One Night of Sin (31 page)

That night, she worked patiently by candlelight on a gift for the newborn child, little Lady Katherine. While Alec was out playing cards for the cause, Becky commenced knitting a pair of tiny pink booties with white ribbon trim and the baby’s initials on the side. She had given great consideration to her gift. A duke’s daughter with lords and ladies as uncles and aunts was sure to need nothing under the sun, but Mama had always said that a handmade gift meant more. For her part, she was happy merely to have a new project with which to occupy her hands while Alec was out gambling, for she worried so.

Till now, she had spent the nerve-racking nights, while he was out, writing up her official account of Mikhail’s dark deeds that fateful night in Yorkshire. The authorities were sure to ask for it. Best to have it ready right away so they could arrest the brute all the more quickly when the time came. Thoughts of her tormentor passed away, giving place instead to those that brought a secret smile to her lips.

Alexander.

Her thoughts strayed to the wonderful times they had shared in the midst of all this uncertainty. Her knitting needles clicking, she smiled to recall the afternoon he had taught her a few simple card games. The playing cards kept blowing away, the wind making havoc of their fun. On another occasion a few nights ago, she awoke in a panic from another bad dream about the Russian prisoner in the gatehouse and his murder on the moors. Alec had comforted her and let her sleep the rest of the night in his arms.

But her favorite memory of all was the night they had found the astronomy book on the parlor bookshelf. They traipsed out to the beach with blankets and wine, hunting constellations. What they found instead was something just as silent as the stars, but even more mysterious. It had not been an occasion of wild desire nor even one illumined by his roguish mischief. As they had shared the warmth of their bodies, sitting huddled beneath the blanket, deciphering the orderly patterns of the stars, she sensed the power of the bond that had been born between them, alive, aglow. Perhaps he felt it, too, for Alec had fallen silent by her side, his arm around her. The rocky beach had been uncomfortable, but neither of them complained. She remembered his touch, brushing her blowing hair out of her eyes. She remembered his hand outstretched to the heavens as he pointed swiftly to a shooting star. It disappeared too quickly for her to make a wish, but with Alec beside her, she could think of nothing else to want. . . .

By the time he sauntered in that night at half past three, Becky had fallen asleep with her knitting. Alec leaned down, smiling, and woke her with a light kiss on the cheek.

“Hullo, lovely.”

She stirred, coming awake to find his cobalt eyes shining with sharp brilliance. He gave her a cocky little smile and tossed down 750 pounds on the table where she had set her yarn.

Becky looked up at him in openmouthed awe. “You did it,” she breathed. “It’s done. You’ve won all the money!”

“That’s right,” he drawled.

She was out of her chair in a heartbeat, leaping into his arms and jumping up and down. They celebrated with triumphant laughter, gleeful exuberant kisses, and French champagne—the same vintage they had drunk together that first night at the Althorpe. They had been saving it for just this occasion. The next step was for Alec to convince Mikhail to sell him Talbot Old Hall, but there was time enough to think of that in a day or two, when Countess Lieven’s ball was nearer. For now, they relished his victory.

She knew how much it meant to him. He was exultant, sweeping her into a waltz right there in the parlor, sans music.

“I’ll have you back at home in no time!” he had declared.

But as Becky smiled at him, she wondered . . . would the Hall still feel like home if Alec was not with her?

The next morning, Alec slept in past noon after his late night. Eager for him to get up but not having the heart to wake him from his well-earned rest, Becky decided to amuse herself with her favorite hobby and donned an apron, intent on honoring her hero with one of her prize puddings.

Bending near the kitchen fireplace, presently, with its familiar collection of spits and clockwork smoke-jacks, she prodded the breakfast cooking embers back into a worthy blaze, then put two cauldrons of water on to boil, hanging them from sturdy fire-cranes.

Straightening up again, she wiped the perspiration off her brow. The kitchen was already sweltering between the hearth fire and the usual heat of a July afternoon. She took off the sheer fichu that she had tucked into the low neckline of her borrowed morning gown and fanned herself with it a bit. Familiar with a kitchen’s heat, she had already put modesty aside to a quite risqué degree, going without stockings, petticoat, or stays. All she wore under the pretty, simple round-gown of almond-blossom pink muslin was a fresh chemise and a pair of sandals.

