Chapter Eleven
Later that night
Alexander came violently awake to his own screams and shouts, which were a direct result from the emergence of a dream he’d had—a recurring one—wherein ghosts of the past came back to haunt him from some of the men he’d killed over the years.
And those haunts sometimes pressed into his mind like demons intent on stealing what was left of his soul.
“Alexander?” Madeline’s voice sounded eerie in the darkness as his door opened. “I heard you shouting from down the corridor and I thought you might be in peril.”
That largely depended on one’s view of peril.
He struggled into a sitting position, glad for the wealth of pillows on his bed. The racing of his heart as well as the sweat on his brow and upper lip served as testament to the dreams being too close to his reality. “Madeline.” She resembled a ghost herself clad in a pale nightdress and appeared to float over the floor.
After she softly closed the door behind her, she approached his bed. As he watched her in the play of silvery illumination from the moon and the shadows, he could hardly breathe, for he was so glad to see her, to have another person in the room with him—a living, breathing person. Without a word, she climbed up into his bed, crawled over to him, snuggled into him, and then put her arms around him.
“You are safe, Ravenhurst. You’re at home and not in the Navy. No one can hurt you anymore.”
Despite himself, he clung to her. She didn’t have to come into his bedchamber and try to comfort him, but she had, and now she was here, and he was oddly soothed, and it was as if his soul wasn’t unmoored any longer.
Not if she acted as his anchor.
“Why did you come to my rooms after hearing me cry out?”
“Why not? You sounded as if you were upset, and when no one else came to check on you, I wished to see if you were all right.”
Beneath the top sheet, his member twitched to life. “After everything?”
“I just know that if I am struggling, I would want to find comfort from someone, and since you and I are the only ones here…”
“You are quite surprising.” And he held her all the tighter.
“Are you often plagued by nightmares?” The dulcet sound of her voice, along with the gentle stroke of her fingers in his hair, sent shivery calm through his veins.
“At times, especially when I’m experiencing mental anguish.” Which was nearly always, especially since he’d come home to England.
“Tell me about your time in the Navy,” she encouraged in the same soothing tone. “I don’t require a whole extensive background. Merely a good memory and a bad one. Something you can talk about and relieve the burden a bit.”
For long moments, he remained quiet. Then he nodded. “While I’ll admit I was fully against being shanghaied to the Navy in the beginning for obvious reasons, and while I’ll also admit, it was the devil’s own work to make my way up the ranks through the years—and the battles we were sent to—there was a certain satisfaction I found in the schedule therein.”
“I would imagine you were quite lovely at commanding a vessel.”
He snorted. “It was many a year before I made my way to first mate, and many after that before I became captain.” Shifting her in his arms, he smoothed a hand up and down her back. The warmth of her, the vanilla and lemon scent of her skin worked further to lull him into a relaxed state. “But I will admit, there is no other feeling on this earth than the sway of a sea-going vessel beneath your feet, the wind in your hair, and the spray of salt water on your lips as you gently guide a ship with the wheel. That is as close to freedom as I have ever been.”
“That is exactly how I feel when I sing. The words take me away, and when the melody wraps around me, it’s almost as if I can fly.”
“I have only heard you sing once, but I can believe that.” Up and down his hand moved on her back, which both ushered in continued calm but alternately had awareness prickling over his skin. “Some of the things I didn’t care for in the Navy were the arbitrary rules, being caught up in various battles in the war, or chasing down pirates. The one thing they had in common was the requirement to kill our enemies. There is only so much death a man can witness before it begins to affect his mind.”
“Since you had such a long career, I can’t fathom what you saw and experienced, but I think it made you more highly aware of right or wrong.”
He snorted. “I am usually the one on the wrong side.”
“In my eyes, you have always been a hero.”
“You must be quite confused since I have never been a white knight, more of an anti-hero if not a villain. If you would but open your eyes fully, you would see that.” And then she would learn to hate him, as everyone usually did.
“Do stop, Ravenhurst. This is not an attractive look. There is not one way to be a hero.” She was the only person these days to chastise him without a dressing down response from him.
A round of silence engulfed them until he spoke again, but doubts assailed him even as the words came out of his mouth. “Since I’ve been back in England, I have had time to think over everything.” He took a deep breath and let it ease out. “After what happened to my parents, and what I went through in the Navy, followed by my time as a mercenary, I have become quite skilled in pushing people away.”
