Cristina was ending her second week in the assault on Blake's senses and was effectively increasing her arsenal.
William scrutinized his daughter closely, noting the unusual care that had gone into her early-morning toilette. Things were definitely looking up.
"New dress?" he asked casually.
"Yes. Do you like it?" Cristina smiled, glad there was someone at the breakfast table to notice her, even if it was the wrong someone.
"It's charming, Cristy, brief but charming, and I'm afraid it's wasted on me. Lord Lawrence left earlier this morning."
"Left?" Cristina echoed in dismay.
William nodded an affirmative. "He packed up his things and moved into a hotel at dawn this morning. He said he didn't dare risk seeing you and still be able to keep his word. The man has nearly drained this house of cold water these past two weeks," William commented with some amusement. "This is the first time that a guest of mine has had to leave because he didn't trust himself not to molest my daughter."
"I didn't want him to leave," Cristina admitted honestly. "I just wanted him to notice me."
"Oh, he noticed you all right. You haven't been exactly subtle. I've never seen so many daringly low-cut gowns. They must have cost me a fortune. And I think the dress you wore at dinner last night just about did him in."
Cristina smiled. She had worn the same dress she had worn to her presentation two years earlier, but she had had the bodice cut much lower. The effect was as devastating as she had hoped it would be. Blake had remembered. She could see it in his eyes.
"By the way," William was saying, "Blake left you a gift." He handed her a small wrapped box. "He said it was something to go with the gown you wore last night. Something to remember him by."
Cristina tore the paper off the box and quickly opened it. Pulling aside the silver tissue paper, she found that the box contained a white silk shawl embroidered with roses and bows. The word "cover" was scrawled across a white card in Blake's bold hand.
Cristina closed the box and hugged it to her chest. He had remembered. More than he liked, she bet.
"Cristy?"
"Yes, Papa."
"I was saying that it's just as well Blake left the house. People are beginning to think you're an outrageous flirt or that you happen to fancy Lord Lawrence instead of your current suitor. And that's shocking in a young woman who's supposed to be considering a young man's proposal." William fought to keep the sparkle of suppressed laughter from showing in his blue eyes.
"I wanted to talk to you about that." Cristina cleared her dry throat.
"About what?"
"My current suitor. You see, Roderick is very upset with me."
"I think that's understandable. You haven't been exactly attentive to him these last two weeks. I imagine Roderick is jealous of your innocent flirtation with our guest. Don't worry, sweet, you'll patch things up. Roderick is itching to marry you."
"I'm not itching to marry Roderick," Cristina said. "There isn't anything to patch up. I'm not interested in marrying Roderick Baker. I never have been. And I don't care how angry it makes him. I don't love Roderick. I don't even like him, and I don't understand how he could think otherwise. Oh, he's asked me to marry him at least a dozen times, but I've always said no."
"Well, you have led the lad on a merry chase."
"I know. And I'm sorry for that. But the truth is, I thought that if I allowed Rod to escort me around town it would make Blake jealous."
"Oh?" William raised an eyebrow.
"I love Blake."
"I see," William commented after a moment's silence. "If Lord Lawrence is the man you want, why are you continuing to see Roderick?"
"I'm not."
"I thought you were planning to have lunch with him this afternoon."
"I am," Cristina confirmed. "I'm meeting him at the Victoria Hotel. I'm going to explain my feelings and tell him once more why I can't consider any of his proposals--why I don't wish to see him anymore." She glanced at her father. "I thought this was something I should do in person, not something I should write in a note."
"What a coincidence!" William remarked suddenly. "I recommended the Victoria Hotel to Lord Lawrence just this morning. I thought I might join him there for luncheon today, but unfortunately I have more pressing business."
Cristina stared at her father, puzzled by his cheerfulness, until a sudden light dawned.... "I believe you accomplished your mission, Papa."
"My mission?" The surprised question sounded genuine but Cristina knew better. "What mission is that?"
