An Unforgettable Rogue (8 page)

When all was said and done, however, even though she was not his choice, Hawksworth was her first and only choice. In addition, they were already married—till death do them part. But life could seem a very long time, if one was feeling neglected and … needy.

If Hawksworth did not plan to seduce her, then, perhaps, she should try and seduce him.

If only she knew how.

She supposed there were worse schemes than to seduce one’s own husband. Though seduction seemed too good for him, considering his reason for marrying her, and the fact that he waited so blasted long to let her know he lived. Punishment seemed a better choice.

Just thinking about his
offenses
made her angry all over again. And sad, and hurt, and … devil it, she wanted him to
know
how much he hurt her. She wanted him to
feel
her pain.

What she should do, Alex thought, turning yet again in her formerly comfortable bed, was make him worship her, as she had always worshipped him, to the point that she might pay him back in kind.

Let him ache to have her and see her walk away.

To do that, she would have to make him think she wanted him, until he wanted her as desperately. Then, when she was certain of his adoration, she could tell him of her coldhearted plan to even the score between them. Better yet, she would get one of her friends, or his, to do the telling.

Let him see how that felt.

Then she could walk away.

CHAPTER NINE

Alex sat up in the bed, for it seemed, at once, obvious and clear, that only after Hawk understood how much he had hurt her would they be free to go forward with their marriage on an equal footing. In which case, seducing him just might turn out to be the smartest plan she had ever hatched … and she had hatched several noteworthy schemes in her time.

She would do it, she thought, as she lay back against her pillows. As soon as she figured out how one went about conducting a seduction, she would begin a
captivating
campaign.

Alex smiled in the darkness, wishing she knew who she could ask about seductions in general.

When Chesterfield had embraced and kissed her, sometimes at length, he would tremble and close his eyes, as if against pain, and tell her that he wanted her. When she questioned him, he promised that after their wedding, he would teach her everything about married love, to set her as afire for him as he was for her.

If she had married him yesterday, she might now be receiving her second lesson.

Alexandra knew from her lack of regret that she must be in a bad way, for she did not pine for Chesterfield or his lessons. No, she had rather lie needy beside Hawksworth till the end of her days, than be set afire in Chesterfield’s arms even once.

She rolled to her side to regard her husband, his marred, but no less striking features lit by the moon. He may no longer be perfect of face, but no woman capable of drawing breath would be able to resist his air of masculine danger and denied vulnerability. Especially not she, who had been unable to resist him at his arrogant worst, or best, however one considered it.

Then again, had there not always been something of a hurt-boy vulnerability about him, which had simply risen to prominence with his scars from the war?

Lord, had nothing changed? She loved him. She wanted to protect him, to heal his hurts.

She desired him.

His topaz eyes still shown more than the jewels themselves, especially when he gazed at her pensively or furiously, as if he wanted nothing more than to set her over his knee—the delicious way he appeared when she said she would live in sin with Chesterfield.

Alex shivered.

At the inn along the way, when Bryce left her to go upstairs and refresh himself, she noticed that he was as small of waist, as broad of shoulders, and as firm of bottom as ever—good form for a man, in her estimation. And in his black brocade dressing gown tonight, which formidable sight stole her breath, as he snuffed the candle, she could not help think him the most tantalizing rogue she ever hoped to make her own.

She tried to touch his leg with her foot, just then, but she could not quite reach. Sliding surreptitiously closer, so as not to awaken him, she stretched and tried again, but encountered his dressing gown.

Moving closer still, Alex slid her toes beneath the brocade silk and touched his bare foot.

He stirred.

She stilled, her heart beating as fast as a careening carriage.

After a minute, she moved her seeking foot further upward, a bit past his ankle and toward his calf.

Bryce moaned. Alex warmed. This could work.

Afraid to go further, lest she rouse the self-proclaimed beast, she was cheered nonetheless by the possibility of seduction as a form of vengeance, which came very near—in her mind—to eating one’s sweetmeats and keeping them, too.

With a smile on her lips, Alex slipped as near Bryce as she dared, without disturbing him, to savor the simple joy of sleeping beside the man she loved.

She longed for him to hold her; again, as he did in the carriage, but perhaps her forwardness put him off. Perhaps
he
had rather be the seducer. It was something to think about, she supposed, perhaps.

Right now, however, unable to resist temptation, Alex reached over to place her hand against his chest, atop the blanket.

