Page 12 of The Duke and Lady Scandal (Princes of London #1)

Drake didn’t bother excusing himself before following Alexandra.

By the time he reached the Wellingdons’ broad veranda, the lantern-lit stones were empty. Then he caught sight of the skirt of her raspberry gown as she cut around a row of tall hedges.

He feared she might have rushed off because Haverstock’s pomposity had driven her to tears. But when he found her on the other side of the neatly clipped greenery, she was pacing and muttering to herself.

“I know why you’ve come to find me,”

she told him when he rounded the hedge. “I’ll apologize to Sir Felix when I go back in.”

“That’s not at all why I’ve come. And what the hell would you apologize for? Being magnificent?”

She stopped short and stared at him, narrowing her eyes as if she wasn’t certain he was in earnest.

“Was I?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t think through a single word. It just came out. Perhaps I should have been more respectful and tempered my—”

“No, you should not have.”

He’d admired her straightforward manner since meeting her, but seeing her with Haverstock, who’d had far too much to drink and was desperate to impress Lord Wellingdon with his boasts, had been spectacular. “You were honest. Perhaps blunt, but you’re as entitled to your opinion as the chief is to his.”

He stepped closer and longed to reach for her. It seemed he would forever feel the urge to touch her, be connected to her, even if only for a moment.

“Thank you,”

she said, her voice trembling as if the emotions welling inside her were too much to contain. Then she closed her eyes and drew in a long breath, exhaling slowly. After a while, her expression softened.

He realized she looked at home out here in the garden, her face lit by moonlight, free of all the constraints and expectations even he found confining in aristocratic drawing rooms.

He stroked his fingers along the satiny curve of her cheek, and she opened her eyes, looking much more at ease.

“And it just so happens that I agree with you. Digging up the dead for study is one thing. Doing so for entertainment is something else entirely.”

She swallowed and nodded. “Indeed. I attended an unwrapping once. Honestly, I was supposed to remain in a separate room with my siblings, but we snuck a peek over the edge of the stairwell.”

She grimaced at the memory. “The guests broke off pieces and passed them around. I kept wondering who the Egyptian had been. If they’d had a family who cared for them thousands of years ago, or even descendants now who had no notion that their ancestor had been taken to England.”

Though she referred to one who’d lived millennia ago, Drake couldn’t help thinking of the ways his own family had failed at caring for one another. That he didn’t even know who his own father was.

Alexandra stepped closer. “I’m sorry if I’ve mucked matters up for you with Sir Felix.”

“You needn’t worry about that.”

The man might be standing in a house but a few feet away from him, but he was the very furthest thing from Drake’s mind.

“Why wouldn’t I worry? He’s your superior, is he not?”

She moved closer and curled her fingers around the lapel of his tailcoat. “And you’re ambitious, are you not?”

In that moment, Drake struggled to find the growling hunger that usually resided in his middle when he thought of his future, his achievements, his yearning for more. All he found was complete and utter focus on Alexandra. She was quite appealing enough to occupy him entirely, and a shocking thought drifted through his mind.

She matters far more than any title.

“Haverstock will get past whatever momentary offense he felt, I’m sure.”

“I’m not so certain.”

She cast a doubtful glance back toward the Wellingdon townhouse. “And since you mentioned that we are acquainted, he may take his anger toward me out on you.”

She couldn’t know of Haverstock’s pettiness or how he wielded his power, and yet she’d somehow sensed it.

“The man needs me too much to do that.”

“And Miss Haverstock would no doubt defend you.”

Alexandra hitched one brow up in question.

He chuckled, and she frowned fiercely. Adorably.

He slid a hand down to cup her chin.

“Hear me on this point. I did not escort Lavinia Haverstock this evening. I am not courting Lavinia Haverstock, and I promise you that she would never defend me to her father on any score. We’re not . . .”

Intimate was the word on the tip of his tongue. And he meant it in contrast to whatever this was. He’d known Alexandra but a few days and yet the connection between them was palpable. Strong. Intimate.

