Too Wicked to Wed (14 page)

Her chin had taken on a defiant tilt, but he saw that her lashes were wet with tears. Still, she did not allow them to fall.

“I was only trying to help. If I have offended you, I am sorry.” Alexa drew in a ragged breath. “Why do you hate me so? Because I see something in you that frightens your own perceptions?”

Connor didn’t answer right away. “I don’t hate you, Lady Alexa,” he finally said. “Far from it.”

“Then why—why do you treat me so abominably?” she demanded.

Connor was close enough to see the subtle sparks of red and gold in her loosened tresses. “Because you send fire through my veins. And it chills me to the bone.” Reaching out, he traced his fingertips along the line of her jaw. “It’s not me I’m afraid of, but you,
álainn
.

“I—I don’t understand.”

He captured her mouth in a sudden fierce kiss.
It was wrong—oh-so wrong.
His brain was shouting a warning, but for a wild moment, the blood was thrumming too loudly in his head for him to hear it.
Be damned with reason.
Frustration, longing—along with a pelter of emotions he dared not name—welled up inside him.

With a deep, feral groan, Connor sucked in her lower lip, savoring the clean, herb-sweet taste of her essence. His hands came up to frame her face, and the warmth of her skin suffused his callused palms.

“Ohhhh.” With a breathy sigh, Alexa swayed and yielded to his embrace, opening up to him with an eagerness that made his chest clench. Her hands fisted in his hair, pulling him closer.

“
Álainn
,” he rasped, the Gaelic endearment lost in a gust of wind as he crushed her body against his. Heat flared as Alexa arched and allowed his rampant arousal to nudge between her skirt-swirled legs.

Oh, this was wicked—truly wicked.
She deserved more than a snabbering, lustful beast pawing at her innocence. The dim roar of Reason finally penetrated the primitive pulsing of need. Connor held tight to the feel of her for an instant longer, then roughly released his hold and stepped back.

“I don’t understand,” repeated Alexa, her voice sounding a little dazed as she lifted her fingertips to touch the swell of her lips.

“God Almighty, neither do I,” he muttered as he turned his back and stalked away. “Let us leave it at that.”

Hot and cold.

Men were a complete mystery, while stoves…

Alexa jiggled the thin blade a fraction more to the left and managed to tighten the screw. “There, that ought to rectify the problem.” Shimmying out from inside the unlit oven, she adjusted the iron griddle. Sure enough, it stayed level.

“Why, thank you, milady. Joseph’s fingers have grown too stiff to work such tools, so I had resigned myself to making due with a broken stove.” Mrs. Callaway’s lined face wreathed in a broad smile as she inspected the handiwork. “We are fortunate, indeed to have such a clever mistress of the house. I daresay there is nothing at Linsley Close that you cannot put to rights.”

Nothing save my own off-kilter emotions
, thought Alexa with an inward grimace. However, she took a measure of satisfaction in having earned Mrs. Callaway’s praise. The housekeeper’s initial reserve had softened enough that she actually felt welcome.

“Oh, aye, m’lady.” The girl who had been hired to help with the cleaning bobbed her head in vigorous agreement. “I was telling me mam that I never dreamed that a fine lady could know all the things ye know.”

“Necessity is a good teacher.” Alexa smiled as she wiped her sooty hands on a rag. “I am sure that you know a great deal more useful skills than I do, Becky.”

The girl blushed with pleasure. “Yer awfully kind, Lady Killingworth.”

Alexa caught herself from looking over her shoulder.

“Me mam sent along the bit of beefsteak ye requested, along with the lamb chops and a slab of bacon.” Becky placed the parcels on the table, then added a basket of eggs. “Mrs. Deevers asked me te bring these te ye as well. Everyone is right pleased te hear a new countess is in residence at Linsley Close.”

“I am happy to be here as well.” Alexa hoped that the powdering of ash hid her guilty flush.

She felt badly about the deception, but consoled herself with the thought that it was doing no harm—and perhaps even a bit of good. Yesterday she had ventured a visit to the small village and had made several purchases. Though modest, they had elicited a shy gratitude, and she planned to return with a list of various other sundries to acquire.

“Will ye and the earl be staying fer long?” asked Becky.

“That is, of course, for His Lordship to decide,” she replied slowly. “But I rather doubt it.”

