Chapter Seven

 

 

STANDING IN THE MIDDLE of the empty stage, Alice hugged herself. The stalls were dark, devoid of the audience who had enthusiastically clapped and cheered and called for more when the performance was done. Backstage, dust cloths covered the sets that had been struck and stored, ready for use again next month. The dancing girls and the other performers had followed the audience into the saloon to revel in the adulation of an awestruck crowd. If the past were any indication, the crowd would show their appreciation in the form of alcohol, and all would become inebriated upon the coin of their adoring fans.

Grinning, she basked in the wake of a successful Spectacular. She was so damn proud of herself she could burst. See, she always panicked for no reason. Such feeling was a distant memory now, drunk as she was on all that had passed between that moment and this.

Everything in the Spectacular had gone exactly as expected, each act more successful than the last. Pearl had sounded magnificent, and the girls had been at turns luminous and cheeky, seducing the crowd with practiced ease. Even Marie, for all her tantrums, had wooed them all with her snake dance. The Amazing Waldino had, perhaps, not been as amazing as she’d hoped, but thankfully the Tranmere Twins and their death-defying antics had remedied any lull the Kind of Average Waldino had caused.

Residual excitement thrummed in her blood, leaping across her skin and making her want a million things. She could plan a hundred Spectaculars—no, a thousand—and each would be more magnificent than the last.

Rubbing her arms, she exhaled in an attempt to force calm. She suffered this in the aftermath of each Spectacular. Such feelings were impractical and unrealistic, but with triumph flowing through her, she was certain she could take it all on and more. The feeling would pass, though. It always did.

“The Spectacular was magnificent.”

Her breath seized. The presence of another where before she’d been alone made her heart slam against her ribs. Whirling around, she prepared to lambaste whoever had disturbed her. Everyone in her employ knew to leave her be after a performance.

Framed by the drapes of the wings, hands in his pockets, and waistcoat unbuttoned, stood Llewellyn.

A war of emotion erupted inside her. Annoyance, desire, residual excitement…but mostly annoyance. She hated being disturbed, and for all she had thought to seek him out, she wanted to do so when she was ready. “The theatre is closed. You shouldn’t be here.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “No, I shouldn’t.”

She frowned. There was something wrong about him. He was too…still. “Then what are you doing here?”

“I had to congratulate you.” Dark eyes regarded her steadily. “The Spectacular was brilliant.”

Unsure of this new Llewellyn, she remained motionless. “Thank you?”

“No, truly. You deserve the highest of commendations. I could never have imagined such in the middle of nowhere.” He didn’t move, or fidget, or any of the hundred other ticks he’d always displayed in her presence.

“No. No one else offers the service I provide.”

“And thus you possess a monopoly.” He smiled, a slow, easy smile that he hadn’t shown before. “Well done, indeed.” His gaze flicked over her, and when his eyes returned to hers, a fire smouldered in their depths. “I like your dress.”

Beneath her folded arms, her heart stuttered and the muscles in her stomach tensed. Finally, it clicked what was different about him.

Everything.

His words, his stance, the way he spoke, all was different. His waistcoat was unbuttoned, his shirt white against the forest-green silk, and though still pomaded, his hair had come askew, a dark curl lying against his forehead.

Everything was different. But most notably, above and beyond any surface change, he no longer played the fool.

Triumph surged through her, and she grasped that emotion over the other, more unsettling ones his appearance caused. She knew she had been right. “You seem to have gained an alarming amount of intelligence, Mr Llewellyn.”

His smile widened.

She lifted a brow. “Care to explain the pretence?”

Shaking his head, he maintained his smile. “Not at this juncture.”

“Will you?”

“Perhaps.”

The intensity with which he looked at her affected her something terrible. She felt hot, and flustered, and she didn’t know what she wanted. The overwhelming excitement at the conclusion of a Spectacular returned, but now it had a focus. Him.

This was getting her nowhere fast. Annoyance marched through her, at his caginess, at her own damn fascination with a man intent on lying to her. “So, if you aren’t a fool, what are you?”