“You’re not . . . ?”

she prompted.

He slid a hand gently around her nape, savoring the silken feel of her hair, the heat of her skin. He wasn’t yet sure he could put into words what he felt, but he could show her.

She tipped her head up, and he took her mouth in a soft kiss. He’d meant it to be no more than that. Convinced himself he could taste her once more and be gentlemanly about it. But there was nothing gentlemanly about his feelings for Alexandra. They were new and raw and undeniable. Powerful enough to chip at the cool stoicism he thought he’d perfected.

And the wonder of it was that she seemed to feel it too. She leaned into him, pulling him closer by his lapels, fitting her lush curves against him. Then her other hand came up as she wrapped her fingers around his neck, stroking his hair and sending a shock of pleasure straight to his groin.

He deepened the kiss, teasing his tongue against the seam of her lips, and she offered him heaven. A deep, drugging taste of her, and he realized his control wasn’t just slipping, it had crumbled entirely.

To get her closer, he lifted her off her feet, one hand cupping the sweet swell of her backside.

The kiss flared into more—a wild exploration. Her fingernails traced against his skull and that stroke made him so hard he ached. He pulled her closer, slid a hand down, trying to gather the skirt of her gown. She emitted little moans of pleasure as he stroked his tongue against hers.

“Allie?”

Lady Josephine’s voice came from far away.

Or perhaps it only seemed that way because he had fallen under some spell. But Alexandra had too. Even after the lady’s call, even after he’d set her down gently, they held on to each other, leaning their foreheads together, trying to catch their breath.

“Allie? Is everything all right?”

the Wellingdons’ eldest called again.

“Quite all right,”

Alexandra called back, though she made no move to leave his embrace or step out from behind the hedge.

At the sound of footsteps on the veranda paving stones, they finally pulled away from each other, and Alexander swept her hands down her skirt and strode out into view of the house.

“I’m all right, Jo.”

“Very well,”

Lady Josephine said more quietly. “The dinner gong will sound soon, so you’d both best return in short order.”

“We will.”

Alexandra nodded and smiled.

Lady Josephine apparently retreated because Alexandra returned to him. And in her usual perceptive way, she could read his expression.

“What is it?”

“Allie,”

he said, repeating the nickname Lady Josephine had used and that had apparently put an odd look on his face.

“Yes.”

She dipped her head, momentarily shy. “It’s what everyone calls me.”

Her eyes flashed as a little grin tipped her bee-stung lips. “Except for you.”

“Alexandra suits you.”

A beatific smile lit her face. “I’ve always preferred it, but no one else seems to agree. To my family, I’m always Allie. Little Allie. Or little Lex, though only Papa called me that. And now sometimes my brother if he’s trying to soften me.”

She tipped her head. “Why do you prefer Alexandra?”

“It’s a beautiful name. Long and luxurious. A bit more complicated than Allie.”

“Am I complicated?”

He drew closer, reached up, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I mean that as a compliment. Complicated in the way that a tangled case can be more interesting than a simple one.”

“And what do you prefer to be called?”

she asked softly. “Ben? Benedict?”

Drake winced. “Not Benedict. My mother called me that when she was cross. And now Helen does when she’s taking me down a peg.”

“Ben.”

She uttered the single syllable with more thoughtfulness than anyone had ever offered his name. “I do like it.”

He laughed, full-throated and in a way he hadn’t in, well, as long he could recall.

“I’m glad you approve.”

Even from the garden, they could hear the sound of the dinner gong.

“We have to go in,”

she said without an ounce of enthusiasm.

“I suppose we do.”

Ben felt much the same. He’d forgo the whole dinner and any of the conversation he’d hoped to have with Wellingdon to stay out here with her.

“I’d rather leave now. With you,”

she told him boldly.

“As would I.”

“We’d cause a scandal.”

He’d take a scandal if it meant time with her, but he wouldn’t subject her to the judgement of the Wellingdons or Haverstock.

