“To stop me from what?” She pulled back, attempting a prim retreat more out of habit than desire.
“From dancing with me.”
Haley’s mouth fell open for a moment, unsure that she had heard him correctly. She’d expected another audacious proposition or some sly invitation to repeat the kiss they’d shared in Hyde Park. Before she could think of a witty response, he stood, and even in the semidarkness, she could see the hand he outstretched toward her.
“Dance with me, Miss Moreland.”
As if the orchestra inside the grand house was in league with him, it struck up a new tune, and Haley began to suspect that the man had a touch of the magician in him. She reached out and took his hand, and the last tenuous thread that held her to the world outside their small haven disintegrated in a small sigh.
Galen gently guided her into his arms, amazed anew at how naturally she moved against him, gracefully matching his steps as they began to dance slowly in the confines of the gazebo. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d asked a woman to dance, but certainly never before in such a manner and without a soul to keep a watchful eye.
The simple act of leading her in the steps of a waltz took on a primal and powerful new meaning, as she yielded to him at the slightest pressure of his fingertips on her back, following him and turning at his unspoken command. At first, it was innocent enough, but with each sweeping circle around the confines of the miniature temple, Galen drew her closer and closer until there was no space at all between them. Within seconds, it was if they were entirely attuned to each other, and he marveled at the pleasure of it, even as the erotic consequences began to ignite his every nerve ending.
He’d anticipated kissing her again, and now he deliberately toyed with the gentle torture of prolonging this embrace—unwilling to hurry a single step of the seduction now that he held the reins.
“I want to kiss you, Miss Moreland.”
“I can’t—Galen, I shouldn’t.”
His lips moved against her temple, the lightest caress over the tiny pulse there that betrayed her sweet response, and he whispered against her skin. “Then don’t. Don’t kiss me, but if you let me kiss you . . . then you’ll keep your vow not to misbehave.”
It was wanton logic at its finest.
“Let me kiss you, as I wish, and you . . . need do nothing.”
It was reckless, wicked logic that would never have held sway under the bright lights of a ballroom, but alone in the dark, Galen relied on the heat between them and the magic of the shadows to lure her into allowing him to take what he wanted.
When she sighed, it was the softest sound of acquiescence, setting off a cascade through his body with the roar of an avalanche that demanded he seize this chance as if no other would ever present itself.
Even so, he began with the most innocent kiss on the satiny heat of her forehead, before trailing a soft string of kisses across her face, deliberately lighting on the tip of her nose before skimming across her cheek and seeking out the sensitive shell of her ear to nibble and tease her until her breath quickened. He caught the fleshy curve of her earlobe between his teeth, only to suckle her briefly, making her writhe against him at the unexpected sensation. Galen dropped his mouth down to her bare shoulder, moving to the sensitive juncture at her neck, and Haley began to push against him as he found the magical intersection that sent a chill across her skin and undoubtedly sent a new tendril of fire through her frame.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m kissing you, Miss Moreland.”
“I’m sure I thought you meant . . . a proper kiss . . .” She was obviously having trouble collecting her thoughts, and Galen wasted no time in pressing the advantage by complying with her request for a “proper kiss.” He caught her mouth with his, forgetting about the game, losing himself in the fiery sweet taste of her lips and tongue, drawing her closer until she was melded against his body. Each movement, she matched, innocently fueling his desire until he was sure there was nothing else in existence but the siren in his arms and his need to possess her.
His right hand dropped to find the curve of her bottom, lifting her slightly, pressing her against his arousal, instinctively seeking the warm core between her thighs, feeling the heat of her even through layers of clothing. She made no protest, her thighs parting for his, riding against him and reacting to the friction against her sensitive folds. He deepened the kiss and strode forward, easily pushing her back onto the cushions of the long bench with his evening coat beneath her, as his explorations left any guise of gentlemanly restraint behind.
The stiff structure of her bodice thwarted any thought he might have of exploring the delectable mounds of her breasts or tasting them as he would have wanted—at least, not without risking damage to her dress that couldn’t be undone or explained away later. Instead, his hands started to caress the sweet curve of her thighs, lifting her skirts to reach under the endless layers of silk and taffeta to find the bare flesh inside the opening of her underclothes, and her hidden soft slit, already ripe and wet and eager for his touch.
She stiffened, shock and pleasure warring to make her moan, off balance by the maelstrom of sensations roaring through her. She wasn’t sure how to protest as his mouth sought and found every sensitive corner of her mouth until she only knew that she never wanted it to end—and when his hand slid up her thigh, slipping easily past the top of her stockings and finding the wet, silky skin between her legs, Haley waited for some sensible part of her to cry for a halt, but it never really happened.
Instead, every inch of her passionate nature unfurled like a flower in the sun, and she surrendered to each impulse that brought her closer to the heat and fire she craved. She clung to him, instinctively seeking to touch him, her hands sliding around his waist and up the warm planes and curves of his back, circling the strong muscles underneath her fingers and savoring his warmth even through the silk of his shirt and waistcoat.
