Julia London (72 page)

“You shall see him again, do not fret,” Alex muttered. “I promise I shall not assault you, so you may ease that look of horror.”

A gasp of surprise lodged in her throat. Oh, she was horrified, all right, of what his mere presence did to every fiber of her body.

“What is the matter, Countess? Cat got your tongue?” he demanded, glancing irritably at her from the corner of his eye.

“No,” she said hastily. “I just…”

“Just what?” he demanded.

She swallowed nervously. “I just … I suppose I am not
accustomed—
”

“I am sorry,” he interjected, his jaw clenching tightly. “I am hardly accustomed to accosting women on the street, either. I must have drank too much port,” he muttered.

Too much port. God, how very deflating—a drunken moment to him, a snatch of heaven to her. She glanced at her hands clasped tightly in her lap, righting another surge of strange emotion bubbling to the surface. She was a damned fool, but she had her pride, and she would rather die than let him see how that admission hurt her. She suddenly giggled. “Oh,
that.
You must think nothing of it! Of
course
it was the port! No, no, no, I was referring to Lord Westfall. I am unaccustomed to being left for a horse!” Her laughter sounded shrill to her ears.

His jaw flinched. “Please accept my apology,” he muttered, and focused his gaze on the road ahead.

“Well, of course I shall!” she said with irrational gaiety. “We won’t speak of it again.”

He muttered something under his breath, but the hard edges of his face seemed to soften. “And I apologize for David, too, but my cousin lives for horses. He would have suggested it himself before the end of our drive, I assure you.”

Lauren risked another glance at him, recalling how that stern mouth had so tenderly touched her own. She realized she was trembling, and nervously cleared her throat, afraid to utter one single word for fear that it would come tumbling out in some incoherent, gushing way. She could not think of him like that. She had no
right
to think of him like that. “It’s … it’s a pity Lady Marlaine could not join you for a ride—I think she would have liked it very much. You will give her my regards, won’t you?” she chirped, wincing inwardly at her foolish,
foolish
remark.

“Naturally,” he muttered. A muscle in his jaw jumped erratically. She forced herself to turn away and concentrate on the scenery. They rode in silence for what seemed an eternity, until they came to a lake. Alex unexpectedly
brought the carriage to a halt. “It has been many years since I have gone so deeply into the park; one tends to forget the beauty of it.”

“It’s wonderful,” Lauren agreed wistfully.

He paused, looking out at the lake, seemingly a bit more relaxed. “Would you like to walk about?” he suddenly asked, and leapt to the ground before she could answer. Through no will of her own, she nodded, and the next thing she knew, his broad hands had grasped her waist to lift her down. As her feet touched the ground, his hands stilled on her waist. He looked closely at her. Too closely. Lauren felt herself color, and quickly stepped away before he could see how he stirred her.

She thought she heard a faint sigh as he gestured toward a path leading into a copse of willows. She obediently moved, and they walked, side by side, neither speaking. The sounds of human voices, horses neighing, and the creaks and moans of a dozen carriages began to fade as they wandered deeper into the grove. Under normal circumstances, it would have been a beautiful, peaceful walk, but Lauren could not dismiss the nagging thought that she should not be alone with him. She should definitely not be alone with him.

But she did not ask him to turn back.

“When I was a boy, my brothers and I spent many hours exploring this park. If I am not mistaken, we should find a small clearing just ahead.”

He was right. The grass was tall and damp in the seldom-used clearing, and as she fidgeted with her skirts so as not to ruin the hem, Alex strolled to the edge of a small pond and went down on his haunches to drink. The thigh that had touched hers was suddenly bulging against the fabric of his breeches. God, but it was exceedingly warm, she thought suddenly, and impulsively removed her bonnet as he splashed water on his face. The muscles in his back strained against the fabric of his coat; she tried to imagine what his bare back looked like. It was a mistake; she felt a queer
sensation in her belly as she gazed at him. She abruptly pivoted on her heel and strolled across the clearing before her thoughts went any further.

