“Yes, I suppose it might be.” She paused then she drew in a deep breath. “Do you know, it has grown quite warm in here.”
He was not slow to pick up her hint and a ready heat flowed through his lower body. He wanted nothing more than to whisk her away from the swelling crowd. It had been far too long since he had held her in his arms. But the knowledge that Mr. Foxworth was currently regarding them with a narrowed gaze made him hesitate.
He did not fear the older man, but he did respect his right to be concerned for his niece’s welfare.
“I would offer to take you out for a breath of air, but I have been specifically warned to behave with proper restraint in your presence.”
Her brow creased in puzzlement. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Your uncle was quite clear that I am not to break your heart.”
“Ah.” She abruptly chuckled. “He is very protective.”
“Yes. He does not realize just how very elusive that heart of yours is.”
Her gaze lowered to where his fingers absently stroked her skin.
“Do you wish to break my heart?”
“Certainly not,” he denied in firm tones. “I would never harm you. But I do wonder if that specific organ can be reached.”
“Like you, it would take someone very special,” she said softly.
“Ah.” He closely studied the lowered lashes, the slender nose, and the satin softness of her lips. He realized that he very much wished to discover what sort of gentleman would tempt her to toss aside her proudly flaunted independence. “And what are your requirements?”
She deliberately paused, as if considering her answer. “He would have to be handsome, of course.”
“Of course.”
“And of a romantic disposition.”
“Is that all?”
“Certainly not.” Her gaze lifted to regard him with a steady gaze. “He would have to be intelligent and strong, but he could not attempt to treat me as a witless child. And he would have to adore me.”
The heady scent of roses was quickly going to his head. “Who would not?”
“And he could not constantly forget my presence in favor of his workroom,” she concluded with open delight at besting him.
He slowly smiled. The mere notion of any gentleman forgetting her presence was ludicrous. Were she in his house the only reason he would be in his workroom would be if she were with him. Perhaps assisting him with his current invention. Or better still, leading him to the small sofa he kept in the corner. . .
With an effort he forced his thoughts from the dangerous images.
“You expect a gentleman who will dance constant attendance upon you?” he demanded in light tones.
She shrugged. “I would not wish to be ignored.”
Anthony gave a slow shake of his head. He knew that her words were designed merely to torment him.
“There is a v—vast difference between being ignored and smothering someone with attention. I do not believe you would care for a gentleman who would demand to be always at your side or who would complain if he did not know precisely where you were every moment of the day. An independent woman would soon chaff beneath such a tight bridle.”
She regarded him with wry annoyance, unable to deny the truth of his words.
“I do not believe I wish to be likened to a horse.”
“You know that I am right.”
“You think you know me very well.”
He laughed softly at the hint of pique in her tone. “On the contrary. You remain a tempting enigma. I do, however, possess enough sense to realize that a high-spirited minx would not wish to be caged by any man.”
Her chin tilted. “And you would be driven to distraction by a sweetly demur chit who preferred you in your workroom rather than in her company.”
Ah, so his earlier words had pricked a nerve, he thought with a flare of satisfaction. It was an intriguing discovery.
“Perhaps.”
* * *
Rachel felt her heart quiver as Anthony leaned slowly forward. Over the past few days she had missed these tantalizing encounters. With so many guests it was nearly impossible to find a moment alone with him. And, of course, he continued to be aggravatingly elusive, disappearing without warning to the stables or the nearby village.
She discovered herself searching for him each time she walked into a room. And when he wasn’t there she felt a sharp pang of loneliness that was nearly frightening in its intensity.
Never had a mere man managed to intrude so deeply into her thoughts.
Her breath caught as his gaze lowered to her lips, then the loud booming voice of the butler echoed through the room, making his elegant countenance suddenly tighten with annoyance.
“It appears we have more guests,” he said in even tones.
Rachel glanced toward the door, where Lady Broswell stood with her two daughters and Lord Newell. It was precisely what she had desired when she came to Surrey. She had known that Lord Newell was bound to make an appearance with his godmother and soon-to-be fiance. It was the perfect opportunity to prove how easily she could lure the young gentleman from their side.
But rather than elation at having an opportunity to further her revenge, Rachel could not deny a stab of disappointment that her moment alone with Anthony appeared to be at an end.
“Lady Broswell,” she murmured.
“And your devoted admirer from the opera.”
“Yes. Lord Newell.”
The dark eyes narrowed. “It pleases you that he prefers your charms to those of Miss Hamlin?”
Her expression became defensive at the edge of reproach in his tone. He could not possibly understand. No one could understand.
“It provides a certain satisfaction.”
His lips twisted as he rose to his feet. “Then I shall leave you to your game.”
She opened her mouth to beg him to stay. She did not want to be left on her own. Not even for the sake of furthering her revenge. Then realizing her absurd weakness, she forced herself to swallow the hasty words.
Good heavens, she was Miss Rachel Cresswell, she sternly reminded herself. She had no need to plead for a man’s attentions. Any man’s attentions.
Forcing an indifferent smile, she watched him stroll back to the far shadows of the room.
