A Wallflower Christmas (4 page)

Hannah went rigid in his arms, straining backward, but he followed and secured her more firmly against him. He let her feel how much bigger he was, how much stronger, and as she gasped and tried to speak, he took swift advantage of her parted lips.

A wild jolt went through her, and she reached up to push his head away. His mouth was experienced and unexpectedly soft, possessing hers with seductive skill. She had never thought a kiss could have a taste, an intimate flavor. She had never dreamed that her body would welcome something her mind utterly rejected.

But as Bowman forced her to accept the deep, drugging kiss, she felt herself going limp, her senses overrun. Her traitorous fingers curled into the thick raven locks of his hair, the strands as heavy as raw silk. And instead of rebuffing him, she found herself holding
him closer. Her mouth trembled and opened beneath his expert persuasion as liquid fire raced through her veins.

Slowly Bowman took his lips from hers and guided her head to his chest, which moved beneath her cheek with strong, uneven breaths. A mischievous whisper tickled her ear. “This is how we court girls in America. We grab them and kiss them. And if they don't like it, we do it again, harder and longer, until they surrender. It saves us hours of witty repartee.”

Looking up at him sharply, Hannah saw a dance of laughter in his wicked dark eyes, and she drew in a breath of outrage. “I'm going to tell—”

“Tell anyone you like. I'll deny it.”

Her brows pulled together in a scowl. “You are worse than a scoundrel. You're a
cad
.”

“If you didn't like it,” he murmured, “you shouldn't have kissed me back.”

“I did
not
—”

His mouth crushed over hers again. She made a choked sound, hitting his chest with her fist. But he was impervious to the blow, his hand coming up and engulfing her entire fist. And he consumed her with a deeply voluptuous kiss, stroking inside her, doing things she had never suspected people did while kissing. She was shocked by the searing invasion, and even more by the pleasure it gave her, all her senses opening to receive more. She wanted him to stop, but more than that, she wanted him to go on forever.

Hannah felt his breath rush fast and hot against her cheek, his chest rising and falling with unsteady force. He let go of her hand, and she leaned weakly against
him, gripping his shoulders for balance. The urgent pressure of his mouth forced her head back. She surrendered with a soft moan, needing something she had no name for, some way to soothe the anxious rhythm of her pulse. It seemed that if she could just pull him closer, tighter, it might ease the sensual agitation that filled every part of her.

Drawing back reluctantly, Bowman finished the kiss with a teasing nudge of his lips, and cradled the side of her face in his hand. The amusement had faded from his eyes, replaced by a dangerous smolder.

“What is your first name?” His whisper fanned like a waft of steam across her lips. At her silence, he dragged his mouth lightly over hers. “Tell me, or I'll kiss you again.”

“Hannah,” she said faintly, knowing she could not bear any more.

His thumb caressed the scarlet surface of her cheek. “From now on, Hannah, no matter what you say or do, I'm going to look at your mouth and remember how sweet you taste.” A self-mocking smile curved his lips as he added quietly, “Damn it.”

Releasing her with care, he went to the bell pull and rang for a housemaid. When Hannah's cloak and hat were brought, he took them from the maid. “Come, Miss Appleton.”

Hannah couldn't bring herself to look at him. She knew her face was terribly red. Without doubt, she had never been so mortified and confused in her life. She waited in dazed silence as he deftly draped the cloak around her and fastened it at her throat.

“Until we meet again in Hampshire,” she heard him
say. The tip of his forefinger touched her chin. “Look up, sweetheart.”

Hannah obeyed jerkily. He placed the hat on her head, carefully adjusting the brim. “Did I frighten you?” he whispered.

Glaring at him, she lifted her chin another notch. Her voice shook only a little. “I am sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Bowman. But I am neither frightened
nor
intimidated.”

A gleam of humor flickered in those obsidian eyes. “I should warn you, Hannah: when we meet at Stony Cross Park, take care to avoid the mistletoe. For both our sakes.”

 

After the delectable Miss Appleton had departed, Rafe remained in the entrance hall, lowering himself to a heavy oak bench. Aroused and bemused, he pondered his unexpected loss of control. He had only meant to give the young woman a peck, just enough to fluster and disconcert her. But the kiss had flared into something so urgent, so fiercely pleasurable, that he hadn't been able to stop himself from taking far more than he should have.

He would have liked to kiss that innocent mouth for hours. He wanted to demolish every one of her inhibitions until she was wrapped around him, naked and crying for him to take her. Thinking of how difficult it would be to seduce her, and how much damned fun it would be to get under her skirts, he felt himself turning uncomfortably hard. A slow, wry smile crossed his face as he reflected that if
this
was what he could expect from Englishwomen, he was going to take up permanent residence in London.

Hearing footsteps, Rafe lifted his gaze. Lillian had come into the entrance hall. She regarded him with fond exasperation.

