The Unmasking of Lady Loveless (2 page)

They broke apart as the dinner gong sounded. Melicent was panting, her hair ruffled, lips soft and damp, eyes wide and dark with desire. Alex felt another spear of lust go through him. He was not sure if he could wait until after dinner to have her. Never had the idea of forcing down a piece of overcooked mutton appeared so unappealing. But on the other hand, delay could be an aphrodisiac. Perhaps he could use the time to stoke their mutual desire. He rather liked that idea. For one thing was for sure, and that was that he would not be occupying the guest chamber that night.

Melicent tried fiercely to concentrate on her dinner, but her efforts were to no avail. Alex was sitting opposite her and she was aware of nothing but him. The table was small and every so often his thigh would brush hers beneath the cloth. Each time it happened her nerves would jump with tension and barely suppressed longing. She was conscious of his hands, strong and tanned, as he held his knife and fork, and of his voice, low and intent as he maintained a scrupulously polite conversation with her mother. Most of all she was aware of his dark gaze resting on her face. It made her heat up from the inside out, so at least she did not notice the coldness of the dining room tonight. Her heart tripped in quick, flustered strokes. Her stomach squirmed with sensuous longing. She wondered what on earth was happening to her, for although she had conceived a schoolgirl
tendre
for her husband on sight, she had never felt this immodest, wanton and reckless lust for him.

He caught her eye. His firm lips curved into a smile that promised to fulfill every one of those wanton thoughts. Melicent almost whimpered aloud as her insides did another slow somersault.

On hearing of her son-in-law’s arrival, Mrs. Durham had, predictably, risen from her bed like a phoenix, with no sign of illness at all, had donned her best evening gown and was now holding court. At the other end of the table Aloysius sulked and sighed his way through the meal, every so often shooting a look of extreme dislike in Alex’s direction. Melicent smiled faintly to remember the summary way in which her husband had dealt with her brother’s bad behavior. She imagined that Aloysius would be hoping for Alex’s swift return to London so that he could make an equally swift return to a life of debauchery. She knew that she needed to talk to Alex about his plans. He had said nothing of whether he expected her to accompany him when he left. Many men, she was aware, were dictatorial enough to demand unquestioning obedience from their wives in such matters. Many wives would comply, thinking it their duty. She was no longer one of them.

The old hurt stirred in her. Alex could not simply walk in,
kiss
her and expect her to fall into his arms as though their estrangement had never occurred. She was no longer the starry-eyed innocent he had married four years before. She had worshipped him when first they were wed, and his cold preference for spending time on the Beaumont estates rather than on her had broken her heart. From the first she had sensed the slow-burning anger in him at being manipulated into marriage. It had terrified her, holding her silent, building a wall between them.

There was nothing remotely cold in the look that he was giving her now, though. She felt her skin prickle as his gaze slid over her like a physical touch.

“I am sure that a change in company would do you the world of good, ma’am,” Alex was saying to Mrs. Durham. “It sounds as though you have suffered a terrible reversal in health in recent times, but with the right company you might find yourself miraculously restored. A small cottage in a seaside resort or in a fashionable spa would suit, perhaps? I am sure it can be arranged. And a congenial lady to act as companion…”

“That sounds delightful,” Mrs. Durham simpered.

Melicent looked up sharply. She could see what Alex was doing. If the care of her mama were taken off her hands then her prime reason for staying in Yorkshire would be gone. She would have no excuses to hide behind.

“The society in Peacock Oak is very pleasant, Mama,” she protested. “The Duchess of Cole has been kindness itself, and Major and Mrs. Falconer at Starbotton Manor are charming.”

“The duchess has a young baby and I am sure she does not wish us to be forever hanging on her coattails,” Mrs. Durham said. “As for the Falconers, I hear they are to visit his uncle, the marquis, in Scotland in the New Year. No, my dear, your husband is quite right. A remove to Bath or Cheltenham will be just the thing.” She reached across the table and patted Melicent’s hand. “Then I may return you to Lord Alexander’s care. He has been most patient to spare you for so long, but it is selfish of me to keep you.”

Melicent heard Aloysius mutter something that sounded like “It has never troubled you before, Mama.” For once she felt completely in charity with her brother. She glared at Alex and met a look of limpid innocence in return.

Mrs. Lubbock entered to remove the plates and deliver a pudding of stewed rhubarb and cream.