To her surprise, at the contact, Bryce swept her into his arms, clasped her tight and spoke her name.

With a grin of triumph, heart singing, head tucked beneath his chin, top to tail against various and sundry parts of his firm torso, Alexandra reveled in her unforgettable rogue’s possessive embrace.

Tears filled her eyes for all her years of missing him and for having him back, beyond all imagining. And when she calmed and emotion turned to joy, Alex realized a little something about seduction. It must have to do with figuring out what those various and interesting parts were for and why one of them seemed actually to be pulsing.

Hawk woke to the light of bright morning, shocked and erect, and clutching a handful of titillating breast. Alexandra’s knee was positioned against his naked and vulnerable groin, her hand riding dangerously low inside his dressing gown.

More than anything, he wanted to explore the possibilities, but he had not the right, if he planned to let her go, which he must. Besides, since his bride was unused to having a man in her bed—please, God—he was afraid that if he took to exploring, he might surprise her into moving her knee a little too hard and a bit too fast, which could injure him the worse.

While he pondered his precarious situation, Hawk noticed, between the hanks of hair in her face, that Alex was watching him. “Do not move your knee,” he said, softly, so as not to startle her. But she must have realized just where it rested, because she jumped and did exactly what he tried to avoid.

“Oomph. Ouch! Alex, be careful.”

Like a spring-wound toy, she shot up and knelt over him. “Bryce, I am sorry.” She tugged on the bedcovers to pull them down. “Did I hurt your leg? Let me see.”

Hawk fought for his modesty, and won, barely. “My leg is fine.

“Are you certain? Because if it is festering, and I bumped it….”

“It is not festering, but fully healed and pain-free at the moment.”

Alex released her breath and lay back down beside him. “Thank God.”

Hawk shuddered at the throbbing soreness in his nether regions. “They should have put you in the bible—pestilence, flood, famine, and Alexandra Huntington.”

With a proud, man-slaying smile, his bride turned to face him across the pillow. “Make that, pestilence, flood, famine, and Alexandra
Wakefield
, thank you very much.”

“Sorry, I forgot.”

“You forgot?” Again, she shot up … and shoved him from the bed.

Caught off guard, Hawk grasped the blankets and landed with a curse.

Alex rose and stepped right over him. “I am determined to cure you of that.”

“Of what?” he snapped, closing his dressing gown beneath the blankets, and trying not to stare at her in that appallingly diaphanous nightrail.

“Of forgetting that I am your wife.”

“Oh.” Giving up the fight, Hawk pillowed his head in his hands and crossed his ankles, while his unrepentant bride fluffed her hair into a billowy curtain of cinnamon silk and stretched like a svelte and contented feline.

Like a practiced coquette, mischief in her glance, she watched him as she untied her bodice ribbons, not entirely unaware that the light of morning, behind her, turned her gown to air, and revealed every scintillating freckle on her lush and feminine form.

Hawk became aroused just watching, another very good sign, indeed.

He used to worry that the London doctor he visited when he returned to England was offering hope where only despair existed, but the medical man had been right after all. Time and rest did help. Last night had been his best night’s sleep in ages, entangled with Alex, as it were, and this morning, he felt new again. Not that he should be making a practice of such entanglements in the future, but the novelty of his sexual awakening was worth the risk.

Alex arched a wry brow. “With no more than the hint of a smile lighting your eyes, you still remind me of the proverbial cat that ate the cream,” she said. “But you should be hanging your head in shame for forgetting that I am your wife and a woman grown.”

Hawk quirked a brow. “You may safely assume that your womanhood has been made abundantly clear to me at this juncture.”

She tried to kick off his covers, but Hawk caught her foot and stroked her shapely ankle, until she closed her eyes and sighed.

When he made to slide his hand higher, she squeaked in surprise and Hawk let her go, knowing it was best, but before he realized what she was about, she succeeded in uncovering him.

Her turn to quirk a brow as she regarded the evidence of his manhood, as stark as her womanhood, though better-covered. “Care to explain that?” she asked, with feminine satisfaction, of the arousal raising his dressing gown. “It used to happen to Judson all the time. Oh, but … where did it go?”

Shot with possessive fury, Hawk sat up. “You distracted me with your nonsensical chatter about your beef-witted suitor. I would have expected
him
to teach you what you wanted to know; though I am pleased I overestimated him.” His harsh tone surprised even Hawk, but before he could apologize, he saw that Alex’s eyes were no longer bright with mischief, but glistening with tears.

