Duel of Hearts

by Farr, Diane

  She leaned her cheek against his lapel and gave a loud sniff, hugging him tightly. “Drake,” she said dolefully, “we are truly in the suds.”

  His chuckle rumbled in her ear. “That we are,” he agreed.

  Frustrated, she beat her fist against his chest. “Why did you kiss me?” she asked indignantly. “I could bear it until you kissed me.”

  “I had to kiss you,” he said tensely. “For one thing, I had to make sure I wasn’t imagining this. But I wasn’t. It’s real.” He took her by the shoulders and held her away from him. His expression was grim. “I kissed Eugenia yesterday. It felt like kissing my sister.”

  “Oh, dear,” said Lilah faintly. “You mean—you had never kissed her before?”

  “No. I wish I had thought of that before I proposed marriage to her.” Drake looked disgusted. “Then, to make matters worse, she sat me down this afternoon and filled my ears full of the most maudlin pap I ever heard. Mewling about her marital duties and all that, as if she expected me to torture her in the marriage bed. She intends to submit to me, for God’s sake!” He shuddered. “She intends to do her duty.”

  Lilah blinked at him. “But—isn’t that what you want? A submissive wife?”

  “Hell and the devil confound it—no!” He let go of her and thrust his hands through his hair. It was the first time she’d seen him use both hands. The gesture did twice as much damage as usual. Adorable, thought Lilah, besotted. But Drake was talking again, pacing back and forth with an earnest expression of horror that made her want to laugh out loud.

  “I wish you could have heard her,” he exclaimed. “Fairly made my blood run cold. She means to obey me in all things. Never set up her will in opposition to mine. I’m to be the master, the head of the house, and she’s to be the heart, whatever that means. Of all the mealy-mouthed, colorless, boring, timid—”

  “Drake,” she interrupted, breaking into laughter. “That is exactly what you said you wanted. You are describing the very qualities you told me you admired in a woman. The qualities Eugenia has, and I lack.”

  He halted in mid-stride, then abruptly pulled her against him again. The fierce, possessive gesture took her breath away. “And what of the qualities you have, and Eugenia lacks?” he demanded. He brought his face within inches of hers, his eyes glowing like twin pools of fire. She stared into them and felt that odd lassitude coming over her again, turning her dizzy. “Tell me,” he whispered. His lips trailed over her cheek. Oh, heaven. “Are you submitting to me, Lilah? Is what you feel now—obedience?”

  She shivered. “No,” she admitted weakly. “I’d have to say it was… something else.”

  “And what I feel sure as check isn’t mastery,” he growled. “I never felt less in control in my life.”

  He took her lips again, with an unmistakable hunger that went straight to Lilah’s heart. I cannot have this man, she thought, aching with loss. He is not for me. “Stop,” she said at last. Her voice was faint and lacked conviction, but at least she got the words out. “Please stop, Drake.”

  He did stop kissing her, but rested his forehead against hers, his breathing ragged. “You’ve ruined my life,” he groaned. “I had everything planned.”

  “So did I,” said Lilah mournfully.

  “Now I don’t want any of it. Not Eugenia, nor a life of peace and order, nor a perfect, dutiful wife.” His hands came up and cradled her cheeks, framing her face, and he pulled his head back to look at her. “I want you, Lilah,” he said hoarsely. His eyes studied her features as if memorizing them, lingering on each curve and plane of her face. “I want imperfect, amazing, maddening you. I want a life of chaos and laughter and endless arguments.” His voice lowered and roughened. “And I don’t want submission in my bed. I want passion.”

  His words made her tremble. Passion. How could any woman share Drake’s bed and not feel passion? His eyes darkened as he saw her expression change, as he felt the quiver go through her. She could hide nothing from him. His fingertips traced her cheekbones, lightly, then his hands ran back and tangled in her hair. “Lilah,” he whispered. The need in his voice made her name sound like prayer. And then his mouth came down on hers, crushing her lips, demanding the response that her eyes had promised him.

  She gave it willingly.

