Chapter 15
Alice stood on the stoop of Nathaniel’s London townhouse, her gloved fingers gripping the folder of documents so tightly that the leather crinkled.
She raised her hand and rapped briskly on the door.
Her heart thudded almost as loudly as the knocker had done, her jaw tight.
She had only stayed in this house briefly, almost six years ago, and it had never felt like home.
Today, she felt more of an interloper than ever.
What had possessed her to want to come deliver these documents herself?
Dalton could have sent a delivery boy or delivered them himself.
But she had wanted, nay, needed to talk to Nathaniel. She couldn’t understand him. One moment he was acting the loving husband, making love to her as if they had invented love itself. The next, he was angry, bitter, throwing accusations…
The door swung open, and there at the threshold, surrounded by the warm glow of the lamps lit within, stood Nathaniel himself. He was in his shirtsleeves, undone necktie hanging around his neck, and he was holding a glass of whisky in his hand.
He smirked and gestured mockingly for her to enter. “What took you so long, wife of mine? I’ve been expecting you.”
She took a wary step forward, and since he didn’t step aside, her arm brushed his chest as she slid past him. The soft click as he shut the door behind her felt like a statement.
“You have no servants?” she asked to distract herself, looking around at the luxurious vestibule of his aristocratic London townhouse.
“I gave them the night off. Come.” He tossed the reply carelessly over his shoulder as he shuffled down the corridor toward the library.
Here, his jacket lay discarded on the back of a chair, his waistcoat slung over the arm of the other.
He tossed his necktie onto the pile and rolled his sleeves, revealing his forearms as he walked toward the sideboard and poured himself another glass of whisky.
His posture was taut, his shoulders a rigid line beneath his white shirt.
When his eyes flicked up and met hers, they were dark and unreadable.
“Would you like something to drink?”
“No, thank you. I only came because you left these behind,” Alice said coolly, holding out the folder.
“Is that why you came, Alice?” His voice was deceptively silky, his eyes seemed to look into her, discerning all her secrets, understanding all her emotions even better than she did.
“Yes, of course. Dalton felt it was important you start working on these at once.”
He took the folder from her hand, his fingers brushing hers for a moment before he set it aside on the desk. “Thank you.” His voice was sardonic, polite to the point of coldness.
She crossed her arms, refusing to be cowed by his mood. “We need to talk. What was that about in Dalton’s office? Why are you implicating John without any real evidence?”
His jaw flexed as he downed the whisky in a single swallow. “I’m not implicating anyone. I’m considering facts. Lord A is a high-ranking official in the Foreign Office. He’s abroad but expected back soon. It fits.”
“Fits?” she echoed sharply. “It’s circumstantial at best! Why are you so determined it’s him?”
“Because I’m being objective,” Nathaniel shot back, his voice rising. “Unlike you, blinded by your emotions.”
Alice felt heat rush to her cheeks. “That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?” he countered, stepping closer. “Even Dalton sees the possibility.”
“Dalton is being cautious, as he should be. That doesn’t mean he believes it.”
Nathaniel’s eyes narrowed. “And yet, you refuse to even consider it. Who are you going to side with? Your husband—or a possible traitor?”
“I’m siding with fairness,” she retorted, her voice tight with fury. “And I know John. He isn’t a traitor.”
His expression hardened further, voice dropping low, almost a growl. “If you were a loyal wife, you’d side with me. Tell me, Alice, if I were the one under suspicion, would you defend me so passionately?”
Her breath caught, her nails digging into her palms, but she took a step closer, her chin tilting up defiantly. “Of course I would. You’re a misguided arse, Nathaniel, but I would never believe you capable of treachery. I know you.”
For a moment, silence crackled between them, thick as a storm cloud.
Then Nathaniel’s hand shot out, gripping her arm and pulling her flush against his hard, aroused body.
Before she even understood his intent, his mouth descended on hers with bruising force, stealing her breath.
Her anger twisted into something hotter, more dangerous.
“You know me, do you?” he whispered against her mouth. “Tell me, Alice, what am I feeling right now?”
He didn’t give her a chance to respond before he deepened the kiss.
She fought him for a heartbeat, her hands pressing against his chest, but then she was clutching his shirt, yanking him closer as his tongue swept into her mouth.
