Forbidden Kisses

by Laurel O'Donnell

  She broke off the kiss and pushed off his chest, leaving him silently howling again as she pressed on his bruised ribs. “What utter nonsense. You just tossed me atop you, and lest you overlook it, you are in bed. So, you’ve just had me in your bed without the promise of matrimony. And that was no tame kiss you gave me. You pillaged and plundered my mouth.” She blushed furiously. “Although I will admit, I liked it. Lots.”

  She cleared her throat. “But that is beside the point. You need to find yourself an heiress. Just not Heloise. She’s awful. I’ve dubbed her Horrid Heloise, because she is just that, and the important thing is to find someone rich who you can tolerate.”

  “Tolerate?” He growled from deep within his throat. “Mallory, I’ve just asked you to marry me.”

  “No, you haven’t. What you said is that you would not have me in your bed unless you married me. That is not at all the same thing. But if you were to properly ask me to become your wife, I would refuse.” She emitted another long, ragged breath and shook her head slowly from side to side. “It would break my heart, but I’d have to do it for your own good. You need an heiress. You don’t need me.”

  She was wrong.

  It was his fault, for he’d made the task of restoring the Hawthorn dukedom his priority, and everyone at Hawthorn Hall, everyone in the surrounding towns and perhaps all of England, knew that his life was devoted to this cause.

  Indeed, it was all he’d talked about for years.

  All he’d talked about for eons.

  He must have been a crushing bore.

  But everything had changed suddenly. Now that he’d found Mallory, he knew that in restoring the Hawthorn holdings to their former glory, he’d lose his most precious possession. Not that Mallory was a mere possession. She wasn’t in the least. She was… she was as important to him as his own heart. “I do need you.” Damn the girl for arguing with him while he was in no condition to do anything about it.

  “Your brain is still scrambled from that bump to your head. You are a duke, a magnificent peacock and I’m a mere game hen.” She pursed her generous lips as she studied him and all he could think of was to have them crushed against his again. “I know what you are thinking, that you could do with less if I were by your side. That you could be happy with me even if you gave up most of your properties. But you wouldn’t be. You have too much pride in the Hawthorn legacy. As time wore on, you’d grow to resent me.”

  “Never.” And if he resembled a peacock, it was only because the bruises covering his body and his skin happened to be a vivid array of purple and blue.

  Her lips began to tremble. “You would, and your resentment would destroy me. So why don’t we just leave it at that? I will always love you.”

  “Mallory, stop.”

  “No, it must be this way.” She shook her head to emphasize her point and a few dark wisps slipped out of their pins and fell becomingly over her ears. He wanted to reach out and tuck them behind her little, curled ears, but he’d reached the end of his endurance. Pain had spread across his body and radiated outward to his limbs. There was now a blacksmith hammering on an anvil within his head. Along with the elephants that were still stomping his brain to powder. The lump on his forehead was swelling and felt as though it was about to explode.

  “I can live with my dreams,” Mallory continued with her chin held high in sacrificial glory and her mouth pursed in that I-want-to-have-sex-with-you pout, “and I shall take comfort in the knowledge that the handsomest duke in all the realm once desired me.”

  “Damn it, Mallory.” He ignored the violent spinning and stomping in his head to reach forward and stop her from leaving, but the next thing he knew, he felt himself tipping over and tumbling out of bed.

  He landed with a heavy thud at Mallory’s feet.

  “Oh, not again,” she said with a gasp and began call out for help from his family. “You stubborn idiot,” was the last he heard from her sweet lips before he passed out cold.

  Chapter Seven

  Mallory stood alongside the back wall of Lucien’s chamber, clutching Gennalyn’s hand as they watched Roarke and Aidan lift their brother onto his bed and deposit him none too gently on the mattress. Well, Lucien was big and muscled, which is why he always made her swoon, but this was not the moment to be swooning.

  He was hurt and unconscious. Lifting someone in that condition was no easy task.

