Heaven Sent the Wrong One (4 page)

M
iss Banana walked away without a backward glance, and for a moment, he felt a sense of panic—a ridiculous pang of loss, as if he needed her warmth, her steadfastness, and her fortitude, to be close to him always.

"Wait
—" he took a small step, the only movement he could afford without tearing his breeches any further.

She paused by the c
hair where the throw was draped, stepping over her mistress who was sprawled on the same spot and snoring like a babe.

"We can use this," she said as she hauled the throw fro
m the chair and strolled back to where he stood.

Without another word, she flicked the blanket loose from its folds and draped it around his waist, tying it in a knot on one side.

"There," she seemed pleased with her handiwork, "you can move about now and change into something decent."

"Thank you," Allayne replied in all sincerity, because for the first time, a woman had impressed his jaded sensibilities. Her empathy was genuine
—never once did she laugh and make fun of him. Instead, she stood by his side and saved him from humiliation—even if it could have potentially cost her, her reputation.

Oddly, this protectiveness and quick-wittedness of hers, appealed to him.

"I better go and get some footmen to help carry Lady Davenport and Mister Carlyle," she smiled warmly at him. "Will you be alright?"

"Yes," Allayne felt a peculiar flutter in his chest for she did it again
—looking after him, taking care of his needs on instinct.

She nodded and turned to leave.

"Anna—" Allayne caught her arm, unsure of why he did or why he'd overstepped his boundaries and called her by her first name.

"Yes?" She swiveled to look up at him, her big brown eyes revealing not an ounce of censure to his indecorousness.

Allayne gazed down at her upturned face, at the faint sprinkling of freckles on her small, straight nose, and at the sensual fullness of her pink lips. God, she's beautiful—and he'd never met anyone like her before.

Even now, freed from the stress of the incident, she exuded an a
ura of independence—one who could manage her life and who could be relied upon. If his perception was right, she most probably was the kind who was loyal to the core and would love the man in her life with all her heart.

Allayne looked into her eyes and di
pped his head so close, his lips almost touched hers. He had no idea what had come over him, but at the moment, he couldn't think of anything except kissing her.

"May I?" he whispered huskily, half of him wanting to take liberties, and the other half dread
ing she would smack him and wrench herself free.

She did not reply, but she did not pull away from him either. She simply gazed back at him with those soulful brown eyes, as if waiting
—anticipating what he would do next.

Allayne knew, as he gently pressed
his mouth onto hers, that this woman was different. He no longer saw her as the pretty little maid he could fool around with. This woman was special—an invigorating, astonishing change from the same insipid, simpering, helpless chits populating the glittering ballrooms in London.

Miss Anna Banana, the plucky ladies' maid
—had certainly caught his complete and utmost attention.

The Maid and The Valet

Day One, Part II

A
lexandra closed her eyes—and lost herself in the magic of her first kiss. As his lips touched hers, a peculiar emotion bloomed in her chest, burrowed under her skin, and spiraled through her soul—engulfing her like a warm glove.

Awareness. Recognition. Acceptance. Altogether, seiz
ed her sanity, cajoled her to take small steps—one at a time—then pushed her into uncharted waters.

Her sense
s reeled. Discovering, learning, curiously wading across a river of uncertain depths. Will the undercurrent sweep her away? Will she drown in its fluctuating tide? Should she deny its persuasion—refuse to venture further and be afraid?

Then she realized
—to her utter amazement—that she craved the sweetness of its crystal stream, hungered for the warmth of its gentle waves caressed by the sun—needed the quiet comfort of its beckoning shores.

Surrender. To the taste, to the scent, to the feel, the elation
—of discovering—something different, raw—new. Something foreign to her orbit, to her sheltered abode, stubborn single-mindedness—yet her body responded to, yearned for—betrayed.

Possession. She had g
iven—he had taken. Nothing more. Nothing less. She had lost control. He had commandeered the reins.

And she followed.

Blindly. A slave to the master—a puppet to his strings. She had forgotten where they were, the hour of the day, and even her very name.

A dream. The place where she had drifted.

A fantasy. The notion whirling in her head.

Who would have thought that a kiss could be like this
—magical, mystical—and with the right man at the right time, gloriously divine?

She sent a silent wish to the fairies. Please, let it go on forever
—pray, let it last a lifetime.

But, he pulled away and ended the kiss
—breaking the spell, casting the enchantment to the winds.

Alexandra opened her lids to the most stunning, emerald green eyes she had ever seen. Expressive. Observant. Intelligent; windows to the substance of the man underneath.

Who is he—to have such potent influence over her? To bend her will with a simple, "May I?" To make her lose her sensibilities, her scruples—to turn her brain into mush and her legs into jelly?

Though the brief contact lasted merely a few heartbeats
—nothing like the earth shattering, mind-numbing, passion-filled kisses described in her books, it nevertheless made her heart race, tantalized and rendered her breathless, heightened her consciousness to what she had been missing.

Which, apparently
—had been substantial enough to be depressing.

"I'm sorry
—," he murmured, searching her face. "Please forgive my audacity."

"Don't be. There's nothing to forgive," she suppressed an instant yearning to touch him again
—to have some physical contact with him. For even though they kissed, they stood with only their lips connected. Neither one of them had succumbed to an embrace.

