One Night of Sin (26 page)

He would not mount her, much as he might burn to. He had meant it when he said he would not put it in her again so long as she refused to marry him.

As she neared climax, his own pulse climbed.

“Oh, God, oh, Alec, my angel.”

He could feel her hovering there on that airy precipice: She was right where he wanted her. With another smooth maneuver of his hand and a final slow stroke of his tongue, she plunged over the edge, writhing against his mouth, drenching his deeply buried fingers with the sweet, clear tide of her release.

“Holy Christ,” she said after a very long moment’s silence. Her lashes swept open; her violet gaze was fevered as she looked at him in spent and panting disbelief.

Alec closed his eyes like a man redeemed and laid his head on her trembling belly as he struggled to bring his own galloping drives under control.

She tangled her fingers weakly in his hair. “Oh, darling.”

He reveled in her touch.

“Come here,” she whispered.

He looked up warily at her.

She opened her arms again to him, just as she had at the start—undaunted.

He marveled.

Holding her stare in a kind of trance, he pushed up onto his knees between her legs and slowly wiped his mouth on his shirtsleeve. Then he came nearer and laid his head down on her chest, facing away from her.

She had nothing to say. No reproach. No head games. Not even a Lizzie-style lecture, not that he had ever even dreamed of doing this to Lizzie.

Lizzie, he had put on a pedestal, where he could never reach her, and more important, where she could never reach him. But this was Becky, who didn’t run away at his evil little tricks the way Lizzie had; who not only had the power to reach him, but had somehow gotten inside of him.

“Now you understand,” he said at length.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Now I understand.”

She wrapped her soft arms around him and kissed his head.

Slowly, as Becky caressed him with a world of patience and quiet acceptance the likes of which he’d never known, Alec felt the darkness leaving him bit by bit. By degrees. Her touch told him many things. Things he probably wouldn’t have believed if she had tried to say it in words. He felt her fierce protectiveness over him. He felt her compassion. He felt the will in her to help him trust again.

And he realized that maybe his performance this afternoon had not been necessary after all.

Well, then.
He smiled faintly against the delicate, tattered gauze of her white bodice. That made him all the more glad he had done it.

CHAPTER

NINE

“
B
ecky, would you please hurry up?” came Alec’s third impatient call from the bottom of the grand marble staircase in Knight House.

“One minute—sorry!” Her heart fluttered with excitement as she peered into the mirror near the open door, seizing one last chance to make a hasty inspection of herself before going out on their evening’s adventure to the gaming house.

After a leisurely day spent resting and then playing dress-up with Alec, she could barely believe her own transformation. The gown he had picked out for her and insisted she wear from Her Grace’s borrowed collection was composed of white net over a sheath of pink satin, and trimmed with rows of dusky rose ribbon around the neckline, sleeves, and hem. It had a charming little bow tied in the front of the high waistline just beneath her bosom, but Becky’s favorite part of the costume was the adorable toque of rich rose satin and white lace.

The large sweeping plume of white feathers were a bit of a nuisance, but she liked the way the hat framed her face, her dark curls swinging jauntily below it on the sides. She looked so elegant she almost scared herself. “You’ll be fine,” she whispered, making absolutely sure she had nothing in her teeth, then smoothing skirts.

“Hullo? Becky? I’m wasting away of old age down here!”

“Coming!” Hurrying out of the chamber, she tingled with self-consciousness. She was dressed like a duchess and looked like a fine London lady, but the only thing that stopped her from feeling like an utter fraud was the appreciative glow in Alec’s eyes as his possessive gaze traveled over her.

“Highly acceptable,
cherie,
” he purred as she hurried down the stairs, the banister slippery under her hand in the white satin gloves.

“Are you sure this cravat looks all right?” Her handsome escort frowned a bit as she joined him, handling the small knot of his white neckcloth gingerly.

“I told you it does. Well, I did my best.”

Dressing him had been one of the most entertaining things she had ever done in her life, and she had earned that privilege because it seemed his valet had stormed out just last week in despair of ever receiving the back wages his master owed him. A very bad state of affairs for a London dandy.

“He’ll be back,” Alec had assured her with a grin. “Dressing me has made him a legend among his peers.”

“You’re so wonderfully modest,” she had teased him.

“Thank you, Miss Ward. I do try.”

