Stealing a Rogue's Kiss (Connected by a Kiss Book 4)

by Amanda Mariel

  It was the best apology Daphne would likely receive. Besides, she did not wish to sit in silence. She'd had enough of that during her travels. Daphne sat her paper rose in her lap and smiled at Natalie. "The ride here was dreadfully long. I spent most of the time pondering what Lilia said to me at the ball."

  “I’ve been thinking on it as well. Surely we can get someone here to kiss you.” Natalie reached for a piece of mistletoe. Grinning mischievously, she held it in the air between them. “If nothing else we can lure someone under the kissing bow.”

  Daphne sighed, her frustration growing over how impossible her situation was. “Even if I stood under it all night with my lips puckered, there’d be no guarantee of someone kissing me. And if they did, it would most likely be a family member. I don’t believe that counts.”

  "Nonsense." Natalie shook the mistletoe, her eyes glinting. "Bradford has several friends coming to the Christmas Eve ball. Marcus is already here and Mr. Ashe will be coming as well. Plus Pippa will be here. The two of us will help you entice a non-related gentleman."

  A shuffling sounded at the door and Daphne angled her head to look. A footman entered, his attention turning to Natalie. “Lady Maddox to see you.” He stepped aside and Pippa strolled into the parlor.

  “We were just talking about you.” Natalie stood to greet her, dropping a kiss on her cheek. “Do join us.”

  Pippa gave a bright smile as she settled onto the sofa beside Natalie. "I came the moment I discovered you'd arrived. Of course, Lucas and I will attend your parent's ball, but I didn't want to wait until then to see you." She met Daphne's gaze, her friendly smile firmly in place. “And what a pleasure to see you again, Daphne.”

  “Likewise.” Daphne smiled back at her. “My favorite part of the Christmastide season is having the opportunity to see old friends.”

  Pippa reached for a sprig of Hawthorne. She rolled one of its red berries between her fingers as she arched a brow curiously. “You said you were talking about me a moment ago.”

  “Indeed. I was telling Daphne that we would help her steal a kiss.”

  Daphne shrunk in embarrassment, sinking back against her chair wishing it would swallow her whole. This was pure madness. She’d never be able to steal a kiss.

  Pippa turned a curious glance her way. "Of course I'll help, but why do you desire a kiss?"

  “I…well…” Daphne worked to speak past the lump in her throat. Finding the task impossible she turned to Natalie for help.

  Natalie smiled. “Lulia told her that if she did not receive a kiss by Christmastide, she’d never marry.”

  “Oh.” Pippa’s eyes rounded. “Then we must see that you do.”

  Daphne fidgeted with the lace sleeve of her gown. “I’m not sure we can.”

  “Nonsense.” Natalie notched her chin. “We will show you how to entice.” She turned to Pippa. “Won’t we?”

  Pippa leaned forward, excitement in her gaze. “Of course; and we’ll make sure you find yourself in the company of gentlemen.”

  “The house is fairly crawling with rogues. One of them will be happy to kiss you, you’ll see.” Natalie tapped her silk fan against her leg. “Is there one in particular you desire?”

  "No," Daphne whispered, shaking her head. She could not imagine kissing any of Bradford's friends. What good would a rogue do her? They would not suite on any level. Sure she found Marcus attractive and imagined that Mr. Ashe must be as well, but she did not want to marry a rogue. "This is all wrong. I don't think we should. I do not wish for any of the men here to take me to wife."

  “Lulia never said you would marry the man you kissed. Only that you had to kiss someone if you wished to wed.” Natalie stared at Daphne, her head slightly angled. “Of course we cannot force you, but I do so wish to see you happy.”

  Daphne watched the fires bright orange and yellow flames licking the back of the hearth. Natalie did have a point and while Daphne may well perish of embarrassment by the time this ended, she very much wanted a family of her own. “Very well, you can help me.”

  Natalie clapped her hands together. “You won’t regret it. I promise.”

  Daphne already did.