He knew they must rejoin the group and held out his arm. She immediately wrapped her hand around it, and he laid his other hand over hers. He already disliked how they’d have to pretend once they were back inside. Pretend they hadn’t just shared a kiss that still heated his blood. A kiss that had shaken him. Changed him.

He couldn’t walk away from her now. There was the time before he’d met Alexandra Prince and whatever he was becoming now, and he did not wish to go back.

“I won’t provoke him again, I promise.”

He was so far gone that it took him a moment to realize who she referred to.

“I wouldn’t have you change to suit Sir Felix Haverstock. Or anyone.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught her grinning.

He vowed to himself then and there that he would make it his mission to evoke such smiles from her again.

And despite all the reasons he knew he shouldn’t—despite the feeling that something in him had been torn open and his usual defenses would no longer shield him—he needed to kiss her again too.

Depending on the time of year, they would close Princes for the day on a Sunday. Shoppers would sometimes come, as the holiday approached, in November and December. But since there would only be two of them in October, Allie had agreed with Mr. Gibson that they’d close on Sundays during the month.

Ordinarily on such days, Allie took care of all the tasks she couldn’t get to in the evenings—replying to letters, reading the newspaper, or even sifting through research for her book.

But today wasn’t an ordinary day. It was the day after she’d shared the most extraordinary kiss, with a man who’d tempted her from the moment she’d met him.

And now? Her thoughts were consumed with him. And kissing him.

It wasn’t supposed to be unforgettable. Indeed, Eve had warned her years ago that a lady’s first kisses were often an unpleasant, even disastrous, experience.

But nothing about her encounters with Benedict Drake—Ben—had been unpleasant, not even the remainder of the night at the Wellingdons after their stolen moments in the garden. Oh, Haverstock had snubbed her the rest of the night. And Jo had been miserable because there’d been no time to talk about what had happened in the garden. And Ben had been seated too far away from her too.

Yet she’d been in a kind of warm haze for the rest of the night.

And this morning, she was good for nothing but remembering the heat of his mouth on hers, the way he’d lifted her easily and fitted her against the hard muscles of his body.

She found herself tracing her lips, yearning for more. To be back, hidden in the hedges, with him again.

Could people make love against a hedge?

She was so brazen now that she wanted to find out.

Even as the day’s hours stretched on, the hunger to do it all again—to do more—didn’t diminish. And she spent hours trying to convince herself that the wild impulse to go and find Ben and kiss him again was entirely reasonable. She’d never been forward, never truly flirted or pursued an interest in any man. Not that she was missish about ladies doing such a thing. Only that no one had inspired her to make the effort.

Until now.

She stood, walked to her wardrobe, and selected her newest walking suit.

Lottie, who’d been chatting in the hallway to Mrs. Taunton, must have heard the squeaking hinges of her wardrobe door.

“Anything I can do to help, miss?”

Lottie rapped once and stepped into her room.

Allie stared at the young woman, her mind still spinning with possibilities. She wanted to see him. Indeed, it felt more like a need. Was he at home on Sundays? Or was he working on all the cases that required his attention?

It had been so long since she’d considered any kind of outing beyond charity work and her bicycle club.

“I’m going out, Lottie. No lunch for me today. Though if I’m home by supper, tell Mrs. Taunton a tray in my room will suffice.”

“May I help you change?”

Allie was still wearing an old day dress that was soft and comfortable for days at home.

“I can manage the suit, but would you do something with my hair?”

“Of course, miss.”

Lottie smiled. She relished any kind of work that involved lady’s maid duties and had a special talent for arranging hair, choosing just the right earbobs, and picking the best accessories.

Soon she’d transformed Allie’s simple chignon into an artistic arrangement of braids and curls.

“Is it the young constable?”

Lottie whispered once she’d set the last pin in place and stood back to survey her work.

Allie smiled at her in the mirror. “No, not the constable.”

“But you are going off on a little adventure, aren’t you, miss?”

