Page 19 of Doxy for the Ton (Misfits of the Ton #7)

S he will always be safe with me.

It was as much of a declaration as he could muster—yet she had walked away from him.

No, not walked. Run .

But she’d called him Alexander…

His whole body had tightened on hearing his name on her lips. What might it be to hear her screaming it as he pleasured her? He took such pleasure from her—almost the slightest touch of her hand sent him into a frenzy of need. But it wasn’t his pleasure he craved with every fiber of his soul. It was hers .

He turned to follow her, then caught sight of Lady Portia, her face flushed scarlet.

Damn.

What had possessed Mimi to declare, to the whole room, that he was promised to Lady Portia?

He held out his hand. “Lady Portia.”

“I-I have no wish to dance,” she said. “At least…” She glanced across the room.

“At least not with me ?”

She lowered her gaze.

“Is there another with whom you’d prefer to dance?”

“It matters not,” she said. “I’m obliged to refuse anyone who offers now you have asked me—or rather, now that Lady Rex has committed us.”

“Lady Rex would not have made such a suggestion if she knew it would distress you,” he replied. “I would be delighted to honor the promise made.”

“Honor? Something about which you know nothing.”

“Then let me at least give the appearance of honor by dancing with you.” She frowned, and Alexander leaned closer. “If your preferred partner is here tonight, Lady Portia, the sight of your dancing with another might compel him to ask you next time. There’s nothing so desirable to a man as a woman who is favored by others.”

He took her hand and led her into the center of the ballroom.

“We would both rather be partnered by another,” he said, “but that doesn’t mean we cannot enjoy each other’s company. For this dance, at least.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Brutal honesty fashioned into a compliment? I find myself tempted to ask who you are, and what have you done with the Duke of Sawbridge?”

“Perhaps I’m attempting to atone for past sins.”

“There’s more to it than that,” she said. “Perhaps there’s hope for you after all, though you still have much to learn.”

He smiled. “I fear I’d make a troublesome pupil.”

“I’m sure Lady Rex is an adept teacher,” she said. “I’ve not known her long, yet I see in her an intelligent, honorable, and kind woman. I wonder why she chooses to associate herself with you.”

For two thousand guineas, the treacherous little voice whispered in his mind as they were separated by the dance.

Was that all Mimi valued? His cash?

The company here tonight would vilify her if they knew of their arrangement. But, in reality, the nature of their relationship said more about his character than hers.

“I see the conundrum poses as much of a challenge to you as it does to myself,” Lady Portia said as they were reunited once more, and, hand in hand, they moved between their companions, forming a figure eight.

“How so?” he asked.

“Lady Rex doesn’t seem the type to set her cap at a duke. She lacks the grasping avarice of other women. Women such as…”

She glanced across the ballroom and smiled. In the corner stood Miss Francis and her mother. The expression on the daughter’s face—which almost matched that of the matriarch’s—was enough to turn even the freshest milk sour.

“It seems as if dancing with you, while it might elicit my brother’s anger, has made me the object of envy of at least one woman in the room,” she said. “I ought to be grateful for that, if nothing else.”

“There’s no pleasure in being envied,” he said. “Envy is merely a desire for the possessions of another. I would rather be envied for who I am, not what I own.”

“Do you own Lady Rex?”

“No,” he said. “I fear I never shall.”

She frowned. “Was it envy that compelled you to fight that poor young man?”

“Whom?”

“Your Grace, do not take me for a simpleton. Mr. Drayton is barely more than a boy. My friend acted out of kindness when she danced with him—to spare him the barbs that Sir Heath Moss and his set were taunting him with.”

“Mr. Drayton, no matter his age, should not have—”

“Mr. Drayton had taken too much champagne,” she said. “An excess of liquor and an infatuation with an intelligent woman of character are a deadly combination in a na?ve young man. I’ve no doubt that were Lady Rex in danger, she’d have dealt with it on her own terms, rather than relying on the primitive act you displayed. A desire to protect my friend was not what drove you to act in such a manner—but the desire to own her. Lady Rex is not Mr. Drayton’s possession. Neither is she yours.”

“You speak frankly for a woman in your situation,” he said.

“What—the sister of a duke who’s determined to keep her under lock and key until he marries her off?” She let out a bitter laugh. “I must enjoy frankness, and freedom, while I can. The time will soon come when I’m forbidden to display the former, and deprived forever of the latter.”

“Your brother will act in your best interests, surely, when he finds you a husband.”

