A Taste of Seduction (An Unlikely Husband) (13 page)

“Well,” he said, releasing her wrist, “let’s have a taste.”

She swung around, eyeing him with suspicion. “Why?”

“Why?” he remarked, reaching for the butter. “Why, what? Why are we going to have a taste?” He slathered butter on a chunk of bread, covering as much green as he could. “Perhaps because it’s part of the meal.”

“You only like white bread and white rolls,” she accused, still standing.

He took a bite. Hmmm. It actually was quite tasty, once he got past the fact it wasn’t his usual fare. “And now I like rosemary and thyme bread.”

“You don’t have to eat it,” Francie said, reaching out to snatch the slice of bread from his hand.

He caught her by the wrist and pulled her forward. “Stop it.” He turned and found himself staring straight at her breasts. His gaze traveled up to her full, pink lips. “I like it. I like it very much,” he said in a low, rough voice and wondered if Francie knew he was talking about more than just her bread.

“Thank you, Alexander,” she said, a small smile lighting her face. “You’re very kind.” She leaned over and planted a chaste kiss on his cheek.

Kind? Would she still think him kind if he told her right now all he could think about
was tasting her lips, touching her breasts, feeling her bare skin?
Kind?
Hardly.

He cleared his throat and met her gaze. He had to set her straight before she started imagining all sorts of other crazy things about him. “Kind is not a term usually associated with me.”

She laughed, a tinkling sound that ran through his body like fire. “Because you want everyone to think you are some sort of cruel beast. You even had me fooled for a while.” Her voice dipped to a low purr. “But you aren’t a beast, Alexander, not at all. No beast would eat my bread just so he wouldn’t hurt my feelings.”

He frowned, hoping his scar stuck out white and ugly. “You should be afraid of me.” Men twice her size couldn’t look him in the eye.

“How can I be afraid of you when you’ve got butter on the side of your mouth?” She brushed it away with her forefinger. “And all over your lips,” she murmured, tracing her finger over his upper lip.

Alexander caught her hand. She was playing a dangerous game and didn’t even know it. He opened his mouth and flicked his tongue along the tip of her finger and heard the small catch in her throat. His tongue traced another finger, and then another. Sweet Jesus, but he wanted her.

“Come to me, Francie,” he whispered, planting a kiss on the inside of her palm. “Let me taste you.”

Their gazes locked as she moved toward him, stopping just a breath away from touching his lips. Alexander cupped the back of her head, buried his hand in her curls, and guided her to his mouth. The kiss was sweet and gentle, tentative at first as he moved his lips over hers, learning the taste and feel of her. She responded in kind, moaning low in her throat.

But it wasn’t nearly enough. Alexander deepened the kiss, running his tongue along the seam of her lips until she opened her mouth, and then he plunged inside, tasting, devouring, possessing. She was heaven and hell wrapped in silky skin and soft sighs. As much as he wanted her this moment, he knew he couldn’t have her. Could never have her. Not without marriage and that was out of the question. And yet, he couldn’t stop himself from sliding his hand down her back, cupping her sweet, firm curves, and urging her closer. He slid his chair back from the table and pulled her into his lap, never once breaking their kiss.

She’d never be his, he reminded himself as his tongue plunged deeper, harder, into the velvety recesses of her mouth. But oh, how he wanted her.

Francie moaned again. Her tongue met his, innocent and unsure. Her hands sifted through his hair, working the curls at the nape of his neck, trailing to his shoulders. His erection strained against his trousers, throbbing with need as his fingers stroked a path from her jaw to her neck, and further still, to the swell of her breasts. She arched her back, straining toward him. She didn’t know what she wanted, but he did. He brushed the tip of her breast and felt it harden beneath the thin fabric. He began working slow circles over the peak, imagining a pale pink nipple underneath, imagining himself laving the pink bud, sucking it until she groaned with pleasure and need.

“Alexander,” she breathed, dragging her mouth from his. “What are you doing to me?”

