Between the Devil and the Duke (A Season for Scandal Book 3) by Kelly Bowen (13)

The note sat in the center of Alexander Lavoie’s desk like a bomb that she was afraid might explode at the slightest provocation. She was terrified of what she might find. Terrified that she would find nothing. Part of her was ashamed that she hadn’t had the courage to open it on the way back to Alex’s club. Another part of her whispered that she didn’t ever really have to open it at all. Never had she felt so conflicted.

But there was one thing she knew for sure, and that was ignorance was not bliss.

Ever.

Alex had very subtly disappeared into his rooms, closing the door firmly behind him. To change for the evening, he’d said, but she knew that he had wanted to give her the time and space to read this on her own. She wasn’t sure that was what she wanted until she actually reached for the note and was glad that there were no eyes to judge just how much her hand was shaking.

“Stop being such a chicken,” she hissed at herself. She bent the paper, the wax seal snapping, and bits of red crumbled to the surface of the desk. Very carefully, she unfolded the note that had never made it to her father.

It appeared to be a verse, written in a neat, precise hand. Her eyes started at the first line:

Angelique could feel herself frowning fiercely. It was a Shakespearean passage, and she couldn’t begin to guess why someone had sent it to her father. Beneath the passage, there was a single line. This one read:

Angelique stared at the paper, perplexed and not a little frustrated. She wasn’t sure what she had been hoping for, but it wasn’t this riddle that had once been wrapped in two shillings. It was an extortion note of some sort, that seemed obvious. But for what? Was this some sort of accusation that her father had been unfaithful to her mother? That he had had an affair of some sort with a married woman? That perhaps he had had children with another woman?

It was the only thing that made sense on the surface. But underneath, Angelique was having a hard time believing it. She laid the letter on the desk and rubbed her face with her hands.

“Angelique?”

She lifted her face from her hands to find Alex standing near the desk. He had indeed changed, and he was clad now in dark evening clothes that graced his lithe body. His hair was slightly damp at the edges where it brushed his collar, and he’d shaven; she could smell the scent of his soap. It made her want to go to him, to run her fingers through the dampness of his hair, to taste that smooth skin with her lips. To pretend nothing existed save for the two of them, if only for a moment. It made her want wicked, wicked things.

“Do you wish to share what it says?” he asked gently, glancing down at the letter that lay on the surface of his desk. He made no move to pick it up.

Angelique felt her chest squeeze, her heart thumping painfully. His kindness suddenly made her want to cry.

“Go ahead.” She tried to collect her thoughts and her composure.

Alex held her eyes for the briefest of seconds before he lifted the letter from the desk. He read it twice, his eyes moving slowly and carefully over each line.

“The passage,” he murmured. “Do you know where that is from?”

“It’s from Shakespeare’s Love’s Labour’s Lost. I read it with my mother. It was one of her favorites.”

Alex was still gazing at the note thoughtfully. “What was it about? The play, that is?”

“It’s a comedy about a king and his companions who try to foreswear the company of women. My mother said she liked that the final message reminded lovers of the seriousness of marriage.”

“Mmmm.” He was reading the letter again.

“It’s an extortion note,” she said. “Though I have no idea what my father was being extorted for.”

“Yes,” he agreed, not sounding surprised at all. “And I think, at the very least, we can now safely conclude that your missing family fortune was not dropped into the alms box at St. Peter’s.”

“No. At least fifteen hundred pounds of it was meant to be dropped into something entirely different somewhere on Threadneedle Street.”

“Perhaps.” He put the letter back on his desk and glanced up at her. “The repeated reference to the cuckoo is somewhat curious, coupled with the last referral to his fledglings. Was it possible your father was having an affair outside his marriage? That he had children outside of his marriage?”

Angelique shook her head miserably. “I don’t think so. My parents could barely stand to be apart from each other.”

“What about before his marriage? He wasn’t young when he married your mother. Is it possible that he had a…relationship—perhaps children—before he married that you are not aware of?”

