“I wanted to talk to you, that’s all,” she blurted out.
His eyes narrowed. “About what?”
She bit her lower lip. “About Pierce.”
That put the finishing touch on his anger. Now she was going to explain how she and her bloody cousin were perfect for each other, and Gabe could just go to hell. “What about him?”
She smoothed her skirts, refusing to look him in the eye, which confirmed his suspicions. “My cousin and I are not . . . that is . . . we . . . the two of us . . . have never . . .” Taking a deep breath, she started again. “That was the first and only time he has ever kissed me . . . like that. I didn’t want you to get the impression that we had been—”
“Intimate?” he said caustically.
Though her blush deepened, her gaze shot to his. “Yes. Intimate. I thought you should know that no matter what he implied, we don’t have that sort of . . . friendship.”
He stared at her a long moment, trying to take in what she was saying. So she wasn’t dismissing his courtship? She was embarrassed to be accused of being “intimate” with her cousin?
“Are you sure he knows that?” he asked, all at sea.
“Of course!” She released a frustrated breath. “He did it just to annoy you. And it took me so by surprise that I didn’t know what to say when you asked if I truly didn’t mind it.”
As it dawned on him what that meant, his anger ebbed.
“That is Pierce’s biggest fault, you see,” she went on. “He doesn’t know when to leave well enough alone. He seems to delight in—”
“He’d make you a lousy husband,” Gabe broke in.
She didn’t leap to deny it. “What makes you say that?”
He pressed his advantage. “Devonmont takes you for granted.”
She blinked. “That’s absurd.”
“Come now, sweetheart. I see how you take care of things around here. You hold this house together. You’re the one who makes sure they’re all well fed. Without you, that lazy cook of your grandfather’s would give them stale bread and mutton, and they’d take it because he can’t afford a decent cook.”
Her eyes went wide. “I can’t believe you noticed.”
“I’m not blind,” he snapped. “I see how things are. When you go off to town to shop, the two maids spend their time flirting with your absentminded footman and your grooms, and your housekeeper tipples whiskey until your return.” As she gazed at him in apparent shock, he added, “But when you’re here, they do their jobs, and damned near happily, too.”
“Because they’re afraid I’ll dismiss them.”
He snorted. “They know you can’t afford that. That’s not why.” He groped for words to explain it to her. It suddenly seemed very important for her to understand her own worth. “It’s because you’re so blasted cheerful.”
That had come as a complete surprise to him. He’d seen her only as the woman who found his very existence an outrage. But that was before he’d watched her in her element. Here at Waverly Farm she was a blur of happy female, bustling in and out, up and down, smoothing frayed nerves and stoking enthusiasm wherever she went.
“Who wouldn’t want to make you happy?” he choked out. “You . . . well, you make them all somehow . . . find the strength to be better than they are.” She did that to him as well, but he’d swallow gunpowder before he’d admit it. “You make do with the staff you have, and you do it brilliantly. Devonmont doesn’t see that or care. He’s used to having everything work as it should, so he doesn’t notice that what goes on in this house is your doing.”
Now she watched him with an openly vulnerable expression that made him angry. How could she not know these things about herself? How could none of them make her know it?
“Devonmont doesn’t notice that when you’re not around, your grandfather lapses into a darker mood. The earl’s a selfish, condescending arse, and he doesn’t deserve you.” At her obvious shock, he muttered, “Forgive my language, but it’s true.”
Her intent stare made him uncomfortable. He uncrossed his arms, then tucked his thumbs beneath the waistband of his breeches in a gesture of defiance meant to show her that he was not quite the blithering idiot he seemed.
Then her gaze slid slowly down his chest to his belly . . . halted at his breeches . . . before jerking back up to his face. The new blush that suffused her pretty cheeks took him by surprise.
And suddenly he saw her spying on him in a whole new light.
Well, I’ll be damned.
Could she have been watching him for another reason entirely? The very thought of the curious and virginal Virginia watching him in his half-dressed state made his blood run hot.
She tipped up her chin. “You only say these things about Pierce because you want me for yourself.”
Damned right, he did. Even more, he now suspected that she felt the same. “I say it because it’s true. You deserve better.”
“I deserve you, I suppose.”
“You deserve a man who sees you for what you are.” She eyed him warily. “And what is that?” “A woman in bad need of someone to look after her for a change. To consider her dreams and wants and needs.” He dragged his gaze slowly down her body, his blood leaping to see how it agitated her. “Someone who can give you what you crave most.”
Her breath quickened. “You don’t know what I crave most.”
“Oh, I think I do.” He stepped nearer, exulting when her cheeks grew rosy beneath his stare. “Admit it: you didn’t just come in here to talk.”
Alarm spread over her face. “Of course I did! I-I mean, why else would I possibly—”
“Don’t play the outraged innocent with me, sweetheart.” He cast her a knowing smile. “Innocent young ladies don’t hide in the hay watching half-dressed men work.”
Her mouth dropped open. When it snapped shut and temper flared in her eyes, he realized he’d overplayed his hand.
Still, it took him by surprise when she shoved him hard enough to make him fall into the hay. “And innocent gentlemen don’t work half-dressed on a property where innocent young ladies might wander.”
