There was something about little sisters, the way they were a brother’s constant shadow. He’d never minded that she’d followed him about, and they’d shared more than one adventure when they visited friends in the country, until Violet had been deemed too old to chase after him in the fields. He had hated that she’d grown up, hated that she’d become a beautiful young woman who would someday marry a man and leave home. He wouldn’t have ever admitted it aloud, but Violet was as dear a friend to him as Vaughn had once been. And when she married, her life would be full of children and she’d forget all about him. The thought filled his heart with a thick heaviness. She was polite, kind, and thoughtful. Any man who thought he deserved her would have to pass some highly rigorous tests of character before Ambrose would approve of the match. If he didn’t think a man was up to snuff, he would advise their father against the man.
“Is she in Edinburgh with your parents?” Alex asked.
He shook his head and returned the fork to her. To his amusement, she didn’t discard it but took another bite. There was something about them sharing a fork that made his blood heat. It was intimate, yet not in the way he was used to.
“She’s still in London. Poor thing is living with our aunt Gertrude.” Ambrose pitied his sister for that. If it wasn’t an issue of supervision, he’d take Violet to his bachelor quarters on Jermyn Street, but that simply wasn’t done.
Alex took another bite of the tart and sighed again with obvious pleasure. The lady had a sweet tooth; he rather liked the thought of that. Feeding a woman sweets was a pleasurable experience for them both, especially when he could taste the sugar upon her lips during a kiss…
“I take it your aunt Gertrude is difficult?”
He snorted. “Difficult is putting it politely. The woman has a room filled with just bonnets. Don’t even ask me about her shoes. Violet has little interest in fashion, and spending time with Gertrude must be torture. I’m sure they shop on Bond Street every day!” He cringed at the thought. Violet would much rather find a bookshop and spend hours tucked away in a corner, reading about some ancient philosophy or science.
Alex chuckled but then sobered. “I know what that’s like, to be trapped in the city with someone who does not share your taste in amusements. Perhaps someday I might meet your sister in London.” Alex reached across the table, her hand catching his, unaware of her actions until it was too late. Ambrose could have pushed her in that moment, but he thought better of it. His skin burned where she touched him, and he didn’t want her to remove her hand. So he simply covered her hand with his and responded honestly, without an attempt to seduce or charm her.
“I’m sure my sister would like that.” He then rose from the table, disconnecting their hands.
The look of disappointment that flickered in her blue eyes didn’t escape him. She had enjoyed their contact as much as he had. He circled around the table and came over to her, bracing one hand on the table beside her. Then he leaned in and brushed his lips over the crown of her head.
“What was that for?” she asked.
“For an enjoyable evening, Alex.” He took his leave, hating to walk away from an opportunity. But Alex was a woman who needed a soft-handed seduction. Once she was his, though…he’d take her in a thousand places, in a thousand ways. He would stoke her inner fire until she was an unstoppable inferno of passion.
The little hellion would be a delight in bed. But tonight he was happy to leave his body unsatisfied, as the rest of him had thoroughly enjoyed their conversation. It was different when he talked to her. He never spoke of his family to ladies he wished to bed—that made a woman desire emotional intimacy. He didn’t fear Alex would fall in love with him. He wouldn’t let her. The wager required her seduction and ruination, but he wanted to enjoy being with her. He stopped dead just outside his room, shocked at what he’d just realized.
I enjoyed being with a woman outside of bed.That was a first. Aside from his mother and sister, he found women altogether boring unless they were naked beneath him, yet Alex had him spellbound. Knowing this unsettled him.
Why? What made her so different from all the others? Half of him wanted to turn around and get straight back on his horse and return to London, but the rest of him was determined to stay and figure out what made Lady Alexandra Rockford so fascinating.
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Chapter 5
Ambrose was lost in a dream of kissing Alex in a garden. The wisteria bloomed on overhanging trellises above them, and she lay beneath him on a blanket, her cheeks flush with arousal and her lips parted. Those dreamy blue eyes, like the petals of cornflowers, drew him deeper and deeper into her. Their lips met languidly, each kiss wet, soft, and impossibly hot. How long had it been since he’d reveled in a single kiss without anything more?
Too long…since he’d been a lad stealing kisses from an upstairs maid when he was seventeen. Back then, kisses had been the height of his erotic knowledge and the best thing in the world.
“Would you ruin me, Ambrose? Break my heart?” the dream Alex murmured, her fingertips tracing his jaw as he gazed down at her. Around them the scents of the earth, a mix of bitter earth and sweet blooms, was almost as drugging as her touch.
“I have to, love—better me than another man.” His reply was soft as he stroked her collarbone with his index finger and watched the swells of her breasts lift and fall with each exhalation. “I have to…” he repeated, but the slowly growing guilt ate away at him.
Her lashes lowered and she closed her eyes. He dipped his head, ready to catch her lips with his—
A rap of knuckles on the door made Ambrose jolt awake in bed. The dim predawn light was a faint gray that barely penetrated the windows.
Lord, what time was it?
“Yes?” he called out when the knocking came again.
The door opened, and Ben, the footman who attended him last night, carried in a tray.
“I’m so sorry, my lord. I am here with your breakfast, per your request.” Ben approached the bed and set the tray across Ambrose’s lap before he set about pulling away the thick damask curtains on the bed, letting only a feeble bit of light in.
“My request?” Ambrose stared at the large bowl with blue flower-patterned china sitting on the tray next to a glass of juice.
“Er…yes,” Ben replied, a little shy. “Your morning porridge to be served at six in the morning. Our cook, Mrs. Cooper, prepared it especially for you, to your liking.”
Ambrose’s gaze dropped to the offending bowl, and with a sigh, he picked up the spoon and dipped it in. Maybe some porridge wouldn’t be too bad. He’d be able to go down and eat with the rest of the house in a few hours. He blew on the steamy porridge and then slipped the spoon in his mouth.
