Page 55 of Tempting the Scoundrel
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Alexandra reached out and placed her hand over Nick’s, stilling the motion. “Nick,” she said quietly. “You’ve made me no vow. If you’ve changed your mind . . . if—if you regret—”
“No.” Nick’s eyes met hers as he threaded their fingers together. “I don’t regret.”
She swallowed. “Then . . . if it’s money—”
Nick leaned forward and kissed her. His lips were soft against her own, a caress that left her breathless. “Not money,” he told her, shifting to sit beside her. He wrapped his strong arms around her waist and trailed hot kisses down her throat. “Not regret. Not you. Never.”
Alexandra arched her neck. She could barely think. “Then tell me what’s the matter.”
Nick breathed against her, his heart steady against her fingertips. Then he shut his eyes and kissed her again and again—until Alexandra forgot that he’d never given her an answer.
* * *
They arrived latein Gretna Green.
Thorne paid the smithy’s family a handsome fee to overlook the law that required twenty-one days’ residency before a wedding—intended to prevent elopements such as their own.
But every man had a price, and the smithy had ten mouths to feed.
His wife and eldest daughter stood as witnesses, watching with kind smiles as Thorne and Alexandra exchanged vows over the anvil and had the ribbon wrapped around their hands.
Alexandra’s lips curved into a smile as the ceremony completed. She had the look of a glowing bride, unaware that she’d just completed one of the final steps in Thorne’s swindle. She embraced the smithy’s wife and daughter, didn’t even notice when her new husband signed the nameNicholas Thorneonto the marriage lines beside her own. If she had, she would have known him for a liar. She would have known to refuse the final step in his deceit.
The marriage bed.
“Don’t bother returning unless you’ve consummated the marriage,” the Earl of Kent had told him.“The last thing I need are my sons helping her obtain an annulment.”
“You have that look again,” Alexandra said, sipping her wine.
They were in their private room at the inn in Gretna. Though not as fancy as his suite at Fairview House, it was cleaner than anything he would have seen back in the Nichol. Their meal had been a satisfying meat pie and nice dark ale. Alex had grimaced when she first sampled her wine—Thorne smiled and teased her about expecting better wine from a country not known for its grapes.
Sometime during their meal, Thorne noticed Alex fidget with the neckline of her dress. The innocent motion brought forth an onslaught of mental images: slowly removing the dress; kissing her throat again; trailing his tongue lower; putting his lips on her cunny until she came; fucking her; and fucking her; and fucking her.
Until he forgot that this was borrowed time, and she was going to hate him for what he was about to do.
“What look?” he asked, staring at the last dregs of his ale. He should smile for her. Play the happy new husband. It was only a few more lies.
No one had ever told him that lying could hurt so much.
“Like you’re somewhere else.” She made a soft noise. “Somewhere I can’t reach.”
It was the cellar in the Nichol that had occupied his thoughts on the train. He had dredged up those old memories to renew his purpose, a reminder that this swindle was not only about her. It was about everyone back in the East End living under the weight of Whelan’s boot. Otherwise, he might have been tempted to tell her the truth. To get down on his knees and tell her,I’ll be the poorest fucking bet you’ve ever made, but I swear I’ll make it worth the gamble.
But Thorne knew a thing or two about bets and playing the odds. If it were just him? He’d take that risk. Put himself at her mercy. Tell her the truth. Beg her forgiveness.
But not for the others. Not for O’Sullivan or Callihan. This wasn’t roulette; not a game of luck. His was a game of power, and it took skill and cunning.
And cheating.
He’d bear the weight of his deception in the morning.
Thorne rose to his feet and came around the table. Alexandra watched him as he took the wine glass out of her hand and pressed a kiss to her wrist. The pulse there fluttered against his lips. “I’m sorry,” he told Alex, gently tugging her until she was flush against him. “I have been distracted, haven’t I?”
Ah, her laugh. Christ god, her laugh. He was going to miss it when she learned the truth. “It’s been a long day,” she said, voice a bit husky. Nick bit back a groan when she leaned in and flicked his earlobe with her tongue. “But you can make it up to me.”
“Where shall I start?” Thorne had a thousand ideas.
