Chapter Seven

 

 

HEAD AGAINST THE WALL, Maxim sat beside her, arm braced over one drawn up leg. Again he wore only a shirt, the neck open and baring a strong neck and jaw. In profile, his lashes hid the warm brown of his half-closed eyes, and dark stubble covered his jaw.

She was staring at him again. Jerking her gaze away, Alexandra looked down at the notebook in her lap. They’d been in the earl’s chamber since night had fallen after a day spent examining room after room, and as yet no spiritual activity had made itself known. She was not hopeful. Nothing of her investigations suggested the presence of a spirit. More likely any lights had been Maxim himself, or perhaps the villagers had been mistaken.

Her gaze drifted back to him. She couldn’t remember him ever before being so still. When they were children, he’d constantly been in motion, unable to sit for more than a few moments.

He swallowed, the movement of his throat mesmerising. Forcing her gaze from him once more, she examined instead the room. The mother-of-pearl inlaid in the mantelpiece glowed in the lamplight, casting a soft haze through the room that was reflected in the over-large, bevel-edged mirror—

Her shoulders drooped. “Oh.”

Maxim glanced at her, his eyes shadowed in the light. “What is it?”

“Look.” Getting to her feet, she brought the lamp near the fireplace. The mother of pearl glowed, caught by the mirror which amplified the light. “The cover has fallen off the mirror. The moon probably shone through the window, bounced off the inlay and reflected in the window.

“So it is solved?”

Disappointment licking through her, she stared at the mirror. “I think so.”

“But you are not certain.”

“As certain as I can be.”

“After less than four hours in this room, you have solved the case?”

The mockery in his tone took her by surprise. “I am good at this, Maxim.”

Picking at the fabric covering his knee, he didn’t respond. Finally, he said, “So, will you leave?”

She didn’t want to. “It still rains.”

“And that is why you will stay?”

It wasn’t her only reason. She would stay because of him. She would stay because it hurt to think of being where he wasn’t.

A thought occurred. “I think we should try to find the keys.” She warmed to the idea. “We should start tonight.”

Maxim got to his feet and held out his hand. “Come on, then.”

He hadn’t even hesitated. He hadn’t protested it a ridiculous notion. He merely offered his assistance. Swallowing against the lump in her throat, she placed her hand in his.

“Your hair.” He pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear, his fingers tracing the shell.

Breath caught, she stared up at him.

Intensely, he watched his thumb as it dragged across her jaw. Meeting her eyes, he cleared his throat. “I’ll take the lamp, shall I?” he said, his voice husky.

Dazed, she nodded. Collecting the lamp, he opened the door, strangely hesitant as he departed the chamber. Shaking herself, she followed.

Maxim led the way, holding a lamp high as they traversed the hallway. Alexandra trained her gaze on his broad back. He had changed from the Maxim she remembered, but so much was the same. He may be rougher, and perhaps a bit gruff, but he was still her Maxim. He was still the boy who was her best friend. He was still the boy she loved.

“Where do you want to start?” He turned, the lamp throwing light across his body. “Which room?”

Taking a breath, she focussed on the task at hand. “Maybe the housekeeper’s room? The one on this level?”

“Maybe, or we should?”

“We should.”

“Right.” He started toward the servant’s quarters.

“Maxim?”

He stopped. “Yes?”

“Why are you helping me?”

He frowned. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Biting her lip, she forced herself to ask, “Do you think me odd?”

The corner of his lips turned up. “Of course. Did I not say so already?”

He had. He had said she was odd and it hadn’t hurt, just as it didn’t now. Everyone thought her odd. She told this to herself so often, it had to be true.

“But you are Alexandra,” he continued.

“What? What does that mean? That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Yes, it does. You are magnificently odd. You are yourself, wholly and utterly. I have never met someone so unapologetically themselves. And you want to help. We’re traipsing about this house because you wish to help a ghost. A ghost, Alexandra.” A grin flashed across his face. “You were always such fun.”

“Oh.” A little kernel of warmth burned inside her. He thought her magnificently odd.

With another little smile, he turned and continued down the hall.

She started to follow only to stop as something caught her eye. “Maxim, wait a moment.”

He kept on, taking the light with him.

Darkness rushed to fill the hall, but there was enough light for her to approach one of the doors. There was something…. She wasn’t sure what, but they should....

“Maxim,” she called again, unable to take her eyes from the door.

