Wicked Angel (21 page)

God, right to the gut. It wasn't enough that he felt a complete heel for what he had done to her last night, or that she seemed to think it was little more than a moment's indiscretion. It wasn't enough that his desire to see her again confused him on a level too deep to fathom. But she had to mention Marlaine, the
one
person in all of bloody England he did not want to think about at the moment. "August," he ground out.

"Lady Marlaine shall make a lovely bride." She attempted to smile, but it seemed to be painted on her face. Her eyes said something altogether different.

"Not as lovely a bride as you will make," he said softly.

Lauren gaped at him. "I beg your pardon, your grace, but I find your compliments… rather perplexing," she said, frowning.

Perplexing and damned annoying, he would grant her that. But not nearly as annoying as a streak of unwarranted, unfounded jealousy. Alex swept the hat from his head and shoved a hand through his hair.

She cocked her head to one side, frowning prettily at him. In the dappled light beneath the branches of a willow, her face reminded him of a fine painting in which one discovered something new every time one looked. His pulse began to beat at a clip. "Do you enjoy paintings?" he asked idly.

Surprise scudded across her face. "Pardon?"

"Do you enjoy paintings? Portraits, that sort of thing?"

She looked at him as if he had just asked her to shoot his expensive mare. "I—I—why do you ask?" she asked warily as he strolled toward her.

"You remind me of a portrait."

"
A portrait?
"

A priceless portrait at that, he thought, and at the moment, the view was his alone. "Does that disturb

you?"

"Well…
what
portrait?" she asked suspiciously.

He casually circled her, covertly admiring her from all angles while he pretended to take in their surroundings. He came to a deliberate halt behind her, taking in the flush of her neck, the soft curve of her shoulder. " '
Mine eye hath played the painter and hath stelled thy beauty's form in table of my
heart. My body is the frame wherein 'tis held, and perspective it is best painter's art. '
That portrait," he murmured. Clearly taken aback, an alluring pink hue arose in her cheeks as he slowly circled to stand in front of her. She shyly dropped her gaze to the buttons of his waistcoat. "Shakespeare," he murmured, "wrote about you."

Her lashes slowly lifted. "False flattery, your grace."

"I assure you, it is not. I part company with the dictates of etiquette when it will not allow a beautiful thing to be honestly and openly admired." Her blush deepened, and for the first time since the Granbury reception, she smiled fully, knocking the breath from him. Instantly consumed with the desire to taste those full, rose-colored lips, he impulsively brushed his knuckles across her cheek. She drew a soft breath at his unexpected touch, and in one blinding moment, Alex saw his angel. The sparkling cobalt eyes, the dark lashes, the slightly parted lips. "You are," he murmured unthinkingly, "an incomparable beauty. And that, madam, comes from the depths of my being."

She hastily took a step backward. "I don't understand why you keep
saying
those things, your grace,"

she said nervously. "It's not right—"

"There was a time you would call me by my given name. Say my name, Lauren." He closed the distance between them, his fingers reaching for the bend where her neck curved into her shoulder, her skin like satin to the touch. Her blue eyes widened. "Say my name," he said again as one hand gently cupped her elbow and pulled her toward him.

"A-Alex," she stammered. A shudder coursed his spine. "
Alex
," she repeated softly.

When his lips brushed across hers, she shivered convulsively and sent another alarming bolt of desire through him. God, she tasted sweet. His hand tenderly caressed her neck as his lips slowly and artfully softened hers. A strong tide of pleasure began to flow through him—he anchored her to his stark arousal, his chest almost burning from the sensation of her body pressed against him. He felt her hands slide around his waist, gripping him tightly as she timidly parted her lips.

Lord in heaven, he was on fire. He slipped his tongue into her mouth, swirling it about her soft depths.

When her tongue cautiously brushed between his lips, he imploded with unprecedented need.

Whatever she had done must have startled him, Lauren marveled, because his grip suddenly tightened.

