“If you kiss me and continue to touch me,” he warned on a stuttered breath, “then I will start kissing and touching you too, and I’m not certain I will be able to stop.”
Without guile or any coy game, she looked at him directly. “I’m not certain I would want you to stop.”
He closed his eyes. She didn’t know what she was saying, he reminded himself. However, telling that to a certain part of his anatomy proved futile. He wanted her with a desperation he’d never experienced, not even during his first sexual encounter. Apparently, experience and age counted for little. This desire was more than wanting to lose himself inside of her—although there was plenty of that—it was needing to be part of her. To be one with her. And connected in a way that he knew would change him forever. Hell, he was already changed. Forever.
“The voice of reason is telling me that you don’t know what you’re saying. You cannot. You are an innocent.” He loosened his grip on her shoulders and trailed down to her wrists, prepared to step away. The feel of her hands was driving him mad. So then, why wasn’t he stepping away?
“Believe what you like. I know what I’m saying.” Hedley shuffled closer. Her lips were temptingly close. “For now, however, I’m ready to step inside of a carriage.”
He hesitated. “You do realize that you are already facing your fear by merely standing here.”
“I know,” she said softly.
Rafe let out a deep breath. The decision was Hedley’s, and yet . . . “If you show the slightest bit of terror”—he cupped her face—“I’m dragging you out of there.”
“Agreed,” she said quickly, tilting up on her toes to press her lips against his. “But not a moment before.”
His knees went weak. She was going to kill him.
The carriage was on supports. Two large beams served as braces where the wheels would have been. Since it was a landau, there was still a step up, and Rafe went in ahead of her to make sure it was safe. Other than a layer of dust over the floor and cushions and a few missing buttons from the tufted red upholstery, it was in decent condition.
He peered out of the carriage door to where Hedley stood, her arms folded over the other as if she were warming them. Her gaze drifted to the carriage. “This is much larger than the one we were in that day,” she said.
“Mr. Tims told me that this once belonged to the previous owner of Fallow Hall and that he’d attempted to hide it from debt collectors.”
“Surely it is sturdy enough for two passengers.”
“Aye.” He’d never spoken a more ominous word in his life. Shrugging out of his coat, he draped it over the seat.
Refusing to listen to any more inner warnings, Rafe extended his hand. Hedley reached out but hesitated at the last moment. He did not press her, or lower his hand. She held his gaze as if drawing strength from it. Then gradually, she slipped her hand into his. Lifting her skirts out of the way, she climbed inside and settled herself on his coat. Her fingers clenched tighter around his as she took in her surroundings.
After a while, she looked at him again. The light from the open door to the carriage house barely caught the glistening of tears in her eyes. “Thank you. I needed this more than you’ll ever know.”
“One battle at a time,” he said, repeating the words she’d once said to him.
“A quiet victory but no less potent.” She released a slow breath.
They sat in silence for a few minutes. He thought of that day he’d found her standing by the road. So much had changed since then. Not only in her, but in him as well. He never wanted to see that terror claim her again. Yet she was right. Facing her fears was helping her move forward, and he was honored that she’d chosen him.
“Rafe,” she said after a moment. “I need a new memory from inside a carriage. Can I kiss you now?”
He couldn’t deny her. Perched on the opposite seat, his legs spread to flank hers on either side. Seeing her rake her top lip with her teeth sent a fresh surge of blood to his groin. He’d wanted to kiss her since . . . well, since shortly following their last kiss.
Holding her hand, he pulled her to the edge of her seat as well. The action caused her skirts to bunch in her lap and sent his mind on a foray into erotic journeys this kiss could take. However, he brushed those aside and did his best to think of a proper, chaste kiss.
Then her mouth touched his. Only her mouth. Yet in that instant, he forgot all about being chaste. He dove in. His hands drew her closer—one at the base of her neck and the other at her waist. Those berry-stained lips offered him their sweetness even as her hands reached out with purpose. She made a sound—a hungry, needy whimper—that drove him over the edge. He had no chance of withdrawing now.
