There was nothing more likely to make her melt than the hint of vulnerability in his hazel eyes. He was aroused, she’d felt that downstairs, but when he joined her, he didn’t lower himself on top of her but instead reclined on the coverlet, his rigid cock prominent, and said huskily, “As I said, I want you to choose the pace.”
A little confounded, Alicia rose on one elbow. “What?”
“I don’t always have to mount you. We can reverse roles.”
That was frank enough, she thought as telltale heat flooded her cheeks again, but it was also confusing. “My lord, I—”
“Alicia, I am not your lord.” He caught her arms, drawing her to a sprawl on top of his tall body. “I’ve said it time and again. Have I not?”
“Yes,” she whispered against his mouth, for his insistent hand at her nape had brought her close enough for another melting, hot kiss.
“So prove to me you think I am your husband, not just the man you married because your father decreed my wealth and title were worthy of your beauty.”
That request was startling in more than one way. First of all, she had no idea of how to fulfill it, and second, did he really think that was why she had married him?
She traced his brow with a finger that trembled slightly. “Ben, surely you do realize I don’t think of you as the man my father selected for me. For that matter, I would not have agreed if you weren’t . . .”
“Yes?” he prompted when she didn’t finish.
“You.”
What more could she say? It was true. Out of all the gentlemen who had called and courted, she had somehow been drawn to the beautiful distance of his infrequent smile, to the clarity in his remarkable eyes, and to . . . if she admitted it, the potent lure of his hidden attraction to her.
Young and inexperienced, she had still sensed it.
It had captivated and bemused her to the point that when the Earl of Heathton had offered marriage, she had said yes immediately. It didn’t matter that her father had already accepted on her behalf, that the details of the settlement from both parties had been handled by solicitors, or even that they had done little more than dance a few waltzes and taken a drive or two through the park, he was from the very beginning
different
.
“I am me,” he conceded, a small rueful smile touching his lips. “I am afraid I cannot deny that.”
“Why would you?” She kissed him artlessly in the afternoon light, the role of seductress not easily assumed. His lips were warm and firm, and he effortlessly lifted her so smoothly that she almost didn’t notice the shift in position, his erection rigid against her belly.
“Because I worry that I might not be what you want.”
She registered that with a small wave of utter surprise. Nothing could be further from the truth. “What? Why?”
“I’m not particularly charming.” His fingertips skimmed her breast, tracing a blue vein beneath the translucent skin. “Or romantic. I don’t voice my feelings often enough.”
“You don’t exert yourself to be charming very often,” she corrected, shivering in pleasure as he circled her nipple in a wicked caress. “As for romantic, you are now and again, but I have never wished for you to woo me with flowers or poetry. I simply enjoy your company.”
However, he
was
accurate about his feelings. She usually had no idea.
“I intend for you to enjoy it very much right now.” His voice was husky, the heavy look in his green-gold eyes mesmerizing, and his muscular shoulders wide against the stark white linens of her bed. His hands went to her hips. “Straddle me.”
With his guidance, she complied, realizing what he wanted with a sense of shock mingled with a wanton adventurous curiosity. Hands braced on his hard chest, she adjusted her position and he guided her downward on the hard length of his rigid cock, lightly rubbing the tip against her softened sex before actual penetration, the friction delicious. She was wet, her entire body flushed, and when she sank down slowly, stretching and taking, she couldn’t help but let her eyes drift shut at the sensation.
“Perfect,” Ben muttered. “Too damned perfect. I hope I last. Move like this.”
It was decadent to be perched on top of him, her breasts swaying as his hands urged her to move, the motion inept at first but easier as she caught the rhythm. She found the angle that elicited the most enjoyment and a small moan escaped, the unladylike sound somehow fueling her desire.
Ben responded with a telling groan, and she had to admit there was a heady sense of power knowing she was doing this to him, rather than the other way around. He always had the control and this was . . . different.
To her own amazement, she audaciously leaned forward and whispered against his lips, “Faster?”
“Be careful,” he warned her, his voice almost a growl. “I’m close. Let me help
you
.”
I’m close
. She knew what that meant now in her enlightened state as no longer the shy, inexperienced virgin, and she had to admit to a certain sense of satisfaction for driving him toward that limit.
Not that he didn’t turn the tables by reaching between them and touching her where their bodies joined, his fingers finding just the right spot to make her quiver in reaction. Her entire frame jerked in response and she momentarily lost her focus, squeezing her thighs against his hips. “Oh.”