He would never suspect the sharp pang that shot through her heart at his sudden defection.
The stiff smile remained intact even as she realized that Lord Newell was hurrying in her direction. This was the reason she had come to Surrey, she forced herself to acknowledge. Not to be bedeviled by Anthony Clarke.
“Miss Cresswell.” Lord Newell readily settled beside her, appearing rather ridiculous in a burgundy striped coat and a fussy cravat that no doubt took an hour to tie. Not at all like Anthony, who preferred a simple elegance, she inanely thought. Of course, Lord Newell was far too scrawny to appear anything but absurd without his padding and frills. “I could not believe my fortune when I learned you were a guest here.”
“Lord Newell, how pleasant to see you again.”
His gaze avidly devoured the white expanse of her bosom before reluctantly raising to meet her hazel eyes.
“You look beautiful. Like an angel fallen from heaven.”
“How kind of you,” she forced herself to murmur, inwardly wondering if gentlemen were taught such mundane compliments along with Latin and Greek in school. She had lost count of how many occasions she had heard those precise words. “And of course you are as handsome as ever. Is that a new coat?”
He instantly preened in delight. “I say, do you like it?”
“It is quite eye-catching.”
Predictably missing the irony in her words, he ran a hand over the smooth material.
“Cost a wretched fortune, but well worth every quid.”
“Does that mean your mother has halted her threats to have your allowance brought to an end?”
“Gads, no.” His smile dimmed. “The old Tartar is determined to have me leg-s
hackled by the end of the year.”
Rachel deliberately glanced toward where Lady Broswell and her two-long faced daughters were glaring daggers at her.
“What will you do?”
“What can I do?” he demanded in plaintive tones. “I shall have to wed the chit.”
She slowly returned her attention to the boy at her side. “You could always refuse.”
“Refuse?” He appeared deeply shocked by the mere suggestion. “You do not know my mother. She is contrary enough to end my allowance. It will still be three years before I will have control of my inheritance.”
Rachel lifted a golden brow. “So, you will wed Miss Hamlin even though you do not care for her?”
He shrugged his indifference. “It is expected and I must marry someday. One maiden is as good as another.”
Until that moment Rachel’s sympathies had lain entirely with this gentleman. The mere thought of being bullied into marriage by Lady Broswell was utterly repulsive. Now she felt a faint, unwelcome stab of pity for Mary. She would soon be tied to this weak, self-absorbed gentleman, who did not even possess a morsel of affection for her.
With an effort she thrust aside the notion. She would not allow herself to weaken.
“And I thought you claimed that I was quite special,” she teased in flirtatious tones.
“Good Lord, I was not referring to you, Miss Cresswell,” he swiftly denied, anxious to assure her that he intended no insult. “You are a bright shining star. A vision that takes my breath away.”
“My lord, you shall quite turn my head.”
“I wish that I could,” he said wistfully, leaning far too close. “May I call on you tomorrow?”
Rachel briefly considered Lady Broswell’s response to the thought of her prospective son-in-law charging from her home to be with her hated niece. She would be furious, of course, and deeply humiliated that Lord Newell obviously preferred Rachel to her daughter.
It was precisely what she wanted.
But even as a part of her urged her to agree to his request, her gaze sought out the masculine form standing so still in a far corner of the room. She did not want to waste her day fending off the advances of this awkward boy, she abruptly realized. Even if it did mean infuriating her aunt. There would be any number of opportunities to tease Lady Broswell.
“I do not believe Lady Broswell would care for the notion,” she at last retorted.
“There is no need for her to know.”
“This is not London, my lord. I fear gossip would travel very swiftly through the countryside.”
His lips dropped in a petulant fashion at the truth in her words.
“I suppose you are right.” He heaved a sigh. “How I wish I could speak with you alone.”
“Is there something of a private nature you wish to discuss with me?”
He reached out to grasp her hand in a near-painful grip. “There is so much. Things that I can not speak of with others so near.”
Rachel determinedly pulled her maltreated fingers free, consumed with impatience with the overeager gentleman.
“My lord, you must think of your poor fiancée.”
“Fah. As long as I wed her, she will not concern herself with my interests.”
Realizing that there was only one certain method of ridding herself of his presence, she deliberately glanced at the Broswell clan, who were decidedly flushed as they stared in their direction.
“She does not appear disinterested at the moment. Indeed, I would hazard a guess that she is quite annoyed.”
As expected, Lord Newell cast a hasty glance toward his soon-to-be fiancée. He seemed to shrink as he met Mary’s gaze. He no doubt realized he was bound to endure a severe tongue-lashing for his betrayal.
“Blast. I suppose I should return to her side,” he muttered, rising to his feet. “I shall have to speak with you later, my dear.”
He hurried away without a backward glance and Rachel heaved a faint sigh. She had never been more relieved that she had been born into the scandalous side of the family. Her father would never pressure her into a cold, loveless relationship. He cared far more that she was happy than smothered in the heavy expectations of society.
It was perhaps the greatest gift he had ever given her.
