His engine designs lay forgotten at his side, his ankle throbbing in time to the pulse in his cock. He was going to chafe his skin if he took himself in hand again, which would make thrice. More than he’d played with himself in one day since he was a greedy lad.
He glanced to the countess’s letter with a leaden heart.
He didn’t want her.
He wanted the woman whose kiss made him misplace his words. The girl who’d had him yearning when he’d no idea what yearning meant. Only that the sight of her had been sunshine lighting his soul.
He knew what Alex desired. One night and one night only.
When one night was his standard bargain. Her group of widows were known to reject closer associations. Freedom came with a price. Why this unspoken arrangement discomfited him, he was terrified to contemplate.
Cort had never brought emotion into his liaisons. Not once.
Body at the ready, heart locked behind closed doors.
However, could he deny Alexandra Mountbatten, deny himself, out of fear? He could give her what she coveted and pray—pray—the experience absolved him. Like a razor across stubble, removing his need for her. Because he genuinely believed fantasies never lived up to the real thing. After all, she’d been his dream since 1800 or so.
But their kiss had been blinding. A kiss for the ages. All he’d imagined and more.
What did that say about his theory?
He shoved from the chair before he could talk himself out of it. Grabbing that bloody crutch and heading into the night before he admitted that adoration wasn’t an easy emotion to disregard.
Alexandra stared into the darkness, the scent of the delphiniums and orchids beneath her bedchamber window drifting inside on a careless breeze. She’d helped Seamus all afternoon with a temperamental gelding, and she should have been so tired she’d fall directly into bed. Instead, here she stood, gazing sightlessly into the distance, in the direction of the Duke of Herschel’s estate. Over the parkland-steeped vista, she could make out the peak of a chimney if she squinted.
A gust of air streaked past, shaking the lanterns glimmering in the garden below. The chill tunneled through her nightgown’s thin silk, making her shiver.
And that’s when she saw him.
The crutch was unmistakable, as was his lumbering stride snaking through the shadows. A dark cape billowed behind him, giving him a sinister look when she didn’t, in actuality, think there was a sinister thing about him, aside from a slightly brooding nature. His smile came easily, the grooves aside his mouth testament to them arriving often. He was kind to his staff (fact) and to his paramours (rumor). He was also a capable soldier and a loyal brother.
When she wished to know the man.
Heart hammering, Alexandra turned to rest her bottom on the window ledge, waiting for him to come to her. He’d find a way inside the dwelling—she didn’t doubt his lockpicking skills, if it came to that—and it wasn’t long before she heard his uneven footfalls in the passage outside her chamber. Her door was ajar, and her pulse gave a leap when it swung wide.
He limped into the room, his smile a thousand shades of diffident boldness. His gaze roved the length of her, twice, before his eyes met hers. They were hot, a bright, burning green.
“You can’t just break into someone’s home, Cortland DeWitt. Enter my bedchamber when you haven’t been invited.”
With a twist of his lean body, he snicked the door closed using that infernal crutch of his. Looking like he’d been born to the sport of seduction, which feasibly, he had. “I was invited.”
She snorted, unable to suppress it. Her mother had hated that sound. Uncouth girl, she’d been called more than once. Maybe tonight, she would prove her mother right. “That was yesterday’s offer. Withdrawn, I might add.”
As he crossed to her, she recorded the rise in temperature, awareness charging the air. When he stood before her, his lips tilting in a half-smile, her ire kicked up a notch. He’d let his cape drift to the floor on the way over—as if he meant to stay. Had been asked to stay.
Damn the man, anyway. Arrogant toad.
Amused, he trailed his knuckle down her cheek, a trail of fire following his passage. “Don’t be cross with me, sweetness. I’m here to ask for another chance.”
She stared into his eyes, hating that she could see everything. Remorse, hunger, the gilded flecks at the outer edge of his pupil highlighting what she imagined was a hint of apprehension. The delightful boy melding with the vexing man. She gripped the ledge to keep from launching herself into his arms. The moment felt significant for reasons she feared.
She wasn’t falling for one of the Troublesome Trio. She wasn’t.
Leaning, he grazed his lips over her jaw. “Are you going to make me beg?”
Her breath caught. “Would you?”
Nipping the skin beneath her ear, he brought her to her feet, sighing against her skin when her husky moan slipped free. “For one night with you, I’d beg. Happily. I was out of my bloody mind to deny you before. Forgive me.”
