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“I haven’t been hungry. Please put me down.”
“No.” He was moving through the foggy darkness with the surety of a man who knew exactly where everything was. She hoped he got smacked in the face by a branch, but he didn’t even brush against any of the foliage. She still had only the one shoe on, and she doubted he’d rescued the other. She was back where she’d started.
Or worse. She was in the arms of a man determined to do his duty, and she didn’t want his duty or his honor. She wanted love. His love. And she would never have it.
He kicked the door open, and she realized that despite his light words he was angry. Very angry. He moved through the darkened house at a reasonable pace, but she could feel the tension rippling through his body. He was wearing only a loose white shirt and trousers, and it was too thin a barrier between her face and his flesh. It didn’t matter. She was tired of fighting—she’d done her best to free him from his damned obligation, and tomorrow she would rise and fight some more. But for now all she wanted to do was put her head on his shoulder, her face in his neck, breathe in the scent of him for one last time.
She wanted to rub her cheek against the soft linen of the shirt, but at least she resisted that temptation. If he was surprised by her sudden acquiescence he didn’t show it, moving up the flights of stairs at a steady pace.
The cool, clean scent of his skin was so seductive, and she knew she was lost. She was going to let him make love to her. The damage had been done, and she deserved one last night of pleasure, one night with the man she longed for and wouldn’t have. In the darkness there was just the two of them, and she could feel his heart beat beneath her, feel her own rapid one. He was going to carry her to his bed and strip off her clothes and send her soaring. And then he would hold her, and kiss her, and she would tell him what she wouldn’t tell herself, tell him that she loved him. If he would only hold her. She needed to wake up in his arms, to know he would be there. But he wouldn’t.
They reached the third floor, and her heartbeat picked up, hammering against her rib cage. Her pulses were racing, and she held her breath as he reached the door to his bedroom.
And passed it. Moving on into her room, he kicked open the door and dropped her on the bed. “I presume you’re not going to be tiresome and try this again,” he said in that cool, ironic voice of his. “Otherwise I’ll take you to my room and tie you to the bedpost.”
Yes, please, she thought mournfully. “I won’t try to leave.” Her voice was lifeless. He didn’t want her. It was duty and nothing else.
He glanced at the adjoining door and saw the chair wedged under the handle. “That was a wise precaution on your part, my sweet. I have only a limited amount of self-restraint and you’re testing it.”
He left without another word, slamming the door behind him. It bounced open again—when he’d kicked it he’d managed to break the catch. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. She threw herself back on the bed in misery and stared up at the ceiling.
She could hear him in the next room, cursing. Things were being slammed around, and she winced at each thud and crash. What had made him so angry? He’d brought her back, she’d promised not to leave, he’d gotten what he wanted. Hadn’t he?
She sat up and looked at the adjoining door and the chair wedged beneath it. One of those thuds had been against that door, and the chair had shuddered beneath it. What had he thrown? Or hit? What was he doing?
She cli
mbed down off the bed and carefully removed the chair, but the noise next door had subsided.
The dark lavender dress was miserable to get out of—it had been made for her when she still had her own maid, and if Doris was busy then Maddy would fasten her. It had taken her too long to get dressed earlier, and getting out of the blasted thing was torture. She yanked at it, and heard the buttons pop and roll across the room. The fabric was too new to rip, but the buttons were enough, and she shoved it down, unfastening her petticoats at the same time, stepping out of the annoying pile and kicking it.
She hadn’t bothered with her corset—the idea of escaping had been difficult enough. Stripping off her garters and stockings, she was left standing in her shift and bloomers and nothing else. She couldn’t quite bring herself to remove the bloomers, but she could practically see her breasts through the thin cambric.
She took her hair out of the bun, shaking it free, then looked at herself in the mirror. The room was almost dark, and the creature who looked back at her was a stranger, a beautiful, wild, and wanton stranger. Her mouth curved in a smile, a wicked smile. She was tired of thinking, tired of games, tired of pretending. One last night. If the worst happened and he managed to drag her to the altar she could simply say “I don’t,” and no cleric in the country would marry them.
But that was tomorrow, not tonight. Tonight she would break one more rule. She would go to him, because she loved him, the rat bastard. If he let her.
She half expected the door to be locked between their rooms. But it opened easily enough, with no betraying noise. The gaslight had been turned off, but there was a lamp in the room, sending out a small pool of light, and she wondered whether he was asleep. She pushed the door open all the way, until it hit something, and she stepped into the room.
There was a large book on the floor, which had clearly been thrown against the door. He was lying on the bed, in the thin drawers that he swam in, and there was a book on his lap, but his eyes were on her, dark and intense.
“I promised I wouldn’t run tonight,” she said, her voice shaking a bit. “And I always keep my promises. But I’m afraid I’m having a hard time keeping that promise. You’re going to have to tie me to the bedpost after all.”
Slowly Alexander closed his book.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
SHE WAS THERE. SOPHIE was really there, standing in his bedroom wearing nothing but her shift and bloomers. Even in the shadows Alexander could tell that much. Her blond hair cascaded down her back; her dark blue eyes were huge, luminous. Nervous. She had actually come to him.
“Is this some kind of trick?” he said warily. “Are you planning to knock me over the head with something?”
She took a step closer, shaking her head. “You’re too tall for me to reach. I suppose, if you really want me to, you could always bend down and I could find something to hit you with.” There was just the tiniest tremor in her voice as she tried to sound nonchalant. His darling Sophie, dressed in almost nothing, coming to his bed of her own accord, and she wanted to sound casual. God, he loved her.
“I think not,” he said in a relatively normal voice, considering how relieved he was. “I’d rather have all my faculties when I’m with you.” He climbed off the bed, moving toward her. The room was littered with the things he’d thrown in a frustrated fury. He’d decided to let her go. If she hated the idea of being with him that much, if she was willing to risk the damage to her reputation, then holding on to her was wrong. No matter how much he wanted, needed her. Loved her.
But she was here. On her own. Watching him warily.
She cleared her throat. “What were you reading?”
