Tempted (18 page)

“Follow my lead.”

His words brought her back to the present. She met his enigmatic gaze just as they took their first step. Pain shot up her leg, making her gasp.

“Is it too much?” he asked, halting the slow turn he’d been guiding her through.

Lord, she thought as she stared up at him, if she weren’t so well grounded, she’d be half in love with him for sure…just because he looked down at her so caringly. It made her toes squeeze together.

“I feel as fine as a sixpence.”

She didn’t, but he didn’t need to know that. No, indeed, this was likely the only time she’d ever dance in her life. She would let nothing spoil it.

So she closed her eyes, letting him slowly turn her again, letting her body drift closer—or did he pull her closer?— and then closer still. Letting her mind and her body surrender to the magic, the near fairy-tale quality of being held in his arms. Of dancing with a marquis.

“You look beautiful.”

She opened her eyes. “I know.”

A sharp huff of laughter escaped him, but she ignored it, closing her eyes again, letting her thoughts be swept away by the majesty of the music.

“That dress fits you perfectly.”

She’d been in the midst of imagining herself wearing a coronet, and Mary felt a wee bit irked by his interruption.

“One would think it made for you.”

She opened an eye. That was all she spared him. One. “Your cousin said it belonged to a friend.” The eye snapped closed.

“Oh, I’m sure it does.”

She opened both eyes then, lifting her brows to boot. “M’lord, if you’re thinking I don’t know it belongs to one of his fancy pieces, you’re mistaken. Even
I
know it’s cut too low and too tight to be considered proper.”

Surprise stretched his brows. Well, time he realized she wasn’t a complete fool.

Then those brows drifted down. “On you it looks magnificent.”

Well, maybe she
was
a fool, for her heart pitter-pattered as hard as a senile old sailor’s. “Aye, though I’d wager you’d rather see me
out
of it.”

Did he stumble? She thought he might have.

“Or was it another man who asked me to be his mistress last eve?” she asked.

“It was me. And as I said earlier, I am sorry for it.” “Are you, m’lord,” she asked. “Are you indeed?”

He answered right away with a directness she could not deny. “Yes,” he said, his gaze unwavering as he looked into her eyes. “I am sorry, Mary, for I realize a woman such as yourself has too much pride to become a man’s plaything. You have the most amazing ability to take care of yourself. Indeed, you are a rare gem amongst females and I’m sorry that I offended you.”

And lord help her, she felt something inside her shift and tilt like glass in a kaleidoscope. And from nowhere came the thought that she truly liked this man. Liked that he accepted his faults, oftentimes apologizing for them. She liked the way that he sometimes coddled her. Lord, that he’d tried to carry her in his arms even when it became patently obvious that he lacked the strength to do so. But most of all, she liked the way he fought his desire for her, never pressing himself upon her, never making crass comments, just telling her he desired her in that forthright way of his, and then offering her the only solution to the problem he could think of.

“ ’Tis all right, my lord,” she said, seeing the genuine relief that filled his eyes. “And I thank you for understanding why I said no, and for not pressing the matter.”

He nodded his head, saying, “Friends?”

Oh, God, she didn’t want to be his friend, she suddenly realized, she wanted to be so much more than that.

“Friends,” she said over a lump in her throat because she couldn’t escape the truth:

I could fall in love with him.

She stiffened.

Oh, aye, Mary. You could.

“Does your foot pain you again?” he asked. Good lord.

She was half in love with him already.

Chapter Eighteen

Something had changed. Something barely there but obvious enough for Alex to see. She still danced with him. He still held her, but she was no longer there.

What?
Demme!
What? He’d sensed her softening. Sensed her acceptance of him. Felt that she might, indeed, be coming to forgive him.

He tried to draw her nearer. She resisted. He wondered what the devil to do.

And then, all too quickly, the dance ended. Applause erupted from the crowd. Alex looked up, surprised to realize that they had, indeed, been the only ones on the floor.

She pulled away.

“Is it your feet?” he asked again.

She pushed through bodies, moving at a pace that made Alex suspect it was not at all her feet that bothered her, but something in her mind. Damnation, but he almost had to run to catch up. What the devil?

“Mary,” he said when she reached the same seat she’d vacated earlier. “If you are in pain, you have only to say. I would be happy to escort you home.”

She wouldn’t meet his eyes, and that, more than anything, worried Alex. Mary was, always, direct and to the point. She never hid her head or gave a man anything less than the truth. It was a trait he esteemed the most about her.

“I should like to go home.”

And her voice sounded different, too. Or perhaps she was just mimicking her betters. Ballocks, but he wished he could see into her mind.

“I’ll call for the carriage.”

People stared at him as he turned away, Alex tempted to tell the whole room to go to the devil. Hadn’t they ever seen a lord before? Well, of course they had. His cousin. Yet they kept bowing and nodding as if he were the king of England.

You are heir to a dukedom, Alex, and they are not likely to meet someone of your rank ever again.

