The Scandals Of An Innocent Page 13

  “I do not,” Alice snapped.

  “Disappointing,” an amused masculine voice drawled behind her. “I was hoping that my flowers might procure a better response than that.”

  “Lord Vickery!” Alice spun around, furious that she had been overheard. Miles was standing a few feet away, watching her with that lazy masculine appraisal that always made her feel hot and shivery at the same time. “I had not realized that when you said you would call later you meant later by five minutes,” she said.

  Miles strolled forward. He looked completely un-abashed. “Forgive me,” he murmured, “but when I returned to the carriage, my mama reminded me that I was supposed to ask Mrs. Lister-” he bowed to Alice’s mama “-whether she would care to join her for morning tea at the circulating library. I did knock,” he added with a look that to Alice’s critical eye seemed completely unapologetic, “but no one answered so when I saw that the door was ajar…”

  “We must get the catch fixed, Mama,” Alice said crossly. “All manner of riffraff are able to walk in off the streets.”

  “I should be delighted to join Lady Vickery,” Mrs. Lister trilled, ignoring Alice’s comment as she flitted back and forth across the hall to collect her cloak and gloves and reticule. “I will come at once. Such a pleasure!”

  Alice made a sound of exasperation. All her mama’s disappointment had vanished now and she was in a state of high excitement to have been remembered by her new friend.

  Lizzie wandered out of the breakfast room, a piece of toast still clasped in one hand.

  “Good morning, Lord Vickery,” she said. “The early fortune hunter catches the heiress, eh?”

  “I accept your congratulations with pleasure, Lady Elizabeth,” Miles said. “It is pleasing to know that Miss Lister has now confided about our betrothal in her friends and family.”

  “Pray do not be too pleased,” Lizzie said, “for I am doing my best to dissuade her.” She looked at Alice. “I am afraid that my friend has taken leave of her senses but I hope that the real Alice Lister will return before long.” She nodded to Alice. “I am taking a tray up to Lydia this morning. We shall see what she thinks of your betrothal, Alice.”

  “Lady Elizabeth has not taken the news well, then,” Miles observed, as Lizzie trotted away.

  “As you see,” Alice snapped.

  Miles touched the petals of the pomegranate flowers that Alice was still holding. “They reminded me of you,” he said in a low voice, for her ears only. “Beautiful but with tartness beneath the sweetness.” His lips curved into a rueful smile. “Do you know, when I first thought to marry you I believed you would be quite biddable? It seems I did not know you very well.”

  “I am not in the least sorry to disappoint you,” Alice said. She looked him in the eye. “It does not surprise me that you misjudged my character so, my lord. The only thing that you were interested in was that I was rich.”

  “Not the only thing,” Miles corrected gently. He touched the flowers again. “The fruit tastes very sweet, too,” he whispered to her.

  Alice felt the heat blossom through her. She blushed vividly and was annoyed with herself for doing so. “Marigold,” she said, proffering the vase to the maid, “pray would you put these in the breakfast room?” She turned to Miles as Mrs. Lister swept out the front door in a flurry of excitement and farewells. “Should you not accompany the ladies, Lord Vickery?”

  “They can manage very well without me,” Miles said, “and I prefer to speak with you.” He looked at her. “In private, if you please.”

  His hand closed about her wrist and he drew her into the parlor and closed the door behind them, blocking out the sight of Marigold’s fascinated face.

  “Well?” he said, leaning his shoulders back against the door panels. “You seem out of charity with me this morning, Miss Lister. I expected better-”

  “And I expected better of you last night!” Alice flashed, her indignation and anger catching alight. “Why, you could not even bring yourself to come across to speak with us when everyone else shunned our company and slighted us! I will not wed a man who is ashamed to call me his wife, Lord Vickery. What would you do with me-lock me up in Drum Castle because I am not fit for polite society?” She stalked away from him. “You could have helped us last night but instead you merely stood watching the others insult us! And I do not know why I expected any differently of you for I know you care nothing for me-you could not have proved it more eloquently!”

