Chapter 28
CHAPTER 28
E dward’s face flashed in the direction of her silhouette in an instant. “What are you doing here?” His tone was less accusatory, rather, exhausted.
“Penelope and Benedict decided to take a turn about your gardens before he returns us home,” she began.
His eyes narrowed. “Did Ramsay send you here?”
“Yes,” she admitted, “and I can see why.”
“And why is that?” He asked wryly.
“He is worried about you,” Alice said as she ambled to his desk, lit a candelabra, and carried it to the small coffee table before him.
The additional light chased shadows over the room and over Edward’s stern features. Her pulse raced. For once, he was unkempt: his hair was disheveled—the shadow on his cheeks accentuated the hollows and hard edges of his face. His shirt was untucked and unbuttoned down to his sternum revealing the hard-carved ridges of his chest.
He was beautiful… and beat.
“So… how have you been these past weeks?” she tried.
“ Pah . I was tempted with murder in Parliament today,” he muttered. “The Greeks must be hanging their head in shame with how we’re bastardizing their beloved demokratia .”
“You went to Parliament?”
“Yes, Alice.” He rose languidly, retrieved two crystal glasses from the sideboard, and filled both with the heady wine. Carrying the second to her, he lowered himself gracefully by her side, then added, “I suppose even rakes as myself have work to do.”
Her eyes dropped to the glass before she tentatively accepted it and sipped. Her nose wrinkled a little. “This is… strong .”
His chuckle was low and husky. “Is Ramsay’s concern the only reason you are here?”
She kept her eyes fixed on the glass. “…No.”
“What do you want then, Alice?” He retook her glass and rested it on the end table. “You cannot tell me you abandoned your sister for poor old me.”
“You are neither poor nor old,” she countered.
“ Alice… ” his tone dropped to an unspoken order. When she did not reply, he cupped her cheek. “Is it my touch you want?”
“I…” The word came breathless.
His thumb coasted over her cheekbone. “You could have simply asked.”
His hand slid into the curls at the nape of her neck and tilted her head back; he was studying her as if he could memorize every feature of her face for eternity. And then, ever so slowly, he lowered his mouth to hers, and there was that hot soft touch again of his lips upon her own.
Even through the haze of wine and desire, he knew that this was foolish. Reckless in the extreme. He had no right to start this. No right to feel her mouth opening under his, her accepting his questing tongue with such eagerness that the dark needs inside him began to quiver and unfurl. Desire blazed through his veins like wildfire.
Edward’s grip on her wrist was a brand, firm but carefully measured, a possessive restraint that sent a shiver rippling through her body. The fire behind them crackled low, the flickering light casting long shadows across the dark-paneled study. But Alice saw none of it—only him.
I shouldn’t be doing this anymore… I can’t…
Without a word, he moved, guiding her with silent authority as he turned her, pressing her back against the plush rug beneath them. His body followed, covering hers, surrounding her, caging her in a way that was both intoxicating and terrifying all at once.
He said nothing. There were no words needed.
His control radiated in every slow, deliberate movement as he reached up, unbuttoning his shirt with infuriating calm, one button, then another, until the linen fell open and revealed the broad expanse of his chest. Sculpted muscle, the ridges hard and taut beneath smooth, tanned skin, the sight making her breath catch.
And then, with a flick of his wrist, he shrugged it off entirely. The shirt dropped to the floor in a whisper of fabric, leaving him bare to her gaze—powerful, commanding, undeniable .
The next thing she felt was his hand curling around her throat. Not tight—never tight—but possessive, his thumb resting lightly over the hollow of her throat, the heat of his palm pressing into her pulse. His body caged her, his knee pressing between her thighs, widening them slightly, a clear display of power as he hovered just above her.
He waited.
And she trembled.
Not from fear. No, it was the waiting —the unbearable tension of his nearness, the raw restraint vibrating through his every touch, as if he were holding himself back by a thread so thin it could snap with her next breath.
And then he moved .
His lips descended, hot and demanding, brushing the curve of her jaw before trailing lower, lower, to the delicate pulse fluttering beneath his hand. His tongue flicked out, tasting her, teasing, before his teeth scraped lightly, just enough to sting. She gasped, her back arching, but his grip tightened on her throat, holding her exactly where he wanted her.
When his mouth finally covered hers, it was nothing gentle.
It was a claiming.
