Bastard born, he would not leave a child of his to be raised without a father, so he never slept with a woman whose companionship would be unbearable. But Alexandra would be far from unbearable. Ach, if he'd seen the girl walking to market in Scotland, he'd have had her in the church within a fortnight. But she was a far cry from a simple Scottish lass, and he was little more than a stable boy. . . had, in fact, been a stable boy at one time. No, he did not fancy himself good enough to marry her, but good enough to go to her bed?
Collin smiled humorlessly at the thought. She had assured him he was good enough for that; he'd only needed time to convince himself.
Thousands of candles glittered above, magnified by the sparkling crystal of the chandeliers and drawing a smile to Alex's face. The light threw off heat, and there existed the startling danger of burning drops of wax, but she much preferred candles to gas, especially at a ball. Balls were meant to be magic and she desperately needed a little magic tonight. The candles were a good omen.
Anxiety bubbled through her veins like champagne. Champagne bubbled in her veins also, but it didn't seem to be helping to calm her. No, now she just felt a little sick. She would certainly get Collin's attention if she vomited at first sight of him.
But she truly wanted to relax and enjoy herself. This was her first evening out since the scandal and her first foray into Scottish society. The murmur of voices riding the air had a slightly different rhythm, the barest twist of cadence that spoke of the Scots burr.
Not that all the guests were Scottish, by any means, but she hadn't yet seen anyone she knew. Nor was she likely to. The Season was in full swing in London. The ton did not travel to Scotland for balls, not during the Season.
"Lady Alexandra."
Alexandra jumped, grateful her glass was empty when she spun awkwardly toward the woman's voice. "Oh, Lady MacDrummond. Thank you again for the invitation."
"My pleasure, dear. And may I say what a beautiful dress that is? Far more in the French fashion than most young Englishwomen have the sense for."
"My mother was French, you know. Perhaps it is something I learned at her knee."
The woman nodded, the blood rubies in her ears sparking with the movement. "Well, do not let that French blood get you into any more trouble."
Alex's eyes flew wide in surprise. Before she could think what to say, Lady MacDrummond winked in sly conspiracy.
"Oh, I am aware of your little indiscretion in London, my dear, but we all have our indiscretions, private or public. I would not hold it against you."
Alexandra wondered if her eyes were in danger of falling from her head. She blinked hard. "Thank you."
The grandmotherly woman leaned in, scarlet skirts brushing against Alex's blue dress. "If it had been a Scotsman, dearie, he would've thought to lock the door."
"Oh," she murmured dumbly. "Of course."
Lady MacDrummond glided away in a cloud of laughter, skirt swinging around her, while Alex was left to wipe her sweaty gloves against the striped silk of her dress. The narrow strips of periwinkle and royal blue made her seem taller and she certainly needed help with that. It was one reason she preferred the French fashion. The wider English skirts did not suit her—she looked rather like a giant pudding sliding about.
Raising her eyes to scan the crowd, she wondered if she should move. The ballroom was an ingenious design, circular and ringed entirely by a low, wide balcony that rose no more than two feet above the ballroom floor. The elevation provided just enough height to give everyone a good view of the dancing and suited her purpose perfectly. She could see past the crowds to watch for Collin, but she was torn between the compulsion to search him out and the desire to appear naturally occupied.
She wavered for a good quarter hour, watching the entrance, feigning nonchalance. He had to come to the Mac-Drummond's. If he had any desire to see her at all, he would put in an appearance at this ball on this night. Please let him come.
Alexandra smiled briefly at a man who nodded in her direction before shifting her eyes away. She couldn't simply approach a strange man without an introduction, and the only women around her were chaperones and matrons. Better to have Collin see her alone and dignified than cloistered with the elderly. Or was it?
Just as she took a step away from the railing, she spotted a young woman walking toward her, then, beyond the girl's head, a man's large form darkened the main door. Collin. Oh my.
She turned her back to the door even as his appearance crystallized in her mind. He wore full formal dress, of course. A shiver touched her legs and settled in her knees.
The woman on the balcony drew even with Alex. She was pretty in the way that the luckier redheads were—skin pale and almost fragile. Her thinness furthered the air of delicacy, though a generous bosom ensured that one did not think her too thin. She began to pass, smiling uncertainly at Alex's stare.
The nape of her neck prickled and tightened, raising tiny hairs. Collin was watching.
"Hello," she boomed, startling the girl into a jump. "Have we met somewhere before?"
"No, I. . ." She blinked, pale-green eyes wide with surprise. "I don't think so. I'm sure I would remember."
"I'm sorry. My mistake. May I introduce myself? I'm Alexandra Huntington. It's a pleasure to meet you." Smiling brightly, she waited, hoping the girl wouldn't bolt.
"Yes, um. . . I'm Jeannie. Jeannie Kirkland."
The girl's burr was lovely, the soft words soothing to her frayed nerves. "Miss Kirkland, I am so glad I mistook you for someone else, though I don't know how I could have. I daresay I've never met a woman with such beautiful hair."
Jeannie blushed, touching her hair with nervous fingers. "Oh, no. That canna be right. My brothers have assured me my whole life that I've hair the color of pumpkin innards."
Alexandra laughed in genuine amusement, but the sound hiccupped into a rather breathless cackle. Jeannie's hand rose to touch just one finger to Alex's bare arm, her face drawn into a concerned frown. Then her eyes shifted, drawn to some movement over Alex's shoulder. The confusion fell from her face in an instant, chased away by amused understanding.
"He is headed this way with a rather ferocious scowl. Shall I intercept him?"
"No," Alex whispered, shutting her eyes against the suspense. "No, let him come."
