A Taste of Seduction (An Unlikely Husband) (24 page)

A look very close to regret passed over his face for the briefest of seconds and then
disappeared, making her wonder if she’d imagined it. When he spoke, his words were low and gentle. “I admit a short time ago marriage was not my first choice, but sometimes fate intervenes.” His fingers traced the shape of her face, eased over her lips, and settled on her shoulders.

Fate!
He’d trusted something other than logic and let it guide him to her. Her heart swelled with emotion and love for this most noble, most honorable man.

“What about my little habits?
The ones that seem to annoy you so? Can you accept them?”

Alexander lifted a dark brow. “Are you talking about the fact you aren’t wearing stockings and slippers? Or are we addressing the issue of the cat tucked under George?” He pulled her closer to him until they were almost touching. He bent his head to hers and whispered, “Or maybe we’re talking about all of the undergarments you continue to forget to wear.” He smiled when she gasped. “That, my dear Francie, is one quirky habit I could overlook.” He planted a soft kiss on her neck. “I wouldn’t mind if you wore even less under these gowns,” he said, inching his fingers up her ribcage to the outline of her breasts.

Her skin tingled where he touched her through the fabric of her gown. “Oh, Alexander,” she murmured, reaching up to loop her hands around his neck.

His silver gaze burned brighter than a million stars on a black night. Her heart skipped two beats as he bent his head and covered her mouth with his, his tongue probing the seam of her lips. She opened her mouth to welcome him and he pulled her closer. The ridge of his erection rested between her thighs, creating a slow, uncontrollable heat in her belly.

“You feel wonderful.” Alexander plunged into her mouth again. His hands roamed her body in bold, arcing sweeps, touching, learning, possessing.

She moaned and clung to him, pressing her body into his, reveling in the sensations he aroused, sensations she didn’t understand but craved like a person long starved.

Alexander inched the gown up her thigh, bunching the fabric in one hand and stroking her skin with the other. “Like velvet,” he murmured against her lips. “So soft.” His fingers circled the inside of her thigh. “And tantalizing,” he whispered, working his way to her woman’s heat. He cupped her, massaging her swollen flesh through the thin cotton of her pantaloons.

Her knees buckled and she grabbed Alexander’s forearm, feeling as wobbly as a colt standing for the first time. He continued his tender assault with the flick of a finger over her nubbin. His tongue drove deep into her mouth, imitating the rhythm of his finger.

Pressure—deep, sweet, and dark—built inside her, threatening to erupt with the next stroke. Francie moaned again, torn between the pleasure of Alexander’s touch and the dark, clawing agony demanding release. She reached out to cup his erection and he groaned. Encouraged, she rubbed her fingers along the hard ridge. He pushed against her hand and she felt the tip of his penis outlined against his trousers. Before she considered what she was doing, she started stroking that one little area, much as he was stroking her.
Hard, fast, flick, stroke
.

“Enough,” he growled, tearing his mouth from hers. His free hand grabbed her wrist, stilling her fingers. His other hand found the opening of her pantaloons and slipped inside, one finger plunging into the very core of her womanhood. It was too much. She cried out Alexander’s name as shimmering sensations tumbled over her, one jagged breath at a time, splitting her apart and hurling her into the white light of pure ecstasy.

Then she collapsed against his chest.

He held her in his arms, his gentle touch smoothing the damp hair from her face. When he picked her up and carried her to the chair, nestling her in his lap, she felt protected. When he planted soft kisses along her brow, she knew what it meant to be cherished.

“Francie?”

“Hmmm?” She curled deeper into his chest.

“I think it would be prudent to marry as soon as possible.”

“Hmmm,” she murmured.

“I’ll arrange for a special license and post the banns,” he continued. “Three weeks should work.”

“Hmmm.” He was speaking in that too
-low voice again. The one that made her hot and cold and shivery.

“It would not be wise to wait longer than that.”

