by Meara Platt
Would Alexander Dayne’s touch be as divine?
Oh, it simply didn’t matter. Alexander wouldn’t have her now that she’d kissed his brother with utter abandon. Perhaps had it been a chaste, you-remind-me-of-my-maiden-aunt sort of kiss, it would have been all right. But the kiss they’d shared was one of those you’ll-be-damned-in-hell-for-eternity kisses that could never be taken back. Or forgotten. Blessed angels! She’d really liked that kiss.
And once again, Gabriel’s touch was muddling her senses. Why else did she desperately wish to kiss him again? “Stop it, you scoundrel. What are you doing?”
She tried to push away, not from horror, but from shame at her own sense of delight. His hands felt wonderful against her body while he deftly worked to hide the stain by rearranging the drape of her gown.
“Stand still, Daisy. And don’t fidget or you’ll tear the fabric. There, much better. However, you still need something more. Something daring to distract the eye. Ah, yes. This must go.”
He pointed to the lace at her bosom.
She gasped. “You insufferable cabbage head! Are you suggesting I remove my fichu?”
He shook his head and laughed. “You’ll expose just enough there to draw everyone’s eye away from your hem and toward the endowments with which the Good Lord has blessed you. And make no mistake, you are amply blessed.”
“I hate you,” she whispered, wishing he would stop looking at her as though she were a ripe cherry that he’d like to pick. Only he wasn’t looking at her in a leering, boorish sort of way, but in an oh-hell-I-think-I’m-losing-my-heart-to-you, endearing manner that turned her legs to pudding. Of course, it couldn’t be so. Rakehells were good at pretending.
“No, you don’t, Daisy,” he said, his voice taking on a sudden seriousness. “You simply hate my wicked ways. Sometimes I hate them too.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “You do?”
He shrugged. “But not enough to change them.”
“My family thinks I’m wicked too. Oh, I don’t know why I just said that. I suppose I simply want you to understand why I’m so desperate to have you leave.”
He leaned closer and whispered against her ear. “But I like wicked girls.”
She balled her hands into fists and was about to do damage to his manly chin when his tone suddenly mellowed. “Ah, but you’re not really wicked, are you? Everyone just thinks you are because of The Incident. Eloise told me about it, how you were caught in the stable with Lord Kirwood’s lack-wit son, Devlin.”
She gazed at him in defiance. “So what if I was?”
“I am hardly one to pass judgment,” he assured. “However, I don’t believe a word of that fable, about the pair of you being caught while trying to elope. It simply doesn’t ring true.”
“It doesn’t?” She took a deep breath. “Why not?”
“Because I’m your first. The only man ever to kiss you,” he said with such tenderness that she wanted to throw her arms around his neck and cry on his shoulder. “It’s obvious, so don’t bother to deny it. You’ve never been in love, never been swept off your feet, and certainly not by Devlin Kirwood.”
The accuracy of his statement and the tinge of arrogance with which he delivered it unsettled her a little. “You’re wrong, I have been in love. Um, with your brother, Alexander. I think he’s wonderful.”
Gabriel’s eyes darkened, and his lips twisted into a small grin, indulgent and at the same time mirthless. “Yes, well, everyone loves Alex. He is wonderful, as you say. But the Kirwood incident may pose a problem for you. Alex, being perfect in every way, expects the same in his wife.”
She tipped her chin upward again, not quite understanding why she felt the need to defy him. He was the first person to see through Devlin’s lies and believe her. “He’ll forgive me when I explain it to him.”
“Explain what? That you went to the stable hoping to prevent something romantic from happening between you and Kirwood? Staying home, safe in your bed, would have sent Kirwood a more effective message.”
Daisy bit her lip. No, she wasn’t going to reveal the truth about that night! She and Laurel had sworn each other to secrecy. It wasn’t her fault that Devlin Kirwood—that clunch—had tripped and fallen against her at an inopportune time, or that her father had come upon them at just that moment, or that Devlin had lied through his teeth about his plan to elope with her, thus giving rise to the false story known from then on as The Incident.