“I have been reading some of your writings lately, my love,” Alex said, passing Melicent the cream bowl. There was a spark of something disturbing deep in his dark eyes. “I wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed them.”

Melicent was startled. “I did not realize that anyone knew I wrote them,” she said. Mr. Foster generally took the credit for the architectural guides even though Melicent wrote at least half of the text.

“I believe your secret is out,” Alex murmured. His gaze dwelled on her face, bringing the warm color up into her cheeks, making her tingle.

“Nor was I aware that anyone read them,” Melicent added. She felt flustered. No doubt Alex would consider it eccentric at best and unacceptable at worst for the wife of a peer to write to supplement her income, but her mother’s quack medicines were shockingly expensive and seemed to swallow the best part of her allowance—the part that Aloysius did not steal for his gambling, of course.

“I think you do yourself an injustice,” Alex said, smiling at her in a manner that made her feel quite feverish. “I imagine that they must provide inspiration and entertainment for many.”

“I suppose so,” Melicent said doubtfully. Perhaps he was right—there were those who used the architectural guides to inform their country house visiting, but she would scarcely call them entertaining.

“I found them most stimulating,” Alex continued.

Melicent’s sense of astonishment increased. In no way could those dry tomes be considered stimulating, except…Alex had always been wrapped up in Beaumont, which was an architectural gem of an estate. Perhaps that was why he found her writings so interesting.

“I am glad that they please you, my lord,” she murmured.

“Very much,” Alex said smoothly. “I look forward to discussing them further with you. In private,” he added.

“You must tell Mr. Foster that you have an avid reader, my dear,” Mrs. Durham put in. “As the books were his idea…”

“Indeed?” Alex said. His eyes had narrowed. “Who, pray, is Mr. Foster?”

“Mr. Foster is an antiquarian who lives in the village,” Mrs. Durham said. “He is a very pleasant gentleman. He has always been most generous in involving Melicent in his projects.”

“I see,” Alex said. Melicent jumped at the undertone in his voice. He had turned slightly toward her. “You discuss your work with him?”

“Of course,” Melicent said, perturbed by the look of fierce, primitive possession in his eyes and the tension she could see in his stance.

Alex paused, the bowl of steaming rhubarb before him. “And the practical aspects, the research, if you would care to call it that…”

“Oh, no,” Melicent said. “That would not be proper.” Mr. Foster had in fact invited her to accompany him on one of his trips to visit an historic house, but she had been obliged to decline because she had no chaperone.

Alex’s expression relaxed slightly. “Well, I suppose that is a mercy.”

“I might have known that you would disapprove.” Melicent said with a flash of defiance. “Just because I am your wife—”

“That seems a good enough reason to me,” Alex said. He turned to Mrs. Durham. “If you will excuse me, ma’am, there are matters that Melicent and I need to discuss.”

“Of course,” Mrs. Durham said, fluttering her hand, “but pray do not be too cruel to Melicent, my lord. We needed the money for my medicines, you see….”

“So you needed the money,” Alex said between his teeth as he grabbed Melicent’s wrist and practically hauled her from the dining room, “and you think that justifies you prostituting yourself like this?”

“Alex, no!” Melicent looked at him in horror. “It is not that bad! I know it is unorthodox of me—”

“Unorthodox? It is the most appalling thing imaginable.”

“I had no idea you were so stuffy!” Melicent snapped. “How ridiculous you are—”

“We’ll see about that.”

He moved so quickly she had no time to evade him. One moment they had been standing in the dark, cold ground-floor passageway, where the air was thick with the smell of boiled vegetables, and the next he had grabbed her and his mouth covered hers and harsh reality simply melted away, leaving her feeling intensely alive and scandalously wild.

He kissed her fiercely, with primal possession, as though he wanted to imprint himself on her and claim her utterly. Melicent’s knees weakened and she slid her arms around his neck to steady herself. One of his hands was resting in the small of her back and he drew her closer, fusing their bodies together so that she was achingly aware of his intense arousal. She gave a little moan and he deepened the kiss, ravishing her mouth, his tongue exploring her intimately. Her eagerness and hunger matched his. Her fingers burrowed into his hair and she offered herself with all the openness and generosity in her spirit, lost in the wonder and pleasure of the kiss. This desire that flared between them was so unexpected that it was in itself a seduction. She did not want to resist.

