The man had certainly changed then. Now the only person he thought of was himself. But before she could refuse Mrs. Darcy’s offer there was a resounding knock at the door.
“That will be him now.” And Mrs. Darcy bustled off to open the door. “Oh, Your Grace,” Caitlin heard her say in delighted tones, “are those for me?”
“From my garden,” replied Dangerfield. “I picked them myself.”
As she heard Harlow step inside, Caitlin’s misery swamped her, and sweat trickled down her back. She couldn’t face him. Not after last night. Her nerves were too raw, her body too on edge. Her emotions still in a whirl. She’d caught the ‘Dangerfield’ disease and she was sure there was no cure. Her body craved both Mrs. Darcy’s cream-covered scones and the Duke of Dangerfield, and neither was good for her—even in moderation. Abstinence seemed the only safe precaution.
To make matters worse, Caitlin couldn’t forget that he’d proposed marriage last night, as calmly as if discussing the weather on a fine day. A man should be consumed with poetry, or at least demonstrate devotion, when offering marriage. A proposal without a declaration of undying love was nothing more than a business proposition.
Did he think that if she married him she’d simply forget about claiming Mansfield Manor? If she married him, he’d still own it. The house should be in trust for her and any of her female descendants.
Her eyes narrowed and she shot dagger looks in his direction as he sauntered into Mrs. Darcy’s drawing room. Oh yes, he was up to something.
He was so tall—so large—in the confines of the room that it seemed as if all the space and air had been sucked out, making her light headed. When he saw her there, he halted, and a flicker of surprise crossed his face. Then he smiled, a slow, inviting smile.
A hot blade of excitement stabbed deep in her belly.
Eyes twinkling he bowed. “Beautiful as ever, Lady Southall. I hope I did not keep you out too late last night.” He moved to take her hand and press a long, lingering, and totally inappropriate kiss on her knuckles. “I have not been able to think of anyone or anything but you, sweet lady.”
Mrs. Darcy clapped her hands. “Oh, how nice. I did not realize you were so well acquainted. I have a favor to ask, Your Grace. Lady Southall would also like to learn how to bake a cake. Apparently she wishes to surprise her father.”
His smile did not dim at the mention of her father. “I could not think of anything I’d like more than to share any experience with Lady Southall. I have wanted—no, prayed—for an excuse to spend more time with Caitlin.”
Caitlin watched Mrs. Darcy’s mouth drop open at Dangerfield’s use of her first name. In essence, he had all but announced to the village that he was courting her. Now the news would spread faster than the bolt of lightning that had run down the bell tower last summer. The destruction would be just as severe.
If her father got wind of this…
A rush of emotion made Caitlin’s face heat and her throat constrict. If he wished to see her ruined he had just planted the seed. The expectation of marriage would germinate in the villagers’ heads and she would be forced to accept him.
He’d trapped her. Expertly.
She tried not to show any reaction to his ploy. “Your Grace, how kind. But I couldn’t possibly intrude—”
And the stupidity of her words hit her like a hard slap. She was about to throw away her chance to win the wager, keep her home, and be free to make her own choices. What a fool! No. Dangerfield would not drive her away from her best chance to win the next challenge. Mansfield Manor was worth the discomfort of his closeness. She would stay. She would learn. And, what’s more, she would win.
The silence in the room drew her attention to the fact both Mrs. Darcy and Harlow were watching her closely; Mrs. Darcy with suppressed excitement, and Harlow with mocking amusement.
“What time would be convenient for you to teach us, Mrs. Darcy,” she asked, as sweetly as she could through clenched teeth, and pretending not to notice the triumph on Dangerfield’s face.
Mrs. Darcy’s face was wreathed in smiles. “No time like the present, is there, Your Grace? Come now, into the kitchen with you both. I have the prettiest apron for His Grace to wear.”
