She started to protest, but he silenced her with a kiss. He laid down on the chaise himself and lifted her to straddle him. Her gown softly brushed his thighs as he pulled her down. The tips of her breasts were taut and dark, her hair tangling about them. His hands on her waist, he lowered her gently onto him in one smooth stroke.
She whimpered. Her head dropped back, her eyes closed. She took a long, ragged breath, her chest expanding beneath his hand. She began to ride him, her body instinctively rocking to drive him deep into her. He lay still, letting her pleasure herself, letting his arousal become hot and happy.
Her fingers sank into his chest, sharp points of pain, as she rocked forward. She opened her eyes and bathed him in a dark, dreamy smile, curls straggling across her flushed cheeks. “Love you,” she whispered.
“Sweetheart,” he said. “You are beauty itself.”
She made a sound of delight, and Grayson’s excitement soared. He could hold back no longer. He thrust up into her, hard, groaning his pleasure.
He would never let her go. Sara had been wrong. He must gather this woman to him, neither smothering her nor pushing her away. Holding on did not mean depriving her freedom. It meant growing together, sharing lives, sharing love. Sara had simply not wanted to share any of herself. This woman gave and gave and gave. He craved all she had to give, and he wanted to give everything of himself back to her.
She cried his name. Her voice echoed to the high ceiling, mingling with dust motes and heavy summer air. Her climax took her. She wriggled tight on him, gasping her pleasure. Grayson held her waist, his hands brown bands against her white skin.
She collapsed, breath ragged, onto his chest, her climax easing, her eyes heavy. He drove himself upward, sweat slick between their bodies. His control shattered.
“Alexandra. My lady.” His seed shot from him, up into her tight, slippery heat. And then it was over.
He exhaled, his body easing from climax into warm, afterglow contentment. He gathered her to him and pressed kisses to her temple, her hair. “Alexandra,” he whispered. “My lady. Mine. Only mine.”
She nestled against him and gave a little sigh. Two hot little droplets touched his chest, but he was too swamped with warm feeling to ask if they were tears.
Alexandra drew her fingertips along Grayson’s broad chest, tracing the path of the long scar that split his torso in two. Her limbs were heavy and tired, her body so warm, blood still tingling through her. She lay across his body, and beneath her ear, his heart thudded in long, slow beats.
May I stay here forever? she wanted to ask. He was still inside her. She would have to rise and go soon, straighten her clothing, continue with what she planned to do.
Odd that she had found Madame d’Lorenz here. The poor woman had been kissing Grayson so desperately. He had stood against her, stiff and unresponding, rather like Alexandra had been under Captain Ardmore’s assault. She shuddered, holding Grayson’s warm body a little bit tighter. Women might swoon over Captain Ardmore’s handsomeness, but Captain Ardmore had a deep coldness that Grayson lacked. Both men had born loss and grief, but Grayson had emerged with a piece of his heart still intact. Captain Ardmore had lost his altogether.
She kissed his chest, melding her lips to his curve of muscle. He lifted her tangled hair, letting cooling air touch her neck.
“Grayson,” she whispered. “You must leave England. Take Maggie and go.”
His breathing slowed, but the pulse in his throat beat harder. He scraped his hand along her jaw and lifted her head. His blue eyes were dark. “Why do you say so?”
The tears she’d fought to contain now spilled from her. They wet her face and dropped to his skin. “Mr. Henderson told me what you’d promised Captain Ardmore. Grayson, you must not let him. You must not finish the bargain.”
He stroked the pad of his thumb across her cheek. “Sweetheart. I have no intention of letting him kill me.”
“But you promised—”
“Of course I did. He had his sword at my throat and a rope around my neck. I would have promised him anything if he’d only keep me alive so I could protect her.” He stroked her hair. “I have in my life been afraid, deeply afraid, but I had never been afraid for someone. But you should have seen her, Alexandra. She was so small, so thin in those damned awful clothes. That’s why I bought her that ridiculous frock. I wanted to see her alive, not half dead like they tried to make her.” He drew a breath. “I would have sold my soul to Ardmore to keep her safe. I had not felt that protective of anyone since—” He stopped. “Well, since my mother died.”
