Julia London (71 page)

A strange emotion flickered in his eyes. “Not nearly as lovely as the recipient,” he said quietly.

That unexpected and tender compliment washed over her. Unsteadily, she took a step toward the curb as the hack rolled to a halt. The footman jumped down from the rear running board, and moved toward the little door.

“Hold!” Alex suddenly barked. Startled, Lauren jerked around to face him. He began to move steadily toward her. Instinctively, she made a desperate lunge for the hack, but somehow, he reached it before her.

“Hold, driver!” he called as his arm shot up beside her, effectively barring the door and blocking her from the curious gaze of any onlooker. “Thank you, that will be all,” he said to the footman. The man glanced uneasily at Lauren, but not one to argue with a duke, he quickly pivoted on his heel and disappeared through the gate.

Trapped between the hack and his powerful frame, Lauren pressed into the carriage as he slowly leaned into her, bracing his weight against the hack. His eyes flicked across her bosom, lingered on her pursed lips, then traveled slowly to her eyes. “God help me, but you intrigue me, Lauren,” he murmured. His sweet breath fanned her cheek, sending a convulsive shiver down her spine. “So full of surprises, aren’t you? I can’t help but wonder if that giant is worthy of your affections.”

His nearness was a powerful drug on her senses—her knees shook and she frantically clutched her reticule to her stomach. “Who … Magnus?” she mumbled thoughtlessly.

A lazy smile stretched his lips, contradicting the dark, pointed look in his green eyes. “Yes, him.”

Unconsciously, her eyes fell to his mouth. The memory of that long ago kiss came flooding back to her in the form of a queer tingle in the pit of her stomach. Intuitively, she understood herself to be on dangerous ground. “I—I think you sh-should leave me alone,” she stammered.

“I think I should too, but I am afraid I cannot.” With that startling revelation, he leaned closer and gently laid his palm against her cheek. Lauren drew a sharp breath at his gentle touch, astounded by the heat that quickly spread down her neck.

He meant to kiss her.

For one insane moment, she desperately hoped he would, but when she felt his breath against her lips, fear, propriety, and the image of Lady Marlaine caused her to bring her
hand up and push against his chest.
“Don’t do it,”
she whispered frantically.

The husky timbre of her voice sent blood pumping furiously through Alex’s veins. He covered her hand with his and pressed it tightly against his racing heart. She gasped; her gaze locked on his hand. God, but he was powerless to resist her, and slowly he leaned down until his mouth brushed lightly against her full lips. Jolted by the warmth of her breath, he groaned softly and leaned into her, delicately painting her lips with his. The tension left her jaw, and he swept his tongue inside the forbidden sweetness, savoring the faint taste of wine, the smooth veneer of her teeth.

He could feel the tremble in her slender body and he deepened the kiss, wanting to fill his senses with her. Her head tilted backward as his kiss grew more insistent; her fingers slowly fanned across his rapidly beating heart. Dangerous desire spiraled through him, unfurling rapidly in his groin.

The sound of voices shook him; Lady Pritchit’s sharp voice calling good night shattered the moment. Stunned, he jerked his head up and pivoted about, dropping Lauren’s hand from his chest. The Pritchits were at the threshold of his aunt’s house, preparing to leave. He stumbled backward as Lauren clumsily pushed past him and climbed into the hack unaided.

She had dropped her reticule. He was, uncharacteristically and overwhelmingly, embarrassed. He hastily picked up the little beaded bag and handed it to her. Lauren refused to meet his gaze, staring straight ahead, clearly mortified. He shot a look at the driver and commanded hoarsely, “Russell Square.”

A rush of shameful anxiety escaped his lungs as the carriage turned toward the park. The guilt and shock at what he had just done warred with the heat of her, the
taste
of her that still coursed through his veins. He ran a hand through his hair, realized he was trembling slightly, and shoved both
hands in his pockets. That was, he thought madly, a
very
close call—in more ways than one.

He turned and walked shakily out of the shadows and toward the house, calling a greeting to his aunt.

Lauren’s sleep was unsettled after that reckless kiss. In the morning she awoke with feelings that were new to her, and conflicting thoughts of Alex. The only thing that saved her from going completely mad was the arrival of two letters from Rosewood. Davis thrust them at her the moment she finished breakfast; with a delighted cry, Lauren closeted herself in the small dining room to read them.