Despite Caitlin’s misgivings, the lesson was fun. She even saw a different side to Dangerfield. He was witty, amusing, and not above poking fun at himself. In fact, he’d been utterly charming. If she hadn’t known that underneath his smile lay a ruthless wastrel and womanizer, she too might have succumbed.
It was almost four in the afternoon before Caitlin managed to slip away. The old lady still had Dangerfield trapped in conversation as she tried to cajole him into judging the bake-off for that year’s village fete.
The sun was still sweltering hot. So was Caitlin, after hours in the heat of the kitchen—hot, sweaty, and covered in flour. Lily Pond, her swimming hole at the edge of Bridgenorth land, seemed to call to her.
And why not? None of the villagers used it. It wasn’t stocked with fish, and the eels were easier to catch upstream. It was relatively private. High rushes bordered all sides, and the fact it was boggy in places and one could get stuck, kept most away.
Caitlin knew where to enter and leave the water, and the single time she had ever gotten stuck—eight years ago—she’d been rescued by the most handsome, and rudest, man she’d ever met.
She grumbled about that man now as she moved into the reeds and began to disrobe. She couldn’t stop thinking about him and the wicked things he’d done last night. She’d never experienced anything like it. Passion. No wonder men and women frequently partook of pleasure.
After the afternoon’s cooking lesson she finally had the courage to admit it to herself; she was attracted to the rake. It was impossible not to be.
Unfortunately, although the water lapping against her skin cooled her skin it didn’t cool her memories. Dangerfield’s touch, his lips, his fingers—her body remembered it all. And wanted more.
Wading in until she stood waist deep, Caitlin collapsed onto her back with a splash and a sigh, her arms outstretched, and let herself float. That was better. Soon all her silly thoughts of Harlow’s animal magnetism would be washed and cleared by the silky coolness. But losing the wager might not be so bad... and marrying Harlow... could be heaven...
Dangerfield knew he should have resisted, but in all truth, he didn’t want to. Hadn’t intended to from the moment he’d seen her stepping like a naked goddess onto Lily Pond’s lapping edge. Strange that they should both have the same idea—a cooling dip.
She’d reached waist high water by the time he’d flung off his clothes, eased into the pond, and dived. Now she was within reach… And he was out of breath—
He kicked up hard, cannoning out of the water beside her, tossing his hair so drops of water sprayed her shocked face.
Her squeal ripped the air apart, terror suddenly choked off as her mouth filled with water and she sank beneath the pond’s surface.
She wouldn’t drown—she swam too well for that—but it was fortunate for Harlow that the water was only waist deep. Fortunate in many ways. When Caitlin finally floundered to the surface and scrambled upright she was too shocked to realize how much of her was exposed. Yes, it was most fortunate indeed.
Urgent and driving lust arrowed to his groin.
“What a vision,” he said, soft as a sigh. “A mermaid sent to tempt me into sinning.” He took her unresisting hand and dragged her closer. Sighed at the feel of her small, pert breasts pressed against his chest. “Fancy the proper Lady Southall following me to my favorite pond.”
“My pond,” she corrected, still breathless. “You should let me go.”
“You don’t want me to, do you?”
He lifted his gaze from the delicate hand still pressed to the centre of his chest to the fine porcelain features of Caitlin’s face. Her beauty held him spellbound. Desire hit like a lightning bolt, heat igniting in his veins until he was on fire. He could not resist her like this;
her black hair plastered to her head, her eyes flared wide as if she’d discovered a present yet to be unwrapped, and her lips plump and glistening in the sun. He swooped down for a taste.
Her mouth was hot and welcoming. He plundered his bounty sweeping her hesitation aside.
When he released her for breath, and she looked up at him from her exotically tipped eyes—so potent a stare—he swore he felt her gaze caress his soul. Tightness travelled down his body in hot waves, settling low in his belly.
Mouth drying, pulse quickening, he stared back, his hand fisting beneath the water. Her lips parted.