  Lilah felt her hair come loose and tumble down her back. She registered a moment’s fleeting regret that she could not, now, return to the drawing room—and then she didn’t care anymore. Her arms snaked around Drake’s neck and pulled him closer. She kissed him with a ferocity that matched his, arching her back, reaching up on tiptoe, anything, anything to connect with him.

  She could feel the heat of his hands through the thin silk of her gown. They slid down her back, spanned her waist. So warm. So strong. They moved lower, cupping her behind, and she gave a little gasp of mingled shock and desire. Then, with a deep groan of longing, Drake bent and slid one arm beneath her thighs, lifting her. Lilah pulled her face back, startled. “Drake—what—”

  “Sit with me,” he muttered thickly. He carried her to the window bench. The storm still beat against the windowpanes and the cold seeping through the glass made Lilah shiver. Drake leaned back against the wall and pulled her across his lap, cradling her. “I’ll keep you warm,” he whispered.

  She leaned against him, relishing the feel of him. The strength of him. He was a solid wall of muscle, warm but unyielding. She felt, idiotically, that nothing bad could happen to her in the haven of Drake’s arms—although she knew perfectly well that this was the most dangerous place she could possibly be.

  The lamp had been set on the other end of the bench. Drake played with her hair, running his fingers through it and watching it shimmer in the lamplight. The infatuated expression on his face as he watched the light play on her hair made her smile, but her smile quickly faded. She was in a terrible fix, she thought, and had little to smile about.

  Drake’s gaze lifted from her hair to her face. Heat still burned in the amber depths of his eyes. “Tell me. How many men have you kissed?”

  “Four,” she said demurely. Charlie Brewer hardly counted, since she had been nine years old at the time and had kissed him on a dare, but Drake didn’t need to know that.

  He looked taken aback. “Four?”

  She smiled, tracing the outline of his lips with her finger. “Does that seem too many, or too few?” she asked him teasingly.

  He scowled. “Too many.”

  She looked down her nose at him, one eyebrow raised. “And how many women have you kissed, pray tell?”

  His lips twitched. “More than four,” he said grudgingly.

  “Aha! I thought so.”

  But then his eyes searched hers, deadly serious. “Was it ever like this?”

  Her arch smile faded. “No,” she whispered. “Never.”

  His warm hands framed her face again. “Nor for me,” he murmured. His lips brushed against hers with infinite tenderness. “No matter how I kiss you,” he whispered against her mouth, “or how many times I kiss you, I cannot get enough.”

  His words sent a rush of heat through her. Oh, she was undone.

  He held her with one arm, tipping her slantwise as he kissed her and she lay back across his arm, pliant. Resistless. The skimpy sleeve of her evening gown bared her upper arm; his hands now moved to caress the tender flesh, sliding intimately across her slender limb, encircling it. It was a liberty no man had ever dared to take. Lilah almost swooned at the exquisite sensation; his fingers were so warm against her cool skin, his touch was so delicious.

  He ran his hand up over her shoulder and swept his palm down, following the line of satin piping across the low-cut bodice, warming her delicate skin. And then, as gentle as a whisper, he fanned his fingers out and covered her breast with his hand. The heat of his palm through the silk made her gasp; she arched her back instinctively, trembling and mindless. No man had touched her like this before. Not her body, nor her soul.

  She opened her eyes and saw Drake’s fac
e, his powerful, fierce, beloved face, hovering over hers. His eyes were fixed on her body, watching his own hand as he caressed her. His expression made her shake with need; seeing his desire fueled her own. She watched his eyes as they traveled up her throat and met her gaze. His voice was hoarse when he spoke. “I have never wanted anything as much as I want you.” But he stilled his hand and tore his gaze from hers, tilting his chin to force his focus at the ceiling, breathing deeply. He then lifted his hand, carefully, so carefully, and placed it chastely at her waist. “This is wrong,” he said, his voice rasping with the effort it cost him. “But I swear to you, I will make it right.”