  Miles walked across to the window, then turned to face her. His expression was impassive. “It is true that I could have come across to speak with you,” he said.

  “So why did you not?” Alice demanded. She felt angry, hurt and upset, and unsure why it mattered to her so much.

  “Unless you permit a formal betrothal between us,” Miles said, “I cannot help you.”

  “You mean that you will not!” Alice said. Once again his callousness shocked her.

  Miles shrugged. “There is a price to be paid for everything, Miss Lister,” he said. “I want to give you the protection of my name and I want to have the right to defend you against the sort of slights you experienced last night, but unless we announce our betrothal officially there is nothing I can do.”

  Alice tilted her head to one side to look up at him. “Why would you want to defend me?” she asked. “It is not as though you give a rush.”

  “Because it is not appropriate that my future wife-and her family-should suffer such snubs,” Miles said, “and if it were known that you are the future Marchioness of Drummond you would not experience such insults.”

  Alice looked at him. His expression was hard, unemotional. “So this is about your pride?” Alice said.

  “It is about possession,” Miles said. He came across to her and took her lightly by the wrists and as always when he touched her, her heart pounded. “I want you as my wife, Alice,” he said. “You will be Marchioness of Drummond. Agree to a formal betrothal. It will give us both what we want.”

  Alice tried to think. It was almost impossible with his hands on her and the blood beating so hard and fast in her veins. She could see how cleverly Miles had taken her insecurities and used them for his purposes, to push for an official engagement. She had wanted to avoid it until he had fulfilled the terms of Lady Membury’s will but she could see that if they announced their betrothal now, no one would cut her dead to her face, not even the Duchess of Cole herself. The Duke of Cole would not make coarse comments about her. And her mother would never again wear that look of bruised incomprehension to be rebuffed by the matrons of Yorkshire society.

  Alice wished it did not matter so much to her. But it did. She was so weary of being treated shabbily and the thought of Miles’s protection was treacherously attractive. Agree to a formal betrothal. It will give us both what we want…

  “You seek to use my weakness to get what you want.” She whispered, “You are ruthless.”

  Miles shrugged. “I am a negotiator, Miss Lister. That is my job. If there is something that we both want it makes sense to discuss it.”

  “You go too fast,” Alice whispered.

  Miles bent his lips to the tender skin of her neck, planting tiny kisses against the curve of her throat. The shivers of desire ran through her, making her catch her breath. “Not fast enough for me,” he said.

  Alice tried to keep a clear head even as her treacherous pulse raced beneath his fingers. “If I agree to a formal engagement…”

  He paused. “Yes?”

  “You still have to fulfill the terms of the will,” Alice said. “If you do not I will break the engagement. If you do not keep to our terms of total honesty then you lose.”

  She felt Miles smile against her skin and it made her shiver. “You drive almost as hard a bargain as I do, Miss Lister.”

  “There is no way around the terms of the will,” Alice whispered.

  “You could elope with me and damn the lawyers,” Miles said.

  Alice turned her head sl
ightly and his lips brushed the curve of her cheek. His physical presence was so powerful it made her head spin. “If I did,” she said, trying to concentrate, “we would both lose the money and then you would not want me.”

  “Oh, I would still want you,” Miles said. “I will always want you.” His tone had roughened. “I shall arrange for the announcement of our engagement to be put in the papers.”

  Alice shivered. Her previous refusal to accept a formal engagement had been more than simply an attempt to preserve her good reputation by keeping their scandalous betrothal quiet; she had used it to keep Miles at arm’s length, hoping against hope that he would fail to meet Lady Membury’s terms and she would be free. Now, although the conditions of their bargain had not changed, it felt as though the bonds were tightening all the time.

  “And since we are doing things properly,” Miles continued, “I think that I should kiss you to seal the betrothal.”

  “Kiss me?” Alice said. Her mind seemed to have ceased working properly. His nearness, the warmth of his hands on her, the scent of his skin were utterly destroying her composure.

