Wickeds Scandal by Kathleen Ayers

8

“Miss Dunforth?” James opened the parlor door. “Mr. Runyon is here to see you.”

Alexandra put down the last of her tea and smoothed down the sprigged green muslin of her gown. The special tea the doctor prescribed gave her a lazy feeling, but the headache abated. The headaches started soon after her dinner with Mr. Runyon, but the tea managed to keep the worst of the pain at bay. The doctor her uncle summoned, a stern, older man who spoke with an upper crust accent, told her she had anxiety due to exhaustion. The sudden excitement of London, after spending so many years in the country as well as the lingering grief over her aunt’s death had overtaxed her mind.

Alexandra normally scoffed at such diagnoses of women’s ills. She rarely even contracted a cold. But the tea did make the headache go away. And when the headache returned, the tea helped again. The tea did tend to make her forgetful. She nearly forgot about Mr. Runyon taking her to Thrumbadge’s today.

Mr. Runyon’s visits become a daily ritual after dinner at his home. She looked forward to seeing him. Today, he was taking her to Thrumbadge’s, London’s premier lending library and bookseller. Her uncle’s library left much to be desired. It was full of ancient tomes dedicated to medieval armor. She thought the books likely left by the previous owner, since the only thing she ever saw her uncle read were reports of horse races. The thought of coming back to her uncle’s dismal townhouse with a carriage full of books filled her with delight. And anything purchased today she could take with her to Helmsby Abbey upon her return. She couldn’t wait to leave London, though she would miss Miranda Reynolds and the Dowager, with whom she had twice had tea, and even attended a musicale. She considered herself lucky that Lord Cambourne and she did not cross paths again, although she did spy him from across the room at the musicale.

Lord Cambourne escorted a beautiful tall brunette that evening, who clung to his arm as if their skins were fused together. Thankfully, he didn’t see her, or at the very least he ignored her presence. The brief flirtation they shared was apparently over. She told herself how grateful she was he no longer toyed with her.

Alexandra stood and greeted Mr. Runyon with a bit of nervousness. Today she must ask him to do something of the utmost importance for her. She took a chance, she knew. Mr. Runyon might easily go directly to her uncle, but no other alternative existed. Alexandra had sent several messages to Mr. Meechum but received no reply. At least now she knew why.

Yesterday, she wandered by her uncle’s study, curious at the sheaf of paper on his desk. The writing paper closely resembled her own stationery. Knowing that her uncle had left hours ago for his club, and Tilda was occupied in the kitchen brewing Alexandra’s tea, she decided to investigate.

Alexandra leafed through the papers on her uncle’s desk finding every one of the notes she’d written to Mr. Meechum. Her uncle had intercepted them all. The last note, given to the stable boy, sat on top of the stack. Nervously she felt for the note placed in her reticule this morning. Mr. Runyon might be her only hope. The crackle of paper assured her that the note still lay safely inside.

“Miss Dunforth. Are you ready for our excursion?”

Alexandra swung her thoughts from the treachery of her uncle to the appearance of her friend. Mr. Runyon, impeccably dressed as usual, wore a dark blue coat with dark brown breeches. He jauntily swung his walking stick as he strode towards her.

Mr. Runyon smiled down at her. “I’ve sent for Tilda to await us in my carriage.” He frowned. “I am sorry, my dear, that we need to bring Tilda, but I did promise your uncle to observe every propriety.”

“I am excited beyond words to be able to go to Thurmbadge’s. You cannot imagine how appreciative I am. My uncle’s library is …a bit lacking.”

“Your uncle does not strike me as an avid reader, just an avid eater.” He laughed, then covered his mouth with a gloved hand as if he had spoken out of turn. “My apologies.”

Alexandra laughed merrily. “No apologies necessary, Mr. Runyon. You and I are of a like mind and I am grateful for it.” She stood and reached into her reticule. “There is something I need to discuss with you.” She hesitated, unsure if she should proceed.

He watched her politely, the blond brows raised in question.

Alexandra stood abruptly and shut the parlor door. She knew now that Odious Oliver kept her from Mr. Meechum, but her uncle didn’t know she knew. He likely had the servants spying on her. She kept her voice low.