Alex, too, was trying to keep his thoughts simple, but it impossible. God help him, he had once noticed only her eyes, but now, he took in everything—her trim figure, the way her gown hugged every feminine curve, the taper of her elegant fingers from which her bonnet dangled carelessly. He noticed little things, like the way she worried her bottom lip when flustered, or how she demurely dipped her gaze to the ground when in repose. And now, the way she strolled across the clearing, seemingly without pretense or guile.

Her hair was knotted at her nape, and he remembered it as it was in the pumpkin field when he had first seen her—thick, wavy and unbound. He stood slowly with the fleeting image of her lying naked in his bed, her luxuriant hair framing her. Bloody hell, he had no business being here. He tried to think of Marlaine, tried to remember her eyes. Marlaine’s eyes were large, brown, and pretty.

But they did not sparkle; not like Lauren’s.

She stopped to inhale the fragrance of a lilac bush. The thought of her married to that German suddenly invaded his thoughts, pricking at him like a thorn. It was none of his concern, none at all, but that angel was too enchanting, too pretty … too
good
for the Bavarian. She was too good for any man, any man but—

He stopped himself right there.

Lauren turned away from the lilac bush, absently swinging her discarded bonnet, and smiled nervously at him.

“I am curious,” he said at length, “how did you manage to escape Madgoose? He never seems to be far from your side.”

A slight frown creased her brow.
“Magnus,”
she corrected him, “is my friend. There are times he accompanies me, and times he does not. He is only visiting London.”

Alex arched a dubious brow. “Really? I have not seen him
visit
with anyone but you.”

“That’s because,” she said with a pert toss of her head, “he does not know many people in London. And he does not care for small talk.”

“Does he care for orphans?” he snapped. His own remark surprised him. It was terribly rude, but he smiled with satisfaction when her brows snapped to a dark V.

“As a matter of fact, he came to London by way of Rosewood. He has met the children and finds them delightful.”

“I suppose he must if he is to win your hand.”

She folded her arms tightly across her middle. Her bonnet bounced at her side, telling him that a foot tapped anxiously beneath her skirts. “He is not going to
win
my hand,” she said with great authority. “Count Bergen is a…” She glanced at the ground. The bonnet grew still. “And when is your wedding planned?” she suddenly asked.

God, right to the gut. It wasn’t enough that he felt a complete heel for what he had done to her last night, or that she seemed to think it was little more than a moment’s indiscretion. It wasn’t enough that his desire to see her again confused him on a level too deep to fathom. But she had to mention Marlaine, the
one
person in all of bloody England he did not want to think about at the moment. “August,” he ground out.

“Lady Marlaine shall make a lovely bride.” She attempted to smile, but it seemed to be painted on her face. Her eyes said something altogether different.

“Not as lovely a bride as you will make,” he said softly.

Lauren gaped at him. “I beg your pardon, your grace, but I find your compliments … rather perplexing,” she said, frowning.

Perplexing and damned annoying, he would grant her that. But not nearly as annoying as a streak of unwarranted, unfounded jealousy. Alex swept the hat from his head and
shoved a hand through his hair. She cocked her head to one side, frowning prettily at him. In the dappled light beneath the branches of a willow, her face reminded him of a fine painting in which one discovered something new every time one looked. His pulse began to beat at a clip. “Do you enjoy paintings?” he asked idly.

Surprise scudded across her face. “Pardon?”

“Do you enjoy paintings? Portraits, that sort of thing?”

She looked at him as if he had just asked her to shoot his expensive mare. “I—I—why do you ask?” she asked warily as he strolled toward her.

“You remind me of a portrait.”

“A portrait?”

A priceless portrait at that, he thought, and at the moment, the view was his alone. “Does that disturb you?”

“Well …
what
portrait?” she asked suspiciously.

He casually circled her, covertly admiring her from all angles while he pretended to take in their surroundings. He came to a deliberate halt behind her, taking in the flush of her neck, the soft curve of her shoulder. “
‘Mine eye hath played the painter and hath stelled thy beauty’s form in table of my heart. My body is the frame wherein ’tis held, and perspective it is best painter’s art.’
That portrait,” he murmured. Clearly taken aback, an alluring pink hue arose in her cheeks as he slowly circled to stand in front of her. She shyly dropped her gaze to the buttons of his waistcoat. “Shakespeare,” he murmured, “wrote about you.”