Gabriel’s voice gentled as he spoke. “I’m not sure why you were in the stable that night, but I do know that you’ve unfairly suffered the consequences. It explains why those two fools, Lumley Hornby and Tom Quigley, attempted to kiss you the other night.”
“I don’t care about those oafs.” She gazed into Gabriel’s tawny eyes, curious as to what he might be thinking, but she could discern nothing. “What hurts most,” she admitted, letting out a long, ragged breath, “is the disappointment I see every day in my parents’ eyes. They’ve lost all faith in me, won’t ever trust me again, and I’ve been feeling quite miserable about it for a long time.”
“I know,” he said softly.
She gazed up at him and sighed. “You do?”
He nodded. “They’ll realize their mistake soon enough. I suppose it isn’t much consolation now. However, I know you didn’t do anything wrong. Just remember that whenever you’re feeling particularly low. I know who you really are, Daisy. Any parent would be proud to call you their daughter.”
Her heart welled with joy. Gabriel understood! Why him, of all people?
“Oh, there you go being nice to me again.” She gazed at him in confusion, wishing she understood him half as well as he seemed to understand her. “Even after I uttered that silly remark about being in love with your brother. Truth is, I’ve never even met him.”
Gabriel chuckled lightly. “Perhaps you will one day. He’s a good man, a loyal brother.”
“Is he as nice as you? Not that it matters any more,” she said, slumping her shoulders in surrender. “I had this foolish plan to make my family proud of me by marrying the perfect gentleman. You see, I want so desperately to regain their trust, but something goes wrong every time I try. That kiss we shared, for example. Not that I regret it,” she hastened to add. “I’m glad you were the first to kiss me, Gabriel. You did a commendable job of it.”
He arched an eyebrow and grinned. “Did I?”
She nodded. “It was a wonderful first kiss. I suppose I shouldn’t have said that either, what with your ghastly reputation. And I’m certain Lady Forsythia’s book advises never to make such an admission to a rake, but I feel safe with you and relieved... no, elated that you recognize The Incident for the nonsense it is. How can you know me better than my own family does?”
“What book?”
She sighed. “Lady Forsythia Haversham’s Rules for Reforming a Rake. Your grandmother loaned it to me. She’s of the misguided opinion that I can change your wicked ways. It’s silly, of course.” She glanced down at her hem. “I can’t even take care of myself.”
She expected a flippant response from Gabriel, but he suddenly looked as though his best friend had died. “You’re just as you ought to be, Daisy Farthingale, and never let anyone tell you otherwise. You have more to offer than you realize.”
“Beyond my ample endowments?” She glanced at her breasts while making the poor attempt at levity.
He followed her gaze, but his smile was more appealing than it was lascivious. Then he stepped back to study her from top to toe, as though he needed to absorb her entire being, needed to remember her the way she looked tonight, the way she smiled and how she moved. “Yes, quite more than we pitiful males deserve.”
Moving quickly and with unwavering purpose, he lightly touched his fingers to her cheek. “I’ve handled this very poorly... indeed, treated you very poorly from the start though you’ve been wonderful to those dearest to my heart, helped them make it through some very difficult years.”
She unde
rstood he referred to Eloise.
“Daisy,” he said, his voice whisper soft, “I’m eternally in your debt for that.”
No wonder women found him irresistible. Even Julia had thought him splendid until Lord Malinor and his shillings had distracted her. Of course, Gabriel’s determination never to marry had further dulled Julia’s enthusiasm.
If only she were as sensible about men as her aunt.
Her breath quickened and her cheeks began to heat under the force of his stare. She wished she understood more about men, because Gabriel seemed to be looking at her with an intensity beyond mere lust or base desire.
He let out a soft, animal growl.
