A Stolen Heart (21 page)

Gritting his teeth, he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her to the door. Setting her behind him, he again looked into the corridor. To his amazement, he felt Alexandra plaster her body against his from behind, encircling his waist with her arms. He snapped the door shut.

“Alexandra! What are you doing?” Her hands were moving slowly up and down his chest, slipping beneath his jacket and burning through his shirt. “Stop it.”

He turned, trying to ignore the myriad sensations that were awakened as their bodies rubbed against each other, and grabbed Alexandra’s wrists. “We have to leave,” he told her, enunciating each word as if he were speaking to a recalcitrant child. “All right?”

She nodded. “I know. I just…wanted to touch you.”

“God.” Her words almost undid him worse than her touch. He set her away from him, opened the door, took her by the wrist and led her into the hall. They had passed the next room when he heard voices from the far end of the hall, echoing in the stairwell. There was a murmur of male voices and a woman’s high-pitched laugh.

Sebastian’s first instinct was to run, but he knew they could not make it to the end of the hall without being seen, especially given Alexandra’s wobbly state, and running would arouse suspicions more than anything else. It was better to playact, he decided, and so he dropped Alexandra’s wrist and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her tightly against his side.

She looked at him wonderingly.

“Shh. Someone’s coming. Pretend I’m a customer.”

“A customer?”

“Uh-huh.” He leaned his head against hers, nuzzling her ear.

A breathy gasp escaped Alexandra. She wasn’t sure what he was talking about, but the touch of his lips against her sensitive skin, the hot brush of his breath, were almost more than she could bear. She shivered, moisture flooding between her legs. Her eyelids fluttered closed, and she stumbled.

“Keep walking,” Sebastian murmured, the heat in his veins suppressed for the moment by his awareness of the sounds behind him. There were footsteps, and another laugh, this time a male rumble. It sounded almost like a crowd, he thought in irritation. His arm tightened around Alexandra’s shoulders, almost dragging her. The stairs seemed a year away.

There was the sound of a door opening. They were almost to the stairs. Behind him there was a shriek, and an upraised female voice. Thorpe did not pause to glance back; he was certain they had been discovered. His arm dropped to Alexandra’s waist, and he ran to the stairs, dragging her, stumbling, with him.

They raced down the stairs, Alexandra clasped tightly to his side, most of her weight borne by him. A harsh woman’s voice screeched, “Stop them! He’s taking her! Stop them.”

They burst out of the stairs into the hallway, where two or three startled servants came out of the kitchen curiously. Thorpe barreled through the group, knocking them aside. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of Janet standing just inside the door, and after he passed, he heard the clang of a bucket being upended, and dirty mop water flooded the floor. Janet began to wail, and the servants who were struggling to their feet began to curse, and the men who came bounding down the stairs ran full tilt into the mess. There was a tremendous amount of crashing and falling and cursing, but Thorpe laughed and didn’t look back. He couldn’t afford the time.

Alexandra couldn’t keep up. She staggered and lurched against the wall of the building and would have fallen if the space had not been so narrow. Sebastian grabbed her and picked her up, threw her over his shoulder and began to run. He could hear running footsteps behind him as he burst out of the alleyway. Weighted as he was, it would not take their pursuers long to catch up. He raced toward the carriage just as the front door of the brothel opened and more men poured out.

Fortunately, most of the customers, though they obviously relished a good chase—there were even a few “View, halloos” and “Yoicks, aways” tossed out—were too drunk to make a good run of it, and their bumbling attempts hindered the others more than they helped.

Murdock opened the door of the carriage and hopped out. Peggoddy seized the opportunity to bolt out the other side of the carriage and take off. Murdock let out a curse and turned to look after him.

“Never mind him!” Thorpe reached the carriage and tossed Alexandra unceremoniously into it.