Her lashes slowly lifted. “False flattery, your grace.”

“I assure you, it is not. I part company with the dictates of etiquette when it will not allow a beautiful thing to be honestly and openly admired.” Her blush deepened, and for the first time since the Granbury reception, she smiled fully, knocking the breath from him. Instantly consumed with the desire to taste those full, rose-colored lips, he impulsively brushed his knuckles across her cheek. She drew a soft breath at his unexpected touch, and in one blinding moment,
Alex saw his angel. The sparkling cobalt eyes, the dark lashes, the slightly parted lips. “You are,” he murmured unthinkingly, “an incomparable beauty. And that, madam, comes from the depths of my being.”

She hastily took a step backward. “I don’t understand why you keep
saying
those things, your grace,” she said nervously. “It’s not right—”

“There was a time you would call me by my given name. Say my name, Lauren.” He closed the distance between them, his fingers reaching for the bend where her neck curved into her shoulder, her skin like satin to the touch. Her blue eyes widened. “Say my name,” he said again as one hand gently cupped her elbow and pulled her toward him.

“A-Alex,” she stammered. A shudder coursed his spine.
“Alex,”
she repeated softly.

When his lips brushed across hers, she shivered convulsively and sent another alarming bolt of desire through him. God, she tasted sweet. His hand tenderly caressed her neck as his lips slowly and artfully softened hers. A strong tide of pleasure began to flow through him—he anchored her to his stark arousal, his chest almost burning from the sensation of her body pressed against him. He felt her hands slide around his waist, gripping him tightly as she timidly parted her lips.

Lord in heaven, he was on fire. He slipped his tongue into her mouth, swirling it about her soft depths. When her tongue cautiously brushed between his lips, he imploded with unprecedented need.

Whatever she had done must have startled him, Lauren marveled, because his grip suddenly tightened. His tongue thrust against hers with an urgency so fierce that it battered at her defenses and lured her into responding with equal intensity. Somehow, the simple knot at her nape came loose; her hair tumbled around her shoulders and he grasped a fistful. Impossibly, he deepened his kiss, the stroke of his tongue urging her to want him. Oh, she wanted him, as badly as she had ever wanted anything. She pressed herself
against him, amazed by the shocking sensuality of his hardness against her belly. When his hand slid down her neck to cup her breast, she gasped against his mouth and reflexively met his burning ardor with her own. Yet she had no idea how to give him everything she was feeling, to match his hunger.

The experience jarred her. It also sent an alarm rattling in her brain, and she suddenly broke away, surprising even herself. Alex slowly lifted his head and touched his fingers to her temple.
“Angel,”
he murmured.

The remnant of his kiss and his seductive words stirred deeply within her. His eyes, their liquid depths unfathomable, floated across her face. Her gaze fell to his lips, and suddenly, she realized what she had done. She had allowed herself to be thoroughly kissed by a man betrothed to another woman, had allowed him to stoke an unimaginable desire within her. How
easily
she had allowed it! It was so wrong, so very
wrong.
“Oh
God
!” she choked. She closed her eyes against his handsome visage, but it did no good. He immediately attempted to encircle her in his arms, but distrustful of her own body, Lauren pushed against his chest.

“Don’t,”
he hastily whispered. “Don’t think. Don’t do anything, Lauren, just let me hold you,” he said, reaching for her.

Terror engulfed her; she desired him as she had never desired anything in her life, and the depth of it scared her to death. “No, no—this is
madness
! We cannot do this!”

“Lauren—”

“No!”
she shrieked.

He immediately dropped his hands. He stared at her, his eyes searching her face. Unsteady, she watched his chest rise and fall with each ragged breath. In a desperate attempt to clear the longing from her mind, she counted them—one, two, three, four—Fear melted away to humiliation. Like a tart, she had willingly accepted his advances. Her pride
completely shattered, she whirled away from him. “You must think me terribly wanton—”

“Lauren!” he said sharply, and grabbing her shoulders, forced her around to face him. “Don’t
ever
say that!” he said angrily. “If there is any blame to be had, it is
mine
.” He stooped down so that they were on eye level and peered intently into her eyes. “But there is something very strong between us, Lauren, you cannot deny it!”