“I—I could not wait,” she stammered. “I have to see him.”
Instead of the study where she expected him to lead her to, Ramsay led her to a grand door that looked like it led to a full suite of rooms. He wrapped on the door quickly and before it was pulled in, she heard a small canine whine.
“Heel, Atticus,” Edward’s muffled voice came a second before the door was pulled in. His gaze ran over her instantly, “Alice? What the devil are you doing here?”
“I need—” She sucked in a breath. “I need to speak with you. I—I cannot…”
He reached for her while looking to Ramsay, “See that we are not disturbed. Unless the manor is on fire, we are to be left alone.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” the butler bowed.
With the scrape of the door closing behind her, Edward touched her cheek and her cloak, which he swiftly heaved off her and dropped to the floor with a wet plop. “You are soaked to the bone, sweetheart. What is it? Why are you here?”
Tears blurred her vision then, and she squeezed her eyes shut. She had not wept in front of her captor until now, for she had not wanted him to see her grief, her despair. Yet what did it matter? All hope had gone.
“Alice?” He asked this time more firmly. “Tell me why you are here.”
Hot tears ran down her face, and her body trembled from the effort it took to contain her sobs. She wrapped her arms about herself to keep a leash on her despair, but it was like trying to hold back a bursting tide, impossible.
Wrapping his arms around her, he pressed her face into the crook of his neck. “Why are you crying, Alice?”
“He—he couldn’t deliver,” she sobbed. With stuttering words, she told him about the incident between Rutledge and Benedict, and the fear in her heart. “She’s with child, Edward. Without him marrying her… she’ll be a fallen woman. She’ll never show her face in town without the scandal following her.”
How quickly the tears flowed. Wiping her face with the back of her hand, Alice cursed her frail nerves. The past few hours seemed to see her lurch from one emotional episode to another.
“Hush, Alice, you are overwrought,” he murmured as she clung to him and her body convulsed.
“I—I can’t,” she whispered. “I can’t keep going on like this. I’m tired, Edward. I am so tired of doing everything. I am so tired of making sure everyone is fine while I keep pushing my needs away. I need—I need help.”
Her hoarse words and the fingers clutching at his back made his heart shatter in two. Alice was a proud woman, all so self-contained, but now, she was tiny and fragile. She was coming to seams in his arms, but not in the way he wanted. Now, he had to put her together again—one shard at a time.
As furious as he felt about Rutledge, he was more scared for Alice’s well-being. “What do you want me to do? What can I give you, Alice? What do you need?”
The emotions she had beneath her breastbone could not translate to words. “I—I don’t know…” she pressed a hand to her chest. “I feel it, but I don’t know how to put it in words.”
“I know what you want,” he said, his hand cupping the back of her neck and massaging the stiff lines there. Her earlier words about being tired resonated deep in his heart. “I know what you need, sweetheart. You need a release. Listen to me.”
Pulling away, he hated the lost, rootless emotion in her eyes. Alice was a strong woman, independent and brave, but the fear she held for her sister had gutted her to the core. It had probably made her challenge her own innate strength too.
Stepping away, he found a towel in a drawer and pulled his robe from his shoulders. “Go into my washing room, remove your clothes, and come back to me dressed in this.”
He’d dropped his tone to the one that held an unmistakable order. “Dry well, I do not want you to get sick. Now, go.”
She swallowed tightly before heading off to the washing room, while Edward took out a few items from another drawer and rested them on the bed before he ordered Atticus out.
Pacing, he cast through his mind to find the best way to bring Alice from the brink. The soft scrape of the door behind him had him spinning; Alice was there, the lapel of his robe slipping down her shoulder. Her hair was down, a towel-dried tangle down her back.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he whispered.
He bent his head and directed her mouth to open to him with a coaxing kiss. His lips were hard and commanding, his tongue sweeping into her mouth. She sucked eagerly on his offering, and he growled against her lips, thrusting in deeper.
Their kiss caught fire, but he wanted more; angling her head, he kissed the curve of her neck, inhaling the sweet scent of her skin. Who knew that lily and fresh water could be so arousing?
He nuzzled her neck, her shiver causing his hardness to strain against its confines. “In fact, I have a game in mind.”
Her brow pleated. “What sort of game?”
“One inspired by all your talk of striving and self-improvement.” He traced a hand along her side, past the dip of her waist to the swell of her hip. God’s teeth, he liked her shape.