  Chapter 3

  Marcus Wentworth, Earl of Clarendon, circled the billiards table with his stick in hand. One more well-placed shot and he’d sweep the table. Lining his stick up, he steadied it with one finger arched over the smooth service then tapped the cue ball. The round ivory ball rolled across the green base to strike its target, sending the eight into the corner pocket. Marcus turned a victorious grin in Bradford’s direction. “Pay up, Greenwich.”

  “You’re one lucky bastard.” Bradford Seymour, Lord Greenwich, tossed a stack of pound notes onto the billiards table.

  Marcus chuckled as he scooped up his winnings. “Care for another game?”

  “I’d rather keep my coin, thank you.” Greenwich reached for a crystal decanter.

  Marcus could not blame his friend. He’d already lost three games. A fact that pleased Marcus for it had earned him a considerable amount of loot. Having too much fun to give up, Marcus began to rack the balls for another round. “How about you, Ashe?”

  “I don’t believe my luck will be any better than Greenwich’s, but what the hell.” Ashe took a long drink from his tumbler before setting it aside and strolling over to the billiards table. “I’m breaking.”

  Marcus stepped aside. “As you wish.” It mattered not to him who began the game. Marcus had far more experience with the game than any of his friends did. He’d grown up around billiards. Been taught how to win from the time he was old enough to roll a ball. It was a wonder that any of his friends amused him by playing when they rarely ever bested him. But then, everyone had their own talents.

  Ashe pushed his stick forward into the cue, sending it careening into the balls. With a crack, they scattered across the billiards table. One lone ball sunk into a side pocket. Ashe gave a smug nod, his green eyes holding a challenge.

  “Beginners luck.” Marcus jested.

  Ashe ignored him as he circled the table studying the balls. Finding the shot he desired, he lined up his stick and sunk another ball.

  "He may have you," Kissinger said, swirling the whiskey in his glass.

  Greenwich leaned against the hearth, one hand holding his tumbler while the other relaxed at his side. “Never underestimate Clarendon.”

  Ashe sent the three ball spiraling into a corner pocket. Glancing up with a victorious gleam in his green eyes, he said. “Never underestimate your opponent.”

  "Feeling cocky are we?" Marcus poured four fingers worth of whiskey into his tumbler. It had been several months since he'd lost to Ashe. Even then, it had been more of a forfeit as Marcus had been too distracted to focus on the game. He could not see himself loosing again—not unless Ashe swept the table.

  "More like confident," Ashe said, before turning back to the billiards table to line up his next shot. He sank two more balls without paying any mind to Marcus or the others. With a cocky set to his face, he chalked the cue of his stick. "I may have a good old break and run here."

  Greenwich clapped his hand over Marcus’s shoulder. “I dare say it is looking that way.”

  “Nonsense, the game has just started. Ashe will miss before it’s done.” Marcus studied the remaining balls. Given the position of the cue ball in relation to the others, Ashe had only one choice for his next shot and it would not be an easy one to sink. He smiled at Greenwich. “Care to wager on it?”

  “I do, if for no other reason than to encourage Ashe to beat you.” He chuckled.

  “One hundred pounds says he misses the next shot.” Marcus extended his hand.

  “Very well.” Bradford gave him a shake, sealing their bet. Turning back to the table, he said, "Don't disappoint me, Ashe."

  Ashe gave a nod then lined up his shot. With a light click, he knocked the six ball into the side pocket. “Pay the man, Clarendon.”

  Greenwich held out his hand, grinning as Marcus la
id a stack of pound notes onto his palm. “Care to wager again?”

  “Double,” Marcus said.

  Greenwich chuckled as he tucked the notes into his pocket. “Four hundred pounds it is.”

  Ashe strolled around the billiards table, his gaze trained on the remaining balls. Stopping at the far end, he positioned his stick. The cue ball spiraled across the green baize missing its mark entirely. “Bloody hell.”

  “A bit too much English, old pal.” Kissinger clapped a hand over Ashe’s shoulder.

  Marcus elbowed Greenwich, playfully. “Pay up.” He collected his wager from Greenwich then strolled over to the billiards table. Two balls remained and the cue sat locked to the rail. A difficult shot, but he enjoyed a challenge.

