by Olivia Drake
Kate drew in a breath and slowly exhaled it. She had suspected as much. Yet her insides still twisted into a painful knot. Gabriel had lain with that ravishing temptress. How could such a man ever look twice at a naïve spinster who had spent her life in the country?
Then her shallowness appalled her. That wasn’t why she ached. It couldn’t be. It was his concealment of the truth.
“So you were gulled,” she said. “You will tell me how it happened.”
Gabriel grumbled under his breath. He started to turn away, but she caught his arm, her fingers wrapping around his smooth sleeve. “Sit,” she said, pointing at a gold hassock with crimson tassels.
His lips thinned as if he contemplated refusal. Then with a sardonic wave of his hand, he said, “Ladies first.”
She drew up another hassock and sat down, coolly arranging her green skirt. He flung himself down opposite her, his jaw clenched as he grimaced at the fireplace. “There isn’t much to tell,” he said.
“I’ll hear it anyway. And look at me while you’re speaking.”
Aiming his sullen gaze at her, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Earlier that evening, I’d met Yasmin outside the inn. We went to her house. I meant to stay only for a short time, but the wine she gave me was laced with opium.”
“Why did you drink it, then?”
Gabriel scowled. “Because she didn’t tell me what was in it. One doesn’t when one is drugging another.”
Kate didn’t want to imagine what they’d done together. The mere thought filled her with burning resentment. “How long were you gone?”
“It was past midnight when I returned. By then, it was too late.”
She kept her spine stiff. “So. If not for this liaison, you would have been at the inn, guarding the statue. Papa might still be alive.”
Her statement hung like a foul vapor in the quiet bedchamber. The only sound was the rhythmic thunder of the surf outside.
“Yes.” Gabriel sprang to his feet and stalked to the fireplace. Snatching up the poker, he stirred the coals so that the flames leapt higher.
Kate watched him in bemusement. His terse voice had held an edge of self-loathing. Did he regret his actions? Was he tormented by what he might have prevented?
That probability made her feel slightly more charitable toward him. Yet she couldn’t forgive him so easily. “You should have seen the deviousness in Yasmin,” she said. “Any woman who would take a strange man to her house has no scruples.”
With a metallic clang, he set the poker back on its stand. He looked at her again, a faintly wolfish charm in his gaze. “Scruples, my dear ward, have no place in the bedchamber.”
“So speaks a man with a wicked reputation.”
He strolled toward her, his dark hair mussed as if he’d just arisen from bed. “There’s something to be said for wickedness.”
“There’s nothing to be said for a man who can’t see beyond a woman’s outward beauty. I can only hope you’ll have the sense not to go to Yasmin tonight.”
Gabriel subjected her to an unsettling scrutiny. Instead of showing annoyance, he gave her that grin, the one she detested. The one that said he had experience in things she could only imagine.
Leaning down, he caressed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “You’re jealous.”
Kate clamped her lips shut, mortified that he’d guessed her private, shameful wish to be as lovely and desirable as Yasmin. And as free to give herself to Gabriel.
Retreating behind the facade of old maid, she said, “I’m merely concerned that you’ll give away our purpose here. Otherwise, it’s of no consequence to me if you bedded the entire female population of Egypt.”
Her tirade only served to sharpen the gleam in his eyes.
“Prickly Kate. The dilemma is, I’d rather bed you.”
With predatory swiftness, his big hands caught her by the waist. He lifted her from the hassock and carried her to the bed, where he thrust aside the gauzy drapes and laid her down on the white silk counterpane.
She tried to sit up. “Gabriel!” she said indignantly. “What are you doing?”
“An inane question from a keen-witted woman.” He came down over her, half on and half off, his heavy leg draped over her thighs. Even as she gathered her breath for another protest, her senses greedily absorbed the heat and strength of him. His spicy scent had a narcotic effect that made it difficult to think. The filmy bed hangings enclosed them in a private bower, lending the scene the softness of a dream.
“Get off, you lout.” Appalled at her feeble tone, she added more firmly, “At once.”
