Rules for Reforming a Rake

by Meara Platt

  “He’s gone,” he said as the man went over the wall. He drew her into his arms and caressed her as she trembled against his chest. “You’re safe now, Daisy.”

  “Who was he?” He heard the lingering fear in her voice and wished he could soothe her, but he wasn’t at liberty to give her any answers.

  “I don’t know.” In truth, he didn’t know the man’s identity, only that he was working for Napoleon. Yet it felt like a lie. His existence, his dissolute reputation, everything about him... all lies. He tucked his knife into the sheath hidden within his boot, all the while keeping hold of Daisy. For some reason, he couldn’t let her go.

  She burrowed closer. “What happens now, Gabriel?”

  He ran his hands up and down her arms to warm her, for she was shivering. Her skin felt cool and silky. He bent his head and kissed her lightly on the lips. She tasted as sweet as sugared apples. “You’ll be missed by now. I had better return you to the party.”

  She gazed up at him, unshed tears glistening in her eyes. “What if I don’t want you to let me go?”

  He let out a short, harsh laugh. “I’m not keen on it either. In truth, I’d like to hold on to you forever, but it isn’t possible.” He gently wiped a tear that had fallen onto her cheek. “Daisy, I don’t wish to hurt you. Let me do the right thing and take you back.”

  She nodded. “I think I broke every rule in Lady Forsythia’s book tonight. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I can’t seem to do anything right.”

  “There isn’t a blessed thing wrong with you.” He studied her face by moonlight, noticed the tension in her mouth and the tears still shimmering in her eyes. He bent his head to kiss her one last time. “You’re perfect.”

  He kissed her again, knowing he needed to break off and return her to her family. Instead, his hand was somehow back on her breast, his thumb skimming across its straining tip. She gasped and arched into him, running her hands up his chest and circling them about his neck. “Gabriel, don’t stop.”

  “This is madness,” he murmured, sliding his hand along her back and down the delicate silk of her gown to cup her buttocks and draw her even closer so that their bodies were in full contact, the evidence of his lust hard and throbbing against her hip. Would she leap back in shock? Would she cry?

  She smiled up at him. “Thank you for not calling me your passion blossom minx.”

  “What?” He had trouble understanding her thought, although he was having trouble with everything just now. His body. His heart. His brain that had obviously stopped functioning. He’d never experienced anything like this hot need to possess Daisy, to cover her creamy breasts with his mouth and swirl his tongue over her sweet, pink nipples. The girl had turned him upside down, had destroyed every vestige of his good sense and annihilated the last of his resistance.

  He released a tortured shudder as her gloriously taut nipples brushed against his chest. He tried to be gentle, tried to be a gentleman—oh, hell. He wasn’t a gentleman, didn’t want to be. He couldn’t be just now, for the need to stroke and touch, to rouse Daisy’s unawakened desires, was overwhelming. This would be his last chance, his last memory of Daisy and he was going to take full advantage.

  He eased the gown off her shoulders and exposed her breasts to his view. “Daisy,” he said, sucking in a breath, “you look like an angel in the moonlight.” He bent his head and delicately took one rosy tip in his mouth, flicking his tongue across it and feeling every throb and shudder as she closed her eyes and wound her fingers in his hair, holding him against her breast as he licked and tasted the sweetness of her skin.

  “Oh, Gabriel!” Her eyes were closed and body arched toward him. Her head tipped back and she let out an achingly soft moan. “Oooh, Gabriel!”

  “Stop me, Daisy. This truly is madness.” Sweet, glorious madness. He wanted to make love to her all night long, yearned to feel her hot, naked body move with exquisite passion beneath his own.

  His heart beat faster as he forced himself to draw away. The fantasy would have to wait until he’d carried out his mission. For now, the feel of her soft skin beneath his fingers, the taste of her rose-tipped breasts, would have to be enough.

  He could make Daisy no promises, no matter how fiercely he wanted her. All of her. For himself.