“Yes,” she sighed. “Women of my rank must endure the restrictions placed on us by those who act in our own best interests . It’s no wonder that Lady Rex sought to leave the ball of her own accord.”

“She left because she was angry with me,” Alexander said.

“If you believe that , then you lack understanding of the female mind,” she replied. “She didn’t leave because of the words or actions of others. She left because she could . And for that, she deserves our admiration—and our envy.”

“I thought you frowned upon envy, Lady Portia.”

“I envy Lady Rex her freedom, Your Grace,” she said. “Freedom is something one can envy with a clear conscience, because I have no need to take away her freedom to secure mine.”

The dance came to an end, and Alexander led Lady Portia toward the edge of the ballroom where Foxton stood with Thorpe, his expression darkening.

“You’re a brave fellow if you dance with Foxton’s sister,” Thorpe said. “I thought he was going to pull you off the dance floor and call you out.”

“What—for offering to dance with a lady at a ball?” Alexander asked. “I thought it was the height of poor manners not to dance with a lady.”

“That was until you almost beat that poor boy into a pulp for daring to dance with Lady Rex,” Thorpe said. “A pity she had to leave—meeting a lover, perhaps?”

Alexander resisted the urge to plant a shiner in Thorpe’s face.

“I daresay she’d have been willing to partner even you in that last dance,” Thorpe continued.

“How so?”

“You were dancing to Bach—or are you too ignorant to know the difference between a Bach air and a country reel? Lady Rex expressed her love of Bach very eloquently this evening. Given that she must be fond of the arts, I wonder what she’s doing with a profligate ignoramus such as yourself.”

“The prospect of becoming a duchess,” Foxton sneered. “Grasping harpies, the female sex—every last one of them. I fail to see why we must subject ourselves to balls and parties when we know that the only reason for such events is for women to prey on us.”

“I think, brother, you’d be considered more predator than prey,” Lady Portia said. Then she placed a hand on Alexander’s arm. “Your Grace, would you please escort me to a seat? I find the company not to my liking.”

He took her arm and steered her across the ballroom, settling her into a chair.

“May I fetch you something to drink, Lady Portia?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No, but I would make a request—for your sake.”

“Which is?”

“We both of us would rather be in the company of another,” she said. “I’m unable to indulge my wish, but I would take consolation from knowing that you, at least, are able to indulge yours.”

“You understand much, Lady Portia,” he said, “for a…”

“For a woman?” She nodded. “And that is the curse of all women whose minds rise above that of the soulless mannequin. Rest assured, I shall have my freedom, even if I must wait years to achieve it.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Give Lady Rex my best wishes for her health and happiness.”

He lifted her hand to his lips, then bowed and slipped out of the ballroom. As he entered the hall, a footman scuttled over, and Alexander gave the order to fetch his greatcoat. Then he stepped out into the night.

*

As Alexander entered Grosvenor Square, he heard music.

Someone was playing the pianoforte. The melodies were simple, and hesitantly played, as if the musician feared the instrument.

Then he heard a discordant note, and the melody began again, this time more slowly.

It was coming from number sixteen.

Was it Bach? He’d overheard Mimi enthusing about the composer, and Thorpe had remarked on it.

What would a doxy know about Bach?

And what doxy would know how to dance? Her accent had slipped within a day of their meeting, indicating that she was no ordinary doxy. But tonight, she’d shown that she was no ordinary woman. The natural daughter of a duke, perhaps? It would explain why she’d taken such a liking to that Drayton puppy.

It was nothing but pure savagery that had compelled Alexander to set upon young the boy—a beast challenging a rival for ownership of his mate.

But he didn’t own her.

The melody stopped, then resumed, more slowly. Alexander climbed the steps and knocked on the door. Shortly after, it opened to reveal Charles.

“Oh.” The footman glanced over his shoulder. “Y-your Grace, her ladyship isn’t expecting you.”

“May I come in, Charles?” Alexander asked.

“The mistress is in the drawing room, if you’d like to wait in the—”

“Not particularly,” Alexander said, brushing past the footman. “I know the way.”

He strode along the hallway, toward the music, which stopped as he opened the door at the end.

Mimi was sitting at a pianoforte. She still wore the purple gown, but she’d removed her gloves, which lay folded on the top of the instrument. She rose, pushing back the piano stool.

“I didn’t know you played,” he said.

“I don’t,” she replied, reaching for her gloves.

“Leave those.” He stepped forward and caught her hands, relishing the fizz of need at the feel of her soft skin beneath his fingers.

