To Wed a Wicked Prince (10 page)

“Maybe so,” she said with a chuckle. “But quite frankly I found the urge to puncture your complacence irresistible.”

Alex frowned, then suddenly he laughed. “Well, you certainly succeeded, and I probably deserved it. I’d thought you many things, but not a tomboy. Get down now.” He reached up for her. “And try not to tear your skirt.”

Livia leaned forward, putting her hands on his shoulders, prepared to jump down, but Alex caught her waist and lifted her out of the tree. For a moment he held her above him, looking up at her with a gleam in his eye and a smile curving his mouth. “Scapegrace…hoyden,” he declared, and set her on the ground.

Damn the man,
Livia thought, realizing that by holding her like that he had totally and knowingly taken the advantage away from her. Now she was flustered instead of triumphant.

“Shall we continue our ride?” Alex inquired, leading Daphne over to her. He didn’t wait for her answer. “Allow me,” he said smoothly, and once again caught her around the waist and lifted her into the saddle.

Livia said nothing, merely unknotted the reins and nudged the mare onto the wide sweep of grass ahead of them. Alex brought Suleyman up beside them and for a few moments they walked quietly, the horses comfortably companionable. More so than their riders, Livia thought. At the moment there was nothing of the comfortable companion about Prince Alexander Prokov. The very air around them seemed to be crackling with an intense uncertainty. It was most unsettling.

Alex was thinking that if anyone had told him wooing would be this difficult, he would never have believed them. But then he’d never come up against the reality of a Livia Lacey. Combative, intransigent, fiercely independent, she challenged him and his preconceptions at every turn, and for some reason he relished every minute of it.

After a minute he gave up a fruitless train of thought and said, “Shall we try another gallop? Daphne is ready for it.”

Livia glanced at him. It seemed a good moment for action to banish tension. “Yes, why not?”

They rode fast through a glade, jumped over a stream, and galloped across a meadow. It occurred to Livia at one point that Alex knew exactly where he was going, but now she was enjoying herself too much to question his lead.

They rode for close to two hours, slowing now and again to rest the horses, but they said little to each other. Instead a strange kind of companionable silence settled between them. Strange, because it was a silence that Livia associated with her close friends, people with whom such silence spoke of an intimacy that required no conversation. It was hard to remember that just a short time ago she had found his company unsettling to say the least.

Finally, Alex directed them back into the trees and they rode more sedately now into a small copse that led up a hill towards an open-sided pavilion.

“Where are we?” Livia stopped at the top of the hill and looked around. The vista was lovely. Below, the Thames curved among its reaches and islets, and ahead stretched the meadows and woods of Surrey.

“Still in the park,” Alex said, dismounting and coming over to her. “Come.” He reached up and lifted her down with the same easy informality that somehow this time seemed quite natural.

“Lunchtime,” he said with a smile as he set her on her feet, his hands lingering on her waist. Her hat was crooked and her hair was escaping from its confines in an unruly tangle of windswept black curls. A smudge of dust decorated one cheek. He took out a pristine handkerchief and wiped away the smudge before mopping the glow of perspiration that glistened on her forehead.

“I must look like a sad romp,” Livia said with a faintly embarrassed smile at these attentions.

He shook his head. “Oh, no…far from it,” he stated, and very lightly pressed the tip of her nose with a fingertip. He turned from her at the sound of a soft footfall behind. “Oh, there you are, Boris. Is everything in order?”

“Indeed, Your Highness.”

The man who’d been in the stable yard emerged from the pavilion, a young boy at his heels. “We’ll water the horses, sir, and lunch is ready as you ordered. If you’ll allow me, ma’am.” He took Daphne’s reins from Livia’s suddenly slack hand.

“Yes, of course,” Livia murmured, relinquishing her hold. “Loosen the girth—”

“Of course, ma’am,” the man called Boris said, leading the mare away.

“I’m hungry as the proverbial hunter,” Alex said, taking Livia’s hand. He regarded her gravely. “Can we just be ourselves for a while, Livia? I’m tired of games.”

“I didn’t realize we were playing any,” she responded.

