Page 114 of A Scot Is Not Enough
“You.”
His lips parted. Unseen defenses shed themselves slowly. “As you do to mine.”
She curled up beside him. “Then tell me what she did to your heart.”
The soft entreaty covered them. Gentle and kind, her bed was a place to take a risk and heal wounds, together.
His chest rose and fell noticeably as words worked their way out. “She chose me first,” he said pointedly. “But she eventually decided that I wasn’t good enough.”
Alexander’s voice cooled on those last words, his pain bared at being deemed insufficient. Being chosen first by the symmetrical Miss Kent must have been important. Equally important was his omission:I loved her and she loved me.
“All my life, my brother has been the anointed one. We fish, and he catches more than me. We shoot, and he hits the target every time. In family matters, he is everything my father wants. A gentleman solicitor, not a barrister. Whereas I...” He waved his hand vaguely. “I have long wanted a different path.”
“Which is not the anointed one.”
“No. Baron of the Exchequer is a stretch.”
“But you are daring enough to seek it.”
“Yes.” His mouth slid handsomely sideways. “You and I are alike in that. I respect you. The caliber of woman you are—your choices, even if I don’t agree with them entirely. You are brave.”
She caressed his ribs. “Thank you.”
“Not quite poetry,” he rasped.
“I don’t want poetry. I want you.”
He folded his hand around hers and brought itto his lips. Intelligence was the backdrop to everything he did, his keen mind, his methodical drive, his undercurrent of daring. A man to lose himself in a task—and a woman—if he found her engaging.
He tucked his arm behind his head and stared at the canopy above. “She sought me, which was flattering.”
Moments passed, measured by more chirping birds and more daylight breaking through their cocoon. A shadow washed his face. Distant pain, she imagined, and she wanted to wipe it away.
“In the end, my choices weren’t good enough for her.Iwasn’t good enough.” The corners of his mouth pinched white. “She wanted a secure path. It wasn’t long after I was in His Grace’s employ when her affections wandered.”
“And your brother swooped in.”
“Which hurt most of all.”
“Not the loss of Miss Kent?”
“No.” He stared at the canopy above. “She sought me; like a fool, I was flattered, assuming my plans would be hers.”
She slid her hand up his shirt and found his heartbeat. The cadence was strong and true, like him.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Alexander wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close. “I’m not. If I would’ve yoked myself to her, then I couldn’t be here with you.”
“Then let’s not waste another minute of our time together.”
She chased away Miss Kent’s shadow by planting passionate kisses on Alexander. To his chest, his neck, nipping here and there. They spent the day in bed, laughing and indulging sensual whims. Together,they were a well-matched pair in bed sport. And when he was flat on his back, she rode him. Her skin sheened and the bed shook, and when her handsome hunter found his pleasure, she did not withdraw from him.
Chapter Thirty-Four
He studied the world beyond Fielding’s office window. Twilight and fat clouds charcoaled Bow Street’s rooftops while London’s good citizens were clutching their coats against trailing winds on the streets below. The very same street Miss Cecelia MacDonald had donned her gloves, flirting, as it were with gentlemen dancing attendance on her, while he’d watched.
Never had he imagined the Scotswoman would sharpen his mind. Or steal his heart. She’d used the tenderest weapons—wit and kisses and motives so pure they glimmered.
