by Jane Feather
“Your offer is … most generous,” she managed, obviously surprised by it. She busied herself with the folder and tapped the edges of a few papers to settle them neatly inside. “How did you know about the readings?”
“I don’t have any mystical powers,” he said, “but I am astute enough to recognize resentment in someone’s voice. I hear it in yours whenever you speak of your readings. If circumstances had not decreed otherwise, I doubt you would deliberately set about to become society’s latest novelty. You aren’t the type who likes a social gathering, any more than I am.”
“I really don’t like to attend all those balls and parties,” she admitted. She slanted him a sideways glance. “Still, I doubt my dabbling talent is enough to impress your friends, and I can scarce count myself among their number. If you will forgive my rudeness for asking, why should you wish to help me?”
“Because I happen to disagree with your assessment of your talent.” He spread his hands. “My offer is made in good faith.”
“I didn’t mean to insult you.” Her expression said she still didn’t trust him, but she nodded anyway. “I would be happy to give you a few samples of my work, but only if they would cause no inconvenience. I would not wish to add to your troubles.”
“And what would you know of my troubles, Miss Burke?”
“Nothing, really. You just have the look of a troubled man at times.”
“I didn’t realize my emotions were so readily apparent.” He studied her face and the corners of his mouth curved upward. “There are times when I can read your thoughts just as easily, you know.”
Her horrified expression made him smile. “You needn’t panic. I can’t read your exact thoughts. I can only guess at them.”
“And what would you guess?”
His smile faded and his gaze lingered on her mouth. She nervously wet her lips. “I would guess that your thoughts at this moment are not all that different from my own.”
“What are your thoughts?” She sounded breathless.
He extended his hand toward her, the palm turned upward. “Would you know if you held my hand?”
“Perhaps.” She stared down at his hand as if he had offered her a snake.
“You don’t have to touch me if you would rather not.”
She shook her head. “I’ll do it.”
Her hand trembled noticeably when she set her pencil aside. She was afraid to touch him. The surge of guilt he felt wasn’t enough to make him stop her. He had never known such an overwhelming need to feel a woman’s touch, to simply hold her hand.
Her palm brushed against his and he felt a sudden rush of desire, a heady emotion that spread through him like a deep drink of fine brandy. He closed his fingers over hers, careful not to startle her. “Tell me what you feel, Faro.”
She lifted her lashes to meet his gaze and her breath caught in her throat. Desire darkened her eyes until they glittered like pale sapphires. “I … I don’t think I should do this.”
“And I think this was inevitable.” He lifted her hand to press his lips to the sensitive skin inside her wrist. Her shiver sealed her fate. She wanted him. “Do you know my thoughts now, or do you need another hint?”
“I didn’t need a hint,” she whispered. He started to move closer, but stopped when she leaned away. “You don’t really want to kiss me.”
He didn’t answer with words, but reached out and brushed his fingertips across the line of her jaw. The moment he touched her face, he forgot everything but his need to hold her.
“Oh, no,” she whispered. But inside she whispered, Oh, yes. The touch of his hand was almost unbearable in its tenderness. He cupped her cheek and her whole body tingled from the contact. His touch filled some unknown need in her, then stirred to life yet another. How long had she waited for the man who could awaken her passion, whose touch alone told her that he was the one? Until that moment it had seemed a foolish whimsy, but now she realized it was true.
The force that drew them closer was too powerful to deny, and yet Wyatt tried to resist its pull. He lowered his head inches closer to her, then hesitated, as if to give her one last chance to turn away. She answered by parting her lips, a deliberate invitation. He held her gaze until their lips touched, then he closed his eyes and she heard a sound from deep inside him. It was the sound a man might make if he had denied himself something he wanted very badly, the sound of surrender when he succumbed to his weakness.
Faro knew that feeling only too well, even as she tried to recall why she had attempted to resist this extraordinary experience. His mouth moved urgently against hers, tasting, caressing, plundering. Instinct taught her how to return the kiss, but Wyatt taught her more, fitting his lips to hers intimately, expertly, until her mouth burned with fire. He tasted of sunlight and spices, delicious, exotic places she had never known.
He deepened the kiss and she sensed his impatience, that he wanted more than just a taste. His tongue brushed against hers in a wet-velvet stroke that made her collapse against him. He repeated the stroke and she suddenly couldn’t get close enough.
“You are so soft,” he whispered against her lips. He held her chin, then his fingers spread out until his hand covered the smooth column of her neck. “Softer than I ever imagined.”
He felt hard everywhere. Her hands moved over the stubbled fabric of his jacket to his shoulders, down his arms, then to his waist and across his chest again. He was also very large, very masculine. She delighted in the differences between them. Wyatt explored those differences in bolder ways than she dared. His hands went to her waist, then higher to skim along her rib cage, then higher still until his fingers brushed against her breasts. The shock of that intimate touch made her gasp against his mouth.
“Let me touch you,” he murmured. “You have nothing to fear from me, Faro.”