  She was reckless and passionate... so incredibly passionate. But it was time to end the dream and return her safely to her family. He slid his fingers to hook the bodice of her gown and draw it back over her breasts. “Sweetheart, I can’t do this to you, much as I’d like to help you break every damn rule in Lady Forsythia’s book.” Sweet mother of mercy! His hand trembled against her smooth flesh.

  She was about to push him over the edge... way over, into molten, scorching—

  “Daisy!” a male voice rang out from the opposite end of the garden. “I know you’re out here! Answer me or I’ll have bloodhounds and every Farthingale in existence raking these grounds in search of you!”

  Gabriel released a gush of air, his relief profound. He heard the rustle of bushes as George Farthingale approached.

  “You had better go,” Daisy said in a whisper.

  He let out a soft growl. “And leave you to face your family alone? Not going to happen.”

  She glanced at him with concern. “But this isn’t your fault. It’s mine. There could be consequences.”

  “I’m sure there will be.” He made certain Daisy’s breasts were secure within the confines of her gown and the stray wisps of her silky hair were properly tucked behind her ears. “And you’re not going to face them alone.”

  CHAPTER 13

  A rake will never cherish a lady who challenges him in gentlemen’s pursuits.

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Daisy was surprised to find Gabriel waiting for her beside the mews where Laurel housed her horses. She had agreed to take her sister’s beast of a horse, Brutus, through his early paces and had not expected to find Gabriel here. She’d left him talking to her uncle after they’d returned to Lord Hastings’ party. Obviously, nothing had been said to her parents or she would never have heard the end of it last night.

  It was a little after sunrise and far too early for any respectable member of the ton to be up and about. The point of riding was to be seen by one’s peers, not by common dustmen or grooms. The fashionable riders would be out later, once the sun was up and had burned away the morning dampness. At this early hour, there was a chill to the air and a lingering fog that partly obscured the stable and surrounding streets.

  Gabriel stood with his shoulder propped against the door, looking not at all tired from last night’s intrigue and every bit the imposing lord in his polished Hessians, buff breeches, and finely tailored chestnut jacket.

  In short, he looked divine.

  And here she stood, dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep, dressed in well-worn boy’s clothes consisting of baggy breeches, a stained black jacket, and a cap large enough to hide the fat braid she’d tucked in it.

  Gabriel frowned at her. “After last night, you ought to know better than to go anywhere alone.”

  “Laurel asked me to take Brutus for his morning exercise.” Why else would she dress like a rag-tag boy and be up at this unholy hour? “One of our footmen escorted me here. More important, what were you really doing in the Hastings garden last night?”

  His frown deepened. “None of your concern.”

  She may have acted foolishly, inadvertently placing them in danger, but last night’s incident was clearly one of his own making and he owed her an explanation for that unsettling business. “Nor is my helping out Laurel any of your concern. Why are you here? Where’s Graelem?”

  “My cousin is busy this morning. He asked me to look after you.”

  Which only added to her confusion. Obviously, Graelem trusted him. So did her heart, for it was fluttering again as it always did whenever he appeared. “Is that so? As you looked out for me last night? Who was the man following me?”

  “I don’t know. Probably an a
dmirer who noticed you walk into the garden and sought to take advantage.”

  She shook her head and sighed. “If you thought that’s all he was, you wouldn’t have drawn your knife, or placed your body protectively between mine and his, or made a grand show of pretending we were in love.”

  “Daisy—”

  “Why is it so hard for you to tell me the truth?”

  She expected a dismissive retort; instead he remained silent and there was an undercurrent of sadness in his expression. She was mad as an English hatter to expect more from him, to want more from him. Yet, there was a moment last night when she thought... No, rakehells didn’t believe in love or commitment. “I kissed you with all my heart, Gabriel. Those kisses were as real as the knife you held against my body. Do you always carry it with you?”

  He nodded. “Most gentlemen do, for protection.”

  “To defend themselves when in unsavory places? Such as Lord Hastings’ garden? You met someone there.”