“Not until you cease acting like a puritan.” He stroked his hand up and down her bare arm. “You’re quick to judge me, Kate. Yet there’s passion in you, too. I felt it when I kissed you.”
“A momentary lapse.”
His smile deepened, creating the hint of a dimple beside his mouth. His chiseled, masculine mouth. “A lapse,” he mused. “Then explain why I’ve done nothing but think about you ever since. You’ve tied me in knots, kept me awake at night. You’ve made me want no other woman but you.”
She struggled against a shiver of pleasure. Four years ago, she’d longed to hear such a declaration from him. Now, she feared to trust in it. She shook her head. “You claim to be my guardian. But now you’d take advantage of me.”
“Am I taking advantage? I doubt it.” He settled more comfortably against her, making her aware of his hard- hewn muscles, his virile body. “You’ve been thinking about me, too. I can tell by the way you look at me.”
“That’s your conceit.”
“It’s proof of your desire. Nothing else could make your eyes soften so.” His fingertips stroked along her brows. “Or your mouth.” With a lazy thumb, he traced the moist contour of her lips. “Or your body.” His hand moved to her midsection, as if he knew the heat that burned there. The heat that burned for him alone.
“Gabriel, please...” She meant to rebuke him, but the words died on her tongue as he brought his face closer to hers. His warm breath feathered her lips, making her light-headed. Dear God, she wanted his kiss. She could almost taste it.
Yet still he watched her as a tomcat stalks a mouse. His fingers did a slow, tantalizing massage over her gown, finding the indentation of her waist, the flare of her hips. “Please what?” he said, the vibration of his rough voice making her breasts tingle. “Finish what you were going to say, Kate.”
Her resistance teetered like a house of cards. To shore it up, she had nothing left but her pride. “You know what.”
“Say it. I want to hear the words.”
Beset by roiling emotions, Kate curled her fingers into the stiff fabric of his footman’s coat. She felt frustrated by his insistence, confused by her inappropriate longing, and uncertain of his affection for her. She knew only that she craved his mouth on hers.
“Please kiss me.” Closing her eyes in giddy anticipation, she lifted her face to him. “Kiss me, and be done with it.”
A Chance Encounter
Looking down at that puckered mouth, Gabe felt something deep and unexpected tug at his chest. Humor. Tenderness. Fascination. Meanwhile, his muscles were clenched, his skin burned, and his loins demanded release. In the throes of all that lust, he ought to avail himself of her offer.
Instead, he rolled onto his back, bringing her with him, so that she sprawled over him in a lavish heap of obstinate woman. To keep himself from caressing her, he tucked his hands behind his head.
Her lashes lifted. Eyes the shade of spring ivy stared straight into his. Tumbled, red-gold curls framed her wary expression. “Don’t you want to kiss me?” she asked.
“This time, I want you to kiss me.”
A mist of pink tinted her cheeks, and her rosebud lips wilted into a familiar prim line. But she made no move to lift herself from him. Soft and womanly, her breasts reposed against his chest. He doubted she realized that he could see down her bodice, or that her slim hip brushed his arous
al.
Nothing could come of this encounter. She was right; he couldn’t seduce his ward. It was madness to lie with her like this, tempting himself with what could never be. Yet he had a powerful need to strip away her thorny exterior, to know...
To know that he didn’t have to force their second kiss.
“Why?” she asked.
The blunt question took him aback. “Why? Because I want to know you’re willing.”
“Or perhaps you want to conquer me. To crush my will entirely.”
Not a disagreeable notion, he thought with dark mirth. And yet, without her strength of will, she wouldn’t be Kate. She wouldn’t amuse him, intrigue him, excite him to the verge of pain.
“See, I’m right,” she crowed before he could reply. “You can’t deny it. This is just another way for you to exert your authority over me.”
“No, Kate.”
“Then what other glib explanation can you give me?”
“That I’m worn out from my duties as a servant. I need you to minister to me.”
She eyed him skeptically. “For once, I’ll have the truth from you.”