Cristina beamed at the masculine features so similar to her own. "I've heard it called matchmaking." She got up from the table and plopped a kiss on her father's head as she passed his chair, gathered up the box containing her precious embroidered white silk shawl, and left the breakfast room, humming.
Several hours later in the elegant dining room of the Victoria Hotel a bitter discussion was in progress.
"Are you out of your mind? You can't lead me on for weeks, then end everything with no consideration for my feelings," Roderick Baker exclaimed indignantly, his expression mottled.
"I haven't led you on. I told you from the beginning that I wasn't interested in marrying you," Cristina reminded him coolly.
"I've proposed to you every single day for the past month."
"And I've said no each time."
"I believed we had a future together."
"I'm sorry, Roderick, but you'll have to exclude me from your future. I'm flattered that you asked me to marry you, but I never dreamed you were serious."
"I was very serious."
"Then I'm very sorry. I never meant to hurt you."
"Hurt me? You haven't hurt me, you little bitch. I don't feel any more for you than you feel for me." Roderick laughed an ugly laugh. "But you aren't going to make me the laughingstock of New York. All my friends and associates expect me to marry you and you have the nerve to turn me down."
Cristina wasn't prepared for his vicious attack. "Lower your voice, please, other people are listening." She was desperately aware of the curious stares of the other diners.
"I don't care if the whole damn restaurant knows what a slut you are. I knew all about you, Cristina. I never told you but I was in Vienna on my grand tour a year and a half ago. I never told you I once spent an afternoon watching the infamous comtesse di Rimaldi strolling through the Prater with a certain British ambassador. Or that it was apparent to anyone who cared to look that the comtesse was expecting a child."
Cristina drew in a shocked breath, but Roderick continued his tirade. "I almost didn't believe my eyes when the same girl showed up in New York as heiress to William Fairfax's millions. You certainly travel in exalted circles, Cristina--a crown prince, a British ambassador, and a New York millionaire. You seemed like such a lady and I liked that. I like my women to be whores in the bedrooms and perfect ladies everywhere else. It adds spice. And to be honest, you almost had me convinced I was mistaken about you until he turned up. That was too much of a coincidence for me. You never even let me touch you, never even let me kiss you, and all the time, you were whoring for Lord Lawrence. Do you deny it? Well, what have you got to say to me now, Cristina?"
Cristina sat perfectly still while huge tears rolled from her eyes slowly down her cheeks and dropped onto the linen tablecloth.
"You'll regret leading me on and throwing me over, Cristina," Roderick promised.
"I don't think she will." The words were deadly quiet and the man who spoke them was clearly struggling to contain his fury.
Roderick slunk back in his chair, conscious of the leashed rage in the man who stood rigidly behind Cristina's chair. Normally Roderick would have avoided confrontation, but the presence of an audience goaded him on. "So you've come to claim your slut."
Blake's face tightened visibly. "Shut up," he w
arned curtly, "or those will be the last words you utter."
The threat was genuine and Lord Lawrence looked eager to carry it out. Roderick recognized the fact and swallowed convulsively.
"Apologize," Blake ordered.
"What?" Roderick forgot his fear long enough to protest. "I won't apologize to that tramp!"
"You will apologize," Blake informed him, "or you'll pay dearly for the insult. The choice is yours."
The humiliation of a public scene was too much for Cristina. She made a move to rise from her chair and escape the horrible tableau in front of her, but Blake placed his hands on her shoulders and gently pressed her back onto her seat.
"Sit down, love." He spoke softly, but his words were laced with steel.
"I've had enough of this." Tears sparkled on the ends of her lashes and his face blurred as she looked up at him.
Blake's heart turned over in his chest and his anger at Roderick Baker rose. "Sit down, Cris, while this bastard apologizes to you. You may leave when he's done, but I won't let you run out of here as if the hounds of hell were chasing you. That would only encourage gossip and"--he smiled down at her--"it would absolutely crush my memories of a young woman who hacked the decorations off her presentation gown rather than face a second humiliation wearing it the way it was--the young woman who ripped up the Prince of Wales's bed linens and climbed down a palace wall. I won't let you run away, Cristina. I won't allow you to be a coward."
