When Angels Fall (42 page)

“This way,” he told her, and pressed his lips to her own.

It was clear he had intended the kiss to be quick and punishing, but somehow it spun out of control. Her entire body stiffened when his lips first touched hers, but all too quickly she found herself growing hotter. Soon she was kissing him back, deeply, desperately. She could feel his reluctance as she opened her mouth to him, but she needed him too much to stop. She was no longer a child in the throes of an adolescent infatuation. She was a woman, and he alone had made her one. So he alone was the only one who could satiate her. Her body, soul, and mind had been existing in a desert the past few weeks without him, but now, as he kissed her, she was in Eden. She never wanted to leave again.

“Damn you.” He abruptly tore her from him. His eyes blazed. “You’re ill—what do you think you’re doing?”

Hurt by his rejection, she turned away. Her fingers touched her kiss-swollen lips, but that only enraged her more. Defiantly she tossed off her mantle. Angrily he pulled it to her once more.

Again she closed her eyes. Suddenly she felt too weak to fight him any more. The realization of how much she had longed for him in the past wretched weeks left her with no defenses.

“Have you not missed me at all?” she whispered to him when at last their furious gazes met.

“Do you expect me to take you here—with you like this?” His hand cupped her cheek. Her warmth seemed to disturb him.

As if in a trance, her finger reached out and touched his lips. She traced them lovingly, then moved to his jaw, scratchy with his evening beard. Before she could stop herself, she boldly pressed forward and ran the tip of her tongue down his throat.

That made him groan. His hands grasped her shoulders and they tightened almost painfully.

“You’re a wicked man, Ivan Tramore,” she admitted huskily. “My curse is that I want you at all.”

His eyes narrowed and he became speculative. He looked down at one of his hands. His knuckles were covered with tiny scars, and she surmised that must have been the hand bandaged when she saw him in the church. He seemed most reluctant, yet somehow, by looking at his hand, he came to a decision. With unspeakable relief, she felt him sliding her mantle off her shoulders.

“After this,
alainn,
you’re coming with me,” he said huskily.

She released a sigh of relief. “Perhaps” was all she said before he began unbuttoning the front of her gown.

Her body felt like it was on fire and she couldn’t shed her clothes fast enough. Though it was cold in her room, a thin film of perspiration glistened on her bosom as he opened her bodice. His mouth grazed one swell of her lush bosom and she wondered how she tasted to him. She seemed to taste good, for his tongue trailed down her breast until he almost found her nipple hidden beneath her corset.

He stood and, with his glittering gaze pinning her to the mattress, shed his greatcoat. He pulled off his cravat, shirt, and trousers until he stood naked before her. In the dim flickering light cast up from the street, she could see the muscles flex in his thighs as he walked to her. She remembered running her palm down their hard, muscled length while she had lain next to him. Watching now, her fingers curled into her palms as if she again felt such a wickedly pleasurable caress.

Without a word, he eased himself down onto the edge of her bed and pulled her to stand between his legs. As if starved, he pushed back her tresses with both hands, then brought her face to him for another kiss. His tongue roughly entered her and a charge shot down her spine. She was so unbearably hot, she didn’t want him to be gentle, she wanted him to be as impatient as she was.

With a moan, she felt his hand slide beneath her skirts. He easily found the split in her pantalets and though she gasped in protest, his hand claimed her anyway. His expert caress shocked her as desire darkened her eyes. He drove her mad with his touch, more crazed than she surely was already, but she didn’t care. There had been nights when the thought of death seemed preferable to never having Ivan again. Now, as he brought her to a peak, she knew she’d been right. Having Ivan was all that mattered.

As if torturing her, he abruptly let her fall. She cried out as he removed his hand. She knew she couldn’t wait for him any longer so she pulled him to her for another kiss. Gratefully he cooperated. Again his hand slid beneath her bodice for a caress, but suddenly something caught his attention. He broke free and roughly parted her bodice.