He wondered how much of him she could actually see. She could certainly feel all of him. Had she ever encountered a naked man before? Was he her first? The thought thrilled him, increasing the tempo of his pulse considerably.
Caitlin continued to study him, her pale-green eyes reflecting everything she was experiencing. She liked what she saw and was affected by his nakedness. He knew she could feel his arousal, yet she did not step out of his embrace. Interestingly, she did not appear afraid of him.
“Do you like what you see?”
He waited for her to push away and avert her gaze in embarrassment, but to his chagrin she stayed within his arms and continued her perusal—a straightforward, clinical stare, as though she were assessing a statue. Her hand on his chest moved slowly over his skin, leaving a trail of heat beneath her touch.
Then a dragonfly buzzed past, and the spell was broken.
“Stay away.” She pushed against his chest. “Stay away from me.”
Immediately he dropped his arms from around her. “I can’t. You’re expecting more strength than I possess if you think I can stay away. You’re so perfect… Your beauty leaves me speechless.”
She bit her bottom lip but didn’t swim to safety.
That was a mistake—an innocent’s mistake—but a mistake, nonetheless.
He could take her now, and then there would be no turning back. Wager or no wager she would be his. But something held him back. Did he want to win her like this? Force her to become his wife? Force her to his bed? How would she ever respect him if he did? How would he respect himself?
Honor was damnably inconvenient where a virginal lady was concerned.
He splashed water at her with his open palm. “Go. You know the outcome if you stay. There are many things I wish you to feel, but anger and regret is not one of them.”
Caitlin could not believe it. He was letting her go?
The cool water did nothing to diminish the fire burning under her skin. Droplets of water clung to him like a jealous lover. His curls glistened in the sunlight, their ringlets lending the consummate rake an air of innocence. He looked delicious.
His jaw tightened and a hint of color tinged his cheeks. “I’ve released you, Caitlin. Go. Now. You’re playing with fire if you stay.”
Was he blushing? Dear heaven, he was! He was also warning her. Telling her she should jump at the chance to escape him. That he was giving her the choice spoke volumes about the real man behind the rakish persona. Perhaps he wasn’t such a rogue after all.
That afternoon she’d found his self-teasing delectable. The way he’d poked fun at himself, how he made Mrs. Darcy feel relaxed in his presence as he allowed her to scold and tease him. Caitlin warmed to that side of him and could now understand why so many women fell under his spell.
“Did you hear me?” he asked, his voice ragged. “I can’t vouch for how much longer I can stand here without reaching for you. I’m not a saint, Caitlin. I‘m a man. A man who wants you very much.”
She could see that he wanted her. Although she didn’t wish to feel anything other than revulsion for Harlow Telford, nothing she could see—and she could see quite clearly through the water—revolted her. And he certainly had a sizeable “nothing”.
She should run a mile.
But at that moment the idea of ruination was no longer frightening. In fact, the idea of marriage to him looked incredibly appealing.
Muscle rippled and flexed in his arm, and down the trim taper of his waist as he wiped the water from his eyes.
The words left her mouth on a soft sigh. “What if I don’t wish to leave?”
Dangerfield couldn’t believe what he’d heard. Wasn’t sure he had heard it. The deafening roar in his ears, take her, blocked out any other sound.
She was offering herself to him? He had wanted to seduce her in order to make his proposal more appealing, but God’s truth, did she understand the consequence of her actions?
Was he strong enough to resist even if she didn’t.
He scooped her up in his arms and waded to shore. The feel of her naked fragility against his chest flooded him with such a wave of protectiveness he barely knew what to do with himself.
When she looked up at him, uncertainty in her eyes. He gathered her closer, the tightness around his heart unexpected.
He found the flat, dry, and very private place where she’d shed her clothes, and lay her reverently down upon them—her beauty, which had long haunted his dreams, displayed for him to see and worship.
“Harlow.” She trembled a little as she breathed his name. She stared into his eyes—her own, liquid pools of emotion, their glowing greenish hue dark with want. And she rose up and feathered little kisses on his chest.