It was true in ways he couldn’t imagine. He didn’t frighten her in the least. The unpleasant emotions she felt when others touched her were nothing like the emotions he awakened. She felt as if the sun itself shone brightly inside her, coursing its golden heat through her veins. She wanted him to touch her, to fill the dark void made by years of never allowing anyone close to her. She wanted to touch him in return. Everything about him felt exactly right. His body was like a solid wall of strength that surrounded her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he pulled her onto his lap, held her so tightly that she could barely breathe.
His kiss gave her all the sustenance she needed. His mouth joined hers in an erotic assault that was surely as sexual as any mating. She wanted that kiss to last forever. Once she had thought that the most intimate relations between a man and a woman would be horribly embarrassing and awkward. Now she knew better. He flooded her senses in a sea of sensual longings. She gave herself over to those emotions without hesitation.
The need to hurry toward some unknown goal made her shift restlessly on his lap, but his hands moved over her with slow, practiced ease. She wondered how he could be so deliberate and unhurried, then he suddenly pressed her hip against him to make her intimately aware of his arousal. A low groan came from deep in his chest and he shuddered against her. Perhaps his control wasn’t as complete as she imagined.
His lips trailed to her neck, then lower to the curve of her shoulder. Only then did she realize that he had unbuttoned her jacket and most of her blouse. The thin chemise beneath those garments proved no barrier at all when his fingers brushed over a taut nipple. His hand closed over her breast and hers became fists in his hair. She let out a cry that was half shock and half pleasure.
He kissed her again as he gentled her to the intimate touch. His mouth moved with hers in ways that reminded her of the tide, moving deeper then receding, then returning once more. The rhythmic motions did calm her, enough that she became aware of a need to return the pleasure he gave her. She unclenched her fingers and managed to move her hands down the corded muscles of his neck, then slipped them beneath the lapels of his riding jacket. The heat she felt through the soft
fabric of his shirt tempted her, teased her until her fingertips burned. She wanted to touch his bare skin.
The small sound of fabric as it tore had the same effect as a cannon shot. They both broke away from the embrace and stared at each other in horrified silence. Faro’s gaze dropped to her hands and she unclenched her fingers to release fistfuls of his shirt. Other than the wrinkles, she could see no apparent damage.
“I … Forgive me.” Wyatt fumbled with the small ribbons at the neckline of her chemise, but the tear beneath them was irreparable. He gave up the pointless effort and tugged the edges of her blouse together. “I didn’t mean to … “
He fell helplessly silent and his hands dropped to his sides. He looked worried that she would no longer want him to touch her. She wanted to wrap her arms around his neck while she reassured him that he could touch her all he wanted, but they both needed a moment to think through what they were doing. Another embrace was not a good idea.
“You needn’t apologize.” She slid off his lap and took her seat next to him. “There was no real damage done.”
“No damage?” He gave her an incredulous look, but quickly averted his gaze when she began to readjust her clothing. “There is every need to apologize, Miss Burke. Nothing can come of this. I allowed myself to be carried away with no thought of the consequences. It is my fault for thinking a kiss or two would answer my questions. Now I realize my mistake.”
He thought their kisses were a mistake? Her eyes narrowed. “Just what questions did you want answered, my lord?”
He glanced at her, but looked away again when he realized her blouse was still unbuttoned. “They aren’t important. Forget I mentioned them.”
She thought them very important, even though she could reason them out for herself. This was another of his tests, only this was a test of her character. And she had failed. Only a harlot would allow a man such liberties.
She blinked away tears of humiliation, determined that he would never know of them. By the time she repaired her appearance, she had also regained control of her emotions.
“You are right that there can be nothing between us,” she said at last. She couldn’t meet his gaze when he turned toward her. Instead she busied herself by packing up her sketches and the pencil box. “There is another reason I will never marry, one you might find easier to understand. The abilities I possess came to me through my mother. The baron knew of them before they married. Like you, he thought they were nothing more than flights of fancy. Eventually he realized the truth, and the truth repulsed him.” She clutched the folder to her chest, a shield against the painful memories. “I will not make the same mistake as my mother.”
His brows drew together in a thoughtful scowl, but he offered no comment. Not that she expected one.
“If you question whether I make a habit of throwing myself into a man’s arms, then the answer is no. I too allowed myself to be carried away in the heat of the moment. It will not happen again.” She swallowed a lump of uncertainty. “I think it best if we try to forget not only your questions, but everything that happened this past hour. Are we in agreement on the matter, my lord?”
His only response was the rhythmic tic of a muscle in his cheek. Then he slowly nodded.
CHAPTER FIVE
TWO DAYS LATER, a soft knock at the library door brought an end to Wyatt’s latest musings about Faro. His mother stepped inside the room, dressed already for dinner in a mint-colored silk gown. “May I join you?”
“Of course.” He rose and indicated the seat opposite his at the desk. The rustle of silk followed her across the room, the scent of rosewater in her wake. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”
“I just wanted to make certain you planned to join us for dinner tonight.” She eyed his black evening garb as she took her seat and nodded her approval. “We missed you at the archery contest this afternoon. Where were you?”