The kiss was deep, consuming, his tongue sweeping against hers, coaxing her open for him, tasting her with an aching slowness that left her shaking. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think—only feel. The rough scrape of his stubble against her skin. The flex of his fingers at her waist as his other hand left her throat and began its slow descent, tracing over the curve of her breast, teasing just above the neckline of her gown.
She whimpered.
But he only kissed her harder.
And then, with a slow, devastating pull, he drew the neckline lower, the fabric yielding beneath his touch until her breasts spilled free, bared to the heat of the firelight.
His head lifted, his lips damp, his breathing ragged as he looked down at her.
For a heartbeat, he only stared. “God, you’re beautiful…”
Then, with a guttural growl, he bent his head and claimed her.
His mouth sealed over her nipple, hot and wet, his tongue flicking in slow, deliberate circles before he drew her deeper, sucking with the kind of intensity that made her toes curl against the rug. Heat coiled low in her belly, a delicious ache building as he devoured her, his mouth relentless as he teased her flesh with his tongue, his teeth scraping just enough to make her body jolt with pleasure so sharp it bordered on pain.
She squirmed, her hips shifting beneath him, seeking friction— relief .
But Edward was not a man to be rushed.
The deep sound he made as she moved was more warning than pleasure. His hand flattened against her stomach, pressing her down, holding her there, completely at his mercy.
“Stay. Still.”
No other words. Just the command woven into the tension of his touch.
And then his lips were back on her—dragging across the swell of her breast, his tongue painting hot, wet paths down her ribs as he shifted lower.
His fingers gathered her skirts, pushing them up inch by inch, the cool air brushing over her thighs as he bared her to him. And then he spread her, just enough to make her gasp, enough to make her feel completely exposed, completely possessed beneath his gaze.
His fingers traced along the silk of her stockings, finding the place where bare skin met lace, teasing there with devastating slowness before trailing higher, higher—until the damp heat of her arousal met his touch.
A helpless sound tore from her lips, but he didn’t give her the satisfaction of more.
Not yet.
His thumb pressed lightly over the aching bundle of nerves through the soaked lace, circling once, twice—so excruciatingly slow it made her whimper—but never enough to satisfy the ache building inside her.
“Please…” she whispered, unable to stop herself.
His lips curved against her skin.
Still, he didn’t yield.
Instead, he pushed the lace aside and pressed a single finger against her bare, slick folds, parting her, teasing her, his breath a low growl as he found her so warm, so ready .
His finger slid inside—one deep, devastating stroke—before retreating to circle her again. And again. Followed only by his tongue.
Pleasure coiled tighter.
She writhed, trying to find her release, to chase that sharp edge of bliss he kept just out of reach.
But he wouldn’t give it to her.
Not until she broke.
Not until she shattered for him.
When he thrust his fingers deeper, pressing his tongue firmly against her pearl and curling just so, the pressure was too much. The coil inside her snapped, her body arching violently as she climaxed with a cry, the pleasure so sharp it almost hurt, rippling through her in wave after wave as he worked her through it, holding her still as she came undone beneath him.
The spike of pleasured pain had him holding her fast on the rug, causing her to squirm in agonizing pleasure.
“ Edward… ” she finally whispered when it was all over, her body trembling in the aftermath, “…you are still… burgeoned.”
“I know, sweet,” he murmured against her belly, the heat in his voice still raw, still aching. “And you can help me out with that.”
Her eyes searched for his. “How?”
Shifting off her, he untied his robe and unfastened the fall of his trousers. Alice’s breath caught as he pulled out his manhood: clasping the thick root, the upthrust shaft visibly pulsed and strained against the confines of his fist.
“Touch me,” he commanded. “I want to feel you.”
Her breath caught as he wrapped her hand around his rampant arousal, her fingers barely circling the thick, heavy stalk. His hand closed over hers, tightening her hold on him, urging a fierce new, ferocious rhythm.
She ran her fingertips over him and swiped her thumb over the wide tip, and satiny moisture seeped from the tiny hole at its center. “Am I doing this right?”
“Perfect, sweetheart,” he allowed. “Tighten your fist, stroke me harder.” His abdomen flexed under her ministrations while his head lolled back and pure pleasure marked every line in his face. “God, I love your hands on me.”
She pumped with both fists, lingering at the engorged crown when that seemed to enhance his delight. Moisture leaked from the slit in the tip, lubricating her touch, making him groan aloud.
Edward reached out, grabbed the back of her neck, and crushed her lips to his again, her hand slamming down at the same time as he thrust up. The pressure inside him surged as heat sizzled up his shaft; he groaned into her mouth as he exploded, his seed a hot geyser against her palm.
