Chapter 21
CHAPTER 21
F rustrated, Edward struck a bold line through the closing words of his next speech to Parliament and groaned. If he couldn't find the words to convince Parliament to amend the agreement with the royal charter of the East India Trading Company—granting smaller merchants a foothold in commerce—how could he possibly stand and speak with conviction in the halls of Westminster?
Dropping the quill, he groaned, not caring much about the ink splattering over his hand.
He temporarily gave up on the speech and briefly wondered if a trip to Gentleman Jacks for a round of bracing boxing would do him any good.
“It might knock some sense into me for buying that jewel set and sending it to her with no notice,” he grumbled. “When did I turn into such a coward?”
Ramsay came in—and Edward was sure he’d missed the man’s knock—with a cup in hand. “Another coffee, Your Grace, and I have taken the liberty of adding a few drams of whiskey.”
“Very astute of you, Ramsay,” Edward gazed at his work with the dour feeling that it might never get done. “I think I need—”
“What in God’s name is wrong with you!” Alice swept in, her cloak billowing after her while a hapless footman followed in her wake.
In her hands, she held the box from Rundell’s Jewelers, and while Ramsay stepped aside to let her pass, he also silently intoned for Edward if he should step in.
“Leave us, Ramsay,” Edward gave his response as she rested the box on his desk. When the door closed, he leaned back in his chair. “Good morning, Miss Alice. As usual, incense looks rather good on you.”
“Are you mad?” she demanded, a stray lock of her untamed hair curling near her lips. “What is the meaning of this? Why would you give me jewels fit for a queen?”
“I had presumed they would look rather beautiful against your collarbone,” Edward replied matter-of-factly.
“For what reason?” Her brows knit in confusion now. “What am I to you that you would go to such extravagance?”
He did not know how to reply to that. What was she to him? His lover, his mistress… his plaything?
Reaching over to his renewed cup, Edward replied, “I simply thought it to be a nice gift.”
She spluttered, “A nice gift is a bouquet of flowers or a set of gloves for the winter, not a set of jewels fitting for an Indian maharajah’s wife! Are these your family’s jewels that you had the jewelers re-shine or did you buy them?”
His chest twisted, knowing she would hate the next words that came out of his mouth; she practically would not stand for it.
“I purchased them.”
“For how much?”
“Ten… thousand pounds?” he almost asked in approval.
Alice gaped at him and as his words hit her, blood slowly began to drain from her face. Eyes narrowing, Edward watched as the pallor spread across her delicate features; he was out of his chair and around the table in a dash the moment her knees buckled under her, and she slumped in a faint.
With her head braced on his upper arm, Edward carried her over to his chaise and laid her there. Plucking his cravat from his neck, he doused the cloth with water from an ewer and rested it on her forehead.
“Wake up, little mouse,” he coaxed her while mopping her forehead and temple. “Come alive for me. Let me see those lovely eyes of yours.”
He kept on with the soft, amusing murmurs until she blinked her eyes open. “There you are!”
When her gaze focused, she whispered, “What happened?”
“You swooned, sweetheart,” he grinned, pulling the cloth from her temple. “No sudden movements yet. Let me pour you some water or tea.”
Her eyes flickered between his, “I… fainted because you told me you purchased those jewels for ten thousand pounds. I— I cannot fathom how much money that is.
“The ten pounds rent from my parent’s old cottage is what is sustaining Penelope and me while we live with our aunt. Ten thousand —” she sucked in a breath, “—is a fortune…”
“It is,” he noted while handing her a glass of water. “But I want you to have it, Alice. It would soothe my pride if you would take them and wear them.”
She bolted upright and shook her head. “I cannot.”
His gaze smoldered into hers. “You don’t like them?”
Her lips thinned. “They are gorgeous, but that is beside the point. I can’t accept them.”
“Whyever not?”
“Aside from the fact that it is too expensive, far too expensive of a gift,” Alice breathed, “I am nothing to you to justify this gift. That is a present you give to your intended, or—or your wife… and I am neither. So, no, I will not accept your gift until you can give me a reason why you would do such a thing. What do you want from me, Edward? What do you want with me?”
The question was one he’d expected to come—but even with that, he still had no firm answer to it. No amount of rewriting sentences and dashing lines could allow him to answer it with any sort of conviction.
“Can’t I simply do something nice for you?” he asked. “I do admire you, you know.”
The exasperated look she shot at him told Edward that she knew he knew he was circling the issue. “Do you want to marry me, Edward?” she said flatly. “Do you… do you love me?”
His hesitation spoke more than any word that could have passed his lips. Squeezing shut her eyes, Alice got to her feet.
Edward’s grip closed firmly around her wrist, halting her retreat.
“Stay,” he said, voice low, roughened with something dark and commanding. No teasing now. No questions.
His free hand cupped her face, his thumb tracing along her cheek with devastating slowness. His eyes—stormy, burning—held hers as if daring her to look away.
She couldn’t.
Not when he dipped his head and brushed his lips against her neck, the barest whisper of heat against her skin. Not when his mouth pressed lower, tracing the flutter of her pulse, his breath fanning over her collarbone as his grip on her waist drew her closer.
Her back met the wall with a soft thud. The candles flickered wildly in the wake of their ragged breaths.