Intensely frustrated, he blew out a breath. He didn’t want to say that by telling her about Yasmin, he feared he’d destroyed their fledgling truce. But there didn’t seem to be any way around it. “All right, then. I want to know...that you don’t despise me.”
His craving for Kate’s favor was a hard admission to make, even to himself. Setting his jaw, he braced himself for her flippant response.
But he must have shocked her, for she didn’t speak. She merely regarded him with both wide-eyed innocence and typical suspicion. Then her gaze flitted to his mouth. Her lips parted, the tip of her tongue tracing the curve of an inviting path.
Sweat dampened his skin in a fresh wave of lust. He swallowed the dryness in his throat. With each breath, he inhaled the subtle womanly scent that belonged to her alone. He was keenly aware of her supple body, the slender legs, the warm skin, the enticing breasts. Torture had never felt so agonizing...or so welcome.
Lifting her hand, she feathered her fingers over his face in a tender caress. In a needy, un-Kate-like voice, she murmured, “I don’t hate you, Gabriel. Not anymore.”
To his rampant satisfaction, she lowered her mouth to his, and that first tentative touch sparked a fuse of fire down to his loins. He steeled himself not to move lest she change her mind. With an inexpert charm, she kissed him, and all the while, her hands drifted over his face, tracing the curve of his ear and the length of his jaw, threading into his hair. Tense with control, he returned her kiss with small, teasing sips that seemed to please her. Uttering a husky sigh, she stirred on him, snuggling closer, parting her lips to taste him deeply.
With that untutored action, his enjoyment flared to dangerous, white-hot passion. Gabe could no longer keep from touching her, and he brought his arms around her, his hands finding silken shoulders, slender back, delectable breasts. Ah, her breasts. Lush and full and tempting. He slipped his fingers inside her bodice, seeking her warm secrets. Brushing his thumb over her nipples, he took command of the kiss, showing her what he liked, titillating her in return. With a questing fervor, her mouth drank from his, her body melting over him in trembling surrender.
Her responsiveness plunged him into a rushing river of madness. Groaning, he cupped her rounded bottom, rolled her over, and pressed himself deeply into the cradle of her hips. He couldn’t get enough of her, his soft, submissive Kate. Freeing the sensual woman inside the thorns didn’t satisfy him. He wanted to brand her with himself, to make her recognize that she belonged to him and him alone.
Reaching down, he slid his hand beneath her tangled skirts, up the slim muscles of her calf, past the tender crook of her knee, and over the frilled garter that secured her stocking. Like any decent young lady, she wore no drawers, and his fingers brushed the triangle of tight curls that guarded the gate to heaven.
She gasped, breaking the kiss by turning her head, exposing the slender column of her throat. “Gabriel!”
His loins ruled him, but his mind fought a valiant battle. Letting his hand rest lightly on her thigh, he kissed the fragrant skin of her throat. “Let me touch you,” he coaxed in a low, raspy voice. “Just a touch and no more...I promise you.”
“I...” Her bosom rose and fell as she watched him, her lashes half lowered over dreamy eyes. Then she placed her hand over his, so that only a thin layer of skirts separated them. Fiercely she whispered, “Yes.”
Her consent broke the bounds of his restraint. Parting her nether folds, he traced a path through velvety dampness. A soft cry escaped her, and she arched to him in sweet entreaty. His breath came harder and faster, his lust more torture than pleasure. But he concentrated on pleasing her, stroking her with a slow, deliberate hand. She was hot and eager, her legs fully open to his caresses, and he longed to put his mouth there, but knew he’d frighten her. Lost in delight, she lay with her eyes closed, her fiery hair spread over the white coverlet, her head moving back and forth as if to deny the unfamiliar, coiling tension in her body.
Sensing her resistance, he muttered words of encouragement, hardly knowing what he was saying. “Let go, love. Let yourself fly. I’ll be there to catch you.” Bending down, he kissed the creamy skin mounded above her bodice, while his hand remained beneath her skirt, continuing the relentlessly sensual assault until, with a keening sob, she convulsed in his arms.