His tongue thrust against hers with an urgency so fierce that it battered at her defenses and lured her into responding with equal intensity. Somehow, the simple knot at her nape came loose; her hair tumbled around her shoulders and he grasped a fistful. Impossibly, he deepened his kiss, the stroke of his tongue urging her to want him. Oh, she wanted him, as badly as she had ever wanted anything. She pressed herself against him, amazed by the shocking sensuality of his hardness against her belly. When his hand slid down her neck to cup her breast, she gasped against his mouth and reflexively met his burning ardor with her own. Yet she had no idea how to give him everything she was feeling, to match his hunger.

The experience jarred her. It also sent an alarm rattling in her brain, and she suddenly broke away, surprising even herself. Alex slowly lifted his head and touched his fingers to her temple. "
Angel
," he murmured.

The remnant of his kiss and his seductive words stirred deeply within her. His eyes, their liquid depths unfathomable, floated across her face. Her gaze fell to his lips, and suddenly, she realized what she had done. She had allowed herself to be thoroughly kissed by a man betrothed to another woman, had allowed him to stoke an unimaginable desire within her. How
easily
she had allowed it! It was so wrong, so very
wrong
. "Oh
God!
" she choked. She closed her eyes against his handsome visage, but it did no good. He immediately attempted to encircle her in his arms, but distrustful of her own body, Lauren pushed against his chest.

"
Don't
," he hastily whispered. "Don't think. Don't do anything, Lauren, just let me hold you," he said, reaching for her.

Terror engulfed her; she desired him as she had never desired anything in her life, and the depth of it scared her to death. "No, no—this is
madness!
We cannot do this!"

"Lauren—"

"
No!
" she shrieked.

He immediately dropped his hands. He stared at her, his eyes searching her face. Unsteady, she watched his chest rise and fall with each ragged breath. In a desperate attempt to clear the longing from her mind, she counted them—one, two, three, four—Fear melted away to humiliation. Like a tart, she had willingly accepted his advances. Her pride completely shattered, she whirled away from him. "You must think me terribly wanton—"

"Lauren!" he said sharply, and grabbing her shoulders, forced her around to face him. "Don't
ever
say that!" he said angrily. "If there is any blame to be had, it is
mine
." He stooped down so that they were on eye level and peered intently into her eyes. "But there is something very strong between us, Lauren, you cannot deny it!"

He spoke so earnestly, she believed he felt the turmoil, too. Slowly, she shook her head. "I don't deny it."

His eyes seemed to glow like fire. "When I see you, when I am near you, I lose myself. I—" He caught himself. He straightened, looking blindly over her shoulder. "I just lose myself," he repeated beneath his breath, and pulled her into his embrace.

God, she had been lost since he first appeared at Rosewood. Even then, she had wanted this man with all her heart. Confusion, extraordinary longing, and a sense of terrible distress rifled through her. She buried her face in his shoulder. "I am lost, too," she muttered, unconsciously voicing her thoughts aloud. "But it is so wrong! Nothing can come of it."

She felt the tension in his body, then his hands slid from her, falling leaden to his sides. "I know, angel. It can never be," he mumbled wearily. "It can
never
be."

He sounded so ravaged that her heart sank with despair. He had just ignited a flame in her that would not be doused, not for the rest of her life, she was quite certain. It was so grossly unfair. She turned away from him, blinking back a rush of tears as she fumbled madly with her hair. "I… I want to go home,"

she gasped.

"Of course." He gestured solemnly toward the path, his eyes downcast. Desperate, she preceded him, walking swiftly to the phaeton, afraid to look back. When she reached the carriage, she tossed her bonnet onto the seat and hauled herself up, afraid that he would touch her and start the inferno blazing in her again. He climbed up beside her and wordlessly signaled the chestnut forward.

The drive around the park was painfully silent, and she was relieved to see Lord Westfall waiting for them near the entrance. He was grinning, and as they rolled to a stop he reached down to pat the mare's neck.

"Fine mare, Alex…" He paused, glancing at Lauren. A strange look came over his face that she immediately read as disgust. Mother of God, she could have died of shame. Lord Westfall flicked a cool gaze to Alex. "I should see Countess Bergen home," he said curtly, and slid off the horse.