“Edward, please…” she whispered, but it wasn’t a protest. Not yet .
His lips returned to hers—slow, searching—until her body softened, surrendering to the heat of his kiss. But then, suddenly, it was no longer slow. His hand slid into her hair, angling her head back with dominance as he kissed her deeper, demanding. His tongue teased the seam of her lips until she opened for him, a helpless yelp escaping as he took what he wanted.
He pressed closer—hot, solid muscle pinning her to the wall—until she felt every inch of him, the hard, unyielding proof of his desire pressing against her, undeniable even through layers of fabric.
“Do you feel that?” he rasped against her lips, his voice a breathless snarl as he rolled his hips, the pressure of his arousal grinding between her thighs.
She did. God help her, she did—and it was wrecking her.
Her hands clutched his waistcoat, unsure whether to push him away or pull him closer. Closer won.
A low, ragged sound escaped him as she shifted against him, letting him guide her into a slow, sinful rhythm. The friction was maddening, exquisite. Heat pooled low in her belly, radiating outward with every deliberate grind of his hips against hers.
His mouth trailed lower, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the column of her throat, his teeth grazing just enough to make her gasp. His hands—one splayed against the wall beside her head, the other guiding the roll of her hips—grew bolder, sliding over the curve of her waist, bunching her skirts slightly. Not enough to be truly improper, but enough to feel… wicked.
"Tell me to stop," he whispered against her skin.
But she didn’t.
Instead, her lips parted on a breathless moan as he peeled the gown lower, baring her to him, her breasts spilling free as cool air kissed her skin.
He made a sound then—a low, guttural growl—and bent his head.
The first brush of his lips over her peaked flesh made her cry out softly, the velvet heat of his tongue following as he took her into his mouth. His hand cupped her, kneading gently as he lavished attention on her, swirling his tongue over her nipple before sucking deeper, the wet heat making her arch into him with a needy whimper.
"God, you’re perfect," he groaned, voice muffled against her skin. His free hand slid lower, fisting in her skirts and drawing them up, the sensation dizzying as the roughness of his palm skimmed along the bare skin of her thigh.
She felt him there, teasing, the press of his fingers just shy of where she ached for him most.
His mouth left her breast only to capture hers again, hungrier this time, almost desperate. His fingers pressed higher, slipping between her thighs, parting her. She gasped into his kiss as he found her slick heat, stroking slowly, deliberately.
"You’re so wet for me," he rasped, voice rough and unrestrained as he circled that aching spot with maddening precision. "Do you feel how much I want you, Alice?"
She was unraveling. Coming apart beneath him.
“Edward…” Her voice shook, the ache building with every desperate press of his body to hers.
His lips returned to hers, fevered now, hungry, his hips pressing harder, more insistent. He was losing control, and she was letting him.
Until—
No.
Reality pierced through the haze of desire like a blade.
Her hands, trembling, pressed to his chest and pushed. Not hard, but enough.
“Stop,” she gasped, though the word felt like tearing herself in two.
Edward froze instantly. His breath was ragged against her lips, his chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven bursts.
But she saw the battle in his eyes, the frustration tangled with something far more vulnerable.
“I—” he began, voice hoarse, broken.
But this time, she didn’t let him finish.
“I will not be a paramour,” she whispered, the heat in her voice now laced with steel. “You cannot have your cake and eat it too, Edward. And I have far too much self-respect to keep giving you what you want and expect nothing in return.”
The silence stretched, heavy with things unsaid.
She held his gaze a moment longer, fighting the ache in her chest, the heat still burning in her veins.
Then, with trembling dignity, she slipped free of his hold and drew up her gown.
“But I do want you in my life, Alice,” he pressed.
“But not in the only way I would accept. I am sorry, Edward. You need to find what you want—I cannot do it for you.”
“God damn it,” he swore, tugging at his hair. “I don’t know what I want!”
She shook her head. “You can’t keep trying to buy my affection. This... all of this—it is empty without—”
“Without what?” he growled, closing the gap until her back met the wall again, his voice low, desperate. “Marriage? A ring? Words that are meaningless? ” His eyes bore into hers, smoldering. “You already belong to me in every way that matters !”
She looked squarely into his eyes, her gaze heavy with disappointment, but underneath it rested pity, and that made his pride curdle.
“I think you already know, Edward—the problem is that you will never admit it to yourself. I will never beg a man to love me,” she said, stepping away from him, her voice trembling with pain. “…No matter how much I love him . Please, don’t do anything like this again. Let this be our goodbye.”
And just as swiftly as she’d arrived, she left. Like a wraith to the morning dew.
As Edward gaped at the shutting door, pain coursed through him, but not physical pain. No, it was his heart, his damned heart. It felt as if someone had cracked his breastbone open and set the organ on fire, that was how much it stung; he could barely countenance it.
Why the blazes had she had to say that she loved him? His throat tightened at the very thought of the word.
All his life, he had tried not to hurt people, as his father had done his mother. But Alice? He’d hurt her. The agony had shone in her stricken eyes. He cursed himself.
He’d failed her.
Worst of all—he’d failed himself. For pride. For an old decision he had made years ago. For spite .
Maybe it was time for Gentleman Jacks after all.