Tonight he wore a formal black coat with clawhammer tails. The superb cut of the jacket accented the powerful breadth of his shoulders. Beneath it, his waistcoat was of snowy white silk. His lightweight wool trousers charcoal gray with a strap running under his elegant black shoes to keep them lying smooth and perfect down the front of his long-legged frame.

“You look thoroughly beautiful,” she assured him, and it was true.

“Humph.” His black chapeau-bras tucked flat beneath his arm, Alec was putting on his other white kid glove when he glanced up and watched her coming toward him.

The caress in his gaze reminded her of the fun he’d had, as well, lacing up her corset in back and rolling the white silk stockings slowly up her legs and ever so carefully fastening them to each garter belt.

“Don’t careen so speedily, my dear. You’ll throw yourself down the stairs. A lady
glides.
”

“You’ll catch me.”

“Maybe,” he drawled, his cobalt gaze softening. “Come here.”

She obeyed, and quite tenderly he adjusted the angle of her hat.

She frowned as he smiled at her in fond amusement. “It just keeps flopping.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re charming.” His pleasured gaze admired her, then he offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

She accepted with a blush, but still couldn’t stop smiling. It had been a close contest, for he had almost forbidden her to come. While getting dressed, they had argued in the bedchamber.

“I can’t take you with me to a gambling hell, Becky!” he had said while pulling on his trousers.

“Why not?”

“Respectable young ladies do not go into such places! Everyone will think you are my bit o’ muslin!”

“Your what?”

“My ladybird. Kept woman. Mistress!”

“Really?” she had marveled, not half as appalled as she ought to have been at the notion. Then she shrugged it off entirely. Did he not yet grasp that she cared less than a fig what other people thought? “No matter. You will protect me,” she had assured him cheerily.

“That’s not the point.” Alec had scowled. “Even married ladies only go to gambling hells when they’re escorted by their
cavaliers servientes
—and that, provided only that they have finished having babies. They’re usually women of a racy reputation to boot.”

“What about their husbands?”

“Husbands?”

“Why don’t their husbands take them to gambling hells?”

“Really, poppet.” His worldly chuckle informed her that her question had been hopelessly naive. “Don’t you know it is considered vulgar in the ton for a man and wife to be seen together overmuch? Besides, what man would bring the mother of his children to a gaming hell?”

“Vulgar for a man and wife to be seen having fun together?” She had stopped brushing her hair to squint at him in bafflement. “You aristocrats are so strange! Lace me up.” She had turned her back to make him do her stays.

“No.” He had captured her hands and wrapped his arms around her waist instead. “Call me sentimental, but I happen to like you sheltered. It’s refreshing.”

“Alec, you can’t leave me here by myself again!” She had spun around, clutching his lapels. “Don’t lock me in here all alone! Oh, please?”

“Such dramatics!” he had chided softly, but her pleas had finally won him over, except for one last, stern admonition: “Mind that you stay by my side at all times.”

“I will! Oh, bless you!” She had hugged him excitedly and kissed his face ten times. “I will, I promise.”

And so she was on her way to a gambling hell, posing as the ladybird of the captain of all London rakes. What Mama would’ve had to say about this, she did not care to entertain.

“Here,” Alec said as they walked outside, nodding to Mr. Walsh, who held the door for them. “I have something for you.” As the butler shut the door behind them, Alec reached into his waistcoat and pulled out their stash of money, handing her some. “Put this in your reticule,” he ordered.

“Do I get to play, too?” she asked, lighting up.

“No. That’s for you in case of emergency. If for any reason we become separated or if anything happens to me, should we meet those Cossacks again, you are to buy a stagecoach ticket immediately to the town of Carlisle. From there you will go west to Hawkscliffe Hall. My family will help you, and Mr. Walsh can vouch for you if there is any question of your veracity.”

His words brought back the ominous specter of danger that loomed over them, casting a shadow over Becky’s lighthearted mood. It was hard to absorb that this man whom she’d met scarcely twenty-four hours ago was willingly putting his life on the line for her.

“Don’t worry, nothing’s going to happen. Just in case,” he murmured as he put the coin-purse back into his pocket and then tucked her gloved hand in the crook of his arm. Patting it twice, he led her to his ducal brother’s borrowed town-coach and handed her up into the opulent vehicle.

A moment later they were off.