“I can understand that.” Madeline pulled away in order to look into his face. “It’s a defense, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” He nodded. “I… I have been afraid…”
“Of what?” In the darkness, her lips pulled down in a frown.
Could he continue? Would she think differently about him? For far too long, he’d kept things stifled and shoved away. Perhaps it was time to let some of his worries out. “I have been afraid that if I let myself love someone—anyone for any reason—let myself be close to someone again, I’ll lose them too.” Did that make him seem too weak, too vulnerable? “I’ve seen too much ugliness in life and know that death is a part of it, even when it doesn’t need to be.”
“True.” She nodded then settled her cheek against his shoulder. “Sooner or later, you’ll need to live by a different set of standards. You can’t be alone all the time. Men were not made to be alone.”
It didn’t matter when he wouldn’t be long for this world.
“What if I’m not strong enough to lose someone again? After my parents died, I was buried under anger and grief but didn’t know how to express that…”
“…and you didn’t have the time either, I suspect.” Madeline pressed her lips to his skin, and since he slept in the nude, awareness of her sank into every pore of his body. “When the time comes, you’ll have to assess that risk. Some people are worth that, and love—no matter what kind of love or whoever you give it to—certainly is.”
“Perhaps, but it’s a frightening prospect.” With every caress of her hand, he craved her more, and suddenly, merely running his fingertips over her skin wasn’t enough.
“May I ask you a question?”
He chuckled softly. “When have you ever asked permission before?”
When she grinned, he felt it against the hollow of his throat. “What will you do after your revenge is complete? And by complete, I mean the fact that you’ll undoubtedly kill him.”
The woman was far too astute, but he quite liked that about her. “I don’t know.”
“Keep being strong, Alexander. If you don’t know, if you feel as if everything you dreamed of is slipping away, it’s a good reaction. It simply means you care.”
“But I don’t care. Not really.”
“You might be an expert at lying to yourself, but not to me. You forget that I’ve known you since we were children. You once told me and my brother that you wanted to help people, to make their lives better, like your father used to do.”
Damn.
“I’d forgotten about that.” And now the guilt grew even more, for he hadn’t done that. It wasn’t his fault for being gone these past twenty years, but still. His mind hadn’t changed. Once his revenge on Inglehart was complete, he would end it all so there was nothing left of him, of his line, of his reputation in London.
It was better that way after everything that had happened. Not just this past week but in his whole life.
Except… what if she were pregnant? With his child? He would live on in that child… who would belong to the damned marquess and have his name.
Because of him and his bloody wish for revenge, those wheels had already started to turn, and there was nothing he could do about it now. Also, he didn’t want to think about that, so he kissed her, and when she kissed him back, he was lost. She still had a future, such as it was, while he did not. His life had an expiration date that loomed rather close, and he wanted to use it to his best advantage.
Needing so much more from her, Alexander encouraged her over his body so that she straddled his waist. After shoving the sheet from beneath her, he found her gaze in the darkness. “Ride me, Madeline. Take what you want from me, because if I haven’t squared with everything that happened to me, I’ll wager you haven’t done the same with your life.”
“I have not, and perhaps that is part of my problem.” When she wriggled and her arse brushed his engorged length, he hissed in warning. “I’ve also never been atop a man,” she admitted in a whisper.
“Ah, then another first with me as your mentor.” And it was something else he could take from Inglehart. It was bloody satisfying. He tugged at the hem of her night dress. “Take this off.”
“Why?”
“I want to see your whole body when we come together.” When he pinched one of her aroused nipples through the fabric of the garment and she gasped, he chuckled. “I’ve told you before I’m selfish, and now I want to feel every part of you gliding over me during this coupling.” Skin to skin contact, with both of them fully nude, was something he hadn’t had since she’d been forced into his house.
“Are you?” As she talked, Madeline pulled her nightdress up and then off her body, letting it fall to the foot of the bed.
“Ah, sweeting, I sleep nude whenever I can.” Now he couldn’t stop staring at her as she balanced on her knees. Bloody hell, but the curve of her hips, the gentle swell of her belly, the fullness of her breasts, and the paleness of her skin in the dim illumination through the window were enough to drive him to insanity.
And he would gladly go if for one more moment with her.
