Chapter Three

Wearing a gown of deep sienna shot with gold, Alexa pulled the hood of her matching gold-lined cloak up over her head and stepped into the small black caleche that was Jane’s own private conveyance. The top was up. The driver, a slender youth with frazzled white-blond hair, Jane assured her was a lad who could be trusted. He would await her outside the Cockleshell Tavern, the small, well-appointed but very discreet inn just outside London the earl had chosen for their meeting.

Alexa referred to it as that—their meeting, rather than the earl’s planned night of seduction. There wasn’t the foggiest chance she would let it come to that. She could persuade him to play the gentleman, she was sure, and she would have a chance to explore Lord Falon’s mysterious nature, to discover what there was about him that so intrigued her.

Alexa leaned back against the tufted red velvet seat of the carriage. Only Jane knew of her mission. Only Jane and the earl. Her brother had allowed her another short visit at the duke’s lavish residence in the city. It was obvious she and Jane were enjoying the Season and the time they had been spending together. The duke and her brother agreed: London had been good for both of them.

Just how good, Alexa was about to find out.

The tavern was situated near a small hamlet just off the road to Hampstead Heath. The same road that led to Stoneleigh. Lord Falon had expected her to be coming from there, she supposed, but Rayne would have been far more difficult to fool than the duke and his house full of servants.

As the carriage rolled out of the city, its iron wheels rattling over the cobblestone streets, Alexa listened to the London sounds: apple sellers and rag pickers hawking their wares, beggars pleading for alms, drunken soldiers slurring bawdy tunes. From a second-story window in an alley, someone cursed the ruffians below and heaped refuse upon them in an effort to silence their ribald laughter.

Eventually the sounds grew distant and finally faded away, leaving in their place the stillness of the country. Here the air smelled of fresh-mown grass and sweet evening dew. In the distance she could hear the bawling of a milch cow. Farther down the road, they passed a black and maroon mail coach, its scarlet wheels barreling toward the city.

Then Jane’s coachman turned the horses onto a narrow lane, and a few moments later they traveled through the high arched entrance leading into the courtyard of the Cockleshell Tavern.

Alexa’s stomach knotted and her palms felt damp. She pulled her cloak more tightly around her as the thin-faced driver jerked open the carriage door. Taking a deep breath for courage, she stepped to the ground and nervously scanned the courtyard. A thatched-roof stable sat off to the rear; a couple of mongrel dogs sniffed for scraps between vacant carriages, but there was no sign of Lord Falon. Her stomach churned uncomfortably and her courage began to fade.

Then he was there, lean and powerful and striding purposely toward her. He was dressed in black, except for his silver brocade waistcoat, stark white shirt, and cravat. His eyes were the bluest she had ever seen, his black hair glistened like jet in the light of the moon. When he reached her, he paused, his eyes taking in her flushed cheeks, heightened breathing, and the daringly low-cut gold and sienna gown.

He smiled and her heart slid into her stomach. “Good evening, lovely lady.”

Before she could fashion a proper reply, a hard arm slid around her waist. A long-fingered hand came up to her cheek, he tipped her head back and kissed her. Alexa made a sound in her throat at the warmth that slid through her body, at the pounding of her heart and the rushing in her ears.

He ended the kiss before it had really begun, but kept his arm possessively around her waist. “Let’s go inside. We’ll be more comfortable in there.”

Comfortable was far from how she felt. Unsteady, out of her element, and in way over her head—those were the things she was feeling. Still, she had come this far. With a weak nod of her head, she let him lead her toward the wide oaken door of the tavern.

The inn was a rustic, low-ceilinged establishment with heavy carved beams, a flagstone floor, and a massive stone hearth at the end of the taproom. It was simple in design but furnished exceedingly well, with Sheridan tables and chintz-covered overstuffed sofas and chairs. The small brass whale-oil lamps had been turned down, and combined with the glow of the fire, the inn felt warm and inviting. The succulent aroma of roasting meat drifted in from the kitchen.