It was about nine o’clock when they strolled up to the large, black-clad porter stationed outside the door of the gambling hell.

“Ah, Lord Alec. Good evenin’, sir.”

“Hullo, Tom. Busy night?”

“Fairly so, sir. I’m sure they will all make room for you at the tables, ha! Good luck to you, sir.”

“Thanks, Tom. As you see, tonight I’ve brought my lucky charm.” He gave Becky a rowdy squeeze as she clung fast to the crook of his arm.

As the man opened the door for them with a grin, the noise from inside swelled and light spilled out onto the pavement. The porter tipped his hat politely to Becky as they passed him. “Miss.”

Her heart beat faster as Alec led her into the gambling hell. It was a disreputable place, with elegant players like Alec rubbing shoulders with rough characters who looked slightly criminal. Excitement was palpable in the air, and Becky responded to its contagion, glancing all around her at the gaudy, red-carpeted salons and the startling
real
Cyprians with their rouged mouths and plunging necklines. She swallowed hard, unable to shake the thought of Mrs. Whithorn’s scathing disapproval.

Sodom and Gomorrah, indeed, and her golden-haired guardian angel was leading her ever deeper into temptation.

Perhaps her uneasiness showed in her face, for Alec apparently sensed it. He gave her gloved hand another comforting pat where it rested on his arm.

“Relax, sweet. You’re quite safe,” he murmured, then gave a droll sigh. “For myself, on the other hand, I’m quite sure I’ll be going to hell for bringing you here, if there was still any debate on the matter.”

Becky just looked at him. There was no way she would have allowed him to come without her, considering all that she had at stake in his success. For all his generosity, she had yet to be solidly convinced that his risky plan would work. Also, given his aristocratic tendency toward extravagance, and her need to conserve their funds, she intended to watch him like a hawk; perhaps it was wrong to doubt him, however slightly, but all things considered, she had made a private decision not to let her hero get carried away at his second favorite pastime.

He gave her a wink, then tugged her onward.

She was glad she had left the floppy-feathered hat in the carriage. She already felt self-conscious enough. As they sauntered through the smoky, noisy place where countless games were in progress, she was aware of the many people who stopped and looked at them as they walked past.

“What a beautiful pair,” she heard someone say.

“She must be new.”

“Wasn’t he here the other night?”

Hearing the murmurs, feeling their scrutiny, Becky stayed close to him, but the sighing, staring females who ogled Alec as he walked by made her scowl.

“This way, sweet.” When he placed his hand in the small of her back, she quivered slightly, but Alec’s gaze was fixed on the cluster of crowded gaming tables ahead. A painted placard hanging from the ceiling proclaimed the mysterious message:
DEALER STANDS ON ALL
17’
S
.

Alec was glancing from one table to the other. “There.” He nodded toward the first table on the left. “That’s the one we want. Minimum wager’s only a fiver.”

“But you said we’d start with a hundred,” she whispered.

“Yes, but first we’ve got to buy in.”

Becky looked at him in question.

“Trust me. I’ve done this before.” He caressed her while they waited for one of the seven stools at the “fiver” table to be vacated.

“So, this is vingt-et-un,” she murmured, standing on tiptoe in an effort to see past the crowd around the table.

“Right. The object is to reach a total of twenty-one points without going over. Face cards are worth ten points, aces either one or eleven. In simplest terms, each player bets against the house on whether he or the dealer will have the better hand.”

“Ah,” she said sagely.

Alec chuckled at her mystified stare. “Hand’s over. That fellow’s leaving. Here we go.”

She could sense his excitement rising as he moved forward and sat down on the stool that one of the gamblers, shaking his head over what Becky surmised was a defeat, had abandoned. As she came over to stand by Alec’s shoulder, he smoothly produced a hundred guineas.

He put the money on the green baize table, and the dealer, a wizened old man, took it all. “Good evening, sir.”

Alec nodded. A moment later the dealer slid a few stacks of chips toward Alec.

“The red’s worth five guineas each, the white’s worth one,” he explained in a murmur. She looked on with rising interest while Alec exchanged a cordial smile with his fellow players.

“Gentlemen, lay your bets, please,” the ancient dealer rasped.

Becky glanced around the table, noting that seven white circles about the size of a saucer were painted on the green velvet surface of the table, one in front of every player. Inside this circle, each player placed his chips.