"A little, only."
Alex pushed aside the prick of hurt. Why shouldn't he despair? "Well, I am strong-willed. I'm sure that comes as no surprise."
"No. But some men do not mind a bold woman."
"Oh?" Alex hesitated. "Do you mean yourself?"
"I do."
When he stopped, Alex tensed. She'd been kissed often enough in London to read the signs of desire. Even as she was trying to decide whether to allow it, he leaned forward. His lips were firm and warm against hers, his technique measured and pleasant. Alex's nerves did not even twitch.
His did, it seemed. He sighed and kissed her harder, easing one arm around her as he coaxed her mouth to open to his tongue. It tasted of cigars.
Ignoring the ashy smell, she tried to muster the interest to kiss him back, tried to give him a fair chance, and succeeded in her pretending, apparently. The arm around her waist tightened and pulled her into his body until she could feel him harden against her stomach.
His mouth pulled away with a gasp that echoed her own. "What. . . What are you wearing?"
Alex blinked up at him, hands trapped against his chest, and realized that his fingers had stolen under her cape. He folded back the fabric before she could stop him and stared in disbelief at the boy's clothes she wore. Even before his eyes cleared and sharpened, his fingers swept down to cup her bottom.
"My God," he moaned and yanked her back to the press of his body.
"Wait," she said into his mouth, but his tongue had slipped between her lips again, stabbed, really, until the force of the kiss smothered her breath.
Alex pushed against his muscles, arms straining to win a few inches, but her arched back pressed her harder into his erection, and he moaned and gripped her bottom with bruising force. His hand left her as quickly as it squeezed, but her relief was short-lived. Her shirt tugged and slid against her skin, pulled from her breeches as he tried to find a way beneath her clothing. His smothering mouth sucked at her—pulling, taking.
A fizz of panic bubbled into her veins, burned through her limbs. She was aware in a way she'd never been before of her small stature, and of the muscles that corded a man's arms with strength. He could take her here, drag her to the ground and cover her mouth and push himself inside her, and she could fight with all her will and not damage him in the least.
Just as his hand slid beneath her shirt, she managed to twist her face away from his assault. "Don't! What are you doing?"
"Oh, God," he groaned again, words wet against her jaw.
She shuddered, tried to think. She could scream, but she could not be caught like this again, not by a guest, not by one of the men who worked for her.
"Mr. Dixon, please. Let me go."
"I knew you were a hot piece, but I had no idea." His hand swept over her naked back as he spoke, then slithered around to rub her breast in a shock of clammy cool.
"Let me go," she hissed and shoved as hard as she could. He stumbled, still wrapped around her, jerking her back toward him until her legs gave way and she fell to her knees. She felt the hard cushion of the earth, felt the sting of his button where it had scratched her face, then a breeze touched her chest, colder than his hand.
His dark shape loomed, fingers still clutching the raised hem of her shirt, eyes glazed, as shocked by the sight of her breasts as she was to have them exposed. Alexandra recovered first, grabbing the fabric with both hands to jerk it from his fist. That sudden jolt released him from his trance and he nodded, reached to unbutton his trousers.
"Yes, take off the shirt, Alexandra. I want to suckle those tits."
"You are mad," she whispered, wishing her voice sharp instead of scared.
She pitched to the side and crawled away, pushed to her feet just as his hand snagged her braid.
"Where are you going?"
"To my brother."
"Your brother?" His hand fell away, letting her lurch back from the sight of his open trousers. Robert Dixon gaped. "You can't mean to leave me like this?"
Alex caught a glimpse of hair and hard red flesh before she retreated further into the night. Anger fought to replace her fear. Her voice hissed instead of shaking. "I granted you a kiss. You . . . You attacked me."
"I attacked you? You are sneaking about by yourself at three in the morning. You flirted with the first man you came across, and. . . and you're wearing breeches! Do not play coy now. You're not even wearing a shift!"
"I. .." Alex shook her head, prayed that the rustle of cloth was Mr. Dixon putting himself away. "I was seeing to my horse. I hardly sought you out."