Summer sunshine warmed the big terra-cotta floor tiles and sparkled on the copper pots hanging from the ceiling rack. Becky took down the drying pudding cloth hanging from a hook on the rustic oak mantel, spread it out, and dropped it gently into the water of the larger pot, maneuvering it with a wooden spoon so it floated at the top.

This done, she went to the thick beech worktable in the center of the kitchen, surveying her gathered ingredients and the array of necessary bowls and utensils that she had assembled. Flour, sugar, butter, three eggs, a quart of milk, a few spices, peaches, and almonds. Caster sugar and sack wine for the sticky sweet wine sauce.

She was busily combining flour, a dash of salt, and four spoonfuls of sugar when her sleeping prince awoke and made his first appearance of the day.

“Well, well, how very domestic.”

She looked over in surprise to find Alec leaning in the doorway, his arms folded across his chest and a look of amusement on his handsome face.

“Good morning!” she said brightly, delighted that her main source of companionship—and entertainment—had finally arrived.

He covered a mild yawn, smartly dressed to pay a casual call on England’s future king later this afternoon. Becky was a trifle jealous to know that he and his friends were expected at Brighton Pavilion today to pay their respects to the Regent. Alec wore a dark green coat for the occasion, fawn pantaloons that hugged his manly form in all the right places, and gleaming black Hessian boots. His black cravat made him look particularly rakish; Becky kept her dreamy sigh to herself.

“What in heaven’s name are you doing?” he asked, sauntering into the kitchen.

“Preparing you a special treat,” she answered cheerfully as he stopped across the table from her, leaned over it and gave her a kiss, purring, “Hullo.”

Gazing into each other’s eyes, they exchanged a smile, then Alec pulled out the bench and sat down heavily, propping his elbow on the table. He leaned his cheek in his hand and watched her in restless silence.

“Something on your mind?” she asked.

“You’re beautiful.”

She eyed him with a suspicious smile. “Your breakfast is still sitting in the plate-warmer. Shall I get it for you? Coffee?”

“Nothing yet, sweet creature. Do proceed. Quite fascinating business. Cooking, you call it?” He dipped his finger into the caster sugar, touching it to his tongue. When he reached to do it again, she tapped his arm.

“Stop that,” she scolded playfully. “Most unmannerly.”

“What?” he protested with his big, blue eyes widening.

“Don’t give me that look. Go and see if the water’s boiling yet.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he muttered. He heaved himself up from the bench, glancing at her with a naughty sparkle in his eyes as he went over to inspect the cauldron. Lord, the kitchen suddenly felt even hotter. She sent him a sultry smile, acutely aware of him, and then exchanged her wooden spoon for a paring knife. She began cutting the peaches into bite-sized morsels.

“I would say this looks like a simmer rather than a boil to me, but what the devil do I know?”

“Thanks. I’ll take your word for it.”

He drifted up behind her and slipped his hands around her waist. “Is this
supposed
to be making me hot for you?” he asked by her ear.

“Alexander, behave,” she whispered breathlessly, though she didn’t mean it at all. She felt his hardness stirring against the curve of her backside.

“I have been behaving,” he murmured plaintively, his touch ever so coaxing. “I’ve been good. You know I have.” His hands traveled down to her hips, and she realized his kneading fingers clutched at her skirts, lifting them slowly. “I’m so hungry for you, Becky—”

“Here. Eat this.” Trembling, she reached up slowly over her shoulder and fed him a morsel of juicy peach.

He accepted it, capturing her fingertips in his mouth as well. He let her skirts fall again on one side as he reached for a piece of peach to feed to her. He rubbed it against her lips, teasing her with it, before he let her have it. Becky closed her eyes and savored it, summery sweetness dripping down her throat.

When she opened her eyes again, aching with desire for him, Alec was staring at her, looking transfixed and a little in pain. He reached for her again, but she stopped him gently, laying her fingertip on the center of his lovely chest.

“Patience.”

“You know I have none.” He let out a large sigh as he got his libido back under control. “Well, what’s next, then?” He peered into the bowl of egg whites as she picked it up, wrinkling his nose. “My pugilism coach makes me drink this stuff. Swears by it.”

