Shana Galen (8 page)

Her revulsion seeped away as she thought of Alex’s lips—firm and sensual. He’d almost kissed her tonight. A shiver ran up her spine, and she made no effort to repress it. She’d been kissed before, stolen kisses with men of her acquaintance prior to her engagement to Reginald. Kissing was pleasant, but she grew bored if it went on too long. But none of her previous experiences prepared her for the feelings a mere touch from Alex inspired.

Every inch of her body, every single hill and valley, had been infused with heat and life at his glance alone. And at his touch.

His hands hypnotized her. When he’d traced the curves of her mouth ever so slowly, tantalizing her with the pad of his thumb, she’d forgotten everyone and everything else in existence. Shameless, she’d wanted nothing more than to feel his lips on her skin, his arms holding her. There was nothing tedious about the Earl of Selbourne. If she forgot to breathe when he pressed his thumb to her lips, what might happen when he replaced that thumb with his mouth?

Lucia took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Why hadn’t she kissed him when she’d had the chance? Throw caution to the wind and act on impulse. There might never be another chance, and she knew she’d never feel this way with any other man.

Then she thought of Amelia Cox. Was Alex kissing
her on the terrace under the gaudy Chinese lanterns even at this moment? Were his hands caressing those generous curves?
You’re a fool, Lucia
, she chided herself. Why would he want her when he had women—many women if the rumors were true—like Amelia Cox who “knew how to please him”? Lucia shook her head. She was an irritation to him, nothing more. Hadn’t he made that abundantly clear? It was only her imagination leading her to believe he wanted to kiss her.

“What are you thinking, Lucia?” Reginald asked. “Are you listening to me? You have the strangest expression on your face.”

Lucia looked at Reginald with renewed determination. She
would
make this marriage work. Amelia Cox and the bloody Earl of Selbourne be damned! Her father was counting on her, and she wasn’t going to disappoint him this time. And just as soon as she found her brother, she’d never have to talk to the arrogant earl again. Until then, she’d tolerate Selbourne by keeping her father’s pleasure, when he realized she’d been instrumental in locating John, foremost in her mind.

Lucia looked at Reginald and gripped the velvet seat beneath her with both hands.

“I beg your pardon, darling. I was just thinking of the duke’s ball. I do hope we can dance a reel together.”

Reginald smiled. It was an indulgent smile, one he might give a child or a mental patient. “Silly goose. For a minute there I thought you were thinking of something important.”

A
s he neared the corner of Cork Street, Alex clenched his jaw and issued a polite nod to Lady Elizabeth Foster. Her retinue of servants, courtesy of her lover, the Duke of Devonshire, stood aside so he could pass. It was half past ten, and he hadn’t stumbled into bed the night before until nearly dawn. After the Seatons’ ball, he’d made a half dozen additional appearances at various
ton
functions, hoping to glean information from the Society gossips about Dashing. It had been a waste of his time, and he had little hope for his errand today.

He clenched his jaw when he saw the Duchess of York waving at him, a dozen of her beloved dogs pulling her along the sidewalk. He’d been in London less than a week and already he felt mired in social quicksand. Bloody hell. You couldn’t spit in London without it making the
Morning Post
. He managed to skirt the duchess and her yipping dogs and turned the corner onto Cork Street, where the fashionable
tailor—stuffy if Alex had anything to say about it—Schweitzer & Davidson was located.

He’d taken no more than three steps when he bit back an oath. The devil take him if Lucia Dashing wasn’t perched on the stoop, azure blue eyes surveying the street like a cat’s. And, like a cat, she managed to look completely innocent—attractive even in her pale blue and white checked dress. Though the morning was annoyingly sunny, it was still chilly, and Alex frowned at seeing that she wore only a flimsy white wrap over her light dress. On top of the golden curls framing her face she’d donned a slouch straw hat and tied it with blue ribbons.

