I love to hate you

by Keysian, Elizabeth

  Athene found her voice. “Rushbourne, you’re very attentive all of a sudden.” Had her words to him in the dressing room yesterday hit home?

  His eyes burned into her, but not with anger. Their intensity completely knocked her off balance.

  “We are about to settle down to a light luncheon. You’re most welcome to join us,” Kat said.

  Damn Kat and her interfering. Rushbourne was not in the running—for either of them. It would be better if he were to take himself off so she could have some stern words with her guardian.

  She shot Kat a look. “Although we are nearly finished, sir. You would doubtless find a far better-stocked table downstairs.”

  He acknowledged the veiled snub with the flicker of an eyelid. Yet, he stood his ground, sturdy and out-of-place, his smart clothes and aura of dominant masculinity in complete contrast to the female fripperies of his surroundings.

  “I took a ride into Bury this morning and happened to spy some items of which you ladies might be glad. Don’t let me disturb your meal.” He handed a cloth-wrapped package to Athene, spun on his heel, and departed.

  She gazed after him in surprise. How unlike him to be so obliging—she evidently had chipped away at his certainties. But not enough to assuage her desire for revenge.

  Kat peered over her shoulder at the parcel. “Another gift? One of us has made a good impression on Viscount Rushbourne. We must both be sure to capitalise on it until we know on whom his choice has fallen.”

  “I don’t want it to fall on me, despite what you think. You’re welcome to him. Anyway, we don’t yet know if his gift is worthy, do we?”

  Still breathless after his sudden appearance and equally swift departure, Athene unwrapped the parcel to reveal two pairs of kid gloves, two Paisley shawls and two lace-edged nightcaps of the finest lawn.

  Kat ploughed into the items, cooing over them in delight, then giggled. “He’s most keen to keep us warm, particularly at night, this archenemy of yours. He can’t possibly be as vile as you paint him. These items are sensible, practical and thoughtful. He’s truly smitten by one of us, I think.”

  Athene groaned at the speculative glint in her eye. “Not by me, I can assure you. He despises me. I can only conjecture he’s feeling guilty about the past, now I’ve taxed him with it.”

  “Nonsense—I think he must admire you. He barely knows me, and he certainly doesn’t give me the same intense, hungry stares he gives you. I’ll make you a bargain, Athene. Rushbourne is clearly ripe for the plucking. You can have first try at him, and if you fail, I’ll have my turn at ensnaring him.”

  “But I don’t want to ensnare him. I want to punish him.” Why would Kat not accept her protestations on that score? It was so frustrating.

  Her guardian picked up a slice of game pie from their luncheon tray and chewed it slowly. “Maybe we can both get what we want.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You hook him and reel him in. Then, when you have him on his knees and begging, cut him loose. I’ll be there to pick up the shattered pieces and make him whole again, and he’ll be so grateful to me, he’ll make me his mistress. I doubt he’ll want me for a wife, however. As you know, I’m none too keen to become fat and droopy from childbearing in any case, nor dull from having to spend all my days housekeeping and entertaining bores.”

  Athene bit her lip. She wanted revenge on Rushbourne, yes, but could she bear to let him come any closer before she rejected him? Especially when there was that physical magnetism he’d developed to consider—it hastened her heartbeat just thinking about it.

  If Kat’s plan were successful, both she and her guardian would get what they wanted—Kat would have a protector, and Athene would have her vengeance. It would also get Rushbourne out of the way so she could find herself a husband.

  And she rather liked the idea of him on his knees and begging—though it was difficult to imagine him ever doing so.

  “But I don’t know how to go about it,” she protested.

  “You’d have very little to do—I think he’s already attracted to you. You’re a beautiful young woman with a good deal of wit—all you need is to learn how to flirt. That, I can teach you.”

  Surely, she couldn’t hope to succeed? To entice a man, one had to be eager, warm. She’d buried those aspects of herself years ago to protect her damaged heart. Rushbourne himself thought she had no tender feelings, and called her ‘heartless’. He wouldn’t want to waste his time on an icy-veined female, even if he was attracted to her, would he? Unless her frigid exterior made her a tempting challenge.

