Chapter Thirty-Eight
Nick kept his eyes locked on the marble staircase as lady after lady descended the steps to Wessex’s ballroom. None of them were Adelaide.
“Where is she?” he muttered.
“She will be here,” Wessex assured him. “Alice will see to it.”
Nick clenched his jaw. It annoyed him greatly that Nathaniel had apparently felt the need to enlighten the duke as to Nick’s private matters.
“Why are you always about?” he demanded. “Go bother Miss Benton.”
Wessex’s eyebrows lifted. “It is my ball. It is my house. And I find your little love affair rather intriguing. Surely you don’t expect me to ignore such delightful drama in my own home? Really, it is too much.”
Nick growled, to which Wessex just laughed.
“Look, here she is now. Do stop your growls and scowls and try to behave like a gentleman. I would hate to have to toss you out.” Though he sounded positively gleeful at the prospect.
Nick ignored him. Instead, he riveted his gaze on the angelic creature entering the ballroom. He couldn’t breathe. How could one small woman have such an effect on him? But it couldn’t be helped. He stepped forward as though pulled by an invisible string that linked him to her.
A hand on his arm forced him to halt.
“Nick, stop,” Nathaniel said somewhat breathlessly.
He gave his brother an impatient look. “Whatever it is can wait.”
“This can’t.” He pulled Nick aside, away from Wessex’s prying ears.
Nick frowned. “What is it? Tell me quickly.”
“She is promised to Montrose.”
Nick’s whole world stopped.
“No,” he whispered. “She can’t be.”
But as his gaze collided with hers across the crowded ballroom, he knew it was true. Good God, they were truly going to marry her right out from under his nose. Her eyes widened and she licked her lips nervously. She turned quickly away from him, weaving through the throngs of people in a clear attempt to escape.
He could not allow it.
“Don’t do anything rash,” Nathaniel said, catching Nick’s shoulder in a half-hearted attempt to stop him.
Nick shook him off. “What if it were Alice?”
Nathaniel hesitated, and Nick could plainly see his internal battle. Finally his brother relented. “All right. But don’t make things worse for her. Alice trusted me—and, by extension, you—by bringing her here tonight. Don’t give any of us cause to regret it.”
Nick nodded curtly. He didn’t give two figs about Alice, but the only thing he wanted Adelaide to regret was her unfortunate choice of fiancé.
He gave chase, ignoring the lords and ladies who tried to waylay him. He caught up with her just as she slipped through the doors and out of the ballroom.
He matched her step for step, shortening his long strides to accommodate her smaller steps. His hand gripped her elbow and pulled her in close to his body. He grazed her temple with his lips. “What have you done, Adelaide?”
She shuddered and her shoulders sagged. But she did not protest. She meekly allowed him to guide her farther from the noise and laughter.
Her sudden acquiescence terrified him more than her flight would have. It was as though all the spirit had drained out of her and she had simply given up.
He did not want her to give up. He wanted her to fight—not against him, but for him.
He opened a door and peered in. It was empty. He put a hand to her back and gently pushed her inside. He followed her in, turning the key behind them. She stiffened against him as the lock quietly snicked into place.
He found the lamp and lit it. The warm glow danced on her face and— Christ, she was beautiful. His heart beat painfully in his chest. She couldn’t mean to marry another man. There must be a misunderstanding somewhere. He could explain, she would cry and beg his forgiveness, and then he would fix it and all would be well again.
She was watching him like a rabbit eyes a hawk.
“I hear congratulations are in order,” he said. “Forgive me if I refrain.”
She twisted her fingers together. “I hear you are to be congratulated as well. A marquessate is quite an honor.”
And there it was.
She was understandably angry at him for keeping such a secret from her. But that couldn’t be enough to throw him over, could it? There must be more.
“Who told you?”
Her gaze slid away. “Does it matter?”
“I think it does. You see, very few people know, and even fewer have cause to tell you. I can’t imagine my father, for example, paying you a visit.” He studied her carefully. “But Montrose knew, and he had reason to share the information with you in the worst possible light. I believe it was he who told you, because not even a fortnight ago, he asked me not to tell you. He intended to woo you himself and didn’t enjoy competition from a younger marquess.”
She tilted her head. “And you agreed?”
How to explain?
