The Wickedest Lord Alive (21 page)

Yes, he was a wicked man to derive satisfaction from that. He liked to remind Georgie of the night she’d played the shady lady at one of his more risqué parties. The night she’d found Beckenham again.

He introduced Lizzie, aware that a hint of ice had entered his wife’s demeanor.

Had she not liked him kissing Georgie? He trusted Lizzie would not be one of the many ladies who looked askance at the Titian-haired beauty simply because Georgie’s appeal was so overt. That would be tiresome. He’d always had rather a soft spot for Beckenham’s headstrong, temperamental wife.

Georgie directed her dazzling smile at Lizzie. “My compliments, Miss Allbright. Not many ladies may say they’ve captivated the Marquis of Steyne.”

Lizzie flushed, but before she could reply, Xavier said, “Indeed.” Which made her flush even hotter. He smiled at the sight.

For perhaps three seconds, Beckenham’s eyes glazed, as if he were thoroughly bemused. Then he stared hard at Lizzie.

Xavier coughed politely. “Er, Beckenham?”

His cousin started, recollected himself, and bowed. “Miss Allbright, I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Good old dependable Beckenham, thought Xavier. The earl engaged Lizzie in conversation about Sussex and her journey, deliberately setting her at ease.

But Xavier didn’t want Lizzie to be at ease. He wanted her on tenterhooks, anticipating his next move.

Seeing her in that gown was a provocation. It was quite modestly cut in the neckline, yet it put more of her pretty breasts on display then he’d glimpsed hitherto. Even on their wedding night, he had not been privileged to view more than their shadows beneath her night rail. That was his fault entirely, of course. What an utter ass he’d been!

The color of Lizzie’s gown suited her, that palest of pinks was a flagrantly feminine tone, while not at all in the common way. The garment was a masterpiece of elegant simplicity. Yet he spent an inordinate amount of time that evening visualizing what she would look like out of it.

Rosamund was playing hostess tonight. She had seated Xavier beside Lizzie. They never sat in order of precedence at family affairs, of course. They also talked across table, a lapse from good manners the duke seemed pleased to overlook.

Oh, Lord. Somehow, Cyprian had wound up sitting at the duke’s left hand. The boy’s eyes were vacant, as if his mind were somewhere else entirely. The duke wore a slightly pained expression, as well he might.

If this was Rosamund’s happy inspiration, he’d need to have a word with her afterwards. She believed Cyprian needed a wealthy patron, but Xavier had refused point blank to step into that role.

Did she really think Montford would be an easier touch?

“Behold, my esteemed family,” murmured Xavier to Lizzie when he judged she’d grown a little calmer and more settled.

“They are most congenial,” she said. “Are you sure they are related to you, my lord?”

He deserved that, no doubt. He turned to look at her. “Why, Miss Allbright. I’d no notion you could dish out irony with the best of them.”

“I am learning from a master,” she replied.

A footman stepped between them with a dish, and Xavier helped himself to asparagus.

When the footman moved on, Xavier said, “I must say that I hope you will not become any more adept. Lydgate assures me that one coldhearted devil in the family is quite sufficient.”

Her gaze slid to Montford, and he immediately deduced her thoughts. “Ah, you think there are
two
coldhearted devils in the family. Not far from the mark, my dear. However, His Grace might be cold, but he always does what he judges to be right. Whereas I—”

“
You
are steeped in infamy,” said Lizzie cheerfully. “Do tell me all about it.”

He stilled. Then he took up his knife and fork. “What, exactly, do you wish to know?”

“Well, if I am to preside over orgies and such, I ought to be prepared, don’t you think?”

A lesser man would have choked. “Should you like to do so?”

She tilted her head, considering. “I confess to some little curiosity about the business.”

“Indeed?” He wasn’t sure he liked where this might be heading.

“Yes. Do people
really
cavort and carry on in public?”

“Yes, people do. Not ladies, though. Or at least, if they do, they remain masked at all times.”

“I see.” She seemed to mull that over. “How very odd that one should wish to make such a spectacle of oneself. I should not like to do so.”

“Some people find the notion of others watching them to be … stimulating,” he said. He almost suggested she try it herself, but then he realized he’d have to kill anyone who watched her cavort, so he held silent on that score.

