Wicked Angel (28 page)

Alex laughed, infected by her enchanting laughter. It was, he recognized, one of the most charmed evenings he had ever spent.

"Grafin Bergen!"

Until now.

Annoyed, Alex glanced over his shoulder at the German Giant and frowned mightily at the intrusion. But

his blood began to boil when Lauren smiled broadly at the foreigner. "Magnus!" she gasped. "What a surprise!"

It rankled Alex that she would so easily call that monstrosity by
his
given name.

"Pardon the intrusion, but I saw you from over there," he said, motioning vaguely across the hall.

"Oh," Lauren murmured, her face coloring curiously. Bergen shifted cold blue eyes to Alex and studied him openly before remarking to Lauren, in German, that he did not know she was a particular friend of the duke. Lauren hesitated, then laughed politely. She responded in German that she was a particular friend of his aunt, Lady Paddington, who was visiting another box. A knowing smirk creased the count's face as he countered that Lady Paddington apparently was not aware of their friendship, as she had remained in a separate box throughout the entire performance, and had just left with her companions.

Alex would have liked to stuff the count's smirk into the back of his throat. "Count Bergen apparently does not understand that in England, a widow does not require a constant chaperone. But then again, Germans are hardly noted for their keen mental insight," he said coolly, taking great satisfaction in the surprise that flitted across the beast's face upon realizing he had understood their exchange. Lauren frowned at Alex, which did not make him feel contrite at all.

It made him angry.

The count's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Perhaps not. But Germans are known for—
Rittertum

—" He paused, looking hesitantly to Lauren for the right word.

"Chivalry," she muttered, her face growing pale.

"Chivalry. We do not allow our women to be placed in questionable circumstances," Bergen finished.

"Indeed? I suppose you prefer to keep them in your sight at all times, to the point of stalking their every move?" Alex quipped coldly.

Beside him, Lauren's frown deepened. "You exaggerate, your grace! Bavarians are kindly reverent of their womenfolk," she said, the lightness of her voice belying the murderous look in her eyes.

An irrational anger boiled in Alex's veins. It was impossible to accept that she might harbor some affection for
this
man while he practically had to beg her to smile. "I beg your pardon, Countess. I did not realize that in Bavaria it was considered
kind
or
reverent
to take an inheritance from a young widow and send her away. Perhaps in Bavaria, that sort of behavior is the
height
of chivalry," he countered nastily.

Lauren fairly vaulted from her seat, and sensing an impending explosion, Alex came just as quickly out of his. He recklessly grabbed her hand, slipping it into the crook of his arm and clamping tightly so she could not escape him if she so desired.

"Don't be a fool, Sutherland," the count said, his hands fisted at his side. "I will not tolerate your insults."

"Magnus!" Lauren exclaimed softly. "Don't take offense. Please, I promised Paul to come safely home.

He would be angry to hear of a public dispute."

Bergen did not seem to hear her, but glared hatefully at Alex. "Magnus,
please
," she said again.

The muscles of his jaw worked frenetically as he considered her. With some effort, he finally spoke. "I will speak with you another time," he said simply, and with a withering look for Alex, turned and walked

out of the box.

"Good evening!" she called after him, then turned such a burning look to Alex that he actually winced.

She impatiently yanked her hand free of his arm. "You are
despicable!
"

"Pray tell, what is my crime? That I take exception to the fact he would have tossed you out? Or that he stalks you like prey? Does that so sorely offend you, madam?"

"
Yes!
It does!" she cried angrily. "It is none of your affair, none at all! How dare you challenge him so openly! And to what end? To publicly
belittle
him?" She shoved past the furniture in an effort to be gone from the box, but Alex caught her and forced her to a graceful walk.

He felt a little contrite, but not nearly enough to douse his soaring frustration. "I beg your pardon, but this night is mine, fairly won. It did not include your constant shadow!"

"You did not have to humiliate him!"

"I rather doubt the man is capable of being humiliated," Alex responded evenly.

"And
you
, apparently, are not capable of being civil," she snapped angrily. "What arrogance!"

