by Aileen Fish
Gabriel was another matter. He was the first and only man ever to kiss her. She was in danger of losing her heart to him. “You can’t let it happen,” she whispered to herself as she rubbed her hands along the sleeves of her gown. The delicate silk offered little protection against the cold.
Where was Gabriel?
Fiery torches drew her eye along the terrace to the dimly lit garden walk. The large garden appeared dark and abandoned, in stark contrast to the vibrant ballroom with chandeliers aglitter and bejeweled dancers waltzing.
More noises emerged from the bushes beside the fountain where Auguste and Passion Blossom-Minx were hiding. She heard his deep grunts and her urgent moans, and then her cries for him to go deeper. Harder. To squeeze her... she gasped and fled deeper into the garden, for she’d never heard a young woman use such coarse language.
Now into the garden, she strained for a glimpse of Gabriel amid the shadows, but the full moon and vibrant stars were obscured by wisps of clouds and offered meager light. Then those clouds passed and she saw him, a dark, masculine shape against the suddenly bright night, making his way along the stepping stone path into the outermost recesses of the Hastings garden.
She followed him beyond the row of golden torches.
Beyond the reach of silver moonlight.
She followed despite her sense of unease. There was something forbidding about this winter garden, perhaps the manner in which the lifeless branches jutted out like jagged silhouettes, sharp and menacing against the moonlight.
She shivered as another icy gust of wind bit her flesh, a warning to return to the ballroom and the safety of a crowd. Instead, her legs propelled her forward, past another young couple—she hadn’t noticed them before—doing their best to keep each other warm. She heard groans and giggles, and then she heard silence.
Did everyone engage in this sort of sport?
Was she the only fool who didn’t?
She quickly dismissed the thought, for there was another man leaning against a distant tree. This man was shorter and more rotund than Gabriel. Was he meeting Gabriel? Not a lover’s tryst but something far more sinister?
In the next instant, he was gone.
Had she imagined him?
No, someone had been standing beside that tree.
She heard another man behind her, ambling along the stone steps in no particular hurry or direction. His steps were heavy, as though he wore boots and not dancing slippers—which meant he had not come to the Hastings ball to dance.
She stopped to gaze at her own delicate slippers, the silk already wet from treading on damp grass and trudging through small puddles of mud. They were ruined and her mother would demand explanations.
“Gabriel,” she called out softly, losing sight of him.
Her heart skipped a beat for the garden was suddenly eerily quiet.
Too quiet.
Which meant the gentleman behind her had stopped walking when she had.
On purpose? Or mere coincidence?
She tried to still the now rampant beating of her heart to better hear the stranger’s footsteps as he crept behind her. She started walking along the path again and stopped. Twice.
He did the same.
“Bother,” she muttered, her decision to follow Gabriel now seeming immensely foolish. What was she to do? Returning to the ballroom was impossible, for she’d have to walk past the man who was standing between her and the safety of the ballroom.
Her senses warned it wasn’t a good idea.
Indeed, they were now screaming for her to run.
Run!
She whirled around, intending to make a desperate dash for the terrace, but someone suddenly covered her mouth with his large hand—yes, definitely a strong, male hand—and yanked her behind a row of sculpted boxwood. “Bloody hell,” he said in an angry whisper. “What are you doing out here?”
Gabriel!
He’d moved with such stealth she hadn’t heard so much as a crunch of leaves.
“Don’t scream,” he warned, his voice still a whisper as he slowly removed his hand from her mouth and circled his arms protectively around her body.
She shuddered with relief and melted into his embrace, feeling quite safe in his arms. “There’s a man following me.”
Gabriel tensed. “Did you get a look at him?”
“No.” She hesitated a moment, her heart still pounding wildly. “What shall we do?”
