To Seduce an Earl (20 page)

“Go away before you get us both killed.”

“Nonsense,” she whispered, but he noticed the way her voice quivered. She wasn’t as strong as she pretended. She pulled on the ribbon holding her bonnet in place. “No one will murder me, my stepfather was titled.”

He rolled his eyes and pressed his face into his pillow. Lady Lavender didn’t care about connections, she had too many of her own. If Grace only knew about his background, and how little his title had protected him. Would she be impressed by his family? No, not Grace. “A title means nothing in my life, Sweet.”

“Is that…”

He noticed her glove laying there pristine white near his pillow at the same time she did. Embarrassing heat washed over him. Lord, as if he needed anything else to add to his unease.

“You forgot it,” he said gruffly, tossing it toward her.

She caught it close to her chest. “I… see.”

And she did see, he could tell by the tone of her voice.
Shite
. She was wondering if he cared… if he could possibly have feelings for her.

“What’s that scent?” She sniffed delicately as she moved around the bed and set her bonnet on the table. How the hell had she made it to his room unseen? Lady Lavender wouldn’t have allowed it. Had she snuck in? Yes, he supposed women could come and go easily through the gates, men, much less so. Hell, he didn’t care. She had to leave before Ophelia found them. She already knew that Alex had escorted Grace home, thanks to Wavers. Surely she suspected that Alex cared more for Grace than he should.
 

“Wonderful, now you’re saying I smell. Go away Grace.”

“Medicine, that’s what it is.” She rushed the last few steps, her skirts rustling with the movement. “You’re ill!” She said the words as if they were an accusation.

Despair washed over him. He didn’t want her comfort, he couldn’t handle compassion at the moment. He must be hard, unemotional, it was the only way he would ever survive this hell. His hands fisted into the sheets, until feathers poked through to his palms. “Bloody hell, will you please just go away?”

“No! Not until I know you’re well.”

“Why?” he asked, his voice almost pleading and he hated himself for it. “Why do you care?” He hadn’t meant to ask her, yet once the words were out, he couldn’t deny that he eagerly awaited her response.

She paused for one long breathless moment. “Because…I owe you.”

He released a harsh laugh and closed his eyes. She owed him. The worst possible words she could have said.
Owed
. He’d heard the word too much in his lifetime. Hadn’t he thought he’d owed it to his family to prove he could protect them? And look where that had gotten him.

“I know the scent of sickness well,” she said softly.

He reluctantly opened his eyes, his interest piqued. Why did she know it well? Damn, he hurt too much to ask. She settled on the edge of his bed. The slight movement sent his bones jarring and pain shot through his body once more. He gritted his teeth, grimacing.

“You’re hurt.” Her voice was a soft caress.

He didn’t respond. He was in too much pain to talk. It didn’t matter that she knew, nothing mattered at the moment. Every bone in his torso felt cracked, every muscle pulled with sharp pain at the slightest movement. The two bulls who had beaten him had fists like bricks.

She raised the wick of the lantern. The flame flared to life, sending blinding light over his face. How long had he been laying in the dark? Hours? A day? He vaguely remembered a maid applying the salve to his back. Lady Lavender had sent her; his employee wasn’t a complete monster after all. No, she wanted him well again so that when his clients came calling, he’d be ready.

“Where does it hurt?”
     

He managed to hide his face under his arm, afraid she’d read the pain in his eyes. It was too much, too humiliating and he despised Ophelia more than he ever had before. “Everywhere.”

Those cool fingers wrapped around his wrist. Slowly, carefully, she moved his injured arm. The knife wound he’d received after visiting the gaming hell was the least of his worries. She pressed her palm to his forehead, a gentle touch, a caring touch. “No fever.”

She started to pull away, but in a desperate need to keep her close, he reached out, grasping her wrist, keeping her palm to his head. A touch, a soft touch, a touch for no reason other than the fact that she was concerned for his well being. At least he could pretend she was concerned. He closed his eyes, focusing on the feel of her soft skin. How long had it been since someone had comforted him? An unidentifiable emotion clawed its way into his throat, taking permanent residence in the form of a lump.

“Don’t move,” he begged, hating himself for his weakness.

“All right.”

She slid closer to him, her hip pressed to his shoulder. But it wasn’t enough. No, she wrapped her arm around him and with her free hand, she brushed her fingers through his curls. His jaw clenched, the feeling bittersweet. How long had it been since someone had cared? His hands curled into the sheets as he resisted the urge to wrap his arms around her, to hold her tightly to his body, to breathe in her scent. But he feared if he touched her, he’d never let her go.
 

“Tell me, what is it?”

“Nothing,” he lied. “Merely an aching head.”

“Hmm, and the medicine I smell?”

“For the pain.”

For one brief moment he pretended. Pretended she cared. But the moment was gone as quickly as it had come, a dream that faded into darkness. No one would ever care for him, a whore.

“What is it?” she demanded. Before he could respond, she tore his covers away. He started to reach for them, but it was too late. “Oh Alex.” The way she said his name…he wasn’t sure if he should be annoyed or thrilled. He didn’t want her to care, he couldn’t depend on her emotions. Yet he’d gone so many years without someone caring, that like a starved mongrel, he hungered for her.
 

“It’s nothing.” Slowly, he rolled to his side, his back to her.
 

“What happened? Was it after I left you on that street? Were you attacked?” She pulled the blanket down further, revealing his bare backside. Realizing he was naked, she paused. He could imagine her face flushing and smiled over it.

“Yes,” he said. “Attacked.”

“Nonsense, you’re lying.”

He rolled to his back, even though the movement sent more pain through his body, and glared up at her. “How do you bloody know?” He grabbed the blanket and jerked it back up to his chest.

