Chapter 39

Agentleman could hardly be moved to do so much for a lady—a rogue, even less.

Thus, it was with this adage in mind that Alice convinced herself that there was no way Colin would remain waiting for her outside the manor.

After all,there were a great many more things that could better occupy his time than waiting for me.

It was such a dismal and sobering thought that she apparently required such little effort on his part when she had already thrown herself at him. She would never be so foolish as to do so again.

On that thought, she would also never give her heart to another man for as long as she lived.

"Will there be anything else, M'Lady?"

Alice watched as her maid set the silver-backed hairbrush back on her vanity. Her mama had accompanied Phoebe that night to a private ball, while Alice had stayed behind, claiming to have some dreadful headache that would render her far too irritable to be good company.

A quick glance at the clock on the mantelpiece told her that it was still a little early—as far as these balls went—but it should not be too early for the gentlemen's clubs.

He is most probably in one of those right now.

Or maybe not. He could already be in bed, albeit with another woman in his arms.

"I think that will be all," she said a little too suddenly. She instantly regretted it when her maid's eyes flickered a little. "You may retire as well. I will be going to bed."

"Good night, M'Lady."

As soon as the maid left her bedchamber with a polite curtsy, Alice let out a soft sigh and pressed her fingers to her temples. What had Colin turned her into? She was not one to be so harsh with the servants, but her moods had been so volatile lately that she feared she was going mad herself.

She glanced out the window to a moonless night shrouded in clouds. The air was strangely still, as if the whole world stood on the precipice of a storm.

She took her candle and walked over to her bed when, on a whim, she decided to look out her windows. Her maid had already drawn the curtains in anticipation of the rain to come.

To her great surprise, she spotted a tall, broad-shouldered man standing just beneath her window.

"Has he gone mad!?" she exclaimed.

She peered again, and true enough, it was no specter but Colin Fitzroy himself, standing stoically as if he had been turned to stone.

As if he sensed her watching him, he looked up, and the smile that blossomed on his face was painfully sad and poignant. The way he looked at her, standing by the windows, was how she imagined Pygmalion might have looked on Galatea—with such painful longing for something that was hopelessly out of reach yet one that he desired with an ache that defied logic.

Is that really Colin?

Alice could hardly believe he would look at her like that. Or that he would resolutely wait for her out in the elements when he could be comfortable in his estate.

Was this, perhaps, some different ruse to see if she would relent in the end?

That thought caused her to frown and drop the curtains angrily. She had vowed she would never be a fool for this man again. What in the name of all that was holy was she doing, drawing parallels between him and Pygmalion, that hopeless romantic who had fallen for his own creation?

Besides, she was not wrought of his hands—she had been a person all her own long before he ever came into her life!

She turned back to the bed and set the candle down on the nightstand with more force than was necessary. If he wished to play the part of the gallant romantic, then so be it! But she would not play along this time.

She threw the covers over herself and turned away from the windows, as if by that simple motion, she could put the man standing outside her window effectively out of mind.

However, the Duke of Thorns proved to have effectively sunk his teeth and claws into her, for as an hour passed, Alice—growing more cross by the minute—still found herself very much awake, unable to get even a wink of sleep.

Why must I obsess over him so?

Alice drew the covers over her head as she muffled a scream with her pillow.

Why can I not simply go back to the way things were before I met Colin Fitzroy?

But the person she once was, stubborn and naive about the whole world, was long gone. In her place was a conflicted, tormented woman half going out of her mind.

As if to underscore her tumultuous thoughts, thunder rumbled outside, followed by a brief flash of lightning. Moments later, a torrential downpour commenced, drenching the world outside.

Colin… he could not have been so stupid as to have remained outside, could he?

Alice hastily threw the covers off herself and pulled the curtains back a little, looking out her window to where the man once stood. Lightning flashed once more, and she let out a sigh of relief when she saw that he was no longer there.

All right… so perhaps he was not so stupid as to continue standing in the rain.

She would not admit to being disappointed that he had actually abandoned his post. After all, she could not reasonably expect him to stand out there in the elements.

The man was a duke, for crying out loud! It would be the joke of the entire Season if he fell ill with a cold waiting outside the window of the woman he was once betrothed to.

Still, Alice could not help the suspicion that he had not truly left.

She took out her umbrella and dashed out of her room, pausing only briefly to grab her robe along the way. With the rain lashing against the brick facade of the manor, it was absolutely foolish to wander out in her flimsy nightclothes.

She opened her umbrella and walked out into the rain, her boots squelching on the soaked ground as she looked around to see if Colin was still anywhere in the vicinity.

I certainly hope that he has gone home.

She might be angry with him, but she was not so evil as to wish harm to befall him.

When her surreptitious inspection yielded nothing, she inwardly let out a relieved sigh and turned back towards the door, when a low, teasing voice spoke out from the shadows.

"If I had known that I had to get wet before you come out to talk to me, perhaps I should have had one of the servants throw a bucket of water at me."

Alice let out a short scream and nearly batted him with her umbrella. Standing before her was Colin, smiling at her as if he was looking at the thing he wanted most in the world.

And looking a little too pleased with himself.

She sniffed and tilted her chin defiantly. "I just feared that we would have to dispose of your corpse in the morning," she told him acidly. "Our family could hardly bear the scandal of your demise on our estate."

"So morbid." He chuckled, walking over to her until he stood beneath her umbrella as well. "But that is what I love about you—among a great many things."

She frowned as she looked up at him. Her heart pounded so loudly at his words that she feared he would be able to hear it above the din of the rain and thunder.

"Y-you are going to catch your death in this rain," she stammered, feeling suddenly shy. "I cannot believe you would be so silly as to stay out here all this time."