Alex did not hesitate to trade places with him. He mounted the mare swiftly, then glanced at her, his blank expression seemingly carved from stone. "Good day," he said, and turned the horse in the direction of Pall Mall. Her chest tightened painfully as he galloped away.

The carriage abruptly swayed, bringing her back to her senses. She glanced shyly at Lord Westfall. He was obviously trying very hard to pretend as if nothing was amiss, but was failing miserably in his efforts.

She had never felt more ashamed in her life.

Nor had she ever felt more terribly confused.

Still highly agitated by the experience in the clearing, Lauren stomped into the town house and flung her bonnet onto an entry table, not noticing Davis until he picked it up. "Parlor," he announced, and extended a hand for her reticule. Marvelous, she thought. Ethan would probably demand to know if she had gleaned Lord Westfall's annual income during their drive.

But it was only Paul and he was alone in the parlor. She suppressed the urge to groan as his eyes swept her disheveled appearance, from the top of her head where wisps of hair had come loose from her attempt at a coif, to the grass stains on the hem of her gown. He raised a brow high above the other.

"Dear Lord, were you caught in a storm?"

With a harried shrug, Lauren looked down at her gown. "The wind is bit brisk today."

"It looks as if your carriage rolled over," he said, eyeing her suspiciously.

"The grass was wet."

Paul frowned. "I understood you to say that Lord Westfall was driving you."

She did not like the tone of his voice at all. On top of everything else, it was enough to drive her to drink.

She marched to a cart in the corner of the room and picked up a decanter of sherry. "He
did
drive me.

But we met his cousin, and Lord Westfall wanted to ride his horse. It's from Rouen, and he is quite fond of horses, so while we were waiting, we had a short turn about," she muttered evasively.

"We?" Paul asked.

Good heavens, was this an inquisition? "His cousin," she said, frowning.

"His cousin? Who is his cousin?" Paul demanded.

"The Duke of Sutherland," Lauren muttered.

"The
Duke
of
Sutherland?
" her brother loudly exclaimed.

Lauren impatiently discarded the sherry. "Yes! The Duke of Sutherland!"

"He is engaged!"

"I am aware of that!" she snapped, and picked up a bottle of whiskey.

Paul moaned irritably. "This won't do, not at all. You are inviting scandal!"

That did it. She set the whiskey aside and turned to face her brother. "I went for a
drive
, Paul, a simple drive! Why on earth should that invite scandal? And just what do you think I have to
protect
from scandal?"

Clearly taken aback, Paul peered closely—a little too closely to suit her. She suddenly feared he could see Alex's kiss on her lips, and turned abruptly, picking up a decanter of port. "You have your good name to protect, and you know it," he said softly. "You cannot hope to make a decent match if there are salacious whispers about you and Sutherland. And rumors certainly won't help his work."

"His work?" she asked, flabbergasted.

Paul suddenly sat forward, his expression earnest. "Don't you know who he is, Lauren? He is, at the moment, the
only
champion of reforms in the House of Lords!" Lauren made a sound of impatience in response to that; Paul's face darkened. "Let me say it another way. If, by some bloody miracle, the reform bill should pass the Commons, it must then pass the Lords! Sutherland is the only one who can see it through, and I daresay even
he
can't do it without Whitcomb's support! Rumor has it that Whitcomb is lukewarm to reform for several reasons, and would probably welcome a good excuse not to support his future son-in-law!" he exclaimed. At Lauren's look of bafflement, Paul fell backward in his chair, exasperated. "Don't you
see!
Sutherland's progressive leadership could be squelched with just a
hint
of scandal, and
particularly
one affecting his fiancée!" he declared roughly.

Confused at his reasoning, Lauren frowned. "I don't understand what that has to do with—"

"It has everything to do with Rosewood!" Paul loudly interjected. "The taxes are killing us, you know that! The laws are designed to protect the wealthy, not people like us—"

"The land is overused at Rosewood, Paul!
That
is what is killing us!" she countered angrily.

"It would not matter if Rosewood were the most fertile land in the country! Unless something is done about high taxes, we cannot afford the labor necessary to
work
the land! And the only person powerful enough or influential enough or
willing
to change all that is
Sutherland?
"