He wanted more. All of her. Everything. Her tongue tangled with his in a sensuous slide that teased and invited him deeper. He pulled Hedley closer, nearly unseating her in the process. Catching her against him, he leaned back against the squabs, letting her take control. Minutes rolled by. Perhaps even hours. Her lush body draped over his, her hands in his hair, her mouth losing inhibitions by the second. She twirled her tongue around his and flicked the underside before suckling the very tip. Rafe nearly convulsed.
Taking hold of her hips, he drew her skirts up so that she could straddle him. On a groan, he arched off the seat and rocked against her.
“Mmm . . . ” she purred, murmuring her approval. Her kisses turned more urgent. Before he even realized that her hands were no longer in his hair, he felt her pull his shirt free of his breeches. And then her hands were on his flesh. She made another sound of assent as she caressed his abdomen and chest.
Rafe was losing control. Or perhaps he’d lost control already. He couldn’t think. And he couldn’t have slowed down if he’d wanted to. He had the buttons at the back of her gown unfastened and her stays unlaced before he thought about the consequences. And then, once he thought about them, he no longer cared. This moment was the only thing that mattered in the world.
With a tug, her heavy breasts spilled out of her dress and into his hands. Her flesh was milky smooth, perfect and warm, the ruched flesh of her nipples velvety soft. He brushed his thumbs across them at the same time.
Breathless, Hedley lifted away from the kiss. She stared down at his hands on her breasts and then into his eyes. At the same time, her hips ground down on his turgid erection.
“Rafe . . . ” His name left her lips on a gasp.
Unable to resist the invitation, he opened his mouth and drew on that taut peak. She moaned and bucked against him. The violent trembling of her legs told him that her pleasure was building. The untutored motions of her hips drove him mad with need and frustration all at once. He shouldn’t be this close to losing control. Yet if she continued, he wouldn’t hesitate to rip open the fall of his breeches and thrust inside her blessed heat.
Shifting his hold, he settled her once more on the opposite seat and gained some distance. He was about to tell her that they should stop. But then he looked at those beseechingly drowsy cornflower blue eyes and that dewy, swollen mouth, and somehow he found himself kneeling in front of her.
He kissed her again, lingering and drinking in all of her sweetness. He couldn’t stop touching and caressing her. The skin of her inner thigh, just above her stockings, was as soft as her breasts. Was she even softer elsewhere? He needed to know. He couldn’t resist.
She was. The further he ventured, the more enthralled he became. Brushing against those silken curls, he found her deliciously wet. “You’re drenched for me, sweeting.”
He stroked her, abandoning finesse for simple carnal desire. Her body quaked and arched toward his hand. “Please, Rafe.”
That plea undid him. She needed to find release. He wanted her to have everything and more. Ravenous, he forged a path of heated kisses over her breasts, nipping at her flesh. Lower, he circled the tender bud with his thumb as he slipped his finger inside her tight sheath. She shuddered. And so did he.
“Sweeting, I can’t resist . . .
” Shifting back on his heels, he lifted her skirts, revealing those pale golden curls, damp and glistening. Her sweet scent filled his nostrils. It wasn’t possible, but her fragrance reminded him of the color pink—sweet, musky, and soft. “Let me taste you.”
Her yes turned into a gasp as he dipped his head and feasted on her, drinking her warm nectar. Hedley’s fingers twined in his hair. Sliding forward, she arched against his mouth. She was so unreserved and honest. Even with her pleasure, she didn’t know how to be deceitful. And he genuinely loved that about her. He’d never known anyone like her. And no woman could ever taste as sweet.
He was lost in devouring her. Her moans turned to cries and pleas. Her breathing was fast and shallow. Her hips rocked against the flicks and suckling of his tongue. And when she came apart, he’d never known such bliss.
He didn’t stop laving her, loving her with his mouth, until she was spent and her breathing evened. Then, wanting to prove that he would give her everything, unreservedly, he rose up and opened the fall of his breeches. His flesh was heavy, hot, and near bursting. And she was so wet and ready.