They climbed the stairs in silence. She could feel the brush of his superfine coat against her arm and smell the scent of his musky cologne. They reached the landing and headed down the hall, Alexa’s heart hammering, her hands shaking, more nervous by the moment, yet more and more intrigued. She wanted to be here, she realized. She wanted to be with him.

*   *   *

He inserted a heavy brass key and unlocked the door to a modest suite of rooms. Near the fireplace in the corner, a small round table had been covered with linen and set for two with porcelain and crystal. Steam drifted up from silver-covered platters, a low fire burned in the hearth, and the room smelled slightly of musk. A copy of the Morning Chronicle had been neatly folded and set on the arm of the sofa, and through the open door to the left she saw a large four-poster bed. Alexa’s cheeks flamed at the sight of it. Her heartbeat increased its uneven tempo and it was all she could do not to run.

When Lord Falon closed the door, the sound in such an intimate setting slammed into her like the muzzle blast of a gun.

“I’m glad you came,” he said softly, removing her cloak before she could think to stop him and tossing it over a chair. He waited while she removed her gloves, then took her hand and pressed it against his lips. “I was afraid you might change your mind.”

The brush of his mouth against her skin made the heat swirl into her belly. “I changed my mind a thousand times. I’m still not certain what insanity convinced me to go through with this.” His gaze was so intense, her stomach churned with warning. She was frightened, yet strangely unwilling to leave.

He smiled, slow and sensual, making her knees feel weak and the air in the room overly warm. The gravity of the situation hit her with the impact of a hammer. She swallowed hard and looked up at the earl, but he only smiled and released her hand.

“Sherry, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” A hogshead wouldn’t be enough to calm her nerves, but even a small amount would help. With long, graceful strides, he crossed to the sideboard and poured her a glass, which she accepted with unsteady hands. For himself he poured a brandy.

“To us,” he said, raising his snifter in her direction. “May we both be winners before this night is done.”

Alexa couldn’t force herself to drink. “To you, my lord. For being such a worthy opponent.” This time it was the earl who did not drink, and something unreadable darkened his eyes. Alexa took a sip, and the warm amber liquid slid down her throat and into her stomach. It felt much like the heat of the earl’s long-fingered hand.

“You look beautiful this evening, Alexa. You can’t imagine how I’ve dreamed of having you all to myself.”

She glanced once more at the bed she could see through the partially open doorway. It was covered with an apricot counterpane and already turned back at the corner. Her stomach rolled, and when the earl stepped toward her, she took a step away.

“I—I’m sorry, my lord. I’m beginning to realize just how foolish it was for me to come here. I was well-aware of the danger, and yet…” She turned a little away, but still she could see him. “At any rate, it was madness, and in truth I didn’t come for the reason you believe.”

“No? And exactly what reason is that?”

“I know what it is you’re expecting. I know that when I agreed to this meeting, you believed I meant to … to buy back my marker with the loss of my virtue. But the truth is, I came here hoping to convince you … well, to be a little more reasonable.”

A corner of his mouth curved up. “When it comes to you, my love, being reasonable is a difficult thing to do.” He moved toward her, but again she backed away.

“What I’m trying to say, Lord Falon, is that I’m not the willing consort you imagined. I’m not some wanton who can barter away her innocence, no matter what the price. I convinced myself that if I came, we could discuss my marker, that I could persuade you to play the gentleman. I hoped that at the very least you would allow me to pay off my debt when I came of age.” She smiled at him weakly. “The fact is, my lord, I’m a fraud. I’m just not ready for this sort of—of…”

He set his glass away, his light mood suddenly somber. He walked toward her and this time he kept coming. She was trembling by the time he reached her.

“Don’t,” she whispered, her heartbeat thundering, afraid of what he might do.

“It’s all right, Alexa, you don’t have to be afraid. I didn’t invite you here to force you into my bed.” His hand came up to her cheek and he toyed with a strand of hair that curled beside her ear. “I never believed that you were a wanton. I thought that perhaps … you were feeling the same sort of attraction I was. I thought that the gambling debt might give us both an excuse to do exactly what we had been wanting all along.”