“What?” he said, right next to her ear.

She jumped about a foot. “Don’t scare me like that!”

“You’re the one who stopped.” He lifted the lamp higher. “What is it?”

The light cast against a perfectly ordinary door. “I don’t know. There’s something about this door.”

“The door or the room?” He reached for the doorknob.

“No, Maxim, do not—” The door opened. She cringed. Nothing rushed at them from the darkness.

He made as if to enter.

“Maxim, what if—”

Shooting her an impatient look, he said, “What? The ghost might get me?”

She sniffed. “She might.”

Lifting the lamp high, he looked about the room. “See. No ghost. Come on.” He disappeared inside.

Cautiously, she followed. The light fell upon a large bedchamber, with the bed itself set into a nook cut into the wall, curtains framing the opening. Like the rest of Waithe Hall, holland covers draped furniture that seemed to be a chaise longue, a desk and chair, a dresser and a chest of drawers. The bed itself still had the mattress and its hangings, while the balcony doors were reflected in a huge mirror opposite.

Maxim stood in the room’s centre as, brow knitted, he stared at the bed. “This is where Queen Anne stayed when she visited Waithe Hall.”

“Really?”

“I remember my father telling me that, quite proudly. I remember, Alexandra.” Striding through the room, he tore a cover off to reveal a lacquered writing desk. “This was a purchase by my great-grandfather, who brought it back from the continent.” He gestured to the mirror. “That came from Venice, and was commissioned by the fifth earl.”

A bemused smile tugged at her. “I did not know you knew the history so well.”

“Nor did I.” Running his hand over the mantle, he glanced at her. “What made you stop here?”

She sighed. “I don’t know. There is no spirit, and no reports this room was ever visited by one.”

“Well, there’s nothing here.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “Or maybe.... There is a ghost.”

“Pardon?”

“Perhaps I am the ghost.”

Rolling her eyes, she said, “Do not be foolish.”

Eyes alight, he made a ghostly noise as he rushed toward her.

“Maxim.” Hugging herself, she bowed her head. “Don’t tease.”

“I’m not, Alexandra.” Finger raising her chin, his gaze searched hers. “I’m not.”

Taking a breath, she nodded.

“Are you often teased?”

“Not often.” At least, not anymore. “Besides, I do not care for the opinions of others.” And she did not. Not anymore. Not much.

“But you care for mine.”

She nodded, even though he hadn’t asked a question. “Of course. You know that.”

A strange look crossed his features. “I do,” he said slowly.

They stared at each other. His scent wound about her, woodsy and spice, and she wanted…she wanted to touch him. She wanted to trace the planes of his face, feel the softness of his sulky lips, the rasp of his beard. She wanted to trace the muscles of his chest, his stomach, wanted to dig her hands into his back as he touched her. He was so beautiful, this boy she once knew.

“Alexandra,” he said in the hush.

Her gaze fell to his lips. “Yes?”

“I’m going to kiss you.”

Her eyes drifted shut. “Yes.”

Their lips met. It was soft, sweet, tentative, and he made her feel safe and, made her feel…beloved.

Hand rising to cup her cheek, he traced the seam of her lips with his tongue. Tangling her hands in his hair, she opened, gasping as he invaded her mouth. Groaning, he kissed her harder, kissed her again, his hand pressing into the small of her back to drag her closer. She’d imagined this, more often than she should. As a girl, she couldn’t count the times she’d stared at him and wished his mouth on hers.

Trailing kisses over her cheek, her jaw, the cord of her neck, his hand drifted down her throat. She gripped the hard, round muscle of his shoulders, her fingers digging into his flesh as she arched into his touch. Hard fingers whispered against her breast, and then covered it.

She sucked in her breath.

He stilled, his lips brushing her neck. “What am I doing?” he murmured, breath hot against her skin. “I am taking what is not mine.”

She tugged on his hair. He raised his head but he wouldn’t meet her eyes. “You take nothing. I’m giving myself to you, as you give yourself to me.”

Dark eyes met hers. “And what of your future husband?”

“What of your future wife?” she countered.

A quick, rueful smile tugged at his lips. “Touché.”

Brushing her lips over his jaw, she said, “There is only us, and only now.”

Cupping her face, he feathered his thumbs over her temples. “You are odd.”

The affection in his tone took the sting from the words. “I know.”