“You left the ball early,” she said.

“After I danced with Lady Portia,” he replied. “I wanted nothing more than to be with you, but had no wish to shame her.”

The corner of her mouth lifted into a smile. “Perhaps there’s hope for you after all.”

He gestured toward the pianoforte. “You play beautifully.”

She let out a snort and tried to withdraw her hand, but he held it firm.

“Let me withdraw my last remark,” she said. “I prefer honesty.”

“Where’s the dishonesty in admiring music?” he asked. “Whether executed with proficiency or not, to me, the music I heard was beautiful. Not because you have mastered the technique, but because it was you playing it.”

“Now you seek to flatter me,” she said. “Flattery in a man does not become him—at least not when he’s come to visit the whore he purchased.”

“Don’t say such things,” he said, his gut twisting with guilt. “You’re not a whore.”

“Then for what purpose have you visited me?” she asked. “I doubt you came to discuss Bach.”

“I came here to talk.”

“You’re not paying me to talk , Your Grace. Would you like a brandy before we retire to the bedchamber?”

Guilt needled at him at the resigned note in her voice, and he shook his head.

“Who are you, Mimi?”

“I am Lady Rex, the—”

“Very well,” he said, grasping her by the shoulders. “Who were you?”

Fear flared in her eyes, and she looked away.

“No doxy plays Bach,” he said, “and no doxy carries herself across the ballroom with the dignity you displayed tonight.”

“A good whore can play any role, Your Grace,” she said. “You should be pleased I’m giving you value for your coin.”

“Mimi, I—”

“Or perhaps you wish to take your pleasure in here, Your Grace?”

“Damn it, woman, will you desist?” he demanded. “I’d be the worst sort of fool if I didn’t see that you have the breeding and demeanor of one born into privilege. There’s no shame in it—your history is shared by countless women fallen on hard times. I cannot bear the thought of your having to—”

“Please!” she cried, her eyes glistening with moisture. “Speak no more of it. I am what you pay me to be, nothing more. There is no history for you to concern yourself with. There’s only the future—your future, with your reputation restored so that you might continue to enjoy the pleasures afforded by a man of your rank.”

He pulled her close, and she drew in a sharp breath as she tilted her head up to meet his gaze.

“Do you not understand?” he asked. “I cannot bear the notion of your having suffered a downfall. Too many women are born into privilege then forced to endure a life of destitution.”

“So you care nothing for women born into destitution?” she said. “Nothing for those who did not have the start in life that you take for granted—that I once…” She bit her lip and closed her eyes.

“I find that I do care, Mimi,” he said. “I first came to care when I saw the marks on your body—the scars of hardship. I came to care when I saw the marks on your hands—your beautiful hands.”

He lifted her hands to his mouth and brushed his lips against her calloused knuckles, his body tightening with want.

“But I will never care as much for those women—unfortunate though they may be—as I have grown to care for you.”

Her eyes snapped open, and his chest tightened at the raw need he saw in them, the desire that darkened their color until they were almost black—black with tiny sparks of silver in their depths, as if her soul cried out to him.

Then he lowered his mouth to hers. For a heartbeat her body softened and his soul soared with hope as she parted her lips with a whimper. Then the whimper turned into a cry and she pushed him back.

But she had revealed something of herself—the tiny part that wanted him as much as he craved her. He lifted her into his arms, and she relaxed, wrapping her arms about his neck as he carried her out into the hallway and climbed the stairs. His heart ached at how she feared the intimacy of a kiss, yet willingly yielded her body for his pleasure.

He strode along the upstairs landing toward the first door, which he pushed open.

“Not in there,” she said.

The bedchamber was as he remembered it—welcoming shades of blue and yellow, softened by the dancing firelight. He paused, inhaling the scent of rose, and his body surged with desire.

“ Please , no,” she whispered, the pain in her voice filling the air.

He caught his breath to fight the deep yearning. She was his—bought and paid for—yet the joy of having her willing surpassed any gratification in having her at his mercy. Gritting his teeth, he turned and carried her to the chamber across the hallway, the one where she took him each time he visited.

But tonight, the deep reds and dark wood gave the chamber an air of debauchery that lessened the pleasure to that of mere physical gratification. He might gain release from it, but the thirst in his soul would remain unquenched.