Jeannie chuckled and Alexandra opened her eyes to watch the girl wave cheerfully. She had no choice but to turn, not if she wanted to seem unaware. So she turned and saw him, standing not a dozen feet away, and found that she did not have to feign her reaction. Her breath left her in a rush past numb lips, and she stared at Collin Blackburn.
She'd never seen him like this, dressed impeccably, his cravat a snowy sculpture at his dark throat, his black coat a sharp outline of the strength of his shoulders. And his hair was so short, just cut, like a sweet young boy dressed for a portrait. How could he look so intimidating and so touchable at the same time?
His eyes pierced her, nearly black in that fierce face, and so full of questions that she almost abandoned her plan of coyness. But she was better than that.
Alex made her mouth smile, made her hands relax and uncurl, and took a step toward him. "Lord Westmore. What an unexpected pleasure." And the hunt was on.
Chapter 8
Here she was. This little slip of a thing who'd made him so miserable. Here she was. Now what the hell to do with her?
She drew closer, a vision of black hair and cream skin, close enough that Collin could just make out those freckles on her nose. Two more steps and she would be so close he could lean down and kiss them. She stopped at one.
"Lord Westmore," Jeannie Kirkland said from her side. "I see you've already met my friend."
Collin shot her a quick glare, this girl he'd known his whole life. "Your friend."
She flushed a little, pointed chin inching up. "My new friend. She's very nice."
"Yes. She is." He let his eyes swing back to Alexandra, their natural resting place when she was near. "Lady Alexandra, whatever are you doing here?" Her rosy lips parted, and he thought of them pressing into his skin.
"Why, I am here to buy horses, of course."
"Of course."
She licked those lips, her tongue a pink surprise, then drew a breath that tested the modesty of her gown. "It is wonderful to see you."
Collin stared at her, took her in, her beauty, her spark. . . stared until Jeannie cleared her throat.
"Collin, I will speak with you later." She narrowed her eyes meaningfully, then smiled at Alex. "Lady Alexandra, it was a pleasure to meet you."
She must have left, because the next time he glanced away from Alex's face he found they were standing alone, the party flowing around them like a babbling stream.
"Would you walk with me outside, my lady?"
She watched him, seemed to measure him through the sooty veil of her lashes as a smile spread slowly over her face, a smile that lit her up and heated his blood.
She didn't speak, only slid her arm through his and let him lead her to the wall of doors, then out into the moon-bright garden below. A cool wind swept over them, green and light. She shivered at his side as he pulled her into the deep shade of a tree.
Reaching to unbutton his coat, Collin began to shrug it off, but she made a low sound of distress that stayed his hands. "What is it?"
"Don't. Don't take off your coat. You look so . . ." Her hand caressed the air in front of him. "Magnificent."
"Magnificent?" His body stuttered to a halt. When he could move again, he found his fingers reaching to rebut-ton the coat. Her husky laugh sent blood racing to his face as well as to the lower reaches of his body. She seemed to have some torturous gift for arousing and embarrassing him simultaneously, a siren with a wicked wit.
How could this woman, this vision, be attracted to him? It confused him, put him on the defensive and touched him somewhere deep inside. And she was still attracted, he wasn't blind. She devoured him with her eyes, touching each part of him, lingering on his mouth. When she slipped off a glove and reached a small hand up to stroke the hair behind his ear, Collin pulled her against him and kissed her with all the need he'd been tamping down for months. He pressed her lips open with his own and slipped into her wet warmth.
Her hand tightened, tried to grab his hair, slid downward to clutch at his neck. Not in outrage, no. She fell into the kiss, plunged into it, raised onto her toes and pushed herself at him. More than willing to oblige, he pulled her up off her feet to line their bodies up. She smelled of flowers and tasted like wine, and oh God, how he wished she were wearing her boy's clothes now, wished he could feel the softness of her breasts and the hard press of her pelvic bone against his cock.
She stroked his tongue with a rhythm that drew a shudder through his body and melted his mind. He had no wish to resist her this time and prayed this was an invitation to escort her home. He was done resisting, couldn't think why he ever had.
The sharp bite of her nails stung his neck, thrilling him, pushing him over the edge of reason. He jerked her skirts up in bunches, inches at a time, trying to expose her body with his one free hand, trying to reach the center of her.
"Good God!" a hard voice exclaimed, spiking Collin's arousal with fear. Sweeping Alexandra around to hide her, he placed her carefully back on the ground.
"Did she actually invite Roxbury?"
"Surely he snuck in!"
Alex melted in his arms. They hadn't been spotted. Collin eased her backward, deeper into the shadows of the flowering branches. Tiny petals floated down as his head brushed the leaves, landing in her dark curls, in the shadow of her breasts, white spots of fragrance.
"Alex," he breathed, framing her heart-shaped face between rough hands. "Why did you come here?"
She smiled at his tortured words, mouth red as a rose from his kisses. "I've missed you, Collin."
"Missed me? Surely you've forgotten me by now."
Something close to pain froze his blood when she pulled away from his hands to press her face into his skin, nuzzling the place beneath his ear. A yearning rose up in him, more than lust or want, and her hair spilled around his hands, pins flying away at his clutching fingers. She smelled like flowers and rain and the underlying spice of need. Need for him.
"Oh, Collin. I wish I could forget you." The fierce whisper burned his neck.
He growled in dark humor. "I understand exactly."
She pressed her lips hard to his throat, trailed kisses up his jaw until he caught her with his mouth and kissed her again. Gentler, this time, and tinged with sadness and his own loneliness. She sighed into him, a deep, broken sound, and his sanity returned.
"I'm sorry." He touched her arms, held her away from him. "I'm sorry to fall upon you like a starving beast."
One of her dark eyebrows arched high. "You are easily appeased for a starving beast."
