Anne Stuart (18 page)

He had an almost unearthly beauty in the silver moonlight. She’d done her best to avoid him earlier that evening, not even glancing in his direction, but now she had no choice. His hair was unpowdered, black, his face narrow and pale, and in the shifting shadows he seemed a creature of night, of extremes, of pale and dark, life and death. Extremes that he seemed to view with detached amusement. A card began to form in her mind, but she banished it in sudden fear. She didn’t want to see his life, his cards, in her mind or anywhere else.

“
How did you know I was looking for my sister?” She made her voice deliberately mundane. “Have you seen her?”

“
What else would draw you out, alone and unprotected, at this hour of the night?” he murmured, venturing closer. His gracefulness unnerved her. She was used to men being big, rough, clumsy creatures. Glenshiel was none of that. He was tall, but with a lean, wiry strength very different from the brute force she was used to. His very elegance, his mocking airs and graces, were unlike anything she had ever known, and his movements were sleek and silent, stealthy, like a prideful cat.

It wasn’t the first time she’d thought of him in terms of a cat, and she forced herself to look at him with new eyes,
considering the unimaginable before discarding the notion. He couldn’t possibly be the Cat. What in heaven’s name would a peer of the realm be doing stealing jewels? The notion was patently absurd.

“
Why should I worry about being alone and unprotected?” she countered. “This isn’t a London street. There’s no one in this house who wishes me ill. No one who could do me harm.”

As he moved closer he disappeared into the shadows, his voice cool and disembodied. For some reason that seemed almost more intimate than facing him in the moonlit dark, and she turned back toward the silvered landscape, doing her best to ignore him.

“
For someone who’s been forced to rely on herself for so long, you’re remarkably naive,” he said softly. “I suspect you’re in more danger here than you are in that depressing little house. First you have your hostess, who resents treating you as anything more than a servant and would most likely put you over the kitchens if she thought she could get away with it. Then there’s the unpleasant Ermintrude, who’s eaten up with jealousy over you and your sister. They’re not dangerous per se, more of an irritation. But I’m certain you wouldn’t be too happy to run afoul of Mr. Clegg.”

Jessamine froze. “Mr. Clegg?” she echoed after a moment in a marvelous semblance of confusion. “I have no idea who you’re talking about. Who’s Mr. Clegg?”

“
The Bow Street runner you’ve been assisting with your card readings. Not a wise choice on your part, by the way. His reputation is beyond unsavory. You would have been far better off working with someone like the thief-taker who accompanied you here. He seems possessed of slightly higher values.”

“
I don’t number Bow Street runners among my acquaintance,” she said, keeping her face turned out into the moonlight. “And I assure you, I haven’t been reading the cards for
anyone outside polite society.”

He was closer, though still in the shadows. “Really? Then perhaps you’re conducting a liaison with him. I can’t say much for your taste though.”

She turned back to glare at him. He was close enough to touch her now, half in, half out of the shadows. “Don’t be ridiculous. You know perfectly well that I’m not!” she snapped, turning away.

“
Why should I know that?”

“
Because you... er...”
Why in God’s name had she ever brought the subject up?
She stiffened her resolve, refusing to be embarrassed. “Because whether I like it or not, you happen to be in a position to know that I am entirely unused to kisses.”

She could feel his breath on the side of her neck, warm, sweet, smelling faintly of mint and brandy. “Dear child,” he murmured, “one can conduct a most licentious affair without ever kissing anyone.”

She made the mistake of turning again, but this time he was so close, she didn’t have the option of turning back. She was effectively trapped between the glass doors and his lean, powerful body. She wondered if she could shove him out of the way. But that would necessitate putting her hands on him, and she had the illogical, melancholy suspicion that if she were to touch him, she would be far more likely to draw him close.

“
I don’t believe you,” she said, knowing that to continue the discussion was dangerous, a small, secret part of her reveling in that danger. “What’s the good of a liaison without kissing?”

She amused him. She could see it clearly in his fascinating eyes, and her annoyance should have put a dent in her obsession. It didn’t.

He smiled. “Some people don’t like to kiss,” he said, letting his golden eyes shimmer down over her slender body.

“
I can’t imagine it,” she said flatly.

“
That’s because you’ve only been well kissed,” Alistair said without false modesty. “I’m very good at it when the spirit moves me. And there seems to be something about you that arouses my... er... spirit quite effectively.”

She tried to back away from him, but the glass was up against her back, and there was nowhere she could run. “I have to find my sister,” she said breathlessly.

“
Your sister is perfectly safe. She’s back in your bedroom, none the worse for her midnight walk in the gardens.”

“
Is that what she was doing?”

Alistair smiled. It was a singularly wicked smile promising all sorts of dangerous delights. “She was alone on the stairs, her clothing and hair were still in order, and while she’d been crying, she seemed reasonably intact.”

“
Crying?” Jessamine said, galvanized. “I must go to her.” And without thinking she moved forward, expecting Glenshiel to move out of the way.

He didn’t. She came flat up against his solid chest, and his arms came around her, loosely imprisoning, but she had no doubt she’d be hard put to escape. “No, you don’t,” he said. “She’s safe and alone and she’ll likely cry herself to sleep more easily without you fussing over her.”

He was warm in the cool night air, dangerously so. His eyes glittered with malice and desire, and his mouth was too close. “Don’t,” she said in a small, soft voice that was damnably close to a plea.

“
Don’t?” he echoed, mocking. “Don’t, kind sir! Pray, spare my maiden blushes. Unhand me, sirrah, or I’ll—what is it exactly that you would do to stop me, Jessamine? Scream for help?”

“
If I must,” she said, standing very still in the lightly capturing circle of his arms.