  “I believe that it is conventional,” Miles murmured, “when one becomes engaged.”

  “A decorous kiss,” Alice said, “is what is conventional.”

  Miles smiled at her. “I am not certain that decorous is where my expertise lies.”

  “And I am not certain,” Alice said truthfully, “that I am quite ready to be subjected to your expertise, my lord.”

  Miles put a gentle hand under her chin and tilted her face up to his. “You’re shy,” he said. There was surprise and something else in his voice.

  Alice tried to turn her face away, annoyed that he had realized this. “I am not…experienced, my lord.”

  She saw the corner of his mouth lift in a smile. “I remember,” he said. “I promise not to frighten you. Decorous it is.”

  Alice closed her eyes as his lips touched hers lightly and lingered with the most gentle of caresses. It was very nice, she thought hazily, as her senses started to swirl. She might have known that whatever he said, Miles would be as good at kissing decorously as he would be at kissing indecorously.

  The thought of kissing Miles indecorously acted like a flare of fire and made her heart thud and the heat race through her. She must have made some small sound in her throat, for Miles eased back a little and let her go. Their lips clung and then parted; hers felt full and moist, her whole body ripe and heavy with a sudden wanting. The keenest disappointment slammed through her that the kiss was over before it had barely begun.

  “I hope,” Miles said, “that was what you wanted.” He was breathing slightly fast, his eyes dark.

  Alice licked her lips and watched, fascinated, as his gaze followed the movement of her tongue and his hazel eyes darkened still further.

  “Alice?” There was a question in his voice, and the slightest hint of a rough undertone.

  “I…” Alice cleared her throat. She felt a flutter of nerves and, at the same time, a stab of wicked excitement. She wanted more. And even as she acknowledged the thought, Miles read the truth in her eyes. His arms were about her before she could say another word, claiming her and drawing her close. Her hands came up against his chest and she felt the smooth material of his coat beneath her palms and underneath that the hard, unyielding muscle. Gently but inevitably Miles pressed her back against the paneled wall of the room until the sharp edges of the wood dug into her shoulders and thighs. Alice could feel the pressure of them keenly; all her senses seemed heightened all of a sudden. She could hear the quickness of her breathing and feel the slam of her pulse as she waited for Miles to kiss her again. The moment seemed to spin out forever. Her legs trembled. Her entire body trembled. There was ample time for her to regret her impulse. She wavered on the verge of panic.

  And then Miles’s mouth took hers, deftly, demandingly, with no hesitation or gentleness, and she felt weak with relief and swamped by fierce desire.

  She knew from the first second that she was way out of her depth. Her lips parted beneath the firm pressure of his, and his tongue touched hers and the taste of him was familiar and yet so raw and shocking and new that she gasped. Memories flooded her of the kiss they had shared the previous autumn. He had been restrained then, showing her only the tiniest hint of passion, holding himself under control. Now there was a ragged edge to that control as though he was warning her of the possession that was to come. Her agreement to their betrothal had sealed it. She would be his.

  His tongue tangled with hers, seeking and commanding a response that Alice was helpless to refuse, did not want to refuse. His hand came up to cup her breast. The warmth of his palm seared her. Suddenly the sensible winter wool of her gown seemed as flimsy as muslin and as insubstantial in its protection. His thumb grazed her nipple and she moaned beneath his lips as cool shivers of desire set her shaking. This was so much more potent than before. She was so close to relinquishing all sense and all modesty. Miles could seduce her with her blessing. In truth she would connive at her own seduction. In fact if he did not seduce her, very likely she would seduce him out of sheer desperation and need.

  Miles released her for a moment, his lips a hair’s breadth from hers, his breath caressing her face even as his fingers continued their torment of her breast. She was trapped between the paneled wall and Miles’s body, unable to escape the delicious stroke of his palm against the curve of her breast and the rub of his fingers over her nipple. Alice’s entire body tingled from that point of contact, begging for release from something she barely understood and yet knew with the deepest of instincts that she needed. Head back, she writhed against the wall, her fingers pressed hard against the panels, small cries of need and frustration forced from her.