“How's the baby?” Rafe asked.

“Annabelle's holding her. Why are you still out here?”

“I needed a moment to cool my…temper.”

Folding her slender arms across her chest, Lillian shook her head slowly. She was beautiful in a bold, clean-featured way, as spirited and raffish as a female pirate. She and Rafe had always understood each other, perhaps because neither of them had been able to tolerate the stringent rules set by their parents.

“Only you,” Lillian said without heat, “could turn a respectable teatime visit into a sparring match.”

Rafe grinned without remorse and glanced at the front door reflectively. “Something about her brings out the devil in me.”

“Well, you had better contain it, dear. Because if you wish to win Lady Natalie, you'll have to display far more courtesy and polish than you did in that parlor. What do you think Miss Appleton is going to tell her employers about you?”

“That I'm an unprincipled, ill-mannered villain?” Rafe shrugged and said in a reasonable manner, “But they already know I'm from Wall Street.”

Lillian's gingerbread-colored eyes narrowed as she regarded him speculatively. “Since you don't seem at all concerned, I'll have to assume that you know what you're doing. But let me remind you that Lady Natalie wants to marry a gentleman.”

“In my experience,” Rafe said lazily, “nothing makes
women complain nearly so much as getting what they want.”

Lillian chuckled. “Oh, this should be an interesting holiday. Will you come back to the parlor?”

“In a moment. Still cooling.”

She gave him a quizzical glance. “Your temper takes a long time to subside, doesn't it?”

“You have no idea,” he told her gravely.

Going back into the parlor, Lillian stood in the doorway and regarded her friends. Annabelle sat with Merritt resting placidly in her arms, while Evie was pouring a last cup of tea.

“What did he say?” Annabelle asked.

Lillian rolled her eyes. “My idiot brother doesn't seem the least bit worried that Miss Appleton is sure to deliver a scathing report about him to the Blandfords and Lady Natalie.” She sighed. “That didn't go at all well, did it? Have you
ever
seen such instant animosity between two people for no apparent reason?”

“Yes,” Evie replied.

“I believe so,” Annabelle said.

Lillian frowned. “When? Who?” she demanded, and was mystified when they smiled at each other.

To Hannah's astonishment, Natalie was not only
not
shocked by her account of the visit with Rafe Bowman, she was highly entertained. By the time Hannah had finished the account of the kiss beneath the stairs, Natalie had collapsed on the bed in a fit of giggles.

“Natalie,” Hannah said, frowning, “clearly I haven't managed to convey how dreadful that man was.
Is.
He's a barbarian. A brute. A
clod.
”

“Apparently so.” Still chortling, Natalie sat up. “I look forward to meeting him.”

“What?”

“He's quite manipulative, our Mr. Bowman. He knew you would tell me what he had done, and that I would be intrigued. And when I see him in Hampshire, he'll act the perfect gentleman in the hopes of setting me off balance.”

“You shouldn't be intrigued, you should be appalled!”

Natalie smiled and patted her hand. “Oh, Hannah, you don't know how to manage men. You mustn't take everything so seriously.”

“But courtship is a serious matter,” Hannah protested. It was at moments like this that she understood the differences between herself and her younger cousin. Natalie seemed to have a more thorough understanding of social maneuvering, of the process of pursuit and capture, than Hannah ever would.

“Oh, heavens, the moment a girl approaches courtship as a serious matter is the moment she's lost the game. We must guard our hearts and hide our feelings carefully, Hannah. It's the only way to win.”

“I thought courtship was a process of revealing one's heart,” Hannah said. “Not winning a game.”

Natalie smiled. “I don't know where you get such ideas. If you want to bring a man up to scratch, never reveal your heart to him. At least not early on. Men only value something when they have to put some effort into getting it.” She tapped her forefinger on her chin. “Hmmn…I shall have to come up with a good counterstrategy.”

Climbing off the bed, Hannah went to retrieve some gloves and stockings and other items that had been dropped carelessly to the floor. She had never minded tidying up after Natalie. Hannah had met other lady's companions whose charges had made their lives a misery, treating them with contempt and subjecting them to all kinds of small cruelties. Natalie, on the other hand, was kind and affectionate, and although she could be a trifle self-absorbed on occasion, it was nothing that time and maturity wouldn't cure.

Placing the personal articles in a dresser drawer, Hannah turned to face Natalie, who was still ruminating.

Natalie was a pretty sight, tumbled on the white ruffled bed, her hair falling in golden curls. Her blue-eyed sunny appeal had stolen many a gentleman's heart during her first season. And her delicately regretful rejections of her suitors had done nothing to dampen their ardor. Long after the season had ended, towering arrangements of flowers were delivered to the Blandford mansion, and calling cards piled up on the silver tray in the entrance hall.

