He seemed in no hurry, however. Rather, he appeared intent on drawing out the moment. Surprisingly, he raised his hand to touch the side of her jaw, a light brush of his fingers. A rush of sensation shot through her at the unexpected caress, making Kate tense even further. In response, he spread his hand and stroked his thumb over her lower lip. Tendrils of heat shimmered inside her at the contact, sending small shivers along her skin. She was vividly aware of everything about him: his strength, his hardness, his barely restrained power.
An unwanted surge of excitement only added to the tautness in her body. And when finally, slowly, he lowered his head, the delicate pressure of his mouth almost stopped her heart. Even forewarned, she was unprepared for the flash of pleasure that staggered her senses. Despite the softness, his kiss was just as explosive as six years ago. It gave her chills, set her body on fire, filled her with delicious feelings….
Her hands rose reflexively to press against Deverill’s chest, yet she didn’t truly want to make him stop. Especially not when he changed the slant of his head, insistently coaxing her surrender as he drew her against him.
She had dreamed of this moment, Kate realized in a haze of need. Of Deverill kissing her again. Of his tender, passionate embrace. Even knowing her imaginings were pure fantasy, she had never entirely given up hope.
His lips moved over hers with exquisite pressure, his kiss slow and erotic and extremely thorough…cajoling, seducing. Then his tongue parted her lips, penetrating her mouth. Stunned, she arched toward him, wanting.
When he delved farther inside, exploring, she gave a helpless moan. He was assailing her with tender languor…molding, tasting, teasing.
Her body melted instinctively against his. All her senses felt assaulted as his tongue stroked provocatively against hers, tangling in a sensual dance. The effect was spellbinding. The heady sensation he roused made her light-headed and giddy.
With a sound between a sigh and a whimper, Kate gave in completely and wrapped her arms around his neck. Deverill made a more guttural sound and drew her closer, a reaction that thrilled her. She clung to him, wishing the moment would last forever.
To her awe and delight, his kiss went on for an endless, enchanting moment. Kate was achingly aware when he shifted against her, for one of his knees separated hers. Through her breeches she felt the pressure of his sinewed thigh against her femininity. She stifled a gasp as another shaft of desire struck her.
Her startled movement must have jolted Deverill, however, for his embrace loosened. When he pulled away, she swayed in his arms, her eyes still closed. He had left her dazed and flustered and hungry for more of what she’d tasted.
It was a long moment before he spoke. “I thought so,” he said with husky satisfaction.
There was a note of triumph in his tone as well. His confidence—his certainty that she would fall into his arms again like a half-wit—rubbed Kate the wrong way. It made her feel helpless, impotent—and she didn’t deal well with either.
She pushed her hands against his chest, holding him away as she stared up at him. Her breath was coming in rapid bursts while her pulse raced wildly. It was so unfair that she should find herself unable to speak, unable to think of anything but Deverill and his marvelous mouth, his beautiful eyes.
His eyes held a dark fire that called to some primitive instinct deep inside her. While she stood mesmerized, he lifted a forefinger to her throat and lightly stroked. “You felt it also.”
She most certainly had. She was profoundly shaken. She still felt a strange quivering between her thighs, a restless ache low in her feminine center.
She took a deep, unsettled breath. “It is no matter.”
When she struggled to extricate herself from his arms, Deverill released her, but when she turned for the door, his query brought her up short. “Have you considered resuming where we left off?”
She glanced over her shoulder, her gaze narrowing. “You are making game of me.”
“No.”
A tangible desire shimmered between them, filling the air. It took Kate all of her willpower to shake her head. She would not make a fool of herself again. At least she earnestly hoped not.
“There is no chance of resuming where we left off,” she finally replied.
“None?”
“No, none. Whatever feelings I had for you are all in the past.”
“All of them?”
Kate swallowed hard, not wanting to answer. “Enough of them. In any case, there will be no more kissing, my lord. You will behave like a civilized gentleman, not a pirate, or I cannot continue. Our agreement will be strictly a business arrangement.”