Even as she stepped away, Hawk wanted to call his words back. “Devil take it!” Hurting her had not been his intention. “Alex, I did not mean—”

A stifled sob escaped her as she ran.

“Wait, come back.” Hawk could not stand quick enough to stop her, before her dressing room door shut with finality.

Alex paced, attempting, at the same time, to catch her breath. What had just happened? What did Hawksworth mean, touching her ankle, her leg, in the way she would allow only a husband, only him to do, then insinuating that she might have permitted Chesterfield such liberties before their marriage.

She leaned against the door separating them and closed her eyes, tears slipping beneath her lashes, despite her attempt to stem the flow, despite her fury at herself for allowing them.

Her breasts ached and that place between her legs pulsed. There, she wanted Hawksworth, with a need, nay a desperation, the likes of which she had not experienced with Chesterfield, or anyone.

Had Bryce continued touching her, she suspected what might have happened had been the
something wonderful
Chesterfield enigmatically promised, but she sensed only Bryce could deliver.

After what he had just implied, however, how could she get close enough again to find out?

Alex turned and touched her brow to the door. “Why did you say such a horrid thing,” she asked, smacking her palm against the shuddering portal as if it were her stubborn husband’s chest. “Why?”

“Because I am a weak, jealous bastard,” Hawk said as faintly as her words had come to him. He closed his eyes, regret lancing him for causing her pain once more.

Why had he said it? Hawk wondered. Anger? Jealousy? Because he could not make love to her. Because if he consummated their marriage, he would bind her to him, without hope for her future, damn it to bloody hell.

She also deserved better than his abuse, which he had not intended.

He should grant her an immediate annulment and leave Huntington Lodge without looking back. He was too jaded for such an innocent. And still, he wanted to go to her, now, this minute, apologize until she granted him forgiveness, except that he must stand before he could take a step to do anything more.

Bracing himself against the agony of rising, Hawk realized that he deserved all the wretchedness God saw fit to give him, so he closed his eyes and pulled himself upright, be damned to the pain.

After anguish, at length, passed, he released his breath and opened his eyes … only to find Alexandra on the opposite side of the bed, horror etching her features and paling her skin to flour paste. “Lexy, forgive me. I can be a blackguard, sometimes.”

“You said you were free of pain, but in pushing you down, I hurt you by making you rise again.”

“Not as badly as I hurt you.”

“You move always with some difficulty; I noticed that. But rising from so far must be—

“Getting easier by the day. Alex, listen. About my unforgivable insinuation—”

“I am sorry I pushed you. I meant only to be playful.”  ex lowered herself to sit on the bed, keeping her back to him.

“I wish I could say the same.” Hawk came around to sit beside her. He tried to take her hand, though it turned out that he ended up fighting her for it and lost. “Damn it, will you not hear me out?”

She looked him full in the face. “Not now. Please, I do not wish to speak of it, right now.”

“So be it, then. But later, you will hear what I have to say, if I have to tie you to the bed.”

With the image his promise engendered, life shot through Hawk once more, and he cursed his fickle body as he rose.

“Breakfast in half an hour, your grace,” Myerson called from the dressing room.

“Just a minute, man.” Hawk handed Alex a more modest dressing gown, and once she donned it, he called his valet into the room. “Since I no longer have bachelor quarters, or even a separate bedchamber, I will not require your services as valet for the nonce, but I do believe if it is agreeable to you that her grace has tasks you might perform about the house.” He looked to Alex for confirmation.

She had composed herself admirably. “Thank you, Hawksworth. Yes, Myerson, we very much need your services, if you do not mind. Meet me in the kitchen in an hour and I will go over your new duties. Until then, and if you have already broken your fast, you may see if Mrs. Parker can use your help.”

“Very Good, your grace.”

After Myerson left, Alexandra went wordlessly into her dressing room, shutting the door.

Hawk dressed and made his way downstairs. Alex needed time to compose herself, and he required even more time to dislodge his very big foot from his very big mouth.

As he entered the breakfast room, conversation came to an abrupt, uncomfortable halt.

Hawk took the empty chair beside his uncle. “Good morning.” He nodded and took to buttering a piece of toast, aware he was cross as a bear. “Do not stop talking on my account,” he said, assuming that they must have been discussing his disfigurement, or his overlong absence, or any number of subjects for which he was heartily embarrassed.