Absently Natalie wound a lock of shimmering hair around her finger. “Mr. Bowman is betting on the fact that since I went through an entire season without settling on someone, I must have tired of all these bland, respectable lords of leisure. And since it's been months since the season ended, he also assumes that I am bored and eager for a challenge.” She gave an abbreviated laugh. “He is correct on all counts.”

“The proper way for him to get your attention is not to ravish your companion,” Hannah muttered.

“You weren't ravished, you were kissed.” Natalie's eyes twinkled mischievously as she asked, “Now confess, Hannah—does he kiss nicely?”

Remembering the warm erotic sensation of Bowman's mouth, Hannah felt the damnable color sweep over her again. “I don't know,” she said shortly. “I have no basis for comparison.”

Natalie's eyes widened. “You mean you've never been kissed before?”

Hannah shook her head.

“But surely Mr. Clark—”

“No.” Hannah raised her fingers to her hot cheeks.

“He must have tried,” Natalie insisted. “You've spent so much time in his company.”

“I've been working for him,” Hannah protested. “Helping with his manuscript and papers.”

“You mean you've actually been taking dictation from him?”

Hannah gave her a bewildered glance. “What else would I have been doing?”

“I always assumed when you said you'd been ‘taking dictation' from him that you were letting him kiss you.”

Hannah's mouth fell open. “When I said I'd been ‘taking dictation,' I meant that I had been taking dictation!”

Natalie was clearly disappointed. “My goodness. If you have spent
that
much time with him, and he has never once kissed you, I'd say that is proof of the fact that his passion for his work will eclipse all else. Even a wife. We must find someone else for you.”

“I wouldn't mind taking second place to Mr. Clark's work,” Hannah said earnestly. “He will be a great man someday. He will do so much good for others—”

“Great men don't necessarily make good husbands. And you're too dear and lovely to be wasted on him.” Natalie shook her head in disgust. “Why, any of my leftovers from last season would be better for you than silly old Mr. Clark.”

A troubling thought occurred to Hannah, but she was almost afraid to voice her suspicion. “Natalie, did you ever let one of your suitors kiss you?”

“No,” Natalie said reassuringly.

Hannah let out a sigh of relief.

“I let nearly all of them kiss me,” Natalie continued cheerfully. “On separate occasions, of course.”

Aghast, Hannah leaned hard against the dresser. “But…but I was watching over you…”

“You're a terrible chaperone, Hannah. You often become so absorbed in conversation that you forget to keep an eye on me. It's one of the reasons I adore you so.”

Hannah had never dreamed that her pretty, high-spirited cousin would have let any young man presume so far. Much less
several.
“You know you should never allow such liberties,” she said weakly. “It will cause rumors, and you might be labeled as fast, and then…”

“No one will enter an engagement with me?” Natalie smiled wryly. “Last season I received four proposals of marriage, and had I cared to encourage any more, I could have gotten another half dozen. Believe me, Hannah, I know how to manage men. Bring my hairbrush, please.”

Obeying, Hannah had to acknowledge that there was good reason for Natalie to be so self-assured. She was, or would be, the ideal bride for any man. She gave the silver-backed brush to Natalie and watched her draw it through a flurry of rich blond curls. “Natalie, why didn't you accept any of those offers last season?”

“I'm waiting for someone special,” came the thoughtful reply. “I should hate to settle for anyone ordinary.” Natalie smiled as she added flippantly, “When I kiss a man, I want to hear the angels sing.”

“What about Lord Travers?” Of all the gentlemen
who had shown an interest in Natalie, the one Hannah had the highest regard for was Edward, Lord Travers. He was a sober, quiet gentleman, careful in appearance and bearing. Although his countenance did not lend itself to outright handsomeness, his features were strong and regular. He did not seem dazzled by Natalie, and yet he paid a close and respectful attention to her whenever she was present. And he was rich and titled, which, along with his other qualities, made him an excellent catch.

The mention of Travers drew a frown from Natalie. “He is the only man of my acquaintance who will not make an advance to me, even when handed a perfectly good opportunity. I chalk it up to his age.”

Hannah couldn't help laughing. “His age?”

“He is on the wrong side of thirty, after all.”

“He is mature,” Hannah allowed. “But he is also confident, intelligent, and from all appearances, in full vigor.”

“Then why hasn't he kissed me?”

“Because he respects you?” Hannah suggested.

“I would rather be regarded with passion than respect.”

“Well, then,” Hannah said wryly, “I would say that Mr. Bowman is your man.”

The mention of Bowman restored Natalie's good spirits. “Possibly so. Now, Hannah, tell Mama and Papa that Mr. Bowman was exquisitely well behaved. No, they won't believe that, he's American. Tell them he was quite presentable. And not one mention of the kiss under the stairs.”