“What is this?” he asked as he pointed to the crystal pinned to the inside of her dress.

Her mind seemed too drugged with passion to answer, but soon she whispered, “It’s nothing, I tell you.” She tried to close up her dress, but he wouldn’t let her.

He unpinned the crystal and held it in his hand. It seemed to hold an unaccountable fascination for him. “Why did you keep this?”

“Give it back, Ivan. I tell you it’s nothing.” Becoming more agitated by the second, she tried to get off the bed.

But he would have none of it. He smiled and pushed her to the mattress. Her hair fanned out beneath her and he caressed her locks with one hand; with the other he dangled the crystal tauntingly over her.

“Do you know how beautiful you were that night at the ball?”

She shook her head and looked up at him.

“You shall be dressed like that always,” he mused, “or wear nothing at all.” Disparagingly he looked at her somber gray woolen dress.

His attention elsewhere, she tried to grab her crystal,
but just as she did he closed his fist. He laughed as she tried again to get it, but to no avail. When she was worn out, she whispered, “You’re a wretch to take that from me, Ivan.”

He kissed her, letting his tongue go where it may, then he dropped the crystal maddeningly into the mass of her hair. When her hands reached to find it, he pulled them down and shackled them with his grip. Ignoring her protests, he went to work on her corset. After he’d freed her of all her garments, he eased her beneath his long form and took her mouth again, this time more wildly, more hotly. He seemed impatient now and she could feel his excitement grow. His hand forced open her thighs, then sought out the curve of her tiny waist, next the swell of her generous breasts. His hard mouth captured one nipple and a gasp caught in her throat as she experienced anew the familiar sweet ache she felt only for him.

“
Alainn,
you’re like fire beneath me,” he gasped. On massive arms, he pulled his body up off her as if she burned him. The slightest glimmer of guilt shone in his eyes. Then, without warning, he cast it away and drove deeply into her.

A grateful moan escaped her lips as she finally felt him inside her. Her need for him was soon to be banished. Forever, she hoped. Yet secretly in her soul she wondered if she was fooling herself, even as she welcomed his thrusts as if they were his love.

When their passion was spent, they lay naked on the little bed, entwined in each other’s embrace. Her tangled hair fanned out on the mattress and he easily had her trapped by his shoulder, which lay upon it. He studied her, though she seemed hardly aware of it.

Exhaustion had made her weak. Her face, delicate and heartbreakingly beautiful, seemed too pale. Her eyes
appeared glazed. Her body next to his burned unnaturally warm. It would not do to linger.

“Come, I’ve got to take you home.”

Ivan rose from the bed. He picked up his greatcoat and wrapped it gently around her body.

“Ivan, you must leave me alone now. You must,” she pleaded softly.

Pulling on his trousers, he moved to the edge of the bed and kissed her mussed hair.

“Do you hear me?” she asked while he shrugged on his shirt and found his shoes.

Ignoring her, he finished dressing. Next he took the Worth satin dress from the peg and stepped back to the bed.

“Your gown is too damp. Come, let me put this on you.”

“I’m not going with you.” Weakly she tried to sit up. The coat slipped down, exposing her breasts to his view.

He bent down and lovingly grazed one nipple with his knuckles. Then he covered her once more. “Lissa, you’ve got a fever. You’re practically delirious. Shall I drag you downstairs naked or in this dress?”

“Please, Ivan, I beg of you, don’t—”

Before she could finish, he was pulling the dress over her head. Mindless of her need for undergarments, he tightened the laces at the back. He again wrapped her in his coat, yet his hand swept down her hair as if to comfort her.

“Are you ready?” he asked, but she shook her head. A tear of exhaustion and frustration slipped down her cheek. He wiped it with his thumb, then something in her hair caught his eye. It was the crystal. He disentangled it and searched the floor for the pin. Gently he opened his greatcoat and pinned it to the inside of her bodice.