She spied the pain deep in his eyes, one that echoed in her own hollow heart. “I know that your mother was killed. I am sorry.”
He lifted her from him, his softening erection sliding from her. He cradled her in his arms again, gliding his hand beneath her hair. “She was younger than I am now. She was so fragile. I hope my father is rotting in hell.”
She flinched from the anger in his voice. “Perhaps he felt remorse,” she offered. “He shot himself, did he not?”
“No.” His jaw hardened, the light in his eyes going bleak. “I killed him.”
Alexandra’s breath stilled. “You could not have.”
“I could and I did.” His eyes were even colder than Ardmore’s had been. “I had to. He was going to shoot me.”
Alexandra shivered. She thought of her own father, a genial, kindly gentleman who had loved reading and his gardens. She could not imagine him lifting a pistol and shooting anyone, let alone his own wife and child. “I am sorry.”
He regarded her without heat. “The inquest ruled he committed suicide. But I think the servants suspected. They told me to go. In case anyone guessed the truth.”
“And you became a pirate?”
He moved his shoulders in a shrug. “Not right away. I began as a simple sailor on a merchantman. Nimble and light enough to climb the lines. I learned a great deal about sailing long before the pirates caught up to us.”
“And you joined them?”
He shook his head. “They captured me. And the rest of the crew. I was young enough and strong enough to work, so they kept me alive. Most of the others they murdered or drowned. I watched friends be put to the sword, while I tried to pretend I was too callous to care. I had killed my own father, hadn’t I? But I would have died of despair if it had not been for Oliver.”
“Oliver, your manservant?”
“He was not my manservant then. He was the pirate’s cook and surgeon. He took me for cook’s mate, thus saving me from the drunken, sodomite captain.” His lips twisted into a wry smile. “He nearly killed me with work, but he taught me how to survive. When the frigate rescued me a few years later, I begged them to keep Oliver alive. Then, when the time was right, Oliver helped me get rid of the idiot captain and take over a fine frigate loaded with guns.” He grinned.
“You did not murder the captain, did you?” she asked fearfully.
“Set him adrift. All trussed up.” He stroked her hair softly. “He was a fool, but I am not a murderer. I did not believe in torturing or killing. Waste of time.” His lips twitched. “I built myself quite a reputation. I heard that crews longed for me to board their ships so they could have harrowing tales to tell their grandchildren. Well, I obliged often enough.”
She traced the ridge of his collarbone. “Did you ravish the lady passengers?”
The chill in his eyes dissolved, and he shook with baritone laughter. “Oh, love. No, sweetheart. Only you.”
Her heart pulled. “Don’t.”
“Laugh? Why not? You make me laugh for the delight of you.”
She touched the swell of his lower lip. “Please do not make me love you.”
His smile turned wicked. “I want you to love me. I want you to touch me. I want you to sleep bare for me. I want you to beg me to take you against a wall, my lady passenger.” He nipped her fingers.
She withdrew her hand. “Grayson.” She cast around for an easy way to open the subjec
t. None came to her. Outside, a carriage rumbled past, very near to the house, and somewhere upstairs, a clock chimed, sonorous and slow.
There was no way to tell him. Not easily. She looked into his eyes, savoring the deep blue warmth there, the warmth that she would erase with her next words. She drew a deep breath. “Grayson,” she said. “Captain Ardmore asked me to marry him.”
Chapter Twenty-five
Beneath her, his body stilled. As she had feared, the warm contentment left his eyes and they became fixed, hard and glittering.
“He what?” His voice was low, savage, more frightening than if he had shouted. “When?”
“This afternoon. In my house.”
He sat up abruptly, lifting her from him and shoving her onto the empty space at the end of the chaise. He rose to his feet and stood over her, naked, every muscle in his body tense. “He came to you.”
She nodded wordlessly. She clutched her crumpled bodice to her bare breasts.
“You let him in?” he asked, his voice deadly quiet.
