An Unsuitable Bride (29 page)

She raised her eyes to his and saw the naked lust in their bright depths and knew it was mirrored in her own. Finally, she gave up the fight and yielded to the turbulent muddle of sensations, of wanting, of fearing, of needing, which had plagued her since his first kiss. “Now?” she asked. “Should it be now?”

He smiled and touched her red and swollen lips with his fingertips. “I would wish it to be now.”

She let her head fall back on the arm of the sofa again in tacit invitation. Peregrine lightly slid a hand between her thighs and touched the hot, damp center of her body. She moaned softly, and her hips lifted instinctively. He rubbed the erect little nub of flesh, slipping a finger of his free hand within her. She made a soft, almost protesting sound as he moved deeper, but her body moistened around his exploring finger, and when he felt that she was ready, her body poised on the brink, he moved his hand, slid both hands under her bottom, and lifted her as he entered her in one deep thrust, tearing the thin membrane of her virginity so swiftly that she felt only an instant of pain, and her already prepared body opened to encase him.

He moved rhythmically within her, watching her face. Her eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted. When he could hold back his own need no longer, he increased his speed, and her eyes flew open. She looked, unflinching, up at him as his climax engulfed him. He disengaged from her the instant before he was lost and gathered her against him, holding her tightly until the paroxysms of fulfillment finally ceased.

He let her fall back onto the sofa and slid sideways down beside her, brushing a damp strand of chestnut hair from her cheek. Alexandra let her hand rest on his turned hip for a moment and then said, “I feel I missed something. But I don’t know what.”

Perry laughed weakly. “My sweet, you came very
close, amazingly close for a first time. Next time, I promise, I will take you with me all the way.”

She wriggled up against the seat arm until she was half sitting and his head was resting on her bosom, and said conversationally, “I would certainly like to do that again, and do it even better next time.”

Perry laughed again and sat up beside her. “You are the most extraordinary creature, Alexandra.” He turned her face again to look into her eyes, and his expression now was deeply serious. “But tell me the truth, do you have any regrets? Any at all?”

“No, not a single one.” The answer was immediate. She didn’t have a single iota of regret. If someone had told her that morning that she would happily end the day a deflowered virgin, she would never have believed them, but in some strange way, all the turmoil of her life was for the moment straightened out. It was as if some deity had passed a hand over a tumultuous whirlpool and smoothed the violent waters into a placid pool.

Perry nodded. “Well, that is one truth I do not doubt. Shall we go to bed?”

“Where?”

“I have a very comfortable bed upstairs. I’ll take you back to Berkeley Square after breakfast.”

And there was no one to know or to care what she did at present. She was her own mistress, sailing her own ship. And it was the most wonderful feeling in the world.

“I have no nightgown,” she demurred.

“You’ll have no need of one,” he responded, pulling her to her feet. “You’ll have me to keep you warm in a good feather bed.”

And much later, in the depths of that good feather bed, Alexandra understood what it was that she had missed earlier.

Chapter Thirteen

Alexandra awoke from a deep sleep that had been filled with strange but delightful dreams. As she lay in the warm hollow of the deep feather bed, her befuddled mind assumed that she was still on the road from Combe Abbey to London. She blinked up at the unfamiliar tester, wondering which hostelry she was in.

And then the mists of sleep cleared. Those had been no dreams. Her body told her so. She passed her hands over her nakedness, smiling to herself with what she was sure must be a fatuous smile of satisfaction. Indolently, she turned her head on the pillow, but the one beside her was empty. She stretched a leg across the bed, and the other side was cold.

Where is Peregrine?
Had he abandoned her, awoken, got up, and left her to go about his daily business as if she were no more than a whore he’d hired for the night? Perhaps he’d left money on the dresser?

Her sense of well-being fled. She struggled up against the pillows and looked towards the dresser, half expecting to see a handful of coins there. There was
none, only the painted jug and ewer she remembered. The fire was burning, so someone had put fresh coals on, and the curtains were drawn back, letting in a pale sun. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat groggily looking around. Her clothes were neatly laid across the bench at the end of the bed.

The door opened. “Ah, you’re awake at last. I thought you were going to sleep the morning away.” Peregrine’s cheerful voice preceded his entrance with a laden tray. “I have brought you breakfast. I thought you might prefer the privacy of the bedchamber. Besides, Mistress Croft is putting the parlor to rights, and ’tis all lost under clouds of dust.” He set his tray on a leather ottoman in front of the fire and came over to the bed, smiling. But his smile faded as he looked at her.

“Whatever is the matter, my dear? You look stricken.”

She shook her head, trying to smile. “I thought . . . oh, I woke up, and you weren’t here, and I thought you’d just left me.”

He folded his arms and looked at her with a degree of exasperation. “Now, what on earth have I ever done to make you think I would do that? ’Tis a monstrous insult, Alexandra.”

“Forgive me.” She held out her hands to him. “I was sleeping so deeply, and when I awoke, I thought I had dreamt everything, and then, when I realized I hadn’t and you weren’t here . . . oh, ’tis so hard to explain.”

He took her hands and bent to kiss the corner of her
mouth. That little speech had told him more than she had ever told him intentionally. It revealed the loneliness and the fear in a way that he had only sensed before. She
was
abandoned. Someone had left her to fend for herself and, if his instincts were right, for her sister, too. But who, and why?

