The Scandals Of An Innocent

Miles with the fiercest of aches, but the shreds of common sense that she still possessed told her that she had to be careful of herself and her reputation. There was many a slip between seduction and marriage. If Lydia’s situation proved anything it was that. If the marriage between herself and Miles never happened she would be ruined. Her mother would be distraught. All the respectability they had worked so hard to achieve would be lost.

With a sigh Alice reached for her robe and tied it about her with fingers that still shook slightly. It was a little too late to be thinking of respectability. Miles had shown her precisely how unrespectable she wanted to be.

MILES SAT AT THE BREAKFAST table wondering how the hell he had got into this situation. He had never been much troubled by self-denial before. Generally if there was something he wanted he found a way to have it. He wanted Alice and he had thought it would be easy to have her, to seduce her into marrying him so that he could gain everything he wanted-her body, her money, his own financial security. He had planned to go to the lawyers and tell them openly that he had slept with Alice and to point out that Lady Membury’s conditions had to be rendered null and void now or she would be ruined. Two hours before, he had had the perfect opportunity to take her. Yet he had hesitated, prevented by principles that had never before caused him a moment’s trouble. He had discovered scruples he did not even realize he possessed. He had thought himself utterly devoid of conscience. It was disconcerting to discover he had one after all.

The trouble had started the previous night when he had searched Alice’s room. The clothes in her cupboards had smelled as sweet as she did herself, of the same apple and lavender and rose scents, and the lust had suddenly grabbed him like a vise. The neat piles of virginal white underwear had done nothing to assuage his desire. He had found himself staring at them and imagining the cool press of the linen against Alice’s naked skin, the laces and transparent lawn wrapped about her, trussing her up, and the warmth of her body beneath. Heated dreams in which he uncovered her nakedness to his lips and hands had stalked him all night.

And then there had been the shocking revelations that morning. He looked at Alice. She was sitting across the table from him and was concentrating fiercely on buttering a piece of toast. He knew that she was as intensely aware of him as he was of her. She was wearing a gown of spring yellow decorated with lace and she looked demure and fresh and pretty and Miles knew-he knew-that beneath the muslin skirts and the crisp petticoats was a tiny tattoo of a flower. He closed his eyes. He had not stopped thinking about that flower for a single moment since he had left Alice’s bedchamber. He wanted to touch it. He wanted to kiss it again. He wanted to lick it and allow his tongue to slide down from that tempting little tattoo to the softness of her inner thigh and on until his mouth met the heated center of her being.

She had been so soft and sweet in his arms, her skin like silk beneath his fingers. Discovering her tattoo had driven him half-mad with wanting. The moist slide of her against his fingers had undone him. He had been so close to taking her. Now that he had experienced the intimacy of watching her take pleasure at his hands he knew he was never, ever going to let her go.

His body tightened unbearably at the thought of that private bliss they had shared. He had been in a state of semiarousal for several hours despite the tub of cold water he had emptied over his head, out in the frozen courtyard, after leaving Alice. He was already obsessing about her body far too much. He did not seem to be able to think about anything else. He doubted he ever would until he could actually see her completely, touch her freely, take from her and give to her in equal measure until their desires were sated. And already he had the suspicion that it would not be as easy as that to rid himself of his driving lust for her. Once he had tasted her he would want to do so again and again…

“Whiskey marmalade, Lord Vickery?”

Mrs. Lister was smiling at him and nodding to the footman to pass him the pot of preserve. Miles blinked.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“I trust that nothing disturbed your sleep?” Mrs. Lister continued.

Alice’s gaze met Miles’s in a brief flash of blue.

“No, thank you, ma’am,” Miles said. “I was completely undisturbed.”

He saw Alice raise her brows infinitesimally. A tiny smile curved her lips. Miles gritted his teeth. Minx. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to make love to her on the breakfast table. She was learning frighteningly fast just how much power she had over him, and he was suffering every step of the way.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

ALICE HAD FOUND IT VERY ODD and disturbing to meet Miles at the breakfast table. After what they had shared, it felt as though every nerve in her body was supremely aware of him. The low tones of his voice made her tingle. Each glance that he cast her seemed to heat her from the inside out. She felt utterly at his mercy-and the mercy of her own needs and desires.

She was sure that the others must be aware of the atmosphere that simmered between them, and yet it seemed they were not. Lizzie chattered with her usual frankness. Mrs. Lister read the tea leaves and bemoaned the fact that there were only bad signs in the cup.

“A pair of scissors!” she announced. “A quarrel or separation! Alice, dear-” her gaze traveled from Alice to Miles and back again “-I do hope you are not going to give me cause for concern.”

“Of course not, Mama,” Alice said. “Why would I do such a thing? Now, would you care to visit the Pump Rooms today? I understand that Lady Vickery and Mrs. Anstruther will be there.”

Mrs. Lister brightened. “Oh, then I will most certainly attend! Dearest Lady Vickery and I need to discuss arrangements for the wedding.” Her gaze darted from her daughter to Miles again. “I wish you would set a date, Alice dear. Now that the marquis is living in our house it is quite inappropriate for you to delay!”

“And even more so when I almost had you in your own bed this morning,” Miles whispered in Alice’s ear. “Set a date, sweetheart.”

“What was that?” Mrs. Lister looked up, beaming, from the hunt for her reticule.

“Lord Vickery was adding his own words of encouragement,” Alice said, glaring at Miles, “in his own inimitable style.”

“Good, good,” Mrs. Lister said absently. “Now, where can that have gone? There was no suggestion in the leaves that I would lose anything today!”

“Your mama truly believes in these things, does she not?” Miles commented, as they set out later to walk into the village. Lizzie and Mrs. Lister were walking ahead of them and Alice had been obliged to take Miles’s arm, an irreproachably respectable maneuver that she could see amused him. She was all too conscious of the hard muscle of his arm beneath the blue superfine of his coat. She could remember the ripple and flow of that muscle beneath his skin. And she simply had to stop thinking about Miles without his clothes because it was doing her no good at all.

“Miss Lister?” Miles prompted. “I was merely making conversation about your mother’s penchant for the leaves.”

“Yes, I am afraid she does believe it,” Alice said dolefully. “She is most shockingly superstitious. When your mother told her about the Curse of Drum I thought she would expire on the spot.”

“It did not put her off the idea of your marrying me, then?” Miles inquired.

Alice laughed. “Oh, no, though it did make her even more anxious for the wedding to take place! As long as I am a marchioness before the Curse takes you, she will be quite happy!” She lowered her voice. “A little while ago Mama encouraged me to show you some kindness, my lord,” she said. “She shocks me sometimes,” she added.

“Some kindness,” Miles said thoughtfully. “Was that what you showed me earlier, Miss Lister?”

“I permitted you far too much license earlier,” Alice said.

“But you want to permit me more.” Miles’s voice was soft.

The cold winter air chilled Alice’s hot cheeks. She fidgeted with her gloves. It was only what she had admitted to herself earlier. It was only what he already knew from her impassioned response to him, yet to confess it to him seemed brazen. “I admit it,” she said. “I have always been honest with you-”

“You have.”