  He placed his hands on her arms and shook her lightly. “Damn it, Daisy. Stop asking questions. Stop trying to reform me. It won’t work, no matter what it says in Lady Forsythia’s damn book.” His hands were still on her arms, gently restraining her. “Didn’t you learn anything from last night?”

  She responded with a scowl, although she felt more hurt than angry. She wanted so badly to walk away and never think of him again, but she couldn’t.

  He released her and raked a hand through his hair, the gesture nudging one golden curl over his forehead. He had large, strong hands, exquisitely gentle last night when stroking her body to calm her fear.

  The memory brought flames to her cheeks.

  “I did learn something... about myself.” She expected him to shoot back a careless response, but he simply remained silent, jaw clenched, his brooding amber gaze warning not to provoke him.

  She simply wanted the truth.

  Dropping her hands to her sides, she sighed. “My heart skips beats whenever you look at me. I wish it didn’t. I want to look into the mirror and be proud of myself. I want my family to be proud of me. Auguste Malinor is courting me and yet all I can think of is you. No wonder my family doesn’t trust my judgment. How can they when I no longer trust my judgment?”

  The anger seemed to drain from him, escaping in a feral groan. “Daisy—”

  “But that doesn’t mean I like you or respect you, especially if you’re conducting shady business. I thought you might be meeting another woman. In truth, I hoped you were. I needed something to shake me to my senses and remind me how dissolute and untrustworthy you are. Instead, I—” She was about to mention Auguste and his tryst, but decided against it since it was none of Gabriel’s business. In any event, Auguste had not made formal his intentions, so she had no claim on him or right to feel betrayed.

  She was being ridiculous, of course. Faithfulness was something one hoped for in a marriage, perhaps during a courtship. She and Auguste had shared two dances and he’d barely spoken to her during all that time. Hardly a courtship.

  She dismissed her thoughts of Auguste and returned her attention to Gabriel. “Are you smuggling French goods into England? Or are you involved in something more sinister? Perhaps providing ministry secrets to the French. Are you capable of betraying Eloise, your parents, and your own country? That’s what I keep asking myself... but what would you gain by it? A fee to be squandered at the gaming tables?”

  She studied his face and found it devoid of all expression. Though disappointed, she pressed on. “That’s why I followed you into the garden, to find out the truth.”

  “And what would you have done if I were spying for the French? Stopped me from continuing down that foolish path?”

  “Something like that.” She blinked her eyes and took a deep breath. “Are you?”

  He shrugged. “You’ve found me out.”

  “I haven’t at all,” she said, swallowing her frustration. She wanted to pummel him. “Despite what I just said, I don’t believe you’re a French spy, or a gambler, or a reprobate. I believe you’re a wonderful man caught up in something dangerous and I can’t figure out what it is.”

  “Don’t you dare try,” he growled with a depth of feeling he’d never shown before. He did have a heart after all and it held some small affection for her. She had been starting to wonder about that, because until last night, he’d done a good job of making her think he didn’t care. “Just trust that I’m trying to keep you safe. Stop asking questions.”

  She curled her hands into fists in frustration. “Not until you provide some answers.”

  “You’re the stubbornest, most meddlesome little Farthingale.” He shook her again gently, as though to emphasize his point. “I can’t and won’t explain myself to you. Nor will I protect you the next time you stick your nose in something dangerous.”

  “Now that is a lie,” she said with a wistful laugh, placing her hand over his heart. She felt its steady beat beneath her palm. “Do you know what I truly think?”

  He muttered something under his breath; she wasn’t certain what he’d said, but it didn’t sound pleasant or like a “yes.”

  She decided to tell him anyway. “I think you’d fight to the death to defend me, no matter when or where. You were prepared to do so last night.”

  “Had I known you’d be so irritating, I might not have.”

  “Don’t try to deny it or make a jest of it. I know the sort of man you are.”

  “You don’t.”