A tiny smile played about her lips. She lifted her head and pushed a tangle of hair from her face. “It wouldn’t?”

“No.
Most definitely not. And stop squirming.” She shifted once more, trying to get comfortable.

“I’m sorry. Am I hurting you?”

“Yes. No,” he said in rapid-fire succession. “No. I’m fine. Just sit still.”

And then she felt the reason for his discomfort throbbing against her thigh. “Oh.”

“Yes. Oh.”

They remained silent a minute but curiosity wagered with embarrassment and won. “Does…” She stumbled with the words, and tried again, “Does it do that often?”

“Only when I’m near you,” he replied.

“Oh,” she murmured, wondering if it had been doing that since the first day they met.

“Yes. Oh.”

Good gracious
. When would she learn some things were better left unknown or at the very least, unspoken? Eager to change the subject, she said, “Let’s go tell Aunt Eleanor and Uncle Bernard the news. They’ll be shocked to hear we’re getting married.”

“Something tells me they’ll be expecting us,” Alexander said in a wry voice. “And probably wondering what’s taken us so long.”

***

“Alexander Bishop won’t be coming to supper,” Claire said, tapping a folded card in her hand. She stood in the center of the rose salon, her body rigid, her lips pulled down in a frown. It was a wonder she hadn’t begun ripping the draperies from the windows. Or at least thrown a vase or two. Control and a clear head, that’s what
she needed right now, but oh, how she longed to screech her anger. And humiliation. No man had ever refused her attentions. Not until Alexander Bishop.

“Bishop’s a busy man,” Jared Crayton murmured, trailing a tanned finger along her collarbone and dipping into the creamy flesh above her bodice.

“Busy getting married,” she bit out. Such a loathsome confession.

His finger stilled. “Married?” he choked out in a strangled whisper. “To whom?”

“Do you really need to ask?” She fought to keep her breathing even. Perhaps splintering one vase to the ground would provide a modicum of relief. The sound of glass hitting the floor, the explosion of color as the vase shattered into infinitesimal pieces of nothingness—like her heart—might be just what she needed.

Who was she fooling? She’d never be happy again unless she had Alexander all to herself.

“Francie.” Jared breathed like a besotted fool.

“Yes,
Francie
,” she snapped. “How dare he choose her over me?” She paced the room, growing more agitated with each step. “I’m much more beautiful. That’s obvious.” She ran a hand through her long, curly hair. “And
I’m
a lady. She’s nothing but a bastard.” The words rolled off her tongue like poison.

“Bishop and Francie. I don’t understand. When did you find out?”

“It’s all here in this tidy little note.” She flung the white card in the air. “It’s from Alexander himself. Seems he’s too busy attending to his nuptial arrangements to dine with me.”

“I knew Bishop was involved with her.” Jared smacked his hand against his knee. “He tried to tell me they were like brother and sister, but one look at them together dispelled that notion.”

She was not about to ask him what that meant. She didn’t want to know. In the end, it wouldn’t matter. “He’s not going to marry her.” Claire stared out the window. A garden blossomed before her, a veritable feast to the eyes. Roses in every color, red, pink, salmon, yellow, and white as well as a rainbow of gladiolas and carnations. But she saw nothing, save the white light of hatred and envy. Francie Jordan and Alexander as husband and wife? Not if she had her way.

And she always did.

Claire turned from the window, bracing her hands against the sill, and said, “We’ve got to stop them. Think, Jared. What can we do?”

“Abduction?”

“Too obvious. It must be something that will undermine their trust in one another, destroy the bond they’ve obviously forged, and rip them apart.”
And then she could go to Alexander and pick up the pieces
.

Jared raised a golden eyebrow. “What about a physical assault?” He balled one hand into a fist. “I’d like to repay that bastard for what he did to me. I was so bruised and battered I couldn’t stand straight for days.”

“You’re not to touch Alexander,” Claire warned. “He’s mine.”

