She flushed, her anger on the rise. “So you did know he was a rake? And you still gave your permission for me to visit with him and his family?”
“Of course I did. He’s the best catch in all of England. So tell me, why didn’t you catch him?”
Trying to put him on the defensive didn’t work. There had to be a measure of guilt, even just a tiny bit, to cause defensiveness. He had none. And her anger was starting to get out of hand.
“Maybe because I didn’t want to.”
“Have you taken leave of your senses?”
She marched across the room and put her hands on his desk so she could lean forward and glare at him. “No, I believe I’ve finally regained them. Would you really like to know why he won’t do? Yes, he’s incredibly handsome, rich, titled. He’s everything I could want in a man. But there’s just one thing that makes him unacceptable to me.”
“What?”
“You want him too much for a son-in-law! After you more or less threw me to the wolves in Yorkshire, I’m no longer inclined to make you happy in my marriage. Does that surprise you?”
He stood up, was glaring back at her. “That you’re a willful, vindictive daughter? That doesn’t surprise me in the least. But you will marry him. I don’t give a bloody damn how you get him to the altar, just do it! Or I’ll take matters into my own hands.”
There was no point in trying to make him understand that it was her life they were talking about, not his. She knew that from experience. Furious, she marched out of the room. And too angry to rejoin the guests in the parlor, she found herself going into the dining room instead.
Rafe was still there. He was just standing up, his plate empty now. The other two men had already left the room, though she wasn’t sure if their presence would have stopped her or not, since she didn’t even think about what she was going to do. She simply walked up to Rafe and kissed him hard.
He handled his surprise well. In fact, he was almost instantly kissing her back, his plate dropped back on the table so he had both hands free to draw her in closer against him. That was all it took for her to feel the anger melt away, leaving passion in its place. And it was quite strong, that passion. It increased as he sucked on her tongue, which she’d boldly thrust in his mouth. It grew even more heated as he cupped her derriere with one hand, pressing her more firmly against his arousal.
God, what this man could make her feel! Anger, passion, tenderness, pleasure, she’d felt it all at his hands, and such excitement! He was her bane and her salvation. How the devil had she let him become so important to her? Was Jane right? Had she fallen in love without knowing it?
He kissed her hungrily, stroking her back, making her shiver deliciously for several more moments—until she realized that she couldn’t have picked a worse place to share a moment of intimacy with him. The door was wide-open. Dozens of people were just across the hall. Anyone could have walked by and seen them heatedly embracing.
She stepped back immediately with that alarming thought. Her heart was still pounding though. Her cheeks were flushed. Her lips even felt swollen and probably were. She was afraid she looked as if she’d just been thoroughly kissed. So did he, for that matter. She’d mussed his hair. She quickly straightened it now. She couldn’t do anything about the heat that was still in his eyes, though.
He drew in a deep, unsteady breath before he said, “That was unexpected.”
It took her a moment to regain her own breath. “I learned from you,” she said in reference to that kiss he’d returned to give her in the coach the other day. She gave him a half grin to make light of it.
“Had a fight with your father?”
“How did you guess?” she replied drily.
He ran a finger softly along her cheek. “Want to leave the back door open for me tonight?”
The thought almost paralyzed her with delicious anticipation. “I might,” she said breathlessly.
But as she ran upstairs to regain her composure and get the thought of making love to Rafe again out of her mind, she knew she would leave that door open.
Chapter Thirty-one
O PHELIA SLEPT THROUGH THE ENTIRE morning. She hadn’t intended to, though she had warned Sadie not to wake her. But that had been because she’d thought—hoped—that she’d have company in her bed this morning. Before she retired last night, she’d even asked the footman to have her horse brought around at midmorning so she could enjoy a ride in Hyde Park. During her sojourn in the country she’d missed riding, which she did at least a few times a week.
But she’d overslept. It was too late now to go riding today. Five in the morning was the last time she’d looked at her clock. She’d waited up all night for Rafe to sneak into her house and join her. She’d even spent an hour with her ear to her door, listening for footsteps. What a silly chit she was. He didn’t come.
Rafe had probably realized it would simply be too risky. Or maybe he just hadn’t thought she was serious when she said she “might” leave the door open for him. She shouldn’t have played coy. Then again, he might not have been serious himself. He’d said it in reference to her anger after all, which kissing him in the dining room had already calmed down. So he probably had been joking about it, and she’d let her hopes rise that he wasn’t.
She padded to the window to pull back the plush lavender drapery. She caught a whiff of the two fresh roses that had been placed on her writing desk next to the window. Her mother didn’t have a conservatory or an enclosed garden, yet she always managed to obtain fresh flowers for the house during the winter months.
Ophelia had a pretty room. Her mother had seen to that. Everything in it was in shades of rose, pink, and lavender, with dark cherrywood in the furnishings: the carpet and drapes, the wallpaper, the thick bedcover on her four-poster, even her vanity had a pink velvet curtain surrounding its base. She even had her own dressing room filled with her extensive wardrobe. Clothes were the one thing her father had never stinted on. She had to be decked out grandly, after all, since she was his showpiece.
