"My apologies," she said, turning to Sam, crumpling the note in her hand. "That will be all, Loucas, thank you."
"Yes, miss." With a sharp glance in Sam's direction, he left.
The moment the door closed on their visitor, Sam tossed the cognac bottle toward a settee and asked coolly, "Have we been under surveillance today?"
"No, but I'm absolutely mortified, and I don't blame you in the least for being annoyed." She grimaced. "It's my mother."
"How did she find you?" There was no conciliation in his tone or in his gaze.
"I don't know if you're aware, but my father is Greek consul in London and his merchant business, too, offers him, shall we say, a broad range of contacts in the City. At all levels of society," she quietly added.
"He has informers," Sam said curtly.
"I'm not sure he personally has any, but he has access to them."
"And he wished to find you."
"Actually, my mother did." She shrugged. "She worries, and he must placate her, and if it's any consolation, he apologized for his intrusion."
"Gratifying," Sam conceded, his gaze dubious.
"I do apologize most humbly."
Sam was silent, and her embarrassment deepened. She didn't know what more she could say. That this had never happened before? That her mother considered him unacceptable company for her daughter? That her mother wished her to marry a Greek shipping merchant and have a dozen children?
"Fuck." The soft expletive was pronounced with a distinct scowl.
This probably wasn't the time for levity, Alex reflected, although it was tempting, and she suppressed the impulse to say here or on the rooftop? Instead, she said, "I'm sure you'd rather I leave now. I can find a hackney to take me home."
"Sit." He pointed to a chair.
His brusque tone stripped away any further thought of remorse, and she drew herself up to her full height. "I beg your pardon?"
His gaze seemed to refocus, and his voice when he spoke held its familiar warmth. "Please sit, darling. And forgive my gruffness. I was just wondering if perhaps we should reply to your father's note. Reassure him of your safety."
"Don't joke, Sam"-her voice took on a nervous edge-"you don't know my mother. She'll be on your doorstep in no time."
"We could invite her in for tea," he drawled, his good spirits returning as he realized he was dealing only with a domineering mother. That particular style of female was familiar to him.
"No, we could not! We will most certainly not! We-I… neither of us wants to see my mother over tea or otherwise." She could just imagine the scene. "My mother has very set notions of a woman's role, none of which I conform to. She's particularly offended that I'm her only child who hasn't given her grandchildren, and she reminds me of that deficit several hundred times a year."
"We could work on that," he teased.
"She would prefer a legitimate grandchild," Alex replied tartly, "and I doubt that was a proposal of marriage I just heard."
"And if it were?" Even as he recognized the flippancy of his question, the matter of her answer intrigued him.
"I would refuse, of course, because I prefer a husband who understands what the word marriage means."
"Do I detect a modicum of censure?"
"If modicum means oceans full and mountains high, you'd be close."
"And yet your mother disapproved of your marriages, when both men were clearly stable and reputable."
"How did you know?"
He grinned. "A wild guess. And she disapproves of me, I expect, although, I admit, I'm in awe of the Ionides spy system. I met you just yesterday."
Alex grimaced. "Terrifying, isn't it?"
"It almost makes one consider locking the bedroom door and closing the draperies."
"I'd recommend it."
"So that leaves out the rooftop."
"Really, Sam, you needn't be polite. Loucas's appearance must have been unsettling."
For a man who'd performed sexually before spectators on occasion when the revels at Hattie's turned lewd, a servant delivering a note hardly bore notice. Now that the explanation was clear. "Is it unsettling for you?"
"Of course."
"How much?" And then he smiled and opened his arms and said very low, "Queen Elizabeth actually slept in my bed, and I was thinking you might like to try it out before you leave."
She didn't reply immediately, but the pleasure Sam offered was no longer an unknown, and the tantalizing possibilities in staying overwhelmed prudent behavior. "I suppose," she said, walking toward him, "lying in Queen Elizabeth's bed would be in the nature of a history lesson-an edifying experience."
"I could guarantee the edifying part." He ran his hands down her arms as she reached him. When their fingers touched and twined, he drew her close. "And I can't let you go."
"Nor do I wish to leave… although-"
"We'll worry about that in the morning," he whispered.
"I warn you, I'm an early riser."
"I wasn't planning on sleeping."
"Oh," she said on a caught breath.
He found himself charmed by the lovely Miss Ionides's naivete.
Chapter Fourteen
His bedroom was small and plainly furnished with a tester bed, two chairs, a small table, and a bureau. The walls were covered in tapestries depicting the life of Ulysses, the bed hung with green cut-velvet in a design contemporary to the building. The fabric was new, as was the upholstery on the chairs. The only light was from two huge silver candelabra.
"In the interests of privacy," Sam said, walking over and pulling the draperies shut. "And I'm definitely interested in privacy," he whispered a moment later when he returned to take her into his arms.
"I'm not sure I can guarantee it," Alex said, smiling.
"Then we'll lock the door." He went to the door and turned the key in the lock, then tossed the key on the table. He approached her with a smile. "You're mine now until I let you go."
"Or you're mine," she replied lightly.
The idea of belonging to someone, even temporarily, struck him as odd; he'd been selfishly alone for so long. "I might be more than you can handle." He gave her a roguish wink.
She kicked off her silver kid slippers. "I think I'll manage."
"Let me help you."
"Manage you?"
"Undress."
"And then I'll help you-undress. I never have, you know." Her comment was spontaneous, part of the exuberance that filled her soul in this small, candlelit room where the Virgin Queen had once slept.
"Then I'll have to see that the occasion is memorable," he replied, keeping his voice sportive with effort when he felt instead a jolt of inexplicable pleasure. "We'll start with you." Leaning close, he unclasped one of the large pearl ear drops she wore.
She trembled at the delicacy of his touch, anticipation warming her senses. "I wanted to make love to you all evening," she admitted.
"While I didn't know how much longer I could play the gentleman." He unloosened the second earring and placed it with the first on the bureau top.
"Please don't any longer."
"It's been almost three hours-I'm damned proud of myself."
"Three and a half, and I'm not interested in pride." She was unbuckling the mother-of-pearl belt buckle at her waist, a note of haste in her voice.
Recognizing the tone, he turned her around by her shoulders and quickly unhooked the back of her gown. As the belt and light summer garment fell to the carpet, she spun to him, threw her arms around his neck, and pressed into his body. "I think there's something wrong with me," she whispered. "I'm frantic to have you make love to me… I'm never like this-never-frantic about anything, and I apologize. But if you don't mind, maybe we could undress you afterward…"