“Mr. Runyon. I am so sorry to impose upon you, but I have nowhere else to turn.” She took out the note and handed it to him, pausing to clasp his hand in hers. “I hope that you will not mind assisting me.”

Mr. Runyon turned the note over. He frowned when he saw the name written in Alexandra’s neat script across the front. His pale blue eyes narrowed.

“It’s not what you think!” Alexandra said urgently. “Please let me explain.”

Mr. Runyon looked displeased. Very displeased. Then the look vanished, replaced by one of polite confusion.

Alexandra swallowed, relieved that he would listen to her. “Mr. Meechum is my aunt’s solicitor.” Alexandra wasn’t certain how much she should tell Mr. Runyon. After all, he would likely not want to help her if it meant their betrothal would be annulled. She decided to be discreet. “This is about Helmsby Abbey. The estate is to go to me on my marriage,” she lied, “but I think my uncle means to sell it sooner and keep the profits himself.”

“You mentioned that you grew up there.”

“He is threatening to throw out my servants, many of whom are elderly. These people are my family, the only family I have left. My aunt, on her deathbed, made me promise never to sell Helmsby Abbey and to always look after the loyal retainers who are part of the Dunforth family. I cannot allow him to sell my home.”

“Are you suggesting that Lord Burke doesn’t truly own this Helmsby Abbey? That he is attempting fraud? To repay your servants’ loyalty to your family with homelessness?” The cultured voice sounded shocked.

Alexandra sighed in relief that he seemed to be on her side. “I do not think my family solicitor is aware of the situation. I must consult him so that he may delay the sale. My uncle cannot sell it.”

“Please do not distress yourself.” The blonde head nodded to her. “Miss Dunforth, words cannot express how deeply I am honored that you entrust such a task to me. After our excursion today, I will personally deliver your note to Mr. Meechum and wait on his reply. If it is positive,” he took her hand gently, “I will escort you there immediately. However, if it is not, will you promise to accept Mr. Meechum’s response and look towards your future? Perhaps with me?” He reddened slightly, seemingly embarrassed by the expression of his emotions.

Alexandra looked at the kind man before her. She should tell him everything and rely on his discretion. His honor. But his honor might just as likely force him to tell her uncle of the plans Alexandra was making. She detested lying to Mr. Runyon, but once Helmsby Abbey was firmly in her hands, she would explain everything and pray he understood.

She nodded her assent. “Yes. Thank you so much for helping me.”

He patted her hand. “Then let us be off!”

Mr. Runyon escorted her to his smart black carriage and took the seat across from her. Tilda, ever vigilant, sat on Alexandra’s left. Mr. Runyon kept the conversation light until the carriage halted in front of an enormous gray stone building with large glass windows facing the street. A large sign hung above the entrance from a burnished copper pole. “Thrumbadge’s,” then underneath, “Booksellers and Lending Library.”

Alexandra jumped up as soon as the carriage doors opened. Excitement ran through her at the thought of all those luscious books waiting for her discovery.

Mr. Runyon gave her an indulgent smile, taking her hand to assist her from the carriage. He squeezed her fingers.

Tilda heaved her herself up from the squabs, grunting in displeasure. A visit to the booksellers did not sit as well with the maid as it did with Alexandra. The scowl on her features gave credence to her lack of interest.

“Thank you, Tilda. Your presence is not required in Thrumbadge’s. Miss Dunforth shall be very safe with me.”

Tilda nodded mutely, sitting back down in relief.

Mr. Runyon gave Alexandra a wink and extended his arm.

She squeaked in delight as they entered the booksellers. Alexandra simply couldn’t help it. The size and breadth of the establishment left her in awe. Through the windows facing the street, Alexandra could clearly see the hundreds of volumes stacked neatly within. It looked as if the shelves stretched on forever.

“Thank you for bringing me, Mr. Runyon.” She dropped his arm and ran to the entrance, urging him with a wave of one gloved hand to hurry.

He laughed at her urgency to enter. “Miss Dunforth, your pleasure is all the thanks I need. You look like a child at Christmas!”