He set her down, and, at once, she reached behind her gown and began untying her sash, while he undid his cravat. She pushed him toward a chair, where he sat and watched her peel each garment off, her face an impassive mask, as if she were performing a dull household task—first her gown, which she draped over a chair by the dressing table, then her petticoats and chemise, until, at last, she stood beside him, naked save her stockings.

He had always taken pleasure in removing a woman’s stockings—the feel of the skin of her thigh against his hands as he caressed the tops of her legs, and the soft silk as he hooked his fingers beneath the top, then the slow reveal of her flesh as he peeled each stocking down. The way her skin tightened as he brushed his fingers along her leg, tracing a path toward her ankle—the little creases in the silk as the stocking bunched around her ankles, then the rush of pleasure as he held each stocking up, suspending it in the air, before letting it fall to the floor. That pleasure, since he’d taken Mimi into his life, had swelled into the most potent ecstasy, such that he was in danger of spending each time he touched her stockings.

But that pleasure was yet to come. Wordlessly, she approached him, and he feasted his eyes on her body—the slender neck, those sweet breasts that grew heavy in his hands when he caressed them, her delicate waist, and the flare of her hips, with the triangle of curls above the tops of her stockings. Then she reached for him, the movement lifting those delicious teats, and removed his jacket. Her nimble fingers untied his shirt laces, and she peeled away each layer until, no longer the Duke of Sawbridge, he had become what he yearned to be in her eyes…

A simple man in love.

He placed his hands on her shoulders, running the tips of his thumbs across her collarbone, then he dipped his head for a kiss, but she turned away. She took his hands and stepped toward the bed, where she lay back. He reached for her stockings and peeled them off, unable to resist placing a kiss on each ankle. She stiffened, but did not push him away. Encouraged, he placed his hands on her thighs and parted them, inhaling the sweet, sharp scent of her need. He dipped his head and brushed his lips against the inside of one thigh, and she caught her breath. He glanced up to see her eyes closed, hands at her sides, fisting the bedsheet, and the scent intensified.

She was not playing a role. Her body wanted him— she wanted him.

He placed another kiss on her thigh, and she let out a low mewl. Then he traced a path toward the tops of her thighs with his lips, until he reached the curls at her center. He drew in a deep breath, relishing her scent.

What might she taste like?

Closing his eyes, he flicked his tongue out, tasting the salt on her skin. She jerked and then grasped his wrists.

“No!”

He opened his eyes to see her staring at him, her eyes glistening with moisture. “Mimi, I—”

“Let me give you pleasure,” she said, pulling him over her body with a strength born of resolve that belied her frame. Then she wrapped her legs around his and drew him closer, until he could feel her damp heat against his manhood.

Sweet heaven —she was ready for him!

Unable to conquer his body’s need, he thrust inside her, shuddering with pleasure at her slickness. Her scent intensified, smothering the woodsy, spicy cologne that clung to the air in the chamber like a thick fog.

Perhaps that was why she refused to pleasure him in her own chamber—the scent of female desire would overpower the delicate aroma of rose. But how pleasurable it would be to have her chamber marked by her scent, to have her acknowledge her desires each time she went to sleep at night—desires that only he could fulfil.

He withdrew and plunged inside her again, and she lifted her hips to meet each thrust. Pleasure grew, swelling like a tide, and he fought against the instinct to succumb.

No…

She squeezed her thighs together, and he gritted his teeth at the familiar surge in his groin at the delicious friction.

Not until she takes her pleasure…

He gripped her arms, pinning her to the bead, and lowered his face to claim her mouth.

“No!” she cried, twisting her head to the side.

“Let me kiss you, Mimi,” he growled. “Would you not take pleasure from my kiss, from my body?”

He withdrew and slipped inside her once more, slowly, and her nostrils flared as a whimper escaped her lips.

“I can feel your pleasure,” he said. “I can smell it.”

“No…” she whispered. “It’s a lie.”

“Your body—and your eyes—belie your words, Mimi,” he whispered. “Why deny yourself the pleasure I can give you in return for that which you have given me?”

“Alexander, I—”

She broke off, tears swelling in her eyes.

“Does it pain you to speak my name?” he asked. “Can you not take pleasure from it? You deserve to be happy, Mimi, to indulge in pleasure, as I do, as so many do. Why suffer for a sake of a principle—a whim?”

She grasped his arms, pushing him back. “You think I’m indulging in a whim ? You have no right to take that which I do not wish to yield.”

“I don’t want to take from you, Mimi,” he said. “I only wish to give —my heart, and your pleasure.”

“No!” she cried. “You know nothing of hearts—and you have no right to my pleasure. You’re paying for my body, nothing more.”

