In the Prince’s Bed by Sabrina Jeffries (29)

Chapter Nine

Alec hated releasing her hand. The exquisite play of fingers had only whetted his desire. It had taken every ounce of his will not to flatten her hand on his inner thigh, then drag it to the embarrassing fullness growing in his trousers. He’d never been so aroused by something so innocent in his life.

By God, the woman would drive him mad before he got her to the altar. She had the curiosity of an innocent, but the passionate impulses of an experienced woman. If she were like this here, imagine what she’d be like in bed. He hardened instantly at the thought.

As soon as the applause ended, he recaptured her hand, intending to renew their reckless intimacies. Then Lovelace’s voice forced its way into his awareness.

“This next poem is dedicated to the most important woman in my life,” the man said.

Alec glanced to the podium, scowling when he saw Lovelace’s gaze fix on Katherine.

“The title is ‘The Muse,’ ” the poet added.

Alec rolled his eyes. If that idiot thought Katherine would fall for such a blatant ploy…

Then her fingers slipped from his. Alec shifted his gaze to her, wincing to see the mixture of pleasure and guilt on her face. With grim determination, he grabbed for her hand, but she held it back.

“Please, Alec…” she whispered.

God rot Sydney Lovelace. So the poet knew the way to her affections after all. She might respond to Alec’s caresses, but that blasted baronet all too easily made her feel guilty for it.

He relented and released Katherine’s hand, relishing the audible sigh that escaped her lips as she hastily dragged her glove back on.

But he felt bereft without her fingers entwined with his. Nor did the sound of Sydney’s voice, sure and strong, make him feel any better.

Sydney read with quiet authority:

God rot Sydney Lovelace. It was simple, elegant, and most importantly, not silly. Instead—

Why must the man be a halfway-decent poet? Even Alec, who only enjoyed the kind of verse sung by drunk cavalrymen in taverns, could tell that Sydney’s talent exceeded that of most amateurs.

Annoyed, Alec glanced over to find that hope did indeed lie in “her lovely face.” She hoped that Sydney, not Alec, might care for her, might marry her…might love her. As Alec watched, a tear rolled unheeded down her cheek.

Jealousy struck him then, so powerfully he could no longer deny it. Finally, Alec understood what she saw in Lovelace. The man’s facility with words drew her as surely as an army officer’s masculine skill with a sword drew other women. She might let Alec caress her hand, but it was Lovelace she listened to and Lovelace she admired. God rot the man, it was Lovelace she wanted.

Lovelace finished the poem, and for a second silence hung in the air, rich with the wonder of a crowd enraptured. Then enthusiastic applause broke over them. Several leaped to their feet—Katherine among them—and as Alec rose grudgingly beside her, he watched Lovelace’s reaction to the thundering applause, hoping for an arrogant glance to tarnish the man’s character.

All he got was Lovelace’s hesitant smile, as if he were pleasantly surprised by the effect of his words on his listeners. Scanning the crowd until he found Katherine, Lovelace beamed at her like a boy basking in the approval of his tutor.

That’s when it hit Alec.

The poem’s title was “The Muse,” not “The Lover” or even “The Betrothed.” Sydney wanted someone who would inspire his creations and praise his talent, someone who “understood the delicate dance/Between the pen and the poet’s trance,” as one of his lines read.

Alec’s mood lightened. Lovelace didn’t want the warm-blooded Katherine who yearned to be kissed and touched and desired. He wanted to keep her frozen on his pedestal, and that could never suit her.

She’s my poetry, my song.

Ruthlessly, Alec thrust the blasted line from his head. She would not be Lovelace’s “poetry.” She wanted something better than that—excitement and passion, as well as companionship. And only Alec could give that to her, thank God.

The applause faded into chatter now that the reading was over. Ladies gathered their shawls and reticules, and men stuffed their programs into coat pockets. A few people converged on the dais to speak to the poets milling there.

Katherine rose without looking at him. “I’ll be right back. I want to congratulate Sydney. It won’t take me long.” She hurried to the end of the row. But instead of going to the front, she swept through the doors bordering the auditorium, clearly headed for wherever the poets congregated after the reading.

Alec stood there flummoxed. Should he let her have her few minutes alone with Lovelace?

