, crushing her against his body as his mouth plundered hers with a fierce hunger he could not sate.

She softened in his arms, her body molding effortlessly to the rigid contours of his. Desire coursed through him, culminating in rigid attention against her belly. He delved deeper, demanded more of her, and she eagerly responded. With one arm, he firmly anchored her to the arousal that strained against his trousers. His other hand swept over her, caressing her, sweeping the outline of her breast. He began to move against her, a soft undulation that made her press against him. Ripping the gloves from his hands, he held her tightly, almost afraid she would slip away from him and melt into the squabs, on which they were now, somehow, prostrate. Her breast filled his hand as he rubbed his thumb across the satin of her gown. Impatient for more, he slipped his hand into her deep décolletage, stroking the peak of her breast with his palm. She gasped with pleasure against his mouth.

That seductive utterance awakened him from the drugging sensation of her body beneath his. It took every ounce
of will he possessed, but Alex forced himself to stop. He raised himself slowly and looked down at her. On her back, her chest was heaving with each deep breath. Her gardenia was crushed. Bloody
hell
, how he wanted her. But he would not ravish her on the squabs of his coach like a harlot, no matter how much he would have liked to. He cupped her face in his hands, gently kissed her eyes, then pulled her up to a sitting position.

Her blue eyes were almost black as she wiped a trembling hand across her swollen lips. An errant strand of hair draped seductively across her face, and Alex had never been more aroused. It was sheer force of will that kept him from instructing the driver to take them to his mother’s closed house on Berkley Street, where he could do his desire justice. It would be so bloody
easy.
Alarmed by the direction of his thoughts, he impulsively moved to the bench opposite her.

“I did not know a kiss could be like
that,
” she whispered.

Neither did I
, he thought helplessly. “Lauren—” he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. “I should not have … you deserve so much more,” he ground out. She did not reply, and completely at a loss, he leaned down to retrieve his hat.

She did not reply because she was wondering what on earth he thought could be more than that kiss. She was quite simply stunned, at first by the sweet sensation of it, then by the bright flame it ignited within her. The shivers of the strange lightning she had felt when his lips touched hers had quickly turned molten. Warmth seeped through her, draining all reason. Even though he had ended that extraordinary kiss, she was still caught in a web of physical desire, entrapped by an unimaginable passion stirring within her.

Lauren brushed the loose strand of hair from her eye. She looked down, ruefully noting the gardenia was crushed, and absently tried to fix it. She kept her gaze averted from his,
trying desperately to overcome the overwhelming sensations warring in her body, her heart and soul. God, her longing for him had grown greater than she could have possibly imagined, and the fear that she could never have him became even more excruciatingly real.

So real, that at that moment, she thought she would do anything to know what it was to be loved by Alexander Christian. Dear God, she would be twenty-five years old in two months, and had never experienced that which her body ached to know. When the coach turned toward Russell Square, she began to panic. She might never have this chance again, never in her life!
Never
would she love like this, and her one opportunity was slipping away with every
clip-clop
of the horses’ hooves on the cobblestone. She would go to her grave desperate for the touch of the man she loved if she did not do something.
Now.

“Alex?” His head came up abruptly, his deep green eyes searching her eyes. One hand clenched his knee, as if he was afraid he might touch her.
“Alex,”
she repeated, squirming inwardly at the twinge of desperation in her voice.

“What is it, sweetheart?” he asked softly. Her heart skipped erratically at his endearment. She stared at the loosened tails of his neckcloth, afraid to say aloud what she was thinking. But oh, God, he had awakened something inside that could not be satisfied without him, something that she simply had to know. She lifted her eyes, her gaze locking with his, afraid unto death to ask it of him. What she was thinking was decadent. Her thoughts could not be so
very
sinful, could they? She was a widow! Who would ever know? He was
engaged
! But he wasn’t yet married. Was it really so terrible? Could the one experience, just one night, sentence her to eternal damnation? Did she bloody well
care
at the moment? She would never have a chance like this again—and she was willing to suffer the consequences. She blushed deeply at her own thoughts and the corner of her mouth lifted in a lopsided, uncertain smile.

Alex lifted a brow.