She shook her head. “He just appeared. He tricked my maid into admitting him. I ought to scold her, but I don’t have the heart.”
He swung away from her and marched to the door. Still naked, he yanked it open and bellowed into the hall. “Jacobs!”
In a few short moments, she heard booted feet on the stairs, and then Mr. Jacobs appeared in the doorway. He betrayed no surprise to see his captain standing there nude, or Alexandra sitting on the chaise, clutching her bodice to her breasts.
Grayson did not even try to hide himself. He jabbed his finger at Jacobs, his bronzed arm a contrast to the pale flesh of his backside. “Ardmore entered Mrs. Alastair’s house today. Tell me how the hell he got past my guards.”
Jacobs blinked. His dark eyes swam with fear. “I don’t know, sir. I—”
“Pull the guards and have them flogged.”
“No!” Alexandra flung out her hand, then grabbed her bodice as it slipped. “It was not their fault. He must have tricked them, too. I am certain they were no match for him.”
“True, sir,” Jacobs said hastily. “If anyone should be flogged, it’s me. I should have noticed. I was—not paying sufficient attention.”
“I set you to take care of Maggie,” Grayson snapped. “You cannot be eleven places at once, though I believe I know what place you were in.” Jacobs flushed. “Never mind, Jacobs. Just take care of it.”
“Yes, sir.” Jacobs saluted, pivoted, and was gone.
Grayson closed the door. When he turned back to Alexandra, his eyes had chilled, and his face was rock-hard. She had never before seen him completely enraged, excepting when he’d come to take her from Ardmore’s ship. She’d witnessed him frustrated, fond and loving to Maggie, teasing, seductive, charming. Now she faced a man filled with cold, ruthless anger.
He came back to her, stood over her. Part of her delighted in his nakedness, in the perfect blend of muscle and sinew that made up his body. The other part cringed before his fury.
“Alexandra,” he said evenly. “What did you tell Mr. Ardmore?”
She lifted her chin. She would be brave. “I answered that I would marry him. If he promised to let you live.”
For a moment he only looked at her, his face hard and quiet and bleak—the face of a pirate captain who had kept a crew together and uncaught for seventeen years. She saw in a flash that Ardmore had underestimated him by a long way. So had the Duke of St. Clair. Here was a man who played by no one’s rules, a man who would be a deadly and merciless enemy. She wondered if she had just made him hers.
“You will not,” he said, still cold. “You are mine.”
On the other hand, she mused, his high-handed arrogance could be quite grating. She drew herself up. “Are you the only person who is allowed to sacrifice himself, Mr. Pirate? He wants to kill you. I want you to live.”
He glared at her. “By going to him? You think that will save me?”
“He promised.”
“Only because he knows that you are more important to me than my own life.”
Her heart pounded. “That is not true. You tease me, yes, and you make me fall in love with you, but I am only the woman who lives next door. A passing fancy. I will go out of your life, and you will forget me and watch Maggie grow up and be happy.”
He stared at her as if she’d run mad. “A passing fancy? You?”
A tear rolled down her cheek. “I know perfectly well you have loved other ladies. There was Maggie’s mother, for one, and Madame d’Lorenz, and others. You are accustomed to moving on. I will be like—” she cast around for a thought—“like a bird on your hand. You enjoy looking at it, then let it fly away.”
His eyes flared blue rage. He closed the distance between them in a flash, leaning to her and seizing her arms. No loving embrace. His hands crushed her. “Do not ever say that. It is not the same thing. Do you understand me?”
She stared. “Not really.”
“Understand this, Alexandra. If you go to him, I will kill him. I don’t care if you are wrapped in his arms; I will murder him and think it a good day’s work. I am not afraid of Captain bloody Ardmore.”
She whispered, “Grayson.”
“You want to love a pirate?” He tapped his chest. “This is what a pirate is. I do what I please and I obey my own laws. I will not allow anyone to touch those under my protection, and I will cut down any enemy who tries.”
She forced herself to look into his eyes. “I was right about you. You decide how things should be, and then you toss over anyone in your way to see them done. No matter what.”