“I guess I’ll have to settle for stealing Francie from him.” His lips curved upward as he added, “That will have
its own rewards.”

Claire shot him a disgusted look. “No doubt. You can lust after Francie Jordan later. At the moment, we need to devise a plan.” She walked to the silver tea service and sank onto one of the cream chairs. Surely there was a solution. If only she had a bit more time to consider the various possibilities. “Why such haste for a wedding? They’re not even allowing for an appropriate mourning period.” Claire poured tea into two china cups. “Alexander is a man of such form. It makes no sense.” She spooned three heaping teaspoons of sugar into her cup and stirred.

“Perhaps she’s pregnant.”

The spoon clattered against the rim of her cup.
Pregnant
. That would crush any plan of severing Alexander and Francie’s relationship. A child would bind the two for a lifetime. The very idea made her sick. “She can’t be pregnant.”

Jared sat down in the chair next to her and popped a butter cookie in his mouth. “Maybe the old man left everything to Francie and the only way Bishop can get his hands on it is to marry her.”

Claire paused with the cup midway to her lips. She set it down slowly and turned to Jared. “What did you say?”

“Let’s say Montrose left Francie everything,” he repeated, biting into a blueberry tart. “She is
, after all, his flesh and blood. The only way Bishop can lay claim to any of it would be through marriage. I’ll lay odds he’d do anything to keep Drakemoor, even marry for it. Though,” he said, licking his fingers, “marrying Francie Jordan is by no means a punishment.”

“I’ll thank you to keep that opinion to yourself.” A glimmer of hope spread through her. What if Jared
were right and Alexander was only marrying the woman to obtain Drakemoor? What if affection and love had nothing to do with the offer? Her heart swelled with possibility. And opportunity. Her father’s estate was twice the size of Drakemoor. “Alexander may well have offered out of necessity and not choice,” she murmured.

“Possibly. But it’s only speculation.”

“Hmmm.” She must find out if there was truth to Jared’s theory. But how? Perhaps Lord Montrose’s solicitor?

“I don’t like that look on your face,” Jared said. “It usually means some sort of trouble.”

Claire raised a brow. “Trouble?” A tinkle of laughter danced through her. “Not for us, Jared. If your theory is true, we have nothing to worry about. The wedding between Alexander and your little Francie will never take place.”

“Exactly how do you plan to find out if he’s marrying her to keep Drakemoor? Ask him?”

Claire ignored the sarcasm in his voice. Jared was not much of a forward thinker. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m my father’s daughter, remember?” She eyed him over the rim of her cup. “I’ll simply find out who the solicitor is and ask him.”

Jared snorted. “I’m certain he’ll be forthcoming with a wealth of information.”

“Indeed, he will,” she replied. “With the sum I’m offering for his cooperation, he won’t be able to refuse. Everyone has a price. It’s just a matter of finding out what it is.” Her voice dropped to a husky whisper. “And I’m very good at finding out people’s secrets.”

“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.” Lady Claire Ashcroft smiled at Francie over the rim of her teacup. “I’ve only just heard the wonderful news and couldn’t wait to congratulate you myself.”

Francie shifted in her chair. The woman’s congratulations rang cold and untrue. The slight flare of her dainty nostrils made Francie think she meant quite the opposite of what she said. Claire Ashcroft grasped her teacup hard enough to turn the knuckles on her small hands white. Indeed, something was amiss.

Oh, why couldn’t Alexander be here right now? He’d know how to handle this beautiful woman with the condescending smile. But he’d been called to an emergency meeting with a very important potential investor and would be gone most of the day.

“I must say, Francie, may I call you Francie?” Claire’s silver laughter tinkled around her. “Thank you,” she said, when Francie nodded. “And you must call me Claire. All of this business about titles and such. You’re like one of us.” Her voice dropped an octave and she leaned forward to add, “Even if your parents didn’t have benefit of marriage. I’m certain they possessed great affection for one another.”