Her words hit him like a bucket of cold water. He jerked away from her, lifted her off his lap, and set her several steps away.
What the hell was he thinking?
His gaze shot to Francie who stood alone, arms wrapped about her middle as she stared at him, lips red and swollen from his kisses, cheeks flushed, hair wild. But she stood proud, despite the shimmering of tears in her eyes.

He ran a hand through his hair. Three times. What had he done? He, Alexander Bishop, had all but seduced a young innocent in the dining room of his home. Practically on the table, for Christ’s sake, which was where they would have ended up had things progressed much further. Francie spread out on the white linen tablecloth and him between her thighs. God, but he was depraved.
Philip’s daughter. This was how he repaid the man who’d taken him in and given him a new life?

He really was no better than a stable boy. No matter how fine his dress or how many invitations he received to the ton’s affairs, he was still a stable boy. Just like his father, who’d given in to impulse every time he picked up a
bottle. Alexander had succumbed to Francie’s innocence and beauty, disregarding who she was and what his responsibilities were. He disgusted himself. Why hadn’t he just stood up and walked away? Why hadn’t he kept his hands shoved deep in his pockets?

He knew the answer, didn’t even have to give it a second’s thought.
Because he’d
had
to touch her, had to feel the heat between them, to lose himself in the touch, the kiss, the need that smoldered between them. And now he’d have to deal with the consequences of his actions.
Pretend it didn’t happen?
Hardly.

There was only one other possibility. The thought lay like cold roasted duck in the pit of his stomach. He’d lie. He’d tell her the taste of her mouth and the feel of her delectable body meant nothing to him. A diversion. That’s what he’d call it.
A simple diversion.

He ran a hand through his hair one more time and opened his mouth to speak. Alexander stared at the spot where Francie had been less than a minute ago. Empty. She was gone.

***

“I don’t want Francie going,” Philip said.

“Nor do I.” Alexander stared out the window watching the subject of their discussion crawl around on her knees, digging in the dirt. He wished she’d dig her way back to Amberden.

“I don’t want her going near Belmont. I don’t trust the man.”

“Fine.” Why wasn’t she wearing a hat? Her skin was too fair to be in the sun without one.

“Did you hear me, Alex?” Philip sounded puzzled. “I said I don’t want Francie accepting Belmont’s dinner invitation.”

Alexander turned around. Fine. Let her burn. He could care less. “I heard you. You don’t want Francie accepting Belmont’s dinner invitation.”

The older man nodded. “You aren’t going to put up a fuss? Tell me when nobility invites someone of a lesser station, the proper thing to do is accept?”

“No. I’m not.”

“Hmm. Now that’s a change.” The earl coughed.
“Are you feeling all right, my boy?”

No, he wasn’t feeling all right. Hadn’t felt all right since he’d left the dining room last evening. He’d spent the better half of the night
poring over his ledgers in a futile attempt to drown out the sound of Francie’s soft moans, block out the feel of her satiny skin under his fingers, and bury the taste of her sweet lips. Whiskey helped.

But he’d woken this morning in a foul mood and even his ride with Baron hadn’t tamed his temper. Damn the woman! She seemed none the worse from last evening’s interlude. He’d heard her humming outside a little while ago, some jaunty tune he couldn’t get out of his head. And when he’d spotted her grabbing a few pastries to stuff in her pocket this morning, she’d smiled a bright smile and bid him good morning.

“Alex,” the earl repeated, coming to stand next to him. “Are you feeling all right?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be? I’m fine.” The words came out a little sharper than intended.

Philip cocked a faded red eyebrow. “I’m glad. Now aren’t you going to ask me why I don’t want Francie to go?”

Alexander shrugged. “I’m sure you have your reasons.” Right now, he didn’t care why the earl was refusing Belmont as long as she didn’t go. Bernard’s tale of Francie’s true heritage stuck in his head. Alexander would never subject her to Belmont’s cold scrutiny. Nor would he subject himself to an extended carriage ride with Francie. It would be too uncomfortable.
Too awkward.
Too damn tempting
.

