coachman frowned, shrugged, and went back to his tankard. He’d open his trap eventually, Ethan knew. Someone would ask a question, and Tom would answer without thinking, and it’d come out. What would he say to Lucy then? Ethan looked at her, across the room, pretty as a picture in her blue dress and laughing. He’d think of something. For tonight, they’d just enjoy themselves.
“All’s well,” he said to Lucy when he sat down beside her again. It wasn’t a lie. As far as he was concerned all was very well. And maybe it was getting even better, back there at Lucy’s house. A man could hope so, anyhow.
***
Charlotte sat on the edge of the armchair cushion in her drawing room, sipping a glass of Madeira. She’d gotten the wine herself, without mentioning servants. And why would they talk of servants? There was no reason to do so. Or about the fact that she and Sir Alexander were alone in her house. He would leave immediately if he discovered that, and she did not wish him to leave. She gulped her wine, and let the warmth spread from her fluttery stomach throughout her body.
Charlotte knew that what she was thinking was mad—or it would have been, to the gently reared young lady she’d been a year ago. But she wasn’t that person any longer, would never be again. The year with Henry Wylde had changed her, first to an abject creature deprived of all joy, and then to a woman determined to steer her own life. Her future would not be all mean economies and superficial companionship. She would not dwindle into genteel poverty and meager, melancholy regrets. She would take what she wanted and damn the consequences. She would!
The glass trembled in her hand, and she rose to pour another draught of liquid courage. Sir Alexander Wylde had moved her as no man had ever done. He drugged her senses and roused longings so fierce she could not resist them. Not only that, she knew she could trust him. He would never betray her secrets.
The silence had grown long. “You wanted to speak to me?” said Sir Alexander. “Is something wrong?”
Charlotte stood for a moment with her back to him, then she placed the goblet on the tray with a decisive chink and went to sit beside him on the sofa. Before she could falter, or change her mind, she slid her arms around his neck and raised her lips to his. There was an instant’s thrill of doubt, a stutter of hesitation, before he gathered her into his arms. Then the kiss sent fire racing along her veins. It was the same as before; his hands and mouth enthralled her, roused every inch of her to pulsing life. Here was the vital spark that had been missing from her marriage, her whole history. This intensity was worth any price.
Sir Alexander pulled her onto his lap. She tightened her arms around his neck and gave herself up to the marvels of sensation. Thoughts fled; any vestige of resistance dissolved. Everything was body—the hard muscle of his thighs supporting her, the bastion of his arms around her, the texture of his lips drawing her on into more and more heat. Charlotte felt as if her insides had gone molten. She melted against him while holding him close with all her strength.
For Alec, the rules of a lifetime were battered back and forth by a relentless tide of desire. This wasn’t right; he shouldn’t do this. She was a widow; she had come to him and clearly wanted him. To give in would bring scandal on a young woman he… admired. He wanted her so desperately he couldn’t bear it. His hands roamed her body, frustratingly clothed; her lips burned on his. He couldn’t think; he stopped trying. He crushed her to him, then surged to his feet, cradling her, and carried her down the corridor to the bedroom.
She didn’t protest. She clung to him. And when they reached the door, she turned the knob and flung it open from his arms. Alec hardly noticed kicking the panels shut behind them. All his senses were riveted by the girl he held.
They tumbled onto the bed together, pressed close now all along the length of their bodies. This kiss seared, maddened. His body cried out for the touch of flesh on flesh. He drew back and shed his coat like an outworn skin. Charlotte’s fingers fumbled with the row of tiny buttons