“I like where you keep this,
alainn.
” With that he
placed a tender kiss on her lips and picked her up into his arms. He then carried her down to the yard to his waiting carriage.

Lissa opened her eyes to a strange, unfamiliar place. She’d been dreaming of Ivan and in the last part of her dream, she was riding in his carriage as the rain pummeled the japanned doors. She had been tired, so tired that she had had difficulty just keeping her head up. Finally when she had let it fall back, her cheek hadn’t met with the lush silk velvet upholstery of the carriage. Instead, she had unwittingly found herself against Ivan’s chest. She had tried to sit up then, but she was induced to stay there when his arms went around her and held her fast. She had fallen asleep listening to the rain and the strong, sure beat of his heart.

Now she was awake and for the life of her she couldn’t place her surroundings. As she raised herself on her elbows, she noted she was in a mahogany sleigh bed festooned with pale-lavender taffeta and matching silk tassels. A delicate papier-mâché table painted with roses sat next to her; below her, a lavender Brussels carpet woven with green trailing vines covered the floor from wall to wall. The only means of illumination was from the Argand lamp on her bedside table. In the dimness, her gaze trailed to the pier where she found a huge wardrobe painted with a scene from Chaucer’s “Prioress’s Tale.” The two windows, well shielded from drafts with green moiré drapery, confirmed it was night.

“I see Sleeping Beauty is awake.”

Startled, she looked to the other side of the bed. A white-haired man looked down on her, watching her.

“Where am I?” she asked in an unsteady voice. The man only smiled and tried to put his hand on her forehead. Frightened, she turned away. She tried to raise herself fully and when she did, she noticed she was wearing a night rail she’d never seen before. It was of the sheerest Swiss dotted batiste and hardly gave her any modesty at all. Nervously she clutched the covers to her bosom.

She still couldn’t remember where she was, and the elderly man before her was a total stranger. As he sat familiarly at the edge of her bed, she could no longer contain her alarm. She desperately tried to move back, but at once a voice commanded, “Lissa, be still.”

Looking down at the foot of the bed, she saw Ivan standing there, legs apart, arms crossed over his chest. He wore only a rumpled shirt and trousers. His eyes bore lines of fatigue and a dark fringe of beard shadowed his face. Nonetheless, he looked as implacable as before.

“Ivan,” she pleaded, “where am I? I was dreaming and then I woke up here.”

A comforting hand touched her shoulder. Her head jerked around and she looked up at the white-haired gent.

“You’ve been ill, Lady Powerscourt. Your memory will return.”

“Lady . . . Powerscourt?” She turned back to Ivan. He seemed thoroughly annoyed.

“Lissa.” He nodded in the direction of the gent. “Let me introduce you to the best physician in London. This is Dr. Knepp. He’s attended you for the past three days.”

“Three days!” She gasped. She thought she had been dreaming, but it had not been a dream at all. Ivan must have truly taken her away from the Bell and Garter. The room she was in was probably in his town house. And if that was all true, then the dream of his lovemaking and her own wantonness must be true too. Unable to stop herself, she colored all the way down to her barely covered chest.

“Your fever is gone, Lady Powerscourt. A little more rest and some of Mrs. Myers’s mutton stew should bring
you back to your former health.” She looked up and found Dr. Knepp packing his black doctor’s satchel. He now appeared much less ominous.

Ready to depart, he nodded to Ivan, who nodded back. “I’ll look in on your wife tomorrow morning, my lord. Right now
I
could use some sleep. And, if I may suggest, my lord, it wouldn’t do you any harm to have some too.” With twinkling blue eyes, Dr. Knepp gave his patient one last assessing look before he went to the door and quitted the bedchamber.

“Your wife?” Lissa whispered when he was gone. Somehow everything was turned upside down. She had lost three days and had no memory of arriving wherever she was now. Had she forgotten something else too? Had Ivan somehow married her?

“I shall call Mrs. Myers up now that you’re awake.”