“You were the one playing them as I recall,” he retorted, and then shook his head. “No, forget I said that. I did provoke you, although not intentionally.” He swung her hand in a sudden gesture of exuberance. “I am a Slav who woos without artifice and I am trying to be a proper Englishman who approaches the dance of courtship with all the right steps. You don’t like the steps and I’m incompetent at making them, so may we start afresh?”

Livia frowned. This was the first she’d heard of wooing, although thinking on it, on the things he’d done in the last few days, it seemed a reasonable assumption. Her skin prickled as if she were standing in a draught and once again she had the sense that she was the object of some deadly serious intent, and she had no idea of its purpose.

She managed to make her tone casual and insouciant as if she hadn’t really heard what he’d said. “I’m happy simply to enjoy each other’s company and the company of these magnificent horses. I can’t tell you how much I’ve enjoyed riding Daphne this morning.”

He looked at her closely, those dual shafts of penetrating blue light, then he shrugged a little before turning towards the pavilion.

She followed him into the pavilion that overlooked a bend in the river. “This is such a pretty view.”

“One of the nicest at Richmond,” he observed, going over to a square table set in the middle of the pavilion. “Wine?”

Livia turned back from the view and saw the elegant table for the first time. “Yes, thank you.” She came closer. “Oh, game pie…and strawberries. How do you get strawberries in September?” But then she remembered the hothouse flowers. “Grapes too,” she murmured, plucking one from the artistically arranged bunch.

She took the glass of white wine that he gave her and sipped appreciatively.

“I did say we would have a picnic,” Alex reminded her as he raised his own glass in a toast.

“It’s not quite the ordinary picnic hamper I’d expected,” Livia said, responding to the toast. She was on edge, as if at any moment she should expect the unexpected. She turned away from him, gazing out at the view, holding her glass in one hand, her other arm held across her body.

She didn’t see him set down his glass but she felt him come up behind her and once again her skin prickled. She could feel his breath on the back of her neck, stirring the unruly tendrils of curls escaping from the pins that before the ride and tree climbing had neatly confined her chignon beneath the little black hat. And then she felt his hands on her shoulders and his lips on her nape in a light brush of a kiss. He reached down for the glass she held, stretching behind him to set it on the table.

Her skin was damp from the morning’s exertion and smelled of fresh air and horses, mingled with the scent of lavender in her hair. Alex drew his tongue up the groove in her neck and felt her shudder. He had intended a light, flirtatious kiss but something was happening to him as he held her lithe body close. His hands slid of their own accord around her body to cup the swell of her breasts beneath the tight-fitting jacket. He moved his lips to her ear, nibbling the lobe as his fingers deftly unhooked the little fastenings at the front of her jacket. He felt a quiver of resistance run through her as his hands slid inside the jacket, and then it was gone and her breasts beneath the thin cambric of her shirt filled his hands. Her nipples pressed small and hard into his palms as she leaned back against him, yielding to his touch.

Livia had been afraid of the unexpected, and now she understood that what was happening was entirely to be expected. On some plane of knowledge she had known this would happen. But she hadn’t truly known how she would respond, and her response took her breath away. After that one tiny thrill of resistance her body gave itself to the sea of sensation. Her breasts were alive beneath his hands and she wanted his touch on every inch of her skin. His lips had moved to trace the curve of her cheek and she turned her face against his shoulder towards the kiss. His hands pushed the loosened jacket off her shoulders and she felt it slither away from her.

His flat palms slipped down her ribs to her waist, turning her towards him. She lifted her head and for an instant looked into his face, seeing the desire alight in his eyes, knowing that it was reflected in her own. His expression was intent, his mouth firm and yet softened. Livia lifted her arm to come around his neck and pulled him closer to her, her mouth opening hungrily beneath his, her tongue now urgently pursuing its own exploration. His mouth tasted of wine and his sun-warmed, wind-burned skin smelled of earth and leather and the herbs of the linen press.

His body was hard and powerful against her own and as she pressed herself against him she felt his penis stir and stiffen against her belly. It sent a jolt through her loins, a deep trembling in her belly, and her thighs tightened instinctively. Her free hand slid between their bodies and she cupped the hardness pressing against his britches, feeling it twitch and throb against her hand. And she heard his deep intake of breath with a surge of satisfaction.