She snickered as she layered herself over his body. The end of her braided hair danced over his chest to further send shivers of need through him. “In the event some woman unwittingly falls into your web?”
“I’m afraid my web was destroyed years ago, and decent women have no doubt heard the rumors surrounding me. I would imagine they’d steer well clear.”
“Then they obviously aren’t paying attention to the man behind the gossip.” Then she dipped her head and pressed a line of kisses beneath his jaw.
Her penchant for plain speech was understandable, and as he kissed her, sought out her tongue with his because he wanted to once more assert himself as her captor, he couldn’t understand why she kept coming back for more when he’d treated her with questionable morals in mind. If she shared his enjoyment of carnal activities, he understood that too, yet why would she keep doing it knowing she would return to London in two days where her life and freedom would essentially end.
Unless he went through with his plan to kill the marquess. And then what? Watch her walk out of his life with the windfall from her mother and live her dreams? His chest tightened. Of course, by that time, he wouldn’t care, because he would be dead as well.
Wouldn’t he?
Not wanting to think about that either, Alexander pushed her into an upright position, and once her breasts were fully on display, he contented himself with fondling those soft, perfumed globes as well as the perfectly pebbled tips. Every one of her moans and gasps made him feel more alive, and he lived for each reaction.
“I’m not going to draw this out tonight; I shall have you right now.” And he grabbed her hips, urged her up on her knees once more as he aligned the head of his member with her already slippery opening.
“Quite highhanded of you, Ravenhurst.” But there was a hint of smugness in her voice. “Just know that the only reason you are about to indulge in such exercise is because I’m letting you.” Then, before he could do anything else, she slammed herself down upon his stiff shaft and didn’t stop until she’d been fully impaled. With a gasp, she rested her palms on his chest and stared at him with wide eyes. “Oh, my, this is very different.”
“Good?” If he wasn’t careful, he’d spend far too prematurely as he held her hips.
“Yes.” When she wriggled her hips, he thought he might perish right there. “So filling. Have you always been this large?”
“I expect so, but if it’s escaped your notice, I’ve either not been satisfying you correctly or you’ve passed out afterward enough that you haven’t remembered.” Which meant he needed to make a better showing.
Her trill of soft laughter lanced down his spine and tingled through his stones. “I refuse to feed your ego.” He guided her up his length then drew her back down. “Feel free to experiment in how you move or bounce or ride me. Each time you move downward I’ll thrust upward in the hopes we’ll find a rhythm before I spend.”
“All right.” The darling woman did her best, but since she was still awkward and clumsy in her movements. But every time she gyrated her hips or moved up and down on him, her body was on full display, and he couldn’t have enough of seeing her and exploring her curves.
“Keep going,” he whispered and took her breasts in his hands, both squeezing the warm flesh and rolling the nipples as he moved his hips with hers.
“I… Oh!” Despite the fact she was breathless, Madeline held onto his shoulders, and somehow, she’d learned to glide her body vertically over his. “I do enjoy when your shaft rubs against the little nubbin.” She shivered, and Alexander thought he might see heaven that night. Then she apparently found a rhythm she liked, and it was glorious to watch the change in her from insecure to a woman coming into her confidence. “Mercy, but I’m going to hit release fast in this position.”
“That is all to the good, hmm?” Of course, he wanted that for her, but he was close to the edge as it was, and he wasn’t ready to end this coupling. “Do you wish for me to take control now? To help send you over?”
“Yes.” She once more leaned over his chest, and for that moment, the sweet torment ceased as she peppered his neck and underside of his jaw with kisses and nibbles. “But someday I want to learn how to do this, how to wield this power over a man and bring him to his knees.”
Ah, sweeting, how can you not see that you do that anyway simply by being yourself and you don’t even need a bed?
Instead, he said, “No doubt you’ll be a natural at it.”
“Now who is the cheeky one?” And she wriggled her hips.
Alexander hissed a warning as his body tensed. He wrapped his arms around her and seconds later, he flipped them over, pressing her into the tick mattress and trapping her between it and his body. Easily enough, he settled between her splayed legs. “I would be happy to teach you everything I know.”
Then a hot swath of anger went through his chest to temporarily stall his passion. All that talent she had for learning combined with her lush body would be given part and parcel to Inglehart for his pleasure, for he rather doubted the marquess would bed Madeline to contribute to hers. He would use her up and then discard her like a soiled rag he wiped his arse with. Or worse, he would arrange for her to have an “accident” merely because he’d somehow gotten her to tell him where her mother’s ruby was.