“Maybe?” Angelique didn’t know what to think anymore. “But half the peerage have children born on the wrong side of the blanket. It’s not exactly uncommon, and certainly not something that one can generally use to leverage an entire fortune from them.”

“Perhaps he was trying to protect your mother? The part about ‘keeping her memory pure.’ Perhaps he didn’t wish her to suffer the humiliation and shame.”

Angelique threw up her hands. “But to sacrifice the bulk of our fortune?” She was having a hard time believing that. “And honestly, I think if my mother had been aware of the existence of prior children that my father might have had, she would have insisted that they be raised alongside us. She was not the sort to punish children for the sins of their parents.” She stalked over to the hearth and stared into the glowing coals. “Neither was my father, for that matter.”

She didn’t hear him move but rather became aware of his presence behind her. What she wanted to do was turn around and throw herself into his arms. Which would solve nothing. This man who had already risked so much for her, who had gone above and beyond what any sort of business partner could rightfully be expected to do, did not need a sniveling, hysterical female on his hands. She had never been that woman. She would not start now.

She took a deep, steadying breath. “I suppose I should be pleased that, at the very least, I know that my father’s fortune is gone. That I no longer need to waste time with solicitors and courts trying to figure out where it all went.”

“Mmmm.”

She could feel her nails biting into her palms. “The other good news is that, should you wish it, I will be available for an indeterminate amount of time to deal vingt-et-un on your gaming floor. It would seem I will be requiring a job for the foreseeable future.”

“Angelique—”

“The bad news is that this revelation of my father’s past does not seem to have anything to do with the situation that my brother has found himself in.” She took another calming breath, trying to keep her voice even. Whatever her father may or may not have done didn’t, in reality, change anything. He was still dead. Her mother was still dead. The money was still missing. And her brother was still in prison.

She felt his hands on her shoulders, and her vow not to turn into his strength faltered. “I think I’ve changed my mind,” she said, not looking away from the coals. “I can’t take the chance that my brother will be found guilty. I can’t watch Gerald die too. Can you still help him escape?”

His hands tightened on her shoulders, but he remained silent.

“Whatever it costs, I’ll work it off.”

“Angelique.”

She closed her eyes, knowing that if she turned, if she faced him now, she would not be able to resist whatever it was that kept pulling her toward this man. She would beg him to kiss her, beg him to finish what she had started in that carriage, beg him to make her forget. Take her into his rooms and make her feel loved and safe and protected for as long as it would last.

Which would never be long enough, because one could not run from time.

She opened her eyes and slid out from beneath his touch, putting the bulk of the wide leather chair between them before she turned to face him. He was watching her, an unreadable expression on his face.

A knock sounded at his office door.

“Come in,” he called without looking away from her.

The door clicked open and swung silently inward. The behemoth of a man she had come to know as Jenkins stood just inside the entrance, his hands clasped behind his back. From beyond his bulk, a raucous buzz of voices could be heard over the music and made her frown. She’d become familiar with the ebb and flow of the club’s traffic, and this was far too early an hour to have such a crowd.

Alex apparently was having the same thoughts because he turned away from her and approached Jenkins. “What is going on out there?” he asked, not looking happy.

“It’s an early crowd, Mr. Lavoie,” Jenkins said, wincing. He approached Alex and held out a small sheet of printed paper that Angelique instantly recognized as the sort that had been distributed this afternoon in front of her townhome. “I suspect the scent of a good scandal has brought them out in droves.” He sent an apologetic look in Angelique’s direction. “Beggin’ your pardon, my lady.”

Alex snatched the paper from Jenkins’s hand and glanced down at it, his lips curling angrily. He crumpled it in his fist and tossed it in the hearth. “I’ll be out straightaway,” Alex told the man. “And destroy any of these that you find in the club.”

Jenkins looked relieved. “Very good, Mr. Lavoie.” He nodded once more to Angelique and then vanished, closing the door behind him.

The noise was abruptly muffled. If she’d been paying more attention, she might have noticed it, but she’d been too wrapped up in everything else.