She flushed because she knew it was at least in part the truth. She was there because she wanted to be. Because she wanted to see him, to talk to him, wanted just to be near him.

He smiled in that disconcerting way of his, but beneath the smile there was something inscrutable in his eyes. “It would seem to me,” he said softly, “that since we have come this far, we might as well enjoy ourselves. Why don’t we have supper? Get to know each other a little? We can discuss the marker, and later you can decide if you wish to stay.”

Alexa chewed her bottom lip. It sounded reasonable enough. The earl wasn’t pressing her; he had said that he would not force her. And there was something else. That secret, oddly unfathomable look in his eyes that she had seen before. It appeared when he relaxed his guard—which wasn’t all that often—or when he watched her but didn’t realize she also watched him. It was a look that compelled her, almost willed her, to remain. A look that spoke of need and longing. Or perhaps it was nothing more than loneliness.

Still, if she stayed, she would be hours late returning to London, and Jane would be frantic with worry. She had promised to be home before midnight, to spend just enough time with Lord Falon to persuade him to give back her marker. She looked at him now, so much taller than she, so dark and incredibly handsome. She wanted to reach out and touch him, to run her fingers through his wavy black hair, to test the smoothness of his skin. She wanted him to kiss her again.

“All right,” she heard herself say. Jane was a friend. She would be worried, yes, but once Alexa got back to the city, she could explain that it had taken a little longer than she expected. Jane would understand, and even if she didn’t, she would never reveal her best friend’s outrageous behavior.

“The cook has made us something special,” the earl was saying. “I hope you enjoy it.” With a hand at her waist, he guided her across the small salon toward the fireplace and pulled out a carved high-backed chair. As he seated her at the table before the hearth, she felt his warm breath on the back of her neck, and heat uncoiled in her stomach.

“You have no idea how much I’ve looked forward to this evening.” He took the seat across from her, sitting with an easy grace that belied his height and powerful build. His shoulders were broader than she remembered, his skin a little more swarthy. In the lamplight his jet-black hair glistened like the wings of a raven.

“I—I found myself looking forward to it too.” That was the truth. Too much so, in fact. Alexa glanced away.

Reaching across the table, Lord Falon refilled her glass of sherry, which had somehow gone dry. “I want you, Alexa. I won’t deny it. But for the moment, just the fact that you are here is enough.”

Beneath the table Alexa’s hands trembled. Secretly, she had yearned to meet a man—a real man—and the earl clearly was one. The question seemed to be whether she was a woman, or still just a little girl.

*   *   *

Standing beside the small black carriage at the rear of the stable, Barney Dillard ran a hand through his unruly mop of kinky white-blond hair. He pulled the watch fob from a pocket in the waistcoat of his gold and scarlet livery, flipped open the lid to the small engraved watch that her ladyship had loaned him, and checked the time.

Midnight! Sweet Mary, the girl had been in there for hours. She should have returned to the carriage by now. They should have been well on their way back to London! He glanced at the horses, who blew and pawed the earth, more anxious even than he was.

What the devil was she doing in there? Sweet Jesu, Lady Jane would fair be in a tither! His mistress had come at the very last minute, holding out the watch, her pretty face lined with worry for her friend. There was something he must do, she said. If his passenger didn’t come out of the inn by midnight, he was to unharness one of the carriage horses and ride like thunder to Stoneleigh. He was to find the viscount and tell him his sister might be in danger. Barney was to make all haste in returning with his lordship.

It went unsaid, he was to keep his bleedin’ mouth shut about whatever it was that went on.

’Course her ladyship hadn’t told him more than that, and it weren’t his place to ask. ’Twas his job to do as he was bid, and already he had been lax in seeing it done.

Hurrying now that his mind was made up, Barney unhitched the wheel horse, one of a pair of high-stepping bays, and swung onto its broad sleek back. In minutes he was flying down the road, his scarlet tailcoat sailing out behind him, the sound of hoofbeats strumming against the earth. It wouldn’t take long to reach Stoneleigh. On a fast horse the likes of this one, it wouldn’t take long for the viscount to return.