  Had he struck his head again?

  She didn’t think so, for she’d done a better job of easing his fall this time around.

  “What did you do to him, Mallory?” Aidan asked as Lucien began to moan her name while he struggled against his sheets.

  “Nothing, other than talk sense into him.” She was shaking and about to burst into tears but tried her best to hold herself together.

  “Place some pillows on the ground beside him,” Gennalyn suggested, her mind obviously clearer than Mallory’s. “I don’t want him to hurt himself should he roll off the bed again.”

  “Someone ought to watch him through the night. Perhaps each of you can take turns with him, at least until the doctor stops by tomorrow morning.” Mallory tried to sound as efficient and dignified as Gennalyn. But it was impossible to maintain her dignity when Lucien, having regained consciousness, began to babble about her tempting lips and outrageous body that– “We’ll have no more of that.” She rushed forward and clamped her hand over his mouth.

  Roarke was gawking at her.

  Aidan was grinning.

  Gennalyn was gaping at her.

  Lucien shot daggers at Mallory with his glazed, but gorgeous, eyes. He drew her hand off his mouth and tucked it on his chest, refusing to let go when she discreetly tried to pull away. “Oh, hell. What did I just say?”

  His brothers began to laugh.

  Gennalyn bustled them out of the room and shut the door firmly after them. “And stay out until you learn to behave like gentlemen,” she called through the thick wood panels. “But do fetch us some tea and cakes, Roarke.”

  He popped his head back in to kiss his wife gently on the lips. “Very well, my love.”

  Mallory could still hear Lucien’s brothers chuckling and guffawing as they walked downstairs, their boots clomping on the stairs. “It isn’t funny. Lucien is not thinking straight at the moment.”

  “I’m fine,” Lucien insisted. “Just being an idiot. That’s what you called me, isn’t it? A stubborn idiot.”

  Mallory felt heat rise in her cheeks. He’d heard that? “You were trying to climb out of bed and I was scared that you would hurt yourself. Which you did because you hadn’t the sense to lie still and allow your bones to heal.”

  He turned indignant at her accusation. “I was trying to get on bended knee to propose to you.”

  Gennalyn gasped. “I think I ought to leave the two of you to sort this out.”

  “No,” Mallory said at the same time that Lucien said yes. “Don’t go. I’ve already told him that I will refuse him if he is so foolish as to propose to me. He is not clear-headed at the moment.”

  Lucien now scowled at her. “Nor are you.”

  Gennalyn stepped between them. “Lucien, stay in bed and behave. Mallory, I think neither one of you is thinking clearly just now. You’ve each had a bad scare and need to give it a little time to pass.” She glanced from one to the other. “You know I’m right. No one understands what you’re experiencing better than I do.”

  Lucien made no protest.

  Mallory nodded. Gennalyn’s world had spun out of control after she’d lost her entire family. If not for Roarke, who knows what might have happened to her? For the first time in her life, Mallory appreciated all that her distant relation - who had become a dear friend, more of a sister to her - had endured.

  But Mallory trusted her feelings for Lucien. After all, she was not the one who’d had a roof beam crash down upon her head. And she had always been in love with Lucien, that hadn’t changed. The frightening incident only confirmed how fragile life was and how im
portant it was to let him know how deeply she cared for him.

  In truth, her love for him was as deep as the ocean and ran as true as the glistening moon tides that ebbed and flowed under its powerful pull. But she had no intention of allowing her feelings for him to go farther.

  Lucien was the one whose heart could not be trusted. Even though he was smart and honorable and thoughtful, he’d never shown her the slightest interest until now. “What changed?” she asked him. “Why am I suddenly so fascinating to you that you would risk life and limb to propose to me?”

  Although she’d asked the question, she already knew the answer. He had a lump on his head the size of a cooked goose, but that only partially explained his odd behavior. He’d kissed her and practically undressed her even before the roof collapsed. He’d done it while his head was clear. Before that, he’d been chivalrous and attentive to her at her birthday party. But before that? Nothing. She hadn’t mattered to him at all.