Without a word, she turned and went into Alex’s rooms. He’d moved her trunk in there earlier, and she’d taken the time to lay out both her turquoise and silver gowns over the top as best she could, not wanting the satin to be crushed for any longer than necessary. She bent, trying to determine which had better survived the journey from Bedford Square to the club.

The turquoise, she decided, pulling the dress from the top of the trunk.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Alex demanded from right behind her. She jumped, not having heard him move as usual.

“Getting changed.” She straightened and turned.

“Like hell you are.” He reached for the dress, but she was faster and evaded. He was scowling. “You don’t need that. Not tonight. You are not working.”

“I most certainly am.”

“You most certainly are not. I want you to stay here.” This time he managed to yank the dress from her hands.

She felt her spine stiffen. “You want me to hide in your rooms?”

“Your word, not mine.”

“And what, exactly, shall I do?” she inquired, hearing the edge to her voice.

Alex stared at her. He stepped closer to her, and there was barely a handbreadth of space between them now. Her breath hitched slightly but she held her ground.

“Rest. Read. Audit my damn books. Whatever the hell you want. But I don’t want you out on that floor.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to take any chance that you may be recognized,” he said after a pause.

“Lying doesn’t become you, Alex. Especially when it’s not even a good lie.”

His face tightened.

“You don’t want me out there because you don’t want me to hear what people will be saying about my brother. About me, even.” The look in his eyes confirmed it. “I am not a child. Whatever they say, I want to hear.”

He was shaking his head. “Angelique—”

“If my brother really was set up, then someone, somewhere, knows something. And I understand that it’s unlikely that I might hear anything even remotely helpful. But I do know what sort of effect good French brandy and clever suggestion has on one’s tongue.”

Alex looked away, his expression one of frustration.

“You know I’m right.”

“It’s going to be awful,” he said, looking back at her.

“More awful than the speculation in ballrooms was about why the Marble Maiden is unsuitable for marriage? Or even a waltz?” she asked with a faint mocking tone.

“Probably.” She could almost hear his teeth grinding.

“They’re words, Alex. Nothing more. Uttered by individuals who understand nothing, but like to think they know it all.”

He stared at her.

“Besides, just think what such a captive crowd could do for your coffers. Your balance sheets will certainly suffer if I’m not out there.” She tried to make it sound light.

“I don’t care about my damn coffers,” he growled.

“And I am not going to cower in a corner while someone else fights my battles,” she said. “I never have, and I’m not starting now.”

“I never expected you to.”

“Then give me my damn dress.”

It had been awful.

There was a certain macabre glee that seemed to have infected the entire crowd, each recounting of the Marquess of Hutton’s sins more ghoulish and chilling than the last. Nothing that Angelique had heard had been anything less than fabricated, and by the end of the night, one would be convinced that Gerald Archer had done nothing short of running through London, indiscriminately slaughtering women and children as he went.

The murderer’s peculiar sister was discussed with equal verve. It was recalled Angelique Archer had only had a single season before she’d disappeared into thin air, but not before demonstrating just what an odd creature she was. A number of people speculated about the twins and their ability to assume the title and responsibilities once their brother was hanged. Or was it possible that they were touched in the head as well? Perhaps they might even be committed to Bedlam for examination?

But it had been the last that had almost broken Angelique. Hopes of hearing anything useful had died early. No one was interested in the truth. No one seemed to know anything beyond what they read in the scandal sheets. And as the night progressed, the stories had become more wild and the tone more cruel. Alex had sent Angelique off the floor an hour before the club closed, and for once, she didn’t argue with him. She simply nodded and finished the hand amid protests from those few players who had actually come to gamble and not gossip.

He’d sent one of his serving girls to his office to help her change out of the elaborate gown, the same girl he’d sent earlier in the evening to help her dress. Angelique had no idea if the girl had any clue who she really was. She, like the rest of Alex’s staff, asked no questions, which, as Angelique understood it, was how all of Alex’s employees preferred it.