“
Ah, but you don’t really want to.” He dropped his voice
lower still. “I can see it in your eyes. You’re as fascinated by me as I am by you.”

“
You have an inflated sense of self-worth,” she shot back.

“
You watch me,” he said, pressing closer. “You watch me as I watch you, and you think about when I kissed you. And you wonder if I’m going to kiss you again.”

She was having trouble controlling her breathing. “You’re absolutely mad,” she said.

“
And you look at the other men, and you wonder whether you’d like their kisses as well,” he continued. “You think that perhaps only my kisses will please you, and that thought terrifies you.”

“
Why should it do that?” she whispered.

“
Because you know I’m a wicked, conscienceless rake who’ll seduce you, take my pleasure of you, and then go on to other things, other women, when I grow bored.”

Jessamine swallowed. “That seems about the truth of it. Or do you deny it?”

“
I don’t deny that I’m not cut out for faithfulness, loyalty, or any of those tedious noble virtues. But I could show you things that you never imagined existed. A riot of sensation no other man could ever show you.”

“
That’s hardly an incentive,” she said in a flat voice. “You’re promising me a lifetime of disappointment after a few nights of enjoyable debauchery. I think I’d be far better off never knowing what I was missing.”

“
How paltry of you,” he murmured.

“
Sorry to disappoint you. You seem to have some image of me as a brave, adventurous soul. I’m actually quite ordinary, with ordinary wants and needs. I want to see my family settled, I want a quiet place in the country where I can live in relative solitude. I’m not the sort for wildness and passion.”

“
Are you not?” he said, a faint smile playing around his
mouth. “I could convince you otherwise.”

“
You would be doing me a grave disservice,” she warned him.

“
Do you think that would bear any weight with me?”

If only he’d release her. The longer he held her, the more she felt her stern resolve slipping away. It was all well and good to insist herself uninterested in the tawdry emotions of mankind. She truly thought she might be able to convince him if only she weren’t feeling the press of his legs against her full skirts.

She just didn’t think she’d be able to convince herself.

“
Please,” she said in a small, desperate voice that held a distressing quaver. “If you have any kindness or decency left within you, you’ll release me.”

He appeared to consider the notion for a moment, his head tipped to one side as he surveyed her out of half-closed eyes. And then he shook his head. “I’m afraid kindness and decency have long since fled, Jessamine,” he said softly. “All that’s left is mindless lust. A most diverting pastime, I assure you. Shall I demonstrate?”

“
My lord...” she whispered, quite desperate.

“
Alistair,” he corrected her, his mouth hovering above hers like a hawk over a wounded sparrow.

“
Please,” she said.

“
Yes. I do please.” And he pulled her into his arms, settling her body against his as his mouth captured hers.

She meant to keep her eyes open, to keep her senses in order, but he was too practiced, too clever, and his lips against hers were damp, clinging, tasting her own in soft little bites that pulled and drew her, and her eyelids fluttered closed in the shadowy darkness as she opened her mouth for him.

His arms no longer imprisoned her—she clung to him of her own accord, and his hands were free, free to reach between
their bodies and cup her breast. She knew she should protest, pull her mouth away from his in outrage, but she couldn’t. He mesmerized her, and she told herself she had no will of her own.

But it wasn’t true. She had a very strong will. And her fierce will wanted Alistair MacAlpin’s hands on her breasts.

His mouth slid along her jawline, hot and seeking. “Where did you get such a hideous dress?” he murmured. “You should wear silks and lace and diamonds. Or nothing at all.”

Her wits seemed to have scattered. “It was my mother’s,” she murmured, lifting her jaw to give his mouth access to the sensitive line of her neck above the plain dress.

“
Your mother has execrable taste,” he said, and she could feel his hands tugging at the laces impatiently. “I want you out of it.” And she could feel the material part as he tugged it down over her shoulders, and the coolness of the window behind her made her shiver in sudden fear as sanity struggled to return.

She wanted his mouth on hers. She wanted his hands on her breasts. She wanted him to strip her of her ugly clothes and cover her body with his beautiful one, but she knew such wants were wicked and mad. And profoundly dangerous. He would take everything from her, her innocence, her peace of mind... and her gift. And leave her empty and aching.

“
Release me,” she said in a raw voice.

He’d managed to pull her dress down her arms, exposing the top part of her breasts above the corset, and after a moment of silent perusal his eyes met hers. “No,” he said.

He would take her, she knew it. He would do as he said he would, strip off her clothes and his and take her on the floor of his hostess’s little-used music room with the silver-bright moon their witness, and she would revel in it. And she would risk everything, including her precious gift—for a rare pleasure that would break her heart and ruin her life.

She gave him no warning, simply shoved hard, propelling herself away from him and against the glass doors, which shattered with a loud crack.

For a moment she felt nothing, just coldness and pressure on her exposed back. And then heat and dampness as Alistair yanked her away, cursing underneath his breath.

“
You don’t have to court defenestration to get away from me,” he muttered under his breath in a less passionate voice, turning her around so that she faced away from him. A perfect time to run, except that he held her shoulders in a painful grip that she couldn’t wriggle out of. “You’ve scraped your back.”

“
You wouldn’t let me go,” she said, willing herself not to feel faint. She was made of stronger stuff than that, wasn’t she? She was brave and bold and strong, wasn’t she? To be sure, she’d never been terribly stalwart at the sight of blood, but surely this time she could face it with equanimity. Couldn’t she?

He turned her back to face him before she could gather enough strength to make a break for it. “Sit down,” he said irritably, “and I’ll find something to bandage it.”

She looked at him. He had blood on his hand. Her blood. “Of course,” she said faintly. And sank to the floor in a graceless heap.