“You drive a hard bargain, sweetheart.”
“Yes, I do. I will expect you at eleven tomorrow.”
She turned then and fled across the room. Scrambling out the door, she shut it quickly behind her and stood there breathing heavily. Heat flushed her body, while her lips still tingled with sensation.
For a moment, Kate closed her eyes, chastising herself for giving in to Deverill so readily. Then she realized she would be seen if someone happened upon her.
Fortunately the corridor was deserted. Reaching up to make sure her wig was not askew, she hurried down the hallway, toward the servants’ narrow back staircase in search of her trusted coachman who awaited her on the street.
Just as her endeavor six years ago, this encounter with Deverill had been an abject failure also. She had hoped to prove her indifference, but she’d only confirmed that her witless captivation still existed.
Willing her racing pulse to slow down, Kate muttered a vivid oath. She simply must forget this regrettable incident and pretend it had never happened.
The trouble was, Brandon Deverill was the most compelling, most unforgettable man she had ever met. And his devastating kiss just now had refreshed her memory in spades.
—
Pirates. As he stared at the closed door, Brandon shook his head in bemusement. Leave it to Kate to surprise him. She was the most unpredictable woman of his acquaintance, but even so, he hadn’t expected her proposition just now—trading her matchmaking skills for his potential protection from French pirates.
His reaction to kissing her was no surprise, however. Voicing an oath, Brandon adjusted his breeches in an attempt to tamp down the lustful ache in his body and turned away from the door. Get hold of your urges, man.
At least two questions were now settled in his mind. He’d wanted to see if Kate was as special as he remembered, and the answer was an emphatic “yes.” And the attraction blazing between them was as combustible as ever—he’d proven it to them both. All his male instincts told him Kate wasn’t as indifferent as she pretended, either, which spawned numerous other intriguing reflections.
In an effort to distract himself, Brandon fetched a leather satchel from his valise and pulled out a sheaf of documents. He glanced briefly through the lot, mostly correspondence with his late uncle’s solicitor regarding his inheritance.
He wasn’t particularly eager to assume the barony, knowing it would require a vast change of lifestyle. He’d left England with grave reluctance six years ago, to honor his duty to family and country, but now he finally was free to follow his own inclinations for his future. He hadn’t yet settled on a specific course, beyond determining if he wanted Kate for his wife. Which had meant taking advantage of the moment to kiss her. He’d purposely caught her off guard, knowing she would refuse his advances otherwise, given how they had parted.
He’d needed all his willpower to release her. No doubt his keen response was even stronger because he knew what charms lay beneath her male-servant’s attire. He knew what her bare breasts looked like, how perfect her lithe, naked body was. Even garbed as a lad, with her masses of glorious hair hidden beneath a powdered wig, she was just as bewitching as ever. She had flame-dark hair and warm green eyes and a mouth made for sinning.
Brandon blew out a breath and raked a hand through his own hair. He thought he’d overblown Ka
te’s impact in his mind. That war, blood, pain, and guilt had warped his memories. But she was the same bold beauty he recalled, intensely vibrant and so full of life, she made him come alive.
He wanted her in his bed, that was for certain.
He’d felt desire for Kate from the very first. Isabella had spoken about her for years—and warned him that few men were able to handle Lady Katharine Wilde. He’d expected a willful, independent belle, but upon finally meeting her when she was seventeen, she had unexpectedly entranced him. Admittedly, her adventurous, lively nature had attracted him even more than her physical attributes. Kate was fresh, direct, honest, spirited….The very opposite of the dull debutantes he usually encountered.
By that time she had countless suitors at her feet, clamoring for scraps of her attention. Men flocked to her, and Brandon was determined not to become a lovelorn lackey who vied to do her bidding. Yet her effervescent personality had won him over.