“My thoughts exactly.” Ben lifted into her next downward slide, his disheveled hair damp and dark at his temples. “Alicia . . .”
He wasn’t the only one close she found as a cry erupted from her throat and ecstasy rolled over in a tidal wave, flinging her into oblivion. It happened for him too—she was aware of it only obliquely as he went still and the pulse of his release registered, and then she was suddenly wrapped in his arms, both of them breathing erratically, their bodies damp and still entwined.
“I was trying to be chivalrous,” her husband said, his fingers tangled in her long tresses, “but I am not sure if I succeeded. Was I too demanding?”
No, and . . .
no
.
She felt wonderful, albeit more than a little scandalous considering the time of day. “I’m fine.” Alicia kissed his chest, since it was in reach with her cheek pressed against it. “Very fine, as a matter of fact.”
“Sleepy?” His fingers traced her spine and the curve of one buttock.
“This time of day? Always.” She yawned, a delicious lassitude sweeping over her.
“You are growing a babe, so of course you would be. I am a little tired myself.”
Her lashes fluttered in surprise at both his declaration and how he didn’t ease away. This was the man who spent so much time in his office, meticulously handled his estates with seeming ease, and was evidently called upon by his former employers to handle messy little matters despite his retirement from the War Department? She murmured daringly, “I would like it if you stayed while I nap.”
His lips brushed the top of her head. “I believe I would like it too.”
“Do you have the time?”
“No.” His laugh was a rumble from deep in his chest. “Not in the least. I am supposed to be drafting a new speech for Parliament. I am supposed to be sending letters to my partners in the latest mining venture in Wales. I am supposed to answer all the damned correspondence that I can never seem to clear off my desk, because once I do, more floods in. Not to mention that somehow I am also entrusted with the dilemma of who might just be striving to ruin young debutantes, striking with malicious, devious ingenuity. I am not sure how this last problem landed squarely in my provenance, but it seems to be there and while I am making progress, I am not quite done with the task.”
That roused her, though she had to admit her current position nestled against him was extremely comfortable. “What progress?”
He kissed her temple. “Take your nap and rest for my child. Before you depart tomorrow, I’ll tell you.”
She should argue. About being banished to the countryside, if nothing else, but the will to do it was eclipsed by his demonstrative lovemaking, and truth be told, she was marvelously content at the moment. “Will you?”
“You have my solemn word.”
Chapter 15
W
hen the door burst open, Ben was already out of bed, his breeches at least up over his hips, but being caught bare-assed at this particular moment was the least of his worries. At least he’d taken a moment to toss the sheet up over Alicia.
“What’s happening?” he demanded from the footman who had dashed so impetuously into his wife’s bedroom. “I smell the smoke.”
It might have been comical under other circumstances to see the expression on the young man’s face when he realized that his employer had obviously been in bed with his wife even though it was merely late afternoon. He stammered, “Yeats, my lord . . . Yeats sent me up to wake Lady Heathton, and see to her safety. He couldn’t find you, and I . . . I didn’t . . . I had no idea—”
“How bad is it?” Ben interrupted grimly.
“The kitchen is on fire, but there are also flames on the far side of the house.” The footman wiped a hand across his face. “What do you wish for me to do, my lord?”
“Are the stairs still clear?”
“Clear enough for me to get here, though the smoke is thickening.”
By this time Alicia had awakened. Ben could hear her startled gasp. “Get the female staff out of the building,” he ordered, searching for his shirt but abandoning the effort.
“I am sure it is already done, my lord.”
He nodded in brief approval. “I’ll bring Lady Heathton down myself. Buckets for every able man, though tell them not to risk their lives unnecessarily. This is just a house, after all.”
“Yes, milord.”
“What is happening?” Wide-eyed, Alicia clutched the sheet to her breasts, her rich hair spilling over her pale shoulders.
When the footman opened the door, more smoke billowed in and Ben without ceremony scooped his wife out of the bed, sheet and all, ignoring her gasp of protest. “We have to leave,” he said curtly. “Now. Being trapped in a burning building on an upper floor is not my idea of an entertaining evening.”
“We aren’t dressed!”