Cristina kept her seat.
Blake removed his hands from her shoulders and turned his attention back to Roderick. "I'm waiting."
Roderick muttered a quick apology, not daring to risk himself any further by delaying the inevitable.
Blake wasn't satisfied by the quickly muttered apology in the least, but he accepted it for Cristina's sake. His black eyes glittered dangerously at Roderick as he issued his next order. "Now, leave. But remember that if one word of this ugly scene reaches my ears or the scandal rags of this city, I'll hold you personally responsible."
"The other patrons in the restaurant heard everything," Roderick protested. "You can't hold me personally responsible--"
"But I do," Blake cut him off. "And if I were in your shoes, I would make certain I refuted any ugly rumors about the lady in question, as any gentleman would do."
"That's unfair," Roderick whined.
"Life often is," Blake reminded him brutally. "Cristina, if you've finished your luncheon with Mr. Baker, we can leave." Blake politely dismissed Roderick and stepped back to assist Cristina from the table.
Her legs trembled in reaction as she got to her feet. She wished she were anywhere in the world except the restaurant of the Victoria Hotel in New York City. She was mortified by what had taken place. She couldn't seem to stop shaking and she was afraid to take a step, afraid her legs wouldn't support her weight.
Blake sensed her sudden attack of nerves and apprehension and offered her his arm, whispering, "Chin up, Cristina, head high. Where is the girl who stood before me and declared that she wasn't afraid of any man who drew breath? Show these people the real Cristina Fairfax--the one I know so well. Or are you afraid to be yourself in polite New York society?"
That did it. Cristina stiffened her spine, held her head high, then she stood up, calmly lifted her wineglass, and poured the contents over Roderick's head. "I've made many mistakes in my life, Roderick, but I'm happy to say that accepting your marriage proposals so that you could get your greedy hands on my father's millions is one mistake I won't have to live with." With that, Cristina turned to Blake. "I'm ready to leave, Lord Lawrence. Would you be so kind as to escort me?"
"Delighted." Blake flashed her his gorgeous smile and led her out of the dining room.
Cristina paid no attention to where they were going until Blake stopped at the front desk to collect the key to his room.
"Where are we going?" she asked as they approached the stairs.
"My room."
"Why?" Cristina was suddenly wary.
Blake wanted to tell her that they were going to his room so that he could end his weeks of forced celibacy by touching her and tantalizing her the way she had teased and tantalized his senses these past weeks. But he knew better than to push her into a corner, so he said the first thing that came to his mind. "To talk." Then before she could protest, he added, "In private."
Cristina gave in gracefully, not because she feared another scene, but because she wanted to be alone with Blake and she was afraid any form of protest would scare him away. Cristina had recognized the gleam in Blake's dark eyes and her whole body began to tingle in anticipation. She followed him up the stairs, waiting patiently as he unlocked the door to his room.
She stepped into the room and walked to the center of it, waiting until the distinctive sound of the key turning in the lock signaled Blake's next move. She turned to face him and found him leaning with his back against the door.
They stared wordlessly at each other for a long moment. Both understood now that any talking would come after they had satisfied their urgent need to feel flesh against flesh. Blake moved from the door. He tossed the key on the night table as he walked toward Cristina.
When he stood before her, he cupped her face in his hand. "You're so beautiful, Countess." He groaned then and before he could stop himself he pulled Cristina into his arms and covered her lips with his own.
Blake half expected Cristina to pull away from him, but she was as eager for the kiss as he was. She surprised him by wrapping her arms around his neck to hold him closer. She melted into him and she kissed him back with a passion that sent their senses soaring.
She leaned back against Blake's arms as he stopped kissing her lips long enough to explore the column of her neck. It had always been like this--a special brand of desire and tenderness that held them in its grasp, unable to escape. It had been there from the very first kiss.
"Sweetheart," Blake murmured between kisses, "it's been so long."