Belatedly, she wished she had.

Propriety be damned.

"Are you sure?" His tawny brows knitted, an expression of moderate shock, as if he was expecting an entirely different reply.

Was he disappointed that she was without regret? Did her willingness—her brazen response; make her less respectable in his eyes?

It certainly seemed like it.

She twisted her mouth and lifted her chin, thinking—, men are such pigheaded fools! Here she was, floating in the fragrant bubble of her first kiss—, and the stupid man had to burst it.

If he had enjoyed their kiss, why couldn't she? Was there a new law passed in parliament she didn't know of
—awarding men the exclusive right to delight in the dalliance of the lips?

Deflated and annoyed, she cast him a point
ed look. If he weren't so handsome and she didn't feel so bad about his breeches, she would have kneed his monstrous rodent and hung it in the kitchen for the cook to fry for breakfast.

"I let you kiss me," she said, with the haughtiness worthy of an heire
ss. Somewhere in the recesses of her disenchanted mind, she wished she had not switched identities with Anna. As a maid, both of them were on equal footing—eye to eye on level ground. But as an earl's daughter, she would have had the edge.

However
—she drew an inward sigh—if she were a lady, he would not have kissed her. She would not have known what it was like to lose one's self—to fly, soar, and indulge—in a slice of heaven.

Perhaps in the grand scheme of things, she still got the better bargain.

"No," she tilted her head and looked him in the eyes. "I'm not sorry that I did."

~

Allayne could not mask his bewilderment.

The woman was full of surprises.

She owned up to her decisions
—, no matter how much removed from propriety. And, she showed not an inkling of remorse.

If he had not noticed earlier, he would have assumed she was experienced. But no
—, her reaction to his kiss had shown him otherwise. The way she held her breath as his lips alighted on hers, the slightest hesitation, the barest trembling of her mouth, the pure wonderment in her eyes, and the healthy flush on her cheeks afterwards—had all indicated her innocence.

"Why?" He heard himself say. Why indeed would a maiden let a rake like him
—someone she'd known for less than an hour— sully her untouched lips?

"Because I wanted to," she replied, in a tone infused with doggedness.

Allayne paused—, stumped. Not for the first time did, he feel their roles had been reversed. He was the man—the one who should have been doing the saving, the trespassing, and the aggressor to a potential liaison. But she had clearly outdone him on his own turf.

Not a small feat for a lass who clearly was a virgin.

"Miss Banana—"

"Please, call me Anna."

"Anna—" his growing interest about her made him ask, "do you always do what you want?"

"If I want it enough
—yes." As always, she sounded so sure of herself. This said—with nary a blink.

"But
—why me?" He scrutinized her face, hoping she would say something more predictable, such as—,
I find you attractive
—, or—,
I like you
." Things he had heard countless of times, words that would indicate her desire to move what they had started—forward.

"Mister Huntington
—"

"Andrew."

"Andrew," she bestowed him with a kind smile, the sort that one gives—, out of charity and concern. "I've seen your rodent and witnessed your embarrassment. I thought a little kiss might help appease you."

Allayne flinched at her directness.

Good God, the woman made him feel like an eight year old who needed a piece of candy to pacify his tantrum. Never in his lifetime had he met a female who kissed him because she felt
sorry
for him.

Him
—, a rake known for his prowess in bed, sought-after by ladies of the ton, both young and old.

Him.

He mentally calculated his response. Should he be insulted or should he extend his gratitude?

"If you will excuse me," she glanced at the two people passed out on the floor, going about her usual take-charge manner as if nothing had transpired between them. "I must see to those footmen who can help carry Mister Carlyle and Lady
Alexandra upstairs."

~

"Of course," Allayne nodded, following her out the door, half-irritated by her dismissal and his seeming lack of effect on her.

As he watched her disappear into the opposite hallway, he couldn't help but shake his head. For a minute there, during their kiss, he thought he'd felt some kind of bond—an awareness between them. And he welcomed it, savored it, and tossed the many possibilities that sprang in his head out of nowhere.

The unfounded vision of her looking over the rim of her teacup at him in the mornings, spending rainy afternoons reading with him in the library, making love with him in his bed in the evenings. To a self-prof
essed bachelor like him—this was quite alarming. Superfluous. Appalling.

And he actually didn't mind
—even to some extent—relished, considered—the ridiculous idea.

Damnation
.

He had most definitely gone daft and plunged over the deep end.

But the most ludicrous of all—unbelievably—she had thoroughly trampled his expectations. Shrugged off what they have shared. Lifted her chin proudly—and walked away.

Leaving him,
—once again, in a state of disorientation.

But of course. He was a mere valet. Any chit worth h
er salt would aim for a man with better prospects. In his present disguise, how the hell could he impress her?

If he'd known a comely maid had accompanied the earl's daughter, he wouldn't have traded places with Andy. He would have come as himself, the das
hing viscount's heir—and swept her off her goddamn pantalettes!

He stomped off to his designated bedchamber. Irked. Frustrated.

Could he find a way to make her notice him, accept him—in spite of his humble employment?

"Anna, Anna, Anna . . ." he whispered
into the silence of his bedchamber as he threw himself on the bed and stared at the ceiling. “We’re definitely not done—, yet."