Dangerous Lover, page 21
Releasing Alexandra, he took the key from his pocket, slid it into the almost-invisible door, unlocked it, and threw it wide.
“Well?” he threw at her. “Do you want to see my secret, evil lair?”
Chapter Twenty
If she had truly believed him to be a wicked man, she would have fled as soon as he loosened his grip of her hand. As it was, though, her heart thundered for a hundred different reasons, none of which she could untangle right now. She followed him into the dark cellar, waited while he lit the lantern, and then trailed after him down a set of rough, stone steps, through a spacious, empty stone chamber, and through another locked door.
He seemed to have lost interest in whether she followed him or not. But in this final room, he stopped and raised his lantern. “I can light the other lamps if you like, but you can probably see what it is.”
In the faint glow, she saw a metal monster. Part of a metal monster whose lines faded into darkness until the lantern followed them. A table with a platform above, a cylinder behind. Stains of ink.
Her breath caught. “It’s a printing press!”
The light moved as he walked to the side of the room and set the lantern on a bench. Trays of letters sat there. A few things began to fall into place in her mind.
“You printed these pamphlets, the ones Griz and Dragan had that so annoyed her brother. I saw James bringing a sack upstairs the other night, and in the morning, it was gone. It contained pamphlets, didn’t it?”
“Did you think it was the bodies of my victims? Those whose parents would not pay the ransom?”
“Of course not,” she retorted. “I just could not understand why you were behaving so furtively. I still don’t understand.”
He sighed. “I don’t trust the government not to shut me down. I have a perfectly legal and much more up-to-date press in the city where I print many works, including Tizsa’s survey of the health and living conditions of the poor. With this one, though, I can be more political, more radical, raise more of a commotion.”
“And so, you didn’t want Inspector Harris to find it.”
“I had a compositor working on the galleys. I couldn’t risk the police finding him.”
She gazed at the press, “And this is what I heard. You print them at night when the household is asleep upstairs, well away from the noise.”
“Which still managed to disturb you.”
“I am a light sleeper. Will you really break it up?”
“I’m risking too many people who help me with it.”
She frowned. “But what you print is not against the law.”
He shrugged. “It sails close, but I doubt that matters if the infamous Lord Horace takes notice. It might raise too much of a stink to arrest me, but he can arrest others, destroy my business on which many livelihoods depend.”
“He would not, could not do such a thing!”
“Perhaps not. I discover I am not willing to take the chance. I think the very mystery of the pamphlets has helped raise awareness of the issues.” He waved one hand toward the press. “Maybe it was the revolutionary in me. But perhaps I can do more in the light, as it were.”
“Stand for Parliament,” she blurted.
He smiled faintly. “Maybe.” He swiped up the lantern again. “Come, it’s cold and damp down here.”
This time when he took her hand, it was only to guide her. But her skin still tingled. She liked his touch, his nearness, the idea of being alone with him in the dark. And because he had trusted her with his secret, warmth folded around her heart.
When he would have released her to lock the first cellar door, she retained his hand for a moment.
“I will not tell anyone. I would not. Not even Griz.”
The lantern light flickered over his faint, sardonic smile. “Oh, I think the Tizsas already suspect.”
She released his hand, and he locked the door, turning so quickly, she didn’t have time to move away. He bumped into her and immediately flung up his arm to her back to prevent her stumbling.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
The dancing lantern shot flashes of light over his harsh yet handsome face. His body touched hers, her skirts billowing around his legs. His arm was warm and strong at her waist, his palm flattened across her back. Bent over her in quick concern, his face was too close, the flickering light playing over his lips.
“Thank you,” she whispered, “for showing me.” She could not resist. Standing on tiptoe, she touched her lips to his, the lightest, briefest of kisses, and then, lest he be appalled, she tried to flit away.
But his arm tightened at her back. His breath caught. Very slowly, his arm fell away, but she did not move. She could not. She was lost in his eyes, in the thundering of her own heart. She had done something momentous, something which could not be undone, and the consequences…
She gasped as his fingers caressed her cheek, cupping her face as he bent his head and kissed her.
His previous kiss, in the drawing room, had been all instinctive passion inspired by the emotion of the music, raw and searing. This time, he seemed to have thought about it. It was soft, tender, exploring, and nothing in the world had ever been sweeter than his mouth moving on hers, his tongue stroking hers, tracing her lips, her teeth. A new wonder of sensation opened up, spreading unhurriedly from his mouth through her whole body.
She relaxed against him, holding his face between her hands, sliding her fingers into his hair as the kiss deepened naturally, enchanting and arousing. And when it ended, he began another. Her body seemed plastered to his, despite the thickness of her skirts. Her breasts ached deliciously, pressed to the hardness of his chest.
His lips began to smile against hers. “Perhaps it is not so cold down here.”
When his hand slid down and took hers, she realized she was trembling, not with fear, but with need. She wanted more kisses, more closeness. But she had his hand as they walked, warm and strong, with its caressing fingers against her palm. In a daze, she accompanied him out of the cellars into the more normal light of the back hall.