“Oh.”

The girl looked a bit disappointed, and to her surprise, Alexa found that she, too, was regretting her imminent departure. She much preferred the wild ruggedness of the moors and the honest pleasures of country life to the artificial glitter and carefully choreographed rituals of London. Here, as in Yorkshire, she could breathe freely of fresh air and tramp about outdoors without fear that the tabbies were watching her every step. And the sea—she would miss the elemental rhythm of the surf breaking upon the craggy cliffs.

But as the earl had said, regrets were best left in the dust.

As Becky took her leave through the kitchen door, Alexa caught a glimpse of Connor in the distance, wending his way up to the cliffs overlooking the sea. He seemed to have taken his own words to heart, she mused, for he had spent much of the past few days walking the moors. With his wind-whipped hair and flapping cloak, he had stood out against the weathered rock and gorse, a solitary figure, buffeted by the elements.

A lone wolf.
Did he never tire of his self-imposed isolation, both physical and emotional?

Apparently not, for he had taken great pains to avoid her since their harsh words and strange kiss. He had his meals in his own chamber, and spent the evenings locked away in his library until the wee hours. Mrs. Callaway had made mention of several letters being sent out, but as of yet, no replies had come in. Nor had anything been heard from Mr. Daggett.

For now, there was naught to do but wait.

However Alexa had no intention of sitting still. “I find there are several other things I wish to buy in the village,” she announced, after setting the rag aside. “Is there anything else we need, aside from candles and a tin of tea?”

“No, milady. But Joseph can make the trek if you wish.”

“I have been inside all day and look forward to the walk. I shall just change out of these garments and wash the dirt from my face—”

A rapping at the front door cut her short.

“Perhaps it’s Jenkins,” said Alexa as Mrs. Callaway straightened her apron and hurried to answer the knock. Anxious to know what word had come from Town, she was quick to follow.

Only to find herself wishing that she could crawl back inside a black hole. Preferably one that burrowed down all the way to China.

It was not the bearish coachman standing on the landing, but rather an elegant lady, stylishly attired in what Alexa ruefully recognized as the latest fashion from Paris.

The charming little chip straw bonnet, trimmed in a luscious shade of cherry red, showed off the caller’s glossy mahogany curls to perfection. But even had her hair been hidden under a basket and her stunning figure clothed in a gunnysack, Alexa would instantly have identified recognized her.
It was the buxom lady who had waltzed so intimately with the earl in London.

And here she was, dancing attendance on him at an isolated country estate.

Why, the nerve of the dratted man to invite her here!

Much as she wished to deny it, Alexa felt an irrational wave of jealousy sweep over her. Their marriage may be a complete hum, but she would not tolerate him inviting another woman into his bed right under her nose.

“Is the earl in?” The question was accompanied by a dimpled smile.

“His Lordship is out at present,” replied Mrs. Callaway. There was a slight hesitation before she added, “but Lady Killingworth is at home.”

Alexa took a rather spiteful pleasure in seeing that the announcement caused the perfectly shaped brows to arch so high that they disappeared completely beneath the poke of the bonnet.

But to her credit, the lady evinced no other sign of shock. She merely murmured, “Indeed? He did not mention having taken a wife.” Slipping a calling card from her beaded reticule, she held it out to the housekeeper. “Would you kindly send someone to ask if Her Ladyship will see me.”

Mrs. Callaway took it and passed it on to Alexa.

Quelling the urge to crumple it up and toss it over her shoulder, she stared mutely at the engraved script.

The Honorable Mrs. Andrew Blake Chatsworth.

It could have read the Queen of Siam or the Man in the Moon, and Alexa would still have felt the same frisson of dislike prickle through her fingertips.

Noting that the figure in the dusty mobcap and much-abused apron seemed in no hurry to seek out the lady of the house, Mrs. Chatsworth’s expression turned a touch quizzical. “She does not know me, but you might make mention that I am an old friend of her husband.”

Alexa looked up, doing her best to assume an air of unruffled dignity. Which, she admitted, was a trifle difficult while looking like something the cat had dragged up from the root cellar. “There is no need to pass on your message. I am Lady Killingworth.” Somehow she got the name out with tripping over her own tongue.