His hands roughly pulled the shirt from the waistband of her skirt and moved up her back beneath the cambric, tracing the line of her spine. Slowly he raised his head, leaving her mouth, and he took a step away, his hands still on her bare back. He slid his hands around beneath the shirt until they held her breasts, and Livia caught her breath at the shocking intimacy of his touch, at the finger delicately flicking her nipples, bringing them to aching awareness.

She leaned back, offering him her breasts with a low moan, her eyes closing of their own accord. She felt the air cool on her skin as his fingers flew at the tiny pearl buttons and the shirt opened. His mouth took her nipples in turn, his tongue flickering in a butterfly kiss of such delicacy that her body was filled with an exquisite yearning.

Alex drew a deep shuddering breath. He had not meant this to happen and in the far reaches of his mind, where desire did not rule to the exclusion of sense, he knew he had to stop before they were both lost.

With an effort he raised his head, let his hands fall away from her, and stepped back.

Livia was aware of a sharp stab of loss. Her lips were tingling, her body a seething turmoil of arousal. She was hot and cold, her loins full and warm, deep vibrations strumming in her belly, and her heart was racing. She could still feel the imprint of his hands on her bare skin. She looked at him in silence because there were no words.

Alex stroked her cheek with a forefinger, and then fastened her shirt as deftly as he’d unfastened it. “It seems you have the Slav passion in you too, Livia,” he murmured, his breathing still ragged, his cheeks flushed, his eyes still dark with the residue of arousal. “Dear God, what I wouldn’t give for a bed in a private chamber at this moment.” It was spoken barely above a whisper, but the statement held the desperation of lust cut short, and Livia understood it in every fiber of her being.

She moved away from him, turned back to the view that she no longer saw. Her hands were shaking and she pressed them to her cheeks.
How could she have reached the age of twenty-seven without ever experiencing that?
A key had been turned somewhere and the door stood wide open.

And she was damned if it was going to close again.

On that fierce resolution, Livia thrust her shirt back into the waistband of her skirt.

Alex’s hand reached over her shoulder, holding her glass of wine. “Drink,” he said. And she drank deeply, savoring the flowery taste on her tongue. It hadn’t seemed extraordinary a few minutes ago, but now it was quite delightful. Every sensation seemed suddenly enhanced.

“Shall we have lunch, or shall we talk a little first?” he asked, coming around to lean against the low railing of the pavilion, facing her with his back to the view. He sipped from his own glass and watched her over the rim.

“Talk about what?” She heard how stupid it sounded even as the words emerged. She shook her head impatiently. “I didn’t say that.”

“I understand.” He set his glass on the rail and bent to pick up her jacket from the floor of the pavilion. “Put this on before you get cold.” He held it for her as she thrust her arms into the sleeves with an almost clumsy haste, and he waited quietly while her fingers fumbled with the hooks. He wanted to help her but he knew that if he touched her again, there would be no turning back. And this was neither the time nor the place for the lovemaking his body cried out for.

Resolutely he pushed himself away from the railing and declared, “Lunch it is. What may I serve you?” He looked at the table. “There’s a York ham, a rather splendid game pie, smoked trout, and a dish of savory tartlets…oh, and a salad of watercress and dandelion.”

“Everything.” Livia emerged from her trance, forcing herself to pretend to behave as if what had just happened had not. “A little of everything, if you please.” She swallowed the last of her wine and came over to the table, helping herself from the bottle as he arranged morsels delicately on a blue-rimmed plate for her. A heady feeling of liberation surged through her. She would drink this lovely wine, eat this delectable lunch, and let the future take care of itself.

“Sit down.” He gestured to a folding canvas chair at one side of the table and set her plate before it.

Livia sat down, spread a snowy napkin on her lap, and took up her fork. She felt most peculiar. As if she’d drunk too much champagne. Not that she’d ever been drunk in her life, but from what she’d heard from the young men of her acquaintance, it resulted, at lease initially, in a state of euphoria where anything seemed possible and the world was bathed in a glorious rosy glow. Which was exactly how she felt at present.