Absently watching Lady Broswell furiously whispering in Lord Newell’s ear, Rachel failed to note the elegant gentleman circling the room to stand directly behind her. It was only when a slender finger stroked a feather-light caress down the back of her neck that she realized Anthony had returned.
She shivered as her body immediately reacted to his proximity.
“W—well, my dearest, if you hoped to infuriate Lady Broswell I believe you have succeeded.”
Knowing that she had been far kinder than she had intended to be and that it was entirely this gentleman’s fault, she refused to apologize.
“I can hardly be responsible for the behavior of Lord Newell.”
“You are thoroughly responsible, as you well know. You have bewitched the poor sod.”
“I have been polite.”
He gave a low chuckle, his fingers still trailing a disturbing path along the curve of her neck.
“I am not one of your witless admirers, Rachel. I can tell when a woman is encouraging a young gentleman.”
She shrugged, not about to reveal that she had not been nearly as encouraging as she could have been. Lord Newell would still be at her side if she had not sent him on his way.
“You are at liberty to believe what you will.”
There was a pause before she heard him heave a faint sigh.
“Ah, I do not wish to argue. Do you still find the room overly warm?”
All thoughts of Lord Newell fled as a tingle of anticipation rushed through her. She very much wanted to be alone with this man.
“What of my uncle?”
“He seems to have disappeared,” he said in low tones. “Shall we take a turn on the veranda?”
“Very well.”
She rose to her feet, waiting for Anthony to round the sofa and claim her arm. Together they moved through the guests and at last through the door that led to the veranda. Rachel drew in a deep breath as the dark peace settled about them.
It was lovely to be away from the chattering guests and baleful glares of Lady Broswell. And, of course, it was even more lovely to be close enough to Anthony to feel the heat of his body surround her.
A familiar shiver surged through her and Anthony glanced down in concern.
“Are you cold?”
“No,” she hurriedly denied, not wishing the moment to end. “It is very mild.”
“I believe that spring is attempting to make it’s presence known.”
“Yes.”
Without warning he came to a halt, his hands reaching out to grasp her shoulders and turn her to face him. By the silvery moonlight Rachel watched as he studied her upturned countenance and slender form with thrilling urgency.
“You know, I have always thought of you as a woman of sunshine, so bright and warm with life, but you appear quite provocative by the light of the moon.”
Rachel’s breath became unsteady as she met the smoldering dark gaze.
“Why, Anthony, was that a compliment?”
“M—merely an observation. I leave empty compliments to rogues and schoolboys.”
She stepped closer, her heart thundering in her chest. “Do you have any other observations?”
He smiled as his hands moved from her shoulders to trail his fingers along the line of her plunging neckline.
“I suppose that I could tell you that your skin possesses the purity of a rare pearl and that your eyes have been kissed with gold dust. Or that your lips are perfectly formed to fit my own and your body so sweetly curved that I ache to feel it pressed beneath me.”
Rachel was trembling from head to toe as those seeking fingers plunged beneath the silk of her bodice to caress the soft curve of her breast.
“Oh.”
&nbs
p; Clearly sensing her rising passion, Anthony slowly lowered his head to claim her lips in a branding kiss. Rachel tilted her head back, readily allowing him access to her mouth. He groaned as he hungrily tasted her desire, his hands cupping the fullness of her breasts.
Rachel grasped his arms, afraid she might fall to her knees as a sharp, unbearably sweet pleasure flooded through her. Gads, she felt as if she were drowning in the sensations she had never even dreamed existed.
With an impatient urgency his mouth moved from her throbbing lips to sear a path over her cheek and down the line of her neck. He nuzzled the frantic pulse at the base of her throat and Rachel moaned in approval.
“I did not know a kiss could feel like this,” she said in broken tones.
His soft laugh brushed her sensitive skin. “Is that good or bad?”
“I am not entirely certain,” she admitted.
He trailed his lips over her collarbone, making another shudder rack her body.
“You do not find our kisses pleasurable?”
She closed her eyes as she battled the dizzying need that clutched deep within her.
“Too pleasurable. I can not think when you hold me like this.”
“Then do not think. Just enjoy,” he commanded, returning his lips to her mouth with a barely restrained hunger.
Rachel melted against him, her hands stroking the firm muscles of his chest. For the moment it did not matter what magic he possessed that set her body ablaze. She only knew that she wished to discover where these tumultuous sensations would lead.
Then without warning Anthony was pulling away and glancing toward the shadowed garden.
“What is it?” she whispered, feeling oddly bereft as his hands dropped to his side.
“I heard something,” he retorted, moving toward the stone railing.
Rachel followed him, her own gaze probing the darkness until she at last spotted the vague outline of two forms beside a distant fountain.
“Someone is in the garden,” she whispered, pointing toward the figures. “Over there.”
He leaned forward, his gaze narrowed. “It appears to be your uncle.”
Rachel felt a stab of unease as she recognized the unmistakable shape of her father and the smaller, obviously female form with him.
“Yes,” she breathed, instinctively moving toward the nearby stairs, “and Miss Carlfield.”
When You Wish Page 45