"Too long," Cristina told him, provocatively taking the initiative and running her hands up his ribs and around his back until his breath became a series of moans. She pressed her aching breasts against his chest and made her demand. "Make love with me, Blake. Now."
Blake hesitated for just a moment, remembering the consequences.
Cristina felt the hesitation. "What's wrong? Don't you want to?" There was the slightest hint of anxiety mixed with the indignation in her voice as she pressed closer, determined to tempt him.
"Yes, I want you. God, you must feel how I want you," Blake rasped, as the possibility of another pregnancy overshadowed his own needs. "There could be another baby. Cristina, we must be rational...."
"I am rational but unless you have a pocket full of those sheepskin sheaths Nigel told me about, I don't think you're being very rational. Blake, I want you. Now," she whispered huskily. "And besides, I want another baby. Your baby. Are you going to disappoint me?"
Cristina cradled his face between her palms and pulled his face down to meet hers. She kissed him until he began to take command and plunged his tongue into the depths of her mouth.
She was right. He was beyond rational thought. This was what he craved--what he'd craved for weeks--for months--for fifteen long months. A willing, demanding Cristina. How could he deny himself the thing he wanted most in the world? And did he dare disappoint her now that she was making demands again?
Blake threaded his fingers in her hair, scattering hairpins, bending her back to deepen his kiss.
Cristina reveled in his kiss. She floated on a cloud of desire, feasting on the feel of his lips and his hands and the flaming passion that flowed through her and melted the months of ice. She caressed his shoulders, his arms, his chest, until she found the buttons of his waistcoat. She quickly unfastened the three gold buttons on his waistcoat and then the buttons of his shirt.
Blake drew a breath
when she finally tugged his shirt from his trousers and began fumbling with the fastening at his waist. She located his trouser buttons at last, but she didn't rush to undo them. She took her time, unbuttoning them slowly, one agonizing button at the time. An eternity later, she pushed his pants and underwear over his lean hips, around his taut buttocks, and down the length of his legs where she let them fall in a heap at his feet.
Blake was intoxicated by her boldness and more than a little aroused. "A little eager, aren't you, my sweet?"
Cristina giggled wickedly, "A lot eager, my love. I've waited fifteen months. I'm not taking any more chances. You might have another attack of hesitation."
"Not bloody likely." Blake fell back on the bed, toed off his shoes, kicked free of his trousers, shrugged out of his jacket, and let his open waistcoat and shirt slide off his shoulders. When he was completely nude, he pulled Cristina between his legs and made short work of her clothes.
The rush of primitive desire was exquisite and they fell back onto the double bed eager to explore the depths of their passion.
Afterwards they lay together, legs entwined, lost in their own thoughts, resting while their labored breathing returned to normal. Cristina rested her hand on his chest, then foraged lazily through the thick, dark hair growing there, stopping abruptly as she encountered the warm, metal disk suspended on a gold chain around his neck. She traced her fingers across the surface of the gold medallion then raised herself on one elbow to stare down at it.
"Where did you get this?"
"You gave it to me." Seeing her puzzled frown, Blake explained. "You had it in your hand when you were thrown from the carriage after the bomb exploded. I pried open your fist and found it."
"And you've worn it since then? All this time?"
"Yes," Blake confirmed quietly. "Having this meant everything to me, Cristina." He smiled sadly. "It was a reminder of all that we shared. And it was a promise that kept me going after the baby died and I returned to London. It was always there to remind me that you were waiting for me safe and sound in New York."
"How did you know I'd wait for you?"
Blake held the gold disk between his fingers and leaned closer to Cristina so she could see the engraving. "You promised me you would. This promised me always." Blake rolled away from her, leaving the bed to walk over and stand at the window overlooking the street, his thoughts in turmoil. "Then I arrived in New York and you were ..." he let his words trail off. "I almost gave up hope."
She sat up in bed, clutching the sheet across her breasts. "You didn't write me. I waited fifteen months for you, Blake, and I never received a single note," she reminded him, frustration evident in every softly spoken word. "Not one single line. ..." She left the accusation hanging between them.