Julia London (62 page)

“Lauren?”

She gasped, turning sharply toward the sound of Alex’s voice. Leaning against a tree, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, he had obviously walked up from the pumpkin field. Heat immediately flooded her cheeks—God, he had not actually
seen
her thinking about the kiss, had he? “You startled me.” She laughed nervously, and brushed the back of her hand against her cheek in a vain attempt to erase the stain of embarrassment.

“Jupiter is just below in the pumpkin field, I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all!” Jupiter could graze in the drawing room for all she cared. Smiling, she pushed herself to her feet, shaking the dirt from her cloak. “I am glad you have come! The children have talked
so
much about you, my brother Paul insists on meeting this sledding pirate,” she said. “He is beginning to think you are a figment of our imagination.”

“Perhaps another time,” he said simply.

His response struck her as oddly distant. Surely he was not surprised she would want to introduce him to her family.
She had little choice; Paul knew she had seen Mr. Christian on a handful of occasions now, and had demanded he be brought round to meet him. Lauren had hedged at first, telling him that Alex was a visiting gentleman whom she happened to encounter from time to time. But after the sledding, Paul had quizzed her suspiciously. What sort of man, he asked, invited the children sledding without meeting her family? She had made light of it. But then she had met Alex, quite accidentally, one afternoon in front of Mrs. Pennypeck’s bakery, and they had strolled about Pemberheath. Paul had heard about it from Mr. Goldthwaite, who had turned so red when he had seen them together that she feared his heart would rupture. Paul had
demanded
to meet the mysterious country gentleman then.

“He will not bite, you know,” she laughed nervously.

He smiled thinly, his expression far too serious as he pushed away from the tree. “There is something I must say to you.”

Her heart skipped a beat at the absurd thought that flitted through her mind. Good God, she was hopeless! He had not given her
any
sign that he would be interested in anything more than the casual friendship they enjoyed. Nonetheless, she blushed profusely. “Judging by the look on your face, it must be a very serious topic, sir. Something very grave, indeed. Did you forget the name of the local poet I told you about?” His smile deepened a bit, but Lauren was struck by the peculiar, almost remorseful look in his eyes.

“No, I have not forgotten,” he said quietly. He took another reluctant step toward her and glanced at the sapling.

She did not like the look on his face, not at all, and swept the wide-brimmed straw hat from her head to give her trembling hands something to hold. “The cattle, they rub against it, but the tree is so small they have almost killed it,” she explained, and looked at the sad tree, her mind racing, her words filling the awkward silence. “I cannot seem to fasten the wire,” she added softly.

“I am leaving on the morrow.”

Leaving?
Lauren caught her breath; she felt as if he had just punched her in the gut. He could not be leaving, he simply could not! A tidal wave of confused emotions swept over her, and she fought to maintain some modicum of decorum. “I … I don’t know what to say. I thought … I suppose I thought…” she stammered uncertainly, her eyes riveted on the wire.

“I came only temporarily, to hunt, but I have stayed longer than I should have. I have responsibilities—”

“Responsibilities?” she blurted. Oh God, he was married, and for the last two weeks she had been dreaming about him like some silly, smitten schoolgirl, practically
drooling
each time she saw him. He must think her the biggest fool!

“I have a home and family,” he was saying. Her mind quickly rifled through all the possible scenarios she could have imagined, but this had to be the worst. He was
married.
“My brother has corresponded recently that there are matters requiring my immediate attention.”

Lauren wanted to die right where she stood. Her face flaming, she could not bring herself to look him in the eye, certain that her every thought, her every little fantasy, was plainly evident on her face. “Well, there you have it,” she blustered unthinkingly. “I am sorry … I mean, the
children
will be very sorry, but if you have responsibilities, I would be the last person to think you should not attend to them right away. Responsibilities are very important—I try to instill in the children the importance of responsibilities all the time, and I certainly would not want them to think that Mr. Christian does not take his responsibilities seriously, and of course they
would
think so if you continued to stay at your hunting lodge without thought to—”

“Lauren,” he said softly. Only then did she realize he had moved to stand only inches from her. She hoped to high heaven he could not see she was fighting for breath, that she
was silently dying in front of his very eyes. When his hand lifted to her cheek, she gasped at the roiling wave of sweet hysteria his touch shot through her. “I wish I did not have to go, either. But I must.”

