Too Wicked to Wed (18 page)

Not that he needed much urging. His desire for her had been on the verge of boiling over for some time now. He had done his best to bank the coals, but now, as Alexa slid her palm between them and skimmed over his shaft, every last vestige of self-control went up in smoke.

Was she wicked to want this?

Oh, yes…oh, no.

As the earl’s big, broad hand found the slit in her drawers, Alexa’s breath was suddenly sucked from her lungs. And with went all reason, all restraint. All rules.

So many rules had bound her before this wild interlude, and likely would again when it was over. But for this moment…

He hesitated and started to withdraw.

“No, please!” she begged. “I—I want to know what you meant about ecstasy.”

A quicksilver gleam hung for an instant on his dark lashes. “Knowledge is a dangerous thing, Alexa.”

“I’m willing to take the risk.” She pressed her plea with a bold caress of his arousal.

Connor’s response was a raspy growl. “Are you sure?” he demanded.

“Yes.” His hand resumed its roving, delving deeper, deeper, deeper with exquisite intimacy. “
Oh, yes.
” Alexa clutched tighter at his neck to keep herself upright.

Whatever his reply, the whispered words were whirled away in a gust of wind. Its chill danced up her half-bared legs, but it was nothing compared to the lick of flames now burning between her thighs.

His fingers found their way through the delicate fabric and were now teasing her flesh in unimaginable ways. She gasped in wonder, feeling herself growing slick beneath his touch.

“
Tá lá breá ann.
” Connor’s ragged breath tickled her ear. “That means ‘you are beautiful’ in Gaelic.”

“I’m not,” she protested. “I’m all sharp, skinny angles and I have too tart a mouth.”

He nipped at her lower lip. “Actually, it’s quite delicious. Forget everything your cursed uncle has said—you must yield to my superior knowledge in these things.”

Alexa lifted her chin and let a laugh float up to the sun-dappled clouds. She should be ashamed, she supposed, of her wanton behavior. But as she watched his windblown hair wave in silver-sparked splendor around the slope of his shoulders, she felt only elation. Pure and joyous elation.

Connor kissed her again, flicking his tongue in and out of her mouth to match the quickening tempo of his touch.

Sliding her half boots over the soft grass, Alexa widened her stance, allowing his strokings to dip and dance over her flesh. Her pulse skittered as tremors shot like fire through her limbs. His free hand had moved to her breast, and she was aware of her nipple hardening against his palm.

The sensations were wildly, wickedly exciting. It was no wonder that proper young females weren’t allowed anywhere near wolfish rakes.

Oh, yes he was a Wolf, a sleek, powerful predator. And she was an innocent little lamb, desperate to be devoured.

A growl—or was it a groan—rumbled in Connor’s throat. “Tell me now, while there is still time to stop, if you don’t wish to play out this game.” He sounded a little uncertain, a little unsteady.

That she could affect his self-control sent another jolt of heat spiraling out from her core. She was trembling all over, her body reacting in ways that defied coherent words.

Connor slowed, the pressure of his touch turning delicate, yet demanding.

“Ohhh.” A tiny choking sound slipped from her lips as his thumb circled a tiny pearl hidden beneath her folds.

He smiled.

“W-what…” began Alexa, wonder welling up in her throat.

“Hush,” he murmured. “Don’t speak.” His caress spun faster and faster. “Just feel.”

And then, all at once, the thrumming in her head was louder than the surf crashing against the cliffs and all lucid thought was cast to the wind.

Wave after wave of pleasure washed through her. Alexa arched against his hand, dimly aware of her moans mingling with the shrill cry of the gulls overheard.

His body tensed and she heard a sharp intake of breath as his hand slid from her breast to the fastenings of his trousers…

Chapter Sixteen

T
hank God for the dog.

Its bark gave just enough warning. Otherwise the elderly tenant farmer and his wife might have discovered him with his bum bare to the breeze, ravishing his all-too-alluring faux wife up against a fence post.

“Good day te ye, Lord Killingworth.” The man gave a respectful tug to his forelock, but as he ducked his head, Connor thought he detected a glimmer of mirth. “And te you, Lady Killingworth. A fine afternoon te be enjoying a stroll outdoors, is it not?”

Hoping he did not look like a child caught in the act of filching sweets, Connor nodded a reply. However, one glance at Alexa told him he could consign such wishful thinking to Hades. With her flushed face, lidded eyes, and kiss-swollen mouth, there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that other couple wouldn’t guess what the two of them had been up to.