  Except he’d named a day after her. Saint Mallory’s Day.

  What did it all mean?

  How long before he lost interest in her?

  She gave it two weeks at the most.

  ***

  “I understand your parents are taking you to London tomorrow,” Lucien said, dismounting from Charlemagne and striding toward Mallory as she fed the ducklings by the pond. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  He hadn’t seen her in almost two weeks, for she’d taken Gennalyn’s admonition to heart and kept her distance from him. Did she think she was doing him a favor? He certainly was not enjoying each empty day without her.

  “Lucien,” she said in a breathy greeting, turning to face him. There was a pink flush to her cheeks, and after a moment’s hesitation, she cast him the tenderest smile. “You’re looking well.”

  She reached up and gently touched the lump on his head that was almost fully healed. His cuts and bruises had mostly healed, as well. All but the bruise to his heart. “So are you, Mallory.” She looked as pretty as an angel, as beautiful as a sunrise, he might have added more romantic thoughts were he prone to spouting poetic niceties.

  Which he was not, although Mallory might inspire him to start.

  In truth, she looked spectacular.

  She wore a simple gown of dark green muslin that matched the color of her eyes. It fell in a soft drape over her curves. But it was the lush cascade of her unbound hair over her shoulders, the glow of her smile and sparkle of her eyes upon seeing him, that made her so spectacular. “Your parents stopped by twice to visit, but you stayed home. Why didn’t you come with them?”

  The sun glistened upon her glorious curls and a soft breeze blew several loose ones so that they fluttered becomingly across her forehead and cheeks. She casually brushed them back, and then frowned at him to admonish him for his accusatory tone. “You know why.”

  He nodded, but dukes were used to getting their way in all things and he did not like that Mallory was doing things her own way, especially when those things pertained to his ducal heart. “I wish you had come to visit me. Will you let me call upon you while you’re in London?”

  She shook her head, momentarily confused. “You’ll be in London, too?”

  He cast her a wry smile, deciding to be completely honest with Mallory. “I had meetings set up with my creditors before the barn crashed down upon us.” She deserved no less than the truth. Anyway, being impatient and demanding was not working with the stubborn girl. Rather than sway her, she was entrenched now and it was making his blood boil. “At the time, I thought each meeting would be short and sweet. I expected to be telling them that they’d be paid in full upon my marriage to Heloise.”

  Mallory inhaled lightly.

  “But that won’t happen,” he hastened to add before she lectured him once more on the folly of marrying for the sake of convenience.

  She licked her generous lips and searched his face. “It won’t?”

  “No, not a cigar or snifter of port to be handed out in celebration. Horrible Heloise will not receive an offer of marriage from me. These meetings, for the most part, will be lengthy discussions about restructuring my debt. They’ll take up most of my time, but I still wish to see you.”

  Her tongue flicked out again to moisten those lips he was aching to kiss. “Are you certain?”

  “Yes, I insist upon it. What have you got to lose? Being seen about town with a duke as your escort will only enhance your standing once you make your formal debut. You’ll be noticed by all the best gentlemen on the hunt for a wife.”

  “Oh, I see.” The luminous gleam in her eyes faded. “Then you’ve come to your senses and now realize the impossibility of a match between us.”

  Hell, no.

  His intentions toward Mallory had not changed, but he would not say anything until after the rounds of meetings were concluded and he knew where he stood financially. He’d find a way to salvage all he could of the Hawthorn holdings, take on business partners if necessary to lighten the debt load. But Mallory’s fear that he would lose too much if he settled for her was palpable and not something his mere assurances would overcome.

  She had to be made to realize that she was worthy of any sacrifice on his part. However, she had to reach that discovery on her own. She wouldn’t believe him if he simply told her straight out. Which he had told her and was once again telling her, but to no effect. Perhaps once he’d made his deals and knew where he stood, he’d be better able to convince her.

