Winning a Lady's Heart (Danby #1)(2)

There was desperation to Nathan’s words, words that shook with the force of his emotion.

Alexandra’s lips turned up. “Silly man. Why ever would I judge you for the faults of your father? You are not like him. You’re not,” she insisted when he made a sound of disagreement.

“I like the card tables.”

Alexandra rolled her eyes. “Really, Nathan. Name a gentleman who does not.”

He settled back into his seat but didn’t argue the point.

“Come, let us speak of something altogether more pleasant.” She picked up the forgotten book of poetry resting at her side, a very special gift that Lord Byron had given to Nathan. Nathan had, in turn, given the personal collection of poems to Alexandra. She handed it to him now.

He opened to a random selection and studied the title. His lips twitched in the first real amusement she’d seen from him that morning.

Alexandra glanced down at the poem he’d landed on and read aloud. “Maid of Athens, ere we part,” she muttered.

He fanned through several pages and opened to—

Nathan froze.

Alexandra cursed quietly, words unfit for a lady. “Epitaph to a Dog?” She freed her arm from his and tugged the book from his hands. “Oh, do give me that. You really must speak to your friend about his penchant for writing such grim poems.” She very deliberately scanned through the volume until settling on Lines Addressed to a Young Lady.

She thrust the book back into his hands. “Here. Now read.”

Nathan laughed, not the frighteningly aloof sound he’d mustered earlier, but the one which always filled her with happiness. He tugged one of the pale, golden curls artfully hanging beside her cheek. “How can I deny such a lovely request?”

He proceeded to read in his mellifluous, silken tone that had the power to warm her through like a summer sun.

“The sentence I should scarce deplore;

It only would restore a heart,

Which but belong’d to thee before.

The least atonement I can make

Is to become no longer free…”



The final words faded to a faint quietness so that Alexandra strained to hear.

He traced distracted circles with his finger over the poem. “I cannot do this,” he said into the silence of the room.

Alexandra’s gaze studied the movements of his fingers. Six-Seven-Eight-Nine-Ten.

“Ten circles,” she added inanely.

He snapped the book closed and leapt to his feet, as though the settee had sprung metal spikes.

“Nath—”

Nathan dragged her to her feet and, before she knew what he intended, his lips found hers. Her body liquefied under the seductive pull of his kiss. His arms wrapped around her, tugging her close to his center so her breasts were crushed to the hard wall of his chest.

He had kissed her before. But never like this. Never this unrestrained feeling that the world could end and they’d be just fine as long as they were wrapped safely in one another’s arms.

In his arms, she felt…beautiful. She forgot that she was short of stature and a bit too plump for Society’s dictates. Forgot that she had a smattering of freckles along the bridge of a slightly bumped nose.

She moaned, which allowed him to slip his tongue inside her mouth. She stiffened at the unexpectedness of the sensation, until a wave of heat crashed over her, engulfing her in a conflagration. Alexandra tentatively touched her tongue to his. When he groaned in approval, she responded in earnest.

She twined her hands about his neck and angled her head to better avail herself to the full onslaught of his expert kiss. She wanted more. Needed more. But didn’t know what more was.

Then just like that, he set her away from him. The sound of harsh, fast breathing filled the room. Nathan’s chest rose and fell; her heart raced. She couldn’t say whose breath it was.

He devoured her with one long, lingering stare, as if he were attempting to ingrain the image of her on his memory. “Goodbye, Alexandra,” he said softly.

And then he was gone.

Alexandra stood rooted to the spot he’d left her, chilled by trepidation and uncertainty. An ominous shriek rent the air, followed by the quick rhythmic click of boot steps, cementing the fear in her belly.

Her father, the portly Marquess of Tewkesbury, filled the doorway, his face florid with barely suppressed rage, her mother sobbing at his side. He brandished a paper in his hand.

“What—”

“Where is that scoundrel?” her father bellowed and took a quick turn around the parlor, his eyes conducting a sweeping scan of the room.

“Mother?” Alexandra looked to her pleadingly.

Her mother was incapable of words and instead shook her head and blubbered into a handkerchief.

Her father strode over to Alexandra and thrust the paper at her. “Here,” he barked.

With hands that shook, she unfolded the copy of the Times.

Her father jabbed a finger halfway down the front page. “Take a read there. That’s the gentleman you fell in love with.”

Fear stabbed at her, making it difficult to breathe. In spite of her father shaking the paper at her and insisting she read the damning story in print, and despite her mother’s noisy sobbing, Alexandra couldn’t make her fingers move to accept the paper.

“Take it!”

She took it and…