“Indeed! How delightful to make your acquaintance!” The dimple reappeared. “Naughty man—I mean to ring a peal over Connor’s head when he returns! Not only for keeping his nuptials a secret but for failing to invite us to the ceremony.”

Connor.
The implied intimacy set her teeth on edge. “It all happened rather suddenly, Mrs. Chatsworth.”

“Oh, do call me Suzy. All my friends do.” Suzy grinned. “Swept you off your feet, did he?”

“In a manner of speaking,” replied Alexa tightly, recalling how the unconscious earl’s slumping weight had nearly knocked her on her backside.

There was a brief silence, then the earl’s lady friend gave a tiny cough. “Er, might I come in?”

So much for appearing the gracious hostess.

Blushing to the roots of her bedraggled hair, Alexa hopped back a step. “Yes. Of course.” Her fingers fumbled at the folds of her faded skirts, seeking to scrub away any lingering traces of kitchen grease.

“Shall I bring tea to the drawing room, milady?”

Alexa nodded, grateful that the housekeeper had the presence of mind to recall common courtesy. Her own brain had gone rather blank.

“Please follow me,” she mumbled.

The clomp of her own half boots echoed in mocking contrast to the dainty patter of the visitor’s silk-trimmed slippers, an all-too-vivid reminder that she was going to have to tiptoe very carefully to avoid sliding down the slippery slope of disaster.

For an instant she contemplated falling ill or feigning a twisted ankle, but after several steps, she regained her footing. She had bluffed her way through an even more brazen charade, she reminded herself. Surely she could play the role of a countess, despite smelling of bacon fat and looking like a chimney sweep.

The drawing room, at least, was not a source of further embarrassment. Sunlight sparkled through the scrubbed glass, illuminating the polished marble, freshly swept carpets and gleaming woodwork, still redolent of lemon oil and beeswax. Centered on the sideboard was a ginger jar, filled with the bouquet of wildflowers she had picked on yesterday’s walk back from the village.

“Oh, what a cheery room,” exclaimed Suzy, darting a glance around as she peeled off a pair of pale pink kidskin gloves and untied the strings of her bonnet.

Alexa couldn’t help noting that beneath the breezy nonchalance was a certain air of alertness. Suzy’s eyes, wide and set at a slight slant, were feline in their intensity. Though shaded with a thick fringe of lashes, they did not appear to miss much.

A kitten.
That was the image that flashed to mind. But a kitten with claws, and no compunction about using them if the need arose.

Once again, Alexa felt rather like a mouse, surrounded by predators.

“Of course you will wish to add your own individual touches once you have settled in.” Dropping her bonnet on the sofa, the earl’s lady friend moved to the window. “Do you plan on taking up residence here?”

“That is up to…Connor.”

“Ah, yes. A newly married lady is always quick to defer to her husband. But you’ll soon learn the knack of how to bring a man around to your way of thinking.”

Alexa’s eyes narrowed. Was that a wink of secret amusement she detected in the other lady’s hazel gaze?

“By the by, when did the two of you become man and wife?”

Aware she was treading on treacherous ground, Alexa took a moment to remove her mobcap. “Oh, a week ago. Or was it two?” She kept her reply deliberately vague. “Time flies, you know, when…when…”

“When you are having fun?” suggested Suzy. “You must tell me all the delightful details! Beginning with where the two of you met.”

How much did the earl’s lady friend know? And how much did she suspect?
Alexa considered her options. More lies? That was dangerous, and yet so was the alternative.

To hell with the consequences.
Drawing a deep breath, she decided to tell the truth.

“We met in a brothel…” A small part of her wanted to shock the insouciant smile off of her guest’s face.

Suzy did not so much as bat an eye.

“And actually, I’m not really the Wolfhound’s wife, but his partner—his business partner,” she added, fully expecting that the bombshell would knock buxom beauty into a dead swoon.

Instead there came a peal of delighted laughter. “How marvelous! Do you mean to say, you have an interest in The Wolf’s Lair?”

It was Alexa who found herself reeling. “You know about The Wolf’s Lair?”

“Why, yes—I used to work there.”

Talk about bombshells.
The news certainly gave her a new perspective on the Honorable Mrs. Andrew Blake Chatsworth. Not that a different view of the luscious curves made her any more inclined to like the other lady. It was all too obvious what one of her primary jobs at the Lair had entailed.