She was trapped between two impossible pleasures, each feeding into the other, his hot mouth and the movement of his tongue echoing playfully off the rhythm of his fingers on the tight bud of her clit, sliding back and forth over the bundle of nerves just beneath her skin, teasing it with each pass. It was like a dance, a keening melody of desire going faster and faster with each wicked touch until she was writhing, moaning, arching against him, transformed into someone else.
A coil of need twisted and tightened inside of her, a searing spiral that suddenly seemed to connect every part of her at once until she was afraid she would shatter, and then she didn’t care if she did, aware only that some unknown bliss was just barely out of reach—that if she only knew what it was, then paradise would be hers for the taking.
But Galen seemed to know, his fingers increasing their speed and goading her on, as his lips left hers to tease the outer shell of her ear, his teeth grazing the plump flesh of her earlobe to suckle her, and Haley cried out as the white-hot coil inside her unraveled in an ecstatic explosion that careened past her control, tearing away the illusion, once and for all, that there was a boundary between desire and discipline.
She wasn’t sure what to say. “You . . .”
His breath was coming as quickly as hers, the ragged sound of it making her wonder how much further he could have gone—and the toll it took on a man to provide for her pleasure but not necessarily for his own. “Mr. Hawke, I—”
He put his fingers over her lips, surprising her as he quickly shifted away without warning, a rush of cold air against her skin accenting the sudden distance between them. But before she could even raise herself from the cushions to protest his rude dismissal, the cause became clear.
“Mr. Hawke? Is that you?” Aunt Alice queried from the verandah, her voice carrying in the night air.
Haley closed her eyes in instant mortification, a horrifying shame she had never experienced almost making her cry out. But Galen stood, shielding her more effectively from view, as he stepped into the temple’s narrow doorway.
> “Yes, Mrs. Shaw. I was just enjoying a smoke away from the party.”
“Have you seen my niece?”
“No, I can honestly say I have not.”
Haley nearly squeaked at the lie, but then remembered his jest about it being too dark to have truly “seen” each other, and put her fingers over her mouth to stifle a groan. Ruined—or nearly ruined! And I’m only regretting that he stopped . . . what kind of woman have I become?
“Well, if you see her, do let her know that her father is . . . under the weather and ready to leave.”
“I will. Thank you, Mrs. Shaw.” He held his place for a few moments, then turned to help Haley to her feet. “That was harrowing.”
Haley stood, struggling to regain her composure. To be almost discovered with her skirts around her waist, and even now, to feel the residual echoes of each passionate tremor and the cool night air whispering across her still damp thighs—it was like a feverish dream. Haley looked back toward the house and realized that the rain had stopped. When? When did it stop? How long when I could have escaped before . . .
“Miss Moreland?” he asked, stepping behind her, his warm breath caressing her bare shoulder. “Are you all right?”
It was too much. Haley fled the temple without looking back and ran through the garden toward the verandah and the house. She ran as if speed and distance alone could resolve the tangle of her emotions and free her from the spell of his touch—and banish him from her heart.
Leaving the garden, Galen rebuttoned his coat and moved back toward the glow of the party and reentered as carefully and quietly as he could. He turned the handle slowly and held his breath as the wood creaked. He looked up to see if any of the servants had noticed and then nearly yelled out when he realized that Michael Rutherford was standing just inside the door.
“Damn it, Michael! How does a man the size of a mountain do that?”
“Do what?” Michael asked, his mood unimproved after a night in such “good company.”
“I thought you’d left!”
“I said I wanted to, but frankly, it’s not Josiah who has me concerned.”
“I’m in no danger, Michael.”
“And there’s the problem.” Rutherford crossed his arms. “You are, and you’re not paying any attention.”
“I don’t think Miss Moreland is—”
“Not the girl!” Michael let out a sigh, then fixed an icy cold gaze the color of steel on his friend to ensure that he had his complete attention. “You’re so focused on the girl, I think I could have paraded a regiment in full colors through this party and you’d have missed it. Trumble’s friend, Bascombe, is a known associate of agents with the East India Company and if I guess right, then he’s taken you on as a special favor to them, or for someone in the government. He’s asking too many questions, Galen, and he’s too heavy-handed for you to ignore.”
“He’s an ass, but he’s too clumsy to pose much of a threat to me.”
“Normally, I would agree with you, but since you seem to be blinded to all else in the world but Miss Moreland, I’m not so sure.”
“He wasn’t even in attendance tonight, Rutherford. Why are we talking about Rand Bascombe of all people?”
“He was in attendance, and I’m fairly certain he saw your ladylove coming back from the garden.”
Galen’s breath hissed through his teeth, but he wasn’t going to admit defeat.“But not me?”
Michael shook his head.“But you may want to put off your plans and_”
“No.”
Michael shook his head and sighed in resignation. “Then on that particular topic, allow me to make one final observation.”
“Do as you wish.”
“Your attentions to the girl have been obvious enough already to give your campaign credibility. In other words, if you still insist on it, then you can ruin her with a word. But you don’t have to ruin her in truth, GAlen. A fine line, I know, but one that your conscience may later appreciate.”