Mrs. Peterman, in her weekly letter, proudly reported a bumper crop of tomatoes, which Fastidious Thadeus was doing his best to trade at his apothecary shop. The second letter filled her with joy. In her sprawling girlish handwriting, Lydia used many exclamation points to relay the news that Ramsey Baines had smiled at her after church services. After a long, rambling discussion of that monumental event, she wrote that Leonard and Rupert were repairing another fence, and that Theodore requested a book of poetry if there were funds for such an extravagance. Horace had fashioned a pirate’s hat from one of Lauren’s old bonnets and could not be persuaded to remove it, even when Mrs. Peterman
had threatened to cut his head off at the neck. Sally, bless her heart, missed Paul so badly that she made him the guest of honor at all her imaginary tea parties, which she hosted at least twice daily.

A haze of unshed tears filled her eyes. She missed the children desperately, but Ethan’s promise of a trip to Rosewood had been put off for another fortnight. He had railed at her when she protested, claiming that it was her own fault, and when she decided on one of the two good offers he had for her hand, she could return to Rosewood.

If that was to be the prerequisite, she might never see Rosewood again. She was suddenly reminded of Magnus repeating his offer just two nights past, and his avowal that he was prepared to wait for her answer as long as it took. It was touching in a way; his rugged face looked almost hopeful, as if he somehow believed that she could come to love him. In another place and time, she might have considered his offer.
Might
have. But at that moment and more so now, the only thing she could think of was Alex, and her heart unexpectedly twisted in her chest.

With a heavy sigh, she glanced at the clock. There was still enough time to respond to Lydia’s letter before Lord Westfall called. Better she occupy her thoughts with something before despair swallowed her whole.

   Alex galloped to a lake in the middle of Hyde Park and reined the mare to a sharp halt. Pushing his hat back from his forehead, he frowned at the water as the horse drank her fill. Marlaine’s demeanor this morning still perplexed him. He had offered to take her to the park as she had requested last evening, but she had looked at him strangely and had asked in that soft way of hers if he did not have a previous engagement. After explaining his appointment had been canceled, Marlaine considered him curiously for a long moment, then politely declined, citing a headache.

She did not have a headache. No, she was rather extraordinarily
perturbed by his invitation, that had been clear. She had obviously mistaken his gesture of conciliation as something altogether odious. It had irritated him to the extent that he had come to the park alone—an event, he mused, that was as unprecedented as it was boring. It was not as if he did not have a mountain of work waiting for him and a speech to prepare for the Lords. He would take the mare around again, he decided, then return home.

He did not allow himself to think why, exactly, he had come in the first place. Nor did he dare to think about that kiss last night. What must he have been thinking?
Bloody, bloody fool.

He tugged the horse around and started forward, his thoughts still on Marlaine’s reticence. Surely whatever ailed her would be forgotten with a new bracelet. Mulling it over, he turned onto the main path just as David’s phaeton rounded a bend ahead of him. His cousin didn’t see him. He was too engrossed in his conversation with Lauren.

Alex felt an immediate constriction in his chest at the sight of her with David. How ridiculous! He had heard them make plans for the drive today—bloody hell, it was the reason he had come, whether he wanted to admit it or not. He slowed his horse to a walk, greatly irritated with himself. This was
absurd.
He was engaged to be married, had his pick of the prettiest mistresses in London, and had absolutely no business chasing about the park on the slim hope of seeing a young woman. It mattered little that her kiss had ignited him—he should go home and stop this
pointless
pursuit.

Inexplicably, he did not move as the phaeton headed straight for him. “David!” he called. His cousin’s head jerked up, and seeing Alex, he hastily pulled the carriage to a halt. Lauren, shading her eyes with her hand, looked up, her blue eyes slicing across him. For a brief moment, she looked almost sick. It did not set well with him at all, and he shifted uncomfortably in his saddle.

“Sutherland! What a surprise!” David grinned. “Good day, David. Countess, it is a pleasure,” he said coolly.

“Thank you,” she answered tightly, and glanced at her lap.