He gave a mental wince, feeling thoroughly ashamed of himself.
Damn—he hadn’t meant to let things get so out of hand.
But Alexa seemed to provoke a potent reaction, one that he was powerless to resist.

The farmer’s wife dropped a curtsy. “Welcome te South Dorset Downs, Lady Killingworth. Tis a rough and isolated bit o’ the world to be sure, and nuffink like London, I imagine, but we all hope ye might find it to yer liking.”

Lady Killingworth.

To his surprise, Connor found that the ring of it didn’t send a shiver of horror down his spine.

“That is most kind of you,” replied Alexa with a gracious smile. She had smoothed out her skirts, and though a telltale blush still stained her cheeks, she had, like a true countess, recovered her composure with admirable aplomb.

“I am from Yorkshire, so am well used to rugged country life,” she went on. “Indeed, I prefer untrammeled moorland and heath to cobbled city streets.”

The answer seemed to please the older woman. She turned and wagged a finger under the earl’s nose. “Ye was a right impish rascal as a child, Connor Linsley, and there have been some wild stories floating around here concerning yer doings in Town.” Ignoring a discreet poke from her husband, she set her hands on her ample hips. “But it seems ye have had the good sense to make an excellent choice fer yer bride. Becky Netters has been telling the village how she be putting Linsley Close back to rights—”

“Sally,” hissed her husband. “Mind yer tongue. His Lordship ain’t a lad in leading strings any longer.”

“That’s quite all right.” Alexa was quick to put him at ease. “The earl appreciates plain speaking. As do I.” After a glance at the woven muffler tucked at his throat, she asked. “Are you perchance Mr. Hibbert?”

“Why, yes, milady.”

“Oh, Mr. Stellings has told me all about you and your weaving,” she exclaimed.

He gave a nervous little hitch of his head. “The old earl paid no heed to the goats and didna mind if we clipped a bit o’ fluff.”

“I’m sure he did not,” said Alexa. “What I meant was, I have heard you do remarkably fine work.”

“Aye, that he does, milady,” piped up his wife. “Go on now, Ben, show ’er yer scarf.”

He looked a trifle embarrassed by the attention, but slowly unwound the cloth from around his neck.”

“It’s exquisite.” Alexa caressed the delicate weave between her fingertips. “The colors have such a subtle beauty, and I’ve never felt wool this gossamer soft.”

Connor suddenly felt something akin to a whisper of sun-warmed breath kiss up against his cheek. “See, Killingworth. Isn’t that magical? It’s light as a feather.”

“Yes, magical,” he murmured, though in truth he found himself more enchanted by the elfin play of her hands. They seemed to have woven a spell of their own around him.

“Might I stop by your cottage some afternoon and see some other examples of your craft?” asked Alexa as she handed back the scarf.

“Er, I…” stammered Hibbert, his tongue tied in knots by the unexpected request. “That is, I would be right honored, milady.”

“Ye have only te choose a skein of wool ye like, and Ben will weave up a shawl quick as a whistle,” added his wife.

Speak of the devil.
Connor shuffled back a step as a shrill sound warned the snuffling terrier away from his feet.

“We best be on our way, Sally,” said the farmer, clearly anxious to be off before the dog did any irreparable damage to the lord of the manor.

“You could have shown a tad more enthusiasm,” murmured Alexa as she watched the couple hurry off toward the village.

“For what?” asked Connor. “The fact that he is stealing wool from my goats? Or that his mongrel was about to piddle on my boots?”

“Was it?” She brought a hand up to her face, but not in time to hide her grin. “Perhaps it thought you too high in the instep.”

“A well-aimed splash would certainly have put a damper on any pretensions to lordly pride,” he groused. “Assuming I had any left after playing fetch and carry with a squirming kid.”

She plucked at her sleeve in a rather belated attempt to smooth out the wrinkles. “You—and your wardrobe—have suffered more than your share of abuse. I’m sorry. I seem to be a bad influence on you.”

“With a good scrubbing, I imagine that both my person and my shirt will no longer reek of goat,” he muttered. Her scent would likely tease at his dreams, a beguiling blend of sweet florals and earthy spices that was hers, and hers alone.

“Once it’s properly carded and spun, the wool loses any offensive odor.” Alexa tapped at her chin. “You know, that gets me to thinking…” Her voice trailed off as her eyes took on a faraway look.