Her footman saw him first and nodded as he approached. Then, with sleek grace, Lucia turned, angling her frilly white parasol to flash him a stunning smile. His breath caught for an instant at the way her face lit up, and he almost smiled back, half tempted to sweep her into his arms. But then she closed her parasol, and he caught the mischief sparkling in her dark blue eyes. Alex scowled, reminding himself that underneath their silky fur, cats had teeth…and claws.

“Good morning, Lord Selbourne,” she purred when he’d taken several more steps.

“It was,” he growled and bore down on her.

Throwing her footman a warning look, Alex grasped Lucia’s elbow and pulled her away from the servant’s hearing.

“Unhand me, sir, or I shall have to call Graves.” Lucia stumbled and twisted away from him.

“Go ahead. I’m itching to hit someone right now.” But it wouldn’t be the footman. At the moment, the servant was pretending not to notice Lucia’s squeals of distress, appearing fascinated by the sleeve of his blue and gold livery.

She jerked her arm again, but he held fast, backing her into the tailor’s window.

“Oh!” she gasped when she bumped into the glass. “You’re certainly in a foul mood this morning.”

“Am I?” He kept his voice level. “I can’t imagine why.”

“Neither can I,” she said with a toss of her hair.

Alex caught her chin between two fingers. “Is there something about my instructions last night you failed to understand?” He leaned closer, their faces inches apart. “I distinctly recall ordering you to cease all interference in this matter.”

“Interference!” she hissed.

He could almost see her unsheathe her claws. Bloody hell, but he liked her, liked her defiance, her spirit.

“This is my brother’s life we’re discussing. I have a right, yes, even a responsibility to find out what’s happened to him, and neither
you
”—she poked him in the chest—“nor my father, nor the King of England, bloody George the Third, is going to stop me from helping my brother!”

“Is that so?” Alex glanced down at her pale finger against the dark material of his coat. She had a kitten’s claws—tiny, untried, and razor sharp.

“Yes.”

He leaned closer, his body flush against hers now, and whispered, “If your father knew you were here he’d lock you up from now until your wedding day.”

“Do you
really
think that would stop me?”

Alex laughed. Laughed out loud, causing a passing maid to glance at them curiously. Damn, but Lucia was beautiful when she challenged him.

She gave him a wary smile. “Why don’t just admit you need me, Selbourne? We need each other. You
needed me last night at the Seatons’, and you can use my help today.”

God, he had needed her last night but not in the way she meant. He’d lay in his cold bed last night thinking about her, imagining what he’d do to her if she’d been there, driving himself mad with wanting her. He couldn’t ever remember wanting a woman so much. Even now, just standing close to her aroused him. He heard the blood thrum in his ears, felt his body tense in readiness, imagined the taste of her on his lips. After his near lapse on the Seatons’ terrace last night, he could no longer deny that he wasn’t in full control of himself when in her presence.

He didn’t understand it. He’d never had any interest in virgins before. Dabbling with virgins was the fastest route to the parson’s mousetrap, as Dewhurst called matrimony. And ladies on the marriage market were troublesome, demanding, and poor companions for the pleasures he had in mind.

Unfortunately, too many of those pleasures came to mind of late.

Alex took a deep breath. Lucia stood before him now, the breeze outside Schweitzer & Davidson molding her skirts to her tall, willowy form. His fingers flexed, eager to touch her, touch the skin he knew was silky and warm as a kitten’s fur in the summer sun.

Bloody hell. He
would
conquer this. “Your participation in this investigation is entirely improper, Lucia,” he explained—again. “Even you admit you shouldn’t be seen with me.” Alex didn’t give a damn about social conventions, but if the French operatives knew who he was, anyone in his company could be in danger.

Lucia’s eyes darkened, reminding him of those
Yorkshire storm clouds again. “Yes, and I’m sure this…
exhibition
isn’t helping matters.”