Barney wondered what would happen when he did.

*   *   *

Damien refilled Alexa’s stemmed crystal glass and listened to her laughter at something he had said. It was rich and throaty, yet more feminine than any he had heard.

As he had promised, they spent the evening in conversation, discussing books they enjoyed, plays they had seen, a little about Napoleon and recent happenings in the war. The subjects were neutral, carefully so. A brief discussion of her family, a few vague answers about his. She was relaxed now, enjoying the thrust and parry, teasing him a little, withdrawing when she began to feel the heat.

It was there, almost palpably. No matter how civilized their words, no matter how mundane the conversation, there wasn’t a moment when desire didn’t simmer between them.

Not a moment he didn’t imagine the time she would spend in his bed.

They finished a light meal of creamed sole and shallots, followed by custard and candied fruits, and she glanced to the clock ticking softly above the mantel.

“I can hardly believe it’s already this late.” She smiled, and he recalled the sweetness of those pouty, rose-petal lips. “It’s been a wonderful evening, my lord, but I’ve stayed far longer than I should have.”

Wordlessly he stood and pulled back her chair, thinking that though the hours had passed, they were exactly on schedule. He had orchestrated the evening down to the minute. Timing was essential to his plan. So far it had all gone off as he had arranged, but the true test lay ahead.

When she came to her feet, he bent and kissed her shoulder, tasting skin as rich and sweet as cream. “I don’t want you to go,” he said softly, and in this he spoke the truth.

He turned her into his arms and took her lips in a light, tender kiss she accepted without hesitation. Her mouth was as ripe and sweet as a peach; her breath tasted faintly of sherry. It took a will of iron not to haul her into his arms and kiss her with the fire that raged through his body. Kiss her till she clung to him and begged him for more. He never had the chance, for Alexa pulled away.

“I-It’s late and I really must be going.”

He captured her mouth again, felt the trembling of her lips beneath his, felt her fingers curling into the lapels of his coat. His hands slid down to her buttocks, cupping the feminine roundness, pressing her the length of him. He could feel her firm flat stomach against his hardened arousal, making him grow harder still. When he parted her lips with his tongue, flames of desire roared through him, as he knew they were burning through her.

Alexa broke away. She was breathing hard, her eyes glazed with passion, backing away from him and looking as though she might bolt and run for the door.

“Don’t go.” He stopped her beside a small Queen Anne table in front of the sofa. The glow of the candle flickering on top outlined the delicate bones in her face, the arches of her dark copper brows, the leafy greenness of her eyes. All evening his body had been hard and throbbing with desire for her, his blood running thick and heavy. Still, he had waited, determined to bide his time.

Determined to win the game.

“I have to go,” she said, but before she could turn to leave, he cupped her chin in his hands, raised her face up to his, and settled his mouth over hers. She made a mewling sound in her throat, then once more tore herself free.

“I—I have to go,” she repeated, her breath coming faster, her eyes wide and frightened as she backed toward the door.

“Stay,” he said. He leaned forward to kiss her again, but she warily backed away.

“I can’t.” She reached a slender hand behind her, groping for the handle, desperate to make her escape.

The moment at last had come. She was stronger-willed than he had believed, and though she desired him, she wasn’t about to give in. Damien almost smiled. It had been a good long while since a woman had resisted his charms. In a way, he admired her. She had courage and fire well beyond most of the women he had known. Still, his course was set and he meant to see it done.

He stepped closer, pressing her nearer the door. When she finally pulled it open, he gently shoved it closed.

“What—What are you doing?”

He hadn’t lied; he didn’t intend to force her. He just needed a little more time. He played his hole card, toying with her again, dangling the bait of challenge that had always worked before.

“I presume your brother is in residence at Stoneleigh.”

The shift in conversation took her by surprise. “Yes, Rayne is there, but what—”

“You may expect me to call on him first thing tomorrow morning.”

For an instant she looked confused. Then the blood drained from her cheeks and she stared at him with a mixture of shock and dawning horror. Her pretty mouth parted but at first no words would come. “You—You can’t be serious.”