“That can be remedied later.” He ducked his head as he followed the departing servant. Alicia coughed and pressed her face to his chest, clinging to him, her arms wound around his neck. His urgency to get her out of the house was enough that he descended the stairs two at a time. Barefoot, his wife held close, he fought his way out the front door through an increasing fog that had them both fighting for breath.
Once outside, he found a distraught Yeats on the front steps along with a retinue of wide-eyed servants. He carefully set down Alicia, who was frantically trying to wrap herself more securely in the sheet, snapped out orders to have a carriage take her to her sister’s house and instructions that her maid stay with her every minute, and then ran back inside.
The kitchen, he found, was in a suffocating haze of acrid smoke. One of the staff handed him a bucket at his command and he went to work also, locating several small fires and tossing water on them from a tub located by the scrubbed table. The cook, he realized, must have refused to leave her domain, because she was there directing the staff in her stentorian voice, and before long the sizzle of the flames was gone, the eye-watering aftermath a drift of pale, throat-searing mist.
“The fire on the other side of the house?” he asked in a choked breath, wiping his brow.
“Just a smolder now and probably out with the rain.” He was assured of this by one of the footmen who also had a streak of soot on his forehead. “Whoever set it didn’t get the kindling going properly. It was propped against the side of the foundation and one of the stable lads put it out with a good kick.”
It would be nice to be able to say he was surprised the fire had been set, but he wasn’t.
At all.
His nemesis a-calling again, at a guess.
Damn his black soul.
What if Alicia had been injured, or anyone else for that matter? It rankled, and while he usually viewed the world with as much cool detachment as possible, he couldn’t find it at the moment, not while looking at the dripping remains of what had once been his kitchen. “Is anyone hurt?”
“No, my lord. Not that I am aware of.” Yeats looked properly aghast at the current state of affairs from the doorway. “Lady Heathton is safely on her way, so there is no need to worry.”
Like hell there wasn’t. Never had a message been sent so clearly.
“It isn’t even quite evening. Surely someone saw something.” The words were sharp. Ben was perhaps a little chagrined to be caught bare-chested and fresh out of his wife’s bed, but that was only a marginal concern. Right now the safety of his entire household had been compromised and since he had some obvious suspicions over why it had happened and who might be behind it, he needed to act quickly. He told the butler, “Question the staff, will you, please? They are most used to taking orders from you and will not freeze into pillars of salt as they might should I interrogate them. Ask them if they saw anyone unusual during the day, however remote the encounter. If someone did see something, please do your best to get a description. You are a man of details, so I entirely trust you to handle this in a competent fashion.”
“I will do my best, of course, my lord.” The elderly man bowed and hurried off.
Striding back through the smoke-filled rooms, Ben had to admit to a rare kind of rage he never allowed to mar his judgment. Usually he recognized that life presented challenges and conflicts, and enemies could play upon those variables and cause trouble, but never before had it involved his pregnant wife.
It was a point he apparently could not tolerate, for he was as furious as he ever remembered being in his life. He was so irate that when he stalked into his study, he had to sit down, pour a stiff brandy, and take a moment.
This interesting development needed to be analyzed with cool logic, and still bare-chested, no doubt disheveled, he leaned back in his chair and contemplated what would prompt such a drastic move; in the daylight, no less.
It was a gauntlet of sorts, unless the one who threw it had truly hired the most incompetent of lackeys to start the fires. One did not even burn, and the other one was more severe, but the damage was minimal as far as he could see. It had filled the house with smoke, which was annoying but not lethal.
It was rather like being bloodied in battle, he decided broodingly. Whoever got nicked first was at a disadvantage.
However, what specifically caused the arson, not to mention the note to Angelina?
He had to wonder if Janelle’s activities had maybe set this all in motion.
Ben rubbed his jaw, his gaze narrowed absently on the smooth, polished surface of the agate paperweight he’d inherited along with his father’s desk, books, and just about everything else in the room. He hadn’t changed much.
If the resourceful Mrs. Dulcet had struck a nerve, that would be very gratifying indeed.
She did, he thought wryly, have a knack for inciting trouble. It was part of her charm. But no matter what had caused it, Alicia was going someplace safe of his choosing.
No argument allowed.
* * *
“You certainly know how to make an entrance.” Harriet’s tone was dry, but her expression sympathetic.
Alicia, having just bathed to wash the odor of smoke off her skin and out of her hair, turned from the mirror and dropped the hairbrush to her lap. “Yes, well, I might have paused to at least grab my dressing gown, but Ben was rather impetuous about an instant departure.”