Alex leaned closer, ready to either kiss her or throttle her, then thought better of both options. Perhaps there was a better way. He glanced about. Cork Street was relatively deserted, but the sprinkle of passersby would be enough to make his point.

With deliberate slowness, Alex leaned closer and rubbed his cheek against hers. She stiffened, and her gaze darted past him to the street.

“I’ll ruin your reputation, sweetheart,” he whispered. There was her scent again, the cinnamon and vanilla conjuring memories of a time when life was simple and untainted. He breathed in her ear, and her stiffness melted away in a shiver.

“My brother is more important.”

Alex grinned. Her voice had become a squeak.

“And I’ll find your brother. My way. Using any means necessary. I won’t be concerned with propriety.”

“I understand,” she whispered.

“Do you? Your virtue is in danger if you continue our association.” He pressed his cheek against hers again, enjoying the velvet contrast of her skin on his. Turning his head, he placed his lips on the sensitive flesh near her earlobe. “And if you insist on accompanying me, I’ll take you where no lady should go. Houses of pleasure, dens of iniquity, my bed.” His lips grazed the skin of her earlobe. With a gasp, she clutched the lapels of his coat, and he bent to kiss her neck just under her dangling gold earring where her pulse throbbed.

He moved a fraction of an inch, his heart pounding, his blood pounding, his head pounding. He frowned. The window pounding? Alex’s head shot
up, and behind Lucia, Lord Alfred Dewhurst waved jovially from the shop window.

“Damn!”

Alex jerked away from Lucia, regret seizing him when he saw her flushed cheeks and her eyes dark with arousal. Bloody hell. All he’d wanted was to scandalize her enough so that she’d abandon the ridiculous idea of helping him find her brother. He hadn’t meant it to go this far—not here in the street, at any rate—but he should have known nothing with Lucia ever went according to plan.

A bell tinkled, and behind her, Dewhurst opened the shop door.

“Selbourne, old boy!” Freddie strode forward, smile smug. “Are you coming in, or are you going to stand about in the street all day?”

Alex scowled. “Coming in.” He turned back to Lucia. “Miss Lucia Dashing, Lord Alfred Dewhurst.”

“Lord Dewhurst?” Lucia blinked, put a hand to her hair, and gave a belated curtsy. “A—a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Freddie swept off his hat and gave a low bow, tossing Alex a wicked grin as he did so. “Miss Dashing. The pleasure is all mine.” He bowed again. “In fact, I would have made your acquaintance
much
sooner had your brother and father allowed me close enough for an introduction.”

“Freddie.” Alex frowned a warning at his friend.

Freddie waved a hand at him, lace at the sleeve fluttering, and offered his arm to Lucia. “Miss Dashing, would you do me the honor of—”

Before he even knew what he was doing, Alex swept forward, intercepted her hand, and placed it on his own arm.

“All right, all right, Dewhurst. No need to practice your charms on my in-laws.”

Freddie’s grin was as wide as Prinny’s arse, and Alex knew he’d never hear the end of this. Freddie turned toward the shop, then, as if to prove just how much he relished the moment, said, “Jealous, old boy? Looks like I’ve set up Selbourne’s bristles, don’t it, Miss Dashing?” He winked at Lucia and turned the knob on Schweitzer & Davidson’s, holding the door open.

“I’ll get you back for this,” Alex said as he passed Freddie.

Freddie laughed. “I can’t wait.”

Lucia stepped into the shop and moved blindly forward. Her heart was still racing, and the blood thudded in her ears. The skin of her earlobe tingled where Alex’s lips had brushed against her, his sultry breath sending shivers dancing across her flesh with each sinful whisper.

Her knees had wobbled, a moan threatened to escape her traitorous throat…and then Dewhurst had appeared. But it was only when Alex snatched her hand from Dewhurst that her thoughts returned to some semblance of order. Selbourne’s sudden solicitousness confused her. Five minutes before, his gray eyes had been hard as pewter, his voice icy as he’d scolded her for her so-called interference.