“You’re forgiven,” he said easily. “Now, come to the fire and break your fast.” He went to the linen press and took out a nightshirt. “Put this on; it should cover you adequately.” He tossed it into her lap and turned back to the breakfast tray, sensing her need to gather herself together without scrutiny.

Alex dropped the nightshirt over her head and thrust her arms into the sleeves. She stood up, letting the folds fall around her to her ankles. She rolled up the ruffled sleeves as far as her elbows and flicked the collar straight. “I think I’m respectable,” she said rather doubtfully as she came to the fire. The ease with which he’d accepted her garbled explanation had reassured her, and yet she had the feeling that it hadn’t really satisfied him.

“Oh, eminently respectable,” he agreed, pouring coffee. “We have a fricassee of kidneys and mushrooms and fried eggs.” He gestured to the dishes on the tray.

Alexandra sat on the rug in front of the ottoman and sniffed hungrily. “I could eat an ox.” She spooned the fricassee onto her platter and slid an egg on top, then took up her fork.

He smiled and helped himself. “So, what are your plans for today?”

Alex, her mouth full, glanced up at the clock on the dresser. Her eyes widened, and she swallowed her mouthful. “ ’Tis already ten o’clock.”

“Yes, I told you I was afraid you were going to sleep the morning away.”

How was she to explain to the caretakers in Berkeley Square why she had not come home last night? And then she thought,
why
did she need to? It was no business of theirs what the visitor did.

Perry watched her face with amused understanding. She had lived for so long in fear of being found out, and now she was beginning to see that, for the moment at least, she had no need for such fear. “So?” he prompted. “What are your plans?”

Alex took another forkful of kidneys and mushrooms. “Correspondence,” she said. “I must send out some letters about the collection to some people who might be interested.”

He nodded. “How long will that take you?”

“I’m not sure. Why?”

“Only that I was thinking we might take a ride in the park a little later.”

“I don’t have a horse or a riding habit,” she pointed out.

“Hiring horses is no problem. As for a riding habit, you presumably still have those breeches. Just wear those underneath your regular gown.” He buttered a piece of toasted bread.

“Where would we ride?”

“Well, ’tis customary for Society folk to take the air in Hyde Park in the late afternoon.”

“And I, as you very well know, do not come into that category,” she declared. “Besides, I can’t possibly draw attention to myself in such fashion. People are bound to wonder who I am.”

His eyes narrowed. “Are you perhaps concerned that someone might recognize you?”

“Since they will only see a crookbacked lady of uncertain years, with an unsightly birthmark, slumped upon the back of a jobbing horse, I think ’tis highly unlikely,” she retorted.

He shook his head in frustration. “Very well. You have made your point. We will ride in Richmond Park instead. There are enough wooded rides there to avoid running into anyone else. And besides, one may gallop there without censure. What d’you say?”

It was an immensely appealing idea. An unfettered ride, a forest gallop with someone who posed no threat to her plans. She nodded. “Yes, please, I would like that.”

“Good. Then finish your breakfast and get dressed. The sooner you get back to Berkeley Square, the sooner you will finish your tasks and we can enjoy ourselves again.”

Alex swallowed her last mouthful of coffee and uncurled herself from the floor. “I’ll be ready in ten minutes.”

“Come down when you are.” He gathered up the dishes on the tray and carried them out.

Alex dressed swiftly. The lavender silk gown was more appropriate for evening wear than a brisk autumn morning, but there was little she could do about that. She found an ivory comb on the washstand and tugged it through her tangled locks with limited success, then made her way downstairs, hoping that she would not meet anyone except for Perry.

He was awaiting her in the hall, her cloak over his arm. “Good, I’ve sent Bart to summon a chair for you. It would probably be more discreet if you returned home alone.” He draped the cloak over her shoulders.

“ ’Tis unlike you to concern yourself with discretion,” she remarked, drawing the cloak tightly around her.

“No, ’tis not in the least unlike me,” he retorted. “When have I exposed you to unwelcome public scrutiny?”

She frowned. “Well, never, I suppose. But I’m always on tenterhooks in case you do.”

“Well, there’s no need to be. One day, you’ll tell me what’s going on, and until then, I’ll play your game. Should I ever decide not to, then I’ll give you fair warning.” He opened the door and peered out. “Ah, here’s Bart with the chair.”

He accompanied her out to the street and saw her into the chair. “I’ll come for you at three o’clock.” He raised a hand, kissing his fingers to her.

Alex sat back in the dim interior as the chairmen trotted down Stratton Street. She should have felt reassured by his promise, but his confident statement that
one day she would tell him the truth made her uneasy. And she knew why. Because she was afraid he was right. How could this wonderful intimacy continue between them if she persisted in holding such an essential part of herself apart from him?

But if she told him, he would want nothing more to do with her. How could a man of Peregrine Sullivan’s stature and integrity contemplate a relationship with a fraudulent bastard, intent on swindling a relative out of twenty thousand pounds?

When she put it as bluntly as that, she was flooded with a wash of depression, banishing the night’s delightful memories. The whole situation was impossible, and she had allowed it to develop. It was entirely her own fault that she was entwined in this morass of deception upon deception. If only he had never come to Combe Abbey.

But then the memories of the previous night surged back, and her blood began to sing. How could she possibly wish that had never happened?