But if he’d thought his loss would gain him her sympathy, he was vastly mistaken. “That makes it even worse.” Plucking a stoppered bottle out of the chest, she brought it and a rag over to him. “You lost a hundred pounds risking your life, and now you have a gash on your head that might still kill you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I won’t die from a little scratch.”
“Little scratch, my eye.” She poured some liquid over the wound.
“Ow!” he protested as it dripped onto his shoulder and she sponged it away with the rag. “What the hell is that?”
“Spirits of wine, to stop the bleeding. Now hold that on there.” Pressing the rag to his head, she put his hand on it. “I’m going to fetch some sticking plaster.”
He grabbed her by the arm. “Absolutely not. I’d be the laughingstock of London. Bandage it if you must, but—”
“I suppose you think a bandage would look more dashing.” Fire blazed in her eyes. “So now I have to hunt up some black linen to wrap around your idiot head so it’ll match your black—”
She broke off. “Wait a minute.” Her eyes scanned him, then darted to the pile of clothes on the table. When she lifted her gaze to meet his, her anger had been replaced by shock. “You’re not wearing black.”
Chapter Fifteen
Virginia couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed before. But she was certainly noticing now. He wore fawn-colored buckskin breeches, and on the table lay a chocolate-brown coat, a buff waistcoat, a white linen shirt, and a snowy cravat.
“What happened to your black shirt?” she asked.
He looked suddenly uncomfortable. “I got tired of it.”
A lump caught in her throat. “And the rest of your black clothes? You got tired of those, too?”
He shrugged. “I figured it was time to give it a rest, is all.”
There was more to it than that, and they both knew it. He’d stopped wearing black because of what she’d said yesterday.
She couldn’t believe it. He’d made such an enormous change for her. If he could do that after so many years, then might he eventually do more? Might he even let her into that wary heart of his one day?
Trying to regain control of her feelings, she murmured, “You look good in brown.”
His darkening gaze sent a shaft of need straight to her belly and below. Even with his hand on his head reminding her of his wound, she couldn’t keep from reacting to his nearness. It had been two days since he’d caught her in the stable, two days since he’d woven his spell about her. It felt like forever.
It felt like a second. “You look good in white,” he rasped.
Sweet Lord, she’d completely forgotten how inappropriately she was dressed. He reached up with his free hand to untie her wrapper, then open it and slide it off her shoulders. It swished down to crumple at her feet, leaving her in only her night rail. Her flimsy, semitransparent night rail.
She couldn’t let him do this. She’d sworn not to give in to him until he was willing to share his secrets—yet here she was, already half-naked with him, her blood heating and her pulse stammering and her body yearning to have him . . .
No! She had to get away from him, to gain some air. “I’ll go get a bandage for your head. I-I think I have some cloth I can use.” Scooping up her wrapper, she hastened to the door. If she just had a moment to think, to put proper clothes on, so she didn’t feel so exposed . . .
“Virginia, wait!” he cried, but she ignored him as she hurried out and raced up the stairs.
In her bedchamber she stood staring blankly into space, fighting for equilibrium, her wrapper still clutched in her hand. If she weren’t careful, she just might—
“Are you running away from me, sweetheart?” Gabriel asked from behind her.
She whirled to find him standing in the open doorway. She hadn’t expected him to follow her. “What are you doing here?”
When he stepped inside and closed the door, a thrill shot through her, equal parts alarm and excitement. Naked from the waist up, he looked sinful and dangerous. Deliciously dangerous.
“You shouldn’t be in my bedroom,” she said, attempting to sound firm.
He scanned her room. “This isn’t what I expected.”
She followed his gaze to the bed coverings of red damask that she’d made out of fabric belonging to her late mother, and the golden patterned wallpaper that she’d put up herself. She was rather proud of her bedroom. “Why not?” she asked defensively.
“After a week of watching you here at the farm, I thought your room would be more plain and practical.” He gave a rueful laugh. “I should have known better. You have a romantic streak running through you as wide as that fancy rug you’re standing on.”
She sniffed. “If you don’t like my room—”
“Ah, but I do. It suits you. The inner sanctum of Miss Virginia Waverly. On the outside is the efficient lady of the manor running the farmhouse. On the inside is the bold enchantress who challenges men to races and spies on them in stables.” His voice deepened. “And tempts them to riot.” With stark hunger in his eyes, he pushed away from the door. “Who knew that beneath the crisp linen and starched apron lay so much velvet and lace?”
She swallowed. Why must he be the only man who ever saw that? Who truly understood her? “And you claim you’re not a poet.”
“I guess you bring it out in me.” His eyes took a slow, intimate survey of her thinly clad body, making her blood clamor with need. “The same way I bring out the recklessness in you.”
“This is too reckless, even for me,” she said in a vain attempt at protest.
“I doubt that. Anyway, I just came to tell you that I don’t need a bandage.” Dropping into the nearest chair, he tapped his head. “See for yourself.”
Warily, she approached him, keeping well to the side as she peered at his head. She moved a lock of his hair to get a better look. He was right. The wound had stopped bleeding and was crusting over.