The girl left and returned to her regular duties as soon as she’d unlaced the gown, and Angelique was left alone in Alex’s inner sanctum. Part of her wished she’d listened to Alex and never gone out there. It had been hard to listen to her brother being tried and convicted in the court of public ignorance. Just as it had been hard to listen to her nineteen-year-old self be judged and condemned by people she had never even met.

The words did not hold the power they once had, though it didn’t make them easier to hear. The gossip had reminded her of the feelings of inadequacy she had struggled with in the past. Her inability to become what had been expected of her. Her mother had loved her and wanted so much for her, she knew. But the things her mother had wanted for her daughter had been the things that had made her mother happy. Things that she had firmly believed would make Angelique happy too. It wasn’t until Angelique had embraced who she was that she had found a measure of happiness and peace.

She laid the turquoise gown over the foot of Alex’s bed, smoothing out any creases. The diamonds she left at her throat, a small piece of armor to remind herself who she truly was. And to remind herself that there were those in this world who admired and respected her for it. One who even desired her for it.

She picked up Alex’s robe where it lay over the back of the chair near the cheval mirror. She told herself that she was wrapping herself in it because Matthews and Jenkins had not packed hers when they’d brought her things from Bedford Square. But she was lying.

She climbed up on the bed and lay down, her head on the pillows, her hand smoothing the luxurious cover beneath her. For just a few stolen moments, she wanted to have Alex around her. Wanted to close her eyes and imagine just what it would feel like to belong to him.

What it would feel like to belong body and soul to a man who knew both.

Angelique had fallen asleep, though she’d never intended to. Her eyes opened and instinctively she knew she wasn’t alone. She scrambled to a sitting position to find Alex leaning casually against one of the bedposts. He was dressed only in his trousers and shirtsleeves. His back was to her, and Angelique couldn’t see his expression.

“What time is it?” she mumbled, looking around. The entire room was still in shadows, the only light coming from the hearth in the corner and a single candle.

“Late. Or early, depending how one might wish to view it.” He didn’t make any effort to move.

She slipped out of his bed and retreated toward the washstand as if she had been caught stealing something that wasn’t hers, pulling the robe around her more tightly. His robe. She felt her face heat, though there was no help for it now. She certainly wasn’t going to stand naked in front of him.

“How long were you watching me sleep?” It made her feel uncomfortable and flushed all at the same time.

“You make me sound like a peeping Tom. I wasn’t watching you sleep. I was just…thinking.”

“You could have woken me sooner.”

“Mmmm.”

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.” He took a sip from the glass in his hand that she hadn’t noticed earlier. “I’m sorry for what you endured out there. What was said about your brother. About you.”

“Don’t apologize for something that was my choice. I understood what I would face.”

“Angelique, the things that were being said—”

“Truly, I’ve endured worse and survived,” she hastened to assure him.

“Yes. You survived.” It sounded flat. “You shouldn’t have to just survive.” Now his words had an edge to them.

“But survival has made me who I am. I learned to rely on myself because there was no one else. To understand that my strengths were not failures. There are many things that I regret in my life, but I cannot regret that.”

Alex came around the bed, closing the distance between them. He placed his glass on the washstand. “No,” he said slowly. “You should not regret that.”

Angelique bit her lip. Just beyond him, she could see her shadowed reflection in the cheval mirror, and instantly she was reminded of the last time they had stood together here. His eyes followed hers, and it was like he was peering into her very soul.

“Do you regret what happened between you and me? Here, that first night. Later, in my carriage.”

She shook her head, unsurprised that he had asked. Unable to answer him with anything but the truth.

She couldn’t tell what he was thinking now. His eyes were dark gold in the muted light, his face a collection of hard angles. He reached out with his hand and touched the side of her face, a butterfly-soft touch. “Good,” he said in a low voice.

Angelique shivered, her entire body suddenly hot. That single word sounded like a promise. Arousal snaked through her hard and fast. Need was humming through her, twining quickly with anticipation, and her body responded in a way that was becoming all too familiar when she was around this man. A throb had settled itself deep within her womb, and her breasts ached.

