She placed her candle on the dresser and was about to inspect anew when a low groan from the corridor startled her. Quickly, she gathered her candle once more and crept to the main bedchamber door. It opened without a creak, and she gazed into the murkiness.
Nothing stirred but she’d heard something for certain, and so with a silent tread, she stepped out, glad she still had her lock-picking device to hand because it also contained a sprung knife. Uncle Seamus said you could never be sure what you’d find when breaking and entering – how true.
Her candle barely managed to light a few feet ahead, and Aideen shivered. The dark didn’t generally worry her unless it was a stormy night in Ireland with Uncle telling tales of the dreadedDobhar-chú.
With heart pounding like a herd of angry cows, she placed the candle on the side table and palmed her lock-picker ready to spring its blade. She peered down the staircase, but suddenly her body was hauled around and propelled against the wall.
All she could see was black, all she could feel was a heaviness press against her chest, all she could smell was…
“Alex?”
“Wife.”
The suffocating black pulled back a little, but he didn’t let go, and she realised the heaviness was his cane. It kept her prisoner against the wall, a band above her breast, jailing her upper arms.
Candlelight played shadows on his face, revealing a rigid expression and damp hair, that sleek curl seeking freedom in the nocturnal hours.
An ebony silk banyan swathed his torso, but he also wore loose breeches and she could feel the silk pressing against her night-rail-covered legs.
“Why are you wandering this night, Aideen?”
“Er.” Honesty, she’d learned, was notalwaysthe best policy. “A glass of water?”
He shook his head, face grim.
“A book?” she squeaked, feeling that cane meander downwards.
Thankfully, she wasn’t wearing her wedding night-rail although this one didn’t have much more to it. Low at the front, it was fashioned of emerald silk, with satin ribbons edging the bodice.
He leaned close. “You have half the library by your bedside, my little liar.”
Unable to deny such a scurrilous but true accusation, she did what she always did when unsure, intimidated and backed into a corner…or up against a wall.
“Why are you coming home so late, Alexander?” she attacked. “Spying on people? Or holed up in some brothel as all you men are wont to do?”
That sounded remarkably like jealousy and she bit her lip.
Damn.
Alex’s gaze wandered her body and her heart thudded. He didn’t reply but slowly, so slowly, he began to drag the cane lower. The pierced silver decoration entangled with the ribbons at her bodice and the night-rail stretched. Aideen’s breath froze as he revealed the slope of her pale breasts to the candlelight, felt the tautness of the gauzy fabric against her skin.
A muscle flickered in his jaw, but he didn’t cease, eyes transfixed. She moaned as the material grazed her nipples, couldn’t halt the sound. And then, so leisurely she wanted to scream, he lowered his head and licked at the tender flesh revealed.
Imprisoned, all she could do was gasp her pleasure and push her hips forward, arms bent at the elbow, fingers dropping her lock-picker, grasping forth, merely to find slippery silk.
The cane clattered to the floorboards.
Rough hands now yanked at the material, wrenching it down to his demanding mouth as he lavished kisses and bites to her skin.
Aideen hauled him near, grabbing hold of his arm, but a pained gasp escaped his lips and he surged away, panting.
“Go, Aideen,” he bit out. “My mood is foul. Go.”
“And if I don’t wish to?” she questioned. He didn’t frighten her – quite the opposite. She craved his forceful passion, knowing he would never hurt her.
Alex straightened. “Run,” he snarled. “You will only have the one chance.”
If only he knew. She’d never been able to run from the Duke of Rakecombe. He bound her to him in ways she couldn’t comprehend, and seeing his taut jaw and heaving chest, she knew she had a similar effect.
