Filed To Story: Alessia Mistaken as Mistress Book PDF Free
He carried her swiftly to her bed and lowered her to the edge. As he pulled away, she yelped, and it relieved him to find only a loose strand of her hair caught on a button on his vest. Nicholas lowered himself to sit beside her, and studied the wild tangle.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly, catching her pink lower lip in her teeth, an action that made her seem girlish, yet touched him in the erotic way only a woman could.
“Let me. Move closer.” He said the words before he realized moving her closer would place all that marvelously scented hair beneath his chin.
She leaned forward obligingly, and he reached for the snagged ringlet, untangling it from his button with great care. The ringlet was pure silk against his fingers. Once he’d loosened the tress, he held it, rubbing the satiny texture between his thumb and forefinger.
She raised her head, not pulling away, but bringing her solemn gaze to his, and he read the question in those liquid depths. He made a visual inspection of her creamy-looking ivory skin, her disturbing bow-shaped lips and the riot of her wheat- and gold-toned hair.
And without knowing he was going to do it, without waiting for his sensible mind to dissuade him, he took the strand of hair that hung beside her cheek between his fingers and stroked it, envying the lock its place against that temptingly beautiful face.
In the next minute, he found his fingertips against her jaw, discovered the incredible softness of her skin, and saw her rise of color, but couldn’t remember ordering his hand to touch her.
Against his lips, her fluttering breath tasted sweet and inviting, hypnotically drawing him closer. The seductive scent of her hair and skin set his senses aflame. She drew a shaky breath through provocative lips, and his craving desire to taste them melted his good sense like a hot knife through butter.
His fingers sank into the mass of wanton ringlets at her temple. His lips came down over hers. She drew in a quick breath of surprise or pleasure-he wasn’t sure which-but he covered her mouth before she could object or move away.
Adrift in the staggering sensations of desire the kiss unlocked, it took Nicholas a few minutes to realize she had pressed her palm against his chest in gentle protest.
The action brought him to his senses, and he took his mouth from hers, pulled his hand from her hair and stood, his heart thudding.
She sat with her gaze lowered, one hand supporting her weight on the bed beside her, the other rising to tuck back the recalcitrant lock of hair, then flutter to her lap.
“I’m sorry,” she said on a whisper, and a silvery dot shimmered on her lashes.
“I’ll take responsibility,” he said quickly. Too quickly. Too sternly, angry with himself.
The dot became a drop that trailed down her exquisite ivory cheek. She dashed it away.
“I’m sorry, Claire,” he forced himself to say. “You’re vulnerable right now. That was quite dishonorable of me. You have every right to be angry.”
She shook her head gently, and only mouthed the word “No.”
“I promise to behave with more discretion in the future.”
She remained still and silent
“Look at me, for God’s sake, it was just a kiss.”
She did. And he wished like hell she hadn’t. He wished like hell he hadn’t insisted. Because when those glistening eyes rose to his, when he read the overwhelming bewilderment and hurt in their depths, he knew the truth.
Oh, no. No form of denial would be sufficient.
It hadn’t been just a kiss.
Alessia prepared for the evening at the theater, wishing instead she were staying at home while Leda and Nicholas went out. That way she’d have hours to replace Stephen’s letters and read the remaining ones. So far, they’d availed little, containing mostly stories of his travels and the productions of his plays. The information would serve her well at some time, she was sure, but for now disappointment suffused her. She just wished an opportunity would arise to go through Nicholas’s clothing and find the key to his desk. She’d come to realize that the probability of that was nil.
Alessia chose one of her new dresses, an onyx-black silk brocade trimmed with deep flounces of French lace, seed pearls in a cluster on the shoulders and in a triangular design on each side of the bustle as well as at her waist. The blouse cut to a deep V between her breasts and the overdress draped in a V shape from each shoulder to a point at her waist, a slimming design.
She studied herself in the mirror, still unaccustomed to the womanly changes in her body. Her breasts were fuller, her hips more rounded and less girlish. What would her father think if he saw her now?