He tilted her chin so that her gaze would meet his solemn one. "I would stay out for far longer until you would forgive me."

Forgive him? Could she really?

She sighed and nodded towards the door. "Come inside and get warm. I shall see about a change of clothes."

She tugged at his soaked sleeve and led him to her bedchamber, where she threw him a towel and an oversized robe.

"Dry yourself and change into the robe," she instructed him. "If we place your clothes by the fire, they might dry quicker."

Colin smiled in thanks but then frowned when he saw that the robe in his hands was one that definitely belonged to a man.

"Who does this robe belong to?" he demanded softly.

Alice looked at the robe in confusion and then rolled her eyes at him. "Please do not pretend like you do not know the shenanigans I have been up to. Men's clothing makes it much easier for me to slip out of the estate without being recognized."

He smiled at her explanation. "I have almost forgotten just how naughty you can be."

Alice shrugged. "I have done much worse. I do not deserve half the patience my parents have shown me. In any other household, I might have been whipped terribly for my mischief."

"I do not think anyone would have the heart to beat you, little lamb."

Her heart clenched painfully to hear him refer to her by that affectionate nickname. She blinked her eyes rapidly to chase away the tears that had begun to sting her eyes.

"Get changed, and I shall place your clothes by the fire. The sooner they dry, the sooner you can leave."

She turned away from him, but his hand wrapped around her wrist, stopping her. She looked up at him with a frown.

"What do you intend to do, Colin?" she demanded, hating the way her voice broke. Hating the way he still managed to get under her skin after he had hurt her so, so much.

Had she not learned her lesson? Had the pain not been enough?

He raised his hand to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing a tear that fell unbidden.

"I came here to give you a gift," he told her tenderly.

"What gift?" She laughed harshly. "Perhaps what you mean is that you brought payment for services rendered?"

"Do not ever refer to yourself in such a degrading way," he implored her. "It was my fault. I hurt you, and that is a crime I will carry to my grave."

He sighed and took something out from underneath his coat. "I would have stayed out in the rain longer, but I could not risk getting this wet."

Alice stared at the nondescript package wrapped in brown paper that he handed to her. She took it with some confusion, feeling its weight in her hands.

With aching slowness, she unwrapped it, sucking in a harsh breath when she saw what lay underneath the lumpy packaging. It was La Philosophie dans Le Boudoir.

The translated version.

A harsh laugh erupted from her throat.

"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded.

Colin smiled gently at her. "I brought it to you, so we could read it together."

"Together?" She laughed bitterly. "You must have been mistaken, Your Grace. We have already broken off our betrothal. There is no need for such gifts between us and certainly not one as inappropriate as this."

"You are furious, I understand that. If you would hurl it at my face, I would not fault you for it. But Alice…" He took her hands in his and looked deeply into her eyes.

In them, she saw remorse and a sincerity that shattered the last of her defenses. She wanted so badly to believe him, to believe that she had a chance of capturing the elusive heart of the man before her, but pain had made her blind to almost everything else. It was her last shred of self-preservation that erected the wall between them, and now she stood wholly vulnerable once more.

Just as she always had been.

"I have hurt you," he said hoarsely, "when I only ever meant to protect you from myself."

She shook her head, her tears streaming down her cheeks. "Don't you think that it was my choice to make whether I wanted to be with you or not?"

"I was a fool," he admitted. "I had grown up witnessing my father's jealousy and feared I had inherited the same madness that ran in his blood. When my parents perished in the fire at Blackthorn Estate, I was certain that it was his jealous rage that claimed their lives. I was wrong. My father loved my mother more than life itself. It was not his insanity I inherited. It was his passion."

He reached out for her. "I know now that I could never hurt you, my dear, sweet Alice. I cannot live without you."

"Well, it is too late for that now," she said, angrily wiping her tears. "You've already done your worst. I must have been such a joke to you, the easiest conquest you've ever had!"

He reeled back as if she had slapped him physically. "Do not ever refer to yourself in that way!" he implored her.

"Oh, but is that not the truth?" she laughed harshly. "With other women, you would woo them with poems and all that romantic nonsense. Seduce them to come to your bed. You did not even have to spend half the effort to get me there!"

"Who told you that?" he demanded darkly.

"Lady Pembroke did!" she flung at him. "She did because she probably took pity on me for being such a fool for you!"

He cut off her angry tirade by reaching for the back of her neck and pulling her to him in a scorching kiss that blasted away all that was left of her resistance. His lips mashed against hers, his fingers digging almost painfully into her flesh.

They parted breathlessly, and Colin leaned his forehead against hers. He caught her hand gently in his and pressed it to his groin, where he was already hard and straining against his breeches.

"This is why I had not the forbearance to recite poems," he admitted hoarsely. "Can you not see how much I want you, Alice? How could I think of any poem when all I could think of was you?"

Alice sucked in a deep breath, her fingers curling reflexively around his engorged manhood through his clothes, eliciting a tormented hiss from him.

"With other women, it had become a sort of game for me," he confessed. "It was abominable of me, I know, but we were all players. With you, it is different. With you, I am consumed by passion. I have no control left in me. All I want is you, my little lamb, and my every rational thought is consumed by you."

She looked up at him, to his eyes, which were dark with lust and want and something else. Something that went far deeper.

"You want me," she murmured.

"More than reason," he whispered hoarsely. "More than life itself."

Her heart soared, and with a slight smile, she stepped away from him. Colin let out a soft sound of protest, but he held himself back.

Alice smiled at him as she pulled at the laces of her nightclothes and allowed the damp shift to slide off her body until she stood naked before him in the firelight.

She watched as his nostrils flared ever so slightly. Noted the clenching of his jaw. Saw how his eyes drank her in with a deep yearning.

"Then have me," she whispered.