Alex groaned. "You act as if I have snubbed your lover. Is that what he is? Is that why you allow him to follow you everywhere?" he demanded impatiently, forcing a smile for an acquaintance.

"My
what?
" she gasped behind a frozen smile as they marched, side by side, toward the grand staircase.

"Do not even
presume
to answer that! You know nothing about me, nothing at all! You are overbearing, presumptuous, and meddlesome!"

"Your grace, what a pleasure to see you! I hope you are well."

Alex smiled grimly. "Good evening, Lady Fairlane. Indeed, I am quite well."

"Good evening, Lady Fairlane," Lauren said.

"Countess Bergen," the woman responded, a little coolly, Alex thought. They began their rapid descent of the staircase, and with a perfectly placid expression, he muttered, "You were not quite through, were you?"

"Hardly!" she choked on a half-laugh, half-sob. "I thought you many things, but
cruel
was never one of them!" She smiled at an elderly couple approaching them.

"Now you must be quite finished. And let me respond with equally heartfelt emotion, madam…" He paused as the couple reached them.

"Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Bartlett," Lauren said. Odd, but Alex noticed the woman responded with an unmistakable upward tip of her chin to Lauren's greeting.

"Sutherland, caught your speech in the Lords! Very inspired!" the gray-haired gentleman gushed, squinting at Lauren.

"Thank you," Alex said cordially, curious as to Bartlett's overt perusal of Lauren.

"Good evening, Countess Bergen," the old man said.

"Good evening," she replied.

Alex gripped her elbow tightly and pushed her forward. "As I was saying, I may be the most despicable creature you have ever had the misfortune to lay eyes upon, but
you
are the most stubborn,
sanctimonious
little…" He stopped as another gentleman approached.

"Sutherland, hoping to catch you at White's this week. I've got a parliamentary bargain for you, old chum, a potential meeting of the minds so to speak."

Lauren snorted at that, and Alex squeezed her elbow in warning. "Shall we say Thursday afternoon, Lord Helmsley?"

"That would be fine. Good evening, your grace." He smiled and bowed low, his gaze sliding surreptitiously to Lauren.

Alex pushed her, none too gently, toward an approaching footman. "The red cloak, please." He jerked around and stared down at her. "Sanctimonious little
coquette
. How many men do you string along, Lauren? How many hearts will you have served on a platter when it is—"

"I am
not
a coquette!" she exclaimed indignantly. The footman produced the cloak, and Alex reluctantly let her go to help her into it. He watched her warily as he plunged his arms into his greatcoat, and taking his dress hat from the footman, quickly caught her arm again and ushered her out the door.

"In that you are quite mistaken. You string them along like some greatly decorated
kite
. Jesus, I cannot even count them all! Goldthwaite, Westfall, van der Mill, and that brute Madgoose—good God, I wonder what on earth possesses me to want to see you? I must be out of my mind!" he said harshly. He glanced upward; a light rain had begun to fall. With an exasperated sigh, he hurried her down the steps toward his waiting coach. Lauren was oddly silent. He warily looked down; she was staring straight ahead, but he could see the tears glistening in her eyes. "Oh God," he groaned. "Lauren—"

"I am not a
coquette
. I am very honest, I truly am," she said in a trembling voice.

It had the instant effect of a painful slap across his face. He abruptly picked up his pace toward the parade of coaches, dragging her along. "Don't cry!" he pleaded under his breath.

"I know I must seem so to you, but you do not understand, you could
never
understand," she blurted helplessly, stumbling next to him. Alex nodded at one of his coachmen. "I do not want their attentions! I did not
want
to come to London, but I had no choice! I would have been perfectly content to stay at Rosewood, and I am going back as soon as I possibly can, maybe even
tomorrow!
"

The coachman swung the barouche door open, and Alex unthinkingly grabbed Lauren by the waist and lifted her inside. Her hands shot out to catch the sides of the narrow doorway, effectively stopping her entry as she glared at him over her shoulder. "And I did not
ask
you to see me, whatever
that
means!"