As they approached the stairs, faint voices and laughter reached her from the kitchen, where the servants must still be clearing up or perhaps enjoying a few minutes of freedom together before bed.
Hand-in-hand, they walked upstairs, past the first-floor landing, and upward again. At the top of the stairs, they would part, he toward his rooms, she toward hers. But when they came to the landing, he turned left without pause, still drawing her by the hand away from her own room.
Did he even know where she slept?
Of course he does.
She halted, causing him to stop with her. “My chamber is the other way.”
“Mine is this way.” Still, he did not release her.
Her breath caught all over again as she understood him. Fresh heat surged through her, and he took her back into his arms. “Come with me,” he whispered. “Come with me…”
If his last kisses had been seductive, this one was wicked. As if he had learned everything about her senses, her reactions, her yearnings. And she was lost.
“It will happen,” he whispered against her lips with thrilling intensity. “Don’t you think it might as well be now?” His hands slid down to her waist over her hips, then upward once more over her breasts. And when her lips parted in a silent moan of need, he covered them with his once more.
She was won, and they both knew it. She longed for him. She ached for him. She was so insanely in love with him, it would tear her apart.
His mouth left hers slowly. His eyes glowed, hot and exciting, as they stared down into her face, devouring her. And yet, he didn’t move. He didn’t tug her onward to his rooms, his bed.
His hands lifted to her face, not quite steady as they caressed her.
“It cannot be now, can it?” he said hoarsely.
“Yes,” she gasped. “Don’t you know that it can?”
His mouth took hers again, fierce and yet somehow regretful, as though he had already left her. He tore his lips free and pressed his cheek hard to hers. “Goodnight, Alexandra Battle. Sleep well. I certainly won’t.”
And then he was gone, and she was cold, staring after him as he strode along the passage.
Blindly, she turned the other way, almost stumbling back toward her room. What on earth just happened? She turned the handle of her bedchamber door and found it locked.
Of course. I locked my father in there.
Emotion caught in her throat. It might have been laughter or tears.
*
She woke disoriented, with daylight streaming in through the bed curtains. She wore her nightgown, with her robe and a blanket pulled over her, and she lay across the bottom of the bed.
Of course. Her father had somehow managed to take up most of the rest of the bed. He hadn’t wakened when she had come in last night, and so she had simply changed and curled up here.
She turned over to see if he was awake now. But the bed was empty. She sat up, pulling back the bed curtains, then stood and walked around the bed. He wasn’t in the room. He must have gone early, before the servants were up.
In vain, she looked around for a note, for anything that might give a clue as to where he had gone, or even to find a word of thanks or affection. But there was nothing. With dread, she opened the drawer where she kept the purse with Nicholas’s coins and breathed a sigh of relief to find it still there. He had not sunk quite that low.
Nicholas.
She sat on the bed once more. She had meant to tell him about her father last night when he had shown her his secret printing press. But all that had flown out of the window when he’d kissed her. When she had kissed him.
Desire flamed through her even at the memory of those kisses. It will happen, he had said fervently. And then it had not. An attack of gentlemanly conscience? An awareness of what a damaged reputation could mean for her?
Or a realization that she was not worth the hassle. Men desired easily and abandoned quickly.
He did not abandon Lady Nora…
And Alexandra was the governess. If he had made her his mistress, he would have replaced her with a new teacher for his daughter. And she had gone willingly, like a lamb to the slaughter. What had she been thinking of?
Love. Foolish, silly, unrequited love.
She covered her burning face with her hands, then abruptly stood and went to the washbowl. Ten minutes later, she was dressed and her hair pinned up. The perfect governess. Except for the turbulence roiling beneath the surface.
Surely no one could kiss as Nicholas had kissed her without some feeling. And he had been the strong one in the end, the one who had saved her from herself as well as from him. Tiny doubts and huge questions ate her up, and yet as she had breakfast with Evelina and listened to her chatter, she realized that beneath it all, she was wildly happy. Because there was something between her and Nicholas. Perhaps it hung by a hair, balanced on a knife-edge, but it was there. The very fact that he had, in the end, sent her away proved that he cared for her more than for his lust.
She hugged her feelings to herself as she went out into the garden with Evelina for a quick game before beginning lessons. She wished with all her heart that Nicholas would join them. If she saw him, she would know… How would he look at her? How could she bring herself to look at him with others present?
She needed to see him. She needed to take her courage in both hands and have a private interview with him. Not least because she needed to tell him about her father. He had trusted her with his secrets; it was only right she tell him hers. And from there…but she did not dare look ahead.
One day at a time. Alexandra. You are good at that.
The rain came on during the morning, so in the usual break between lessons, Alexandra left her pupil to play in her room for ten minutes while she went downstairs. On the landing below, she met Mrs. Dart bustling toward the library with what looked like a bundle of letters in her hand.
