Rhyme and Reason (17 page)

“Damon, I think—”

“Do not think. Just feel.” His palm cupped her chin, his fingers splaying across her cheek. “Just feel this.”

His mouth captured hers as his arms enfolded her to him. Straining for breath, she gasped when he traced her lips with moist flames. His kiss deepened when her fingers slid beneath his collar to find the soft hairs at his nape.

When he raised his mouth from hers, she wanted more. More of the danger and more of the rapture. She traced the curve of his lips with her fingertip. He smiled, and she was sure something luscious was melting within her, sending its sweetness to her very toes.

“Better?” he murmured.

“Yes.”

“Good, for I came to tell you I must take my leave. I forgot another obligation I have tonight.”

“Now? I thought you were going to take Miriam and me home.” Emily lowered her eyes. “I am being presumptuous. I should have realized we were keeping you from the card table.”

He laced his fingers through hers. “Emily—”

“Emily!” echoed an outraged voice.

She pulled away to stare at her father who was walking toward them. His face was as stern as his voice.

Rising, she swallowed roughly. “Good evening, Papa. I did not know you were attending Lady Murrow’s supper.”

“Obviously not.” His furious footsteps threatened to crush the stones in the path to dust. “Where is Kilmartin?”

“Inside with Miriam.” She was so aware of Damon sitting in silence while her father scolded her as he had when she was a child.

Papa scowled. “I thought it was understood that you were to serve as watch-dog for your sister, and that Kilmartin was to play duenna for you, if necessary.”

“Papa—”

“Come with me. Right now!”

Emily was too ashamed to meet Damon’s eyes as she whispered, “Excuse me.”

“I think not,” Damon answered as quietly. Turning to her father, he said, “Talcott, you are creating a spectacle.”

“Me?” Papa’s frown rutted his forehead. “You are here alone with my daughter in the garden.”

“We are in the garden, but hardly alone. I suspect you shall find a half dozen others among Lady Murrow’s sad collection of bushes.”

Papa turned to her, the frustration on his face filtering into his voice. “I am waiting for an explanation, Emily, why you have risked your sister’s reputation and yours like this.”

Chapter Twelve

When Emily faltered before her father’s wrath, Damon answered, “Talcott, the explanation should be mine, because I sought her out.”

“I thought even you were more of a gentleman than this.”

“You are misconstruing my intent.”

“It seems clear when I see you sitting so close to my daughter as you whisper together in this bower.”

“I sought her out so I might speak to her of an invitation.”

“An invitation? What type of invitation are you offering my daughter?”

Damon silenced his rage. This was no time to lose his composure. Talcott’s cavalier behavior was vexing, but he was more irritated at Emily. She did not retort like the intelligent woman she was. As lief she submitted to her father without a thought for her own desires or Damon’s, for he found it difficult to think of anything but feasting on her lips again.

“The invitation is for you and your family to join me on a visit to Wentworth Hall,” he answered, satisfied with his calm tone. “I need to return there for several days at the end of the week, and I plan to invite a few friends. I thought Emily and her sister along with the other ladies joining us would enjoy a visit to a local fair while we men lure Lady Luck’s smile upon us.”

Talcott’s frown eased into a sly smile. “A fascinating idea, I must say. Who else would be joining us?”

As he listed the gamesters who would be willing to travel as far as Wentworth Hall to study the history of four kings with Demon Wentworth, he watched Talcott. The man was fairly salivating to begin the play. This, all in all, he had to own with a smile was easier than he had expected.

When he looked at Emily, he was astonished to see anger glittering in her eyes that sparked like faceted sapphires. She was furious. Why? She should be grateful, for he had spared her from her father’s dressing-down.

“It could be entertaining,” Talcott said as he rubbed his chin.

“My thoughts exactly.”

Talcott smiled. “Mayhap I have misjudged you, Wentworth. We accept your gracious invitation.” To Emily, he added, “You may prepare the household for the visit.”

“Yes, Papa.”

Annoyed further by her servility, Damon asked, “I trust that, now that we have cleared the air, I may continue to speak with your daughter about this.”