Wool?

Bloody hell.
Here he had brought her to the peak of pleasure, and then nearly ravished her up against a fence post—and she seemed to have all but forgotten the incident, dreaming instead of those dratted goats.

Connor lapsed into silence as well, his mood growing more unsettled with every stride.

They simply could not keep going on in this way. She might, in her innocence, be unaware of how close to the brink of ruin she was, but he had not needed the cliffside foray to remind himself of what a perilous path they were treading.

Yet it was becoming harder and harder to watch his step. The footing was growing more treacherous and his self-control was balanced on naught but a razor-thin edge. He had already slipped once. Next time…

“We had best hurry.” Head down, he quickened his pace, leaving her behind. “There look to be thunderheads blowing in from the sea.”

Chapter Seventeen

A
lexa stared out at the pelting rain. Between the splattering drops and the dense fog, there was little to see through the mullioned glass but a pall of gray. Even the ivy leaves just outside the windows were no more than indistinct curls of charcoal.

Gray, shadowed by more gray.

What could be more fitting than a sudden storm scudding in from the sea? The Irish Wolfhound was as mercurial as the English weather, aglow with sun-kissed splendor one moment, only to blow dark and thunderous in the blink of an eye.

Drawing her shawl a bit tighter, Alexa turned and retreated to a seat by the hearth, hoping the flames might help brighten her own clouded spirits. A book on weaving techniques lay on the sidetable, but after reading the first few pages, she found her thoughts shuttling far from the subject of wool.

She bit at her lip, only to wince at finding it still tender from the force of Connor’s kisses. Or perhaps the sting was due to her own heated passions. She could not deny the ardor of her response to his touch, no matter that the reasons for his advances remained as mysterious as his moods.

Was it naught but animal lust that drove the Wolfhound into kissing her? Or simply boredom?

As for her own feelings, they were painfully obvious. She had been fascinated by Connor Linsley from the moment she had laid eyes on him. Perhaps at first it had been the elemental attraction of opposites. Everything about her own self was so ordinary, save for her unladylike temperament, while the earl radiated a brooding sensuality, sparked with an aura of danger—and hidden passions she could not begin to define.

Like a moth drawn inexorably to a flame, she had been helpless to resist his allure…and the fire he had lit inside her.

Not that she wanted to.
Her mouth quivered ever so slightly. She was hard pressed to explain exactly how or why, but even as he had ravished her with that first overpowering embrace, she had sensed that the Wolfhound was not, at heart, the fearsome predator he wished to appear.

If only she could make him see the better side of himself.

If only, if only.

Her fingers tightened on the book. It pained her beyond measure to see him caged by a blackness she could not read. Whatever bitter memories or old mistakes darkened his thoughts, she wished she might help free him from the past. But since returning to the manor house, he had remained locked in his room, choosing solitude and silence over any further contact with her.

A wild, wary wolf.

Alexa forced herself to turn the page.

A tip of the bottle showed it was empty. Connor grimaced. That made two gone.
Or was it three?
It had been an age since he had allowed himself to become this foxed. Though in truth, he admitted, he was worse than foxed—he was three sheets to the wind. Caught in the current of brandy.

Adrift on an ocean of doubt.

Sinking deeper into the armchair, he pressed his palms over his eyes. Like the worn leather, Alexa Hendrie offered a haven for his weary bones. He had grown comfortable with her closeness. And the realization scared him to the very marrow.

Damn.
His dressing gown fell open, baring his skin to the night chill. He had not meant to reveal too much of himself, but she was sharper than the gusts knifing through the rain-lashed casement. In her eyes, he had seen a flash of understanding.

Echoing the distant thunder, the earl swore again. “Don’t want the demmed chit t’ unnerstand,” he slurred. Hell, he had worked to become unflinchingly tough. Uncaringly sardonic.

Ah, yes, existence itself was a brutal jest.

So how was it that an innocent young miss had managed to pierce such a hardened heart?

Connor blinked in the blackness as the storm unleashed another downpour against the mullioned glass. Perhaps because Alexa was like spring rain, a fresh warmth that brought with it the promise of new life.

But some things were best left dead.

Reaching for a fresh bottle, he poured himself another drink.

A glance at the mantel clock showed it close to midnight. Setting aside pencil and paper, Alexa snapped the book shut. She had made a few desultory notes, but neither her head nor her heart had been in it. Like the smudged scribbles, her thoughts had become too tangled to make any sense. Perhaps in the light of day, things would sort themselves out.