“Just follow my lead. This ought to dissuade him.” He made a show of lifting her up against him and slowly twirling her in his arms, no doubt to scout the nearby hedges to see where the man was hiding. “My love, I’ve ached to hold you since we were last together. It seems forever ago,” he said with surprising ardor, his warm lips suddenly descending on hers, easing her fears and... sigh... providing comfort in a consuming kiss she hoped would never end.
She circled her arms around his neck, eager to respond. She knew this was merely a pretense, but he was awfully good at it, and since she’d gotten herself into this scrape, she had no choice but to be grateful and play along.
Indeed, she was eager to—
She froze as Gabriel pressed something hard against her thigh, something her sisters had explained about, that men sometimes... except it wasn’t that.
Gabriel had a very big, very sharp knife pressed against her body.
***
“Are you attics-to-let?” Gabriel growled softly, his mind quickly working through several plans to get Daisy safely out of the garden now that she’d charged in where she didn’t belong. Fortunately, he and Napoleon’s spy had completed their exchange of information, so there was no reason for his contact to linger now that he had the English military “secrets.”
But in following Gabriel, Daisy might have unwittingly drawn more attention to herself. Who was this other man following Daisy? Gabriel feared it was another of Napoleon’s agents, for they often operated in pairs. If so, he couldn’t allow the man to believe she was in any way involved in this intrigue. He dared not think what these blackguards might do to her if they believed she was in the service of the Crown.
The only plan that sprang to mind was to pretend he and Daisy were lovers meeting in secret.
Could Daisy pull it off?
He nibbled her ear—Lord, she smelled good—to stall for time while he thought the plan through or came up with a better one. Simply walking her back was out of the question, for he’d seen the glint of a weapon in the man’s hands when he’d lifted Daisy in his arms and slowly twirled her.
She moaned softly. “Gabriel, I saw you—”
He stopped her with another deep kiss before she blurted something that would get them both killed. Anything to keep her from talking!
She shouldn’t have followed him out here. He’d worked years to develop his dissolute reputation, to gain the trust of enemy agents, and she was about to destroy all that hard work in one evening.
“I—”
He thrust his tongue against her rose-petal lips, purposely invading her mouth. “Daisy,” he whispered upon ending the kiss, “you must do exactly as I say.” He slid his own knife clear of her body to defend her if the need arose. “I’m afraid you’ve muddled things and I need to get you out of here alive.”
She leaned her head against his shoulder and nodded. Her breaths were short and ragged, a sign of her fear. “I’m so sorry.” She swallowed hard, seeming to understand the foolishness of following him into the garden. Too late, unfortunately. “Can you put that knife away?”
“No, sweetheart. I can’t. But I won’t hurt you. You know that, don’t you?”
Once more, she nodded against his chest. “I’m frightened, Gabriel.”
So was he. They were trapped in a dangerous game of cat and mouse, he and Daisy being the mice, while Napoleon’s spies decided whether he was as reputed—a wastrel lord who seduced innocent maidens and was not above selling secrets to the French—or an English agent feeding them false information, in which case they wo
uld be attacked before he drew his next breath.
“Listen carefully and do exactly as I say. Don’t speak, just nod if you understand.”
Which she did, probably because she couldn’t string two words together. She was scared and the wild beat of her heart against his chest confirmed it. He felt the light heave of her breasts with each ragged breath she took.
“We’re lovers,” he continued softly, struggling to concentrate on the immediate danger and not be distracted by his rampant desire for the girl. “It’s our only chance.”
“Meeting in secret, like Romeo and Juliet,” she whispered back.
He touched his forehead to hers and groaned softly. “The point is not to die in each other’s arms.”
“Ah, poor choice on my part. I think you had better kiss me again. Oh, and I give you permission to do whatever you must to get us out of here alive.”
“I intend to.” He kissed her hotly at the base of her throat, hoping Daisy would respond with innocence and passion. He knew she was not immune to his touch, but fear of death was a powerful force and Daisy was unpredictable.