“I am.”

Not quite an adventure by the Prince definition. There was no artifact or buried treasure involved. And yet she was pursuing something of great value single-mindedly with no real certainty of the outcome. That was very Prince of her indeed.

“It’s about time I did,”

she told Lottie. Everything in her cheered the sentiment.

The young woman offered her a conspiratorial smile and a wink. “Well, off with you then on your adventure.”

Ben told himself that he should regret kissing her.

He was a man with nothing to offer, not even an accurate family history, and she was fond of those.

Toying with Alexandra Prince was unthinkable. He admired her too much to pretend he was the marrying sort. He’d decided long ago that it was something he’d have to forgo until he’d achieved his goals. Maybe someday, but not anytime soon.

And yet he couldn’t regret a moment of that kiss. He’d replayed it dozens of times in his mind, allowed himself to imagine freeing her from that red dress, from her corset and petticoats, and laying her out on his bed, taking his time tasting her, savoring every moment—

“Are you finished with the newspaper?”

Helen stood in her coat, donning her gloves.

“I . . .”

Ben looked down to find the papers he’d collected from the newsstand this morning as crisp and unbent as when he’d purchased them. He’d been daydreaming for bloody hours.

“Never mind.”

“No, take them.”

“No, no, I have my book to read on the omnibus.”

She pulled a knit hat on, arranging it at a jaunty tilt, then stared at him for a moment. “Are you all right?”

“Of course I am.”

“Very well. I must be off.”

She started toward the door and then turned back. “Perhaps you’ll tell me later what has you so preoccupied.”

“Perhaps.”

Once she’d gone, he pushed a hand through his hair and forced himself to focus on perusing the newspapers, a task he usually relished on his days away from the job.

He flipped pages, absorbing little, until two words caught his notice. Crown Jewels.

The story detailed how the Crown Jewels were now back at the Tower after cleaning and repair at a local jeweler’s, and the new Jewel House where they were encased at the Tower of London was open for visitors.

When he’d contacted the Tower after Alexandra’s first visit to his office, there’d been no mention of the removal of the regalia. Then again, as he scanned the news account, he realized it was scant on dates. It could have happened weeks ago and the release of the information had been delayed. The Crown dictated tight control of any information, and sometimes misleading information was released to deter threats against the regent and the other royals.

Perhaps the jewels’ movements had been what inspired the men Alexandra overheard. Perhaps they’d planned some move on the jeweler rather than a much more difficult theft from the Tower.

Thankfully, to his knowledge, there’d been no attempt on the regalia at either location.

For the first time in his life, he found himself curious to see the collection. Alexandra could probably recount the history of every gem encrusted in the crown and scepter and orb and whatnot.

A knock sounded at the front door, pulling him out of his ruminations.

As he approached, he could see the shape and colors of his visitor through the patterned glass and his heart began a fierce tattoo.

“Hello,”

Alexandra said brightly when he opened the door. “You’re at home.”

“I am,”

he heard himself say, even as his mind tripped over how lovely she looked. It was as if he’d summoned her with constant thoughts, and a part of him couldn’t quite believe that she was here.

Once she stood in his drawing room, brightening the whole space, she turned to face him and looked suddenly uncertain.

“I thought we might . . .”

His throat went dry, his mind returning to all he’d been imagining for the last twelve hours.

“Go for a walk,”

she finally said.

“A walk.”

“Or take lunch together.”

“Lunch.”

When she began to look around nervously, he took a step closer. She immediately did the same. “Forgive me for sounding like a damned echo.”

She laughed, and every single doubt slipped away, every rational argument he might be able to summon if he wasn’t entirely pleased to have her in front of him.

“A walk, lunch. Both sound appealing.”

If she’d asked him to join her to walk a high wire across the English Channel, he would have agreed.

“Of course, I haven’t given you the chance to suggest anything either.”

He glanced over at the newspaper he’d left open on the top of his desk.

“This may sound mad, but would you care to go visit the Crown Jewels?”