Removing his hands from his pockets, he moved toward her. Gaze steady on hers, he stopped close, so close she could see his eyes weren’t truly black but instead the darkest of browns. She froze, unsure what would happen but desperate to discover. He didn’t touch, did nothing more inappropriate than stand too close.

Then, he leant down, and his lips brushed her ear. “Fascinated.”

Breath shuddered through her as she met his gaze. A half-smile flirted with his lips even as fire banked deep in his eyes. From beyond the theatre’s doors, muffled laughter and murmurs sounded, but she paid it no mind. The only attention she could garner was focused on him, and the effort it took not to touch him.

“Alice,” he murmured.

Her gaze dropped to his mouth, and her name on his tongue set her to shiver. Tentatively, she lifted her hand to his cheek and traced his bottom lip with her thumb. Closing his eyes, he exhaled as he turned into her touch. Repeating the path, she marvelled at the softness of his flesh, and her fingers twitched against the slight roughness of day-old stubble on his cheek.

Lifting onto her toes, she reached up. Their lips met. Brushed.

Rocking back on her heels, Alice swept her tongue over her lips to taste him. A low groan drew her attention, and she found Llewellyn watching her, eyes hot as he stared at her mouth. Blood thrumming, she licked her lips again. His expression turned pained, his hands clenching at his sides.

In an explosion of motion, she pulled him to her even as he tugged her to him. Their mouths collided, and the taste of him exploded in her mouth, better than any whiskey she’d ever savoured. His hands slid to her back, and she wanted them on every part of her. God, she wanted to devour him, wanted him as close as he could get. She wanted no barrier between his skin and hers as he touched her. She wanted to learn his body, the feel of his skin, the taste of his flesh.

She wanted so much.

He trailed kisses over her cheek, her jaw. Arching her neck, she moaned as he traced the cord with his lips. His mouth was so wet and hot, and everything inside her was softening, swelling, preparing her for him. Lips brushed the hollow of her throat, and her eyes closed as the sensations rioting inside her became too much.

His hand played over her shoulder, cupped her neck as he moved to kiss her once more. Breasts aching, she captured his hand and brought it to cover her. Gently, his thumb traced the swell of flesh above her corset, and she inhaled sharply.

Then, he stopped.

Dazedly, she opened her eyes. Why had he pulled from her? Why was he no longer near? Struggling to make her brain work, she stared at him dumbly.

“What are we doing?” Running his hand through his hair, he started to pace. “Alice, what are we doing?”

Slowly, her breath returned to her, and with it some measure of sanity. “I…we…I thought we were kissing.”

“Yes. And then what?”

“Well…” Her cheeks heated. “I thought...”

“I thought so, too.” Crossing his arms, he gripped his biceps.

She frowned. This made no sense. He appeared troubled by something, but she couldn’t for the life of her figure out what. “Then why did we stop?”

His cheeks turned ruddy. Was he blushing? “I would not have you maligned.”

“Maligned?” What could possibly malign her? She owned a saloon and hosted a burlesque. “By who?”

His hands tightened. “Your neighbours. The people of Ironwood. Surely, were they to know, they would comment.”

What did he think she was about? “Well, I wasn’t planning on telling them, Llewellyn. Were you?”

“No.” Rifling his hair again, he appeared even more distressed. “Damnation, I’m making a mess of this. ’Tis only…I don’t do this often.”

Now, his revelation did surprise her. “Don’t you?”

It appeared her words had caused him great offense, if the sharp look he shot her was anything to go by. “No, of course not.”

“Oh.” She had no notion there was any ‘of course’ about it, but clearly he was affronted she’d assumed anything other.

“I’ll have you know I like to pursue a lady for a time, get to know her before forming a relationship. I don’t just…you know.”

“Uh-huh.” She tried to contain her smile, she really did, but he was just too sweet for words.

He scowled. “Don’t laugh at me, this is serious.”