“Oh,” she said, and shrugged lightly, still unable to meet his gaze. “It’s quite all right, Mr. Christian, truly it is.” He took a step closer, his fingers trailing along the line of her jaw. Her heart began to slam against her chest in terrifying rhythm. “The, ah, the children … they will miss you, but—”

“Will you?”

She bit her tongue to keep a shout of mad laughter from bubbling forth. Was he mad? Could he not
see
just how badly she would miss him? She slowly lifted her gaze to his, having no earthly idea what one said on such a monumental occasion as this. His hand slid to the nape of her neck, his green eyes piercing hers, just like her daydream. “Will you?” he repeated softly.

Everything in her screamed to be aloof, to not let him know just how much she would miss him. “Maybe,” she choked out.

A faint smile appeared on his lips, and he bent his head, his lips descending to hers. Holy Mother of God, he was going to
kiss
her! After days of fearing it, her knees finally buckled, and she stumbled backward against the wire cage. He smiled lazily at her complete discomfiture, and slowly, deliberately, leaned down until his lips touched hers.

The sensation of it rocked her.

Her body strained for air. His hand caressed the nape of her neck while the other slipped around her waist and pulled her into him. Her breasts pressed against his chest, and she wondered, insanely, if he could feel her heart slamming fitfully against him, threatening to break violently free. His lips moved lightly across hers, softly shaping them, tasting them as if they were some delicacy. His tongue flicked across the seam of her lips, and she heard herself moan
softly. The pressure of his lips quickly intensified; she must have sighed, because his tongue was suddenly in her mouth, sweeping her teeth, her tongue, and the valleys of her cheeks. His hand cupped her face, his thumb gently stroking her cheek.

An exquisite pressure began to build in her chest, filling the space her pounding heart did not. She feared she would very well explode from the feel of his sweet breath mingled with hers and almost hoped she would. He pressed tightly against her, seeking to meld his body to hers, and she realized her body answered, curving into him, melting against him. It was the single most incredible experience she had ever had, and she felt herself slipping away on a wave of unprecedented sensual desire.

Then suddenly, it was over.

He lifted his head. His eyes swept her face as he ran the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip. With a lingering, tender kiss to her forehead, he stepped away. Stunned, Lauren could only gape at him. “It has been my very great pleasure knowing you, Lauren Hill,” he said quietly, and reached up to carefully brush a curl from her temple. She thought he would speak again, but he abruptly turned, walking toward the fence with his head down and his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

She stood rigid, her chest heaving with each frantic breath, watching his long, determined stride until he disappeared into the pumpkin field. Only then did she notice she had destroyed her hat.

   In the formal dining room of Sutherland Hall, Alex pretended to listen to his mother’s recital of news contained in Aunt Paddy’s latest missive from London. He stared at the massive silver candelabra in the center of the dining table, privately contemplating the last two weeks. Home now for two days, he could not stop thinking of Lauren Hill.

He had no idea what had possessed him to kiss her like
that. Perhaps it was the look of genuine despair in her blue eyes when he had announced his departure, something he had done with no finesse at all. Perhaps it was just plain desire—he understood, of course, that he desired her. Who would not? She was beautiful, artless … And nothing more than a pleasing dalliance for the space of a fortnight. He had had no right to kiss her so familiarly.

Familiar, hell. He had been completely unprepared for the impact of that kiss. That unusual, enchanting young woman had responded so achingly that she had almost knocked him from his boots.

“Alex?” Marlaine said softly. Hesitantly, he shifted his gaze to her. “I received a letter from my cousin, Daphne Broadmoore. She is coming home to Brighton next week, to Aunt Melinda’s. Before I end my visit there, I thought to bring her round.”

“Of course,” he mumbled.