  Taking a minute to chalk his cue, Marcus studied the angles before leaning over the table and positioning his stick through the arch of his finger. He hit his mark true sending the cue straight into the seven ball. Marcus roamed to the opposite end of the table, his gaze trained on the eight ball. He'd have to bounce the cue ball off the far rail to send the eight home. Though difficult, the shot was easier to manage then the last had been. The victory would be his.

  Lining up his shot, Marcus positioned his stick then slid it back and forth through his fingers, once, twice…

  “I hear the Earl of Drivel is out for your blood,” Ashe said. “I must admit the Drivel chit seems to be a sweet little morsel, but I’ve never had a thing for debutants. When did your tastes turn toward innocent ladies?”

  The stick slipped through Marcus’s finger’s hitting the wrong edge of the cue ball and causing him to miss the shot. Scowling, he turned to Ashe. “I don’t.”

  "I heard something about that as well." Greenwich took a sip of his whiskey. "Has the matter been settled?"

  “It was merely a misunderstanding. The lady found herself in need of assistance and I provided it. Nothing is amiss.” Marcus peered at Ashe. “Now take your bloody shot.”

  Marcus did not care to discuss the matter. It had been one hell of a headache for him and now that it was behind him, he wished to leave it there. In truth, it had been a rather mundane incident. The lady had become entangled in undergrowth while walking paths at a garden party. When Marcus came upon her, he offered his assistance.

  A move that required him to drop to his knees and untangle her skirt and slipper covered foot. He was caught with his hand beneath her skirt and all hell broke out. Her father insisted she'd been compromised and demanded marriage. Marcus refused. In time the Earl came to understand the truth and everything settled down. Marcus shivered at the thought of how close he'd come to being caught in the parsons' noose. See if he ever went out of his way to aid an innocent again.

  “It seems your luck has ended.”

  Ashe’s voice broke through his thoughts and Marcus peered at the man. “Only because you distracted me.”

  “Don’t be a sore loser.” Ashe sat his stick against the wall then moved to the sideboard to retrieve his tumbler. “Winning is winning. I cannot help it if you can’t talk while you play.”

  Marcus shook his head, a mixture of annoyance and amusement warring within him. He dropped a stack of pound notes on the table. “Take it.”

  "Don't mind if I do." Ashe strolled over and scooped up the pile.

  Marcus twirled his cue stick in his hand. “Care for another round?”

  “I prefer to quit while I am ahead. Leastwise where you are involved.” Ashe tipped his tumbler to his mouth, drawing the contents. “Besides, I’ve grown tired.”

  “You’re a puppy." Marcus shook his head. "It's barely eleven."

  “I had farther to travel then you did. We can’t all live nearby.” Ashe sat his empty tumbler on the sideboard then quit the room.

  Marcus released a breath as he leveled his gaze on Kissinger. “How about you?”

  “I’m afraid not.” Kissinger stood then rolled his shoulders as he yawned. “My wife awaits me.”

  “Bloody glad I don’t have one of those,” Greenwich said. “But all the same, I am ready to retire as well.”

  “I might as well be hanging out with a bunch of old maids.” Marcus shook his head.

  “Be that as it may, I am off for bed.” Greenwich returned the decanter to its rightful place.

  Marcus watched as his friends retreated from the room. He racked the balls and cleared the table while he enjoyed another drink. No doubt his friends would be refreshed and far better company on the marrow.

  Kissinger being the exception. He’d be saddled to his wife. A sad state indeed.

  Marcus prayed someone would shot him if he ever found himself in such a position. He enjoyed women to be sure but had no need of marring one. Why bother when mistresses were easy to come by and so much easier to please.

  Chapter 4

  Marcus quit the billiards room and made his way down the dark halls of Harrington Gardens. He’d planned to return home but given the late hour decided it best to stay. He’d make his way to Greenwich’s suite of rooms and pass out on the sofa. Considering the vast amount of liquor he’d consumed, sleep would come easy regardless of where he laid his head.