She nodded solemnly. “Yes, deadly. Is that your only worry?”

“Well, there’s also—” Here he really did blush. Beet-red, if she were any judge. “It’s a matter of…propagation of the species.”

Well hell, the man really was highly embarrassed about their discussion. “You mean, ensurin’ we don’t make us a baby, accidental-like?”

If anything, he blushed harder. “Yes. And I would appreciate it if you didn’t poke fun for being concerned about such things.”

Raising her hand to her mouth, she covered a smile that wouldn’t seem to quit. “I’m sorry. I just never expected to ever have this conversation. With anyone.”

Back stiff as a board, he fixed his gaze somewhere north of her ear. “Yes. Well. It is a concern that should be addressed.”

“Oh, I agree.”

Glancing at her, he glared.

Capturing his hand, she brought it to her lips. “You don’t need to worry. I grew up in a burlesque hall. I knew how to take care of those kinds of things before I was even sure what the different parts on girls and boys were for.”

Brows still drawn, he stared at her. Then he exhaled. “I’ve destroyed the mood, haven’t I?”

“Not entirely.” Leaning up, she kissed him, as sweet as she could manage. “Have I rid you of your worries?”

Under hers, his lips formed a smile. “Yes.”

Brushing his mouth again, she asked, “Will you come upstairs with me?”

Deepening the kiss, he wrapped his arms about her. Finally, they broke and he rested his forehead against hers. “Yes.”

 

***

 

LLEWELLYN’S HAND IN HERS, Alice walked along the corridor. Excitement bubbled inside her, but this time the excitement was because of the man following her. Soon, she would feel him against her, skin to skin. Soon, she would feel him inside her.

Raucous laughter drifted from below them. The Diamond still seethed with customers, the shouts and cheers growing softer as they moved farther from the saloon. Customers knew nothing of the passage from the theatre to the living quarters, and all of her employees were enjoying the fruits of their efforts before the bar. They’d encountered no one, and she was mighty glad of that. Llewellyn’s concerns for her reputation had bled to her, and now she was possessed of a small amount of worry as well. However, she didn’t possess enough to stop her from doing this. With him.

They reached her rooms and, entering first, she stood aside. Passing her, he looked about where they’d had their first proper meet, where he’d proposed he buy the Diamond.

As she closed the door, a small smile tugged at her mouth. Who would have thought they’d come to this? She certainly wouldn’t have, not in a passel of years. Only Seth had ever been in her bed, and to invite this Englishman to share with her what she’d only ever shared with her husband was an undertaking she’d not contemplated.

Brows drawing together, she watched Llewellyn grip the back of the chair he’d sat in during their first meeting. What if he was disappointed? What if she did something odd-like? Or worse, what if she didn’t do something? God, maybe she hadn’t thought it through completely. She knew hardly anything of him, beyond he was pretty and he set her heart racing. Surely there should be more?

But not every lover could be like Seth. Though she’d been sent to Ironwood as his bride, and they’d wed not long after her arrival, it had taken another year before Seth had shared her bed. He’d been busy building the Diamond’s business, but he’d also wanted them to know each other before they made their marriage true. However, back then she’d been a sixteen-year-old girl who’d just lost her mother and had travelled halfway across the country to wed a stranger. Seth had been right to insist they wait. He’d been right about a lot of things.

But she was no longer a girl. She was nine-and-twenty, and a widow these last five years. She’d run a business, created a Spectacular. She knew her own mind, and she knew what she wanted.

She wanted Llewellyn in her bed.

Panic faded. Well hell, that was just a bushel worth of worry she didn’t need. She had made her choice, and she would not allow fear to stop her. She was tired of pretending she wasn’t lonely. Tired of seeing others take those they desired to their beds. She wanted passion and fire, and she wanted Llewellyn. It was as simple, when all was said and done. She would take him as a lover, and they would enjoy each other for as long as it lasted.

Pushing off the door, she walked to him and trailed her fingers over his shoulders.

