“Then I think,” he said, laughing helplessly, “that I have just been tricked into making a donation to the parish.”
“Never mind the donation,” Mrs. Bryant assured him. “It shall suffice that we meet at the table again to give you the chance to redeem yourself.”
And Gabriel had no doubt that she did mean at cards, not of a great redemption. The trouble was, which he could hardly admit, that being in close proximity to Alethea might subdue his need to gamble, but it certainly did not lessen his other impulses.
For when he at last departed her company, he realized that of all his past and present pleasures, of all the wages he had won, none equaled the satisfaction of being invited to be in her company and basking in her laughter.
Alethea ran across the paddock in the wet grass and watched him canter off into the mist. What a beautiful sight. He had been a gentleman tonight, after that amorous interlude in her bedroom. Kind to her friends. Even so, she understood that not all gentlemen were gentle in the dark. And that Gabriel most likely thought her resistance to his pursuit was old-fashioned compared with the behavior of the ladies he knew in London.
Everyone knew what he was, and yet everyone in Helbourne liked him, wanted him to prove the rumors wrong. And none more so than Alethea.
He’d reminded her that she still enjoyed a good laugh, that even though Jeremy had violated her with unspeakable cruelty, she would recover.
Gabriel had proven that she was still capable not only of feeling desire but also of suffering from all its incautious urgings. Considering his reputation as an accomplished master of love’s art in London, she knew he understood well how to awaken hidden passions.
But that he could make her fall in love with him when she knew what he was—well, she would stop herself.
She refused to fall for another true-love prince after the last one had turned into the king of toads before her horrified eyes. Her first heartbreak.
No. That wasn’t exactly true. She had known Gabriel before she’d been introduced to Jeremy at a local christening. It was only fair to grant Gabriel the dubious distinction of being the first boy to break her heart. For he had deeply injured her feelings when she’d risked angering her parents to help him at the pillory.
No one had ever refused her tender gestures before, and so rudely, too. She had always been praised for her ability to show compassion to others. But it had been prideful of her to think a young girl’s words of sympathy would be enough to uplift a boy like Gabriel.
And it was probably more so to think a woman could lead him from the path he had chosen.
Chapter Twenty-three
Thus became established a pattern during the final weeks of summer. Every Friday evening, come fair weather or foul, a light supper party entertained the local gentry at the Earl of Wrexham’s country home, his sister Alethea acting as hostess when Robin could not do the honors. Few guests invited failed to attend this lively affair, for it had evolved into naughty fun to challenge Sir Gabriel at cards and claim that one had beaten a professional gamester.
In between he invented one reason after another to meet Alethea on her daily rides until she stopped teasing him about surprising her and he stopped making excuses. Twice he escorted her and Mrs. Bryant on parish calls. This was a practice he vowed not to repeat when one elderly widower they visited informed Alethea that the village schoolmaster had once caught Gabriel writing rude Latin rhymes.
She laughed about this the entire ride home. So did Mrs. Bryant.
“It wasn’t me,” he insisted. “It was my brother Colin. He had talent.”
“For trouble?” Alethea guessed, the ribbons of her bonnet dancing across her white throat. She was sitting awkwardly next to Mrs. Bryant, who drove her gig like Cybele’s chariot of lions.
Gabriel rode alongside on his Andalusian, enjoying the view. He’d never been good enough at Latin to think of rhymes, and he couldn’t think of one now. He didn’t care if she made fun of him. He liked being with her, listening to her voice. But when their eyes met, something sharp went down his spine. And he didn’t know if he could stand it.
He looked away, toward the woods.
“Are you coming back for tea?” Mrs. Bryant asked blithely.
He blinked. He thought he saw a figure standing in the trees, so furtive he could have been staring into his past reflection. Tea. He didn’t want it, but he would drink it.
By the conclusion of the fifth supper party, each one having ended a little later than the previous, Gabriel could not bring himself to go home. The Earl of Wrexham had gone to visit the parents of the young gentlewoman he wished to marry in London. Lady and Lord Pontsby had departed early, complaining of a bad rheum and each other.
Gabriel politely took his leave.
But like the impolite person he was at heart, he rode around the house in circles until he was certain that every other guest had gone. And then he returned. Alethea came to the door, holding Lady Pontsby’s cashmere wrap. “I knew you’d be back for—”
“—you?” He glanced down at the expensive shawl, pursing his lips. “It’s not my style. All that fringe and pattern. I’m more of a—”
“—scoundrel?” She crossed her arms across her chest as he invited himself back into the hall, closing the door onto the quiet night. “Or is it housebreaker? Gabriel, I do ask myself what has occupied your time in the intervening years—”
He walked her backward down the hall, beneath armorial shields, his footsteps muffled by the clatter of servants bustling to and fro to clear away the supper dishes and extinguish the wax candles that had illuminated the dining hall and salon.
Now, in smoky darkness, he had returned. “I’ve changed my mind about dessert.”
She shook her head, on the verge of a smile. “You’re too late.”
“For everything?”
“I suppose there is still some brandy and cake—”
“That isn’t what I want,” he said with a directness that widened her eyes.
