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Oh.
When her knees wobbled and threatened to give out, she grasped the lapels of his coat for support and he wrapped his arm snugly around the small of her back, drawing her against him while he continued to taste her in small, tantalizing nibbles.
Clinging shamelessly, she allowed herself to be devoured. The kiss intensified, flames wrapping around her legs and winding their way up her torso as his tongue slid boldly between her lips. Not asking for permission, but taking it. Takingher. To a place she’d never been before. A place she’d never even knownexistedbefore.
Lust.
Passion.
Desire.
They were foreign concepts to a young lady raised on protocol and proper manners. A story shared here and there, followed by a stern warning of the ruin that awaited a debutante who strayed off the path of purity before she was wed. Or even after, for that matter.
Men had their mistresses to keep them busy, women their households. Intimacy was reserved for the begetting of heirs, and the wife was not expected to find the act pleasurable but rather something to stoically endure. Or so Alexandria’s mother had alluded.
‘Close your eyes, steel yourself, and think of a pleasant thing, like a new hat or a basket full of kittens.’
But when Duncan pushed her against the wall and began to trace a burning path down her neck, the furthest thing from her mind was a hat, new or otherwise. If this was the road to damnation, then she’d follow it gladly, for who better to lead her into hell than the devil?
Her head lolled to the side, her perfect coiffure that had taken a poor maid three hours to complete scraping against rough stone. A scattering of pins came dislodged and dropped to the ground, but she didn’t pay them any heed. Her every thought, her every nerve-ending, her every breath was consumed by the Earl of Chesterfield as he once again captured her mouth with his own, those straight white teeth sinking into her lower lip and drawing a carnal moan from the depths of her throat.
Dimly, as if from a great distance, she registered the sound of a door creaking on its hinges. And then as quickly as the kiss had started, it was over, with Duncan melting away into the shadows from whence he’d came.
Pulling a shuddering gasp of air into her lungs, Alexandria hastily adjusted her bodice and fluffed out her skirts before doing her best to repair the damage that the wall had done to her hair. All of this completed in a matter of precious seconds before she stepped back into the light, a smile already firmly affixed to her flushed countenance. Right before she walked into the ballroom, she could have sworn she heard a husky chuckle…but when she turned and gazed searchingly into the darkness, there was no one there.
Chapter One
The 1st of December
Chesterfield Manor
The frigid December air nipped at Alexandria’s toes as she descended the stairs in a flutter of green muslin and shivers. Wishing she’d thought to don something warmer than a morning frock and spencer jacket, she cast a pleading glance at the maid that awaited her at the bottom of the steps. In an instant, the servant scurried off, and returned promptly with a fur lined shawl.
“Thank you,” Alexandria murmured, draping the heavy garment over her trembling shoulders. “It’s freezing in the house. Haven’t all the fires been lit?”
“They have, my lady.” The maid, Sarah, dressed in sturdy cotton and warm from the kitchen where Cook had been up preparing breakfast since dawn, didn’t look bothered by the cool temperature in the slightest, but bobbed her head in empathy nevertheless. “The footmen are out chopping down another tree as we speak. It’s been a cold winter, hasn’t it?”
Sarah had no idea.
“Yes.” Though it took some work, Alexandria managed a brittle smile. “It has.”
“The morning paper and your lemon tea is waiting for you in the blue parlor, my lady. Is there anything else I can fetch you?”
“A blanket, please.” She hesitated, her gaze flicking to a closed door on the other side of the foyer. “Is…is my husband awake?”
It was a strange question to ask of a servant.
Even stranger that Sarah had the answer when she, the wife, did not.
“Lord Chesterfield is not here, my lady.” The maid’s expression turned puzzled. “He left for London late last night. I apologize. I thought you knew.”
“There’s nothing to apologize for, Sarah.”Hold the smile, Alexandria ordered herself.Hold it. Hold it. Hold it, because if it crumples, then so will you.“I…I did know that. I just forgot. The blue parlor, you said?”
“Yes, my lady.”
Weak morning sun the color of ash streamed into the room between thick velvet drapes; a feeble attempt to bring light to a bland, beige landscape. Spying her tea and newspaper waiting for her on a sitting table in the middle of the parlor, Alexandria shuffled wearily across the carpet, reaching for her cup as she sat in a chair.
She took a cautious sip of her tea–Sarah had a tendency to boil the kettle for a touch too long–and could have wept in relief when the hot liquid pooled on her tongue before sliding down her throat and seeping warmth into her bones. Almost twenty-three years of winters, and she was unable to remember one as cold as this.
