by Darcy Burke
Some sort of magic, probably. The same magic that made it look like the simple lining of a box and not a voluminous cloak of invisibility, which it absolutely was.
He pulled it from the chest, surprised at the quantity of fabric.
“Put it on,” she whispered.
He tossed it around his shoulders and fastened the clasp at his neck. It fell closed at his front, and he looked down to see…nothing. Or rather, right through himself.
“You’re invisible.” She blinked at him, her face even paler than when she’d arrived.
“Not quite.” He pulled the hood up over his head. The fabric came completely over and pooled around his neck. He could see through it quite perfectly—well enough to see the look of shock on her face.
“Now you are,” she said, reaching forward. Her hand connected with his chest. “But I can feel you.”
“That’s an important thing to know.”
“Yes.” She lifted her gaze to his, and the shock had warmed into something far brighter—excitement and joy. “This is spectacular.”
He pulled the hood from his head and unfastened the clasp. “You try. You’re a descendant.”
Her eyes widened once more as he whipped the cloak from his shoulders and wrapped it around her.
But she didn’t disappear.
She looked down at herself. “I’m still here.” She lifted her gaze to his, and he wanted to smooth the wrinkles between her brows.
She wasn’t a descendant. Which meant her father wasn’t her father, or he’d lied to her. Well, either way, he’d lied to her.
Hell.
Turning, she presented her back to him so that he could take the cloak from her shoulders. He set it over the chair where it just looked like a purple velvet cloak.
“What does that mean?” she whispered as she turned back to face him.
“I don’t know.” God, he hated that lost look in her eyes. It was the same one she’d had when he’d woken her from that nightmare.
Gideon pulled her against his chest and wrapped his arms around her. She laid her head against him, and he held her tight. Her arms encircled his waist, and she clasped his waistcoat, for he’d long abandoned his coat, a fact he’d forgotten until that moment. For propriety’s sake he should have put it back on when she came in.
Propriety? She was his wife.
The word “wife” sent a shock of possession and need through him. Also, a startling desire to protect and care for this woman.
He cupped the side of her face, tracing his thumb along her cheekbone. She lifted her head and looked up at him, her lips parted in potential invitation…
He didn’t dare overstep. He’d done that once, but he’d been trying to prove a point. Or something. Damn, he didn’t know what he’d done, and he sure as hell didn’t know what he was doing now.
So of course he lowered his head and waited for her to push him away. Only she curled her fingers into his back and urged him closer.
That was an invitation.
Their mouths met, and the sensations of need and possession inside him intensified. He slanted his lips over hers and thrust his hand into the hair at her nape. It had been so long since he’d felt like this, as if his body could take flight.
Eager to taste her, he licked along her lip. She opened for him and even met his tongue, tentatively and then with more urgency as her fingers dug into his back and her breasts pressed against his chest.
The layers of her clothing were insignificant, and he could feel her heat like a freshly stoked fire. And that’s what he was. He’d lain dormant for years, waiting for this moment when she would kindle him into a burning flame.
Everything about this was a balm to his soul, soothing an ache he’d long ignored. Or forgotten about. Her touch awakened him, and he was both hunter and prey.
She brought one hand from his back and ran her palm up his chest until it rested over his heart. The rhythm increased as his blood pumped through him, building a fervor.
He wanted to feel her too, so he drew his hand forward along her neck, pressing his thumb against her flesh until the steady beat of her heart answered his call. With his other hand, he clasped her waist, holding her tight against him so that they stood hip to hip. Or more accurately, hip to thigh because of their height difference. It was frustrating because his body wanted to fit to hers as they were made to do.
She moaned into his mouth, perhaps echoing his frustration, and he tipped his head the other direction to explore her in a new way. He thrust deep into her mouth, arching her head back.
Her grip grew tighter on his back, and she pushed her hand up to his collarbone and higher until her fingers grazed his neck above his loosened cravat. How he wished he’d tossed that away too.
Desperate for more of her, he moved his hand up her rib cage until he found the soft underside of her breast. He dragged his thumb across the peak and felt it harden through her clothing.
She moaned again, this time breaking the kiss so the low sound filled the air around them. He kissed her cheek, her jaw, her neck, his lips and tongue sliding along her heated flesh as she pushed her breast into his hand.
That she wanted him as much as he wanted her thrilled him. Still, he should go slow…or stop altogether.
Apparently, she’d read his thoughts, because she pulled at his cravat and murmured, “Touch me, Gideon. Please touch me.”
Since he was already touching her, he knew what she meant. What she craved. He untied the ribbon at her waist and slipped his hand inside her dressing gown. One thin garment remained between them, but it scarcely hindered him. He could feel her heat and the soft curve of her breast. He cupped her, gently squeezing, then pressed his thumb and forefinger around her nipple.
She gasped. “My legs. I can’t…”
He felt her wobble and turned her so that she was in front of one of the chairs. He eased her down and descended with her, dropping to his knees before her.
She put her hands on his shoulders as he continued to fondle her breast. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted as her chest rose and fell with her rapid breaths.