He quivered, breathless with wonder as her silken lips caressed his skin. Caresses so innocently given. He knew with absolute certainty he’d remember this moment for the rest of his life.
He ran a shaky hand down one of her long limbs, her firm, damp flesh luscious to the touch. To his surprise she lay back and smiled encouragingly.
Her faith in his ability to give her pleasure awed him. He knelt at her feet, suddenly unsure.
His fascination with her took him by surprise.
He knew the secrets of a woman’s body—none better. But this wasn’t “a woman”. This was Caitlin. This was different. This was important. This was real.
Yes, he wanted her. He wanted to sheath himself deep within her and find heaven. But he also wanted her. Her. He wanted her to… Christ… not just to respect him. He wanted more. He wanted her to admire, to adore… He wanted her to love him.
Her finger had been gliding down his torso. Now it halted, shyly, near his rampant arousal, which stood straight and hard against his stomach. Her touch was driving him insane, calling to his blood like a bewitching song.
He could think of nothing else. He had to take her. Claim her. Make her his. Forever.
With real reverence he stroked one hand down her body, tracing the curves of her breast, the indent of waist, the flat plane of her stomach, before sinking his fingers in the soft, black curls at the apex of her thighs. Her legs parted, allowing him access to the treasure within.
He hesitated. Gave her one last chance.
“Caitlin, sweetheart, I’ve never wanted anyone more in my life, but if we do this, there is no turning back. Understand? You will marry me. Agreed?”
“Harlow.”
The way she moaned his name was the only permission he needed. He did what he’d dreamed of doing the moment he’d first seen her in trousers. Lifting one tiny foot, he began kissing up her leg. The heady scent of her arousal urged him to rush. But he took his time; she deserved at least that.
Caitlin’s last few nights had been filled with restless dreams. Dreams about Harlow and what it would be like to give herself to him. Reality was so much… more.
He looked like a conquering warrior. The living, breathing definition of irresistible.
His massive arousal throbbed against her thigh and her hips twisted, wanting to answer its call. Passion drummed a beat in her brain. She could think of nothing else—no one else—but the man, tenderly pressing kisses up her thigh.
She was lost and drowning in a sea of desire. It was beyond anything she could have imagined. And it was wonderful.
From the moment she’d thought up this hare-brained wager, she’d been determined to resi
st him. Now she asked herself why? Now there was only the honeyed sweetness of his gaze, the fiery need of his touch, and the fierce primal wanting he had awakened in her.
All her fear about the price she’d pay for this one sweet moment fled as his lips trailed higher up her thigh.
Her breath rasped as he moved to kneel between her parted legs, and when he lifted his head and gazed up her body to meet her eyes, his face was gravely worshipful.
“You are an exquisite woman,” he whispered hoarsely. “You will make a fine duchess. I’m honored that you have chosen me as your first, and I promise to make it memorable.”
Her position afforded her a breath-taking view as her warrior leaned down to set her skin ablaze once more. At the touch of his lips, she lay back and half closed her eyes, and put her resistance aside once and for all. Becoming a duchess was no punishment, especially as Mansfield Manor could still be passed to her daughter.
His lips were hot against her damp skin. Anticipation sent a series of tremors ricocheting through her, but it did not prepare her for what he did with his tongue. Gently, he parted her folds and his lips tasted the very heart of her womanhood. His tongue slid through her curls and licked the most intimate part of her, until she could no longer think.
She could not believe that he was kissing her there, let alone that she was letting him. It was mortifying, yet at the same time she knew she’d beg him to continue if he tried to stop.
The sensations his clever tongue roused in her made her eyes roll back, her hips lift, and a desperate moan escape her lips.
When he draped one of her legs over his shoulder, opening her wider to his ministrations, her body exploded with need, and want, and desire.
To Dare the Duke of Dangerfield (Wicked Wagers BK1-Regency Romance) Long Novella Page 8