Ha—and perhaps pigs would launch themselves into the heavens.

She did not usually surrender to cynicism. However, with her mood as heavy as the rainsoaked night, she had not the energy to fight off the gloom.

Snuffing out all but a single candle, she banked the last of the coals and turned for the stairs.

Damp with the chill of the raging storm, her bedchamber offered little comfort. Alexa quickly undressed and pulled on her nightrail. Shivering in naught but the sheer lawn cotton, she was just about to slip beneath the coverlet when a shattering of glass sounded from the adjoining room.

“Sir?”

Her tentative call was answered by only a howl of wind.

She hesitated, uncertain of whether to call out again. A moment later, a jarring thud punctuated the crackling of the wind-whipped oaks. Fearing that a branch might have crashed through the window and reinjured Connor, Alexa rushed to the connecting door and grabbed for the latch. Off balance, she stumbled forward as it sprung open.

And nearly tripped over Connor’s outstretched legs.

His feet were bare. So, too, was much of the rest of him. He was wearing very little but a dressing gown of amber silk. It was, she realized, a rather fortuitous choice, seeing as it helped disguise the spill of spirits dribbling down his chest.

“Oh! I thought…that is I…”

“Go ’way.” His snarl was slurred.

The broken bottle made it clear enough why. From where she stood she could smell the brandy on his breath.

“These had better be cleared.” Finding an empty bowl, she set to gathering the slivers from the carpet. “Before you end up slicing off your toes.”

“Out, d’mn it.”

Ignoring his curses, Alexa finished the job. Though the harshness of his tone threatened to cut deeper than any physical hurt, she came closer.

“Don’t do this,” he said in a ragged whisper.

She reached out and touched his cheek.

“I warn you, Alexa. Leave now, or I fear you will regret it.”

For an instant she made no move. Then, ever so slowly, her fingers slid up to twine in his hair. She leaned in to kiss the last drops of brandy from his mouth. “I won’t regret it.”

“Ah, but
I
will.” His stubbled jaw rasped against her cheek. “God help me,” he growled roughly. “This charade is about to become all too real. Run while you can, for if you persist posing as my wife for another instant, I will no longer be able keep from playing my part as the dutiful husband.” Connor lurched unsteadily to his feet. The sash to his dressing gown caught in the chair, tugging the garment down from his shoulders. In a slither of silk it fell to the floor, leaving him entirely naked.

Alexa drew in a gulp of air as the flickering fire limned the contours of corded muscle and jutting manhood.

“Stagefright?” Connor made no attempt to hide his rampant arousal. “There is still time to make an exit. Don’t be a bloody fool, Alexa, and turn your life into a farce.”

She slowly undid the ribbon from her hair, letting it spill over her shoulders. “As I have never had the opportunity to rehearse my role, I trust you will be patient with any mistakes I might make.” Masking her nervousness with what she hoped was a knowing smile, Alexa brushed back a knot of curls. “No doubt there will be a number of them. By now you know how little polish I have in performing by rote.”

“There is no script for what is about to happen, sweeting.” It may only have been a quirk of candlelight, but the earl’s expression appeared oddly tentative. “I have no more experience than you in playing the tender lover, so we will just have to improvise.”

His grip was surprising gentle as he gathered her in his arms and carried her to the bed. The scent of him, an overtly masculine mix of smoke, leather, and sandalwood, was intoxicating. She could not resist tracing her tongue along the ridge of his shoulder. “You taste of salt and a wine-dark sea,” she whispered.

“You taste of honey,” he said, after drinking in a more intimate embrace. “And an ambrosial sweetness beyond words.”

There was no way to describe the flare of heat that his kiss ignited inside her. Rough with need, the rasp of his stubbled jaw was like a thousand points of fire against her cheek, and the press of his mouth, hard yet soft, a tongue of flame. “Then no more words, Connor,” she begged. “No more warnings. I want you, beyond reason, beyond regret.”
Beyond yearning.
“Please.”

“I fear I am beyond the point of turning back, no matter that I should.” His hands framed her face. “You deserve better, Alexa. So much better.”

“But I want
you
.” In the firelight, his hair had a quicksilver gleam. She threaded her fingers through the curling strands. Now and forever. Though that was a desire she dared not say aloud. For the moment, this closeness was enough. “Only you.”