Her skin felt soft against his lips. He dusted kisses along her throat and up toward her lightly parted lips. He felt her body shiver against his own as he continued to whisper instructions on how to respond. She was too innocent and wouldn’t know how to fake passion. “Give me a breathless moan and tell me not to stop.”
“Oh! Oooh. Gabriel, don’t stop.”
His own breath momentarily caught in his throat. Hell in a handbasket, she sounded achingly good. “Who taught you that?”
“No one,” she whispered. “I overheard a young woman a few moments ago and imitated her cries.”
He stifled a laugh, relieved and at the same time furious with her for wandering into danger. Yet he also felt a sudden possessive pride in knowing he was the only one ever to touch her. “Good. Do it again.”
“It’ll be easier if you help out.” She took his hand and placed it on her breast. Lord help him! The knife almost slipped from his fingers, the force of his body’s response almost dropping him to his knees. All at once, fireworks exploded within his body, every organ erupting with its own display. Was the girl attics-to-let? She might have warned him of her intention.
No, Daisy wasn’t at fault. He was the dolt. What was wrong with him anyway? He knew his way around a woman’s body. The mere feel of her breast against his open palm should not have sent him into spasms of ecstasy.
But Daisy wasn’t just any woman. She was... his ruin? His downfall? Whatever she was, she happened to be methodically demolishing his best-laid plans. To his amazement, the little widgeon had no idea she held this power. He meant to pull away, but her breast felt so good against his hand, the lush mound fitting so perfectly in the cup of his palm, as though she were meant for him and no one else.
He suddenly felt like a boar marking his territory.
He wanted Daisy, didn’t want anyone else to have her. It mattered little that he had no right to ache for her body or yearn for her heart. His only duty was to keep her safe from Napoleon’s agent.
Would the man never leave?
Growing impatient, and now concerned that the ruse wasn’t working, he shifted slightly and felt her nipple harden beneath his thumb. He glanced heavenward. Lord, you aren’t helping! In truth, the Good Lord seemed intent on torturing him.
He tore his gaze from Daisy and trained it on the man still standing in the shadows. The weapon was still drawn and glinting in his hand. “You’re not doing enough to convince him,” Daisy whispered, tossing him a frown. “He won’t believe we’re lovers if you hold back.”
He wasn’t about to slip the gown off Daisy’s shoulders and bare her glorious breasts, not while that vermin looked on.
He let out a soft growl, his hand still frozen on her breast. And growled again, knowing he would never take Daisy this way, no matter how desperately he yearned to tease and suckle her hard, pink nipples and taste... the man suddenly moved.
Gabriel tensed, his gaze following a dark shape outlined in the moonlight.
He heard a soft rustle and quickly drew Daisy behind him so that her body was sheltered between him and the tree under which they now stood.
His tightened the grip on his knife, ready to kill the man if he got too close to Daisy. Hell. He reached back to make certain she was all right. Her breaths were short and erratic, and he knew her heart had to be pounding in that same, erratic beat.
“Thank the Graces,” Gabriel muttered, for the man was now at the garden wall and attempting to scale it. The agent he’d met earlier to hand over the false information had left in the same manner. That both had chosen to leave by that route was too much of a coincidence. If the second man had been a mere guest, he would have simply walked back to the party.
“He’s gone,” he said as the man went over the wall. He drew her into his arms and caressed her as she trembled against his chest. “You’re safe now, Daisy.”
“Who was he?” He heard the lingering fear in her voice and wished he could soothe her, but he wasn’t at liberty to give her any answers.
“I don’t know.” In truth, he didn’t know the man’s identity, only that he was working for Napoleon. Yet it felt like a lie. His existence, his dissolute reputation, everything about him... all lies. He tucked his knife into the sheath hidden within his boot, all the while keeping hold of Daisy. For some reason, he couldn’t let her go.
She burrowed closer. “What happens now, Gabriel?”