The view outside showed that it hadn’t snowed long at all last night, at least there was no evidence left of it. Her room was in the front of the house. With the windows closed, the street traffic rarely woke her and certainly hadn’t today. A horseman passed by, reminding her that she needed to make sure her mare was back in the stable. She thought he looked familiar—it was Rafe! He even slowed his trot to glance at her house.
She waved at him, but he didn’t look at the upper windows to see her, and then he rode on. And she raced like mad to dress and run down the stairs, hoping now that her horse was still outside. It was, but so was her escort’s mount. The footman, Mark, usually rode with her, and hadn’t she just passed him at the bottom of the stairs?
He came to the door to tell her, “I’ll need a minute to fetch my coat, Lady Ophelia.”
“Give me a hand up, first,” she replied, adding as soon as she was in the saddle, “I’ll wait for you at the Grosvenor Gate to Hyde Park. Don’t be long.”
She didn’t pause to hear his admonishment that she shouldn’t leave without him. That same anticipation that had kept her up all night was present again and set her off at a gallop. If she was lucky, she could catch up to Rafe. If she was really lucky, he might suggest another rendezvous and not be teasing about it this time.
She didn’t get lucky. She’d glanced down the few side streets she passed by too, but Rafe had gone on to wherever he was going while she’d had to waste time dressing. And scantily at that too she realized as she waited at the gate to the park for Mark to show up.
She’d spared no time to find one of her riding habits, had grabbed the first dress within reach, one of her thin day dresses that she never left the house in! The neck scarf she’d thought might help, didn’t; it was so sheer it didn’t even conceal the low cut of her dress. And her coat hadn’t been where it was usually hung, so she’d tied on a cloak instead. Nor had she bothered to put her hair up. She’d merely stuffed it quickl
y under a fur cap.
At least holding the cloak close to her kept some of the chill at bay as she mused over such rash behavior. She should return home immediately. If anyone saw what she was wearing, they’d think she was crazy to be out like that. Or maybe not. It wasn’t that cold today, with no wind blowing. It could be considered a nice day—for winter. It would have been a perfect time for a ride actually, but she was not dressed for riding.
She thought she saw Mark trotting down the street in the distance. There was no point in waiting for him to reach her when she would be heading back that way to return home. She started to nudge her mare to do that when she was approached from behind.
“Going for a ride in the park?”
Where the devil had he come from? was her only thought before she said, “Yes,” and turned her mount around to face Rafe.
He was giving her a curious look, possibly because she had one gloveless hand gripping her cloak closed. But the cloak didn’t close enough to hide the silk and lace of her skirt peaking out from the lower edges of it.
He didn’t remark on that, though, merely said, “Somehow I never imagined you on a horse, Phelia. I must say I’m quite surprised.”
“Why? I happen to enjoy the exercise.”
“Yes, but—” He paused to chuckle at himself. “I think I must still have this pristine image of you in my mind that never gets mussed up. You know, no hair out of place, ever. No wrinkles in your clothes, ever. And heaven forbid any horsey smell, ever.”
She shared his amusement with a grin of her own. “That was a false image, quite ancient. Let’s see, you’ve pounded me with snow since then, and quite a lot of it. And I was quite mussed up in the parlor at the…Nest.”
She ended with a soft gasp, his eyes turned heated so abruptly. Reminding him of what had happened between them in that parlor was most improper, quite thoughtless on her part. And the image was in her mind now too, of him, his hair wild from her passionate caresses, the ardent sensuality of his expression—like now.
Good God, this was no place to have her passions aroused. Perhaps a ride was a good idea after all.
“I’ll race you,” she said impulsively.
Mark had just reached them. He heard her say it and started to protest, but she galloped away into the park. She’d just taken complete advantage of Rafe too, since his thoughts were still in that parlor! So he didn’t respond immediately. But she spared a quick glance back to see that he was starting after her, and she laughed at the wide gap of her lead. She lost her cap doing so, the wind catching it from behind and sending it to the ground. She wasn’t about to stop to go back for it. A race was a race, and she was competitive enough to want to win it.
Her cloak flew open when she had to grip the reins with both hands. She barely felt the bite of the wind on her chest as her blood was pumping now from the excitement of the race. Her neck scarf started to unwind and one end of it was now flapping behind her. She grabbed the other end in her fist so she didn’t lose the scarf too. Her cloak, scarf, and hair were all flapping in the wind now. She didn’t care. She dug in her heels, urging her mare to greater speed.
She’d headed down the northern horse path, but since the park was almost deserted, she rashly cut across toward The Serpentine. The north trail made a circuit of the park and passed by the large lake before it turned north again to finish the circuit. It was a much longer ride than the southern trail, which she rarely used. Rafe was gaining on her, but had not nearly yet caught up to her. And she could see the boathouse in the distance now. There might even be some ice-skaters out on such a fine winter day—
She didn’t land too hard on the ground. It could have been much worse. Her mare could have come to a dead stop when the garden snake crossed her path and Ophelia would have flown over her head. Instead the mare reared up in her fright and just deposited Ophelia behind her on the ground. Damned horse as big as it was should not have been afraid of little, harmless snakes, but she was.