And then, without warning, he was all heat and fire, turning her indignation to something else—something she couldn’t quite define.

Alex squeezed her elbow now, and she blinked, taking in the bright, airy shop for the first time. She’d always pictured men’s tailors as dark and musty. But Schweitzer & Davidson was neat and orderly—the bolts of material stacked and straight and the ready-made items arranged in an efficient display. Lucia slowed, this aspect of male private life
new and intriguing to her. She felt as though she were peering into Pandora’s box or tasting the forbidden fruit.

Like a naughty child, she peeked over her shoulder. Dewhurst was closing the door behind them, and she relaxed when she saw there were no other customers inside. A young clerk with a shock of blond hair popped out from behind a counter. “Good afternoon!” His voice was high and overly eager. He bounced around the counter, hands clasped together in eagerness. Where were the stoop-shouldered old men with the thick spectacles and gnarled hands? The towheaded clerk hardly seemed older than she.

“Lord Dewhurst!” The clerk’s pale features brightened. “My lord, you’ve returned.”

Dewhurst stepped forward. “And I’ve brought companions, Pimms.” He gestured to Lucia. “This is the Honorable Miss Dashing.”

Pimms bowed. “Miss Dashing.”

“And you know Selbourne.” Dewhurst made a sweeping gesture toward Alex.

“I do, yes. Lord Selbourne, always a pleasure.” But the tone of his voice seemed to say it was anything but. The clerk turned back to Dewhurst. “How may I assist you today, my lords?”

“We are trying to find—” Lucia began, but Alex squeezed her arm almost painfully. She glanced at him in time to see the tic in his jaw and the warning in his eyes.

Before she could say another word, Dewhurst stepped in front of her. “Woke up this morning and simply had to have a new waistcoat,” the dandy said, waving his arms expressively. “Wilkins, my man, brought out waistcoat after waistcoat this morning, and all were simply beneath my touch.
Well, I need not explain to you, sir, my state of high dudgeon.”

“Oh, no, my lord. I perfectly understand.” The clerk nodded fervently. “But I fear the pink waistcoat with that fashionable stand collar you ordered last week is not yet ready.”

Lucia rolled her eyes. Pink waistcoat? Why was Alex wasting precious time shopping for Dewhurst’s fripperies and foibles? “Selbourne,” she muttered as Dewhurst went on, his voice rising as he warmed to his topic. “What are we doing here? Don’t you think—”

“Freddie,” Selbourne said. “Get to the point. I don’t have all day.”

Lucia stared. She hadn’t expected such an easy victory.

“All right. Don’t get snappish on me, old boy.” Dewhurst swiveled back to the tailor, who was now frowning at Alex. “As I was
saying
, Pimms.” He shot Alex a dark look. “I thrust aside waistcoat after waistcoat this morning until, finally, a notion entered my brain.”

“That must have been a novel experience,” Alex muttered, and Lucia covered her mouth to stifle a giggle.

Dewhurst cleared his throat and ignored the barb. “And not a bad notion at that, if I do say so myself.” Dewhurst chuckled, obviously pleased with himself. “A few months ago I saw a splendid waistcoat—splendid, I tell you—worn by Mr. John Dashing.”

Lucia’s head shot up, and she dropped her hand to her side.

“I simply must have one. Selbourne here saw the waistcoat as well and assured me Schweitzer & Davidson were the tailors.”

Lucia turned to Alex. He gave her a cursory nod, looking both bored and annoyed.

“Not that I’m surprised,” Dewhurst added. “Always say that Schweitzer & Davidson outfit all the swell of the first stare.”

The clerk puffed out his chest at the compliment. Lucia turned back to Alex. He raised a brow, and she frowned. Dewhurst was lying, and Alex’s nod of agreement involved him in the lie as well. Alex and her brother were not in the same set, and the idea of the two of them discussing a waistcoat was ridiculous. Not to mention, Alex had been out of the country.