Alex's Angel (23 page)

“I’ll never do it—never.”

A touch on his face startled him back into the moment. He opened his eyes. Emily’s fey little face shone like ivory in the firelight.

“I could’ve fetched my own ice,” he remarked. “But thank you.”

“You looked ready to pass out.” Her sherry-brown eyes fixed sharply on him as she brought the candle closer. “Even more so now.”

“Nonsense,” he replied, sitting up so quickly that the room swam violently about him. He held himself still, watching as she wrung a cloth out over the basin. Then she traced it over the bleeding injury with feathery-soft gentleness, cleaning the congealing blood. Her brow furrowed into an utterly adorable crease. He winced as she found and removed a shard of glass here and there.

How efficient and practical she was in this moment, yet caring and concerned.

A perfect angel.

She looked just like a young wife. And she deserved to be someone’s wife. Someone who could cherish her and devote himself to her body and soul. Someone who still had a soul to devote.

She did not deserve a hole-in-the-corner fling with a hollow-souled, miserable excuse for a man.

She placed a chilly, cloth-covered bundle in his palm. Her hand rubbed his for a few moments, gently pressing his about the frigid compress. With her other hand, she touched his face, caressing his cheek as if he were a small boy.

God, he was so cold inside. She was all compassion and shining inner fire. He wanted to warm himself. Couldn’t help but warm himself. He couldn’t find the will to tear himself from her presence. And he’d be lying if he didn’t admit he enjoyed her fussing. In fact, he was feeling steadier by the moment.

“Hold like that.” She reached behind herself for a linen towel and scissors.

“You don’t hold a grudge, then?” he dared to ask, watching her cut linen strips.

She looked up, puzzled. “A grudge?”

“The use of your art to promote the cause of a national navy. I saw your face when Sawyer was talking. You were not pleased.”

“Oh, that. Well,” she said, beginning to bind his hand with gentle diligence, “let’s just say we shall discuss all of that later.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re in no fit condition to discuss any matter of seriousness now.”

“I see,” he said, a little amused at her prickly commands. But he didn’t doubt she was going to prove troublesome over the issue of his purposes and her art. He frowned. No matter that it would probably be for the best, he certainly didn’t look forward to any chilly distances between them. Especially after this evening in her chamber. He wanted her and, even though he surely deserved to burn in hell for it, he knew he was going to have her. Why not? The sin on his conscience already damned him a hundred times over.

But Emily didn’t deserve the cost of his weakness.

She started and backed slightly away from him. “Now you’re offended?”

“Of course not,” he said lightly.

“You are offended.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because… I don’t know.” She studied him for a moment. “Your tone is light—too light, in fact—and yet your eyes look like…”

“Yes? Like what?” he demanded.

“Thunderclouds.” She finished tying off the wrapping on his hand.

“Thunderclouds, eh?” He scoffed derisively. “Well, your duty is discharged. I’ll not faint dead away now. I’m sure Rachel wonders where you’ve gone.”

“Rachel went to bed, said you’d be up until midnight or later.”

“Then bed is where you ought to be as well.”

The mention of her and a bed in the same sentence sent a wave of heat into his blood.

He looked at her, kneeling there, her lovely eyes shining with sympathy. They were quite alone here. No one would dare to intrude into his study. And she was still wearing that decadent combination of velvet over satin.

She grinned mischievously. “You don’t like for people to know when you’re angry—or is it that you don’t believe you ought ever be angry?”

“Excesses of emotion are pointless,” he replied, concentrating on the pain in his hand—anything to take his mind off her loveliness and his sudden realisation of their isolation.

He should not touch her.

But how soft and fragile she appeared in the glow of firelight. Her hair shone more intensely red. They must have done something to it. He most definitely approved.

God, he mustn’t touch her.

“Pounding a man to the floor of a public house isn’t excessively emotional?”

Her wry question brought a smile to his lips. “That wasn’t emotional—that was taking care of business. One can only deal with animals on their own level. And he insulted your honour.”

“But I wasn’t your concern.”

“Well, I made you my concern.”

The tender note in Alex’s voice sent warmth into Emily’s heart. But there was also pain lingering in his eyes. Pain that echoed in her own heart and burnt its way up into her throat. It was beyond bearing.

She knelt up and leaned closer to him until his knees jammed into her chest. “Won’t you tell me about it?”

He parted his knees and she moved even closer, resting her arms on his thighs. He reached with his wrapped hand and lightly touched her face. “Tell you about what?”

“You’re being deliberately obtuse.”

“Am I?”

“Yes… You know you are.”

Sudden coldness seemed to pour off him. He hooded his eyes. The powerful muscles under her arms tensed, as if he were preparing to arise.

She pressed her arms down, trying to prevent his departure. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” His voice was hoarse, almost raspy.

“You
know
.”

“Do I?” He sounded bemused.

She wished she could see his eyes but his lids were still lowered.

She arched up closer, so close she could have kissed him. “Yes, you do.”

His unwrapped hand strayed into her hair, pulling the pins out. He slid his mouth across her cheek, seeking her earlobe. His warm, wet tongue flicked her earlobe. She gasped, bringing herself up rigid. Then he took the fleshy lobe into his mouth, drawing lightly on it. Her nipples came as taut and alive as they had earlier.

“Do you like that?” he asked huskily, then glanced down at her bodice.

Her nipples actually ached under the focus of his attention, becoming even tighter.

“Yes—you do.” He laughed softly, the rich, pleased sound burning her ears.