She turned to stalk away, but he half-rose to yank her down into the hay beside him. As she gasped and opened her mouth in outrage, he leaned over and kissed her.
For a moment, he feared he’d misread her entirely. But as he molded her lips with his, she softened beneath him and threw her arms about his neck.
After that he was lost. His head told him he should keep this tender, give her a kiss that didn’t send her running in alarm. But he’d spent days watching her from afar, hiding the ache to touch her again, to show her that what lay between them was more powerful than any stupid wager. And now that he had his chance, he couldn’t be easy, soft, or quiet.
As he parted her lips with his, he shifted until he lay half on top of her, half off. Then he plunged his tongue inside her mouth the way he wanted to plunge his aching cock into her.
And she kissed him back, thank God. She tangled her tongue with his and met him with enough enthusiasm to set them both aflame. Desire exploded inside him. He burned to take her right here, to lift her skirts and put an end to days of mindless want. But he had enough presence of mind to know that wasn’t wise.
Instead, he laid his hand on her breast. And she let him. She even arched into his hand as he kneaded her through her gown. It was enough to send a man out of his mind. Feverish to touch her bare skin, he tore loose the scrap of lace she wore about her neck, then fumbled with the bows that held her gown together in front.
It took him a few seconds to realize that they disguised the hooks and eyes that were the real fastening, but he soon had them undone, then spread her gown open to slip his hand inside and drag down her corset cup.
“Sweet Lord,” she whispered against his mouth as he fondled her breast through her shift, rolling the nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
“Sweet Virginia.” Not content with just touching, he untied her shift and bared her breast to
his gaze.
Her flesh flamed but she made no move to stop him, so he looked his fill. Her breast was every bit as exquisite as he’d imagined, pert and delicate and perfectly shaped, with a rosy nipple that begged to be sucked. And he was more than eager to answer the call.
When his mouth closed over her breast, she buried her hands in his hair. “Gabriel . . . you shouldn’t . . . we shouldn’t . . .”
He filled his hand with her other breast as he lifted his head to stare at her flushed face. “It’s what you came here for, vixen. Admit it.”
“No! I . . . I just came to talk to you.”
Swirling his tongue over the tip of her breast, he exulted as her breath hitched in her throat. “And you were hiding here in the straw because . . .”
“I . . . was looking for something, that’s all. Something I lost when I came up here . . . to wait for you to be . . . finished working.”
He stifled a laugh. She was so damned transparent. He rubbed her breast shamelessly, delighting in the little gasp of pleasure she uttered. “And what exactly were you looking for?”
“Um . . . a . . . a piece of jewelry.” When he sucked hard on her breast, she moaned. “Yes. A . . . a locket. It must have fallen in the straw.”
Her hands slid to his neck and kneaded his shoulders convulsively as he sucked and teased her pretty little breasts. “Did you find what you were looking for?” he rasped against her nipple.
Her eyes were sliding shut. “I . . . I . . . no . . .”
“What a shame. I’ll have to help you look.”
Her eyes shot open. “No! I-I mean—”
“Who knows where it went?” He undid more hooks and eyes until he had her gown entirely open. “Perhaps it fell down inside your clothing.”
She blinked. “I doubt that.”
“Here, perhaps,” he murmured, skimming his hand down her corset to the juncture between her legs. “Or here.” He rubbed her there through her shift and petticoats.
How would she react to such a blatant invasion—would she be appalled? Given her lame excuse for why she’d been watching him, he was hoping for curious.
Virginia was torn between shock and fascination. She’d been dying to have him touch her since the moment she’d seen him half-naked, but that wasn’t the part she’d wanted him to touch.
Then he rubbed her again, and she realized that was exactly the part she wanted him to touch. “Oh my. Good gracious. That is . . . oh! Ohhh.”
“Found what you’re looking for?” A smug smile crossed his face.
He was so blessed sure of himself, and she couldn’t even bring herself to protest. Because what he was doing down there was making her insane. Nothing should feel that good.
No wonder everyone urged respectable females to stay away from rogues. Because every woman would throw her respectability out the window if she knew how it felt to have a man put his hands on her like this.
And now he was drawing up her petticoats, and sliding his hand beneath her shift . . .
“Or how about this?” he said, in a husky voice that made her pulse do a funny little dance. “Is this more of what you were looking for?”
Oh. Sweet. Lord. As his hand slid inside the slit in her drawers to cover her thatch of hair, a moan escaped her.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he drawled.
A definite yes. She dug her fingers into his broad, naked shoulders, marveling at the silk-over-steel feel of skin over sinew. Then his finger slipped into the cleft between her legs, and she nearly came out of her skin. He delved inside her with one finger, making her want to squirm beneath his hand. Making her want to have him do it more . . . and more . . .
Her hands slid over his bared chest, which was every bit as firm as she’d thought. She couldn’t stop touching him. He was so gloriously well muscled, and just feeling the warm flesh grow taut beneath her fingers made her ache for him down there even more.
His breathing grew strained. “I’ll have to take a look,” he growled.
She could scarcely think.