His hand had dropped to the braid that hung over her shoulder and he pulled the ribbon from the end. He let it fall to the floor, his fingers dragging gently through the weight of her hair, spilling it over her shoulders and back. “I want you,” he whispered, his fingers drifting to the exposed skin at her throat where the diamond chain still glittered. “I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you.”

She recognized his words for what they were. An invitation to finish what had been started the moment he’d stood behind her in the cheval mirror. He’d given her the control and the power to choose. If only she had the courage to do it.

He bent and kissed her softly, his lips warm and gentle. “Don’t be afraid.” He was reading her mind again. “Never be afraid.”

“This isn’t my first time,” she blurted.

“Mmmm.”

“But it was a long time ago.” She had no idea why she said that or why it would even matter to him.

“Did you like it?” he asked. His voice was like black velvet, smooth and seamless and devoid of inflection.

“I wanted to.”

His amber eyes were completely focused on her. “Tell me about it.”

She wasn’t sure if she had heard him right. “Tell you about it?”

“Yes. Tell me what you felt. What you liked. What you didn’t.”

Her face was suddenly on fire. She swallowed, unsure of what to say. Unsure of what he wanted to hear. She was suddenly aware of how completely out of her depth she was. “I…” she trailed off.

He waited silently.

“It wasn’t what I thought it would be like,” she finally said, trying to keep her voice steady.

He gazed at her, something shifting in his expression. “It was your first time.”

“My only time.”

“Mmmm.” He pushed her hair away from her forehead and tucked it behind her ear. “You found no pleasure in it.” There was an intensity to his expression, something that simmered just below the surface that made her quiver.

Angelique shook her head. “No. It…hurt,” she whispered. “He…pushed up my skirts and...” she trailed off. “It was over in a minute. I thought it was what I wanted. I was wrong.”

She saw his expression darken, saw a muscle along his temple jump. She’d not intended that…disclosure. Something that had held so much regret and shame and disappointment for so long. Except he’d asked. And she’d answered. Because she was standing on the very edge of something that required unembellished honesty.

“That’s not what it’s supposed to be like,” he said.

“I know.” She didn’t look away. “You make me feel things that…you make me feel beautiful. Perfect.” That wasn’t quite right, but she was struggling for words.

“What is it you want now, Angel?” Alex asked. He wasn’t touching her, but his eyes were hot, an air of barely restrained control surrounding him.

“I want what you do to me. I want how you make me feel. I want…you.”

He went still before he reached out and slid a finger along the belt of her robe. With a flick of his wrist, he loosened the tie, and the silk of her robe unwound, the edges barely touching now where they lay against her body. But he didn’t push it open. Instead, he moved, circling around to her back. She could feel the heat of his body through the silk.

“It won’t be over in a minute, Angel,” he whispered in her ear, his breath hot against her skin. His eyes met hers in the mirror, and she shivered, gooseflesh rising.

Now his hands went to the edges of her robe, and he drew it over her shoulders. “I will never hurt you,” he continued, the robe sliding down over her upper arms. “But pleasure and pain are sometimes one and the same.” He paused, the robe caught at the top of her breasts by his fingers. “You need to be sure this is what you want.”

Very deliberately, she reached up and drew his hand away from where it rested against her chest. Silk slipped from her body and pooled at her feet, leaving her completely naked. She watched in the mirror as his eyes followed the robe, felt the exhalation of his breath against her neck, heard the small moan he made in the back of his throat.

She gazed at their reflection, more aroused than she had ever been in her life. This was what she had always imagined it might be like. To lay bare not only herself but her body to a man and know that both were venerated simply as they were.

His hands went to her hips, and over her abdomen, pulling her against him. They moved up, cupping her breasts, and he dropped his head, his lips grazing the column of her neck. The sight of his darker skin against the paleness of her breasts was captivating, and she arched into his touch, her nipples dragging against his palms.