It was the only time he’d ever been tempted to consider matrimony. Upon severing ties with Kate, he couldn’t help feeling he’d lost something vital. He’d acted for her own good, though. Succumbing to a reckless night of passion would have been disastrous for them both.
He regretted having to leave her, regretted more hurting her. Indeed, the following years had been filled with regrets. He’d seen death, caused it. Killed people who might have been friends and neighbors under other circumstances.
Memories, heavy and relentless, descended upon him. When he strove to push them away, sweat broke out on his brow.
With another curse, Brandon restored the legal documents to the satchel, then strode over to the window and opened it, letting in the sounds and odors of the bustling London street below. He was supremely glad those grim years were over. He might have returned to England sooner, but he’d had multiple obligations to fulfill. First to his father and the war, then his widowed mother, his younger brother, and his shipping business. Now he had duties to his new title.
Yet it was Kate herself who was the strongest draw. She was like a beacon of warm light—
A knock on his hotel room door thankfully interrupted his brooding thoughts. When he opened it, his cousin Trey stood there. They were of similar build and appearance, except that his cousin had lighter brown hair.
As soon as his ship arrived at the London docks, Brandon had sent Trey a message, but he wasn’t certain what his reception would be after all these years, since they had fought on opposite sides.
He needn’t have worried. Trey flashed a broad grin, stepped forward, and seized him in a powerful bear hug.
“It is about time you showed your sorry hide, Brand,” Trey said, clapping him on the back heartily before releasing him. “You waited far too long to return.”
“I finally had good reason.”
“Ah, yes…Lord Valmere,” Trey replied, sketching a mock bow. “I suppose congratulations are in order.”
Brandon grimaced. “You are better equipped to assume an English title.”
“But you always knew that your fate was tied to England.”
Trey was by far his favorite relative. They’d once been as close as brothers, less from blood ties than from being comrades in arms. As members of a covert branch of the British Foreign Office, the Guardians of the Sword, they had carried out missions and faced danger together numerous times.
“Are you ready?” Trey asked. “Your uncle’s solicitor is expecting you, so we ought to be on our way.”
“Yes.” Brandon fetched the satchel and accompanied Trey from the room. “My thanks for conveying me. I will need to hire my own carriage, but I welcome your advice on inheritance matters.”
“I am at your service. Very glad to have you back, old man.”
“What the devil have you been about?” Brandon responded. “What of the Guardians?”
As they made their way downstairs to the street where his curricle awaited, Trey discussed their mutual friends and their league’s leader, Sir Gawain Olwen, who had recently retired. The secret society, headquartered on an island paradise near Spain, had been formed in medieval times and charged with protecting the weak and vulnerable across Europe and Britain. But defeating the French at Waterloo nearly two years ago had ushered in a new era of peace.
“With Boney vanquished, there is less need for foiling tyrants and battling warmongers, but we still have a good deal of work to do,” Trey said. “We have all missed you.”
“I missed you all greatly also. One of my chief regrets was having to leave the Guardians.”
“I can imagine.”
He’d been torn between two countries, with loyalties to both. The war had forced him to choose sides and put his American blood kin above his English ancestry and friendships. And given his family’s various shipping enterprises, he was in the thick of things during the war.
“Most of us are happily wed now,” Trey added as they climbed into his curricle. “Some with families.” Taking the reins, he guided his pair of grays into the busy street. “Hawk was the most recent.”
“So I heard.” The Earl of Hawkhurst had married Kate’s cousin, Lady Skye Wilde.
“Which leaves you, Brand. It staggered me when you wrote that you would be seeking a bride. You never were one for marriage.”
Brandon’s mouth curved. “No.” He’d never been eager to relinquish his freedom or be tied down to one woman. But if he had to wed, Kate was his only choice. Yet he needed the time and opportunity to verify his instinct that they would suit in married life.
“You surprised Lady Isabella as well,” Trey remarked. “But she thinks you could be happy with the right woman, just as I am. My wife, Antonia, is eager to meet you this evening, by the way.”