His muscles tensed beneath her touch. Clearing his throat, he turned to face her. “Have you changed the configuration of chairs?” The smile he wore was a little frayed at the edges.

“No.” Linking her hand with his, she tugged him gently in the direction of her bedroom. Desire curled low in her belly. She was leading him to her bedroom.

He followed, though his feet seemed to drag a little. “Are you certain? Much seems different in here.”

“Nothing has changed.” The overstuffed armchair before her bed seemed a good place to start. She’d often looked at that chair and wondered what delights could be undertaken.

Blood a steady thrum through her, she pushed him into the chair and went to the dresser. The second drawer down contained the contraceptives she’d not had occasion to use since Seth’s passing, and had replaced only to ensure the Diamond’s girls were protected if they chose to keep company with a man. Throwing a few of the packets onto the bed, she sauntered back over to him, stopping to stand before him.

He avoided her gaze. “Alice, are you sure?”

She frowned. He was hesitant? Again? “We’ve already discussed this, Llewellyn.”

“I know.” With a troubled brow, he stared at the floor. “My Christian name is Rupert.”

Rupert. She rolled his name around in her mind. It suited him. Stepping between his spread legs, she placed a hand on his shoulder.

Still he would not look at her. “Are you truly sure?”

Tracing the solidness of his shoulder, she paused. She couldn’t continue, not if he was unsure. “Are you?”

Reaching up, he cupped her cheek with his hand. With a moan, she turned into his touch, loving the feel of his hand against her.

His eyes followed the path of his thumb as it traced her bottom lip. Finally, he raised his gaze to hers. “Yes.”

She kissed his thumb. “Good.” Straightening, she held out her wrist. “Would you unbutton me?”

He said nothing as he complied, and it reminded her of the alley, where he removed her glove oh-so-slowly.

“Other wrist.” His voice was hoarse.

Silently, she did as he bid and endured the torture of him slowly undoing her.

Task completed, he sat back. Never taking her gaze from his, she raised her hands to the buttons at her throat, flicking each open. He swallowed. Parting the fabric of the fichu, she slid the lace from her shoulders. Now she stood in her corset and the thin straps of her chemise.

Carefully, she unhooked the first eye of her corset. Gaze dropping to her hands, he seemed absolutely unable to look away. Making sure the corset stayed closed as much as possible, she unhooked the second eye. The third. Finally, she reached the last, and when that was undone, she let the corset fall from her.

“Good God,” he choked.

Wicked delight filled her. Until now, only she knew of the racy undergarments she’d purchased, pouring over the catalogues when in Ironwood, and haunting the stores when in San Francisco. She thanked whatever providence saw her choose her favourite corset, her most revealing chemise.

Black lace barely covered her, her skin peeking through the delicate threads. The fabric scraped over her breasts, her nipples tightening even more as the fabric caught at her sensitive flesh. As best she could, she ignored the sensation. She wanted instead to concentrate on the way he looked at her.

Reaching behind herself, she undid her skirt, knowing the action would thrust her breasts forward. Hearing his muttered curse, she hid her smile as she removed the petticoats, so she stood before him in only her undergarments.

His speechlessness was all the reward she needed.

Her drawers were as black as her chemise, but made of a fine cotton, so fine her garters were clearly visible through the material. They were also shorter than most, ending just above mid-thigh and trimmed in lace.

Raising her arms to undo her hair, she drew in a breath as her pebbled nipples caught against the lace of her chemise, tormenting her with sensation. The way he devoured her with his gaze only made it worse. She wanted to seduce him, to make that look on his face permanent, to know he would always look at her so.

Pulling the pins, she let her hair fall where it may, one lock resting on the slope of her breast. Raising the curl, she twined it about her finger and smiled as he cursed again, his hands biting into the arms of the chair. Feeling strong, powerful, she stood before him and counted her success in the way his gaze consumed her, in his absorption and his obvious reaction.

Beneath his trousers, he was hard.