“I don’t know how to respond, Gabriel,” she said after a pause. “Surely I am dull company in comparison to the ladies you knew in London.”
He grinned ruefully. “You’re joking. Do you know how empty-headed those women are?”
“They are not all empty-headed. Some of them are quite brilliant.”
He frowned. “Well, none of my acquaintances know how to play Slap the Slipper.”
“That is hardly an intellectual pastime.”
His eyes gleamed with humor. “Not one of them has ever beaten me at whist.”
“You let us win, Gabriel.”
He paused, reduced to playing upon her sympathy. “Do you have any idea how lonely London is for a man like me?”
Her answer took him off guard. “No more so than my life here.”
He stared at her, realizing what she had admitted. “I can’t replace him, can I?”
She flinched. “I would never compare him to you,” she said in a startlingly fierce voice.
He straightened. Why hadn’t he learned to keep his mouth shut? Now he had spoiled their mischief, bringing up that other man. “I’m sorry. I know how deeply you loved—”
“I didn’t.”
“What?”
She had not loved Jeremy? Is that what she meant? Surely not.
She turned, obviously distraught. It occurred to him that she was hesitant to speak Jeremy’s hallowed name aloud for fear of some emotional collapse. Disgruntled as he was to think her grief was so profound that she sought solace in a gamester’s seduction, he was not, however, discouraged enough to refuse what fate had dealt into his hands.
He gathered her against him and kissed the back of her nape. She shivered but did not shy away. His blood heated in anticipation. Please, whatever I do, let me not ruin this chance. For as desperately as he desired her, she was still his sweet, bold-hearted girl from the most painful days of his past. He would die himself before bringing her dishonor.
Slowly he drew her closer
.
He clasped his hands under her breasts, swallowing a groan at how good she felt. Her voluptuous curves molded into the hard angles of his body. His senses flared. Delicious. He loved how she leaned into him, as if there was more than ordinary desire between them.
“I warn you,” he whispered against her neck, “do not invite me to your bed unless you mean it.”
“Do you desire me, Gabriel?” she whispered, turning slowly until she faced him, her smile uncertain, his arms locked around her waist.
“My deepest desire is you.”
She sighed. “How pretty.”
He kissed the corners of her mouth, tightened his hold on her. “Are you impressed by pretty words?”
“No.”
“I thought not.”
Her eyes lowered briefly. “Do you wish to impress me?”
“More than I wish for the sun to rise in the morning.”
She laughed, looking up again. “Silly, pretty words. But…he is gone.”
He did not know what to say to that. When she mentioned the man she had been meant to marry, she became visibly upset. Yet she claimed she had not loved him. He brushed back the curls that overshadowed her face. “May I stay?”
She studied his hard, forbidding face. “You’ve been a good sport this last month.”
He managed a smile. “We both know why.”
“I never thought you would take to our simple pleasures.”
“Can a man not change his ways?”
“Some ways, I suppose.”
She knew who he was. But did he know her? He didn’t, but he wanted to. He took her hand.
“Take me inside.”
“Not to my bedroom. My maid sleeps next door. There is a private parlor upstairs where I read.”
He wasn’t about to argue. Her hand felt soft and firm in his, and he wasn’t sure why she was leading him inside, only that he didn’t want to draw her into any of the dark places he had known.
He followed her up a side staircase. She’d said she was lonely. Was he preying on her vulnerability? She could not bring herself to speak Jeremy’s name more than a year after his death. In the past he had never felt compelled to plot out his affairs. Wherever he had been had presented the perfect time and place.
But now he was dying inside, not in control.
The small fire-lit parlor seemed to be her private retreat. Books, letters, a basket of knitting. A place of peace, of reflections. “Perhaps you should not have invited me here, Alethea. I know I cannot replace what you had once hoped for.”
She closed the door, her eyes bright with anger. “How do you know?”
He shook his head. God forgive him. He did not wish to take advantage of a woman so immersed in grief she would offer herself to a rogue for momentary comfort. But if he could make her forget her pain, even though on the morrow she would despise him, he could not resist.
“I have never been a saint,” he said. “I will take you no matter what your reason. Even if it is only to ease your sorrow.”
He waited for her to protest. And when she did not, he guided her toward what in the dark appeared to be some manner of overstuffed sofa upon which sat a shawl, a spyglass, and a pile of papers. She laughed as he swept them onto the floor.
“Alethea,” he said, and started to laugh himself. “I have imagined this moment in a hundred fantasies—”
“—but in a tidier room.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Nothing but her mattered now. He pulled her down beside him, whispering, “Please, may I undress you?”
She gave another laugh, this one uncertain in the darkness. “Why? You can’t see anything in here.”
“I can touch you. And I am going to make love to you.” How easily his hands unmoored her, how right it seemed as he released her from the constraints of her stays and chemise. He caressed her, gave her time to relax, to anticipate what would soon come. When he went down on his knees to slide off her stockings, he felt her stiffen in alarm. “Gabriel.”
“Don’t change your mind,” he muttered, gazing up at her starkly. “Don’t make me stop or I shall die.”
