His Favorite Mistress (16 page)

“But you might not have done,” he insisted. “He—

Just then a maid came around one corner, a stack of clean linens in her arms. She stopped and curtseyed to them both, then disappeared as quickly as she had arrived. Not wishing for any more potential interruptions or eavesdropping, Tony cast a glance around and pulled Gabriella into a nearby room, which just happened to be the upstairs library. He closed the door at their backs.

“As I was saying,” he began, “Carlow could have taken you anywhere in the city had he wished.”

She made a dismissive noise. “One might say that of any of the gentlemen who asked me to drive out or walk with them. There is no difference between those men and Lord Carlow.”

“Except that Julianna is not here at home awaiting your return.”

“He brought me straight to the house without a single detour.”

“Perhaps so, but he also wished to come inside, did he not?” he added.

“So he could wait for me to change my attire.”

“And what else? How do you know he wouldn’t have wanted more? How can you be sure he wouldn’t have taken advantage of the fact that he would have had you alone?”

She shook her head. “He would not. And may I point out that you have a very suspicious mind, Your Grace.”

“Not suspicious. Just experienced. Why do you think it is young unmarried ladies are never left alone with men?”

She paused, considering his words. “Even if you are correct about Lord Carlow, I wouldn’t have been in danger. Not with the servants here to protect me.”

“So you think they would come to your defense?”

“Yes, I know they would,” she stated, crossing her arms over her breasts.

“Maybe so, once they heard you. But the damage might already have been done by then.”

“You are being ridiculous and this whole discussion is neither here nor there. Now, please allow me to pass so that I may go to my room and change.”

Instead, he moved closer and blocked her way. “I think not. Not until you understand the need to exercise caution.” Using his height and strength to his advantage, he stepped forward.

Having nowhere else to go, she stepped back. “Enough of this, Your Grace.”

He forced her to step back again, maneuvering her so he had her neatly cornered against a bookshelf. “I’ll say when enough is enough. Let’s see if you can call for the servants in time.”

“For what?”

“For this.”

Before she could utter another word, or draw so much as a breath, he was kissing her, taking her mouth with a fierce, implacable possession that was almost savage in its determination and intent. He told himself he was teaching her a valuable lesson, one he would end in a few moments, just as soon as his point was well and thoroughly made. Yet the instant his lips touched hers, he knew he’d made a dreadful mistake. Somehow he’d convinced himself his memories of their previous kisses were in error, that she couldn’t really taste as sweet and succulent as he remembered, that he must have dreamed the sheer delight of her touch.

But not only were his conclusions wrong, so were his memories, dulled by time and distance and, perhaps, a will to forget. The impact of her hit him like a blow, a heavy wash of desire turning his body hot and ready. He groaned and tugged her tighter inside his arms, wanting her in every possible way.

Dear God,
he thought,
she is delicious, ripe and juicy as a just-picked peach.
And soft, so soft he wished he could tumble her down, wished he could toss up her skirts and stroke her naked skin, then bury himself inside her to see if she was even softer and sleeker there, as he suspected.

He willed himself to stop, giving himself a stern mental warning to let her go, and
now
! But even as he gathered the strength to do so, a devil whispered in his head to take just a little more—one more touch, one more kiss—and then he would put her aside. Angling his head, he coaxed her mouth open and slid deep to plunder and tantalize. Part of him hoped she would resist, prayed she would push against him or beat at him and end this insanity.

Instead, she wound her arms around his neck and kissed him back, darting her tongue forward to circle around his as if she were savoring a sugar-coated confection. He shuddered and kissed her harder, deeper, drowning inside the passionate duel they were now waging. A husky little whimper issued from her throat, the sound making him tremble. With an answering groan, he gave himself over to the pulse-pounding sensations.

Ravishing her mouth, he brought his hands up to cup her breasts. Resting them there, he let the ragged motion of her breath move her up and down against his palms. A moan vibrated inside his mouth as she arched even farther into his touch, unknowingly pressing her flesh right where he wanted it. Using the pads of his thumbs, he stroked her in slow, ever-widening circles, teasing her nipples until they were taut points.

But touching her through her dress just wasn’t enough. Reaching for her buttons, he loosened enough of them to drag down her bodice and stays so that she tumbled free into his waiting hands. Desperate to look, he broke their kiss and gazed down, his loins hardening painfully at the sight of her. Lush and pert, her beautiful breasts were worthy of a goddess, creamy white and tipped with pretty pink nipples.

A shudder ran through her as her gaze lowered to follow his movements. He saw her eyes widen, wondering if she, too, noticed how much darker and undeniably masculine his hands appeared cupped around her pale woman’s flesh. A gasp puffed from her throat as he began to stroke her, his touches designed to impart equal measures of delight and torment. Pinching her gently between his thumb and forefinger, he teased her anew, her eyes sliding closed as her head lolled back against the books on the shelf behind her.

Suddenly he wanted even more. Bending, he opened his mouth and closed his lips over one breast, licking her with passionate skill. Her skin tasted just that much sweeter here, like sunshine and flowers, the flavor nothing short of heaven. Yet even as he increased the intensity of his touch, suckling harder while he finessed her other breast with his fingers, there was a niggling something about the fragrance that he couldn’t quite place.

Oranges,
he mused.
Hmm, that’s it. She tastes and smells like oranges. But why is that important? Orange juice…spilled orange juice all over her dress.

Good God!

He jackknifed into an upright position, Gabriella staggering slightly inside his arms as he pulled away.

What in the blazes do I think I’m doing!
he questioned.