“Of course, but inside.” He gave his daughter a quick kiss on the cheek and said, “While you handle the arrangements with Wentworth,
ma chérie
, I will find your sister. I hear she has made the conquest of a marquis tonight.”

Talcott strode away, whistling a tune whose words would have brought a blush to his daughter’s face.

Offering his arm to Emily, Damon waited until her father was out of earshot before asking, “Why are you giving me a scowl that would curse a witch? I had thought you wanted to join me on the journey.”

Unhappiness threaded her forehead, and his fingers longed to soothe the lines away. “If we are friends, as you assert, Damon, I beg a favor of you.” As he started to answer, she raised her hand and said in a broken voice, “Please listen before you say something you may regret. I would ask that you take this vow only if you propose to keep it.”

“I make no promises lightly,” he said, then swore as his terse response brought tears into her lustrous eyes.

“Please do not play cards with my father during our visit to Wentworth Hall.”

“Why?”

She raised her chin, and he admired her gentle courage. “Just tell me that you will agree to this small favor.”

“Or you will refuse to come with me?”

She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Papa wishes to go.”

“So, dutiful daughter that you are, you will agree.” When she did not answer, he relented. “Very well, Emily, I vow to you that I shall not play cards with your father either at Wentworth Hall or during our journey to and from it. I vow that, if you will explain something to me.”

“I will try.”

“Why do you act like a child before your father?”

“I do not!”

“No? What have I heard you say in his presence but ‘Yes, Papa’ and ‘No, Papa?’ Why do you submerge your will to him?”

“He is my father.” When his brow arched at her trite answer, she added, “Damon, don’t try to change me.”

He put his hands on her shoulders. “I have no wish to change you. Just to free you from obligations you should not have taken on.”

Emily blinked back her astonishment. She should not be astonished, for she had already discovered how Damon saw things others overlooked. “If I had not, who would have?”

He sighed and nodded. “I understand, for each of us has onerous tasks, even Demon Wentworth.”

She turned away before the passion in his eyes beguiled her again. “I realize I am keeping you from your club.”

“You aren’t.”

“I thought …”

He brought her to face him. “In spite of what you think of me, I do not spend every moment at the board of green cloth. Even that adventure pales with time, so I look for other challenges.”

“In your business matters?”

“Now you are sounding like a mama interested in ferreting out every facet of a man’s standing.” He kissed the tip of her nose.

She stepped back before he could sweep her into his arms and against his firm chest. “I should check on Miriam.”

“Your father is doing that.”

“I should—”

“What are you afraid of?” His hands glided down her arms to take her fingers.

She drew away. “I am afraid of you.”

“I vow to you, Emily, I am not the demon
on dits
label me.”

“I know, but …” Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. It could not steady her heart that beat against her breastbone like a drum signaling a quick march.

“Emily?”

She gazed up at him, longing to touch his face, his hair, to let his breath mingle with hers in a soul-tapping kiss. The lamplight burnished his hair with blue-hot fire, but she knew the slightest brush of his mouth on hers would be even more smoldering.

“If Papa had seen me kissing you,” she whispered, “he would not have been so willing to forgive you.”

Damon twirled a lock of her hair around his finger as he chuckled. “He would be arranging, even now, for the banns to be read in the closest church. In short order, we would be wed.”

“Order? My life,” she said, toying with a withering blossom on a spindly stalk, so he could not see how his teasing had sent a trill of delight through her, “had order until you came into it, Damon.”

“Mayhap it needed to be a bit less orderly.” His eyes twinkled with mischief. “That may be why you have not closed your door to me. You like that I upset the order in your life. Mayhap you need a few friends who tantalize you to set aside your obligations and assumptions.”

“Mayhap.”

He chuckled. “You sound uncertain.”

“I am. So much has happened.”

“You cannot fault me for the to-do de la Cour is causing.”

Hoping her face was not awash with lamplight, she forced a smile. “True, but you have upset my life in many other ways. I had thought it would remain much as it had.”

“Shaking up one’s assumptions is never a bad thing.”

Her smile became sincere. “I loathe having to own that you are right. I often find myself questioning things.”