“It’s merely cold in here,” she replied stiffly, feeling suddenly exposed and vulnerable.

“You’re flushed.” Alex’s voice broke into her thoughts. “You can’t be cold. This house is like an oven tonight.” He grazed the trimmed edge of her bodice with his fingertip.

Against her will, she longed to feel his hands on her breasts. He slid his hand down the sumptuous velvet and her back arched, pressing her bosom into his hand. She watched helplessly as he teased her nipples through the velvet. She wished the gown gone and that he was touching her through the satin chemise.

“Don’t you have stays?”

“They… I became too thin after the fever; they no longer fit. They look lumpish under my clothes and I haven’t been able to spare the money to replace them.”

“I’ll have you a new wardrobe made.”

“I don’t need—”

“Consider it done.” His tone was firm and final.

She opened her mouth to protest further, and he brought his lips down on hers. He caressed her tongue with his own as he tugged at the laces on the back of her gown with his good hand. The break in their passions, his dictatorial stance about her clothes, put a chill on her heated blood.

All the hurt feelings inspired by the revelations made at dinner came rushing back to her.

If he wanted to use her art for propaganda, why hadn’t he simply said so outright from the start? For that matter, why hadn’t Mr Jefferson said so as well? Why hadn’t they asked how she would feel about it before just assuming it didn’t matter how she felt? It was as if they simply saw her as a useful pawn.

Pawns could be so easily tossed aside after all.

I can’t trust him, not now.

However, her body seemed to trust him. She was wetter than ever.

“What about your dinner party?”

“It was winding down anyway. They don’t care, Emily. How can they not care?”

The bitterness in his tone softened her. He cared as much for his cause as she did for hers. It didn’t excuse his lack of openness with her about it, but it did soften her heart. And he’d hurt himself tonight. In addition, something had overset him terribly. She wanted to comfort him. Just for tonight, and let tomorrow take care of itself.

She turned to give him easier access to her laces. It took some time for him to unlace her in his one-handed state, but he distracted her by kissing her neck and whispering all manner of shocking, naughty things in her ear. With her gown unlaced, she stood and let the garment slide to the floor at her feet, aware the whole time of his eyes burning into her. She stepped out of it.

“Remove your petticoats,” he said, his voice sounding terse, impatient.

She knew exactly how he felt. Her own hands were shaking with eagerness and it made removing the remaining items harder, but she managed and returned to kneel before him.

She watched as he cupped her breasts through the satin chemise. The sight of his large hands touching her so lightly made her blood race through her veins, sending heat low in her pelvis. Making her wetter.

“Where did you get such a garment?” she asked, knowing that he must have been the one to procure it.

“I bought it after our night together, in case you decided to return. When your things came from the boarding house, I slipped this in there when Sally was distracted. I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist putting it on.”

“How did you know that?”

“Because you are an incredibly sensual creature.”

He caressed her breasts in a slow, circular fashion, slipping the satin over her flesh. The sensation was so sublimely sumptuous that she closed her eyes, threw her head back and arched into his touch. He cupped the globes, his touch growing rougher, harder, and she revelled in it. He put his mouth to her nipple and with his tongue wetted the fabric and then circled the straining peaks one after the other. She twined her hands in his hair, pulled the ribbon free from his queue and the silken strands fell over her fingers, over his shoulders. He caressed her back and buttocks, slowly sliding his hand over the silken fabric.

He touched her shoulders and gently pushed her backwards. Then he arose from the settee and got to his knees. With one swift pull, he swept her chemise up to her waist. The suddenness of his movements made her gasp. He cupped her bottom as he put his face to the red curls between her legs and kissed her mons. Her legs began to shake. He delved his tongue between her outer lips into her moist inner folds, sliding deep. It was one thing for him to do this with her lying down, in a bedchamber. But with a houseful of important guests just a few doors down, here in his study with her standing and him on his knees, it was shockingly intimate. Unthinkably wicked. Terribly exciting. Her legs shook so hard that they threatened to give way, and she leaned in to him, relying on his strength to support her.

With his tongue, he traced each fold, slowly, tantalising her. She moaned and rested her hand on his head. He went deeper, sliding into her with lazy thrusts, a whole series of them, until her honey flowed in a torrent of need. She wanted—needed—him to touch her sensitive bud, but he seemed in no hurry.

Her inner lips swelled and her nub grew more erect until she clutched at his hair. “Please, oh please.”

He swept his tongue up and swirled it around her nub, then he drew it into his mouth and sucked it gently. She cried out and pulled at the length of his golden hair. He trailed his fingers down between her buttocks and two of them entered her cunt from behind.

Her inner muscles contracted again and again. She bit her lip to keep from crying out as pleasure rushed over her in a perfect storm. Before she could come back to earth, he began stimulating her again. It felt like too much, too soon, but then she was coming again, harder this time, harder than she ever had come.

Then suddenly he was on his feet and enfolding her into his arms, kissing her cheek. “I love the way you taste and your intoxicating smell. The way you get so incredibly wet for me. You have the sweetest cunt. Like a perfect, ripe summer peach.”

Coming to her senses, she felt her face flame at his words. To do it was one thing, but to speak of it afterwards was too intimate. She tried to bury her face in his chest but he cupped her face with one hand and captured her lips with his own. Heavens, she could taste and smell herself on his mouth. It was like her mark placed on him. He was hers right now. The thought made her giddy with joy.

He pulled away and stared down at her, with a look that made her feel like the only woman in the world. He lifted one of her ringlets off her shoulder.

“My lovely, lovely claret-haired girl.”