His head came up, and his eyes were hot, his face set in desire. Without looking away from her, his hands moved, his thumbs circling her nipples that were peaked and hard and excruciatingly sensitive. She felt the muscles in her thighs tighten, felt a dampness gather between her legs. It was utterly indecent, she thought dimly, watching while he touched her body. Indecent and exciting, and she could not look away because the pleasure that was coursing through her was making it hard to think about anything except him. Anything except the way one of his hands was now sliding down over the gentle swell of her abdomen, his fingers caressing the curls at the top of her thighs and then stroking through the folds of her sex.

She closed her eyes, a little afraid that her legs were shaking.

“You’re wet,” he whispered harshly. His palm pressed hard against the top of her pubic bone while one of his fingers slid deep into her heat.

She gasped, feeling her inner walls clench around the intrusion.

“Jesus,” Alex groaned, withdrawing his hand, and Angelique almost whimpered at the loss. “Not like this,” he said. “Not this time.”

He moved around her, coming to stand in front of her. She opened her eyes to find him watching her.

“Undress me,” he said.

Angelique took a deep breath, her body on fire, her skin feeling heated and feverish against the cooler air of the room. And suddenly it wasn’t good enough to have just his hands on her skin. She gathered the hem and drew his shirt over his head, letting it fall to the floor. Her eyes roamed over the expanse of his chest. His body was one of long lines and lean muscle and the ridges and valleys that had been denied to her by clothing now flexed under her touch. There were hard edges and planes beneath smooth skin, a scattering of dark hair that gathered in the center of his chest and trailed down to the waistband of his trousers. His nipples were dark and pebbled, and without considering what she was doing, she ran her thumbs over them the same way he had done to her.

He closed his eyes and sucked in a breath. Emboldened, she smoothed her hands over the sides of his ribs and replaced her thumbs with her mouth, her tongue circling and exploring. She felt him tense, felt his hands settle on her waist, his fingers tight.

“My trousers,” he rasped.

She withdrew slightly, her fingers dropping to the fall of his trousers. The bulge straining beneath it was unmistakable, and Angelique stroked the hard length. His hips jerked, the muscles in his buttocks and thighs flexing under her touch. She undid the buttons, pushing the waistband down, and his trousers bunched around his calves. He stepped out of them and shoved them aside with his foot.

She let her hands fall to the outside of his thighs, exploring the steel that lay under heated skin. She brought her fingers higher, over his buttocks and the slight hollow at the sides, and forward over the rigid V of muscle at his hips. His erection jutted against the curve of her abdomen, and she closed her hand over his length, stroking him from the base to the tip. It was an erotic exploration, and the small sound of pleasure that escaped him banished any timidity. She let her hand slide back down, all the way to the base and farther, cupping his testicles in the same way he had cupped her breasts. He groaned and pulled her hand away, bending to kiss her deeply.

“So perfect,” he murmured against her mouth. “But this is about you.” He buried his hands in her hair, tipping her head back and grazing the side of her neck first with his teeth and then his tongue. “You will tell me if I do something you don’t like,” he said softly. “Do you understand?”

She nodded, but it was hard to think when he was doing things like that with his mouth.

“You will also tell me what you like. What brings you the most pleasure.” He was backing her up now, his body pressing into hers.

She nodded again, feeling drunk on the decadent wickedness of his words.

“Good. Now get on the bed.”

She obeyed, feeling the coolness of the cloth as she reclined against the pillows and sheets. He stood there for a moment, unmoving, simply devouring her with his eyes. In another life, it would have made her feel uncomfortable. Self-conscious. Today it only made her feel powerful.

“I’ve fantasized about you like this too many times.” He lowered himself to the bed, bracing himself beside her on his hands and knees. “Wearing nothing but these.” He reached out, and his fingers played with the diamonds at her throat. His hand slid from the necklace to trace a path from her throat, between her breasts.

His mouth followed. Unhurriedly, he took a nipple in his mouth, teasing, tasting, making her arch off the bed in blinding pleasure before he moved on to the other. His hands splayed over her abdomen and around her hips, slipping along the inside of one of her thighs and pushing it open. “So beautiful,” he murmured. He withdrew his hand, but as he did so, he dragged his thumb through the folds of her sex, massaging the bud at the very apex.

Angelique made a muffled sound and closed her eyes. “Yes,” she whispered.