  “I think you’re a hero,” she said softly, deciding to trust her instincts, “even more heroic than your brother because he receives praise and accolades while you go quietly about your difficult business, suffering in secret heartbreak.”

  “Bloody hell,” he said with ragged breath, his eyes now dark with pain. “Don’t say another word, Daisy. I’m a bastard, plain and simple.”

  Her eyes suddenly welled with tears—Lord, why should she cry over this impossible man? She struggled to hold them back and finally gave up, allowing her feelings to show, for she was tired of deception. More important, she sensed Gabriel was tired of the burden he was carrying... the agonizing burden he insisted on bearing alone.

  She reached out and began to trace the long, jagged scar above his eye, her finger moving slowly over the rough pink flesh in order to absorb every agonizing detail of his injury. “And if you are that silent hero, the one who tackles the dirtiest missions, endures the worst hardships without complaint or expectation of reward... then... then... I think I could fall desperately in love with you.”

  “Hell.”

  “Let me amend that. I think I may already be desperately in love with you.” She hadn’t conceived of loving him until the words spilled out of her mouth. And now that they had, she didn’t know how to take them back or if she wanted to take them back.

  “Bloody hell.”

  “Please say something else,” she whispered, humiliated because he looked nothing like a man in the throes of rapture. There was so much pain etched on his face she couldn’t bear it.

  He looked wretched, as though he’d just been handed a death sentence.

  She’d just admitted that she loved him, had just thrown away her chance to make her family proud. Her parents would never allow her to marry Gabriel. They’d be appalled. He was too much of a scoundrel. Not that he’d ever consider offering for her anyway.

  What was she to do now? Having admitted that she was in love with Gabriel, how could she encourage Auguste Malinor’s courtship? She wasn’t the sort to hide her feelings. Auguste wasn’t stupid, he’d know her heart belonged to another. And would Auguste continue to stray if ever they were to marry? She sensed that he would. Fortunately, it would never come to that. He’d never offer for her. “Oh, what’s the use? I don’t even know why I care about you.”

  She pushed past him and made for Brutus’ stall.

  He held her back, spinning her to face him and tracing her jaw with his finger. “Daisy—”

  She inh
aled sharply.

  “Don’t lose your heart to me,” he said with an aching groan. “I’m a bastard, not a hero. I’ll never be your hero.”

  ***

  Daisy gazed at him with her sad, beautiful eyes. “I know you’re not. I was mad to hope even for an instant that you were. Forget everything I just said.”

  “But will you?”

  “Yes,” she said, sounding quite unconvinced. “Please let me go. I have to saddle Brutus.”

  “I’ve already saddled him for you,” Gabriel said, struggling to maintain his composure, to contain the ache in his heart that was as raw as an open wound. He really needed to kiss Daisy, desperately and deeply. He needed to lift her into his arms, carry her onto the freshly cut hay and bury himself inside her soft body.

  Daisy needed to be protected from him because that damn vow—no broken hearts, no grieving widows—would be broken if she didn’t stop just being Daisy. No matter how foolish she’d been to enter that garden alone, she’d done it for him.

  She cared for him.

  She believed in him.

  Here she stood, practically dressed in rags and sniffling like a street urchin, and all he could think of was how beautiful she looked and how badly he wanted her.

  “Laurel’s beast allowed you near him?” she asked, interrupting the thoughts he was desperate to hide from her. “How did you manage it?”

  Gabriel moved away from her and strode to the temperamental stallion, approaching him carefully because Brutus enjoyed going after strangers and pounding them with his massive hooves if they dared come too close. The beast had almost killed Graelem, but that unfortunate encounter had led to his cousin meeting Laurel, so Graelem considered himself coming out ahead. A beautiful wife that he loved deeply in exchange for a broken leg.

  A badly broken leg that had acted up today. For that reason, Graelem had summoned him and asked for the favor of accompanying Daisy on her morning ride. Or had Graelem purposely schemed to throw him and Daisy together as much as possible before he left for France?