The coachman nervously bowed his head, obviously wishing he were somewhere else. So did Alex. He gave Lauren a hearty push that sent her tumbling into the lush interior, and followed her by fairly leaping inside and slamming the door shut after barking instructions to the driver.

She had landed on her hands and knees on the velvet squabs, and set about righting herself, murmuring incomprehensibly under her breath, and taking deep breaths against the sobs that lodged in her throat.

"Lauren, dear God, please don't cry. I did not mean to—"

"I do not string them along. Ethan,
he
encourages them, but I have
never
," she mumbled. "He would have me marry the fattest purse, and will not leave me be until I have done so, because there is no other answer for Rosewood. But
I
don't think that! We can trade things, like milk and wool, and honestly, I do

not
have
to marry," she said miserably. "And I have explained to Magnus I cannot marry him, but he harbors some fantastic idea that I will change my mind…"

He would have kicked himself if he could. He had been angry, irrationally jealous of Bergen, and uncommonly rash with his words. The coach lurched forward and Lauren clutched the squabs, looking so forlorn that Alex instinctively, blindly, came across the coach and gathered her in his arms.

She did not resist him.

"I did not mean to upset you," he muttered against the top of her head. "I would not upset you for the world."

"You cannot upset me." She sniffed, and incongruously wiped a tear from her cheek.

He slipped two fingers beneath her chin and tilted her face upward, forcing her to look at him. "I am sorry," he said. "It was a wretched thing to do, even to Madgoose. But I was mad with—Bloody hell, I do not pretend to understand what it is about you that causes me to act so irrationally, but I cannot help…
feeling
the way I do. God, Lauren, I want you, do you know that? I want you like I have never wanted anyone in my life…" His voice trailed off as the enormity of what he had just uttered weighed in around them.

She seemed just as stunned. Her eyes pooled; her bottom lip trembled slightly. It was more than he could bear, and he tenderly kissed her forehead. He heard the soft choke of another sob, and leaned down to kiss her mouth. Her lips were unbelievably inviting—soft and moist, the taste of salt on them. As he shaped them to his own, she sighed softly.

That small sigh awoke a ravenous desire in him. His tongue slid slowly along the crease of her lips, then slipped inside to savor sweet, sweet mouth. Her fingers curled innocently around his wrist, and the seductive allure of that single act pounded away at his considerable defenses. Despite a weak objection from his conscience, he suddenly pulled her to him, crushing her against his body as his mouth plundered hers with a fierce hunger he could not sate.

She softened in his arms, her body molding effortlessly to the rigid contours of his. Desire coursed through him, culminating in rigid attention against her belly. He delved deeper, demanded more of her, and she eagerly responded. With one arm, he firmly anchored her to the arousal that strained against his trousers. His other hand swept over her, caressing her, sweeping the outline of her breast. He began to move against her, a soft undulation that made her press against him. Ripping the gloves from his hands, he held her tightly, almost afraid she would slip away from him and melt into the squabs, on which they were now, somehow, prostrate. Her breast filled his hand as he rubbed his thumb across the satin of her gown.

Impatient for more, he slipped his hand into her deep décolletage, stroking the peak of her breast with his palm. She gasped with pleasure against his mouth.

That seductive utterance awakened him from the drugging sensation of her body beneath his. It took every ounce of will he possessed, but Alex forced himself to stop. He raised himself slowly and looked down at her. On her back, her chest was heaving with each deep breath. Her gardenia was crushed.

Bloody
hell
, how he wanted her. But he would not ravish her on the squabs of his coach like a harlot, no matter how much he would have liked to. He cupped her face in his hands, gently kissed her eyes, then pulled her up to a sitting position.

Her blue eyes were almost black as she wiped a trembling hand across her swollen lips. An errant strand of hair draped seductively across her face, and Alex had never been more aroused. It was sheer force of will that kept him from instructing the driver to take them to his mother's closed house on Berkley Street, where he could do his desire justice. It would be so bloody
easy
. Alarmed by the direction of his

thoughts, he impulsively moved to the bench opposite her.