  His words seemed to rip at her heart. “Drake,” she said miserably, “I—”

  “Ssh. Hush, sweeting,” he crooned, his arms tightening around her. “We’ll save our tears for later.” And he kissed her again, compelling her silence. She surrendered without a fight. It seemed, to her, the only thing to do. Yes. She would save her tears for later. For now there was Drake, and the rain, and the lamplight.

  Chapter 18

  They drifted in time, drugged with kisses and whispers. Heat curled between them, slow and sensuous, linking them in a trancelike haze. Drake, more experienced than Lilah, took great care to keep the fire they shared from blazing out of control. This much, but no more. This far, but no farther. His hands did not wander beyond the boundaries he seemed to have set in his mind, and Lilah willingly followed wherever he led, trusting that he would keep her safe. Trusting him was part of the dream, part of the wonder that she felt.

  That it was costing him something became obvious to her, even in her innocence. His body seemed to hum with tension. His breathing grew ever more ragged. Eventually he called a halt, pressing his cheek against the top of her head while he struggled for control. Held tightly against him, Lilah could feel the pounding of his heart.

  Still caught in the dream, Lilah lifted her lips and kissed his throat. “I wish I could kiss more of you,” she murmured drunkenly. “I wish I could kiss you all night long.”

  Drake uttered a strangled sound that fell somewhere between a groan and a laugh. “Lilah, you’re killing me. If we don’t go back to the drawing room soon, we never shall.”

  She chuckled. “Oh, it’s far too late to return to the drawing room. And look at my hair! I’m ruined.”

  Drake took a deep breath. “No, you’re not,” he said steadily. “But you soon will be, if we don’t stop now. I’m only flesh and blood.”

  Reality was knocking. Lilah wished she could bolt the door and hide. She tucked herself more snugly against him, feeling bereft as the shreds of dream slipped away. “I suppose we can’t stay here forever,” she said sadly. “Much as I would like to.”

  He kissed the top of her head, then thrust her away from him with both hands. “Off, now,” he ordered briskly. “I’m going to do the right thing, for once, and let you go.”

  She frowned, resisting his attempts to dislodge her. “But I don’t want to go.”

  A glint of humor lit his eyes. “I should have made myself clear. I’m letting you go for now. But not forever.” He picked a hairpin off her lap where it had fallen, and tried, unsuccessfully, to return it to her coiffure. “I can’t lose you now, Lilah,” he said softly. “I couldn’t bear it.”

  His words made her feel better. Which was absurd, really. Nothing had changed. Lilah sighed at her own foolishness, and took the pin from him. “What are we going to do, Drake? I confess, I can’t see my way clear. We’re in a dreadful tangle.”

  “Tangle or not, I can’t marry Eugenia. That’s certain.”

  Lilah rolled her eyes in mock exasperation. “Then perhaps you shouldn’t have asked her. Twice.” She wriggled off his lap. “When I think how determined you were, just the other day—”

  “Yes, well, everything’s changed,” he said shortly. “I’m going to marry you. Come along.” He pulled her to her feet.

  “Was that an offer of marriage?” asked Lilah indignantly. “It wasn’t very romantic.”

  His rare grin flashed. “You’ll have to make allowances for my natural exhaustion. I’ve made three offers of marriage in the past seventy-two hours. Wears a man out.”

  He reached for the lamp, but Lilah put out her hand and stopped him before he could pick it up. “Drake,” she said softly. “In all seriousness. Were I Eugenia, I would not let you go. Why did she accept you? She must want to marry you.” She lifted one hand and placed it against his cheek, needing to touch him. Pain tore at her. “Are you hoping to convince her that she should wed my father after all? I don’t think you will succeed. I want to believe it, but I can’t. Were I in her place, I would never give you up. Not for worlds.”

  His chin jutted stubbornly. “Your father still means to wed her. Let him. I’ll bow out.”

  “It won’t be that easy. Eugenia has already written to my father. We’re too late.” She closed her eyes to keep tears from welling.

  “Balderdash,” said Drake bracingly. “Remember, my supposed engagement to Eugenia has been kept secret. Nothing’s been announced. I’ll simply tell her I made a mistake.”