He climbed in after her just as the first brothel servant reached them. Murdock landed a good right to the man’s chin, sending him sprawling. The coachman cracked his whip, and the carriage began to lumber off. Murdock leaped on the back of the vehicle. He kicked one man who jumped at the door of the carriage, and Harrison, the burly groom, leaned over and shoved another one off. Murdock pulled out his pistol and waved it threateningly, causing the others to stop. The carriage picked up speed, leaving them all behind.

S
EBASTIAN FLOPPED AGAINST THE SEAT
,
his chest heaving, as the carriage rattled away. Alexandra, who had made it no farther than the floor, slumped there, her head lolling against the bottom cushion across from Sebastian. Her skirt was shoved up around her, almost completely exposing her legs. She had no shoes, and the loose stocking had been lost altogether; the other was crumpled around her calf. Her eyes were closed, her mouth slightly open as she breathed deeply. Her face was dewy with moisture. Thorpe thought that he had never seen anyone look more desirable.

He shrugged out of his jacket and leaned down to wrap it around her shoulders. Alexandra looked into his eyes; it seemed as if her whole soul were in her gaze. He hesitated, hovering over her, and her hand curled around the back of his neck. She stretched and placed her lips against his.

Her mouth was moist and hot, her lips as soft as velvet, opening to him. Sebastian kissed her; he could not stop himself, even though he knew that it was wrong to kiss a woman not in full possession of her senses. Once he started, he could not stop. Her mouth was so sweet, so eager, her tongue darting in to play with his. He knelt on the floor, kissing her, unable to pull away as the carriage lumbered through the streets. His veins pulsed wildly; he could hear the roaring of blood in his ears.

Alexandra moaned, a primitive sound that jolted him with passion. He thought of being inside her, of feeling her close around him, hot and tight, moaning her passion as they rode to climax. He wrapped his arms around her more tightly, pulling her into him as if he could meld her to his skin.

The carriage turned a corner sharply, sending them sliding across the floor into the side of the vehicle. It startled Sebastian into some semblance of sanity. He took Alexandra by the shoulders and lifted her into the seat, then sat across from her. But Alexandra immediately left her seat, shrugged off the jacket and climbed onto his lap. She knelt with her legs on either side of him, the hot, damp heat of her desire flush against his legs.

“Don’t stop,” she murmured and began to kiss his face. “You smell so good. You taste like…” She paused, considering, and licked her lips, sending another spasm of hunger through him. “I don’t know…something good.” She smiled and bent to kiss his neck, saying, “I want to taste you all over.”

“Alexandra,” he began weakly. “They have done something to you. Made you…”

“I know. It was the dark drink. What they gave me right before you came. It tasted different from the other, not bitter, more like…herbs, I guess.”

“It’s that drink that’s causing you to, uh…”

“Act like a tart?” Alexandra suggested.

“No. Of course not. I didn’t mean that.”

“Why not? You think I’m vermin anyway, don’t you? Why not a doxie as well as a swindler?”

He could tell that the other drug was wearing off; her speech was becoming clearer and quicker, her thought processes obviously working at a higher speed. But this latter drug was just as obviously in full bloom. Her skin was hot, her color high, and there was an almost feverish glitter in her eyes. Sebastian could not keep his gaze from dropping to her bosom, clearly visible through the sheer gown. Her nipples were dark and engorged.

Alexandra swept her hands to her breasts and cupped them, emphasizing the nipples. “Help me,” she whispered. “I want you to touch me.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he told her, clenching his fists as though physically holding on to his resolve.

“Please…” She circled her nipples with her forefingers, making them harden even more. “I’m burning.”

“You’ll regret this in the morning—more than you can guess now,” he told her in a strangled voice.

Alexandra let out a frustrated noise and slid backward on his legs. That movement created a delightful sensation in her, so she slid forward and back again, then moved onto only one leg. There was more pressure, and she rocked against his leg, seeking relief. She felt so swollen and hot, so frantic with sexual yearning that she was lost to all embarrassment. All she could think of was the heat searing her body, the hunger that clawed inside her.