This wasn’t merely a kiss; it was a battle, raw and fierce.
Their tongues dueling and surrendering all at once.
His hands roamed her body, tugging at the buttons of her coat, pushing it off her shoulders. She gasped when his palms found her corseted waist, then her skirts, bunching them up as his mouth devoured hers.
“This isn’t solving anything,” she managed between kisses, though her voice lacked conviction.
“No,” he growled against her neck, sucking, licking, biting. Driving her crazy with want. “But I can’t stop.”
She didn’t want him to. The thought of denying herself this, denying them, seemed absurd now. With a sharp tug, he loosened her corset as his mouth found the curve of her throat. Her fingers fumbled at his shirt buttons, desperate for the feel of his skin under her palms.
“Damn you, Alice,” he rasped. “What sort of power do you have over me? I can’t resist you. You have me…bewitched.”
He seemed almost angry about it. As if needing her was something he was ashamed of. A weakness he despised in himself.
Well, she wasn’t proud of her feelings for him either. Her stupid heart couldn’t seem to comprehend that their marriage was over. He made it even more difficult when he took her like this.
They stumbled toward the sofa, shedding clothing with desperate hands.
When at last they were naked, his hands closed over her breasts, and he pinched her nipples between his thumb and forefinger, the sensation shot straight to her core, eliciting a gush of warmth to drench her. She screamed in ecstasy.
But surely they shouldn’t be doing this here? It almost felt as if she was profaning the house. This stuffy, palatial home was not the place for this sort of shenanigans. She looked around warily, as if expecting Greystones to come out of the woodwork to accuse her.
Yet when he placed his hands under her bottom and lifted her, she wrapped her legs around his hips, and their mouths fused in a kiss that was more teeth than lips. He laid her down, following her, their bodies entwined in a tangle of heat and need.
This wasn’t like the night at the Black Swan, all frantic and reckless. Nor was it like this morning, a communion of wounded souls. Deep and tender. This was fury transformed into passion, the deep, bruising kind that left marks and yet somehow healed at the same time.
Her hands slid down his torso, molding the long hard muscles of his back, savoring the feel of his flesh under her palms, the heat of his body over her, pressing into her.
Had she accused him of going soft? What an unfair accusation.
His muscles were solid slabs of stone encased in smooth flesh.
Not only his muscles, but the rod between his legs.
She wanted his weight on her. Wanted his hard cock inside her.
Her hands roamed lower, to the curve of his arse, her nails digging into the hard flesh.
“Alice,” he groaned, her name breaking from his lips like a prayer as he pressed forward, as she knew he would.
His rod touched her, the wide head playing at the entrance to her body.
So close, so close… She readied for his possession, craving it with every inch of her body.
But instead of pushing it, he changed the angle, sliding upward between her swollen, slick folds, titillating her button with every roll of his hips, every pass of his hard flesh over her soft one.
He smeared his cock in her moisture, spread it, until they were gliding easily against each other, the thrust of his hips increasing the speed and pressure.
She arched beneath him, her head rolling back.
“Ahh, damn it, Nathaniel…”
“Yes?” His tone was deceptively solicitous, but his eyes gleamed with satisfaction.
“I…” She opened her legs wider, grinding harder against him. Digging her nails deeper into his arse. She was going to leave marks, but he didn’t seem to care…
No, he was enjoying it, growling and pushing harder every time her nails dug deeper into his skin.
His cock was an iron ridge, providing the pressure she needed, sliding relentlessly against her, the friction making the desire coil and tighten inside her.
She was rising. Soon, all this energy was going to burst into a glorious culmination.
She reached for it, rode the wave upward until it exploded inside her.
Around her. She closed her eyes and screamed her release, and then screamed again when he changed direction and plunged inside her to the hilt.
It detonated another wave of ecstasy, or prolonged the first one, she wasn’t sure.
She was being buffeted by wave after wave of an orgasm that seemed to go on and on.
“Look at me,” he commanded, and she opened her eyes. “That’s right. Look at me while you come. So that you never forget who you belong to.”
When she didn’t reply, too dazed to even form words, he snarled, “Say it. Say you are mine.”
“I’m yours.”
“Yes, you are. And now I’m going to make you come again.”
“No! Nathaniel, I can’t.”