He ran his hands up and down her arms to warm her, for she was shivering. Her skin felt cool and silky. He bent his head and kissed her lightly on the lips. She tasted as sweet as sugared apples. “You’ll be missed by now. I had better return you to the party.”
She gazed up at him, unshed tears glistening in her eyes. “What if I don’t want you to let me go?”
He let out a short, harsh laugh. “I’m not keen on it either. In truth, I’d like to hold on to you forever, but it isn’t possible.” He gently wiped a tear that had fallen onto her cheek. “Daisy, I don’t wish to hurt you. Let me do the right thing and take you back.”
She nodded. “I think I broke every rule in Lady Forsythia’s book tonight. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I can’t seem to do anything right.”
“There isn’t a blessed thing wrong with you.” He studied her face by moonlight, noticed the tension in her mouth and the tears still shimmering in her eyes. He bent his head to kiss her one last time. “You’re perfect.”
He kissed her again, knowing he needed to break off and return her to her family. Instead, his hand was somehow back on her breast, his thumb skimming across its straining tip. She gasped and arched into him, running her hands up his chest and circling them about his neck. “Gabriel, don’t stop.”
“This is madness,” he murmured, sliding his hand along her back and down the delicate silk of her gown to cup her buttocks and draw her even closer so that their bodies were in full contact, the evidence of his lust hard and throbbing against her hip. Would she leap back in shock? Would she cry?
She smiled up at him. “Thank you for not calling me your passion blossom minx.”
“What?” He had trouble understanding her thought, although he was having trouble with everything just now. His body. His heart. His brain that had obviously stopped functioning. He’d never experienced anything like this hot need to possess Daisy, to cover her creamy breasts with his mouth and swirl his tongue over her sweet, pink nipples. The girl had turned him upside down, had destroyed every vestige of his good sense and annihilated the last of his resistance.
He released a tortured shudder as her gloriously taut nipples brushed against his chest. He tried to be gentle, tried to be a gentleman—oh, hell. He wasn’t a gentleman, didn’t want to be. He couldn’t be just now, for the need to stroke and touch, to rouse Daisy’s unawakened desires, was overwhelming. This would be his last chance, his last memory of Daisy and he was going to take full advantage.
He eased the gown off her shoulders and exposed her breasts to his view. “Daisy,” he said, sucking in a breath, “you look like an angel in the moonlight.” He bent his head and delicately took one rosy tip in his mouth, flicking his tongue across it and feeling every throb and shudder as she closed her eyes and wound her fingers in his hair, holding him against her breast as he licked and tasted the sweetness of her skin.
“Oh, Gabriel!” Her eyes were closed and body arched toward him. Her head tipped back and she let out an achingly soft moan. “Oooh, Gabriel!”
“Stop me, Daisy. This truly is madness.” Sweet, glorious madness. He wanted to make love to her all night long, yearned to feel her hot, naked body move with exquisite passion beneath his own.
His heart beat faster as he forced himself to draw away. The fantasy would have to wait until he’d carried out his mission. For now, the feel of her soft skin beneath his fingers, the taste of her rose-tipped breasts, would have to be enough.
He could make Daisy no promises, no matter how fiercely he wanted her. All of her. For himself.
She was reckless and passionate... so incredibly passionate. But it was time to end the dream and return her safely to her family. He slid his fingers to hook the bodice of her gown and draw it back over her breasts. “Sweetheart, I can’t do this to you, much as I’d like to help you break every damn rule in Lady Forsythia’s book.” Sweet mother of mercy! His hand trembled against her smooth flesh.
She was about to push him over the edge... way over, into molten, scorching—
“Daisy!” a male voice rang out from the opposite end of the garden. “I know you’re out here! Answer me or I’ll have bloodhounds and every Farthingale in existence raking these grounds in search of you!”
Gabriel released a gush of air, his relief profound. He heard the rustle of bushes as George Farthingale approached.
“You had better go,” Daisy said in a whisper.
He let out a soft growl. “And leave you to face your family alone? Not going to happen.”