He caught her hand and brought it to his lips. With his gaze on hers, he kissed the back of her hand, so gently that it stopped her breath in her throat. Then he turned her hand over to kiss her palm. And next, her wrist.
Her pulse jumped into a frenzy beneath his lips.
“Don’t,” she whispered, tugging her hand free and turning to walk away.
Snagging her about the waist, he pulled her down onto his lap.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she said hoarsely as she struggled against his grip. “You shouldn’t—”
“Do you want to know the real reason I lost the race today?” he growled against her ear.
She stilled, her heart in her throat. With her back to him she couldn’t see his face, but she could feel his arousal beneath her bottom. And it was stoking her own desire.
He reached up to unbutton her nightdress, and she let him, even when he parted the edges to expose her breasts. “I lost because my concentration was shattered. My mind was elsewhere.” He covered one bare breast with his hand. “On you. On how badly I wanted you. How badly I wanted to be here with you.”
A deep need seized her that wouldn’t be denied. She wanted him here with her, perish his soul.
He fondled her breast, and a sigh of pleasure left her lips. “So,” she gasped, “you’re blaming . . . me for your . . . loss.”
“Something like that. Though if you’d been standing at the end of the course dressed like this, I promise I would have won.”
A purely feminine delight swirled through her. She tried to tell herself they were the practiced words of a practiced seducer, but she no longer believed it. Not after seeing his agony yesterday. Gabriel was many things, but a vain flatterer wasn’t one of them.
He filled both hands with her breasts, teasing the nipples until she grew all fuzzy and agitated inside. Nothing this wonderful had ever happened to her, and while she shouldn’t indulge him or herself, she wanted to badly. So very badly.
He slowly dragged her nightdress up her thighs
so he could slip his hand beneath it. His breath came hot against her ear. “You’re not wearing any drawers.”
She blushed. “I never do when I sleep.” “I’ll have to catch you in your nightdress more often.” His hand found the place between her legs where she felt damp and warm and eager, and he rubbed it deliciously. When he slid his finger inside her, she let out a gasp. It was every bit as luscious as when he’d used his tongue on her in the stable.
“Are you trying to seduce me, sir?” she whispered.
“Absolutely. Is it working?”
Of course it was working. He was devilish good at this sort of thing. “Certainly not.”
His husky chuckle made her heart flip over in her chest. “Then I’ll have to try harder.”
Oh, dear, that might be her undoing. But it was so enticing to have him touch her everywhere, one hand caressing her breast as the other fondled her below. The man had a talent for seduction that was downright diabolical. “You should not . . . We cannot . . .”
“We can, and we will.” He pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to her neck. “You’re going to marry me, after all. Who cares if we consummate the marriage early?”
She stiffened. “I have not agreed to marry you.”
“Yes, you’re being stubborn about that.” He stroked her deeply, making her squirm, making her want more. “That’s why I must resort to such tactics.”
“You just want to gain your fortune,” she accused, though she didn’t really believe that anymore.
He paused. “If that fear is all that keeps you from marrying me, I can solve that problem right now. I’ll give up my fortune. As long as I marry, Gran will be satisfied and not cut off the others. I’ll just tell her to split my portion among my siblings.”
Shocked, she turned on his lap so she could gaze into his face. He would really give up his inheritance for her? “You’re joking.”
His expression of solemn sincerity shook her to her toes. “The money means nothing to me.”
“Even if it would enable you to reach your dream?”
“I can reach my dream without it.”
Her heart constricted. “By racing for wagers, you mean.”
Something glinted in his eyes. “Without the inheritance, I’ll need the racing to support us.”
“Then I’d rather you kept the inheritance.”
“Careful, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Or I’ll think you’re marrying me for the money.”
Annoyed, she pushed at his chest. “And what else would I be marrying you for, you troublesome lout?”
A dark smile curved his lips. “For this.”
Then he was kissing her, hot and deep and slow. And all the while he fondled her, rousing her to a fever pitch below. She squirmed, then tore her mouth from his so she could catch her breath. Except that she couldn’t. Bending her back over his arm, he moved his mouth to suck at her breast while his hand deftly caressed her, seeming to know what she needed before she knew it.
“I want you, sweetheart,” he growled against her breast. “I want to make love to you. Will you let me?”
A sensible woman would say no. Once she gave herself to him, there was no going back. They’d have to marry. And he still kept much of himself locked behind a door with no knob.
But he’d stopped wearing black for her. He was willing to give up his fortune. It was more than she’d hoped for. And the only other choice—to send him away now and draw out this courtship until she was more sure of him—didn’t appeal to her, either. She couldn’t endure more days of Poppy’s hovering, with Gabriel so near, yet so inaccessible.
She was tired of giving everyone else what they wanted and never taking something for herself. She was tired of endlessly yearning for her own home and family, for a husband of her own. What Gabriel proposed wasn’t perfect, but what was?
And part of her was sure that one day he would let her in. He’d already let her in further than she’d hoped.
She gazed into his fathomless eyes. “All right.”
