She closed her eyes, shivering. “You are so young.”
“But not too young.” He kissed the top of her cheek, just below her eye. “And not too inexperienced, I hope.”
“I didn’t imagine you were.” There was no way on earth a man could kiss like that and be a virgin. The thought of Alec in bed with a woman shocked her into stillness. But he had been. Of course he had been. Some other woman had been his first. And there had been others after that, she was certain. He seemed to have guessed what she was thinking because his beautiful mouth curved. She tried for dignity and suspected she’d failed. “You must have been very much in demand in London.”
“Oh, yes,” he said, a laugh in his voice. His fingers splayed over her lower back and kept her close. “All the young gentlemen are put to stud in London.”
“That isn’t what I meant.” The whole time, she stroked his face, tracing the outline of his mouth, the slant of his cheekbones, the soft depression just beneath his eyes. She wondered about the woman who’d been his first and imagined him touching her, kissing her body, the very first time he slid into a woman. “Was she very beautiful?”
His hand on her waist slipped to the small of her back and his fingers angled down. Tonight, of all nights, she’d worn a short corset and there was, in fact, very little material between his hand and the side of her hip. “Yes. But not as beautiful as you.”
Alec kissed her again and she buried one hand in his lovely, thick dark hair, while the other clutched his shoulder. Her shawl was tangled between them with one corner dangling to her feet, which she knew because she was stepping on the end. She let her neck relax until the moment his palm supported the weight of her head, and imagined how the moonlight must be silvering her face, seeping into her blood, into the marrow of her bones.
His breath felt warm on her cheek. “Philippa.”
Her name was a whisper. Soft as a petal. Calling to her in a way that made her heart feel too big for her chest. No one had whispered her name like that since William. An endearment, his whisper was. So achingly sweet. She did not release him. In such moments of inaction were momentous decisions made.
He lowered his head again, and his lips slid down her throat, trailing soft kisses. Gentle kisses. Needful kisses that brought tears to her eyes. His hand on her hip moved away, but only long enough to gather up her shawl and drape the end over her shoulder. He took a step forwards, holding her, moving them, she realized, deeper into the garden.
Philippa’s eyes fluttered open and her gaze locked with his. She understood the look in his eyes, the touch of his fingertips, the reason they were now standing completely out of the circle of light from the house. If one of the servants happened to look out the window, they would not be seen.
She shivered. Not because she was cold. These feelings were wrong, but, oh, since he’d been away he’d become a lovely man. Not a boy any longer. A man, fully grown. And her friend, too. They had written to each other, holding back so little of themselves. She knew so many of his secrets, and he hers. She trusted him. She knew him to be thoughtful. Principled. A gentleman.
“Don’t go home tonight,” he whispered. “Stay with me. Even if only for a while, Philippa.” His voice slid between them, a low, enticing whisper. In the dark, in just the light from the moon, she had to strain to see him. He wrapped his fingers in the folds of her shawl and pulled her closer.
She missed the passion of her marriage and now that this so very young man had awakened such longing in her, she wanted to say yes. She wasn’t sure she could do anything but assent. Seconds ticked away.
“Christ,” he said, his voice low and dark. And he sounded like a man who knew what he wanted and intended to have it. “Don’t say no.”
She cupped his face in her hands, leaning against his torso. “Alec, how can we?”
“The usual way,” he said. “The way any man and woman do.”
She shook her head then realized he probably couldn’t see her. Not well enough. His cheeks were smooth, but since he was so dark-haired, he’d probably shaved before he came downstairs for the ball. Once again, she didn’t step away. She didn’t even let go of his face.
“Good.” He kissed her again, sweetly, cajoling her, keeping her close against him, and, Lord save her, she kissed him back again. Foolish. So foolish. Even while she thought that, her hand slid around to the back of his neck, and she wished desperately she wasn’t wearing gloves. She pulled back, and he drew in a quick breath.
He let go of her and dug into an interior pocket of his coat. “There’s a private entrance round the back. The stairs exit directly into my room. We can go there now and see where this leads us.”
“No,” she whispered. She pressed her palm over his hand, trapping it in his pocket. She could salvage this. Save them both the awkwardness of a moment lost to moonlight. “No. Alec,” she whispered. “I can’t.”
“Why?”
“I never meant for that to happen. To let you kiss me like that.”
He worked his hand free of his pocket and caught her hand in his. “Lie to me if you like, but don’t lie to yourself.”
Good heavens, he was throwing her own words back at her. Words she’d said to him years ago whenever he said something dishonest. She took a step back and shook out her skirt. She was horribly aroused. Her body tingled with anticipation and desire. “Touché, My Lord.”
“I’m sorry you lost William.” He caught her other hand in his and held both hands tight. Her heart gave a twist in her chest. “I am sorry. Believe that if you believe nothing else I ever say to you. If he were still alive, I’d be happy for you.” He lowered his voice. “But he isn’t, Philippa. Don’t live as if you’d died, too.”
“I thought I had.” To her horror, her voice hitched.
He pulled her into his arms again. “That’s the reason you think you ought to marry that prig Bancroft, isn’t it? So you won’t have to love anyone again.” He closed the gap between them and put his mouth by her ear. “Don’t deny it.”
And then, the wicked, wicked man’s tongue flicked out and touched the side of her neck.
“You’re wrong,” she said.
“Liar.”
She didn’t answer.
“I’m going to strip you naked,” he said. “And ask you to do a hundred sinful things to me.” The rawness of his voice set off a quivering need in her. He grabbed her hand and started walking and she, who could have objected, did not, even though he wasn’t heading back to the terrace.
A thousand times between then and now Philippa could have objected. She didn’t. And the astonishing thing was that she wasn’t the least bit conflicted, even though she’d let him make the decision for her. She’d done so even though, since William’s death, she’d had to take control of her life and was now well used to dealing with her own affairs and making her own decisions.
She was perfectly capable of directing the course of her life.
Philippa followed him to the back of Frieth House and stayed silent when he fitted his key to the door. For now, she resisted the urge to lay her hand on Alec’s back. Instead, she imagined the warmth, the play of muscle underneath his coat she would soon feel if she were to do something so bold.
Click.
Not a moment later, they were inside with the door closed behind them, away from the moonlight and enveloped in the darkness of the stairwell. He let out a breath, low and soft as silk. They stood there by the door. Alec didn’t move. He didn’t give her space. She didn’t make any.
“It’s been too long for me,” she said.
“I know.”
Time stretched to eternity. She might die from the anticipation of the next moments. Her stomach took flight when he leaned in. She did the same, leaned towards him. Alec took a step forwards, she took one backwards until there wasn’t any farther she could go. He kissed her there, with her head and shoulders touching the wall behind her. His kiss was slow. Tender. Thorough. She melted against him. Surrendered to him.