“At what?” “At you. Beneath your clothes.” His eyes held a raw hunger that made her shiver deliciously. “How else can I find what you were looking for?”
He was already sliding down her body.
She really ought to put an end to the farce of the missing locket. “I don’t think you need—”
He covered her down there with his mouth. His mouth.
“Gabriel!”
His tongue slid inside her.
“Gabriel . . .” she sighed. “What . . . how . . . Oh . . . my . . . word. You are wicked. So wicked.”
A muffled chuckle escaped him as he started doing things with his tongue that gave new meaning to the word wicked. Good gracious. Who could have guessed . . . How could she have known . . .
Her body was on fire. She strained up against his mouth, wanting to feel every delicious stroke of his tongue. He was using lips and teeth and tongue to arouse her in an amazing fashion. It was the most glorious thing she’d ever felt! It was like thundering up a hill on a massive charger, hurtling toward the top, racing, straining . . .
And leaping off a cliff at the end.
She screamed. And screamed again as she went hurtling down into an ocean, where waves of pleasure crashed over her. They went on for what seemed like forever, until at last they lessened and he drew his mouth from her.
As she lay there gasping, he pressed a kiss into her thigh.
“I think we found it,” he said in a guttural voice.
A long breath escaped her. “I think so, too.”
She wasn’t sure exactly what she’d found, but she wanted to find it again, whenever she could. And clearly he wanted to help her find it, watching her with a stark need that turned her insides into jelly. He slid up her body to lie on his side next to her, his head propped up on his hand.
“This had nothing to do with any locket,” he said, running his thumb over her lower lip.
She kissed it. “No.”
He arched an eyebrow. “You just wanted to see me half-naked.”
“You really are annoyingly full of yourself,” she said petulantly.
“But I’m very happy that you did.” His voice fell to a ragged murmur. “I daresay we wouldn’t be up here otherwise. Besides, the thought of your watching me halfclothed arouses me something fierce.”
“Does it?”
“See for yourself.” He caught her hand and drew it down to his breeches. “When coupled with what we were just doing—”
He sucked in a breath as her hand swept the prominent bulge in his breeches. And when she rubbed him, he muttered a low curse that pleased her enormously. For once, he didn’t seem quite so cocky.
“You were saying?” she asked. It was her turn to be smug.
His eyes slid shut. “You’re a teasing little vixen who . . . Oh God . . .” With a moan he pressed himself into her hand. “Yes, sweetheart. Touch me just like that. Right there . . . God save me . . .”
“Sharpe!” called a voice from outside the stable.
It might as well have been the voice of God Himself, only he wasn’t coming to save anyone.
She jerked her hand from Gabriel’s breeches in a panic. “That’s Poppy! He can’t find us like this.”
Gabriel stared at her uncomprehendingly for a second.
She shook him. “If he finds you here with me, there will be no wedding, no duel, no nothing except your handsome body speared on that pitchfork over there.”
A lazy grin crossed his face. “You think I’m handsome?”
“Gabriel!”
“Oh, all right.” He stood and brushed the straw from his skin and breeches.
“Sharpe!” came Poppy’s voice, closer now. “Where the devil are you?”
Frantically, she sought to fasten her gown.
“We really must stop meeting where people can find us, sweetheart,” Gabriel drawled as he tossed her fichupelerine to her. “It spoils the mood every time.”
She glared at him.
When the door rattled downstairs, he muttered, “Stay down,” then walked over to the pitchfork that was always kept in the loft.
It wasn’t a moment too soon, for Poppy walked into the stable just then. She sank into the straw, praying he couldn’t see her. It helped that Gabriel managed to throw a dusting of hay over her as he faced the edge of the loft.
“Yes, General,” he called out. “Did you want something?”
A short silence fell, during which she died a hundred deaths, sure that Poppy had guessed she was up here.
“What the devil are you doing?”
Gabriel forked some hay over the side. “What you asked me to.”
“Didn’t you hear me calling?”
“Sorry, no. Hard to hear up here.”
“Well, I need your help with this damned mare that Lord Danville just brought in. He said he wasn’t coming till tomorrow, and now he shows up with the bloody horse, expecting me to drop everything and see her well settled. The grooms are with Ghost Rider, and there’s no one else. So come down. And put your damned clothes on, too. I don’t want my granddaughter seeing you naked.”
“Too late for that,” Gabriel muttered under his breath as he sauntered past her to lay the pitchfork against the wall, then climb down the ladder.
She held her breath, waiting for them to leave.
“What do you know about Arabians?” Poppy asked. She could hear Gabriel moving around, probably donning his clothes.
“I’ve heard they can be temperamental.”
“Only if handled badly. By nature, they are even tempered. Roger used to say that an Arabian was only as temperamental as his owner, but you could probably say that of most horses.”
The conversation continued as the men left the stable, but she lay there a long moment, frozen by Poppy’s mention of her brother.
She’d forgotten all about him. Caught up in her foolish desires and Gabriel’s sweet words, she’d let her brother slip her mind completely.
“Roger, I’m sorry,” she whispered as she sat up, but it did nothing to assuage her guilty conscience.
To Wed a Wild Lord Page 16