“My conscience...” Galen repeated the word, unsure of anything except that Haley fogged his every thought and was beginning to make him doubt his motives and his sanity. He could still smell her and taste her from their encounter in the garden, and it had been too easy to forget why he’d meant to achieve her ruin. Her father’s drunken speeches about marble fireplaces and how vast his stables would be had only muddied matters. Lord Moreland’s maudlin proclamations about his dead wife had been endlessly intermixed with strange mercenary hints that he appreciated every penny weighting his future son-in-law’s pockets and was looking forward to spending them.
But more damning had been the moment when Galen had asked of John Everly. Lord Moreland had nostalgically descibed his daughter’s first fiancé and mumbled something about the loss of a good man, but nothing of regret that she’d forgotten to mourn in order to enjoy her good fortune. It was as if Lord Moreland shared the same propensity to amnesia so long as the financial benefits were within his reach. And even when he’d mentioned the loss of his friend to Haley, she’d said nothing to indicate that she, too, had experienced a recent loss.
She should explain it, be forced to face her cold and callous decision to dismiss John’s memory so handily. But perhaps Michael is right. Another overt public flirtation or two, and I can say whatever I want. No one wants to believe the best in anyone, and the public is always hungry for a delicious scandal. I could serve her up to them without laying another finger on her person. . . .
And tonight, when he could have easily allowed them to be discovered and ended it all, he’d instead instinctively protected her—and for that, he had no explanation at all.
Michael interrupted his internal debate. “Whatever you intend, Hawke, do it quickly. I’m not sure I can stand back endlessly while this tragedy unfolds.”
“Are you threatening to intervene, Rutherford?”
Michael’s look would have made any other man shake in his boots, but Galen had seen too much to fear his friend.
“No, Galen. But my conscience is starting to rob me of my rest, and I’m not going to promise that I’ll allow that to continue for very long. Pull the trigger or let her go.”
Michael turned and stalked off without another word, leaving Galen to the tangle of his thoughts and the dawning realization that he was starting to dislike either choice.
Chapter 10
Haley’s maid stood patiently waiting for her mistress to signal that she was ready to undress, but Haley finally waved her away. “I’ll manage, Emily. Go on to bed, and by all means, linger in the morning if you wish. You’ve been kept up late enough to earn a morning of leisure.”
“Thank you, Miss Moreland!” Emily curtsied with a cheerful grin. “It’s kind of you!”
Emily left and closed the door softly behind her, and Haley was alone at last. She stood, unmoving in the center of the room, a woman in the eye of an emotional storm. Long, silent seconds unfurled until everything inside of her finally calmed and a single quotation from a poem by Keats she’d once read repeated in her mind. Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music—do I wake or sleep?
In dreams, she knew, there could be a boldness that would never withstand the harsh light of day, and so a part of her longed to claim that it had all been an illusion, that she’d fallen asleep in that temple on those cushions and had every excuse for all that had taken place. But if it was a dream, then another, newly awakened part of her protested, because it robbed her of her courage and denied her new, fragile hope that Aunt Alice had been right in encouraging her to risk more for a chance at a greater happiness.
Advance or retreat.
Either path seemed fraught with danger. But then a new idea struck her.
Herbert would expect to touch her as Galen had. He would be her husband. He would go as far and further.
Haley closed her eyes, repulsed and sickened by her impending nuptials in a way she had never been before. Because there was nothing of the electricity and fire between them .
. . and now that she’d tasted true passion with Galen Hawke . . .
Every look Galen gave her, his every touch was not about polite courtship or cautious civility. If she gave into her growing need for him, he would consume her body and soul and there would be no turning back.
Life is risk. I’ve followed my head for all these years and now I am come to this moment. The bargain I’ve struck with Herbert sours with each passing day, and I don’t think I can face it. But if I’m mistaken in Galen, then I risk more than my own disgrace.
But to not take the risk suddenly seemed an impossible course.
This is no dream. No one has forced me into this predicament. Aunt Alice said, who would blame a girl for falling in love with such a man?
But I already know the answer. I’ll have none to blame but my own heart.
Alone in his library, Galen sipped a cup of green tea and watched the fire in the fireplace begin to die. Bradley had insisted on starting one to add a little more warmth and cheer to the room, and then given him that look that said he had a firm opinion on a certain lack of cheer from his employer.
Galen sipped the hot tea and considered why Bradley put up with him for all his wretched qualities. He’s a mother hen trying to coddle a tiger! If the man didn’t move so fast, he’d risk—
“Mr. Hawke, beg your pardon.” Bradley appeared in the doorway, his posture absolutely perfect, but his shirt wasn’t quite tucked in, revealing his rush and unreadiness to make announcements at one o’clock in the morning.
“I thought you went to bed, Bradley! For God’s sake, man! You don’t have to hover and offer me cakes at this hour!” Galen snapped, feeling more than a little surly after the events at Bellham’s. He put his teacup on the mantel and then waited to hear what in the world would have stirred Bradley to disturb him.
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