“Is Sir Nicholas at home this morning?” she asked the housekeeper as calmly as she could.
“He is indeed,” Mrs. Dart replied, giving the letters a little flourish. “He’s asked for these, though Lord knows why. He took no interest in them before. You are not leaving us, are you, Miss Battle?”
“Why no…” She frowned at the letters, a sudden unease clawing at her stomach. “What are they?”
“The letters of application we received for the governess’s post.”
Her world reeled. He was not simply checking on her credentials somewhat belatedly. He was checking on all of them, and there was no reason for that unless…
Unless he was replacing her.
She was being punished for his lust and her own…
Or, more likely, he had found out her father had stayed in her room last night. Perhaps he had even seen him leaving. Dear God, perhaps they had met. Lord knew what her father might have said at such an encounter. Sir Nicholas might not even have known it was her father. Either way, how dare he think the worst?
Because I lied to him. I told him my father was dead… Such an old, familiar lie, it had almost become truth.
Oh yes, they were both at fault. But surely, surely, he should speak to her before dismissing her? That he did not, made last night, made all their previous interactions worth nothing.
She could not bear nothing.
I should resign before he dismisses me.
“If you’re going to see him, you can take these with you,” Mrs. Dart said, holding out the letters.
“Oh, no. No, I was just going for a breath of fresh air.” She almost bolted away down the stairs, her mind and heart both bursting with anger at the injustice, with anguish at such betrayal.
*
Nicholas could not concentrate on the books before him. His urgency, of mind and body, was all concentrated on Alexandra Battle. She was so new in his life, and yet he understood with certainty that she would not have tolerated, let alone returned, his kisses without feeling something in return. In fact, she had kissed him first, a quick, almost desperate brush of the lips that had moved him more than any of the blatant, deeper kisses of other women.
Dare he call her feeling love? Perhaps. If not, he was determined to make it so.
Rapt, he wondered if he imagined he heard her voice outside the library. And when a knock sounded on the door, his heart seemed to jolt against his ribs.
“Come in.”
But it was not Alexandra, only Mrs. Dart who entered the room, rustling in with the pile of letters he asked for.
“Ah, thank you, Mrs. Dart.” He took them from her and set them in front of him.
“What do you want them for anyway?” she asked with the impertinence of someone who had known him since he was in short coats. “You haven’t frightened Miss Battle off, have you?”
“It would take a better—or worse!—man than I,” he said sardonically, flicking through the letters. “Tell me, if you had not liked or approved Miss Battle for some reason, which of these would have you interviewed next?”
“There’s a list at the front of my choices and why I made them.”
He glanced up at her. “Now I remember why I wanted you to run my household. You are a wonder, Mrs. Dart.”
“I am,” she retorted and scowled at him. “And so is Miss Battle. I’ve seen a huge difference—for the better—in Evelina since she came. The girl loves her. It would be a mistake to part them. In my opinion,” she added hastily.
“Which I value and heed. I have no intention of parting them. I’ll explain in due course. Thank you, Mrs. Dart. You may go.”
Mrs. Dart sniffed and departed, leaving him to plow through the letters and her notes. He smiled to himself as he read Alexandra’s. He could see exactly why she had been chosen. And, in fact, none of the others really seemed to measure up as a replacement. He could do worse than discuss the matter with Alexandra herself, along with his bigger ideas for this house.
Of course, several matters had to be discussed with Alexandra herself, preferably somewhere he would not be tempted to touch her and ruin everything. In the circumstances, the schoolroom and his daughter’s chaperonage seemed the safest place, so, when he could contain himself no longer, he made his way upstairs and along the passage to the schoolroom. His heart beat with anticipation, with ridiculous happiness, just because he would see her.
Chapter Twenty-One
He chose to enter by the playroom door. From there, he could see into the larger schoolroom, where his daughter and her governess appeared to be enjoying their luncheon. Evelina was laughing, which did his heart good to see. Mrs. Dart was right. There was little sign now of the anxious, serious child who clung and threw tantrums for anyone’s attention.
Alexandra was smiling faintly, her gaze on the child as she ate, and yet something about her seemed distracted. He hoped she thought of him.
“Papa!” Evelina, forgetting her table manners, leapt up and threw herself across the room in a tangle of English and Italian babble.
He gave her a hug and his attention for a few moments before he suggested she return to her seat and her manners. Giggling, she obeyed without fuss.
Although he had had no time to see Alexandra’s reaction to his arrival, he had the impression she had gone very still. But when he finally plonked a chair between them and sat in it, he saw that she was not flushed, as he imagined she might be, but pale. Moreover, her attention was not on him but on Evelina.
“You are too late for luncheon with us,” Evelina told him. “And now that the rain has gone off, we’re going to the park to meet new friends. Will you come, Papa?”
That he was genuinely tempted surprised him. Looking after a gaggle of over-excited children in unenclosed surroundings was his definition of hell. But for some reason, he felt a powerful tug toward fun with his own little family.
