Regency Desire: Mistress to the Marquis / Dicing with the Dangerous Lord. Margaret McPhee

brown-velvet box to her.

      ‘I’m mystified as to what it can be.’ She stared at the jeweller’s box, stroked her fingers once against its velvet, hesitating for a moment before finally opening the lid. The radiance of the diamond bracelet, lying within on its cream-velvet cushion, caught the firelight to glitter and sparkle and illuminate the room around them.

      She gave a soft gasp. ‘Oh, Razeby! It’s beautiful!’ She pressed a kiss to his cheek. ‘It must have cost you a fortune.’

      ‘You are worth every penny, and more.’

      ‘I love it.’ Her hands came to caress his face, her eyes scanning his. ‘Thank you.’

      His heart squeezed tight.

      Slowly she touched her lips to his.

      ‘Alice,’ he murmured and, pulling her into his arms, he kissed her.

      He kissed her and he could not stop. He kissed her and lost himself in her, as ever he did. She made him forget everything else, all of his responsibility that weighed upon his shoulders, all of the darkness that was coming. Her eyes were filled with a passion and need that matched his own.

      ‘Make love to me, Razeby.’

      He could not deny her. He could not deny himself, or all that he felt for her.

      He undressed her in silence, their eyes clinging together all the while, and laid her down gently on the bed. He never took his eyes from hers even while he stripped off his waistcoat and shirt and cravat. Nor while he unfastened the fall of his breeches and freed himself from his drawers.

      He took her tenderly, with reverence, with meaning, all of which seemed to make the force between them only stronger and rawer. Claiming her as his own, gifting her all he could, so neither of them would ever forget. And she rose to meet him. He opened himself to her entirely, gave all, held nothing back. And in Alice’s reply he felt her do the same, this woman for whom he would pluck both the sun and moon from the sky and give them to her if he could.

      Their bodies had been made to be together. To merge. To be as one. She was his complement, and he hers. Together they found another place distinct from the world. But the lovemaking between them tonight took them further than he had ever known. It was poignant, special, a bonding between them like no other. As if she touched an even deeper part of him he had not known existed. They clung together, strove together, looking into one another’s eyes as their bodies reached a new nirvana, and together stepped over the edge to tumble into a shared climax the force of which made them capture each other’s merging cries. And afterwards, he could feel her heart and his beat in time, as they lay entwined together watching the flicker of the firelight dance upon each other’s naked skin.

      Her fingers gently caressed the muscle at the top of his arm.

      ‘Alice…’ he said, and there was a terrible pressing tightness in his chest.

      ‘Did you get the tickets for tomorrow night’s show?’

      ‘I have the tickets.’

      ‘Well, that’s a relief.’ She smiled but Razeby could not reciprocate. ‘We’ll have a grand time. Ellen says the horses are amazing. That a body wouldn’t believe they could be trained to do such tricks.’

      He closed his eyes, took a breath, forced himself to say the words aloud before he could not. ‘I cannot accompany you to the show tomorrow night.’

      ‘I thought you said you had the tickets.’

      ‘I do, but there is… another occasion… which I am obliged to attend.’

      ‘What occasion?’

      The small silence hissed loud.

      ‘A ball at Almack’s.’

      ‘Almack’s is not usually one of your haunts.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘All those débutantes and fierce matrons intent on landing eligible husbands for their daughters. Is Devlin finally on the hunt for a bride?’

      ‘I am not going with Devlin, but with Linwood.’ Viscount Linwood, who almost six months ago had married Alice’s best friend and London’s most celebrated actress, Venetia Fox.

      And he felt the withdrawal of her body and saw in her face that she realised the truth even before he said the words he did not want to say, ‘We need to talk, Alice. There is something I have to tell you.’

       Chapter Three

      Razeby fixed his drawers and breeches into place before sitting up in the bed. Leaning his spine against the massive carved-oak headboard, he stretched his long still-booted legs out before him over the counterpane.

      Alice felt the rush of cold air fill the space where he had been. She shivered at its icy touch as she pulled the sheet to cover her nakedness and sat up next to him, leaning back to rest against the headboard in the same manner.

      And even though he moved his hand to cover hers, threading their fingers together, her stomach dipped and a cold draught moved across her heart. She waited, knowing what Razeby was going to say and willing with all her heart and mind and soul that it would turn out to be something different, that later she would laugh over this foolish pound of her heart and tight fear in her throat.

      ‘You best get on and tell me then.’ She smiled as if dread were not trickling like ice through her veins.

      ‘I have a duty, Alice, to my title, to my estates and the people upon them. A duty to safeguard them for future generations. And part of that duty is to marry and produce an heir. I was raised for that purpose. I must produce a son who will do the same. I must marry.’

      ‘Of course you must.’ She had always known it, they both had. But he would marry at some distant time in the future, not now, not when what they had together was still so fresh and vital. ‘But you’re young enough yet. Surely you don’t need to step upon that path right now?’

      ‘I’ll be thirty in six months’ time.’ He glanced away and raked a hand through his hair.

      ‘What’s the significance of thirty? Is there some kind of stipulation that you have to be married and breeding an heir by then?’

      A shadow moved in his eyes as he glanced away. ‘Something like that,’ he said. ‘Atholl will be coming home on a stretcher. It could too easily have been a coffin.’

      ‘Your cousin who got shot in battle.’

      ‘As it stands he is my heir, Alice.’

      ‘I thought he was on the mend.’

      ‘He is. Now. He very nearly was not. What happened to Atholl… it has forced me to reconsider things. I have deferred my duty for too long. I can defer it no longer. I have to find a bride for Razeby.’

      Their fingers still lay entwined together. Neither of them had moved, both just sat leaning back against the headboard of their bed, as if this was just an ordinary conversation, one of the thousands they had had before, when it was anything other. She sat motionless, feigning relaxation, pretending that she was not shocked and reeling from his words.

      ‘So is this you giving me my congé?’ She smiled with the incredulity of it, half-expecting him to deny it, to tell her they could still go on as before. On the ivory of the bedcover she could see where the dust of his riding boots had smudged dark.

      But he made no denial. ‘I am sorry, Alice.’

      She slipped her fingers from his. Looked round at him, but he stared straight ahead, as if seeing into the distance, and did not meet her eyes.

      Not five minutes ago they had been making love, their breaths and bodies and hearts merged as one in that ultimate act of intimacy. Now he was sitting there dismissing her. It felt like she had just been punched in the stomach.