THIRTEEN
REMARKABLE.
It had been that and more; an hour later, Tony still couldn’t rationalize how very different the interlude had been, that she, a rank novice, had been the one woman in all his years to shatter his control, capture him utterly, forcing him to rely wholly on instinct, thus taking him to…wherever they had been.
A plane on which the pleasure defied all description, in which the physical had been a golden echo of something else.
An unworldly, unearthly, otherworldly place.
In all his years, through all his experience, he’d never even imagined such an exchange could be, or that such a place existed.
On rousing, he’d disengaged and lifted from her. Lying on his back, he’d gathered her to him; unresisting, she’d let him settle her against him, within the circle of his arms, her head on his shoulder.
The covers lay warm about them. Night lay like a blanket over the house; the moonlight had strengthened. He glanced at her face; she still seemed sunk in pleasured oblivion. Lifting his hand, he tentatively touched her hair. When she didn’t stir, he set his palm to the silky tresses, smoothing them, drinking in the feel of their warm softness.
Lying back, he looked up at the canopy; slowly stroking, he tried to think.
The gentle, rhythmic comforting caress gradually drew Alicia back into the world. Warmth held her; pleasure still lay heavy in her veins. A sense of safety she’d never before known, so deep, so solid its existence was beyond question, wrapped her about, supporting, reassuring.
She sighed, and her wits returned.
And she remembered. Everything. All of it.
Every moment that had passed since he’d drawn her into his arms, every touch, every blissful second.
His arms remained around her, steel bands cradling her, gently enough, yet still overtly possessive.
The stroking slowed; his hand stilled. He knew she was awake.
Opening her eyes, she shifted her head and looked up. Met his gaze. Excruciatingly aware that she lay naked in his arms, that he was naked, too. Aware that their limbs were tangled, that they lay slumped together in a warm cocoon of rumpled sheets.
His black eyes held hers; it was impossible to read anything from them or his face. “When did you intend to tell me?” His tone was even, uninflected.
She searched his face, remembered…refocused on his eyes. “You knew.”
He’d known she was—had been—a virgin; he’d watched for every second as he’d taken her virginity, as she’d willingly yielded it to him.
He looked down, at her hand spread on his bare chest. He took it in his; his long fingers toyed with hers. “There wasn’t any trace of any Carrington anywhere near Chipping Norton. No entry in the parish records. No one of that name known at any of the stables or inns. Yet many knew the Misses Pevensey—both Misses Pevensey.”
He glanced up; his eyes were sharp as they found hers. “I would have stopped if you’d wanted me to.”
A statement, but there was a question buried in it. She held his gaze steadily. “I know.”
She let the two words stand alone, a simple acknowledgment of the decision she’d made. She’d gone to him willingly; she wasn’t about to pretend otherwise.
What was done was done; she was his mistress now.
She frowned. “How did you learn…?” The truth struck her, left her horrified. “Your friend?”
Incipient panic flared in her eyes; Tony closed his hand over hers. “There’s no need to worry.” He hesitated, then explained, “Jack Warnefleet—Lord Warnefleet—investigated Ruskin for me. He also asked after your supposed husband, Alfred Carrington. Another A. C.”
Understanding lit her eyes; he added, “We can rely on Jack’s absolute discretion.”
She studied his face, his eyes; a long moment passed, then she asked, “That was the urgent information he sent you the note about last night?”
He felt his jaw set. “He knew I’d want to know.”
She blinked, then her lashes veiled her eyes. “I couldn’t tell you.” A heartbeat passed, then she added, “I couldn’t risk it.”