Bending, she draped an arm over his shoulder, and he swallowed as he raised his gaze to hers. With her free hand, she traced his cheek. The light stubble coating his cheek prickled her, and she dragged her fingers down his throat, over his chest. He lifted his hands to touch her but she slapped them back onto the arms. No. In this moment, she wanted control.

Moving between his legs, she tugged at his cravat, unwinding the material from his neck and dropping it on the floor. Wetting her lips, she stared at the pale skin revealed at his throat. That flesh was begging for a licking. Controlling herself, she stripped him of his jacket and his waistcoat, hanging them on the back of the chair.

Placing her hands over his, she leant in. He smelled so good. She had no notion what was in his aftershave, but it made her want to bite him.

His lips brushed against her ear. “Alice.”

“Hmm?” Lowering herself to his lap, she twined her arms around his neck. Her fingers found his hair, disrupting the ruthlessly tamed curls.

“Nothing. I just like saying your name.”

Warmth filled her, an odd companion to the lust. Staring into his eyes, she trailed her fingers down his chest. Beneath the shirt, his flesh was warm and resilient, and as she drifted farther, she tugged the garment from his trousers. Sliding under, she stroked the skin of his belly.

Abruptly, he gathered her in his arms and stood. She shrieked, arms clinging to his neck as he strode to the bed and deposited her on it.

Standing back, his gaze swept over her. “Your undergarments are truly excellent.”

Arching her back, she ran her hands over her breasts. “I’m glad you approve, Rupert.”

He shuddered. “Christ. The way you say my name.”

Arousal stormed through her, at his reaction to her, at the way she could make him look. “Rupert.” Again that reaction. Breasts aching, desire a heavy beat between her thighs, she bit her finger. “Mmm, Rupert.”

His eyes flared. Climbing over her, he straddled her leg, his thigh pressing against her sex. Lightning arced as, face dark with passion, he leant over to cup her breast, his fingers delicately stroking her as his gaze burned into her eyes.

“Rupert,” she moaned.

His lips found the place where her neck joined her shoulders, and she shuddered as his tongue darted over her skin. Next, he found the hollow of her neck, the swells of her breasts, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His hands drifted up her torso, pushing her flesh up for his worship.

The ache unbearable, she pressed herself into his thigh. Hot, wet, empty, she wanted him inside her, so deep she couldn’t imagine a time without him. Before that, though, she wanted to drive him just as wild as he drove her.

Pushing herself onto her elbows, she tugged at his shirt. “Off.”

Ignoring her, he tightened his hands on her breasts, his tongue tracing the curve of her flesh.

Desperation made her breathless. “Rupert, please. I want to touch you.”

He met her gaze. For an endless moment, they remained so, her want a beat inside her. Fingers moved over her cheek, her lips. Placing a kiss first on his thumb, she flicked her tongue against him.

His eyes darkened. Pushing himself upright, he ripped the offending material from his skin.

She drew in her breath. He was marble-pale, untouched by the sun. Lean muscles shaped him, his foppish clothes disguising a powerful body.

Biting her lip, she reached out a hand, trailing over his chest, grazing his nipple. His eyes widened, but he said nothing. Fascinated, she drifted over his abdomen, following the delineation she found there. Her skin was dark against his paleness, the olive of hers a stark contrast to his.

Finally, all that paleness disappeared inside his trousers. Wistfully, she traced the flesh above, running her fingers beneath his waistband.

He was so beautiful.

He made a pained sound. Raising her gaze, she found his eyes closed, pleasure drawing his features sharp. Watching him, she allowed her touch to wander back and forth, back and forth. He clenched his jaw, but he didn’t stop her.

She reached farther.

His eyes snapped open. With a growl, he tugged her hand from him and grabbed the back of her knee, shoving her around him. She obliged by hooking her foot around him as he enclosed her nipple with his mouth, sucking strongly. Pleasure bolted through her, centring between her thighs. She felt swollen and wet and she tangled her fingers in his hair, her leg tightening around him as she sought some sort of relief.