Alexandra giggled, waiting impatiently for him to catch up. He caught her hand, tucked it securely in the crook of his arm and nodded to the doorman. Blue eyes twinkling at her, he opened the door with a flourish and waved her inside. “Welcome to Thrumbadge’s, Miss Dunforth.”

“Oh my.” It was all she could say. Alexandra valued knowledge above all else, and books represented knowledge. She looked at the hundreds of leather-bound tomes, the stacks of periodicals, and the small army of male clerks who bustled amongst the customers and sighed in exquisite delight. Thrumbadge’s fit very neatly into what Alexandra’s version of what heaven must be like.

“May I?” She looked at Mr. Runyon eagerly. She trod over to a large brass plate affixed to the end of one aisle. The plate read, “History and Geography.”

“Of course! I shall seat myself just there. I haven’t yet read the Times today.” He pointed to an area with several large wing-backed chairs. “Peruse to your heart’s content.” He bowed slightly.

Alexandra didn’t know where to begin. Choices abounded. She decided to explore, starting with the aisle before her. Perhaps a book on the Far East. Or Macao. She had a driving curiosity about Macao.

* * *

Lord Cambourne listenedto his sister, Miranda, chatter non-stop, as they walked through Thrumbadge’s. His days had been filled with inquiries into the latest attacks on him, poring over dozens of account books for his various estates and weeding through the stack of bills his stepmother sent round to him on a daily basis. The amount of money she planned to spend on her birthday celebration at Gray Covington was costing a bloody fortune. He ran a hand through his hair. The irony of paying for Jeanette’s birthday ball when she'd attempted to have him killed was not lost on Sutton. He needed to be sure that she was the culprit before he took action. Very sure.

Sutton eyed the rows of books. Books calmed him. He wondered if Miss Dunforth, who he imagined shared his love of the written word, shopped at Thrumbadge’s. He should ask her, if he saw her again. He knew Miss Dunforth to be fast friends with Miranda. The two women attended a musicale together, and he’d spied Miss Dunforth rapidly retreating into a hallway to avoid speaking to him.

The Badger, or rather his attraction to her, gave Sutton a muddled feeling, as if he had drunk too much brandy. Until his desire for her was under control, or until the Badger cast aside caution and allowed herself to be in his presence, he thought it best to keep his distance. He entertained himself with some of the most beautiful women in London, namely Countess Rutherford, but even that woman could not push aside the image of Miss Dunforth.

Alex.

The Dowager dropped Miss Dunforth’s name repeatedly within Sutton’s hearing, waiting for him to ask after her. Cagey old bird, Donata. He needed to be careful around his grandmother.

Sutton walked down a long row of books on geography and wondered why one small, bookish Badger held him in thrall. He barely knew her. Her prickly manner and her sharp tongue would flay a man alive.

“Sutton, I am going just over there.” Miranda pointed to the other side of Thrumbadge’s where he suspected the Lord Thurston novels were shelved. “Look, there are some dreadfully dull books on botany, filled with ruminations on the structure of various fern plants in the Indies. I’m sure you’ll be enthralled for hours,” Miranda said saucily before sauntering down the aisle. Impishly she looked over her shoulder. "Perhaps we should get mother a book for her birthday.” Miranda opened her eyes innocently and burst into giggles. It was doubtful Jeanette Reynolds ever read a book in her life, except for possibly Debrett’s Peerage.

Sutton pretended sternness. “Begone, you minx.” How Miranda sprang from Jeanette Reynolds mystified Sutton. Miranda and his younger sister, Elizabeth, bore little resemblance to their mother, for which Sutton gave eternal thanks. “No plants today. Instead I will be here amongst the Pharaohs,” he called after her. “I have a desire to read about mummies.”

Miranda turned, and a shadow crossed her beautiful face. “Mummies? I used to adore mummies.”

“I have you to thank for starting my obsession with that book you gave me on embalming practices.” He said to her departing back. He couldn’t fathom that his sister was ever interested in Egypt but the scores of books in the library told him different. He thought Lord Thurston was really more her taste.

The sound of humming came from the next aisle. Heels clicked across the wood floor, so the hummer must be female. An elderly spinster. Few attractive women were interested in the contents of the aisles on either side: Plato and travel essays.