“Questions such as why Lady Murrow is so proud of this desert she calls a garden?”

“Exactly.” She laughed. “I wonder if she has her gardener at her country estate trying to coerce the plants there into appearing as if they are growing in Town.”

The chiming of a clock from near the door brought a sigh from Damon. “It is even later than I thought.”

“I am sorry if my babblings will make you late.”

“Late? That does not matter.” A slow smile eased across his lips. Holding out his hand, he said, “Come with me, Emily.”

“With you? Where?”

“To a place you shall enjoy far more than here.”

“I cannot!”

“Bring your abigail.”

“But, Miriam—”

“Your father,” he said with a grin, “is watching over her. Come with me, Emily.”

She knew she should say no. She could think of a dozen reasons why she should say no. And she could think of only one why she should say yes. As she gazed up into his shadowed eyes, she raised her fingers to place them in his hand.

“Yes,” she whispered, “I will come with you.”

“You will not regret this, I promise you.”

That was one promise he would not be able to keep, for she already was having second thoughts. Yet, for one night, with Kilmartin keeping a close eye on her, she wanted to throw aside her obligations to her family and be the one who risked everything on the chance to share one more kiss.

While they drove from Berkeley Square, Damon sat beside Emily in the carriage, his hat on his knee, a smile tipping one corner of his lips, and answered each of her questions with, “You shall see where we are going when we arrive.”

Kilmartin was even more silent, but the tapping of her fingers on the window and the parade of glowers aimed at Damon signaled her disapproval.

Emily sighed. Tonight she had escaped her obligations. She wanted to enjoy herself wherever they were going.

When the carriage stopped at one corner of Soho Square, Emily looked out. There was nothing remarkable about the plain house on the other side of the walkway, and she had no clue who might reside within it.

“We are going here?” she asked.

“Why so surprised?”

“I am not surprised, just curious.”

Damon leaned forward and winked boldly at Kilmartin. “She does not want to own that she thought I would lure her to a school of Venus where I would besmirch her reputation.”

Kilmartin gasped, “My lord, you should not say such things, even in jest.”

“I was not jesting. You thought that, didn’t you, Emily?”

Emily laughed. “Do not tease Kilmartin.”

As the footman opened the carriage door, Damon stepped out and held up his hand. “Then I shall tease you with a gathering which you will find infinitely more fascinating than that mind-numbing assembly we left behind.”

He did not release her hand as she stepped to the walkway. Warmth suffused her. She looked from his gloved hand to the shadowed secrets of his eyes. How many other women had gazed into them before her and found nothing but amusement there? But she could sense something else in that heated glow, something that did not belong to the rakish lord he portrayed with such verve.

A poke in her back was a reminder from Kilmartin. Quickly, Emily withdrew her fingers from Damon’s. When he motioned for her to precede him up the steps to the house, she glanced back only long enough to be sure that the footman was assisting Kilmartin from the carriage.

Suddenly she was glad her abigail was with her. The flood of pleasure at Damon’s touch was alarming, for it urged her to toss aside all caution.

A small antechamber waited beyond the door. Three servants stood there, although only one wore livery. They took Damon’s hat and Emily’s bonnet. Kilmartin held her shawl tightly, pursing her lips as she made it clear she expected to leave posthaste.

“Is she always so glum?” Damon murmured.

Emily smiled, but did not answer. Kilmartin sniffed in derision as they climbed the stairs to a large room that opened from the expansive hallway. Tables and chairs were scattered about, but no one was seated at them with some refreshments or a pack of flats and coins to gamble away the evening. The room was not full, for she guessed no more than a score of men stood within it. Dismay pricked her when she realized that, save for her and Kilmartin, there were no women.

“What is this?” she asked.

“Have patience, Emily.”

“I thought I had.”

“Then trust me.”

No quick quip came to her lips. His jest did not hint at what he was asking of her.
Trust him
? Her dismay deepened as she realized she did. Dear God, she might more than trust him. She might be falling in love with this mercurial man who wore even more guises than she did. How could she be in love with a man who might be the demon his tie-mates called him instead of the tender lover who filled her dreams?