She gave a shaky giggle. “You sound so intent.”
“Oh, I am.”
He gazed up at her, fascinated by the beauty of her naked body. Dark nipples that protruded from her sweet breasts, a rounded belly and full hips, a thatch of curls that crowned her cleft. His throat closed at her self-conscious smile.
He smiled back. “I would think this was a dream did the carnal demands of my body not tell me otherwise.”
“I stopped believing in dreams.” She ran her fingers lightly through his short black hair. “Until you came back.”
She gave him so many hints that night. She revealed herself to him in subtle ways that a man of perception would have recognized. He missed every clue. His only excuse was that desire rendered him incapable of following all but his baser instincts. There would be tomorrow to reflect on nuance. It was all he could do to follow her lead, to master his desire.
He kissed her ankle, her calf, the soft hollow of her knee until the perfume of her secret flesh stole into his senses. He got up from the floor, working off his jacket and neckcloth, the buttons on his shirt and trousers. “You’ll never forgive me for this,” he said ruefully as he removed his boots.
For a moment, as he turned, his heart and body bared, she did not speak. Yet she didn’t seem offended by his scars and blatant arousal. He could only hope that she found him half as desirable as he did her.
“How do you know what I will forgive?” she said at length. “Do you know me at all?”
He sat beside her. “I want to know.” He caressed her face, and slid his hand around her neck.
“I’m not what I was,” she whispered.
“You’re so much better,” he murmured, and bent his head to kiss her.
With another lady he would have attributed her remarks to teasing, to false modesty. But he wanted her too desperately to ponder what she was trying to say. Arrogant fool that he was, he assumed he had a monopoly on heartache. He assumed what appearances told him, that while the world had dealt him one blow after another, Alethea had remained intact, the perfect young lady, safe from sin, from harm. As she was meant to be.
“What I know,” he said, “is that I will not leave now until you’re mine. And that I don’t intend to ruin you.”
“Isn’t that what rakes are meant to do?” she said, and she was teasing now.
“Not necessarily.” He brushed his fingers down her throat, her breasts, then her belly, stealing lower until she trembled. But she did not draw away. He felt the pulse of her blood beneath his palm. “Some of us merely ruin ourselves.”
“Do you think that those who care for you are not affected?” she asked, gasping as he slipped his finger into her sheath. Her body tightened, not in resistance but in desperate need. He stroked. She opened, slowly melting.
His voice roughened. “Does that mean you care for me?”
She moved her hips, aching, seeking more. “Can’t you tell?”
“You’ve chosen me?”
She suppressed a moan. Whatever he was doing to her, this gentle invasion was too much, and yet she craved more. But how did he know when she had not been aware of this herself?
His hand stilled. She tried to clench her thighs, to catch her breath. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low-pitched, compelling. “I had to leave, but…would it have mattered if I’d stayed?”
“Yes. I’m not sure—yes.”
“Why?”
“Because—because then I might not have been betrothed to…him.”
What was she telling him? That her loss had been so deep she wished she had never loved Jeremy? “Was there another man besides Hazlett?” he asked slowly, his breathing, his heartbeat suspended.
She wrapped her hand around his neck. Her fingers smoothed his raised scar. “Did you come back tonight to record the history of Helbourne or to make love to me?” she asked lightly.
“He’s gone, Gabriel,” she said in a ghost whisper. “And,” she added, her voice so low he was not sure he’d heard it, “I wish he had never existed.”
“Are you certain that you want this?”
“No. But do it anyway. What I want is to forget.”
She saw the surprise on his face and prayed he would not probe for an explanation. What she said was true. When she was with Gabriel she forgot the parts of her life that seemed ugly, unspeakable. And whatever happened between them was of her own choosing. Yes. She would choose tonight.
She buried her face in the notch of his hard shoulder. He smelled faintly of musk and cologne. So wonderful. His skin felt warm, the sinew and muscle woven beneath a shield of strength. How tempting to give him power over her. To unthaw. Winter’s end.
“Once we are joined,” he said, kissing the top of her head, “there are certain consequences we shall have to face.”
“Such as the conception of a child?”
When had she become so frank in the ways of life? In the mirror of time she had remained innocent, untouched. Was he the one who had missed the deeper lessons of life? Were all his reflections distorted? No. Not of her.
“Yes,” he said, swallowing. “That is one concern we must accept.”
“Do you have any children, Gabriel?”
“No. I—” What could he say? That he was a man who had eluded commitment and escaped a fate he probably deserved? He had not always been careful but now, suddenly, so many things he had always scorned seemed to matter.
“Have you always desired me?” she whispered. “I know that once you liked to look. I never understood what it meant. What were you thinking?”
“I’m not sure that I thought at all in those days. Perhaps I wanted what I could not have.” He pressed his face between her breasts, inhaling her scent. “I’ve never lost a game once I set my mind to it.”
“I’m not a game, Gabriel,” she said in mild indignation.
“I know, but if you were, what would I need to do to win you?” He raised his face, his smile beguiling. “I have relied on fights and wiles all my life to survive. I don’t know of any other way to live.”
Wicked As Sin Page 11