And, indeed, it was true, though Alex heartily appreciated the way Mary treated him as opposed to the way this crowd reacted. At least she reacted to his person rather than his title.

In due course the carriage was brought around, a groomsman with a torch running in front of it to light the choppy ground. Alex turned back to the assembly room, reluctant to fetch Mary, reluctant because he wanted to spend more time with her, wanted to converse with her, to forget for a night that their worlds were so far apart. Alas, it wasn’t meant to be. He turned, shrugging into his cousin’s borrowed gray great cloak, his cravat getting in the way of the catch. It took him a moment to realize the reason why he had such a hard time was because his hands shook.

Devil take it, his hands shook.

He straightened, taking a deep breath before going inside. She was right where he left her, staring at the ground, no one daring to approach her, Alex wishing someone would. He would do anything to see her smile again.

In due course her own cloak was fetched, another castoff from his cousin’s mistress, no doubt. Spotted ermine framed the hood, the white fur making her look like a fairy princess.

They stepped onto the stone that led down to the waiting carriage. And like magic, the moon slid through a break in the clouds. They both halted, both looked up as one.

“It stopped raining,” she observed.

Ah. Words. “Indeed.”

“We should be able to return to your father’s on the morrow.”

Return? Tomorrow? He didn’t want to think about that.

“Mary, I—” What?

She turned to look at him, and Alex knew he would never forget the sight of her in that moonlight, the tip of her nose and cheeks and chin illuminated by the light. Her hair peeked out a bit from the edge of the hood, her green eyes looking the color of jade as they stared up with him in…what? Was it fear? Sadness?
Desire
?

She lifted a brow, waiting for him to finish. “Nothing.”

She turned, saying, “Mud,” as she stared down at the sodden ground.

And Alex felt the most ridiculous urge to take off his greatcoat and lay it down. And why not? It was, after all, his cousin’s. Serve him a well-deserved lesson—

Mary leapt.

It was the only way to describe it. She flew through the air like a witch without a broom. Alex’s jaw dropped at the sight. Even the footman yelped, then just as quickly said, “Well done, ma’am,” as she landed inside. When finished, she peeked around the edge of the door frame as if to say, “Well, hurry up then.”

Alex glanced at the footman. The man lifted a brow. Alex leapt, too, only he knew immediately he wasn’t going to make it, even tried to compensate for it by twisting about, which only made it worse, for he ended up a half-foot short of his mark and face down.

“Doop,” he thought he heard the footman say, but it might have been
damn
, for Alex’s ears were suddenly clogged with mud, as were his nostrils, mouth and eyes.

“Good lord.”

That he recognized as Mary’s voice, masculine hands reaching down to help lift him up.

He was stuck in the mud.

No exaggeration about it. Bloody stuck in the mud like a rock in sand. He couldn’t move, hands having to jerk him free, Alex by turns seeing mud, the servant’s face, then mud again.

“Good lord,” he thought he heard Mary repeat, and he wasn’t sure (his ears were still a bit clogged) but he thought he heard laughter soot the edges of her words.

He tried to see, but the bloody mud kept smearing his vision. He tried to wipe it away, only made it worse, for his hands were covered. “I don’t suppose you have a rag, my good man,” he said to the hovering groomsman.

Something white and vaguely resembling a square was waved in front of him. Ah. A handkerchief. “Thank you.”

His eyes were cleaned first, which enabled him to see Mary staring down at him from the carriage. His ears were next, thus allowing him to hear a slight huffing sound that signaled laughter and that the torch above him hissed and sizzled. He wiped his face last, air catching the wetness and turning his skin cold. When he’d finished, he handed the muddy handkerchief back to the groom who held it out before him like it stank.

“Give me your direction and I’ll buy you a new one,” Alex said.

“I work for the earl, m’lord. No need to pay a thing.” “I insist, my good man.”

The groom seemed to wilt. Alex realized after a moment that he’d doubled over in laughter, his knees bending as he squatted near the ground. It was as if he couldn’t take it anymore and unable to hold his chuckles back a second longer, he just collapsed. The coachman on the box began to howl, too, then every other person within sight.

A week ago Alex might have been furious that they dared laugh in his face.

A week ago he might have insisted his cousin fire the lot…well, those that worked for him.

A week ago he hadn’t been kidnapped, arrested and sprung by a woman who’d confounded, amused and flabbergasted him in return…a woman he’d wounded by asking her to become his mistress, a woman, he realized, whose laughter he’d wanted very badly to hear, for he suspected Mary Callahan needed laughter in her life.

“I would not laugh if I were you,” he pretended outrage for Mary. “For ’tis
you
all who shall have to put up with my sodden presence.”

The wheezing inside the carriage had settled into low chuckles now. He took a step, almost lost his shoes to the sucking mud, but managed to slog his way to the carriage door. He looked inside.