He slid the engorged tip down her folds and positioned himself at her core, barely able to resist thrusting inside.
Hedley spread her knees wider and reached forward to caress his cheek. Her gaze held his, a tender smile on her lips. “I love you.”
Rafe stilled.
The words brought back a semblance of reality. Not because he was shocked that she would say them. He already knew she felt more for him than mere friendship.
No, the reason that reality suddenly intruded on a perfect moment was because he’d almost repeated those words back to her.
I love you, sweeting . . . The words were there, waiting.
But if he truly loved her, how could he rob her of her innocence and then send her off to marry another?
The simple answer was, he couldn’t.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“No,” Rafe said again as he buttoned her dress. “You don’t love me.”
Perturbed, Hedley fisted her hands. “Will you stop saying that?”
She’d never seen a man move faster than Rafe when he’d exited the carriage a few moments ago. He’d instantly righted his clothing. Although when she turned around to face him now, there was still a rather pronounced bulge beneath the fall of his breeches. A very intriguing one that she’d felt against her own flesh briefly. Until she’d said those words that seemed to have damned her into listening to Rafe refute it over and over again.
“I’m merely the first man you’ve encountered since you came to live here.” Without meeting her gaze, he reached past her and into the carriage to retrieve his coat.
She swallowed down the tears that threatened and focused on her irritation instead. “Actually, the first man I encountered was Mr. Tims. Am I in love with him too?”
Seeing there was a great deal of dust on his coat, she assisted by patting his shoulders, somehow resisting the urge to put force behind her efforts as if to knock sense into him.
Rafe adjusted his cuffs. “What about Montwood?”
“We are not—absolutely not—returning to that conversation.” Standing in front of him with her hands on her hips, she glared at him until he met her gaze. “Are you trying to tell me that I don’t know my own mind? Or perhaps you’re saying that I couldn’t because I’ve spent so much of my life as the family lunatic?”
His dark eyes turned warm and tender as he reached out and caressed her cheek. Then, on an exhale, he let his hand fall to his side. “I’m saying that you are innocent, and I’ve introduced you to a great deal more than I should have. The kind of emotion that you’re talking about takes time. It doesn’t happen like this.”
But it does. It has.
Was that fear she saw in his expression? She wasn’t certain. This look—his furrowed brow, the tender but almost pained apprehension in his eyes—was new to her.
She moved forward to twine her arms around his neck and fit her body to his. Yet he shook his head and took a step back. She tried to swallow down this rejection as well. And tried not to remember how she hadn’t seen him shy away from the laundress in the marketplace.
“Why do you want to talk me out of loving you? It does you no harm,” she asked, her voice raspy with stemmed emotion. “Or is it because there are scores of others you’d rather have?”
“Not you, Hedley—”
A high-pitched laugh sliced through the air between them, cutting off Rafe’s words. The sound was far away and yet still too close. It came from somewhere outside. The unmistakable cackle could only come from one person—Ursa.
Rafe and Hedley turned toward the vacant doorway of the carriage house. That sickeningly familiar laugh filled Hedley with dread. Her sister had returned. There was no telling what news she brought in so short an absence.
Stepping outside, the sun shone brightly, high above them. It was afternoon now, yet when they’d stepped inside it had still been morning. Two or more hours had passed. Yet now, it seemed so fleeting. And in that time, so much had changed, but not everything for the better.
Leaving one problem behind and heading into another, Hedley followed the path toward the rear of Greyson Park.
Rafe placed a hand on her arm, stopping her. “Don’t rush in when you have no notion of what you’ll find.”
“I’m not afraid anymore,” she said and looked pointedly into his gaze. “Not of anything.”
He didn’t respond, but she heard him all the same. Not you, Hedley. He’d said those words with such vehemence that she’d realized he would rather have anyone else admit to loving him.