Guiding his grip to the fastenings of her night rail, she wriggled her shoulders free of the fabric. With a ragged groan, Connor pulled it open all the way, sending a row of the tiny pearl buttons skittering across the counterpane. A last shrug left her naked beneath his gaze. Alexa knew she ought to feel embarrassed, but the gleam in his eyes sparked a fierce joy deep within her.

“Have you any idea how lovely you are?” Connor’s callused palms slid over her hips.

She edged closer, so close that the peppering of dark hair on his chest tickled against her skin. “Not nearly as magnificent as you are.” The breadth of his shoulders, the sculpted muscles, tapering to a narrow waist, were smooth and hard as marble. Chiseled perfection. “Like a Greek god.”

“Lud, I am all too human, Alexa. All too flawed.” His hands came up to cup her breasts. She tingled all over as he teased their tips.

“Not to me.” She fell back against the pillows, drawing him with her. “You are…” All coherent thought dissolved in a gasp of delight as his mouth closed over a nipple, laving, suckling the flesh to hard little points of fire.

“…Perfect.” The last word crescendoed into a cry. Arching instinctively, she wrapped her arms around his neck, reveling in the silky tangle of his hair, the slope of his back. The bedcovers fell away as he hitched her higher, their legs entwining in the sheets. His erect shaft brushed her thigh, and the thought of him wanting her was wildly arousing.

Somehow she did feel beautiful. Feminine, sultry, seductive. All the things she never dreamed were within her reach. Her hands tightened. She meant to hold on to the moment, savor the splendor of his shape, his strength, his scent.

Everything about him.

“Please!” she whispered, as his lips slanted to the hollow of her throat. The pounding of her pulse echoed her need. In another instant she feared she might shatter like crystal.

His eyes, swirling like liquid steel, met hers.

Alexa felt another jolt of heat course through her. “Don’t wait any longer. Come inside me, Connor.”

To hell with the rules. Surely love had a code of its own.

Connor lifted her hips, driven on by the exhortation and his own ruthless desire. Her words had unleashed the Wolfhound—his baser instincts now overwhelmed what few scraps of gentlemanly scruples he still possessed.

Damn him for a beast, but he meant to be her first lover. To mark her irrevocably as his own.

“Open yourself to me, Alexa.” He coaxed her thighs apart. “Yes, like this afternoon.” All pliant curves and creamy flesh, her long legs responded so sweetly to his touch. He nearly came undone.

A sigh, soft as spun silk, reminded him that she had never before had a man inside her.
Slowly, slowly
, he thought, holding himself in check. More than anything else, he wanted to make this night pleasurable for her, no matter what pain the future might hold.

Her honeyed curls, gleaming gold in the dancing light, were damp to his touch. Sucking in his breath, he found the nub within her feminine folds of flesh and circled a slow caress.

“Oh, Connor!” Her voice—wild, wondrous—urged him to quicken his stroke.

Alexa pressed hard into his hand, intuition overcame inexperience, and he took a wicked satisfaction at having awakened her to her own innermost need. Another cry, as his finger found her passage and slipped inside. So tight. So trusting. And so innocent.

With a low groan, he eased back.

“Please,” she begged, grabbing at his wrist. “Don’t stop. Not now.”

“Not so fast, sweeting,” he said through gritted teeth. His self-control was perilously close to going up in smoke. “I mean to make this right for you. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Her eyes were luminous in the flickering light, as if the sun were shining on a clear blue sky. “You could never hurt me.”

It was still not too late. A true gentleman would have come to his senses. But he had never claimed to be a saint. Fueled by drink and desire, primal passion had taken possession of him, body and soul. Angling higher, Connor braced his weight and entered her, slowly, gently as he could.

But after a momentary flinch, Alexa surged to meet him, sheathing his shaft deep in her warmth. He gasped, fighting to keep from going over the edge.

“A-am I doing this right?” Her smile turned tentative.

“Oh-so right,” he rasped. And oh-so wrong. He ruthlessly thrust the thought aside. Cynicism, his usual shield, had unraveled, leaving him tangled in a hopeless snarl of emotions. Hope, guilt, fear, longing. But need overpowered all. Somehow he would sort the others out later.

Connor withdrew slightly, giving her body a moment to adjust to his, then eased forward again.

“So right,” he whispered again, tipping her face to take her in a long, lush kiss.