He sprawled back against the rug like a ragdoll but pulled her tight to his side. With the musk of their intimacy lingering in the air, he pressed his nose into her hair.
Alice’s breath skittered over his cheek as she fixed him and his trousers to rights. “It is moments like this that make me think….”
“Think what?” He angled his head.
Her words were hesitant, as if she were about to bare her deepest, darkest secret. “That I will forever be yours.”
His chest tightened. As usual, he struggled to put into words what he felt. He settled for, “Good, because you are.”
She perked her head up. “What?”
“Marry me.”
Her jaw slackened—her traitorous heart gave a leap. Had she heard what he’d just said? “Pardon?”
Leaning forward, Edward clasped his hands between his legs and pinned her with a significantly hopeless look. “I want you to marry me, Alice.”
“Marry you?” She sat up, her brows lowering. “Edward. Why—why would I marry you? You don’t love me.”
“Love is a complication I do not need,” he uttered. “Alice, do you think that is all there is to marriage? Love . Most of our ton marriages have nothing to do with love.”
The stark cynicism sent a chill through her. He stared at her. Those orbs of his darkened with pain so sharp it felt as if they were knives cutting into her heart. “Love is a dangerous thing, Alice. Love leads you into very dangerous situations. I will never fall in love.”
“Edward, I will not marry for anything but love,” Alice breathed, almost astonished that he would think anything else.
“Think of it,” Edward pressed. “You would be the perfect duchess; you are smart, you-you are practical, and unswayed by the biases of the ton. You have a level head on your shoulders, and Lord knows, the pleasures of yours I yearn to fulfill every night in my bed.” His voice was raw and cracking with need.
“You will have all the worldly goods you desire— everything, and the privilege to do as you please. You will be away from that horrid house and your sister will be above reproach with our titles behind her,” Edward finished eagerly, sitting up now in anticipation. “Think about it, it is the perfect arrangement.”
Her heart took another beat. “Perfect arrangement ? But I… I care about you,” she whispered. “So very much, Edward.”
He let out a breath. “You do?”
She nodded, her eyes misting as her throat thickened with tears.
“Enough to marry me then?” He didn’t miss a beat in pressing his advantage.
“…No,” Alice finished. “Not like this, Edward. I won’t trade my heart for money or furs or jewels. A marriage is nothing if there is no love.”
“Alice, please—”
“Do you love me?”
No answer was forthcoming, but she waited patiently even though with every passing second, something chipped away at her heart.
“Do you love me?” she repeated.
“I want to give you everything you deserve and desire!” Edward growled. “Shouldn’t that be enough?”
“Not without your heart, it will never be enough. I-I shouldn’t have come here,” Alice choked out, rising to her feet. Skirts in hand, she headed to the door. “This was a mistake. I need to leave.”
Wildly, she burst open the door and dashed down the halls, terrified that Edward might pursue her and test her resolve, but when she realized that no thundering footsteps were chasing her, she slowed to a walk.
She hurried down the staircase, heart pounding, wondering if she should venture out into the back and find Penelope—just as the doting pair, shadowed by a maid, arrived in the foyer.
Instantly, Penelope caught sight of her sister’s distress and pulled away from Benedict. “Alice? What’s wrong? Your face is bloodless—”
Marshaling all her strength to smile, she hastened to say, “I am more overwrought than I thought I was once. I hate to cut your time short but, my lord, I fear I— we —need to return home.”
“Of course,” Benedict nodded soberly, hurrying to the front to have his carriage summoned.
“Alice,” Penelope whispered, reaching for Alice’s shoulder, her face awash with worry. “Are you ill? What is going on? You were only a little tired when we arrived. What happened?”
Shrugging her sister’s hand away, Alice shook her head resolutely. “Nothing for you to worry about. It is—”
“But I do worry,” Penelope said, ducking her head to find Alice’s eyes—but she avoided her sister’s gaze. “I cannot see you in this state and not worry.”
“It is nothing—” Alice said desperately, trying hard to calm the pain under her breastbone. “Please, stop asking.”
Benedict returned, his steps hurried. “The carriage has—” his gaze lifted up behind them, “…been summoned.”
Penelope’s gaze trailed Benedict's, and Alice’s eyes followed shortly after. Edward was on the upper level, one hand on the balustrade while he gazed down at them, his dark robe and hair curling at his collar, merging with the shadow behind him.
He towered over her like a stern yet sensual god, silver lightning in his eyes. His smoldering intensity fed the reckless beat in her blood.