That was accurate enough. Then, to compound his sin, he’d deposited her on the front stoop and dashed back into a burning building. Thankfully a note had arrived in his hand saying the fire was contained and he would be by to collect her in a few hours.
Her sister’s mouth twitched into a grin. “Now that we know all is well, everyone escaped safely, and the house is relatively undamaged, do not be offended, but this is all quite amusing, Allie. The
ton
will love it.”
She had no doubt that was unfortunately true enough. “I’m sure they will,” she said gloomily. “I can see the scandal sheets now.
Lord and Lady H. forced to flee burning house in a state of undress in the afternoon
.
Whatever could they have been doing?
”
“Or,” Harriet suggested with mirth in her voice,
“Mysterious fire catches a certain earl and his lovely wife in an indelicate situation. Perhaps those of the below-stairs inferno were not the only flames in the house
.
”
Relieved enough no one was hurt, especially Benjamin, Alicia actually had to laugh. Though she was embarrassed to a certain extent, it could have been much worse. “What about:
Mortified in Mayfair. Will bedsheets turn into the next trend in afternoon attire
?
One daring countess apparently thinks so
.”
They both dissolved into laughter, but Hattie sobered quickly. “You could have been injured. Of course, Ben would take all due care to see you to safety no matter what you were wearing. Mortifying as it might be to be carried right from your bed, it is still rather romantic if you ask me. People will twitter over it for a while, but they can hardly criticize a happy marriage.”
“I believe I’d like for my romantic moments to be less public.” Alicia found it impossible to be as tranquil or optimistic over what had happened. First the threatening note and then a sudden fire? It could be coincidence, of course, but she suddenly understood all too clearly Angelina’s misgivings over the safety of her lover. Could Ben defend himself from every contingency? No one could.
That terrified her.
Hattie, who knew nothing about how potentially dangerous the situation really was, merely said, “Your husband is usually quite understated, so I imagine it will be all back to normal very quickly.”
Understated? Alicia might disagree, recalling how he swept her into his arms so recklessly, and he had certainly taken over the situation with ease. “I’m really not that concerned over the whispers.”
Her sister might not quite understand Ben’s former role as an adviser—or whatever it had actually been—to the Crown, but Harriet wasn’t a fool. Her gaze was suddenly sharp with inquiry. “What
are
you concerned over?”
“My husband seems to be called upon now and then to decipher some small problems. Maybe this one isn’t quite so small. Look at the lengths someone will go to. I am worried about him.”
“You think the fire was set
deliberately
?”
Alicia nodded decisively and gathered her borrowed dressing gown closer around her. “I expect so. I also expect I am now going to be packed off to the countryside. Ben has been threatening that anyway and I know him well enough to discern what action he will take.”
“If what you just told me is true, perhaps you
should
go.”
Well, that was the sticky part of the matter. “I see I will get no help from you if I want to protest.” Her smile was wry.
“If I were you, I’d trust Ben.”
She did, actually. If not for the issue of having to stay away for a length of time, she would not worry, but it was hard to separate the rational slant to the investigation from the emotional aspects.
Wherever she was going, she might sleep safely, but not in his arms.
That was not acceptable. She needed
him
to also sleep safely.
“I don’t want to be apart from him.”
That was it, simple and concise. She knew it was childish and needy, but it just
was
.
“Darling,” Hattie said with all due weight, laying her hand over hers, “I know. Has any woman ever wished to be apart from the man she loves? Of course not. Yet still we send them to war, and they send us away when they must, and it is all because of that very devotion that any of it happens.”
“This isn’t war.”
“No? If someone set fire to my home on purpose, I would think it was a war of sorts.”
“That is a valid point, I suppose,” Alicia admitted.
“Do you know who might do this?”
Therein lay the problem. She didn’t. Did Ben? She didn’t think so, or if he did, he was keeping it from her. Her fingers restlessly smoothed the skirts of her silk robe. She was taller than her sister, so a gown on loan might not quite fit, but the robe would pass until Ben arrived. “I have no idea as to the identity of who would go to such drastic lengths, but I think I do know why.”
“Oh?”
While Harriet was a dear, and she adored her, Alicia was not about to reveal anything so personal to Angelina, nor was she going to betray Ben’s trust in her discretion. “It is complicated,” she equivocated. “I’ll explain when I can.”