She’s my poetry, my song.

Alec’s eyes narrowed. Not a chance.

Stuffing his gloves in his coat pocket, he pushed through the crowds until he emerged into the less choked hall adjoining the other assembly rooms. Within moments, he spotted her. Since she moved against the flow, she hadn’t gone far in her steady press toward the upper end of the hall. Toward Sydney, blast her.

“Miss Merivale, wait!” he called out.

By some miracle, she heard him and halted. As he approached, color rose in her cheeks, but at least she didn’t run. She even waited for him, eyes flashing.

“What is it, Lord Iversley?” she asked primly, as he reached her.

Only then did he realize he’d come after her with no plan whatsoever. A thousand comments rose to his lips. Sydney is an ass…You deserve better…I want you, and he only admires you.

But he wasn’t skilled at pretty words like her poet suitor. His skills lay elsewhere. He glanced over at the open doorways leading to empty assembly rooms. “This way,” he said, taking her arm and tugging her across the now-thinning flow of traffic into the nearest room.

Thank God she went willingly. But as soon as he closed the door, she set her shoulders. “What do you want? I told you I’d only be a moment.”

“I’ve held up my end of the bargain. Now you owe me my reward.”

As awareness dawned, she swallowed visibly. “Why here? Why now?”

Because I want to banish Sydney from your thoughts. “Why not here and now?” he countered, striding up to haul her into his arms.

She shot him her best imploring look. “Please, Alec—”

“No,” he snapped. “I’ve heeded your ‘please, Alec’ too many times already today. So before you trot off to Sydney, I’m getting what I came for.” Giving her no more time to protest, he kissed her.

He’d expected some resistance, but what she did was worse. She stood still, not fighting him but not responding, either. It was like kissing a statue.

Temper flaring, he jerked back to glower at her. “Kiss me back, blast you.”

Her expression was eerily composed after the heated confusion she’d shown when their hands were caressing. “You didn’t mention anything about my having to kiss you back. You wanted a kiss, that’s all. And now you’ve had it.”

“I said a reward. And this is no reward.”

Though her blush acknowledged the truth of that, she wriggled free of his hold and headed for the door. “It’s all the reward you’re getting from me.”

He reached her just as she laid her hand on the door-knob. Catching her by the arm, he dragged her as far from the door’s inset window as the small room allowed. Then he lifted her onto a nearby table, ignoring her shriek of protest as he trapped her between the hands he braced against its surface.

“I let you talk me into sitting through two hours of damned awful poetry, so by God, you’ll give me my rightful reward if I have to keep you here all day.”

Challenge shone in her face. “Kiss me again if you wish, but I can’t help my response. I don’t feel that way about you.”

“The hell you don’t,” he bit out, then grabbed her by the shoulders and covered her mouth once more with his.

The anger that rode him made him kiss her too hard, too fiercely, so this time she did fight him, fisting her hands against his chest and nipping his lip like some wild thing.

As her resistance registered in the midst of his anger, he fought to bring his volatile emotions under control. He forced himself to be more gentle, to kiss her with the consideration she deserved. She wasn’t going to accuse him later of assaulting her when he had merely wanted her to fulfill her promise.

He rubbed his lips over hers, measuring their softness. He tugged playfully at her lower lip with his teeth. And the longer he worshiped her mouth with his, relishing the tender lips and drinking in her hot little breaths, the more she yielded, until soon she was kissing him back.

Only then did he deepen the kiss. Exulting in her response, he delved over and over into the sweet heat of her silken mouth. She flattened her hands on his chest, then clung to him, her fingers grabbing fistfuls of coat as she strained higher against his mouth.

By God, she was soft everywhere—not just her lips, but her hands and her waist and her hips…He would never get enough of this heady enjoyment, never be able to drink his fill of her delicious mouth.

Only when she stiffened and tore her lips from his did he realize he was cupping her breast. Her achingly soft breast. The one he wanted to take in his mouth and suck—

“Touching me isn’t…part of your reward,” she gasped.

But she didn’t push his hand away or slap him, which told him plenty. “I know.” He branded her neck with kisses, his hand still kneading her breast.

“You shouldn’t…do it.”

“Why not? Because you don’t feel ‘that way’ about me?” he growled against her ear. He rubbed his thumb over the tip of her breast, fiercely pleased when her nipple hardened.