Curiosity got the better of him. He peered through a stack and was rewarded by the view of a green bonnet perched upon a mass of chestnut curls. The heavy mass of hair, already escaping the bonnet, sat atop an ivory column of neck and was situated on a delectable female form with an overabundance of bosom.

Miss Alexandra Dunforth.

As if in thinking of the Badger he’d conjured her up from thin air. His appreciation grew for her ability to appear in the most unexpected places. The tiny, bonneted head disappeared as she rounded the aisle.

The click of her heels sounded from behind him. The heels stopped. A gasp sounded in the aisle.

Sutton turned and caught Miss Dunforth trying desperately to flee before being seen. The tiny form skittered down another row and around a giant stack of periodicals from the Historical Society and out of his view.

Sutton stopped moving. When he’d lived in Macao, he went on a tiger hunt with a group of Portuguese dignitaries. The men, all hunters confident in their abilities, stomped through the jungle in an attempt to flush out the beast. But not Sutton. He’d climbed the highest tree within reach. While the rest of the hunting party continued to track the beast through the jungle, Sutton waited on a branch, feet dangling and gun ready. The tiger eventually appeared behind the hunting party. Sutton bagged it. He was a patient man. Besides, Badgers weren’t nearly as subtle as tigers.

He heard a tiny sniff, like the sound of a mouse choking on a piece of cheese. Whirling to his left, he looked through the stack of periodicals. Wide gray eyes, the color of a stormy sky popped up, then vanished, as Alexandra attempted to escape in another direction.

He caught a flash of her green gown as she hurried down the aisle. Sutton turned abruptly and calmly walked the way he had come. He simply stood still and let her run into him.

“Oomph!” It sounded most unladylike.

Her head hit him squarely in the chest. An unexpected shock of desire ran through him as her small form made contact with his larger one. Every nerve in his body came to life in an instant. Blood rushed to his groin and he stifled a groan. The books she carried dropped with several loud thuds across his black Hessian boots. He heard her tortured sigh of disbelief and frustration that she hadn’t eluded him.

The tiny figure straightened like a spike as she geared for a confrontation with him. Several curls escaped the bonnet. A small foot stamped in dismay.

God, how he wanted the tiny tempest before him.

He took in her small, gloved hands. The way her nose crinkled in anger. The stormy gray eyes, and the heaving, generous bosom. The tops of her breasts pushed her bodice back and forth, straining the fabric as she struggled to maintain her composure.

Sutton tamped down the sudden urge to push her against the stacks and lift her skirts, wrap her legs around him and thrust into her. He felt like an untried lad of fifteen instead of the jaded roué he was.

“You.” Her face flushed. “You nearly scared me out of my wits.”

“Doubtful, Miss Dunforth. I sense you don’t scare easily. Besides, you ran into me.”

Her cheeks puffed out. Clearly, she was not pleased to see him. Unlike most women, she did not care to be attracted to him or have him desire her. The Badger was most difficult.

She put her hands on her hips, glaring as if she could scare him away. It was all Sutton could do not to burst into laughter. She resembled an angry chickadee. Wrenching heat ran down his body making him stiff with arousal. He wanted her. Badly.

“What are you doing here? Stalking innocent women?” Her voice shook slightly.

Ah, Sutton thought. Not angry. Nervous.

“How can I stalk something I cannot even see? Perhaps little Badger, you should wear a bell like a cat to announce your presence. Good Lord, I nearly stepped on you!” He teased her, hoping to annoy her into erupting. He much preferred her anger. He didn’t want Miss Dunforth, Alex, to be skittish around him.

Miss Dunforth’s mouth opened as if she would scream. He could see she wanted to. She truly took offense at being compared to a badger. He must call her that at every opportunity.

Instead of screaming, she took a deep breath. Her voice sounded calm and polite though he could see she struggled for composure.

“If you will excuse me, I will get my books and go least you feel the need to tell me I remind you of a speckled toad or a diseased rat. My apologies Lord Cambourne, for my clumsiness.” She bent at his feet, eager to pick up the scattered tomes.