If not for the orange juice that had seeped through her clothes to her skin, he would have had her down on the floor and been taking her before too much longer. He’d been so far gone, in fact, that anyone could have walked in on them. Anyone, including Rafe.

The blood drained out of his cheeks at the idea. Without wasting another moment, he yanked up her stays and dress and began cinching her back into them.

“There, you’re all set,” he declared a minute later, fighting for composure as he slid a final button into place.

“All set for what?” she murmured, her voice husky and slow. She blinked, obviously still held within the grip of their mutual passion.

“For me to take my leave and for you to go to your room.”

“Oh, you are departing then?” she asked.

“I think it best. With Julianna and Rafe absent, I shouldn’t remain. Forgive my forwardness, Gabriella. I never intended our…kiss to go that far.”

Her lashes swept downward. “I am sure you did not, but you certainly proved your point.”

He frowned. “My point?”

“Yes, about how easy it is for a gentleman to take advantage of a lady when she is without a chaperone. I didn’t let out so much as a single cry, at least not for help.”

Until that instant, he’d forgotten all about the reason their embrace had begun. At her reminder, guilt clamped down like a sharp set of teeth. “You should have,” he said. “You ought to have slapped me and made me stop.”

“Probably so, but it seems neither of us can do as we ought today.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, not sure what he wanted to say. Finally he settled on the simplest words of all. “Good day, Gabriella.”

“Yes. Good day, Your Grace.”

“May I bring you a cup of punch, Miss St. George?”

Turning, she gazed at the hopeful expression on the face of the young man with whom she had just been dancing. “Thank you,” she agreed. “That would be lovely.”

She watched for a moment as he walked away, finding herself alone for the first time all evening, and rather grateful for the respite. Actually the evening mirrored her life of late, the last two weeks so busy she’d scarcely had time to stop and take an extra breath between the myriad activities to which she was committed.

From morning to night, there was something to do. Breakfast and nuncheon parties, afternoon teas, promenades in the park, and more balls, routs, and soirees than she could safely keep count of. In between, she spent what seemed to her an inordinate amount of time changing her attire. Throughout the day, her maid would assist her, helping her switch from morning gown to day dress; day dress to walking dress; carriage dress to evening gown; and finally from evening gown to nightgown so she could crawl, exhausted, into bed. Ironically, she found all the frequent wardrobe changes oddly similar to the ones required in the theater; only now she felt as if her entire life were on stage.

The promised vouchers for Almacks had arrived as well; she, Julianna, and Rafe attended the coveted Wednesday-evening event with appropriate excitement. Despite all the anticipation, however, she’d found the assembly rooms surprisingly plain and uninspiring, the company prodigiously circumspect, with no hint of excess frivolity allowed.

As if that were not enough to keep her occupied, there were her usual callers, who continued to pay their respects at the townhouse. The gentlemen, including Lord Carlow, often arrived bearing a fragrant nosegay of flowers for her, staying to chat for a while before asking permission to take her driving or walking in the park.

The one person she did not see, at least not at the house, was Wyvern. Despite his assertion that he was a frequent visitor, he rarely called and apparently managed to time the few visits he did make so they would coincide with occasions when she was away from home.

At first, she didn’t really mind his absence, grateful for a chance to steady her emotions after her passionate encounter with him in the library. Far too often during the day her thoughts would drift off, her senses leaping uncomfortably to life as she replayed memories of his exquisite kisses and sizzling caresses. Her cheeks flushed so frequently, in fact, she was surprised no one asked if she was coming down ill. And nights were even worse, her dreams plagued by heated fantasies in which the duke made torrid love to her, her body left aching and bereft when she awakened alone come the morning.

But as the days slid by with little more than an occasional glimpse of Wyvern as he passed through one ballroom or another on his way to play cards or share stories with friends, a simmering irritation began to build within her.
How dare he kiss me like that,
she fumed to herself,
then ignore me as if nothing had occurred! How dare he make me want him, then blithely walk away!

Perhaps he was only trying to keep temptation at bay, since she admitted sparks did have a way of flaring between them when they were together. But one would think he could manage the trick without staying completely distant.

Part of her wanted to march up and confront him, but another part—the prideful one—urged her to let matters proceed as fate would dictate. After all, she had plenty of dashing suitors clamoring for her attention. She didn’t need Wyvern chasing after her as well.

But you want him to,
whispered a traitorous little voice.
And you want him to catch you, too.

Suddenly in no mood for punch, she decided to seek out Julianna, whom she hoped would not mind going home early for once. Weaving through the throng of guests, and not paying strict attention to her steps, she moved around one woman only to bump into another.

“Oh, I do beg pardon,” she said, reaching out a hand to steady them both.

Stiffening quite noticeably, the other woman shook off Gabriella’s touch and peered at her through a pair of clearly disdainful blue eyes—eyes that oddly enough made Gabriella think of her father.

The stranger’s lips pinched together. “Yes, you
should
beg my pardon, girl, and for far more than your graceless ineptitude. I suppose you did that deliberately.”

Gabriella stared for a moment, her lips parting in astonishment. “No, ma’am. I am afraid I did not see you as I passed.”

Tilting her elegant coiffure of light brown hair, the woman sniffed, then wrinkled her nose as though a foul stench hung in the air. “So you say. And I suppose next you will claim not to know who I am.”

Gabriella stiffened, a mixture of confusion and insult traveling in a greasy slide through her system. Her senses tingled, alarm bells ringing out as she more closely studied the woman’s face. Obviously, she thought Gabriella should recognize her, but to her knowledge, she’d never seen the woman before in her life.