What had seemed like a perfectly natural progression of love and desire moments ago, now—after Rafe’s rejection—made her wonder if she’d imagined more between them than was actually possible. At least for him. Essentially, he was telling her that he wasn’t in love with her. Then again, how could he love the sister of the woman who’d left him at the altar? How could he love the woman who stood in his way of owning Greyson Park?
The simple—the sane—answer was that he couldn’t.
She was, after all, a Sinclair and a reputed lunatic, kept locked away for her own good. And he’d been with her in the carriage solely to help her. Foolishly, she’d believed down in her very soul that there had been more between them.
Not you, Hedley.
Just then, Mr. Tims rushed through the kitchen doorway. For the first time, she felt a little conspicuous about her appearance. Looking down, she wondered if the wrinkles in her dress were indicative of what she’d done with Rafe in the carriage, or if they looked like perfectly innocent wrinkles. Was there such a thing as a wanton wrinkle? If there were, she was certain to have them all over her.
Out of breath and hunched over, the caretaker stopped in front of Hedley and Rafe. “I tried to stop them. Couldn’t find you.”
Swallowing down a sudden rise of shyness, she made an absent gesture to Rafe and hoped that his clothes were in order—though she dare not look directly at the fall of his breeches for fear of drawing attention. “Mr. Danvers was kind enough to escort me back from Fallow Hall.”
“Your sister and her husband are here, making a mess of things,” Mr. Tims said, apparently not concerned that Rafe had escorted her and that she had wanton wrinkles on her dress. Likely, he didn’t imagine Rafe could love her either.
Hedley pushed aside those maudlin thoughts and focused on the matter at hand. Ursa and Mr. Cole were here and making a mess of Greyson Park. Knowing her sister, the path of destruction would be great.
Turning to Rafe, she met his gaze with surprising calm. “Thank you for your generosity, sir. I must bid you good day as I have family matters to attend.”
Rafe gave her a hard look before he addressed Mr. Tims. “What has happened?”
“They arrived not long ago, but Mr. Cole brought a maul the size of his head,” the caretaker said, mopping his brow with a red kerchief. “They bashed in the cellar door and search
ed every inch, looking for that treasure. I tried to stop them before they made more holes than Greyson Park can stand. There was an awful groaning of the house when they left the cellar. Now, they’ve worked their way up to the main floor, but the rest won’t be long, I’m sure. Miss, I warn you, it’s a frightful sight.”
Hedley ran past Mr. Tims and rushed in through the kitchen doorway but stopped at the edge. A sob escaped her before she could stifle it. Her kettle and the rest of her cups were smashed on the floor, the chest of tea crushed. The larder door had been broken. It hung awkwardly by a single iron hinge.
“I’m going to kill that bastard,” Rafe said from behind her. “Hedley, go to Fallow Hall, and I’ll see to this.”
“No. I will see to it. This is my home . . . for the time being.” At least, she hoped it was. However, there was no telling what Ursa had discovered. Hedley might very well be homeless this instant.
Rafe stepped in front of her, blocking her view of the destruction. Lifting his hand, he tilted her chin up until she looked at him. “No matter what you might think, we are in this together. I won’t let you face this—or anything—alone.”
A beautiful sentiment, but they both knew the truth.
Before she allowed her heart to turn slushy, she reminded herself that the only reason he said this was because of her promise to go to London on his behalf. This was about Greyson Park and his legacy. Nothing more.
A crash sounded from deeper in the house. Without a word between them, Hedley and Rafe took the steps in tandem until they stood in the archway of the parlor.
Hedley covered her mouth with her hand. The fireplace mantel lay in ruins on the floor. The hearth was missing a few stones. Her stiff-backed chairs lay in broken pieces on the floor. The sofa she’d painstakingly stuffed with new straw and reupholstered was now listed to one side, the curved wooden legs missing. And the low table was nothing more than a heaping pile of splinters.
Ursa clapped with glee as Mr. Cole reared back, prepared to take another swing.
The Devilish Mr. Danvers Page 17