“Alexandra, don’t!” His voice was desperate, and he clamped his hands on her hips, holding her still. She was tempting him almost past bearing. He felt as though any moment he would lose control completely and slam deep inside her, taking her as no gentleman should take advantage of a woman driven slightly mad by drugs.

Alexandra pouted in a way that made him long to kiss her lips. “All right. Then I’ll do it to you.”

“What?”

Her hands were already busy at his shirt, unbuttoning it down the front. He reached up to take her hands, and she began to move her hips again, freed from his restraint.

“Dammit!” He grabbed her hips once more, and she was free to finish unbuttoning his shirt. She bent and began to kiss his skin, traveling down the tender flesh of his neck and onto his chest. She tasted and licked and kissed, exploring every inch of him, every texture and taste.

Thorpe cursed, vividly and at length, as her hands and mouth roamed his chest, arousing him until he was so hard he thought he must burst. Then she unbuttoned his trousers, her hand slipping inside.

“No!” He set her firmly on the other seat and buttoned his clothes. “Alexandra, stop it! You cannot do this.”

She started to protest, but he held up his hand. “No. Just sit there.”

But he found that even sitting and looking at her was an erotic experience. With that flimsy excuse for a dress, she might as well have been naked. The dress, in fact, was perhaps even worse, for he could see the material lightly scraping over her engorged nipples, arousing them with every breath she took. And her face, the eyes luminous with passion, the lips swollen and damp from his kisses, her cheeks flushed—it took all the control he could muster not to lean across and kiss her.

It was a relief when the carriage rolled to a stop in front of his house and he was able to get out of the cramped quarters. He wrapped his jacket tightly around her shoulders, so that it decently covered most of her. Then he climbed out and reached in to lift her out.

“I can walk,” Alexandra protested.

“Not very well,” he retorted dryly. “Trust me. It will be much better this way.”

He carried her into the house, saying over his shoulder, “Murdock, send a message to her aunt that she is well and I’ll bring her home tomorrow morning. And tell Punwati I want coffee and a meal brought to my room.”

He could not take Alexandra to her house in this condition, he thought. Her aunt would probably collapse when she saw the way Alexandra was dressed—let alone the way she was acting. He would have to do what he could to overcome the drugs in her body and take her home when she was more presentable.

Thorpe carried Alexandra up the stairs and into his bedroom. He set her on the floor. Alexandra let out a sigh of pleasure, turning to look at the room.

“Sebastian…it’s beautiful.”

Though Thorpe had many Indian things scattered throughout his house, it was in his bedroom that he had allowed his love of the country to run free. Thick Indian carpets covered the floor, soft and warm beneath one’s feet, and there were large plush cushions in jewellike colors scattered around the room to sit on. The bed was low and made of teak, with intricate carvings and ivory inlays. The tall English ceiling had been lowered and warmed by swags of material in the same rich tones as the pillows, stretching from the edges of the room to the center, so that the ceiling resembled a rich, Oriental tent. It was a room of texture and color, deeply sensuous, and Alexandra responded to it instinctively.

She crossed to the bed and leaned down, rubbing her hands along the peacock-blue velvet covering. Then she stretched out on the bed, moving against it a little.

Thorpe, watching her, struggled to suppress his desire. He had thought about Alexandra in this room, on his bed, her black hair spread out against the vivid color of the spread, and seeing the reality shook him. It was hard to remember that she was not in full possession of her faculties.

“You need to get out of those clothes,” he told her, striving for a matter-of-fact tone, but the implication of his words hovered in the air around them, charging it with passion.

Irritated, he strode to the large wardrobe against the far wall and pulled out a heavy brocade dressing gown. It was his and, of course, far too large for Alexandra, but it would more than cover her, and that was all that mattered at the moment. He turned to take it to her and stopped, his breath suddenly short in his throat.