He covered her neglected breast, her nipple rubbing against his palm as he shaped and moulded her flesh. The lace abraded her painfully hard nipple, driving her crazy with lust. Reaching between them, she found his cock. He felt so good, and he moaned against her as she caressed his length through the fabric.

Eager to feel him next to her skin, she undid the buttons of the trouser flap and pushed inside. He filled her hand, hard and hot and strong. Wetting her lips, she stroked him, marvelling at the silkiness of his skin, the way it moved over the hard shaft within.

Swearing into her, he redoubled his efforts, pulling at her nipple, his hand abandoning her breast to shove her drawers down. She helped him, kicking to remove the material, and he settled once more against her, his hand playing between her thighs. His fingers skirted her slick folds, finding the nub hidden between. Gently, he circled her, and she couldn’t contain her scream.

It felt so good, so right. Him between her thighs, his hand on her, hers on him, licking and kissing and touching each other. Fingers probed at her cleft and then he slipped inside. She clutched at his back, unable to think, focusing solely on those wicked fingers and what they were doing to her.

He withdrew and she moaned, wanting more, wanting him. Rising above her, he kissed her and she responded desperately, her tongue twining with his as he drew her legs around his hips. Blindly, she reached for a packet containing the sheath. He groaned into her mouth as she unfurled it over him, as she positioned him against her.

He reared back, and they stared at one another. He rested between her legs, a pulse beating wildly. She was so ready, so eager for him.

Exhaling shakily, he framed her face with his hands. Gently, he pushed into her.

Biting her lip, she contained her moan as he slid inside. She’d forgotten what it was like, she’d forgotten how good it was. He pulled away, only to push back, push farther. He were driving her insane, these little, shallow thrusts that rubbed just right. Brows drawn, he pushed again, and he was fully in her, hard and unyielding, stretching her as she hadn’t been stretched in so long.

He stilled. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.” She stroked his hair. “Are you?”

“Yes.” He didn’t move.

Slowly, she contracted muscles she hadn’t used for years. His jaw twitched. Slipping her hands down his back, she gripped his buttocks and pulled him into her. Groaning, he drew from her and the glide of his cock made everything in her clench. He slid inside, drew out. Back, and forth. Over and over.

She wanted— She needed something— “Harder, Rupert.”

He shuddered. “Christ, Alice, don’t say such things.”

“But Rupert, I need it harder. Please. Go deeper.”

Arms locked either side of her, he paused. “The way you say my name.”

“Rupert!”

Hand on her thigh, he shoved her leg higher and the change of angle made pleasure scream through her. “Oh God, yes. Rupert, that’s it, yes!”

Grasping him to her, she arched her neck as he thrust and thrust and thrust. It was building inside her, a tower of sensation, a maelstrom, and she wanted him to come with her. He drove deeper, his groans music to her ears. She wanted him to come. She wanted—

It broke.

The world cracked apart into a million shards. Bliss rushed through her, sharp and hot and endless. Head buried in her neck, he stiffened against her and she knew he’d found his pleasure, too.

Slowly, the world reformed, pieces fitting themselves as if the world hadn’t turned on its side. Not yet ready to let him go, she gripped him tight.

After an eternity, he raised his head. Staring into those dark eyes, she suddenly had no idea what to say. “I—”

Framing her face once more, he stopped her and covered her mouth with his.

She kissed him back. Strange, he was still inside her, but with that gentle kiss, she felt closer to him than ever.

He pulled away, and she made a noise of protest as he left her.

“So.” His voice broke, and he cleared throat. “That was…um, good.”

“Yes.” It had been indescribable, and the man who seemed to have an abundance of words now had none. Anyway, what was there to say? Maybe only one thing. “Want to do it again?”

The shock on his face was almost comical. A moment passed, two, and then he started to laugh. “My dear Mrs Reynolds, I’d be delighted.”

He scooped her into a bear hug, bussing her neck with kisses. With a scream, she battered him in protest, and then her laugh joined his as they both dissolved into mirth.