Sutton knelt down to assist her, noting with pleasure the angry snort of surprise that erupted from her. His hand fell on a particularly large book about the Far East. Next to that tome lay a memoir of a sea captain who had traded spices in Java. Not exactly required reading for a young woman. Nothing on fashion or etiquette. He held out one of the books to her and raised an eyebrow in question.

Angrily, she grabbed the book from him, shooting him a look of annoyance. She pulled back so fiercely on Tales of a Seadog, she lost her balance and fell back on her bottom. Green muslin puffed around her as she slid back on her elbows. Her legs fell open to reveal a glimpse of slim thighs encased in sheer stockings.

Sutton took a deep breath. Her skin would be creamy and feel like satin underneath the stockings. He wanted nothing more than to run his hand down her calves and thighs and take one lacy garter between his teeth. The rock-hard arousal in his breeches was becoming uncomfortable. Painful. He reached for her hand to offer assistance.

She ignored it.

Miss Dunforth sat up and attempted to smooth her skirts. “Oh, just go away.” She sounded miserable as if being near him caused her undue pain. His Badger was rapidly losing her bravado.

“Alex. Let me help you.”

“No. And don’t call me that.” She pulled back from him.

“Why ever not?” He moved towards her.

“It doesn’t matter why. Go away.” She made a futile effort to push against him. Her cheeks pinked, and her eyes lowered. Grabbing one of the larger books she held it against her chest as if it were a shield.

“Are you interested in the Orient, Miss Dunforth? Or travel to faraway places?” He gestured to the large book she clasped to her chest. “I read many such tales in my youth and decided not to trust the opinions of those who wrote the books. I wanted to travel myself. I lived in Macao until a few years ago. It’s a fascinating place.”

“So I am given to understand. The ton speaks of nothing else,” she said tartly. The Badger watched him from underneath her lashes and cocked her head.

Sutton winced. She had heard the gossip surrounding him. “I’m not sure anyone in the ton knows where Macao is,” he said under his breath, ashamed for just a moment of his reputation in front of this blazing, fierce girl.

Alex let out a small laugh, catching him off guard. “I’ve heard that Macao is full of unsavory characters. Heathen Chinese. Pirates. Have you ever met a pirate, Lord Cambourne? Or been one?” Boldly, she looked up meeting his eyes.

Sutton didn’t speak for a moment, enthralled with the way her mouth moved as she said “unsavory.” All he could think of was touching his tongue to her lips again as he had in the library. “Macao is indeed full of unsavory people. I should know. I was one of them.”

Alex gave him a forthright look. “Your sister claims you kept a monkey who smoked opium. What was it like? The jungles? Do you speak Portuguese? I’ve read about the Chinese and their customs. It all sounds so interesting and I think I should like to go there someday.” She looked at him, waiting for him to dissuade her or tell her she shouldn’t wish such things. The lovely gray opals shimmered with curiosity. A chestnut curl sprung out across her forehead.

What would she do if he touched her?

Sutton was at a loss. The seduction of women came easily to him. He adored the female of the species but didn’t necessarily respect them, outside of his grandmother and sisters. And while he certainly enjoyed the company of the fairer sex, especially in bed, he didn’t actually have intelligent conversations with them. Nor did he give much thought to liking a woman. Until Miss Dunforth.

Alex.

A spurt of warmth hit Sutton right in the middle of his chest. The feeling so intense, he restrained himself from rubbing his breastbone. The Badger knew Portuguese was spoken in Macao. She actually knew where Macao was. Miss Dunforth, while she didn’t know it, was the most exotic, seductive creature Sutton had ever met.

“I do speak Portuguese and Chinese. Jonas was my monkey and he smoked opium like a fiend. I could not bring him to England with me. When one is being shanghaied, one does not have time to pack.”

“Shanghaied?”

“Kidnapped.”

“Oh, yes. It took ten men, ten men, to bring you back.”

Sutton laughed. She imitated the tone of Lady Agnes Dobson to perfection.

“Why? Why did your grandmother have to kidnap you? Didn’t you wish to come back and be a Marquess?” Her honest question gave Sutton a thoughtful pause. He didn’t know how to answer it. The title and the money, even his looks, he considered of little import to who he really was. He’d lived by his wits in Macao. Penniless upon his arrival, he’d built a successful trading post. He’d explored vast areas of jungle and studied the flora of the peninsula. He traded with the Chinese, smoked opium, and generally did as he chose. A Marquess had no such luxury.