If she had been with Faro, she would have known the answer to that question. Each day, he followed his mother’s guests around the house just to be near Faro. Whenever he did happen to find himself in her company, his heart beat harder and his thoughts raced off in the most lurid directions imaginable. On those rare occasions when their gazes did meet, she looked at him as if he were a stranger. More often than not, she simply looked away. She could stand next to him and be miles away. It didn’t matter that she ignored him. He had to be near her.
His mother’s expectant look made him recall his answer. “I attended another of Miss Burke’s readings.”
Lady Evelyn smiled. “I knew you would come around. Aren’t they amazing?”
“Amazingly vague,” he said. “Each reading I witnessed could be the truth as easily as it could be a lie.”
“You can’t still think she is a fraud.”
“No,” he admitted. “Faro actually believes that she possesses some sort of mystical powers. What she possesses is a very active imagination. She is an incredibly talented painter, and I believe the artistic types are often fanciful at heart. When she does her readings, I’d say she associates the object with some image in her mind, probably the same as she must form an image of a completed painting when she looks at a blank canvas. Then she describes the image and believes she is telling the truth.”
“I had no idea you were such an expert,” his mother said. She shook her head, but her smile didn’t falter. “You must be the most determined skeptic in existence. However, I am glad that you no longer object to Miss Burke’s presence here. Isn’t she a delightful girl?”
Wyatt just stared at her. “Delightful” was not the term he would use to describe Faro. Desirable, perhaps. Bewitching, better yet. Intelligent, ravishing, strong-willed, stubborn, sweet, sensual…
“Perhaps you should ask for another reading,” Lady Evelyn suggested, “to convince you of her abilities once and for all.” She gestured toward the silver-and-green bottle that sat on the mantel. “Maybe another reading of that odd little bottle.”
“She won’t touch it,” he said. “In any event, by now my coachman may have told others how it came into my possession.”
“I would like to hear that story for myself.”
“It isn’t all that complicated. I came across a Gypsy on my way to Blackburn. My coachman and I helped free her cart from the mud. She gave me the bottle as part of her thanks.” He didn’t feel any need to mention the Gypsy’s claim that the bottle possessed magical powers, or anything else the old woman told him that day. The writing on a small leather scroll he found inside the bottle made even less sense. To thine own wish be true. Do not follow the moth to the star. The only moths he’d encountered of late were those that took flight in his stomach whenever he looked at Faro; the only stars, the ones he fancied he could see in her eyes.
She wanted him to forget what had happened between them. He could sooner forget his name. Over the past two days he had relived those moments at the abbey again and again in his mind, memorizing each kiss and caress, every soft sigh. And the look on her face when he told her nothing could come of their kisses.
What a liar he was. With his thoughts muddled by lust and a whole host of less-familiar emotions, he had very likely driven away the only woman he wanted in his life. Even worse, he knew why she would never want him in hers. It was yet another reason to hate her father.
“Wyatt? Are you listening?”
He glanced up. “Pardon me?”
“Never mind. It wasn’t all that important.” Her brows tilted into a considering expression. “You have all the symptoms, you know. An irritable disposition, a brooding countenance, and the attention span of a gnat.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The fact that you are behaving like a man whose thoughts are firmly occupied by a woman.”
“Do not raise your hopes,” he warned. “You may admire Caroline Carstairs, but something about her rubs me the wrong way. Perhaps it is her voice. I didn’t realize how high-pitched and whiny it sounds until I heard her sing.
She set every hound in the kennels to howling during last night’s recital.”
“She does tend to fray one’s nerves,” Lady Evelyn agreed. “However, she has fine manners. That is, if you like a woman who excels at the art of false flattery and meaningless conversation.”
“I thought you liked her.”
“What is not to like about her?” she asked. “Especially when there is all that money to consider. Surely that makes up for a lack of musical talent? Of course, she makes little secret of her intention to buy a titled husband. Such a marriage is her only means of entrance to the most coveted ranks of society. You just happen to possess a very old and very respected title. I feel certain Caroline considers you perfect for her next husband. “
“You have a strange way of extolling Mrs. Carstairs’ virtues,” he said. “Just a few days ago you thought her the pattern of an ideal woman.”
His mother’s smug expression made him wonder what trap yawned before him.
“Caroline is your notion of an ideal woman, not mine. She possesses everything you want in a bride—wealth, beauty, and I suspect she has her share of intelligence as well. I had the most terrifying fear you would actually like her.”
He spread his hands. “If you didn’t want me to consider Caroline, then why did you invite her here?”
“To provide a comparison, of course. If I told you whom I actually preferred from the first, you would probably court Caroline in some misguided effort to prove that my plans for you never work.”
His mouth dropped open. “You invited another potential bride?”
“But of course.” She waved the matter aside, then glanced at the grandfather clock. “We will be late for dinner if we tarry here any longer.” She rose and started toward the door, then turned to hold out her hand. “Will you escort me?”