With a fierce growl of satisfaction, he set her on the floor so he could tug off his boots and toss them aside. Then he rose to drag her nightdress off her shoulders. It slithered down her body, leaving her naked as a birch in winter.
His eyes drank her in, dark, searing, and worshipful. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
“I know there are a great many beautiful women in your circle,” she whispered, torn between the urge to believe him and her fear that she lacked the physical attributes to hold a rogue like him.
He laughed. “Contrary to popular opinion, my ‘circle’ is mostly horses and the men who race them. I stay out of respectable society as much as possible, and the few women I have met there are either boring, stupid, or both. You are neither.”
“And the women who aren’t in society? You must be used to bedding women who have—” She gazed down at her breasts and swallowed. “Bigger . . . er . . . curves.”
With a scowl, he tugged her close. “Don’t you dare malign your curves. They’re perfect. You’re perfect.” He bent his head to kiss each of her breasts. “I lie awake at night thinking of these beauties. And I daresay that once we marry and you’re presented in society, I won’t be the only one doing so. Half the men of the ton are going to envy me my wife, and the other half are going to try to seduce her.”
“Don’t be silly.” He was being outrageous, and she loved it.
“I’m serious.” He lifted his hands to smooth her hair over her shoulders. “Thank God, you never had a season, or some other fellow would have snapped you up before I could.”
She couldn’t resist teasing him. “Perhaps one of them still will.”
The possessive light that flared in his face made her throat go raw. “Oh no, you lost your chance at that, vixen. You’re going to belong to me now. Only me.”
Pierce’s accusation that day at the maze came into her mind: Once you get your hands on your grandmother’s money, you’ll be spending every night in the stews. Gabriel hadn’t exactly denied it.
“And you?” she asked softly. “Will you belong to me, and only me?”
Pain flashed in his features. “My father’s infidelity destroyed my mother and quite possibly caused their deaths. I promise you that the one thing I will never be is unfaithful. I wouldn’t put you through that.”
The words had the feel of a vow. They were as close to words of love as she’d heard from him. Not that she was even sure of her own feelings.
Still, it was nice that he cared so much.
She let out a breath. “So when do I get to see you naked?”
He blinked, then released her to swiftly dispense with the rest of his clothes. Then he stood back with that cocky grin of his. “Happy now?”
As his flesh sprang up, thick and long and hairy at the base, she caught her breath. Happy? Fascinated, more like. Who would have guessed that his thing would be so long? She’d spent some time thinking about the subject, having seen many a horse’s appendage, but horses and men weren’t as alike as she’d thought.
It seemed to bob beneath her gaze, as if liking the attention.
“Does it hurt when it sticks out like that?” she asked. “No.” His voice sounded strained. “Not when I’m naked, anyway. It’s a bit uncomfortable in clothes.”
“Can I touch it?” she asked.
“God, yes,” he ground out. Seizing her hand, he closed it about his flesh.
That was interesting. It twitched when she held it, as if her hand agitated it. Smooth and hard, it was rather like the leather-bound handle of a crop. Only bigger. Much bigger.
And growing even bigger, the more she stroked it.
“Doesn’t it give you trouble when you ride?”
“Not usually,” he bit out.
“How large does it get?”
“Large enough,” he growled.
“That’s no kind of ans—”
Next thing she knew she was flat on her back on the bed, and he was on top
of her, staring hungrily down into her face. “A man can only bear a certain amount of teasing, Virginia.”
“I was just curious about—”
“I know,” he said, then forced a smile. “But much more of your curiosity, and this would have been over before it started.”
“What do you mean?”
He slid his knee between her legs, parting them so he could kneel between them. “Just trust me when I say I need to be inside you. Now.”
Apparently men did have one thing in common with horses. Impatience.
She was feeling a bit impatient herself. As he began fondling her again between the legs, the restlessness returned that she’d felt in the stable. Then he was kissing her, roughly, savagely, and it was so delicious that she almost forgot he was naked and she was naked, and he was about to take her innocence.
Until something larger than his finger pressed into her. She really was going to do this. She really was letting him make her his.
She ought to feel panicked. She ought to be afraid. Instead, a glorious excitement swelled through her. Even the thick pressure of him forging up inside her couldn’t quell it.
This was what she’d been yearning for, this reckless act, this heady joining with a man who made her feel alive for once. Who made her feel like a woman, not just the female who looked after everyone’s needs.
He dragged his mouth from hers to whisper, “I don’t suppose I have to tell you about the pain.”
“No.” She buried her fingers in his hair, careful not to touch his wound. “But it doesn’t feel that bad.”
“Good,” he rasped. “Because it feels amazing to me. Even better than I imagined.”
She gazed shyly into his face. “Did you really lie in bed thinking of my . . . um . . . bosom?”
He inched farther in, sweat beading his brow. “Sweetheart, if you knew just how often, you’d slap the tar out of me.”
The admission pleased her. She figured she owed him an admission of her own. “I . . . thought of you, too.”
Raw heat suffused his face. “Like this?”
To Wed a Wild Lord Page 19