“I’m afraid, lovely lady, I am deadly serious.”

“But I—I thought … I mean … surely, as a gentlemen, what we shared this eve meant something. Surely it more than compensates for my imprudent gaming.” She stiffened her spine. “If not, as I’ve said before, I shall be happy to see the debt repaid just as soon as I come into my fortune.”

“It should be clear by now, my love, that I am not now, nor ever will be, a gentleman. As for the ninety thousand pounds, you may be certain for that amount of money I expect a great deal more than just a simple kiss.”

Pink flags rose in her cheeks as a wave of anger swept over her, and a look of betrayal so intense it made a hard knot ball in his stomach.

“You’re a bastard, Lord Falon.”

“That, Miss Garrick, is the one thing I am not. A thousand other socially abhorrent things, but not that particular one.”

“Do you really expect me to—to—”

“Yes.” But even as he said the word, he questioned, as he had a dozen times since her arrival, the wisdom of what he was doing. She was nothing at all like he had imagined. She was lovely and fresh and enchanting. She was ripe and womanly, yet there was an innocence about her that would charm the most seasoned rake.

For an instant he wished he really was the man she had come to the inn to meet. That he was simply an intriguing stranger charmed by a beautiful woman. That he was so taken with this lovely innocent that he would do anything to have her. Then he thought of his brother, young and eager for life, trusting her, loving her, and being hurt so badly he had put a gun to his head. He thought of Peter lying in a spreading pool of blood, of the pistol still smoking in his hand.

“Perhaps another kiss will do the trick,” he taunted. “If you try a little harder, perhaps the next one will persuade me to forget your debt.” He reached out and caught her wrist. Hauling her roughly against him, he brought his mouth down hard over hers. She clamped her lips together, twisted in his arms and jerked free, drew back and slapped his face.

She was breathing hard, staring at him as if she had never seen him before and couldn’t imagine why on earth she had come to meet him. Something twisted low in his belly even as his mouth curled up in a bitter half smile. With a glance at the clock above the mantel, he stepped away from her, playing another of his final cards, hoping his skill at reading people would prove true again this eve.

“The door is there, Alexa. If your word means so little, why don’t you simply walk through it? You can go home to your big brother, beg him to save you from another of your follies. He’ll scold you and remind you you’re still just a little girl, but what does it matter? Surely it’s a small price to pay for saving your precious virtue.”

Fury swept her features, which suddenly turned iron-hard. He had won every hand so far—she was determined he would not win this one.

“I came here to get my marker,” she said. “What is it you expect me to do?”

There it was, laid out before him in all its blazing glory. The prize he’d been seeking, if only he were smart enough to claim it.

“Why don’t you start by letting down your hair? I’ve had a yearning to see it since the night I first saw you at the opera.”

Her soft full lips went thin. Bright green eyes flashed sparks across the room and anger seethed from every pore in her body. With short jerky movements of her hand, hairpins scattered across the floor, and when she tossed her head, thick dark auburn hair tumbled down well past her shoulders. In the light of the candle it hung in waves of red-gold flame, and Damien felt a rush of heat to his loins.

“Take off your clothes. It’s time I discovered whether or not you’re worth all this trouble.”

Alexa’s jaw clamped. He wondered if she would really go through with it. His attempt at seduction had failed, but he could still salvage his plan if he could keep her in the room a little longer.

“Do you enjoy humiliating women, Lord Falon? Do you get some kind of perverse pleasure from this?”

“I want you in my bed, Alexa. That is all I care about. You knew that when you came here. You gave me your promise and I accepted it. I’m waiting for that promise to be fulfilled.”

Another round of fury darkened her eyes. She was trembling all over, but with rage, not fear. She was furious at his demands, yet unwilling to let him best her again. He had goaded her beyond reason, beyond conscience, just as he had intended. Reaching for the buttons at the back of her gown, she wrenched several loose, tore several more from their loops, but still could not succeed in getting herself undone.