Sobering, he met her eyes. “Are you certain?”

She traced his brow, the curve of his ear. “It’s always been you, Maxim.”

His gaze heated. “It’s always been you, Alexandra.”

They crashed into each other. She moaned as his lips forced hers open, their tongues duelling. He backed her into the bed and she fell onto the sheets. He placed a knee on the edge of the mattress, looming over her before he took her mouth again.

The pins and ties of her gown and stays gave easily under their eager fingers. He tugged at his shirt and she helped him pull it over his head, revealing heavy pectorals, a flat stomach ridged with muscle, and—

She drew in her breath.

A thin scar curled around his hip, licking up to his belly button. Tentatively, she raised her hand. He flinched when she touched him. “What happened?” she asked softly.

“I didn’t pay attention.”

His shoulder bore another. “And here?”

“I was too uppity.”

There was another, thinner scar near his hairline at the temple.

He closed his eyes. “That was from the wreck.”

Leaning forward, she cupped his chin as she placed her lips against the scar at his temple, following its line with gentle kisses.

A groan burst from him and he hauled her into his lap, her legs sprawling either side of his hips, his hands braced against her back. He took her mouth, demanding entrance, and she granted it, wrapping her arms about his neck as they devoured each other.

“Maxim?”

He nuzzled her neck. “Hmm?”

“I haven’t done this before.”

He lifted his head. She drowned in dark eyes before his lashes lowered. “I haven’t either.”

“Really?”

He gave a sharp nod.

She placed her hand against his cheek. Reluctantly, he met her gaze. She smiled softly, and kissed him. His arms tightened about her as he kissed her back.

His hand covered her breast, her nipple tight against his palm as he shaped her flesh. Tearing herself from his lips, she arched as she wound her arms about his shoulders. His lips trailed down her neck, her chest, and then he covered her nipple with his mouth. Moaning, she pushed herself into him, feeling him hard and hot between her thighs. Desire flooded her, and she felt so empty.

He made a choked sound and suddenly she was on her back, her thighs hugging his hips as his hands planted either side of her head, holding him above her. He pushed himself against her, deep thrusts that drove her wild. Reaching down, she opened his breeches, her fingers meeting the flesh of his flank. Her chemise was rucked up around her stomach, and she gasped as the hardness of him pressed against her with no barrier.

Stilling, he held himself above her. “Are you sure?”

Running her hands over his buttocks, she made a noise of impatience. “Are you sure?”

His brows shot up.

“You’re the one who keeps asking,” she said.

“I’m being considerate.”

“You’re being annoying.

Shaking his head, he said, “I can’t believe we’re arguing now.”

Her lips twitched. “We are odd, aren’t we?”

Returning her smile, he touched her forehead with his. “We are.”

Holding his breath, he moved. The broad head of him pressed against her. Biting her lip, she held his gaze.

He shuddered. “You feel so good, Alexandra.”

It started to burn a little, but he was slow and cautious and she wanted it so much.

He froze. “I am hurting you.”

“It always hurts. Just get it over with.”

“Get it over with?”

“You know what I mean.”

Braced over her, he hung his head. “We are arguing. Again.”

“Come inside me, Maxim,” she whispered.

His eyes darkened with lust, and he pushed. She drew in her breath, the burn turning to pain. Forehead against hers, he nudged again, and then he was inside her.

Wonder filled her. Maxim was inside her.

Chest heaving, he stilled. The burn began to recede and she moved experimentally.

He made a choked sound. “Christ. Don’t move.”

“Why?” It felt good if she moved just so.

“Don’t. I won’t be able to—” His hands tightened to fists beside her head.

Pleasure began to spiral through her again. She moaned. “Maxim.”

He exploded into motion. His hips thrust against her, forcing him into her again and again. Her neck arched, pleasure pumping through her as he moved over her, as they found a rhythm that wrecked them both.

“Alexandra,” he groaned, his hands gripping her thighs, dragging her into his thrusts. The different angle rubbed him against a spot inside her that made sensation bloom, bright and blinding, and she shattered into a million pieces.

He cursed and moaned and then he joined her, finding his own release.

Breath harsh, she came back to herself slowly. He was heavy atop her, his face buried in her neck, his body shaking.

Stroking his back, she whispered, “It was always you.”

Raising his head, he met her gaze. Wrapping her in his arms, he kissed her temple and whispered back, “It was always you.”