“Now, we simply beat the eggs . . . and combine the wet ingredients with the dry.” She efficiently whisked the eggs to an airy lightness, added milk, then stirred in the flour mixture, and finally added a few drops of rose water. The result was a nice smooth batter. As she dumped the almonds and fruit into the mixture, Alec nimbly grabbed a piece of peach from the lot, but instead of popping it into his lovely mouth, he pressed it against her neck, shocking her.

As she gasped, her work interrupted, he bent his head and licked the juice that rolled down the curve of her neck. “Mmm, God, Becky. You have no idea how good you taste,” he murmured with a low groan.

“Alec . . .”

“Just kiss me once before I lose my mind,” he whispered, taking her face between his hands. She did, opening her mouth in welcome to his tongue’s ardent incursion. He pressed her back against the table, the length of his muscled body hot and eager against her. His peach-flavored kiss intoxicated her, but at last she managed to tear herself away, holding him weakly at arm’s length.

“Let me get this boiling and then we can play.”

“Forget the damned pudding.”

“But I made it for you,” she said softly, a little wounded.

Her small pout shook him out of passion’s trance enough to remember his manners. “You really know exactly how to melt me, don’t you? Those eyes . . . Well, go on, then. There’s something I have to talk to you about.”

“What is it?”

He nodded toward her cooking. “Finish up first.”

She withdrew from his embrace with a curious glance. “I only need a moment.”

Alec looked on in silence as she returned to check the cauldron, intrigued by his cryptic words. The water was bubbling along at a rolling boil. She fished the now heated pudding cloth out of the water with her wooden spoon, let the excess water drip from it, then brought it over to the table and laid it flat, sprinkling it generously with flour. She spread the prepared pudding cloth into a large bowl and then carefully poured the batter into it. Gathering up all the corners and edges of the pudding cloth, she tied them into a loose sack, securing the top with a length of kitchen string.

“In you go,” she said to her creation, lowering the sack gingerly into the boiling cauldron. She put the lid on it with a small gap to let the excess steam escape. “Now then, my dear man.” Turning back to him, she walked toward him slowly, enjoying his smoldering stare, which traveled over her. She took off her flour-streaked apron, wiped off her hands, and then coyly turned over the kitchen hourglass. “I’m all yours. What did you want to discuss?”

“You,” he purred, drawing her into his arms. Kissing her hungrily, he lifted her up onto the edge of the big beech worktable with a playful growl. Not far away sprawled the mess she had made with her cooking, but Becky didn’t care. She gave herself up to the splendid thrill of Alec kissing her senseless.

With one arm slung around his neck, the other braced behind her, she reclined partly, with him leaning over her, his compact hips between her thighs.

“What about me?” she panted as he tore his mouth away from hers several minutes later.

“Becky, I want you—”

“Oh, Alec, I want you, too,” she breathed with a lusty quiver of anticipation. She leaned forward eagerly to kiss him again, but he stopped her.

“You didn’t let me finish. I want you,” he repeated, taking a deep breath, “to marry me.”

Becky blinked, taken entirely off guard. Then her heart began pounding impossibly fast. “Pardon?”

Alec pulled back and cleared his throat as Becky sat up in shock.

She let out a wild exclamation and clapped her hand over her mouth when he went down on one knee.

Round eyed and holding her breath, she watched him in pure joy-crazed incredulity as he took off the gold-and-onyx pinky ring he always wore, the one bearing his family crest.

“Miss Ward . . .” He licked his lips nervously, offering the ring in both hands. “Will you be my wife?”

She couldn’t even speak.

He attempted, gingerly, to explain himself, but immediately faltered, at a most un-Alec-like loss for words. The chiseled planes and angles of his sculpted face were taut, his eyes blue shimmering pools of emotion. She read determination there, but also vulnerability. He might have run from love a thousand times before, but this time—for her—he held his ground.

“We can be wed after your birthday, in Buckley-on-the-Heath, if you desire. That’s one advantage of being a mere younger son. You can marry without all the ducal pomp and circumstance—and just so you know, we will not starve,” he added hastily, his cheeks flushing. “My brother will reinstate my portion of our family’s income once we’re wed. I haven’t written to him yet, but as I said before, family comes first for Robert. He will not impose my punishment on you, when I’m the one who made him cross. And this ring is, er, for you to wear just for now,” he explained, floundering a little. “I shall get you a proper one soon. I didn’t think you would want me to divert any of our winnings from buying back the house—”