“And I her.”
He’d been invited to lodge at Trey’s house but had declined. For his pursuit of Kate, he wanted more privacy.
Trey fell silent as he negotiated the curricle through heavy traffic. After directing the grays across a crowded intersection, he continued the conversation.
“Bella told me something of your plan—that you intend to ask Lady Katharine Wilde to find a match for you. I’m acquainted with her brother, Beaufort, but I don’t know her well. Isn’t she the one who rescued the child injured in the ruins at Beauvoir?”
“Yes, the young son of a tenant farmer. He might well have died had she not discovered him after his accident and risked her life to save him.”
A wagon lumbered into the middle of the street, claiming Trey’s full attention, leaving Brandon time to recall the incident at Beauvoir—the lavish Beaufort country estate—a few months after he had met Kate.
That afternoon had given him a new appreciation for her courage. A superb horsewoman, she never missed a chance to ride. Although it was a chilly, stormy afternoon, they’d been galloping hell-for-leather across the Kentish countryside. If he lived a hundred years, he would never forget the enchanting picture she made, laughing with exhilaration, her face flushed from the wind, her vivid hair streaming out behind her.
When eventually they came upon the ruins of an ancient church, they slowed their horses to a walk. Just then the wind died down long enough for her to notice a misplaced sound.
“Listen…Did you hear that?”
Kate insisted she heard a moan coming from inside the ruins, and when they rode closer, the faint weeping sound grew stronger. She dismounted and scrambled over the rubble, calling out, “Hello?” Brandon hastily joined her and warned her to take care.
“I will. It looks as if several walls have collapsed.”
“More than that,” he replied, pointing across an open space.
Evidently the floor had partially given way, bringing down much of the adjacent room into what must have been the cellar. Through a gap in the rotten boards, they could make out a pile of stones and debris strewn with wooden beams.
When the weeping stopped, followed by a pitiful cry for help, they ascertained what had happened: While exploring the ruins, a ten-year-old boy nam
ed Billy had fallen through the opening and broken his ankle, so that he couldn’t climb out.
Brandon intended to hazard a descent, but Kate objected. “No, I am smaller. You cannot squeeze into the crevice where he is trapped like I can. And you are much stronger, so you can pull us out. We can fashion a rope from my petticoats….”
They had argued briefly, since Brandon disliked the risk she would be taking with the structure so unstable. The remaining stone walls could crumble and crush her at any moment or bury her alive. Yet he knew her plan stood the best chance of rescuing the boy.
While they tied strips of her linen undergarment together, Kate kept up a steady stream of soothing words for Billy, focusing his attention away from his agonizing pain by asking about his family.
When they were done, she took a deep breath and carefully inched her way down the stone incline as Brandon fed the makeshift rope to her. All the while, he felt his gut clenching. But after an endless time, she reappeared, gritting her teeth but smiling grimly in triumph.
She had crawled back up the pile of rubble, with Billy gamely clinging to her back, despite his pain. Her lovely face was smudged with dirt and sweat, her hands and knees lacerated and scraped by sharp fragments of rock and mortar, but she was grateful to have helped the lad. They splinted his ankle as best they could and conveyed him to her own family physician, who managed to heal the injury well enough that months later, Billy could walk with only a slight limp.
She’d become a local heroine that day. Few noble ladies would have risked their lives to save a commoner child. Kate had also earned Brandon’s admiration that day. Her fearlessness was one of the things he liked most about her. That and her selflessness. In the intervening years, he had never met any other woman like her.
He could never forget her or her passion. Thus, it was no wonder that she’d stayed on his mind the entire time during the war. In the initial months, visions of a fiery redhead had haunted his sleep. He’d tried to ignore them but finally gave in. Thoughts of Kate had gotten him through the long, lonely nights at sea. In his worst hours, after a raging battle, he would call up memories of her.
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