She was trying her best not to appear shocked, but the hand that reached for her glass of wine trembled.

He waited until she raised the glass to her lips before he added softly, “Personally, I like to watch.”

She choked a little on her wine.

“You did ask,” he said apologetically. “But shall we turn the subject? I fear that if I make you blush like that too often, my sister will call me to account.”

“I’d be happy to,” she managed.

He regarded her with a slight smile as she applied herself to her dinner once more. “Do not attempt to put me to the blush, Lizzie. You will never succeed, you know.”

“I wasn’t. I am merely trying to decipher your character.”

He frowned. “Best for you if you don’t.”

Her attention was claimed then by Lydgate, who sat on her other side. When she turned back to Xavier once more, he said, “We must speak further tonight of more important matters. I’ll come to your bedchamber.”

“You will not,” she whispered vehemently, hoping no one heard.

Impatience rose up in him again. “Make your excuses early and go up. Give me twenty minutes after the ladies leave the table. Wait for me in the gallery.”

Before she could reply to this, Rosamund’s clear voice called down the table. “What do you say, Cyprian? Will you write us a play?”

“Saints preserve us,” muttered Xavier.

Until that moment, Cyprian had been staring into space, ignored by those surrounding him and no doubt content to be so. His mind was far away, wandering in sylvan glades, no doubt.

He did not, at first, answer Rosamund’s plea.

Xavier ground his teeth. When he’d commanded Cyprian’s attendance at dinner, he ought to have stipulated that he needed to be mentally as well as physically present.

Hilary, who sat next to the poet, unceremoniously poked him in the ribs with her fork.

He gave a violent start and peered around him, to see everyone’s attention upon him. “So sorry. I was woolgathering.”

“A play, Cyprian,” said Rosamund. “Do pay attention, dear boy. I wish you to write one for us. Just one act.”

Rosamund’s husband, Griffin, who had stomped into the dining room too late to be properly introduced to the newcomers, threw down his napkin. “I knew it! Can’t a fellow get some peace? What the Devil do we want with a play?”

“My dearest bear, do try to be civil. We have guests.” Rosamund smiled serenely, quite unconcerned by his outburst.

Beckenham intervened. “Why don’t you ladies amuse yourselves to that end? We gentlemen will be your audience.”

A general murmur of agreement from the men around the table indicated Rosamund would get no masculine support for the scheme.

“Well, pooh to you, then!” said Georgie. “I, for one, don’t mind playing a breeches part.”

That statement seemed to silence the general muttering. Then Beckenham said very softly, “Oh, no, you won’t.”

Georgie sent him a sidelong smile. “Why not? I’m as tall as any lady here. Except perhaps Miss Allbright.”

Lizzie chuckled. “Capital! Can I be a highwayman?”

A sudden image of Lizzie in breeches and an open-necked man’s shirt, her fair hair tied in a queue and a tricorne upon her head met Xavier’s imagination. A loo mask leaving only that delectable mouth and sweetly determined chin visible. Top boots emphasizing the length of her legs …

“I’ll be an Arabian princess,” said Hilary, drawing her silk shawl across her face and batting her eyelashes at her husband.

Davenport’s mouth formed a slow, self-satisfied grin. “Perhaps later,” he said softly, making her blush.

“And I’ll be a pirate,” said Georgie.

Georgie’s spouse contemplated the coffered ceiling in an attitude of patient suffering, but the corners of his stern mouth twitched.

“What about you, Clare?” said Tom in a rallying tone. “Who will you be? The pirate’s parrot?”

Clare pointedly ignored that sally. “I shall be the highwayman’s sweetheart.” She winked at Lizzie.

Cyprian frowned. “I do not see how I can write a play about a highwayman and a pirate.”

“Not to mention an Arabian princess,” murmured Xavier.

“I do not like to boast,” said Mr. Huntley, entering the lists, “but I am something of a thespian myself.”

The company stared at him as if he’d told them he was an accomplished snake charmer.

He smiled benignly. “My rendition of Hamlet’s famous monologue draws much admiration among the denizens of Little Thurston. I wonder if I might beg a part in this little play.” He put a hand over his breast. “To be, or not to be—”

“The more the merrier, sir,” said Rosamund stemming the flow of Mr. Huntley’s oratory with a slight quiver to her lips. “Which part shall you play?”