“There is more to life than a title, Alex.” He didn’t shirk from her gaze. It was heresy for someone of his standing to say such a thing, but he didn’t care. Something told him Alexandra didn’t either.

Her gray stare shifted and ran along his torso. He could see her mind working. She imagined the tattoo. Every woman in London knew about his tattoo so it was no surprise Miss Dunforth, Alex, did. Women found the tattoo erotic. It added to the allure of bedding Satan Reynolds.

The Badger shot him a curious, appraising look.

“It is indeed a green dragon. The eyes are red.”

Alex shook her head, mortified that he’d guessed her thoughts. “I didn’t mean—–”

His hand stayed her. “It’s all right. I don’t mind telling you. The dragon covers the whole of my back and the tails wraps around the lower part of my waist.” He waited for her to blush and run from him, as most young ladies of proper breeding would do if body parts were discussed. But Alex never looked away.

“Why did you have it drawn on you?”

“I don’t have it by choice. The tattoo was painted on me as a type of punishment, to mark me. I was put in charge of some property for a friend, a Chinese warlord, while he saw to his business elsewhere. He did not appreciate the way I handled his property and decided I needed to be punished for my indiscretions. One of his concubines told him that the English called me Satan Reynolds. The warlord thought it a great joke that my own people likened me to the devil. He decided to mark me so that all who saw it would know I was cursed.” Sutton had, in fact, nearly seduced the man’s young, fourth wife. If he had succeeded, he no doubt would be dead now. The punishment was for the girl to tattoo Sutton with the face of the devil, but she had no idea what the devil looked like. She chose a dragon instead.

“Did it hurt?”

He nodded. “Like the bloody dickens. I stayed drunk for nearly a week, the pain was so bad.”

Her hand lifted, as if she would touch him but she quickly put it down. She smiled shyly. “Did the warlord’s ‘property’ object to your punishment?” She met his gaze and looked into his soul without judgment, only concern and tempered amusement. He felt the pull towards her. Stronger. Insistent.

“No.” Slowly he reached a hand towards her waiting to see if she would run like a frightened animal. “She was the one who drew it on me.” His hand cupped the side of her face.

Her eyes widened in surprise at his touch, then fluttered closed. She gave a small sigh of satisfaction and tilted her head into his hand. Sheer need punched Sutton in the gut. Primal. Fierce.

Sutton reached swiftly with both hands and grabbed her shoulders. He stood up, drawing her small form against him.

Alexandra’s eyes popped open. Her mouth rounded in an “o” of surprise.

A shock of heat coursed between them as their bodies melded together. His hand ran down her spine, clutching her around the waist. One hand held her tightly as the other roamed down her tiny form to grab underneath her bottom, cupping her buttocks. Deliberately, he pushed her against the hardness nearly bursting through his breeches.

She struggled half-heartedly. The action rubbed her breasts against him in an agonizing rhythm. A gloved hand swatted ineffectually against his chest. The hand stayed against his shoulder, the fingers caressing him, seemingly of their own accord.

“Put me down, Lord Cambourne.” It was the same tone she used with him in Lord Dobson’s library. Two spots of color stood out on Alexandra’s cheeks. Her body softened against him. She stopped struggling.

“You are depraved to think I wish to be accosted by the biggest rake in London, in a bookshop of all places, next to a shelf of …of...” She peered over his shoulder and squinted. “Etiquette for Young Ladies!” I know what you are about. I have no desire to become yet another conquest of the great Satan Reynolds. As a plain girl, far beneath you socially, you might imagine I would welcome your amorous attentions, but I assure you I do not.”

Plain? Alexandra thought she was plain? Sutton thought she sparkled like a tiny snowflake that had by mere chance, landed on his tongue. Unique and beautiful. He pushed her harder against him, which earned his shoulder another ineffectual swat of her hand.