She merely lost a few breaths and was already leaning up on her elbows when Rafe leapt off his horse beside her. He dropped to his knees so fast they probably skidded at least an inch in the dead grass.
“Good God, you scared the life out of me!” he exclaimed rather furiously.
“I’m not hurt,” she assured him.
“Damned lucky you’re not. Your father should be shot for buying you a skittish mount.”
“He didn’t pick her out, I did. I merely had to nag him for several months to meet her price. That’s how he and I do things. I nag, he gives in just to be done with it. I don’t think he’s ever even seen her.”
“Regardless—”
“Really, I’m fine. If you’ll just help me up…?”
He yanked her to her feet, and suddenly he was kissing her, hotly and insistently as his hands moved down to her derrieve and gently rubbed the sports where she was sore from her fall. She moaned with pleasure, her belly flipping over from the hot sensations his slow, sensual caresses and deep kisses were sparking. She felt breathless again, but she didn’t miss his intense gaze as he leaned back.
He released her so fast she almost lost her balance. And he turned around to get his eyes off her as she began to dust off her clothes and close her cloak again.
“I hope you don’t always dress like that for riding,” he chided as he moved away to gather the reins of their horses.
“No, of course I don’t.”
He was composed again, enough to glance at her. “Then why today?”
“Well, I was in a—that is to say—” She paused, giving up trying to think of an excuse without admitting she’d chased after him. So she finally said, “No, I don’t think I care to mention why.”
“Suit yourself.” He shrugged. “But I’d suggest you go straight home.”
“I intend to.”
He helped her back into the saddle. He could have put his hands all over her to do so, but he managed not to touch her again, merely to offer his cupped fingers for her to step on for the boost up. He was behaving rather impersonally now, too impersonally. Of course they were in a public park. But there were only a few other people in the area, and they were quite a distance away.
She wanted to ask why he hadn’t shown up last night. He obviously wasn’t going to say anything about it. But that would be a bit too bold of her. And besides, Mark finally reached them. He’d been left so far behind—which was usually the case—that he wouldn’t have seen that she’d fallen. Occasionally she kept to a sedate pace for him since he wasn’t a good horseman. Nor did his mount have a chance of keeping up with her Thoroughbred. But more typically she’d have a good gallop, then just wait for him to catch up.
“Thank you for the race,” she told Rafe, then added with a grin, “I enjoy winning.”
“So do I,” he replied with a roguish grin of his own. “Someday we might do this properly and you won’t stand a chance in hell of beating me.”
She laughed. “I wouldn’t count on it. Why do you think it took me two months to get this mare? Her sire is a champion racer. She didn’t come cheap!”
“Made sure you’d win any race you entered did you?”
“Of course!”
“Then I might just have to buy her sire.”
For some reason, that conversation made her smile all the way home.
Chapter Thirty-two
R APHAEL RETURNED TO HIS HOME on Grosvenor Street, which was east of the square of the same name. He lived quite a few blocks south of Ophelia’s house and he’d had no reason to ride past her residence today, other than that he was distracted from his usual daily routine—by her.
He was so deep in thought when he entered the house that he didn’t notice the visitor leaning casually against his parlor door. The images of Ophelia simply wouldn’t leave his head, and now he had new ones to add to his collection. Her laughing back at him as her cap flew off her head in the park. Her hair spilled around her on the ground as she leaned up on her elbows, no more than a chag
rined look on her face for having tumbled off her horse. The delighted way she’d responded to his tending to her sore spots.
And from last night, her sensual expression after she’d kissed him in the dining room—no, he couldn’t think of that, nor how tempted he’d been to sneak into her house after the last light was extinguished. He’d actually stood behind her house in the cold debating the pros and cons and finally convinced himself not to even attempt to see if the door was open. Then he got furious with himself once he was home and in his own bed, for not even trying.
But while he’d like nothing more than to make love to her again, it simply wasn’t a good idea, now that she was home. She had to find a husband. The whole point of his experiment in taming her was for her to live happily ever after—with someone else. It was a moot point that the thought of her doing so was starting to irritate him.
The throat-clearing made him glance toward his parlor, and then he exclaimed when he saw the tall man there wearing a Scottish Kilt. “Duncan! Why the deuce didn’t you let me know you were coming to town? We could have ridden in together.”
“Because I didna know I was,” his friend replied. “Sabrina’s aunts insisted on the trip for some special lace they want for her wedding veil that they couldna find at home.”
“You escorted them?”
Duncan snorted. “It would’ve been the perfect time tae have the lass tae m’self for a few days, but nae, they had tae be dragging her along wi’ them, and I wasna aboot tae let Sabrina come tae this wicked town wi’out me.”
“Not that I agree the town is wicked—well, at least not all wicked,” Raphael amended with a grin. “But I doubt I would have let my fiancée come alone either—if I had one.”
Duncan raised a brow. “Thinking o’ getting one?”
“Whatever gave you that idea?”
Duncan chuckled. “Probably because you just said—”
“I was merely agreeing with you. Now confirm for me if you will—this is your first time to the big city, isn’t it?”
The Devil Who Tamed Her Page 17