He put his hands on each of her breasts and watched her body respond to his touch. Her nipples rose and her back arched. Her legs parted, just a bit, but enough for him to move between her knees. He pitched his head forward and put his mouth on her through the fabric of her gown.
Her hands clasped his head, her fingers twining in his hair. Her legs opened farther, and he moved closer, holding her breast while he laved the nipple, soaking the linen that separated them.
He’d thought this was enough, but it wasn’t. He wanted her bare flesh, silky hot, beneath his mouth. The neckline of the gown was low, but not low enough. He dragged it down, angling it so that it just barely exposed the top of her breast. He pushed her flesh up and caught the nipple in his mouth the second it came free.
God, she tasted like heaven.
She cast her head back with a long, sultry moan that fed his desire. Need pulsed through him, making him hard as stone.
He suckled her harder, drawing on her nipple and then teasing her with light kisses and feather-soft licks. She pulled at his hair, silently begging him to take her in his mouth again.
And then she wasn’t silent.
“Gideon, take me upstairs.”
It was enough to shatter the bliss that had enveloped him. What the hell was he doing?
He withdrew from her and adjusted her gown so that she was covered. Then he pulled her dressing gown over her chest and retreated from between her thighs.
Her eyes opened, and she blinked at him. “What’s wrong?”
“I overstepped. I should not have kissed you.” His voice was thick with desire that would go unfulfilled.
She scooted to the edge of her chair, her face lined with confusion. “I wanted you to. I still want you to. This doesn’t need to be a marriage in name only.”
“I’m afraid it does.” He turned from her and grasped the edge of the table to stan
d.
“Why?”
It was a simple question, and one that probably deserved an answer. Probably? She deserved that and more.
When he faced her again, he saw that she’d retied her gown and her legs were pressed primly together. Her cheeks were still stained pink, and he fought not to think of her breasts with their nipples that were a similar but darker shade.
“I told you I didn’t want to marry—I don’t want another wife.”
“Because of Rose,” she said softly.
He averted his gaze toward the window, where the curtains were drawn against the darkness of night. “I haven’t been with a woman since she died. I haven’t wanted to be.”
“But you did tonight.”
He heard the uncertainty in her voice and didn’t want her to think she was undesirable. He looked at her with a regretful smile. “This isn’t about you. Yes, I wanted you.” He still wanted her. “But I don’t want a wife, nor do I want children.”
“How can you say that? You’ve a title to pass on, and a rich legacy many men would kill for.”
She didn’t know how true that was, or that her father was one of them. Hell, her father. All this had come about because she’d learned she wasn’t a descendant, that her father had lied to her, and Gideon had wanted to comfort her.
Until he’d wanted to satisfy his lust. And hers, apparently.
“Daphne—”
She stood and took his hand between hers. “Just think about what Gwyneth said. That you will have children. She probably knows what she’s talking about.”
He recalled what she’d said, just as she seemed rather fixated on whether he and Daphne were in love. “I think Gwyneth likes to play matchmaker.”
And yet he found himself thinking of the other things she’d said, of how she planned to give him the Beckery Texts to pass them to his children. Maybe he did have a duty. If not to the earldom, then to the legacy of Gareth the Worthy…
He gave himself an internal shake. Was he thinking of taking Daphne upstairs to fulfill some obligation he felt? No, he wouldn’t do that. When, and if, he took Daphne to bed, it would be because he loved her.
Unfortunately, Gideon wasn’t sure he knew how to do that.
“Would that be so terrible?” Daphne asked. She exhaled and shook her head. “Forget I said that. I don’t wish to dishonor your wishes.” She turned to go.
“Daphne, about before…The cloak.”
She only turned back halfway so that he could see her profile. “My father lied to me.”
“Yes.”
“Is he not my father?” She glanced at Gideon but quickly dropped her gaze.
He heard her pain, and it echoed in his heart. “I used to wish my father wasn’t my father. When Dyrnwyn flamed in my grasp, I wondered if that meant I had a different father. I couldn’t imagine he could be descended from one of the Knights of the Round Table. I think that’s because I just wanted it to be true.”
“But you aren’t a descendant through him,” she said.
He shook his head. “No, through my mother. Do you think your father isn’t your father?”
“I have no idea.” She sounded as lost as she’d looked before. Then she turned her head, and he saw the steel in her gaze. “But I will find out. Good night, Gideon.” She moved toward the door.
“Will you be all right?” Gideon asked. “If you have a nightmare, I’ll be just across the hall from your room.”
“I won’t bother you,” she said as she reached the threshold.
“I insist. Whatever happens, Daphne, I will always protect you.”
But she was already gone.
After two grueling days of progressively cool and rainy weather, they finally arrived at Brue Cottage. They’d spent last night at an inn, choosing to avoid Daphne’s cottage at Keynsham in case her father’s men were lurking about. She doubted they would be since she’d sent word that she and Gideon were married, but decided it wasn’t worth the risk.
Thoughts of her father made her stomach turn. If Papa had lied to her about being a descendant, what else had he lied to her about? Gideon’s assertion that he was the leader of some secret organization within the Order and that he intended to hoard the treasures for himself suddenly seemed possible.
And that broke her heart.
