Page 59 of Single Desire
A ruse? No, he decided. Pride? Oh, aye, indeed. Yet it pleased him—pleased him immeasurably—to see her delight over her stockings. He wondered what she would say when the rest of his purchases arrived. When they had left Madame Rousseau’s shop, no doubt Madame rubbed her hands together in glee.
But he must own up to the truth. It was he who had sought her out that night. But then, she had participated—oh, most willingly! He gave a brittle laugh; he was certain it had nothing to do with his appearance.
And everything to do with the fact that he was the Duke of Gleneden.
But it certainly didn’t seem as if it was his person or his possessions that she coveted!
What then? He examined her motives. What was she after? What had brought her to Gleneden?
He couldn’t dispel the notion that the lovely Maura McBride—he was rather startled at how easily her new name slipped through his mind—was up to something. She wanted something. But what the devil could it be, if not his name and his fortune?
Alec smiled tightly. Maura had been shocked at his blatant caress tonight. Her flesh had clamped tight around his finger, so tight he’d had to halt his penetration. So tight that for an instant a fleeting notion ran through his mind.
But that was impossible. If he didn’t know better—if he hadn’t seen for himself the bloodstained proof upon the sheets—along with Maura, her uncle, and the baron, he could almost believe…
Suspicion gnawed at him. He groped for memory. Snatches of remembrance appeared and disappeared, just beyond his reach. He’d always felt that something was amiss about that night. He set aside the glass and pushed both fingers into his temples. Why couldn’t he remember making love to her? Why? It was as if his mind had been wiped clean, as if there was a gaping hole. He fought to bridge the gap. He fought to recall every detail. Why the devil couldn’t he remember bedding her?
His mind worked furiously. How could the memory elude him so? Why couldn’t he remember? He’d shared a whiskey with the baron before the masquerade. In light of being found in bed with her the next morning, he had believed the only thing possible—that he must have been feeling the effects of too much liquor by the time he took Maura up to his room more than he realized. But to be so foxed that he couldn’t remember bedding the woman who was now his wife? It nagged at him.
His mind was like a cobweb. Hazy, yet impenetrable.
He tried again.
And this time…ah, this time! Sketched in his mind were hot, enflamed kisses. Maura pulling briefly away to pour wine. He’d drained his glass. So had she.
He closed his eyes. Memory sharpened.
Bottoms up, he’d said. And then—
He’d tugged Maura down onto the bed. The taste of her mouth, the curl of his tongue around her nipples…every touch returned in vivid recall. He remembered his hand over hers, closing her fingers around his shaft, one by one, her touchalmost timid. Vaguely, he remembered thinking it so at odds with her sultry invitation.
Then everything blurred. It was as if his mind had gone blank until he woke the next morning.
A fleeting sensation passed through him. The thought unveiled a vague sensation; he fought to keep hold of it. Another sensation caught hold…that of Maura tugging. At his boots. At his breeches…
All along he had sensed that something was not right. There was a reason behind it, he was certain.
And that reason had something—everything!—to do with his bride. He held his liquor well. That’s what made it so difficult to believe he’d been to bed with a virgin. And he had been fine.
Until that last glass of wine.
His body went utterly still.
Until that last glass of wine.
“Oh, God,” he whispered.
It was suddenly all so very vivid. He could see it in his mind; hear the way their glasses clinked. Bottoms up, he had declared.
He swore, a long, blistering oath.
It made sense now. Her shyness whenever he touched her. The way she responded, the way she resisted before ultimately yielding her lips to his.
And now he knew why.
She had drugged his wine, the little witch!
The following morning, Maura helped herself to a dish of Scottish oats from the sideboard. Pouring a little milk over the top, she started toward the table. It was curious; this was the first time Alec wasn’t at the table before her. Why, she almost missed his bedeviling presence!