“Mmmm.” He bent then, and Angelique gasped as she felt his mouth where his hand had just been. His tongue licked, and he sucked gently, and white-hot streaks of pleasure tore through her. She felt her leg fall open farther, giving him greater access, and he took full advantage. It was building again, the need that twisted and writhed deep within her, demanding release. But she needed more than this. This wasn’t going to be enough. This time when she came, she wanted all of him.

“Alex.” Her fingers tangled in his hair.

He lifted his head and met her gaze. His hair fell over his eyes, casting them even further in shadow, and she wasn’t sure if he understood. She wasn’t sure if she understood.

“I want you,” she said raggedly, searching for words to explain. “I want—”

She never got to finish because he’d moved and his mouth was on hers, hard and possessive. He’d shifted, and she could feel the hard muscle of his thighs along the insides of hers, pushing them wider. He was still braced on his hands above her, but now his chest rubbed against hers, sending new sparks of need spiraling through her. And at the entrance to her body that had become so sensitive and wet, she could feel the head of his erection.

For the briefest of seconds, despite her best intentions, despite all of his care, she hesitated.

He must have felt her tense because his lips slid from her mouth to her ear. “Trust me, Angel,” he whispered.

She nodded because she had no words, and then he was kissing her again, a long, hot kiss that had her melting beneath him. There was no concession to time. No concession that a world even existed beyond this room, beyond this bed.

He moved his hips gently, and she felt his erection nudge against her folds again. He slipped a hand between them, stroking her clit and making her whimper and her hips rock. And as she did, he thrust, pushing deep. They both stilled.

“Tell me,” he whispered. “Tell me what you feel.”

He was stretching her, filling her more than she could have imagined. But there was no pain, just a tightness that seemed to throb in time with her pounding heart. She moved her pelvis ever so slightly, feeling that small movement send ripples of pleasure flooding through her. She did it again, gasping at the exquisite friction.

He bent his head and kissed her, letting her adjust. She could feel her body reaching for release, but what she was doing was not enough. Not nearly enough. “Alex,” she begged.

He withdrew, nearly all the way out before he thrust again. “Yes,” she hissed, her eyes closing at the overwhelming sensations that were battering her.

“Tell me what you feel,” he demanded again, and she could see a sheen of sweat on his brow, see the fierce intensity of his eyes, see him wrestling with control.

There were no words for what was coursing through her. No words existed that would ever be adequate. She wrapped her legs around him, slid her hands over his ass, and rocked her hips hard against his, drawing him even deeper. He dropped his head and moaned, her name torn from his lips.

“That,” she said breathlessly. “I feel that.”

He withdrew and thrust harder, stroking deep into her heat.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Don’t stop.” Her hands slid up to the small of his back.

He surged against her, his muscles flexing beneath her touch, every thrust sending her body spiraling higher. She was panting, uttering small sounds she didn’t recognize. She was past the point where she could speak, past the point where she could think. There were emotions crowding her throat and her head and her heart now, but she couldn’t begin to sort them through the haze of pleasure that was this man. The only thing she could do was hold on to him. All that existed now was him.

He claimed her mouth again, possessing her, owning her, filling her, giving her what no man ever had. Demanding her complete surrender.

And then she felt that pressure break suddenly, deep inside of her, and she bore down on it. Every muscle within her seized, powerful convulsions radiating outward and sending devastating shockwaves of pleasure crashing through her as she shattered, whispering his name.

At the sound of his name, Alex’s head fell against her shoulder, his breath coming in harsh gasps as his hips thrust once more before he withdrew, spending himself against the soft curve of her abdomen. The shuddering crest of his climax slammed through him, breaking over and over, sending eddies humming through every nerve ending. Alex collapsed against her, and it was a while before he could catch his breath.

The slow seduction he’d promised himself, the perfect reeducation he’d had planned, had almost folded beneath her inexperienced yet instinctive touch. No one had ever undone him the way this woman did.