Of course, rakes earned their reputations by seduction and pretense. They were masters at feigning interest. What she needed to know, and would have to rely on her older sisters for an answer about, was whether men could fake love. “Well, I had better return to Lord Malinor’s party before I’m missed. Thank you for fixing my gown. It is fixed, isn’t it? What do you think? Am I presentable?”
He responded by sweeping her into his arms and covering her mouth with a hot, most exquisitely uninhibited kiss that set off a fiery tempest in her body, a raging wildfire that scorched a path straight to her heart.
Oh, bad boys were very, very good.
CHAPTER 10
If a rake confesses his ungovernable desires, a lady must immediately retreat and take no further notice of him.
GABRIEL HAD MEANT only to gently trail his tongue along Daisy’s lower lip and taste lightly of her nectar before dipping into her honey-sweet mouth, but instead he found himself breathless and hungry, plunging his heart and soul into kissing Daisy. He experienced a pleasure so hot and unexpected, so purely sinful and at the same time so divine, that it was beyond anything he’d ever felt before.
No woman had ever affected him like this.
Damn. His blood and body were on fire, all from a simple kiss. Daisy’s kiss.
“Don’t pull away, Gabriel,” she pleaded, her breasts gently heaving against his chest as she struggled to regain her composure. Or was it his own heart pounding through his chest? She was an innocent, easily bruised, and he was a brute, hot and lusting, needing to touch her everywhere and aching to possess her heart.
To what end? A momentary pleasure, and then he’d be gone to scout out the French military positions. He had no illusions about his mission. Chances were, he’d be dead before the end of the month. He eased his hold on the girl. “I must, Daisy.”
One of them had to show some sense. Not for his sake, but for hers. It amazed him, and in truth confused him, that he held this seductive power over the young beauty, yet couldn’t bring himself to take advantage. Oh, perhaps he’d taken a little advantage, but nothing compared to what he wanted to do, needed to do in his current state of arousal. His lust and her innocently passionate nature were a dangerous combination. “I’ve made a mess of you,” he said, his fingers trembling as he smoothed her gown and then attempted to right himself. “Not at all what I intended.”
She smiled at him, her eyes aglow with hope and confusion. “I think I must be wicked. I should be appalled, horrified, but I’m not a bit sorry we shared another kiss.”
He let out a long, weary sigh and ran his hand along her silky curls. “Daisy Farthingale, you complicate my life.”
He didn’t want her... no, that wasn’t quite right. He wanted her, but not in any respectable way, for he didn’t dare to think beyond tomorrow. He wanted her body without the responsibility of courtship. He wouldn’t act upon it, though. He had yet to sink that low, to destroy her future because he couldn’t keep his hands off her.
Her smile deepened the dimples in her cheeks. “I’m glad that I’m a complication for you,” she said, her dewy-eyed gaze never wavering.
“Don’t be. I’ll only end up hurting you.”
She pulled away slightly and turned to gaze at the flames leaping in the fireplace. “Is that what you think?”
“I know it for a fact, Daisy. That’s what I do. I seduce women and then break their hearts.” They had no possible future together. How could they when England was once more about to be thrown into war and he was likely to be in the vanguard?
Even if he wanted to make her promises—which he didn’t—but even if he did, he couldn’t. There were no guarantees he’d return safely.
No, that wasn’t quite right. There wasn’t a chance in hell that he’d return in anything other than a wooden box.
***
Daisy knew she was as much to blame for ignoring her own resolve to keep her distance from Gabriel. She’d allowed him to kiss her, saying yes, take me with her heart and her eyes, practically begging him. Goodness, she’d been quite swept away by this rogue.
Yet she also understood that Gabriel was not completely immune to her charms. She had affected him to some small degree and was glad of it. “Why did you kiss me so desperately just now?” she asked, returning her gaze to his.
He let out a bitter laugh. “Did I?”