  “I suppose you could teach me, but I don’t know if I’d be a good pupil.”

  Kat gave her an encouraging wink. “Only time will tell. Well really, is he back already? He must be more deeply enamoured than I guessed.”

  Another rap on the door had Athene scooting for the safety of the window shutters—she daren’t face Rushbourne again after what they’d just been talking about. She scrambled onto the windowsill and pulled the shutters almost closed, then peered through the crack.

  “Henry Paviland, at your service.”

  Her ears pricked up. What was Harry doing here?

  “Come in, do.” Kat glanced behind her, apparently startled by Athene’s sudden disappearance, but made no comment. Thank goodness.

  “Miss Dunstable. I apologise for disturbing you. I wondered if either you or Miss Hartville might care to take a turn around the gardens with me. But I see I have missed Athene.”

  “You have indeed, and I’m not dressed for walking, alas.” Kat gazed at herself and smoothed a hand lightly down her front.

  Athene bit back a smile as Harry’s cheeks coloured. How cruel of Kat to test her abilities on a green boy. Or was this intended to be her first lesson in flirting?

  “Pray, sit down. I’m finishing my luncheon. Can I offer you anything?” Kat’s husky tone deepened Harry’s colour still further. Her mode of flirting was less than subtle. How many men had this siren lured into her bedchamber before Athene came to live with her?

  Harry took the proffered chair and folded his hands between his knees. “How did you…er…enjoy the card playing this morning?”

  “I’d have enjoyed it better had I been at your table. You would have been a worthy opponent, even when only playing for counters.”

  Ah, flattery. Athene grimaced. Could she ever bring herself to flatter Rushbourne the same way? Was there anything good to say about him, at all?

  “Why, thank you. I’m sure it can be arranged, the next time such play is suggested. Do you mean to stay long, Miss Dunstable?”

  “I wasn’t inclined to before, but I may very well change my mind. I had thought the company somewhat stultifying, but clearly, I was mistaken.”

  Harry puffed his chest out and pushed back his shoulders. He was lapping up every word, the misguided fool. Athene tried to picture herself saying something to make Rushbourne pleased with himself, but the very idea was anathema.

  “The ends justify the means,” she whispered, then shrank back in fear of discovery. But Harry was mesmerised by Kat, who had now draped herself on the chaise longue and contrived to coax her gown over one shoulder, drawing the eye to her long, slender neck and beautifully sculpted collarbone.

  “Toss me a peach, would you, Mr Paviland,” Kat purred. “We had them yesterday from His Grace’s hothouse. By all means, help yourself to something.”

  Harry shot up, grasped the fruit bowl and offered it to her. There was a sharp tap on the glass behind Athene’s head, but she ignored it, fascinated by the performance unfolding in front of her. It was better than any theatrical.

  Kat took a hefty bite, and peach juice cascaded down her chin. She mopped it up with a finger, which she then sucked with evident satisfaction. Harry collapsed back into his seat, fumbled about in the fruit bowl and pulled out an apple, but made no attempt to eat it.

  There was a further rattle on the pane, but she gave it no heed—sudden squalls were not unusual in
November. She pushed the shutters a little further apart, so she could see Harry better. Kat took another bite of her peach, and this time, a fragment slid from her chin and down into her cleavage.

  Harry’s eyes bulged as she delved into her bosom to retrieve the piece, which she then consumed with relish, licking her lips afterwards with darting movements of her tongue. “I am too clumsy,” she drawled. “I didn’t realise it was so very ripe.”

  Another tap on the window, harder this time, and far too loud for rain. Irritated, Athene swivelled her head to identify the source.

  It was Viscount Rushbourne, scowling up at her from the path below. As soon as he saw he’d got her attention, he gestured for her to come down.

  Blast and bother—how was she going to explain her peculiar situation? But she must do exactly that or Harry might say something, and Rushbourne would know she’d been spying on his brother.