The look of rapturous wonder on her face filled Gabe with savage exultation. He had only to tear open his breeches, to sink into her and take the release his hot blood demanded. In her soft, defenseless state, she wouldn’t deny him. But a fragment of sanity barred that course. Already, he’d far overstepped his bounds. He’d sworn to protect Kate. He could not claim her maidenhead, for that would tie him to her forever.
With a groan, he flung himself to his feet. His legs unsteady, he stalked to the window and pressed his fevered brow to the cold glass, his fingers to the stone sill. His chest heaved as he sucked air into his starving lungs. His body shook from the effort it took to conquer his instinct to return to the bed.
To Kate.
Slowly, the madness eased its grip on him. The desire still burned, but he could control it. He couldn’t so easily control his guilt. Never before had he touched a virgin. There had always been many experienced women who were delighted to satisfy him. Worldly, sophisticated women. So why had he taken complete leave of his senses over Kate?
He turned to see her sit up slowly, still half in a stupor. Through the filmy draperies, she looked adorably rumpled with loosened curls cascading past her shoulders. Intercepting his gaze, she flushed, hurriedly restoring her skirt so that not a hint of flesh showed. Then she lifted her hands to her rosy cheeks, and he saw the awareness in her eyes, an awareness of their wrongful intimacy.
Gabe swore under his breath. He would give his entire fortune to erase that look of mortification from her face.
He walked to her, stopping a few feet from the bed. He wanted to kiss away her regrets. But he knew where that would lead. “Kate,” he said, his voice low and grating, “I took advantage of you. I should not have done so.”
“I let you.” Her whisper was throaty, fraught with shame.
He wrapped his fingers around the bedpost, squeezing until his knuckles showed white. “You’re not to blame. The fault is entirely mine.”
She shook her head. “No. I encouraged you. I wanted it.”
A cynical humor invaded Gabe. Even in this, Kate would quarrel with him. “As the man, I’ve the benefit of experience,” he said tersely. “I nearly lost my head over you—and I’m not even sorry. So rail at me if you like. Denounce me. I want to hear you do so.”
She remained stubbornly silent, her fingers laced in her lap and her gaze on him. He didn’t know how to interpret that frown. Had she accepted his liability? He had always been able to read women, to charm them and get his way. But with Kate, he felt on treacherous ground, now more than ever. N
ow, the awareness in her eyes held the mysteries of a woman.
A thought struck him like a thunderbolt. In every sense but the physical, he had stolen her innocence. And he should offer her marriage.
By the fourth and final day of the party, Kate still hadn’t found the goddess.
The late April weather had remained cloudy and cold, precluding any outdoor activities. The company spent the days in card playing and billiards and endless drinking, which Kate had avoided. The other guests had a hard-edged sophistication that made her uneasy, even the ladies, who liked to gamble and tipple sherry along with the gentlemen while laughing and gossiping, many of their comments barbed with cruelty. If this was high society, Kate didn’t care for it.
As he had promised, Sir Charles had escorted Kate on a tour of the castle. Uncle Nathaniel and Lady Stokeford had strolled behind them as the baron pointed out the various relics he owned. To flatter Sir Charles, Kate had made a point to admire the exquisite quality of each piece. A medieval bishop’s staff cast in gold. A chess set carved from walrus ivory. A glass case containing a finger bone reputedly belonging to the Apostle Peter.
Yet all the while, she had concealed her dark thoughts. Had Sir Charles stolen these things, too? Had he committed murder to get them?
In late afternoon on the last day, Kate felt the frantic prod of desperation. Finding the goddess was the only way to punish Sir Charles for his crimes. And to stop him from claiming guardianship of her and Meg.
But time was running out. Tomorrow morning, the party would be over and all the guests would depart.
She found Sir Charles in the first-floor hall as he was coming downstairs. His suave face lit up with an admiration that she might have appreciated in another gentleman. It sickened her to greet him with a smile and pretend to be flattered by his attention.
She loathed how he’d touched her in seemingly innocuous ways over the past few days, taking her elbow to escort her or brushing against her arm, too often to be a mere accident. Any contact with Sir Charles made her recoil, quite the opposite of her reaction to Gabriel.