Her father was all she had left in the world, and to think he wasn’t the man she’d thought made her question everything. She’d thought of little else during their journey, and she was exhausted.
Gideon came to help her dismount, his hands clasping her waist as he lifted her to the ground. His touch never failed to send a jolt of awareness through her.
When she hadn’t been dwelling on her father, she’d been focused on Gideon and the way he made her feel. She could see his turmoil, struggling between the grief he felt for his wife and whatever burgeoning feelings he might have for her. Or maybe she was wrong and there were no feelings. Maybe it was just a physical attraction. And maybe that was why he’d refused her.
For her, it was more. She was all but certain she was in love with him, but she didn’t want to think about it. What would be the point?
“Go on inside, and I’ll take care of the horses,” Gideon said, water dripping from the brim of his hat.
“Hurry,” she said. “You need to get inside and dry off.”
“The horses have had as rough a journey as we have. I must see to their care.” He gave her an encouraging smile. “Go. I’ll be fine.”
He turned and took the horses toward the stable. Daphne watched him for a moment until an especially large drop of rain managed to evade the brim of her hat and land on her nose.
She rushed to the house and knocked loudly. Thankfully, the door opened quickly, and Margaret ushered her inside.
“You’re soaked,” she said, rather unnecessarily.
“It’s raining,” Daphne answered, also rather unnecessarily.
Gwyneth swept into the hall, her dark hair piled high atop her head. Long gold earrings hung from her ears, and she wore a heavy emerald pendant that lay just above the neckline of her dramatic black-and-gold robe.
“Goodness, you look like a drowned cat,” Gwyneth said. “Margaret, have a bath drawn immediately.”
Margaret rushed off as Gwyneth wrinkled her nose at Daphne. “Let’s take your hat and coat off here, shall we?” Gwyneth said.
Daphne removed her hat and wordlessly held it out.
Gwyneth waved her hand down. “Just drop it on the floor, Margaret will fetch it later and dry it out. Do the same with your coat. And your gloves.”
Daphne worried her coat was ruined, but she had other riding habits. She peeled her gloves away and didn’t bother turning them right side out before letting them fall to the marble floor. With shaking fingers, she began to unfasten her coat. “Gideon is in the stables taking care of the horses.”
“Edward will send him up.”
Overcome with a series of deep shivers, Daphne looked over at Gwyneth. “Who’s Edward?”
“The groom.” Gwyneth came forward. “You poor dear, let me.” She brushed Daphne’s hands away and finished with the coat, then helped remove it from Daphne’s quaking body. “Come with me.” She took Daphne’s frigid hand between her very warm ones and led her into a great hall.
Stairs marched up the right wall, then turned to the left, where they landed on a gallery that overlooked the hall. Gwyneth pulled her up the stairs and along the gallery, then steered her to the right into a sitting room.
But they weren’t at their destination yet, apparently, for Gwyneth pulled her into another room that could only be described as a bathing chamber. A fire roared in the hearth on the opposite wall, and Margaret worked with another woman to fill a tub situated rather near the fireplace.
Gwyneth set about helping Daphne completely disrobe. The room wasn’t terribly large and, due to the size of the fire, was much warmer than the rest of the house. It was far warmer than she’d been in…well, as long as she could remembe
r, really. She continued to shiver, but not as violently, and soon they lowered her into the steaming tub.
The hot water enveloped her, and she sighed as her body began to finally relax completely. A strong, delicious floral scent curled around her.
“Lean back and close your eyes,” Gwyneth said, easing her back against the tub, which was perfectly designed to accommodate precisely the position Gwyneth suggested.
Daphne closed her eyes and gave herself over to the sensations of warmth and comfort. “What is that smell?”
“Jasmine and lavender. The bath tonic will help you relax. You’ll soak for a bit—you need to warm up. We’ll be back in a while.”
The water worked an incredible magic, soothing Daphne’s sore muscles and calming her agitated spirit. She wondered if it would be bad to fall asleep. Surely she could drown…
Whether she slept or not, she didn’t know, but she was in a complete state of bliss when she heard a gentle splash. Opening her eyes, she looked down her body at the tub. She hadn’t made the noise.
Looking to her right, she saw there was now a screen separating her from the other half of the room. She recalled there had been other tubs in the bath chamber. At least one. Perhaps two.
And someone was in one of them on the other side of that screen.
She didn’t have to think too hard to know who it was. The thought of Gideon so close—naked and, well, just naked—brought her to full awareness.
Yet she was still incredibly relaxed. Her body felt heavy, but her flesh tingled with…something. She inhaled deeply, and the scents of jasmine and lavender filled her senses.
Another sound from the other side of the screen sent a flutter of arousal through her: he moaned.
What was he doing? Probably enjoying the bath, silly!
She’d likely moaned in delight when she’d first climbed into the tub. It had been absolutely heavenly. But then she’d also moaned the other night when he’d touched her and put his mouth on her.
Her breasts, already weighted with delicious lethargy, grew heavier for an altogether different reason. Without thinking, she brought her hand up and cupped herself as he’d done. It wasn’t the same, but if she just imagined it was him…