both shudder. He drew her lower lip between his as he eased away, every part of his being aching for her.
She lifted a trembling hand to his mouth, sliding her finger across his lips. Something seemed to open inside her, a spilling light, a fateful certainty.
“I can’t marry you,” she whispered. “Please never ask me that again. But I will… I want to be your lover.”
Alexander’s heart slammed against his ribs. “I will not compromise you.”
“No, you won’t.”
Confusion rose hard and fast, frustrating Alexander with his ever-present urge to fully understand this woman.
“Why?” He tightened his hands on her shoulders. “Why engage in something so scandalous when there is another way? If you would—”
“Don’t. Don’t ask me again.” She put her lips against his cheek, her hand sliding across his chest, her whole body curving into him. “Take what I’m offering you, Alexander. Please.”
Alexander fought a hard but brief battle with his conscience. God knew he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted a woman. Yet he knew the cost of scandal, and it was a price he never wanted Lydia to pay.
He forced his fingers to uncurl from her shoulders, to release her.
“Go back to your room,” he said, his voice strained from the tension pulling between his mind and his body. “I will leave for London first thing tomorrow morning.”
She stared at him for an instant, then turned and fled back into the house.
Chapter Seventeen
Lydia wanted to breathe. She wanted to pull great gulps into her lungs, to feel her body filling, her ribs expanding, her blood singing with sweet, delicious air. And she wanted to exhale, to slacken, to sink into a chair with repletion. Then she wanted to do it again, inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. Over and over and over.
She closed her eyes. An hour had passed since she’d left Alexander on the terrace. She feared he might never return, that perhaps he’d decided to return to London that very night…
“God.”
The whispered oath made her turn. Alexander stood in the doorway of his bedchamber, staring at her. She was clad in her corset and underpetticoat, her dress and overpetticoats in a crumpled heap on the floor. Lydia’s blood thundered in her ears, nerves and fear twisting through her belly.
“I told you to go to your bedchamber.” His voice was unsteady.
Lydia shook her head. Although he hadn’t acquiesced to her offer, she knew he wanted her. He would not—could not—resist her blatant invitation.
She waited for a heart-stopping instant for his reaction to her undressed state but saw not the faintest hint of aversion cross his features. Only a desire so deep, so seething, it stole her breath.
She almost couldn’t speak. “Y-you’re really leaving tomorrow? Because of me?”
Lydia took a tentative step toward him, but he held up a hand.
“Don’t.”
“But—”
“You look…” His throat worked as he swallowed. “The fire behind you… like you’re filled with light.”
Light. No.
Once perhaps, many years ago, when she’d clambered over the pebbled beaches at Brighton. When her mother was whole and well and laughed with Lydia’s father as the salty wind nipped their faces and the sea swept up to meet them. Then Lydia was whole too. Then she was filled with a light bright enough to illuminate the blackest of caves.
“The fire. I… I was getting cold.” Her voice sounded unnatural, hoarse. She forced a smile, reaching a trembling hand to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. Gooseflesh skittered over her skin.
Alexander closed the door, his boots soundless as he crossed the room to her. With every step that brought him closer, Lydia drew back into herself, her hands moving to rub her bare arms.
She expected him to grasp her shoulders, to pull her to him, but instead he stopped several inches from her and looked at her, his hot gaze settling on the generous swells of her breasts above her corset before moving back to her face.
Lydia shifted, her corset chafing against her torso, the place between her legs warming with Alexander’s proximity. She watched him warily, questioning for the hundredth time the wisdom of her boldness.
“You make it impossible for me to withstand you,” he said.
“That was my intention.” A faint smile pulled at her lips. “And you did once say you thought I should be reckless more often.”
“It appears I was correct.”
Despite her admission, nerves continued to spiral through her. She stepped back toward the fire, the heat burning through her chemise and drawers. “Alexander, I…”
She looked at the buttons of his shirt, unable to meet his