Xavier, whose imagination had played out various scenes between himself and a certain breeches-clad lady, came out of his reverie. He said, “Isn’t it obvious? If the ladies are taking breeches parts—”

“Then Mr. Huntley must wear petticoats!” finished Clare with a gurgle of delight.

*   *   *

Lizzie had half a mind—three quarters of a mind, actually—to disregard Xavier’s order that she meet him alone tonight.

He’d vowed to seduce her. She would have to be extremely naïve not to expect he’d do his utmost to persuade her into bed tonight.

Meeting him would be dangerous. But how would she ever come to know the real man if she never took the risk to be alone with him? He did not show his true self when his family was around.

He seemed to withdraw from the rest of the company. Oh, not in the way Cyprian allowed his mind to wander from the present. Xavier paid attention to everything that went on around him. He simply did not participate in it.

He made of himself an outsider. But why? With such a lively, interesting family who obviously cared about him, why should he be so remote?

She recalled sensing this wall surrounding him when he first came to her bedchamber on their wedding night. What would it take to break that down? Something cataclysmic. Something quite beyond the ken of Lizzie Allbright.

When the time came to excuse herself from the drawing room, Lizzie pleaded a headache.

When Aunt Sadie expressed dismay and Clare offered to go up with her, Lizzie refused them with thanks. “A good night’s sleep is all I need. I shall be right as a trivet in the morning.”

The second she reached the gallery, a strong hand gripped her wrist and pulled her into the shadows.

With a startled yelp, she fetched up against Xavier’s chest. They stood in a deep window bay, and without letting go of her, Xavier yanked the tie of the heavy curtain so that the velvet drapes swung shut behind them.

She could scarcely make out his features in the darkness of the window embrasure.

Excitement beat in her veins, but she managed to say, “You said you wished to speak with me. What is it you wanted to say?”

“This.”

His mouth took hers as his arms wrapped around her, pulling her close. This was no gentle initiation, but a passionate, knowing embrace.

He framed her face with his hands and held her steady and thrust his tongue into her mouth. The experience was hot and carnal and wild. One hand moved to her shoulder … and down …

Unapologetic, blatantly provocative, his fingertips trailed over her breast; then his hand molded it boldly, his thumb flicking at the nipple, producing a kind of pleasure Lizzie had never even dreamed existed.

He dragged his lips from hers, and his hot, harsh breath flooded her ear. “Do you remember having me inside you, Lizzie?”

She didn’t reply. The manipulation of his thumb and fingers on her breast made her weak.

“Answer me,” he said, then gently nipped her earlobe with his teeth.

“Y-yes.” How could she forget?

“It will be different this time,” he said. “There’s so much more I can show you, Lizzie. So much more to feel, so much more to do.”

“You mustn’t.” What about Huntley? What about her plan to make Xavier love her?

She put up her hands to push him away, but he’d begun nuzzling at her throat, pressing and nibbling and licking while his hands moved over her breasts, stroking and tantalizing her with gentle plucks at her nipples.

Even through layers of fabric, the sensation made her nearly jump out of her skin. It made her want him to rip her clothes off and use his mouth in ways that were wicked and shameful to contemplate.

He knew how to make a woman want him, that was certain. He desired her; that she did not doubt. But she needed him to
care
. And this wasn’t the way to go about forging that particular bond.

Finally, she gathered sufficient strength of will to stop him. She gripped his strong wrists and pulled them away from her sensitive, yearning flesh, holding him at bay.

With a soft groan that turned into a long, drawn-out sigh, he raised his head. “Lizzie, do not be tiresome.”

“I am not being tiresome. I simply object to your manhandling me every time we are alone.”

His voice was low, a trifle husky. “Strange. You seem to enjoy a little judicious manhandling.”

She was too honest to deny it. “That’s beside the point. You will ruin my reputation if you keep this up.”

He gave an ironic huff of laughter at that, but she felt his resistance cease and she let go of his wrists.

“
We
know we are married, but they don’t,” she said. “Until we are man and wife in the eyes of the world, I will not do this with you.”