It was only when Alex loosened his grip a little that reality intruded once more and she could see the drab hall and hear her mother’s shrill tones as she harangued Aloysius in the dining room, and then she wished to escape them all the more.

Alex was drawing her toward the stair. He was breathing hard and his eyes glittered with desire.

“Upstairs,” he said. “Now.”

Melicent’s breath caught. A long shiver ran down to her toes. It seemed impossible that Alex was going to make love to her here in the dingy surroundings of Meadow Cottage and in doing so transport her from this dreary place to somewhere magical where she forgot all her regrets and her cares, and became as free and wild and wicked as she wanted to be. She trembled to think of it.

“We don’t have a guest chamber,” she began, and saw him smile.

“You don’t need one, my love. I am your husband. I’ll sleep with you.”

Her pulse hammered. “Alex—” This seemed too swift. She could not understand it. She tried to hold on to her common sense, but she did not really want to. She wanted to run away, to find excitement in Alex’s arms, even if it was only for a brief few hours.

“Yes, my sweet?” He was holding her lightly by the upper arms, bending to nip and kiss at the soft skin above her collarbone.

“Alex…” She forgot whatever it was she was going to say as his lips trailed kisses to the hollow of her throat and his fingers slipped to the buttons on her bodice. She felt one of them yield. Then another, a third, a fourth…Her gown hung open; she felt the heat of Alex’s palm against one breast and shuddered with need. Alex buried his other hand in her hair so that he could pull her head back gently to allow his mouth to caress the sensitive, exposed skin of her neck. Melicent’s whole body seemed to convulse with cool shivers at the brush of his lips, even as her nipples contracted to tiny, aching points that begged for his touch.

The door of the dining room opened and Mrs. Durham sailed out. “Melicent!” she called. “Where are you? I need you!”

Alex raised one dark brow. “So do I,” he whispered. “And my claim is the more urgent.”

He turned her smartly around before her mother could see her state of undress and grasped her wrists together behind her back. He held them in a light but firm clasp and gave her a little gentle push toward the stair, his body shielding her from view. He did not let her go as they mounted to the first floor, and with each step Melicent became more and more burningly aware of his grip on her tender flesh, the promise of it, the caress of his fingers against her pulse, the way the dark urgency grew between them until she opened the door of her bedchamber and he kicked it shut behind them. Only then did he let her go, spinning her around, ripping the buttons from her bodice and the neck of her chemise with it.

Melicent gave a gasp. “My clothes!”

“I’ll buy you more.” He sounded impatient. He was already kissing her again, deep, dark kisses that stole her soul, even as he slid the clothes down her body with impatient hands. She was shocked at his haste. When she had been his virgin bride he had treated her with gentle consideration. There was none of that now. His touch was greedy on her. He bent his head and sucked the tip of her nipple, and the pleasure lanced through her, spiraling down through her belly, molten and unspeakably delicious. She whimpered and her knees buckled. Alex picked her up and dropped her onto the bed, coming down over her so that his insatiable lips could once again take her breasts and draw them, hot and wet, into his mouth. Sensual bliss rippled through her at the unremitting assault. She arched to the demand of his lips, tongue and teeth, feeling her body swell with need and unfurl, lush and hot, for him.

Alex stripped off his own clothes, and she gasped at the sight of his magnificent and unabashed nudity. She had never seen him naked before. When first they were wed he had come to her room wearing a dressing gown and she had screwed her eyes up very tightly when he had divested himself of it. She had never dared look at him and even less had she reached out to touch him. Now, though, having thrown caution and modesty to the winds, she stared openly at his glorious masculine beauty, at the long legs, the hard, flat stomach, the muscular planes of his chest and shoulders, the honey-colored skin. He was hugely aroused and he looked enormous. Remembering the acute embarrassment and pain of her wedding night, Melicent felt a momentary pang of fear, but then he joined her on the bed and the delicious friction of bare skin against bare skin drove all anxiety from her.

He reached for something from the nightstand and Melicent saw that he had one of her quill pens in his hand.

“The tools of your trade,” Alex said. “How appropriate.” His eyes had narrowed to a dark glitter, heavy with lust. He took the quill and brushed it over her breasts, and Melicent was so shocked that she fell back, boneless with lust, on the bed. The touch of the plume was soft and sensuous, and the stealthy, subtle sweep of the feather over her nipples caused them to harden further. Melicent gave a gasp and arched helplessly, and Alex made a sound of satisfaction deep in his throat.