  She waved back in as calm a manner as she could, trying to appear as if hiding behind shutters was an everyday occurrence for her. She held up both hands and spread her fingers, hoping desperately Kat’s charade would last no longer than ten minutes.

  Rushbourne nodded his understanding, glanced around, pointed towards the orangery, and held up his own hands in imitation of her own.

  She turned away and rolled her eyes. Typical. She now had a tryst with Viscount Rushbourne, but how was she to make her escape from the bedchamber?

  Perhaps the more pressing question was, should she use the tryst to apply what she’d recently learned about seduction? The idea was horrifying, but this might be the best opportunity she ever had to put her plan into action.

  At least they were meeting in the orangery. Which meant there’d be no shortage of juicy fruit.

  Chapter 10

  The wait for Athene in the orangery was the longest ten minutes of Rushbourne’s life. He’d put together so many pretty speeches, rehearsed them in his head like an actor, but the moment she glided through the doorway, every single word fled from his mind.

  “You’ll be wondering why I was lurking behind the shutters,” she said, with apparent joviality.

  “Not the best hiding place, when you can be seen from outside.” Damn. He sounded as if he was patronising her, so he attempted a grin.

  “We were playing a little trick on Harry. He’ll doubtless tell you about it, unless he’s too embarrassed to, in which case I wouldn’t press him. Nothing serious, I assure you.”

  He didn’t want to talk about Harry. “Hide and Seek—yes, I understand. In some ways I still see Harry as a child, but in other ways he is very much a man. Having a younger brother is a major responsibility.” He ground to a halt.

  “Did you want to speak to me?” She’d moved closer, near enough for him to smell her perfume.

  “I wanted to find out if the gifts I sent were acceptable.”

  “Oh, most certainly.” She fanned a hand across her face. “Although one has no need of them in here. Is that steam coming out through the vents?” She tugged at the front of her dress and released it a couple of times to cool herself.

  “Possibly.” What did he mean, possibly? Of course, it was steam. Why could he not think straight? Perhaps the humid heat in here was interfering with his logical mind.

  “So, the gloves and shawls were suitable?” he persisted. “The colours pleased you? I mean, both of you?”

  “Of course. You already knew my colouring, but you must have studied Kat’s too. Tell me, do you think men would find her attractive?”

  “Probably.” He pondered a moment, then added, “But they’d scarcely notice her when you were in the same room.”

  Good God, he was trying to flatter her. Was it working? He had no idea. He’d never attempted to flatter a woman before. He’d never needed to—wealth and good looks had always been enough. But not for Athene. Was his a forlorn hope?

  She was so close now he could feel the brush of her skirts. She twinkled up at him. “How gallant of you to say so. I never expected such praise to fall from your lips.”

  “Nor did I.” He felt as if he’d been hit by a thunderbolt. Athene had never before been so well inclined towards him.

  “Is this where Burlington grows his peaches?” To his disappointment, she sashayed away. He watched the sway of her hips, and his mouth went dry.

  “I believe so.” Lord, was he incapable of speaking more than three words at one time? The effect this woman had on him—had always had on him—was astounding. He’d never felt truly himself when in her presence. His mind shouted at him that it was a sign there could never be any peace between them. His body shouted that it didn’t care.

  And was peace what he wanted anyway?

  He followed her, battening the hatches on the lustful thoughts her luscious curves provoked.

  “Ah, here they are.” The few remaining peaches hung suspended from an espaliered tree trained up the end wall of the orangery. Athene reached out and caressed the skin of one. “So smooth, so silky.”

  He shuddered involuntarily, unable to shake from his mind’s eye an image of her doing the same to him.

  God, but she was making this difficult. “Athene.”

  “Hmm?” She turned. Having bitten into a peach, her chin now ran with sticky juice.

  “Stop. You’re making a mess. You did just as much damage to pears when you were a girl, as I recall.” He fumbled for his pocket handkerchief and held it out to her but she didn’t take it. Instead, her fingers closed over his. “You do it. I can’t see where the drips are.”