“At first…I thought he would make you happy.” Nick tried to sort through the mess he had created. “Montrose and I are friends. He is the one who petitioned the Prince Regent on my behalf. It still isn’t certain, and I didn’t think you cared enough about a title for it to matter whether you knew about the possibility or not.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Montrose is a good man, but I shall be forced to break his nose if he ever looks at you again.”
She closed her eyes and her head tilted back. The long line of her throat quivered as she swallowed. “Nick, he and I are engaged to be married. My father has signed the contract. It is done and nothing can change that now. You must leave me alone. Go away, please.”
Her words infuriated him. He took a step toward her, and she retreated, which angered him all the more.
“Go away?” he repeated. He smiled coldly. “Do you know, I’ve heard those words before. I don’t ever want to hear them again. Do not tell me to go away, Adelaide. I will not let you send me packing like an unwanted dog.”
He stalked her as he spoke, and she retreated until her back pressed against the papered wall and she could go no farther. He laid a hand on either side of her head, caging her in, allowing her no place to hide.
“Am I unwanted, Adelaide?”
She stared up at him miserably. “Please don’t make me answer.”
Ah, but he would. He would use every weapon at his disposal to force those words from her lips. He craved them like an opium addict craved smoke.
He leaned in. “What of my kisses? Are my kisses unwanted, angel?”
He did not wait for her answer. He caught her to him, lifted her in his arms, pinned her soft body between the hardness of his chest and the wall. His mouth crushed hers, and he reveled in the way she instantly opened for him. In this, at least, she could not deny she wanted him.
She ran her tongue along the curve of his bottom lip. He nipped at hers in response, and she made a small, irresistible hum of arousal.
Lifting his lips from hers, he whispered, “You will never want his kisses like you want mine. Tell me.”
She said nothing but rained wet kisses down his neck until she reached his collarbone, where she sucked gently. Nick groaned and took her mouth again, stroking deep, as though he could suck the words from her tongue. He thrust his hips forward to anchor her more firmly against the wall, giving his hands freedom to explore.
He traced the collar of her dress, tossed aside the lacy fichu that hid her from him, and yanked the silken fabric down. One pale, perfect breast gleamed in the lamp’s glow. He traced his finger around and around her rosy nipple until it was hard as a pearl. She squirmed in his arms.
“You want my touch. Say it.” Again he circled the needy tip, torturing her even as he tortured himself.
She gasped and wiggled, urging his fingers to go where she wanted them. But she still did not speak.
“You will not tell me? But your breasts betray you. Look how they tighten with want. So greedy for me.” He flicked her nipple, then soothed it with the heat of his lips, sucking it deep into his mouth until she cried out, the needy sound only inflaming him further.
He reached down to lift her skirts, his fingers tracing her silken stockings until he reached soft skin. He moved his hand even higher, and her thigh trembled. Finally, he reached the damp curls at the core of her. “And here, angel. You cannot hide how much you want me here.”
She grasped his shoulders for support as he dragged a finger along the seam of her, relishing the glorious wet heat. Her hips rocked against his hand, demanding more, but he kept his touch light.
“Tell me,” he whispered. “Am I unwanted?”
His fingers stilled as he waited for her answer.
A second ticked by. Then another.
He broke first, pressing a finger through her folds, unable to resist the feel of her.
But she followed.
“No…no,” she cried. “God help me, I want you.”
At last.
He sank to his knees and pushed up her skirt. “Hold this.”
She complied, her hands trembling as they grasped the fabric. He lifted one of her legs, pressing a kiss to the inside of her knee before he hooked it over his shoulder. She was open to him now, and he took full advantage.
He kissed her there, where she was so wet and willing and lovely that he thought he might die from it. He savored the taste of her on his tongue as he pressed farther into her softness. One hand still grasping her skirts, her other hand thrust into his hair, cupping the back of his head, holding him firmly against her.
He found the silken bud of her desire and lapped it with slow, languid strokes, dragging her to the precipice with determined skill. When her hips writhed, he increased the pace. She arched away from the wall, offering him more. He took it, sliding his tongue inside her hot channel in one long, deep thrust.
She came apart then, crying his name, her innermost muscles clamping in glorious rhythm around his tongue. He drank the taste of her, holding her hips with his hands, keeping her with him until her body turned limp.
He rose up from his knees, keeping his arms around her, not allowing her to fall as he stood slowly.
“Adelaide, angel.” He couldn’t keep the triumph from his voice.
She looked at him.
“Tell me you are marrying another man. Tell me the contracts are signed. It makes no difference. You will always lift your skirts for me.”