  Lilah’s eyes flew open. “You would cry off? Oh, Drake, you can’t!”

  He shifted his feet uneasily. “I know it’s not the gentlemanly thing to do—”

  “It certainly isn’t!”

  “—but she’ll understand. We’ve known each other forever; she knows how I am. Impulsive. When I offered her marriage, I hadn’t thought the matter through.”

  Lilah shook her head, troubled. “That’s not strictly true,” she pointed out. “This was not an impulsive decision. You planned for years to marry Eugenia.”

  “Plague take it!” Drake exploded. “I hadn’t met you!” He crushed her body against his, as if fearing she would escape him unless he held her tight. “Why the devil did we meddle?” he groaned. “Everything was sewn up nicely until we blundered in.”

  Lilah’s arms went around him gratefully. Just to hold him was a comfort. “If we hadn’t meddled,” she said wistfully, “we never would have met.”

  “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

  She had to think about that for a minute. Would she be happier, had she never met Drake? Probably. Would she trade this past hour for anything in the world? No.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Since you would propose to Eugenia, I suppose it’s a bad thing that we met.” She frowned. “I do wish you had discussed it with her a little more before committing yourself, or at least tried kissing her. You might have discovered your mistake before it was too late.”

  She felt the arms around her loosen. “I told you two days ago that I had lost my desire to wed Eugenia,” he reminded her. “It was your bright idea that we stay the course.”

  “It seemed a good idea at the time,” said Lilah defensively. She lifted her cheek from his chest. “We knew we weren’t thinking straight. All I said was that we should trust the choices we made when we weren’t feeling rattled. You agreed with me.”

  “That’ll teach me. I won’t agree so readily the next time you make a harebrained suggestion.”

  Lilah pulled back against the circle of his arms and glared up at him. “Whose harebrained suggestion was it to attend the masquerade uninvited?” she asked tartly. “Whose harebrained suggestion was it to switch targets? If I had spoken to Papa instead of trying to soften up Eugenia, everything might have come out beautifully.”

  “If you had stayed put and minded your own business in the first place,” he growled, “everything would have come out beautifully. I would have nipped in and stolen Eugenia from your father, and I would have been glad to marry her. I would have been perfectly content with my lot. Now I never shall be.”

  “Don’t try to lay this disaster in my dish,” she warned him. “If you had stayed put and minded your own business, I would have persuaded Papa to send Eugenia packing, she would have rushed to you for consolation, and everything would still have come out beautifully.”

&n
bsp; “This is a singularly pointless discussion,” said Drake, evidently hanging on to his patience by the slenderest of threads. “We’ll never know what might have been. We must deal with the immediate problem.”

  “And which of our problems do you consider immediate?” inquired Lilah, in a voice of ice. “We have several to choose from.”

  His jaw tightened. “My most pressing problem is that I have fallen in love with a shrew,” he said grimly. “All other difficulties pale before that one. You can’t converse with me for ten minutes without ripping up at me.”

  She tilted her head and regarded him saucily. “It’s irresistible,” she told him. “You are so badly in need of a good set-down, I simply must poke you a little.”

  His eyes gleamed and Lilah knew, with a little thrill of discovery, that he found their battles as stimulating as she did. “All I ask is a quiet life. And what happens? I meet you.” He shook his head, looking gloomy. “You’re the worst fate that can befall a man. I think you’ve bewitched me.”

  Lilah bit back a ripple of laughter. “Humbug. Besides, we get along together perfectly when you are not arguing with me. Why must you be so quarrelsome? If you would refrain from hurling wild accusations—”

  “If you would stop provoking me—”

  “If you would show the slightest consideration for my feelings—”

  “If you wouldn’t interrupt me every two seconds—”

  “If you would stop trying to control and tyrannize over me—”

  “If you would only listen to me with the pretense of respect for my authority—”

  “Authority, my eye!” The word jarred her out of her laughter for a moment. She pushed indignantly against his chest. “You have no authority over me.”

  His arms tightened around her waist again. “I will have,” he promised her. “I will have.” Devils danced in his eyes. “I can hardly wait.”