“Well, I’ll tell you, anyway,” Philip said, rubbing his jaw. “Belmont’s a ruthless, cunning bastard who never does anything without a reason. If he’s invited Francie to Glenhaven, he’s got a motive and whatever it is, I don’t want her involved.”

If that were the case, Alexander didn’t want her involved either. “And me,” he asked, “why do you think he’s extended an invitation to me?”

“Now there’s a question,” the earl said, nodding his head in thought. “Could be any number of reasons.” He coughed and cleared his throat. “First, he’s heard about your uncanny ability in the stock market and wants to elicit your advice. I told you the old bastard would fleece a dead man for an extra coin. Or, perhaps, he’s got some other sort of business proposition for you.”

“As I expected,” Alexander said. He had personal reasons for accepting Edgar Ashcroft’s invitation. Word had it Lord Jared Crayton spent quite a bit of time at Glenhaven in the company of Belmont and his daughter, Claire. Alexander wanted to conduct his own investigation of Crayton before he confronted the Duke of Worthington and accused his son of assaulting an old woman.

“Of course,” the earl continued, “there is one other possible reason.”

“Which is?”

“Belmont may be sizing you up for his daughter.”

“What?”

Philip’s blue eyes twinkled with mischief. “Face it, Alex. You wouldn’t be the first prospective groom to get roped in by the bride’s father.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Alexander shot him a look of disgust. “I’ve never heard of anything so preposterous.” He needed a drink. He walked to the side table, poured two fingers into a glass, and downed it in one swallow.

“I’ll have one of those,” Philip said.

Alexander poured a fresh glass and refilled his own. “Claire Ashcroft doesn’t even know me. Not really.” A short ride on his horse after she’d fallen from hers, with minimal conversation and only necessary contact, certainly wouldn’t constitute interest on either side. Would it? Admittedly, he’d found her beautiful and his pulse tripped a bit faster when he checked her ankle for swelling, but finding her in one too many compromising situations since then killed any interest he may have permitted to develop.

“Maybe she’s attracted to your charming personality.”

Alexander handed Philip his drink and shrugged. “I’m hardly husband material for the daughter of an earl.”
Especially one who sheds her clothes so willingly for other men
.

“You’ve got money.
Lots of it. All your own, too.” The earl took a healthy sip of whiskey. “And I suppose some women might even be attracted to that surly manner of yours. Who knows? Maybe the girl thinks there’s a beating heart under all your properness.”

You’re so kind
. Francie’s words clamored in his brain.

Kind?
A beating heart? No, he wasn’t kind or he never would have touched Francie in the first place. As for a heart, the only one in his chest was made of stone.

Alexander turned to the window and spied Francie carrying two buckets toward the garden filled with something heavy, judging by the way she staggered. When she reached the edge of the garden, she set the buckets down and wiped her hands on her plain blue gown, leaving matching streaks of brown on either side of the fabric.

Her cheeks and nose were bright pink. “She needs a hat,” Alexander muttered.

“She needs new clothes,” Philip added.

“Only a fool would be outside in the heat of the day.”
Was the woman daft?

“Francie doesn’t feel the heat,” Philip said. “She’s in heaven working with her flowers and such. Look at her,” he said, pointing a thick finger. “Look how happy she is.”

Alexander glanced at her face and wished he hadn’t. She
was
happy, damn her. Blissfully happy. With a little smile on her lips, humming that ridiculous tune again. How could she be so happy when he was so miserable?

He turned away in disgust. “Old George’s got more brains than his mistress,” he said, glancing at the dog lying on the Aubusson rug. The animal had worked his way back to this room so many times in the last several days, Alexander had finally conceded and allowed him to stay.
But only on the rug. Furniture was prohibited, specifically Alexander’s favorite chair. For his part, George seemed satisfied with the arrangement.