“The way you held me, as though you were sinking into a boggy moor and needed me to pull you safely back to solid ground. There’s a darkness about you tonight, perhaps it’s always been there. Is that dark torment what compels you to follow your dissolute path?” She reached up and gently touched a finger to the red puckered scar at his chin, only to feel him tremble as she lingered there. “How did you get this one?”
“Jealous husband.”
She trailed her finger along his neck and down his chest, resting her hand gently against his heart. To her disappointment, it was beating in a slow, steady rhythm. Hers was pounding wildly and with as much discipline as that of a rabbit just escaped from a farmer’s shotgun. “What about the one above your eye?”
“Jealous mistress.”
She regarded him thoughtfully. “I wonder what the rules say about a rake and his scars.”
“That damned book,” he muttered. “It probably warns never to stroke your fingers delicately along them, or to look at a rake’s scars as though you want to kiss them and make them better. It probably says that you ought to run as fast as you can from a rake before lust gets the better of him and he does something really stupid.”
“Such as kiss me? You’ve already done that.” She sighed. “Your visible scars have healed, but they’re mere physical wounds and easily repaired. It’s your other wounds, the hidden rips and tears to your heart, that are causing you pain. They lie concealed from view, raw and festering beneath your polished surface.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, his voice gruff and suddenly filled with disdain.
“Oh, but I do.” She’d just felt his heart skip a beat, and every sinew in his body had tensed. That response was tantamount to a volcanic eruption from a man determined to suppress his feelings. She didn’t understand why he needed to distance himself from his family, to disdain commitment and marriage for the sake of pursuing a life of empty pleasures.
“How did you get this scar?” she asked again, touching the one that ran along the corner of his eye. “The truth this time.”
“Brawling in a seedy alehouse.” He took her firmly by the shoulders. She saw that he was struggling to restrain his temper, to keep from shaking her as though she were a dusty mop. Finally, he gave in to exasperation and released her. “Daisy, what’s your game?”
“I don’t have one. You’re the one who’s good at playing games. Why do you pretend to be a sot and a coward? Don’t bother to deny it. I know it’s all a pretense.”
“You’re wrong.” His tawny gaze seemed to bore straight through her.
“Not in this. My father has an expression, rather simple on the surface, but really quite profound. He says that people don’t change.”
“Which should warn you that I’m an unredeemable cad.”
She tipped her head up to meet his gaze. “Quite the opposite. It tells me that you’re a wonderful man because you were a wonderful boy, and don’t both
er to deny it. I visited Eloise every day while you were lying on your deathbed. She always told me stories about you, about how you always cared for the sick and wounded animals on the Trent estate. How you brought joy to your family. As a child, you were known for your kind heart. People don’t change,” she repeated.
He folded his arms across his chest and cast her an angry frown. “You’re mistaken. That little boy died long ago.”
“Gabriel,” she said in a whisper, “that is an utter and complete lie.”
***
Gabriel let out a soft string of curses. “Right, that ought to be a warning to you. Telling lies is something rakes do all the time, particularly to women in order to get them into bed.”
She shook her head as though confused. “You don’t appear all that eager to get me into your bed. In truth, you keep pushing me away. Not that it matters, for we aren’t a suitable match. However, there is something going on that troubles you deeply. You seemed preoccupied earlier today when playing marbles with Harry and Charles.”
She paused, as though debating whether or not to confide in him. She nibbled her lip and then decided to continue, a sign that she trusted him. He ought to have been pleased, but her faith in him only put him in greater torment. He didn’t want to be thinking of her while he was in France. He didn’t want to think of the life they might have shared together if only Napoleon hadn’t escaped.
“Afterward, when I and the children returned home,” she said, “I overheard my father and Uncle George speaking of a rumor. I think it was about Napoleon. My uncle is a brilliant physician and many of his patients are of the Upper Crust. I couldn’t hear most of what he said, only that nothing’s been confirmed yet.” She paused again and raised her beautiful eyes to stare at him. “Are we to be at war again?”
He tried to shrug it off. “I pay little attention to such matters.”