“Nice piece of horseflesh you’ve got there. Must be the mare you gave Lady Marlaine?”

Alex flinched inwardly at the mention of Marlaine. “It is. She is not comfortable riding her just yet.”

“Ah, not a better day to practice, either,” David said wistfully. “I thought to take Countess Bergen around to Kensington Gardens. Why don’t you tie her to the back of the carriage and ride along?”

Lauren’s mouth dropped open, clearly appalled by the suggestion.
That
made him angry, angry enough that he impetuously decided that she would just have to put up with him. No country countess was going to keep him from enjoying a very fine afternoon. “Grand idea, Westfall,” he said, and swung a leg over the saddle, dropping quickly to the ground. He secured the mare’s reins to the back of the phaeton, reminding himself that she was just another woman, even if she did happen to be the only one in all of London who could not abide him. He marched around to the side of the phaeton and hauled himself onto the seat. David had climbed down to adjust the harness, and Lauren, damn it, was staring at him as if he had sprouted horns.

He had not sprouted horns, in Lauren’s humble estimation. He had become, impossibly, even more ruggedly handsome in his brown coat and skintight buff breeches. She recalled that she once thought he looked like a man who scaled mountains. Scaled them? He probably
rearranged
them!

“Countess Bergen?” Lord Westfall said, motioning at the carriage seat. She moved a fraction of an inch and busied herself with rearranging her skirts. When Lord Westfall vaulted upward, practically landing in her lap, she did not so
much as breathe. She scooted another fraction of inch toward the duke. Lord Westfall wriggled uncomfortably and cast a meaningful look at her. She reluctantly scooted another inch, then another, until her escort was satisfied and her thigh was pressed tightly against the duke’s iron one.

The chestnut lurched forward with a slap of the reins, and the sudden movement of the carriage caused her to pitch against Alex. Lauren frantically righted herself, perching precariously on the edge of the seat with a spine as straight and stiff as Lady Pritchit’s attitude.

“Where did you find the mare?” Lord Westfall asked.

“Rouen.”

France?
Dear God, the expense of bringing that horse across the channel must have been greater than the price of the horse itself!

“A trotter then?” Lord Westfall continued.

“Yes.”

Lord Westfall chuckled. “Lady Marlaine must get on her back if she’s to learn to ride her.”

“She will,” Alex responded curtly.

Her escort laughed cheerfully. “Yes, I rather suspect she will,” he grinned, then lapsed into a monologue about horse-breeding in Rouen, a subject, apparently, with which he was well acquainted. Lauren barely heard Alex’s clipped responses, she could scarcely even breathe with his thigh searing an imprint into her own. She concentrated on her lap, stealing furtive glimpses of those powerful thighs. His strong hands, encased in supple leather gloves, rode lightly on his knees. She remembered the feel of his palm on her cheek, and a furious blush crept into her face. Mortified by her body’s sudden revolt, she did not notice they had come to the gardens until Lord Westfall pointed out a particularly colorful patch of columbine.

“Lovely,” she muttered.

“Why, they are the best in all of England,” Lord Westfall exclaimed as he brought the carriage to a halt.

“Perhaps Countess Bergen is indifferent to flowers,” Alex remarked coolly.

Indifferent? If only he knew! She risked a look at him then. His jaw clamped firmly shut, he returned her gaze with a look of cool displeasure.

The mare began to neigh, jerking at her tether. “She’s a bit unsettled, Alex. You might have to ride it out of her,” Lord Westfall said, peering over his shoulder.

Apathetically, Alex asked, “Want to give it a go?”

Lord Westfall jerked forward to peer around her, grinning eagerly. Oh
no
, he was going to leave her with him! She tried to catch his eye, but Lord Westfall was far too enamored of the mare, and did not hesitate to toss the reins to Alex as he clambered out of the carriage with boyish enthusiasm. “Perhaps a quick turn about the park. What say I meet you at the entrance? You don’t mind, do you, Countess?” he asked, but had already untied the mare.

She honestly had no idea if she minded or not, because she could not even
think.
Speechless, she watched Lord Westfall swing up onto the mare’s back and rein in tightly to keep her from bucking. With a jaunty wave, he galloped off, his coat billowing behind him. She was still watching him in disbelief when the carriage started forward.