“Will you … ah, sh-show me?” she choked.

Alex raised his other brow to meet the first. “Show you
… what
, love?” he asked cautiously.

She nervously cleared her throat and tried again. “Show me …
how
… you know, to ah …
love.
” There. Mortified, she blushed furiously at having actually voiced her desire aloud, in plain English, so there was no mistaking it. Incredibly, Alex did not seem offended by her wantonness. Quite the contrary; his eyes darkened immediately with what she instinctively knew was the same desire she felt.

“Lauren—”

“Show me,” she whispered again, more insistently, suddenly determined not to let propriety stand in the way of her decision. He looked uncertain; she impulsively leaned across the coach and covered his hand with hers. “Just one night, remember?”

Alex was momentarily taken aback, afraid he had misunderstood her, and just as afraid he had not. He was mad, raving mad, to even
consider
it, but her eyes sparkled with a light that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside her, beckoning him. He clenched his jaw against his raging hunger. Lust was surely causing him to imagine things.

“Please?” she whispered, as if assuring him he had not imagined it, and succeeded in seducing the pants off him without even a blink of her eye. He abruptly yanked open the vent in the ceiling.

“Brianson! Fourteen Berkley Street!” he barked. She smiled, almost gratefully, he thought, and it very nearly drove him to his knees. He pulled her across the coach and onto his lap, his thoughts tumbling out of control as he kissed the curve of her arm and began to slowly peel her glove away. This was insane! He was a duke! A
gentleman
, for Chrissakes! Yet there was nothing, no argument his mind could produce that could stop him now. Every tendril of
conscience that tried to take root was quickly severed. He was only aware of Lauren; every sense, every pore was filled with her, the sweet taste of her, and the fragrant smell of her hair.

He thought they would bloody well never reach Berkeley Street in his lifetime.

It all felt like a dream to Lauren. He slowly removed her gloves, kissing her bare arms, her wrist, then her neck and her lips to the point she was breathless and unable to think clearly. When the coach came to halt, she had no time to think; he quickly lifted her out and instructed Brianson to pull the coach around back. Wrapping her protectively in the folds of his greatcoat, he hurried to the front door. The house he had brought her to was dark; he let her go only to retrieve a key from under the flagstones, then rushed her inside, closing the door quickly behind them.

In the dark foyer, he felt around for a light while her breathing grew more and more constricted. A tremor of panic racked her as the light from a single candle flared. His eyes sought her in the darkness, and when he found her, he smiled reassuringly. Wordlessly, he extended a hand to her. Suddenly frightened, she stared at him, and for a moment, feared she would change her mind. No, she wanted this. Very hesitantly, she slipped her hand into his.

“Lauren … if you have changed your mind, it is all right,” he said soothingly.

To her utter amazement, she smiled and shook her head. “I
cannot
change it. Believe me, I have tried,” she whispered truthfully.

He stood looking at her for a moment, his eyes sweeping her body. And then he began to walk, very slowly, toward a staircase spiraling up to darkness above, her hand firmly in his. Her mind raced far ahead of her feet, struggling with the protests of her conscience that battled with the very strong need to be with him.

He tried to set her at ease by talking about the house, how
it was rarely opened, and the family debate over what to do with it for the long term. They moved down the dark corridor on the first floor, passing two or three doors, she thought, until he came to one and paused. He opened the door and stepped inside, pulling her with him.

She could ask him to take her home.
Now
, before it was too late. He placed the candlestick on a table and turned to face her. Another tremor raced through her; fear was overtaking her desire; fear of the unknown, of her prurient longing and it’s consequences.

“You are trembling. Are you certain about this?” he asked softly.

Her heart leapt to her throat. A thousand no’s died on her tongue, slain by the longing she had felt since they had first met at Rosewood. “Oh, Alex,” she sighed, “I just want to know … I mean, I
must
know … I realize this must sound very odd to you, very wanton, but it is not something I can explain, really, it’s just that it is here,” she said, motioning with a shaking hand toward her abdomen and chest, “lodged in here, and I cannot rid myself of it, no matter how hard I try. Every time I look at you, I feel it.” He unexpectedly reached inside her cloak, his hand gently caressing the level plane of her abdomen.