“Because,” she said, lifting an impertinent brow. “They didn’t hit your face.”

She rested her hand on the side of his cheek, her heat seeping through his skin. He closed his eyes. Damn woman was too smart for her own good.

“She did this to you? Lady Lavender?”

“No, not her.” Which was true enough. Her hands had never touched him.

“But she ordered it done.”

“Yes,” he snapped, growing more annoyed with each passing moment. He hated Ophelia for blackmailing him, he hated her for keeping him in no more than a gilded prison, but at the moment, what he hated the most was the fact that now Grace realized just how little control he had over his life. He was pathetic. Weak.

“Is that what you want to hear?” He dared to sit up, his ribs pulling, aching with the movement. With his back to her, he settled his bare feet on the carpet. “She has henchmen. Big, burly men too damn ugly to be whores. Men she uses as guards and when we disobey…”

“Oh God, Alex,” her voice was tight, high. “I’m so sorry.”
     

He laughed a wry chuckle. “What do you expect, we’re a brothel. You think because we’re men it’s any different?”

She didn’t respond, which meant yes, she had thought it different. It wasn’t her fault. The building was clean, the furnishings rich; who would ever guess that such evilness resided here?

Part of him felt like an arse for being so blunt, yet he couldn’t seem to stop the truth from pouring from his lips. “We might dress better. Our rooms may look better, but that’s merely to represent a façade for the women who come here. We’re still whores and we’re still treated no better than animals.”

“You have to leave Alex. You must at least try to escape.”

The fire crackling in the hearth was the only sound. He didn’t dare move, barely breathed for fear she would say something more, for fear she would realize the truth. He was going to leave. He’d decided the moment Wavers’ fist had connected with his gut. He would take this no longer, but if he told Grace, she would want to be involved and he would not endanger her anymore than he had already.

“It was because of me, wasn’t it?”

“Of course not,” he whispered.

“Because you left the gaming hell with me? I saw that man, watching on the corner. Was he the one who beat you?”

He closed his eyes, pressing his lips tightly together. He would say no more. Already he’d said too much. If Ophelia would do this to him, what would she do to an outsider like Grace? It was best she know as little as possible.

But Grace stood and moved around the bed. “Why Alex. Why are you here?” She stopped only feet from him and wrapped her arm around the bedpost. She wore a green dress today, a dress that made him think of country fields in spring.
 

“You think I had a choice?” He looked up at her, looked into her clean, pure face and part of him hated her. A woman too good for him. A woman he could never have. Bitterness washed through him, tearing at his insides. He surged to his feet, welcoming the pain the movement brought. What to tell her? That part of him had always been afraid to leave? Not only because of the horrible beating he knew would follow when he was found, but because he had no where to go, nowhere he belonged but here, a whore house.

“I like it. That’s why I’m here. Now leave before we’re caught and you make things worse.”

She stared up at him, those eyes wide and luminous. “I’m so sorry, Alex.”

Sorry for what? For coming here? Or for making him dream impossible things? He chuckled, a harsh, unnatural sound. “Why? I obey her, I get to fuck a variety of women. What’s there to complain about? Every man’s dream.”

She didn’t even flinch at his harsh words. And the fact that she didn’t flinch panicked him. She knew. Dear God, she knew he didn’t want to be here. He could see the sympathy in her eyes. A softness that made him sick.

“You don’t mean that,” she said. “I can see it on your face. How old were you when you were taken?”

He didn’t want to answer, didn’t want to continue this line of conversation, yet his mind and body no longer seemed connected, he no longer held control. “Twelve or thirteen, I barely remember.” He lied. He remembered every moment of that day.

Tears swam in her eyes. “So young.” She moved closer, her warm scent reaching out to him. “Had you even been kissed?”

He swallowed hard. “Of course.”

She paused in front of him, her warm breath whispering across his neck. “And since? Have you been kissed Alex?”

He forced himself to laugh. “Of course I’ve been kissed.”

Lamp light played across her face, kissing her features with a golden glow. “No, have you ever been kissed because you wanted to kiss someone, because you were caught in the moment and all you wanted to do was see how their lips would feel against yours. See how they tasted. How warm their breath was.”

The words tore at his heart, made him feel pain he didn’t want to feel. Yes. Damn her. She knew the answer. When they’d kissed in that garret. Utterly alone.
 
    

She moved closer. So temptingly close. That dull, constant ache that kept him up at night when he thought about her flared to life.
 

“Don’t,” he whispered. “I won’t have you kiss me out of pity or sympathy.”

She stood on tiptoe, making sure not to touch him, but leaning close…so close he could feel her all the same. “Then how about because I want to?”

Before he could respond, she pressed her lips to his. A soft, gentle kiss. Alex shivered, his body sinking into hers. He wanted to crush her to him, take her, have her, make her his. His hands trembling, he cupped the sides of her face and slid his fingers into her silky hair. Timidly, her tongue swept across his lips. The touch was his undoing.

With a groan, he opened his mouth and deepened the kiss. He needed this, needed her. His hands clasped her upper arms, bringing her closer. He wanted her. Wanted her as he’d never wanted anyone.
 

Vaguely, he was aware of the door opening. “Alex,” Gideon’s harsh voice snapped through the room. “Ophelia. She’s headed this way.”

Alex tore his mouth from Grace, but didn’t pull away. He needed to keep touching her, needed her strength. He couldn’t seem to let go. Gideon stood in the hall looking as grim as always.

“What is it?” Grace asked, blinking in confusion, not even aware Gideon was behind them.
 

“Go.” He gently pushed her toward the door.

She stumbled, only to be caught in Gideon’s capable hands. Alex dampened down his irritation. Dampened down the need to reach out and pull her back to his side. “Get her out of here, now.”