  She was inviting him to touch her? Since when had she gone through this sea-change? He’d hoped his gifts and praise would melt her icy heart a little, but had never expected such dramatic results.

  Observing her carefully, lest she suddenly change her mind and slap him, he dabbed the cloth gently across her chin, then rubbed it slowly over her mouth.

  And was transfixed. As in a dream, he slowly drew his forefinger across the seam of her lips, tracing their lush shape. She parted them slightly, let out a little huff of breath and gazed up at him, her eyes dark against the milky whiteness of her skin. A few adorable freckles nestled near her nose.

  He winced inwardly. Once, he’d called her ‘freckle-face’. Little wonder she hated him. That, however, no longer seemed to be the case.

  Mesmerised by the soft temptation of her mouth, he knew if he didn’t kiss her now, he’d regret it the rest of his life.

  “I’m going to kiss you.” Better to warn than to ask. Asking gave her a chance to refuse. His pride couldn’t cope with that.

  She closed her eyes. An invitation, but it was a pity—he wanted a window to her heart, needed to know if she cared for him in the slightest or if she was just playing games. Damn it. Did it even matter?

  She met his lips without flinching, and he revelled in the sweet taste of her, a sip of nectar stolen from the gods. No, not stolen. She was kissing him back, her slender arms twined around his neck, her hands tangling in his hair. He could feel her breasts pushed against his chest and he groaned in response as desire caught him up in its fiery grip.

  He bent her backwards in his enthusiasm, enraptured by their kiss, drinking from her mouth as if it was the last thing he’d ever taste. If only there was a bed in this place, or even a sofa—his body yearned to feel her underneath him, feel her buck with pleasure as he made love to her.

  Her hands cupped his face, and he realised if he released her from his embrace, she’d fall. This was incredible. All his dreams were coming true at once—Athene Hartville was in his arms, her tongue exploring his with apparent passion. Athene Hartville was letting him hold her around her slender waist, accepting the pressure of his hips against hers. The reality was, if anything, even better than his dreams. He should have spoiled her when she was a child, given her gifts from his modest allowance rather than teased her to get her attention—but somehow, he’d always hoped she would see beneath the surface, see the real him beneath the tough exterior he’d had to create to sur
vive.

  She had seen through it now—if her present behaviour was anything to go by. She lacked experience of love-making—for which he was eternally grateful—but, led by what he wanted, was learning fast. She dropped her hands to his shoulders and massaged them, flexing her fingers against the muscles in time with the dance of their tongues.

  Oh, gods! He wanted to be inside her, to be a part of her. No woman had ever had so powerful an effect on him, in so short a time. His tongue delved deep as his hands explored this golden goddess who had offered herself up to him.

  He became aware of a pressure on his chest—she had had enough and was pushing him away.

  “Forgive me.” He ran a hand across his brow and tried to focus his thoughts. “I should not have taken advantage of you in such a way, in full daylight, in a place with so many glass walls.” Even the Duke of Burlington would not condone such behaviour—pray heaven they had not been seen.

  Athene patted her hair back into place and smoothed her hands over her gown. His eyes followed the movement greedily, and he had to take several paces back to remove the temptation.

  “It was a little foolish of us,” she agreed, her voice sensual and sultry. “Only the place, I mean, not the action. Next time we will choose our location more wisely.”

  There was going to be a ‘next time’? How could he believe she genuinely wanted him? Yet, there was evidence to suggest she did—her lips were full and rosy from his kisses, her cheeks were flushed and her blue eyes dark and shining. Everything about her appeared soft as lambswool, no sign of the frozen demeanour she usually showed towards him.

  “Dare I hope you have changed your mind about me?” His voice was rough, needy. “Can we put the past behind us now?”

  “I concede we might become friends if opportunity allows. Looking back, I don’t think I’ve hated every single encounter with you. Some of our childhood adventures may have been tolerable.”

  “And what about our most recent encounter? It went way beyond friendship if what I felt from you was real.”