Damien stepped closer, moved her shaking hands away and unfastened the remaining buttons. The gown slid down her body and pooled in a dark golden heap on the floor at her feet. Alexa stepped out of the folds and kicked the dress away. She wore no corset, just a thin white cotton chemise that covered her from the shoulders to well below the knees but did little to disguise the high lush curve of her breast or the tempting dark circles around the peaks.

“Shall I go further, Lord Falon? Or is this enough to satisfy your perverse pleasure?”

“If you intend to please me, you have only just begun … unless, of course, you’re afraid you’ll disappoint me.”

She cursed him viciously beneath her breath. With frenzied, violent movements, she stripped the chemise off over her head, tumbling her thick mane of dark copper hair, and except for her small satin slippers, stood splendidly naked before him.

Damien’s breath caught in his throat. She was everything he had imagined and more. She was all smooth skin and lush curves, with high round breasts whose rose aureoles ringed softly budded nipples. Her legs were long and supple, her calves delicate and shapely, her feet high-arched and slender.

His eyes moved up to a narrow waist he could nearly span with his hands, to straight slim shoulders and a gracefully arching neck. He was hard and throbbing at the sight of her, his blood heating, desire thick and heavy in his veins. Then his eyes came up to her face, and Damien went rigid, a hard knot balling in his stomach. The breath he’d been holding went out of him in a rush.

Though Alexa faced him boldly, her bottom lip trembled and tears streaked a path down her cheeks. Her lashes were spiked with wetness, and a shiny path of moisture trickled toward her chin.

“I’ll never forget the first night I saw you,” she said. “You were so handsome … like some dark angel come down from the heavens. You were different from the others; bold and mysterious and intriguing, yet there was a gentleness about you. I was drawn to you almost from the start—I don’t deny it. I’ve never felt that way about another man.” Damien said nothing. “I wanted to come here this night, more than you will ever know. Even at the risk of my honor, at the chance I might lose everything that I hold dear, I still had to come. In my heart I actually believed that there was something special between us. That if I did end up in your bed, it would be the most beautiful, the most exciting thing that had ever happened.” She blinked and more tears rolled down her cheeks. “How pitiful, how naive I must have seemed.”

A shudder rippled through him. Every muscle in his body had gone rigid, and his mouth was so dry he could not speak.

She laughed, but it came out bitter and harsh. “I just want you to know, Lord Falon, that if you take me to your bed this eve, you may be certain all I will feel for you is loathing.”

Damien’s taut control snapped. He had been watching her with a mixture of conflicting emotions. Desire, regret—anger at himself, tempered by the rage he still felt toward her. All those things and something else he could not name. Now he crossed the few paces between them and dragged her hard against his chest.

“Loathing—that is what you feel? Why don’t we see?” He kissed her then, a rough, hard, angry kiss that made the blood pump into his loins and the urge to take her nearly overwhelming.

She fought him at first, trying to pull away, pressing her hands against his chest, struggling to break his relentless hold. He could feel her tears on his cheek, and unconsciously he gentled the kiss, no longer wanting to hurt her, seeking only to make her respond, to taste the sweetness he had known before. He knew the moment her anger turned to passion, her uncontained fury to longing.

She swayed against him, her body going soft and pliant, her warm lips trembling, parting beneath his, allowing his tongue inside. He groaned at the heat raging through him, the wanting that clawed its way into his belly. He might have swept her up in his arms and carried her over to the bed if she hadn’t made that single pitiful sound. It was soft yet it was fierce, like the cry of an injured bird. It was the heart-wrenching, soul-crushing sound of a young girl’s surrender, and Damien found himself completely undone.

It took all his will, every ounce of decency he had left inside, to tear himself free and step away.

For endless moments he just stood there, his eyes locked on her face, his body aching with pent-up desire for her. Ignoring the tension that still rippled through his body, he turned away from her and crossed the room. He picked up the gown she had kicked away and tossed it to where she stood beside the door.

“Get dressed.” She clutched it protectively in front of her, her green eyes wide and uncertain, her lips a soft dark rose and swollen from his kisses. “Before I change my mind.”

Forcing himself to turn away, he strode across the room to pour himself a brandy. Never had he needed one more.