  A sound plan if he could only find his way there. With scarce few candles lighting the halls he was finding it bloody hard to navigate his way. He'd already taken a wrong turn, then bumped into a high-back chair and nearly lost his balance as it banged against the table beside it. It was a wonder no-one had awakened and come to investigate the racket.

  After strolling to the end of the corridor and turning the corner, Marcus stilled. The shuffling of feet caught his attention and he strained to determine where the noise originated from. In another moment, a woman figure appeared in the shadows. He squinted against the darkness in an attempt to make out her features.

  “Lady Daphne.”

  “Oh.” She jumped, her hand going to her chest. Turning wide blue eyes on him, she said, “You startled me.”

  “What are you doing roaming the halls at this hours?” Marcus sobered a fraction as he stood before her.

  She took a small step toward him, her pink dressing gown revealing the thin fabric of her nightrail hidden beneath. “I couldn’t sleep so I decided to get a glass of warm milk.”

  Marcus felt the corners of his lips tug downward. “There are servants for that.”

  “I didn’t wish to bother someone else when I can find the kitchen on my own.” She gave a weak smile. “As you said, the hour is late.”

  “Very well.” Marcus proffered his arm. “Then allow me to escort you.”

  Daphne wrapped her petite hand around the crook of his elbow. Marcus led her through the house, down the stairs, and into the kitchen. Once there, she released his arm and went to retrieve the milk. "Would you like some?"

  He pulled out a stool and sat at a long counter. “Please.” As she reached for glasses, he added. “Perhaps something to nibble on as well?”

  She cast him a smile then strolled to the storage pantry. In a thrice, she joined him with a plate of pastries. “Will this suit? Or would you prefer something more with more substance?”

  “Those are perfect.” Marcus reached for a pastry then took a bite. He watched Daphne sip her milk as he chewed. Her long golden hair streamed down her back, catching the light of a nearby candle. His finger’s itched to touch the thick wavy locks. He’d wager her hair would slip through his fingers like the finest silk. How had he never noticed it before?

  Marcus took a drink of his milk then reached for another pastry. “Are you going to have one?”

  Daphne shook her head. “Mama says I should stay clear of sweet treats.”

  Marcus arched a curious eyebrow. “For what reason?”

  Daphne averted her gaze. “They are bad for my figure.”

  Marcus trailed his gaze over her lush curves, taking an extra moment to appreciate the full curve of her breasts. “There is nothing wrong with your figure.” He slid the plate closer to her. “Have one.”

  The corners of her full
lips turned up in a weak grin. “I suppose one will not cause to much damage.” She lifted the treat to her mouth and took a small nibble.

  Marcus spun his glass in a slow circle on the countertop. “Delicious, is it not?”

  “Indeed.” Daphne’s gaze met his, a mixture of pleasure and regret shining in the blue depths. "Mama would have a fit if she knew I'd eaten it."

  “Your Mama is wrong. You deserve sweets and should be allowed to enjoy them. A man would have to be daft not to notice your beauty.” Marcus shocked himself with the realization that he had not noticed how attractive she was before now. As children, she’d been one more girl. Nothing special, simply another playmate. Of course, he'd noticed that she'd grown up. They all had. But he'd not had occasion to spend time with her in the past several years—not enough to take notice of the delectable creature she'd become.

  Curiosity swept through his mind and he had to get to know her better. “Forgive me for asking a personal question, but I find myself exceedingly curious to know why you are not yet married.” Marcus stretched his legs out, crossing them at the ankles as he waited for her reply.

  Daphne exhaled a deep breath. “No one has shown an interest in wedding me.”

  "I find that hard to believe." Marcus stared into her blue eyes as a storm of emotions crossed through them. They seemed to cloud with sadness, then deepened with thought before brightening with excitement. “What is going through your pretty little mind?”

  “Nothing.” She nibbled at her bottom lip, shaking her head. “I was just recalling…Oh never mind.”

  He’d always found her interesting to talk with but could not recall ever hanging on her words the way he was doing at this moment. If she left him guessing at her thoughts, he’d likely go mad. “Recalling what?”

  She tipped her glass to lips, finishing what remained of the milk.