The carriage lantern hanging next to the driver’s seat illuminated her perfectly. There were tears in her eyes, though they were, of course, tears of amusement, and he could swear it was a kind of worry and a sadness, but he must be mistaken, though there could be no doubt about the smile on her lips. Her mouth—that adorable, sassy mouth—grinned widely, her lovely teeth flashing as she tried to contain herself.

“Oh, my lord,” she said. “If you only knew how much I needed that laugh.”

And then her eyes grew sad again—yes, it was definitely sadness he saw as her laughter slowly faded. Why was she sad? And what would it take to make the laughter return? Straightening, he undid his greatcoat, the fabric so heavy with water and mud, he almost felt lighter when he handed it to the waiting groom.

“Do something with this,” he said, using the carriage frame to pull himself inside. When he settled himself opposite her, he began to undo his jacket. Well, Rein’s jacket, not that his cousin would likely want it back.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Relieving myself of a wet jacket.”

She seemed to freeze—odd, that—for she seemed to pale a bit, too.

“Really, m’lord, is that necessary?”

He drew himself up. “Yes, it’s necessary. I’m as wet as a goose and smell like one, too.” He finished removing his jacket, handing it, too, to the waiting groom, then his waistcoat. And when he finished, he realized she was back to avoiding his gaze again, and it was then that he had the revelation.

He leaned back against the seat, reeling with it. Then slowly, keeping his gaze firmly fixed upon her, he began to undo his shirt.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her expression turning horrified.

“Why, I’m removing my shirt.”

“But that, that’s—”

“Unseemly?” And he took great pride in, for once, finishing a sentence for
her.

“Well, yes.”

Slowly, feeling rather naughty and not at all very gentlemanlike, he continued to undo the buttons. She turned her head to the side. Wouldn’t even peek at him.

Hah
, he wanted to cry.
Hah, hah, hah.
He knew it. He just knew it.

She found him attractive, so much so that she didn’t want him to be undressed and be near her.

If Alex had been a peacock, he would have fanned his tail feathers. He was, alas, a man, and so he settled for having some very manly thoughts, even though he told himself he’d best not let the knowledge go to his head, for he would never be uncouth enough to press his advantage now that she’d refused his advances.

“Here’s a cloth for you, m’lord,” said the groom, handing one inside.

“Ah, thank you,” he said, feeling rather smug. By God, her attraction to him made him feel good.

And then he caught a glimpse of her nipples. Her
hard
nipples, the cloak she wore covering just the edge of her breasts, the thin fabric of her dress revealing two taut peaks. Cold? Beneath that cloak? Having come from inside the assembly room?

He didn’t think so, but just to test his theory, he said, “Did I get it all?”

She wouldn’t look at him, and one thing Alex knew about Mary Callahan: she wasn’t shy. It wasn’t maidenly affront that caused her to avert her gaze. It wasn’t embarrassment, not when he’d seen her in next to nothing— bother that—absolutely nothing. She just plain lacked the courage to turn to him.

“Here, m’lord.” And bless the groom’s heart, he handed in a rug. Alex almost smiled, thanking the man, then wrapped it around him.

“Well?” he asked when he was covered from the waist up. “Did I get it all?”

Finally, she looked at him, and finally, he saw the answer in her eyes.

No fear. No embarrassment. Just a hurried glance that spoke volumes, even though all she said was one word: “Yes.”

“Will that be all, m’lord?” the servant asked.

Alex turned to the man, nodding, suddenly wanting to be alone with her more than he’d wanted anything in his life. “Yes. And my thanks, sir. I shall commend you to my cousin the earl.”

The man pulled his forelock, a countrified show of respect that always made Alex wince, then closed the door.

Darkness enveloped them. Through the glass in the door they could see the torch being carried away, the lantern near the coachman’s box taking over.

Alex began to remove his shoes.

“What are you doing?”

He paused, looked into her wide-eyed gaze. “Removing my shoes. The wetness is making my feet cold.”

Did he see her swallow? Could she be that affected? She could. Indeed, if she felt half of what he felt for her, she would be on the verge of losing control, and Alex, who prided himself on his measured, well-ordered life, suddenly wanted to chuck it all. He wanted to lose control. With her. Now. Tonight. Alas, his scruples wouldn’t let him.

He slowly removed his shoes. She looked away again. The carriage began to move off, lurching suddenly as if the wheels had been stuck and the horses forced to pull hard.

He didn’t do it on purpose, truth be told, he was hardly thinking straight when it happened. Alex was forced to steady himself thanks to that lurch, forced to reach out a hand, a hand that landed on her knee.

She gasped.

He froze.

And then they lunged at each other. Lord, like two half-crazed individuals, they went at it. A part of Alex registered this, just as a part of him registered that it was
she
kissing
him
.
Her
pressing those soft, pliant lips against
his
.
She
who was assaulting
him
, attacking his lips in the same, forthright manner she applied to everything else in life.

And god help him, he couldn’t resist.