He collected himself and rolled to the side, sliding out of bed and returning with the cloth from the washstand. He wiped her gently and set the cloth aside, aware that she was watching him. She hadn’t moved, only lay back against the richly colored coverlet, her lips swollen, her hair tumbled over the pillow, her skin looking like honeyed gold in the soft candlelight. She looked sated and not a little dazed, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit it soothed his battered pride and ego.

He swung his legs back onto the bed and stretched out beside her. They lay there for a long time, simply gazing at each other, before she rolled over on her side so that her face was close to his.

“Thank you,” she said. “For that.”

He grinned, feeling like he was on more secure footing than he had been in a while. “Was it everything you expected?”

“More. So much more.”

“Good. You deserve no less.” His hand traced a line over her shoulder and across the slope of her breast. “Thank you for trusting me.”

“You’re not just an adventure,” she whispered.

He froze. “I beg your pardon?”

“You said once that women use you. That you are the scandalous, wicked adventure that they crave in their ordinary, boring lives.” She was watching him, her eyes a stormy blue in the low light.

He stared at her for a moment before rolling onto his back and staring up at the ceiling. He had said that. And then she had asked if it made him happy.

“No matter what happens―today, tomorrow, ten years from now―I want you to understand that you were not an adventure. Not to me. Not ever. You are the finest man I have ever met.” Her voice was urgent, as if she needed to say this all before she lost her courage.

Alex waited for the right comment to pop into his head, something casual and careless that would reduce the weight of her words. Except nothing came to him. Nothing at all except the need to believe her and a strange emotion that seemed to have thickened his throat and set an ache into his chest. “I am not a good man,” he tried, though his words were not nearly as cavalier as he would like. “I am an assassin. And maybe a spy. With a harem and a gaming hell—”

“Stop.” Angelique smoothed his hair back from his forehead with light fingers. “Before you insult my intelligence.” He couldn’t tell if she was teasing him or not.

He fell silent.

“Tell me what happened,” she said, running the pad of her finger over the scar that crossed his cheek.

“What sort of story do you wish to hear?” It slipped out before he realized what he had done.

Beside him, Angelique was quiet. Letting him evade if he chose to.

“I was trying to save my brother.” He continued to stare up at the ceiling, wondering why he had told her that. “We were sent to drive the landing Americans back to their ships.” Now that he had started, he couldn’t seem to stop. “Our regiment had scattered. We were outnumbered and out-gunned. I tried to convince Jonathon that we needed to flank, use the edge of the trees for cover, come at them from behind, but he ignored me. He was reckless, caught up in the bloodlust of battle. Certain that nothing could touch him. Until a six-pounder took his arm at the shoulder. I was trying to get him off the field when an American infantryman caught us, thinking to finish what the artillery had started. We fought. It took me too long to kill him. By the time I made it back to Jonathon, he was dead, the ground soaked with his blood. I was too late to save him.”

He could feel her eyes on him, but she remained silent.

“I don’t blame myself for his death,” he said, and it was the first time he’d spoken that aloud. “We were at war. But yet I can’t escape the constant feeling that…” He trailed off, searching for words that she would understand.

“That you failed,” she said quietly. “That somewhere along the way, there was some small thing you might have done differently that would have changed the outcome. Altered his path.”

“Yes.” Of course she would understand. Her brother hadn’t died, but he might yet, and her words made it obvious that she too was questioning everything she had done. “It’s always there. That doubt. That regret.”

“Yet you can’t go back. You can’t change anything.”

“I know that.” It came out more sharply than he’d intended but she didn’t flinch. She simply laid her head on his shoulder, her hand resting on his chest over his heart.

“And you can’t control everything in the future either.”

“I know that too.”

“Do you?”

He opened his mouth to argue but found he couldn’t.

“It’s a lonely endeavor, that,” she said.

“What?”

“Trying to control the future.” Her fingers were drawing small patterns over his skin, a simple yet intensely intimate gesture.

“I like being alone,” he said, hearing the same words Angelique had once said to him standing in a darkened hall.

Her fingers stopped before they resumed their caress over his heart.

“Liar,” she whispered with the same gentleness he had.