  He cupped her cheek in his hand and bent forward to kiss her lightly on the lips. “It’s settled. I shall see you in London.”

  She gave a reluctant nod. “Safe travels, Lucien.”

  “Same to you, my girl.”

  Chapter Eight

  My girl. That’s what Lucien had called her.

  Indeed, she was his and always would be.

  They both knew it, so why was she carrying on this charade? He was no green youth who was prone to making rash decisions. He’d resisted marriage for all of his thirty-two years, yet he’d now asked her to marry him and shown no regret for proposing to her.

  She had refused him.

  Had she just made the worst mistake of her life? What if he never asked her again?

  “Mallory,” her father said sharply. “Have you heard a word of what I’ve said? Have your mother and I been wasting our breath?”

  Mallory cringed as her father proceeded to pound a long list of do’s and don’ts into her head. When he finished, her mother took over. They obviously had no faith in her abilities, believing her to be a clumsy oaf who would trip over her own feet at her first London ball.

  In truth, she was.

  Fortunately, there would be no balls for her until her formal Come-Out next spring. Her nemesis, Lady Heloise, had already made her debut and been declared an Incomparable. She was the impossible standard to which her parents were going to hold her. How could she compete with this exquisitely wealthy, blonde beauty who outwardly appeared to be everything delicate and sweet but inwardly was a mean-spirited Harpy who would not hesitate to attack her and draw blood?

  “And you were unpardonably rude to Lady Heloise,” her mother continued, striking a raw nerve. “You had better make amends with her while we’re in London.”

  Mallory sighed. “Why must we speak of her? Lucien will not marry her.”

  Her father scowled. “At all times, he is to be referred to as His Grace. Or with his permission, Hawthorn. But you are never to presume such familiarity as to call him Lucien.”

  “As for Lady Heloise,” her mother intoned, “do not be so naive as to believe His Grace has given up on her. Why do you think he returned to London last week and remains there still? I’m certain it is to reconcile with the lady and resume his courtship of her.”

  The tenor of their conversation, in addition to the rattle and bump of their carriage, was enough to make Mallory ill.

  Knowing he would marry an heiress was bad enough. But to marry Horrible Heloise? That would be unbearable.


  Mallory closed her eyes and pretended to sleep the remainder of their journey, unable to endure more of her parents’ comments which had moved on from Heloise to her own sisters and their successful marriages.

  But successful by whose terms? Theirs were loveless marriages and both husbands had already been caught cheating. It was reported in the scandal rags, so it had to be true. Not that Dierdre or Alicia cared, for they were too busy spending their generous allowances to mind which beds and upon whose pillows their husbands rested their heads.

  Mallory knew she was different.

  She wanted love.

  She opened her eyes as their carriage groaned to a halt in front of their elegant Mayfair townhouse. The day was warm, but not unbearably so, and the sky was a lovely, robin’s egg blue. A few clouds streaked the sky, but only a very few, and the sun was shining down on them as they descended the conveyance and stretched their legs.

  They had yet to step inside before her mother began to rattle off their daily schedule. “A quiet supper for us at home this evening, but tomorrow shall be a busy day. We have an appointment at the modiste’s at ten o’clock in the morning. At two, we shall meet your sisters at Abbingdon’s for high tea, but we needn’t stay long. Later that evening, we shall join them and their husbands for the theater, and afterward, a late supper.”

  Mallory merely nodded as she removed her bonnet and pelisse and handed those belongings to their butler. “Good day, Parsons. Have you missed us?”

  Their long-time retainer cast her a wink and gave a courtly bow. “Indeed, we have, Lady Mallory. It is good to see you in town again. It’s been too long and your absence has been felt.”

  “We’re here to shop for my gowns for next Season.”

  Parsons’ expression turned wistful. “I remember you as a little girl scampering about the house. But you’re all grown up now. We shall have to engage additional footmen to hold back the swarm of bachelors who shall be breaking down our front door.”