After a long moment, Edward simply turned and vanished into the darkness, and only when he was gone could she finally breathe.
“The carriage is waiting,” Benedict spoke into the uncomfortable silence, turning to the door. “I’ll see you two out.”
Retrieving her coat and hat, Alice could not face either Benedict or Penelope; it was clear that something had happened between her and Edward, but she would never say a word about it. She feared that one question would lead to more and more inquiries that might eventually rip her apart to answer.
She seated herself by the rear window while Benedict kissed Penelope’s knuckles and whispered his farewells. Soon after, the carriage began rolling down the driveway. Alice could feel Penelope’s gaze burning into her, but she rested her head in the corner near the window and feigned sleep.
“I know you’re not sleeping, Alice,” Penelope whispered. “I do wish you would tell me what happened to make you so upset.”
My heart is shattered into fragments, that is what.
The raw emotions tearing through her were wholly unexpected and in her ears, she still heard Edward’s voice—or rather, the absence of it.
She took in a shuddery breath.
Why, how many times had she mended a broken pot or piece of clothing? How many times had she taken scraps and made them a masterpiece? She would use all the skills at her disposal and simply fix… herself.
Time heals all wounds, does it not? One day she would look back and only feel a pang of regret, not this crushing, obliterating ache in her heart.
It is time to let him go.
“Do you mind telling me what the devil that was?” Benedict stormed into Edward’s study moments after he had downed another glass of whiskey.
“What was what?” Edward asked, just on the side of tipsy, enough that he did not care his grammar was nonsensical.
“You know damn well what I mean!” Benedict’s mild-mannered personality was gone; instead, he looked like an avenging god on a warpath. “Why did you do that? Why suddenly appear out of nowhere? You very nearly gave Miss Alice a conniption—if you hadn’t already before we found her. What did you do?”
Edward scoffed. “She wouldn’t have swooned.”
“And how do you know that?”
“She’s of stronger stuff than you think,” Edward reached for the bottle.
“I see that,” Benedict looked at him askance, clearly wondering why Edward was drinking himself into a wheelbarrow. “But there is nothing in all creation that will convince me you didn’t do something to make her so strained.”
The brandy burned over his empty stomach and Edward knew he would be paying for his overindulgence and blatant dismissal of minding his health tomorrow—but he was beyond caring. “Leave it alone, Benedict.”
His brother cursed. “You think I am blind, don’t you? I’ve seen how you look at Alice when you think I am focused elsewhere. How you speak around the topic of her in riddles. The invites, the-the portraits! Not to mention how you were on the balcony with her the night Rutledge barged into the ballroom!”
“It is nothing ,” Edward stressed.
“Is that right?” Benedict scoffed, his brow ticking up in cynicism. “When will you just come out and admit that you have something for Miss Alice, man!”
“I do not have the faintest what you mean,” Edward bluffed.
“You might fool the pig-headed men over the whist table, but you do not have one over me. I share half your blood, remember? In fact, I’ve still been waiting for you to explain why Miss Alice was here, in the pouring rain, over three weeks ago.”
Edward’s eyes flicked to meet his brother’s accusatory glare. “How do you know about that?” he demanded.
“I’d left my room for some extra coffee because apparently, my body does not run on the will to stay up on study,” Benedict began. “She was sopping wet and scurried off to your room before I could blink twice. Explain that !”
Edward’s jaw twitched. “That is none of your business.”
“It is when you are so hellbent on hurting the sister of the woman I intend to someday marry,” Benedict snapped. “Are you interested in her? Good god, did you already take her to your bed? What are you doing?”
Slamming the cut down hard enough that the crystal almost crumbled into his fist, he bellowed, “That is none of your business!”
He could not— would not —betray Alice’s trust with anyone, not even his brother, who admittedly would not sway a word. Still, he would not reveal anything—it was bad enough seeing how disastrously his last interaction with Alice had gone.
That night had been nothing but the beginning of an end with what should have been a bright new start. He knew what a colossal mistake he had made and felt that having his heart torn from his chest would’ve been less painful than having her break it.
“Good god, you love her,” Benedict breathed. “You are in love with her.”
“Out,” Edward ordered him. “Get out.”
“Edward—” Benedict flinched when the glass flew past his left ear and shattered on the wall. “I said, get , out .”
Wordless, Benedict turned on his heel and went through the doorway, slamming it behind him. Slumping into his seat, Edward rubbed his eyes and couldn’t help but feel like a heel himself.