Alex’s chin lifted in a determined manner. She thought this a game to him. Sutton couldn’t blame her. He had a rather black reputation, especially with women. Their mutual attraction to each other confused her. He saw the fear of rejection in her eyes even as he moved her against the fiercest arousal he’d ever had in his life.

“Shut up, Alex.” He wound his arms around her, kissing her deeply and possessively. He nudged her mouth open, touching her tongue to his. Gently he sucked her tongue into his mouth. Her body shivered in his embrace. He kissed her harder, all the need he felt for her spilling into the kiss.

Alexandra wiggled her hips, which happened to be pushed against Sutton’s breeches. He pushed her against the hardness in his breeches and she wiggled back. He lifted his lips from hers.

“You misunderstand, little Badger.” His breathing ragged as he struggled to control himself. “I cannot believe that a woman with your intelligence fails to notice all the signs of a man who desires her.” He kissed her hard. “And I find you most beautiful.” He wrapped his arms completely around her. She fit against him perfectly. “Most beautiful.”

He heard her gasp at his words. His mouth brushed lightly against her neck, nipping at the tender flesh. His lips traced a trail back to the corner of her mouth and she let out a small moan as he ran his tongue over her bottom lip. Virgin she might be, but Alexandra’s body held a wealth of sensuality. Sutton could think of nothing but encouraging that sensuality. He imagined the things he would teach her. Of whole days spent in bed. He wanted to pleasure her endlessly. She tentatively opened her mouth, and her tongue darted out shyly, seeking his.

Sutton groaned and pulled her closer. A book fell from the shelf and the title glared up at him. Dear God, he was seducing her against a stack of etiquette books.

His fingers massaged her buttocks, caressing them through her gown, feeling for the crevice that split them apart. He grunted and pushed her slight form against his arousal more firmly. He had been hard since he’d spied her through the book stacks. If he reached under her skirts to the slit in her drawers, he knew she would be wet and ready for him.

Alex pulled her face away from his. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, erotic. One small hand reached up to caress his cheek, then moved to his ear to touch the piece of jade. She brushed her lips against his. Her fingers tickled his scalp.

Sutton shuddered. A thought came to him, something he had never offered to any woman. “Alex. I would not misuse you. I will buy you a lovely apartment anywhere you wish. We can travel, even to Macao if you like. I shall buy you more books than you could read in a lifetime. I—–”

She stiffened in his arms like a board. Her face full of shocked hurt, she gave him a look of distaste. “How dare you.” The words were rough with emotion. Her mouth was set in a grim line.

“Sutton? Where are you?” Miranda’s voice floated from one aisle over.

“Put me down!” Alexandra hissed. She pushed at him, twisting from his embrace. Her face turned from his, but not before he noticed the sheen of tears in her eyes.

He put her down reluctant to end their contact. Alexandra stood and straightened her skirt, her hands jerking quickly over her wrinkled gown. Hostility emanated from her. And hurt. The Badger apparently did not find his asking her to be his mistress quite the boon that Sutton thought it to be. His wanting of her consumed him, and the words had popped out of his mouth, unbidden. Sutton spent years in control of his emotions, particularly around women. But not this one woman. The thought confused and unnerved him.

Alex’s small form trembled. She struggled to the floor, kneeling to pick up her books. She refused to look at him. He could hear her gulping in air. The thought that he’d injured her enough to make her nearly sob out loud gave him a physical ache.

“Alex,” he said contritely, “I’m sorry I—” He reached for her. If she would just let him explain. Let him hold her.

She shied from him like a dog afraid to be kicked.

“I don’t need your help, Lord Cambourne. You might dirty your fancy breeches.”

He flinched from the sarcasm in her tone.

Miranda rounded the corner. “Oh, there you are! I’m in shock! You won’t believe who is here, calmly reading the newspaper as if—” She stopped, spying Alexandra on the floor.

“Miss Dunforth? Alexandra? Whatever are you doing here? What happened? Let me help you.” Miranda shot a pointed look at him as she went to Alex.

Sutton watched Alex while she picked up her books. Her shaky shoulders and stilted movements told him how his words had hurt her. Alexandra was a decent woman who deserved marriage. Expected marriage. No matter her nonchalant attitude towards the institution. He wished fervently he could take back his words.