That thought changed as she remembered the evening Nicholas had carried her to her room. And kissed her. Exactly what did
Nicholas think of her?
What did it matter? He didn’t even know her true identity, she told herself. But she couldn’t help wondering if she’d done something to encourage that kiss.
And every time she wondered that, the more probable reason for the kiss came to mind: It had been just another test. A test to find out what kind of woman his brother had married, to prove the caliber of the mother of the only current Halliday heir. And each time she went over her reaction, she wondered if she’d passed or failed.
Having little experience with kissing men, she had only minimal comparison. Nicholas’s kiss still kept her awake at night, still gave her pause to reflect over its meaning and its heady effect on her senses. She’d never been kissed like that.
Not with that tenderness or depth of sensitivity, as though she were someone deserving of reverence.
But that was silly. Nicholas hardly thought of her as special or honorable. Just the opposite, so why did that worshipful distinction stay with her above all else? Above the warmth and the genuine sensuality of it? Above the shocking fact that he’d kissed her at all?
She’d failed the test. His brother’s widow should have slapped his face and shared her affront with anyone within hearing distance. But she hadn’t.
She hadn’t.
She’d pressed her palm to his shirtfront, felt the rapid beat of his heart and the heat of his muscular body. She’d remembered the heart-stopping sight of him in his bath, and paralyzing heat had encompassed her. Through the din of blood rushing through her veins, she’d heard the voice of caution reminding her of her obligation to her son, and she’d pushed against the chest she desired to pull closer.
She’d fought falling into a trap, and remembered the last time she’d believed a man’s sincerity.
That thought raised her sensibilities into action. Nicholas had a purpose, and it boded no goodwill toward her. Alessia had doubled her effort to push him away, and he’d released her.
She turned away from the mirror, away from the blush of humiliation and desire that even now tinted her skin at the memory.
William was still awake in his crib, having just been fed before she donned her dress. She cradled him close and carried him to the window. “Mama won’t be gone long,” she promised, kissing his forehead. “And I will miss you terribly.”
He gave her a toothless grin that melted her heart and brought a wide smile to her own face. “You are the most precious boy.”
He smiled again, and her heart welled with love.
“William is still awake?” Mrs. Trent asked, coming to stand behind her.
“Yes. He’s starting to stay awake for longer periods. See that you pay him attention this evening.”
“It’s my pleasure, ma’am.”
“Thank you.” She handed the baby to his governess and retrieved her reticule, placing its contents, along with a fresh handkerchief, in one of Claire’s evening bags. Testing the bulky lining of her reticule, she discovered the bracelet where she’d ineptly sewn it, and with a few deft plucks at the thread, released her very last possession.
From their silver settings, the emeralds winked at her as though they shared her secret. She wrapped her fingers around the precious piece of jewelry, the gems cool against her skin. What would her life have been like if her mother had lived? Perhaps a woman’s tutelage and direction would have prevented her mistake with Gaylen Carlisle. And if she had still made that mistake, perhaps her mother could have stopped her father from banishing their only daughter-their only child-from their home.
She would never know. She fastened the bracelet to her wrist. She had only two things that rightfully belonged to her: William and the bracelet. She might as well enjoy the jewelry before it too became a part of her past.
Nicholas waited for her in the cathedral-ceilinged foyer. His formal black evening wear and pristine white shirt emphasized his devastating handsomeness.
His unreadable tobacco-dark gaze scanned her hair and clothing, settling on her face. “Ready?” he asked.
“What about your mother?”
“She’s dining with friends this evening. Didn’t she mention it?”
The two of them were going out together? Alone? For a brief moment, Alessia allowed the thought of him kissing her to steal her breath and start her heart pounding, but she took her errant thoughts captive and banished them to a back corner of her mind.
“No,” she replied. “She didn’t say anything to me.”
“Does it make a difference if she’s not going with us?”