“Then I’ll pay you more,” he said. “Name your price. I’ll give you everything I own if you would give me your pleasure.”

“Some things are not for sale.”

“Everything is for sale,” he said, lowering his mouth to hers. “Let me kiss you, and I’ll—”

He yelped as a sharp pain tore into his arms where she raked her nails over the flesh.

“Devil’s bones, woman!” he cried, sitting up. “What the bloody hell did you do that for?”

He glanced at his upper arms, which were now smeared with blood—blood to match that under her fingernails.

Fuck—that hurt!

She stared back at him, eyes wide, a feral fear glimmering in their depths.

“You’re despicable!” she cried. “Can’t you honor our arrangement, if nothing else? You can take my body—use it as you wish. Why must you demand more?” She shook her head. “Perhaps I should have realized. You’re all the same. You feel entitled to take what you want if you throw coin at it, and us lesser beings will be grateful for the scraps you condescend to give us.”

“Scraps?” he said. “If I recall, you negotiated a hard bargain for your body. Two thousand guineas is a pretty price for a doxy.”

“And it’s nothing to a selfish reprobate who wastes the life and advantages he was born with,” she snarled. “You spend all day indulging in debauchery, when you could be so much more!”

“What would you have me do when the world expects me to indulge in the pleasures to be enjoyed by a man in my position?”

“So you live a wastrel lifestyle because Society expects it?” she said, bitter laughter in her voice. “You know nothing of the true nature of nobility if you believe your title gives you free rein to act as you do. A man of your rank does not live in isolation, does he?”

“I am my own man, Mimi.”

“And what of those whose lives depend on you?” she asked. “The tenants at your estate—the servants who cook your meals, clean your house, and even dress you because you’re incapable of buttoning a waistcoat yourself?”

“My steward sees to them.”

“So you absolve yourself of your responsibility to care for them? What if they fall ill, are unable to work, or are preyed upon by the unscrupulous? What if they’re left destitute by circumstances within your control but without theirs. Must they suffer?”

A tear swelled in her eyes, and he brushed it away with his thumb, then lifted it to his lips, tasting the salt.

“Mimi, I understand—”

“You understand nothing, Your Grace.”

“Then show me,” he said. “My ignorance may be due to my station in life, but I can change if you’ll teach me. You’re already teaching me what it means to be honorable.”

She frowned and opened her mouth to respond.

“I am aware that I’m an appallingly bad pupil,” he said. “Willful, unintelligent… But I’m eager to learn—to change—if you’d let me. Is that not why we made our arrangement? So I could be a better man?”

“I thought it was so you could give the appearance of goodness, to enable you to resume your life of debauchery unhindered by the disapproval of others.”

Her words cut through his heart.

“You make me quite ashamed, Mimi,” he said. “But you can teach me to be better. Perhaps I can teach you in return.”

“What can you teach me about?”

“Trust,” he said. “I can teach you that there are some in the world in whom you can place your trust.”

“I’ve survived five years trusting no one,” she said. “I see no reason to change now.”

“Pleasure, then,” he said, shifting his body, still inside her.

Her eyes widened, as if he’d caught her unawares, and her jaw bulged as she gritted her teeth.

“Wait,” she said.

“Until what?” he asked. “Until you can let your mind slip sideways once more, so you can deny the pleasure that you crave?”

“I will not become a slave to pleasure,” she said. “Not even for a moment.”

“Why not?”

She looked away, and he grew still, letting the silence fill the room—waiting for her to break it. At length, she sighed.

“Because once you’ve tasted pleasure—genuine pleasure—you want nothing else. And so you taste it again, and again, until, each waking moment, you crave it.”

“Is that so wrong?” he asked. “I find myself craving you each waking moment.”

“But you’re a man .”

“Do we not suffer as your sex does?”

“In one aspect, you’ll never suffer as we do. Some consequences a man will never have to face. There are—” She broke off, her voice cracking, and he placed his hand on her face, caressing her cheek with his thumb.

“I am no fool, Mimi,” he said. “If you are referring to a child, I assure you that I would accept my responsibility if you were to—”

“Stop!” she cried. “ Please —do not speak of it. If you care about me as you claim to do, then you’ll desist.”

His heart cracked at the grief in her tone. What had she lost to make her fashion such a thick shell around her heart to hide her despair?

“What do you want of me, Mimi?” he asked.

