Chapter Eighteen #3
He laughed heartily. Alexander found himself wanting to stay in her room longer. Only there was nothing left to do. Or say. His duty was done. Perhaps it was this pathetic desire for more of her company that led him to ask: “Would you go to the Henderson ball with me next week?”
Harriet looked startled at the prospect. “You know I can’t—I can’t dance.”
“I’m intimately aware.”
“And you want me to go with you? As your wife?”
“It would look rather odd if you went with me as anything else.”
She smiled up at him. “All right, then. I’ll go.” But her face fell almost immediately.
“Regretting your decision already?” he teased lightly, even as he held his breath for her response.
“Oh no, it’s just … well, I have nothing to wear to a ball.
Nothing that would be suitable for your …
wife.” She swallowed the word, as if she was embarrassed to say it.
“Regrettably, Philippa’s dress is quite the worse for wear.
In fact, I’m not certain where my lady’s maid has it. She is attempting some alterations.”
If that lady’s maid valued her job, she would be very careful not to alter that dress too much. Alexander would make sure of that. After a distracted moment, he pulled himself together enough to respond. “I will make arrangements for a dress.”
“You will?” She seemed dubious. He wasn’t used to people doubting his abilities.
“I will.”
She looked quite satisfied, and he had the feeling, self-aggrandizing though it may be, that he’d made her feel that way. That he’d pleased her. The idea alone made him feel lighter than he had in ages. He was almost at the door of his dressing room when she called out to him.
“Thank you again. I’m glad we’re friends.”
He laughed lightly. Friends, indeed. He’d never wanted to bite the buttons off his friends’ clothing.
“Me too, Harriet.”
Back in his own room, Alexander spent the night tossing and turning.
Well, first he took care of the urgent matter of his own pleasure—an act which usually lulled him into a restful sleep.
This time, however, he felt unsated. It wasn’t enough to imagine her, fully nude, hair splayed, lips parted, panting under him.
His mind wished to imagine every possible scenario before he reached his peak, which was quite impossible as the whole endeavor lasted barely a minute, so eager was he.
When it was over, he felt even more frustrated than before, knowing he wasn’t going to be allowed to reenact any of what he’d envisioned. Unless she needed help again. Lord, he dearly hoped she did. Although Harriet did seem rather put out by having to ask.
He shouldn’t keep helping her.
He couldn’t.
If they kept on like this, they’d both want more. He already did.
Less than a fortnight ago the woman had thought she might go her whole life without being kissed.
Now she was begging for release in his mouth.
When she discovered more—when she discovered how much she liked more—she would find someone to give it to her.
He hadn’t lied when he said any man would line up to help her.
When she discovered how much more there was, his hands wouldn’t be enough. His mouth wouldn’t be enough.
He wouldn’t be enough.
He sat up in bed, wide awake despite the hour.
He was irritable and unsatiated and he knew what he needed to do.
Whom he needed to see. He dressed hastily, forgoing his valet’s help yet again.
Coleson was probably already looking for a new employer.
But there was no need to wake anyone. Besides, Alexander didn’t exactly relish someone else witnessing what he was about to do.
His own conscience itched enough as it was.
Not even three quarters of an hour later, his carriage pulled up to Giuliana’s town house.
He dearly hoped she was still awake. He wasn’t one of those men who felt a mistress ought to be at his beck and call all hours of the day and night; he usually sent word well before their assignations. This did feel rather urgent, however.
Alexander knocked at the door and, after waiting a few moments, produced the key and entered. It was, after all, his home in a certain sense. No doubt her butler was asleep, even though the hall lights remained lit. He called out quietly for Giuliana and set forth into the house.
He eventually found her butler, Sanderson, in a rather advanced state of undress in the library, across from Giuliana who was halfway through a dreadful portrait of the man.
Giuliana being inept at something—anything—tickled Alexander, who, like most people who’d met the woman, had assumed her to be infallible.
“Darling,” Giuliana drawled, not looking up from her mediocre work. Both men present inclined their heads. “Won’t you give us a moment?” Neither man knew whom she required privacy with and thus neither moved.
“Sanderson,” she said, his name a caress, “do you mind if I meet with Lord Alexander here and we can conclude our undertaking another day?”
At the use of his name, the butler seemed to remember his station. He blushed deeply and stood, gathering a too-small scrap of silk that had been elegantly draped over his body and waddling out of the room.
Giuliana shared a smile with Alexander and chewed on the end of her paintbrush. “A dear, isn’t he?” she asked, eyes twinkling.
“And so dedicated to his employment,” Alexander replied, choosing the divan that Sanderson had not been occupying.
Giuliana stood, revealing that her own state of undress was rather more considerable than it appeared at first glance. She wore an entirely transparent robe, so delicate as to be impractical for anything other than raising the heart rate of a lover.
She put her paintbrush down and crossed to her sideboard for two glasses of Alexander’s favorite brandy.
The sight was, Alexander could admit, alluring.
But not in the way he’d hoped. He’d wanted, desperately, to arrive here and be just as overwhelmed with the reality of Giuliana as he had been with the fantasy of Harriet.
“How is your lovely wife?” she asked, slyly, handing Alexander his drink as she sipped her own.
“Asleep,” he replied, unnerved by her ability to read his thoughts.
“I must admit,” she began, her voice smoky and alluring, “I wasn’t expecting you to come back. Unless you’ve come to end our arrangement and reclaim your house?” Alexander choked a bit on the brandy. He hadn’t even considered doing so.
“No, no. I’m not—You’re welcome here. I came—” He paused then, tilting his head in confusion. “Why did you think I wouldn’t be back?”
“You never struck me as the type to keep a mistress once married,” she said gingerly, as if she didn’t want to alarm him.
“But I never meant to marry. Besides, I’m a rake.” The plainspoken pronouncement made her laugh—a laugh that Alexander knew used to make him want her. Which now, though charming, didn’t. The activities of the night must have confused his poor mind.
“Alexander, you are not a rake,” she said.
At his incredulous look, she laughed again.
“Oh, I know you intend to be. You try at it most ardently. You are …” She searched for another word.
“You are a lover,” she continued, cutting off whatever argument he was going to wage.
“You are amiable, forbearing, and quite generous. I have never felt used, humiliated, or neglected by you. You take other lovers only when the opportunity is easy and pleasant for everyone involved, not out of an insatiable need for adoration or possession. You simply seem to like women.”
“I am quite certain my reputation comes from more than me liking women.”
“All right. You like swiving them. You’re occasionally good at it too,” she teased.
“Now,” she continued, and Alexander was reminded of his wife.
Was he damned somehow to be surrounded by women who never let him get a word in?
His mouth lifted into an involuntary smile at the thought of Harriet.
“I am quite happy to fuck you senseless tonight if you should like. It has never been a chore to bed you. But I’d like you to be certain of what you want. ”
Even as she said this, she slipped off her dress, which, though transparent to begin with, was still exciting: Seeing a naked woman was seeing a naked woman, after all.