“Please…Alec…”

The breathy little sigh fired his need to greater heights. “Tell me again how you hate having my hands on you, my mouth on yours—”

“You don’t play fair,” she grumbled.

“The man who plays fair loses, sweetheart, and I hate losing.” He pressed an openmouthed kiss to her blush-warmed cheek. “Tell me you hate this.” He caught her earlobe in his teeth, her delicate little earlobe he could nibble on all day. “And this.” He kneaded her breast. “And this.”

“I hate…I…don’t want…”

“Tell me what you do want.” So I can drive that blasted Lovelace from your mind once and for all.

But Katherine’s mind was miles away from Sydney. Alec’s hand, that hot, questing hand that had driven her mad during the reading, was all she could think of, caressing her breast, fondling it, searing her with this wild excitement.

She should protest the outrage. She should push him away.

But no wonder all those ladies in the Rhetorick looked rapturous when men touched them so intimately. It was the most deliciously naughty feeling. Only think what it would be like if he touched her bare flesh…

As if he’d read her thoughts, Alec began to unbutton the bodice of her riding habit.

“Alec, what are you doing?” she tore her mouth from his to whisper, scandalized. Fascinated. Dying to see how far he’d go and what it would feel like.

When had she become so very wicked?

He nipped at her earlobe again, sparking an electric sensation along her every nerve. “Tell me what you want.”

She couldn’t catch her breath. Another button came free. And another, while she waited in shameless anticipation. “Not this,” she said feebly.

“No?” Her bodice gaped open, and Alec slid his hand inside, then beneath the low neck of her chemise to cup her naked breast.

She sucked in a breath and curled her fingers into his coat.

“You don’t like this?” he asked, his voice low, guttural.

“Oh, my word,” she choked out. Sin should not feel so sweet and amazing…and incredibly erotic. His hot hand warmed her flesh, turned it molten. He thumbed her bare nipple, and she nearly shot off the table. Heaven, pure heaven. When it ought to be anything but.

He nuzzled her cheek, his breath ragged against her skin. “I wanted to touch you like this last night, sweetheart. But I didn’t dare.”

“Yet you dare to do it now?” she whispered, then shivered delightfully when he moved his hand to fondle her other breast.

“If that’s what it takes to convince you that you want me as much as I want you, then I’m eager to oblige.”

Before she could answer, he kissed her again, so deeply and thoroughly that she hardly noticed him settling his body between her thighs until her skirts inched up to accommodate him. Then catching her behind her hips, he pulled her flush up against him, so tightly she could feel the bulge in his trousers even through her bunched-up riding habit and petticoat.

“Alec, you have to stop this.” She sighed against his lips.

“Not yet.” He rubbed his thickening flesh against her, rousing a strange new ache between her legs. “Not until you admit you like having my hands and my mouth on you, that you like having me touch you.”

He caressed her naked breast so temptingly that she groaned aloud.

“Tell me,” he urged. “Tell me you want me, Katherine.”

“I…I…”

“Tell me!” he demanded as he pressed between her legs so firmly that pleasure bolted through her, making her cry out.

“Yes, you devil, yes—I want you!” she practically screamed.

His eyes shone with triumph, as if he’d won a battle. Which he had, of course.

Ashamed, she hid her face in his coat. “There, you got what you wanted.”

“Hardly,” he murmured. “I want much more than that from you.”

That statement brought her fully to her senses. “Well, you can’t have it.” She grabbed his hand and tried to pull it out of her gown. “Stop touching me.”

“Katherine—”

“Now, Alec! Before someone sees us in here, and my reputation is ruined forever.”

He hesitated, the fierce hunger in his face feeding her sudden panic. Then he stiffened, as if fighting for control over himself.

When at last he drew his hand from her bodice, she could have wept with relief. “Thank you,” she whispered. Swiftly she fastened her buttons, but when she tried to get off the table, his body still held her pinned there. “Please let me down.”

Clasping her about the waist, he pulled her off the table until she slid slowly down his body, every inch of his rigid flesh branding her even through her skirts.

His eyes darkened. “One more kiss,” he whispered, “then we’ll leave.” And before she could even protest, he took her mouth again.