Marlaine blinked her wide brown eyes. “I hope you don’t mind terribly. But now that we are engaged, it’s really the thing to do,” she explained.

The thing to do. Alex wondered, absurdly, if Marlaine would ever think wearing trousers and fencing a small boy was the thing to do. “I do not mind at all,” he said, and motioned for the footman. “Thompson, bring round the whiskey, will you?” He smiled at Marlaine and gently squeezed her dainty hand.

God, he needed a drink.

It was the thing to do.

Rosewood, four months later

Paul moved slowly down the narrow hall to the drawing room, dreading the meeting with Ethan. A summons from his uncle was never good news, and he was sure this had to do with Lauren. It had to be; their funds were almost depleted, and the profits from this year’s corn crop had been worse than expected. If he knew Ethan—and he did—there could be only one reason for this sudden little family meeting.

He entered the drawing room where Ethan was seated, as usual, in front of the fire. Lauren was quietly picking up the mess around him. “At last, he joins us,” Ethan grumbled.

“What is it, Uncle?” Paul sighed, limping to the hearth.

“I have news,” Ethan mumbled irritably, and poured a brandy. “There is a trust, reverting to Paul on his twenty-first birthday,” he abruptly announced.

Trust? There was no trust! Paul’s sense of foreboding began to heighten. “I beg your pardon?” he said slowly. “
What
trust?”

“Now don’t get overwrought. It is not a
big
trust, just a
little something your grandfather put aside, the stingy old—”

“Why have I not been made aware of this before now?” Paul demanded, the foreboding turning swiftly to anger.

“Well, as you could not
have
it before you reach your twenty-first year, I did not see the point.”

Paul was about to tell him
exactly
the point, but Lauren startled him with a gleeful laugh. “This is
wonderful
news! Oh, Paul, you shall have money to invest, just as you have wanted!” Beaming, she whirled toward Ethan. “How much, Uncle?”

“Five thousand pounds,” he muttered. Lauren clasped her hands to her chest. “Five
thousand
pounds?”

“But I borrowed it,” Ethan said bluntly.

Stunned silence filled the room as Ethan casually sipped his brandy. At length, Paul found his voice. “You
borrowed
it?”

“For Chrissakes! I had to have
something
to set her up in London, didn’t I?” Ethan blustered. “You think a Season is bought with a bloody song?”

It took Paul a moment to realize what Ethan was saying. He glanced at Lauren; she looked completely stricken.
“Ethan!”
he roared, the cry reverberating throughout the house. “What have you
done
?”

“What any man would do in my situation,” Ethan said simply, and turned away. Anger exploded in Paul’s chest; he lunged across the small room for Ethan, his hands grasping for his fleshy throat. Lauren flew between them, unbalancing him and causing him to stumble backward.

“Am I to expect everyone in this godforsaken house is mad?” Ethan bellowed, and straightening his lapel, lifted the snifter, intending to sip. But Paul lunged again, slapping it from his hand and knocking the glass and it’s precious contents to the worn carpet.

“By God, you will find yourself
dead
if you touch me
again!” Ethan roared, and attempted to push himself from his chair.

“Stop it,
stop it
!” Lauren cried, and pushed Ethan into his chair. “Paul! Whatever he has done does not warrant violence! And
Ethan
!” she snapped, leveling a heated gaze on their corpulent uncle. “You had best have a good explanation for stealing Paul’s inheritance!”

“I did not
steal
it! I am your legal guardian! I had every right and every reason!” Ethan shouted, and looked helplessly to the carpet where his snifter lay on its side. “Is it not obvious to the two of you that we are in need of funds? This little spot of hell can’t produce a bloody stalk of
wheat
,” he grumbled, and gestured meaningfully toward the window and the Rosewood estate beyond.

“You have
stolen
from me!” Paul responded contemptuously, his rage barely contained.

“I am executor of this estate, not
you
!” Ethan shouted defensively. “I will determine what is to be done! You cannot know the pressures I feel, having a bunch of outcasts—”

“Ethan!”
Lauren gasped. He groaned irritably and heaved himself over the arm of the chair to retrieve his snifter.