  “Hush, sweetheart…” Miles’s voice was low and harsh but with an undertone of amusement. The roughness of his stubble brushed the smoothness of her cheek and made her squirm. “The door is not locked and I am certain you would not wish your maid to learn yet more of what goes on in a genteel household. The scandal of it…”

  The thought of Marigold or Lizzie or Lydia opening the door and finding them there made Alice feel weak yet somehow excited almost beyond bearing. She gave a small whimper of supplication and Miles laughed.

  “So the idea pleases you?”

  “No!” Alice said. She was shocked, horrified at her own responses and yet somehow entrapped in the dark web of passion he was weaving.

  “I think that it does,” Miles said. “In your dreams at least…”

  His lips brushed the corners of her mouth and returned to fully claim hers in a kiss that was deep, intimate and elemental. It was pure, primitive possession. He did not break the kiss once but she felt his fingers on the buttons on the bodice of her gown and her mind tripped over itself as it absorbed the shock of his actions.

  He was undressing her in the parlor in broad daylight.

  A protest formed in her mind but it was lost beneath the onslaught of her feelings. She felt the material ease a little and then Miles’s fingers slipped beneath the stiff lawn of her bodice and his touch against her naked breast smashed through her mind and made her senses reel. She sagged against the wall with only the pressure of his body against hers holding her upright.

  With a muttered exclamation he picked her up in his arms and placed her on the sofa. She was held upright, supported by the softer cushions against her back and the seat firm beneath her thighs. The design of the sofa made her sit up straight, like a prim debutante paying a morning visit, but there was nothing prim about either her state of undress or the wicked and abandoned sensations that were flooding her body. A burning ache was building at her very core. She felt boneless with sensual heat. She wanted to lie down. And preferably she wanted Miles to lie with her. She wanted to feel his mouth against her naked breast. As each new, outrageous thought invaded her mind, so her sense of shock grew and at the same time so did the ravenous fire within her.

  She opened her e
yes to see Miles kneeling in front of her on the rug. He looked up at her, his eyes blazing with a lust that stole her breath. He slid the gown and shift from her shoulders in one movement so that she was bared to the waist and then he leaned in to take her breast in his mouth. Alice gave a little keening cry as his lips brushed the tight peak of her nipple, as he circled it with his tongue. His teeth closed about the tip and bit down gently, and the hunger rolled low in her belly and she wanted to cry out again with frustration and sheer desperation. Miles’s hands were firm on her bare waist now, holding her up against the rough velvet caress of the seat. She felt it rub her naked back with a sensuous but unyielding touch. She wanted to fall, to tumble down into this pit of dark desire and lose herself in it, but Miles refused to allow her to let go. The hard, deliberate grasp of his hands about her waist forced her vertical even as his lips, tongue and teeth ruthlessly plundered the delicate bounty of her breasts.

  The contrast between her respectable pose on the sofa and the deeply unrespectable things that Miles was doing to her made Alice feel faint with awareness and yet she could not close her eyes and escape the consciousness of what was happening. She looked down on Miles as he bent his head to lick and suck at her breasts, now taking her fully into his mouth, now nipping at the hard tips of her nipples. His hair brushed her sensitized skin and made her squirm. Her whole body was molten with need. Her palms were pressed to the velvet of the seat and she dug her fingers into the material to keep from crying out, arching her neck back to allow him to take at will.

  Where it might have ended she knew all too well, but suddenly there was a clatter in the hall, dangerously close to the door, and the sound of a knock at the front door and Marigold’s voice raised as she greeted whoever was on the step. Reality intruded. Alice gave a gasp and drew back, clasping her chemise and the bodice of her gown to her with fingers that shook, and desperately tried to return her clothing to something resembling normality. Her feelings, she thought, would take a little longer to repair. She had been washed far beyond the shores of all that was familiar and safe.