For a moment, she stared at him, a flicker of understanding in her eyes. Then she blinked and her expression shuttered once more.

“I want to give you pleasure.”

Would it have been too much for her to say that she wanted to trust him? That she wanted him to love her?

He shifted inside her once more, and she curved her lips into a smile.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

A smile was perhaps the best he could hope for. Closing his eyes, he let the image of her smile fill his senses while he withdrew from her, then slipped inside again. He continued to move, letting the pleasure build solely so that he could savor it, until it sparkled and shimmered in his mind, enveloping his soul.

“Oh, Mimi…” he murmured as the pleasure rose, a tide swelling in his mind. “How you unman me.”

She lay back, her breathing growing more uneven, and he felt her body begin to ripple around him.

Sweet Lord —would she come to pleasure at his touch?

Hope swelling within him, he increased the pace as the wave swelled and soared, then it crested, and his body shattered.

“Oh, Mimi—my love!” He cried her name as, with one final thrust, he fell forward, claiming her body, clinging to her as if his life depended on it. He continued to thrust, his movement growing weaker as he drew out every last drop of pleasure. Then, at last, with a sigh, he pulled her close, placing his head on her chest.

She remained still, her heartbeat racing against his ear. He lifted his head to see her lying beneath him, her head tilted back until the tendons in her neck stretched, jaw clenched, brow furrowed in pain.

“Did you…?” His words hung in the air as she opened her eyes.

She shook her head. Her hands, which she’d formed into tight fists, now unfurled, to reveal tiny red marks in her palms where she’d dug her nails into the flesh.

He took her hand and brushed his thumb over the marks, and she winced as a thick red droplet swelled on her skin—evidence of the pain she endured, rather than surrender to pleasure at his touch.

“May I stay here tonight?” he asked. “With you?”

Fear flared in her eyes once more.

“I only want to hold you,” he said, aware of the pitiful tone in his voice. “I-I want to be more than just…”

“We have a business arrangement, Your Grace. But you’re entitled to stay here. After all, you are paying for this house.”

The temptation to stay was almost more than he could bear. But he wanted her to be willing—no, happy —to receive him.

“I should leave you be.”

He withdrew and climbed off the bed, glancing about the chamber for his discarded clothes. With a sigh, she followed and picked up his breeches.

“Here, let me.”

He stood, meekly, while she dressed him, buttoning his breeches and shirt, slipping on his waistcoat, and tying his cravat before, finally, she slipped on his jacket and smoothed down the lapels.

His cheeks warmed with shame. She had spoken the truth. He knew nothing about how to take care of himself, let alone those whose lives depended on him. But, from today, he would strive to do better.

“Excellent,” he said, glancing at himself in the dressing mirror. “My valet wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.”

“It’s what you’re paying for, is it not? I must give you good value for your two thousand.”

She flinched as he turned toward her.

“I meant what I said earlier, Mimi,” he said. “I want you to show me how those less fortunate live—the women you help. Not to toss a few coins at them, but to understand .”

“They are not to be toyed with,” she said. “You can do what you wish with me. But they —”

“I understand,” he said, placing his hand on her cheek.

For a heartbeat, she leaned into his hand and closed her eyes, as if drawing comfort from his touch. Then she withdrew.

“I shan’t make any demands of you, Mimi,” he said. “And I’ll not take that which you aren’t willing to give. You can trust me on that, if you cannot bring yourself to trust me on anything else.”

He reached for the bedsheet and draped it around her shoulders. Then he took her hand and lifted it to his lips. She stiffened, but did not withdraw. Then he bowed and exited the chamber. As he closed the door, he heard the rustle of the sheets and a soft sob. Fighting the urge to burst back inside and take her in his arms, he descended the stairs.

The footman was waiting in the hallway.

“Charles, be so good as to take some hot chocolate to your mistress’s chamber,” Alexander said, “and a little brandy.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“And take care of her, won’t you?”

“Sh-she has a lady’s maid.”

“Then you must both take care of her.”

“Are you not staying, Your Grace?”

Alexander shook his head. “Much as I wish it, that would be a violation, Charles.”

“I don’t understand, Your Grace.”

“You will one day, young man,” Alexander said. “When you have fallen in love, you’ll understand.”

He approached the door, which the footman opened, then stepped out into the night, no longer able to deny his heart.

What he felt wasn’t mere desire, or the need for gratification. His own pleasure was secondary to hers. And if she did not trust him enough to give her physical pleasure when they made love, then he must find other ways to make her happy.

He would have to woo her.