“Alexander?” She laid a palm against his cheek, and that touch wrenched him from his foul thoughts. “Is all well? Did I displease you somehow?”
What the devil was this new and sudden pain around his heart? He ignored it as he’d ignored so much recently. “Of course you didn’t; I was merely woolgathering.”
“Then I must not be doing something right tonight.”
“Do stop.” He stemmed her words with a savage kiss that might have drawn a hint of blood from the inside of her bottom lip. “There is nothing wrong with you, and never let anyone make you think otherwise.” As he spoke, he pressed feather weighted kisses to her cheeks and made certain he paid distinct attention to the one with the scar. “You are as perfect as any of those Grecian goddesses found in paintings, and if you don’t believe me, I shall personally go into the attics and find the ones my grandparents used to have hanging in the drawing room when I was a boy.”
“What a sweet thing to say.” Then she drew a hand between their bodies, and when she fondled his stones, he nearly shot off his wad. “Send me flying, Ravenhurst. You’ve bragged enough, haven’t you?”
There was something about this woman that utterly captivated him, and he wasn’t ready to give her up.
Perhaps he never would be.
Because she was here in his bed, warm and willing and fairly vibrating beneath him, he pushed his worries out of his mind, buried his fingers in her hair, claimed her mouth and at the same time he thrust into her hot, tight passage and claimed her body.
Over and over, he plied her with strong strokes that scooted her slightly toward the pillows, but she wrapped her arms about his shoulders, and canted her hips in order to meet his thrusts. Her moans, gasps, and soft, nearly unintelligible words of encouragement rang in his ears, and he continued his work with abandon.
What the devil was wrong with him? In the past years, if he absolutely had to have a woman in his bed, once he was sated, he sent her on her way or it was he who left, and rarely did he ever have relations with the same woman a second night. But with Madeline? There was something special in her that he hadn’t encountered with anyone else, and he would be a nodcock of the first order to give her up.
Yet he couldn’t keep her past the week. He had revenge to get on with, didn’t he?
The rasp of her breathing in his ear brought him back to the task at hand and the knowledge that he wouldn’t last much longer. Sweat formed on his brow and temples, and still he moved within her body. When she still didn’t fall over the edge, he shoved a hand between them, quickly found the swollen bud at her center. It didn’t take much friction to help her fly, and she didn’t disappoint.
In fact, sending this woman into bliss was rapidly becoming one of his favorite times of the day or night. As her inner walls spasmed around his shaft, it was his turn to gasp, for her body was literally pulling him into hers. Madeline’s scream of completion echoed in the silence of the room, and while she dug her fingernails into his shoulders, he pushed once more into that sweet, honeyed heat, and when he came, it was as strong as the first time he’d coupled with her. The violent pulse of his member as it lay buried deep inside her passage sapped at his energy and lingering strength, but still he ground his hips into hers to prolong the last vestiges of sensation for them both.
With a shiver, Madeline sighed, and her body went pliant as she collapsed into the bedding. “If being ruined is as lovely and intense as this, no wonder matchmaking mamas and the dragons of society do their darndest to keep men away from women.”
“Ha.” Eventually, he withdrew from her body. Before he could do anything more than flop onto his back, she had burrowed into his side with a hand resting on his chest and a leg flung over his. “Madeline?” When he slipped an arm about her waist, she didn’t stir. “Madeline?”
But the woman was clearly dead to the world, exhausted, and that presented a different and delicate problem. What to do with a woman in his bed? And then, suddenly, he didn’t view it as a problem, for with her in close proximity, he was warm, he was safe, he was sated, and for the first time in far too many years, he was wanted for no other reason than himself.
Well, damn.
Was Steppingford correct, then? Was he growing too close to what should have been an object of revenge? Should he have ruined her and then sent her directly back to London and out of his life? There was no definitive way to tell, but he rather liked having her beside him in such an all too domestic scene.
Well, the world could fuck off. Right now, this was his time, and he planned to enjoy it by passing the night with her in his arms.
Perhaps instead of the nightmares from before, he would allow himself to finally dream… of a future he didn’t have the right to claim, but none of that would prevent himself from thinking about just the same.