“I know. I have just said that.”
She reached to brush his shoulder. His bronzed muscle jumped under her touch. “Including me. You must not finish the bargain, Grayson. Maggie needs you.”
“I thought you understood. I have no intention of letting him take my life. He broke the damned bargain as soon as he dragged you into it. He could not resist the chance to twist the knife. He is vengeance-mad. Just like his brother.”
“Poor Mr. Ardmore.”
He gave her an irritated look. “Do not waste pity on him. He is a vicious mother’s son. He is feared for a reason.”
She sniffled. “Mr. Henderson said that about you, too.”
A feral grin lit his face. “Did he? I am glad he thinks so. Keeps him in his place.”
“He proposed to me, too.”
Grayson stopped. His gold lashes hid his eyes once, twice; then the blue gleam of them returned to view. “Henderson. Proposed to you.”
“Yes. His offer was much better than Captain Ardmore’s. He comes from Kent, as do I. He offered me a home in the country with dogs and children.” She broke off wistfully. “It is so beautiful there, Grayson. All green hills and gentle skies. I was happy there, and I did not even realize it.”
He took her hands in his. “Is that what you want? A home in Kent?”
She shook her head. “I do not know anymore. You cannot be a child again, can you? With people to love and protect you—so well that you do not even notice it.” She looked away. “I am not certain what I want.”
“Did you accept Henderson, too?”
“No.”
He relaxed slightly. “Good.”
“I told him I would think about it.”
His grip crushed her again. “Alexandra, good God. How many other men proposed to you today? What about Jacobs and Priestly? Don’t tell me Ian O’Malley wants you, too.”
She gave him a look of reproof. “I have barely spoken to Mr. O’Malley, though he did once pay me a compliment. Mr. Jacobs seems to be in love with my Mrs. Fairchild, and I am certain Mr. Priestly dislikes me intensely.” She paused thoughtfully. “Perhaps I should send him a small gift by way of apology for abusing him so.”
The scar at the side of Grayson’s lip pulled his mouth down. “You will not send Priestly gifts. And you will tell Henderson your answer is no.”
That high-handedness again. She said, “I know
he is not on the list, but he does have all of the necessary qualities. The right breeding, a good taste in dress, his own fortune. Additionally, he is rather handsome—”
“He wears spectacles.”
“Yes. They give him an air of seriousness, don’t you think?”
“No, I think he looks like a fish.”
“That is uncharitable, Grayson. He has been quite kind to me—apart from kissing me and abducting me, of course, but that was only on Mr. Ardmore’s orders.”
He brought his face close to hers. The heat of his anger and his passion touched her. “Alexandra, you are not marrying Henderson. He is loyal to Ardmore and will not desert him, no matter what he tells you. All Ardmore’s men worship him, God knows why.”
“He is rather compelling. Mr. Ardmore, I mean.”
His grip tightened. “Tell me you will not marry either Ardmore or Henderson.”
She gave him a challenging look. “I will not marry Mr. Ardmore if you promise you will not let him murder you. If you will take Maggie and flee him.”
“I told you that I have no intention of letting him kill me. Or of leaving England.” He paused. “I notice you did not mention Henderson.”
“I will consider Mr. Henderson’s offer. Unless I am given a better one.”
He growled low in his throat, rather like an annoyed bear. “Alexandra, I have many things to do. I have a French agent in my kitchen and Burchard running about London like a loose cannon. Not to mention Jacobs and your governess making sheep’s eyes at each other in my upstairs rooms. I have plans in motion that need attending.” He leaned to her again. “But after that, you and I are going to have a talk. A long talk.”
“That would be a nice, for a change.”
His eyes narrowed. “A change from what?”
“Whenever we converse, we usually end up kissing. We never finish our conversations, I have noticed.”
His smile returned, hot and sinful. “I had noticed that, yes.”
“Did Madame d’Lorenz tell you where the French king was?”
He stared at her a moment, then let out a barely breathed curse. “And how do you know about Madame d’Lorenz and the French king?”