Captivating the Scoundrel

by Darcy Burke

  She closed her eyes and squeezed the nipple. A low moan escaped her lips, and she clamped her teeth together, praying he hadn’t heard her.

  Sensation moved along her heated flesh and pooled in her lower belly. The hunger she’d felt there the other night intensified until she wanted to weep with desire.

  Maybe if she touched herself there, it would help. She moved her other hand between her thighs and pressed on her flesh. A burst of pleasure flashed over her, but it was fleeting. The hunger returned tenfold. She pressed again, and again felt a moment’s release. Once more, the need increased.

  Well, this was bloody frustrating.

  She opened her legs and put more of her hand over herself. A whimper slipped past her lips, and her gaze shot toward the screen.

  She heard the slosh of water, as if he were leaving the bath. What if he was coming over here? Part of her wanted to stay in the bath and invite him to join her. But the other part of her, the part that was mortified at the thought of him seeing her in such a state, drove her to grip the side of the tub and pull herself out. The air was much cooler, and she dove for a large towel that hung from a hook behind the tub.

  But she didn’t move quickly enough, and Gideon came around the screen.

  “Daphne.”

  The word was low and dark and so arousing that the need between her legs grew even more acute.

  She stood, frozen, her hand on the towel but otherwise completely bare to his perusal. He held a towel around his hips, and aside from that, he was also bare. From the top of his dark head down over the sculpted planes of his chest and abdomen, the former sprinkled with dark hair, to his muscular legs, also dusted with dark hair, below the towel.

  She’d always been impressed by his size—he was tall and broad of shoulder—but standing as he was now, she was utterly captivated by him. His height, his strength, his palpable masculinity.

  He turned to the side, presenting his profile. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I heard a noise and wanted to make sure you were all right.”

  Heat flushed her face. He’d heard her. She quickly pulled the towel from the hook and wrapped the towel around herself.

  “I’m fine.” The words were squeaky, as if she were a mouse.

  “Good.” He didn’t move, and she noticed the front of his towel jutted out…

  She turned her back to him and tried to think past her embarrassment. Or maybe it was her desire. Whatever it was, she was completely confounded.

  Thankfully, they were saved from further discomfort by the arrival of Gwyneth, Margaret, and the third woman.

  “You’re both out,” Gwyneth said. “Lovely. Dinner will be ready shortly. You don’t need to dress to the usual degree—we are far less formal at Brue Cottage. Gideon, we don’t have a valet, I’m afraid.”

  “I don’t either,” he said.

  He didn’t have a valet? Obviously, he hadn’t been traveling with one, but Daphne had assumed he employed one at home. Apparently not. Where was his home exactly? Stratton Hall? Somewhere in London?

  Oh, this was good. Things to think about that weren’t his naked form.

  “Come, Daphne,” Gwyneth said, “Margaret will help you get ready.”

  Daphne didn’t require a maid. She also didn’t necessarily want to expose herself to Margaret, not when her body still felt flushed and sensitive. “I don’t require assistance either, thank you.”

  Gwyneth shrugged. “She’ll at least show you to your room—through there.” She pointed to a door that was partially blocked by the screen.

  The third woman adjusted the screen, and Margaret went to open the door.

  “Gideon, your room is on the other side. In the interest of haste, why don’t you just go through Daphne’s chamber? There’s an adjoining door.”

  There was? Daphne didn’t need to know that. She’d spend the entire night praying he’d come through it.

  Daphne walked to the door and looked back at Gideon, who’d returned to his side of the screen, which she could now see. Their gazes connected for a brief moment, and it was as if he’d touched her. A scalding, enticing touch that only made her want more.

  Except he hadn’t actually touched her.

  Oh, this was going to be a very long night.

  Chapter 13

  Gideon bent to scoop up his clothing, but Gwyneth said Nancy, the third woman in the bathing chamber that was full of too many damned women, would gather them up. Not that any of them signified beyond Daphne. He could barely think straight after seeing her nude.

  It had been a long time since he’d seen a woman in her natural state, and he felt like a lad of sixteen. His cock throbbed almost painfully, and he was certain they were all aware of it. How could they not be? He’d hoped to use his clothing to mask his obvious arousal.

  Instead, he strode toward the doorway but had to stop short because Daphne was at the threshold. He could squeeze by her, but they would certainly touch, and that seemed a very bad idea. Unless he wanted to continue where they’d left off the other night. And while that might sound like a very good idea, it was not.

  Why is that, exactly?

  Gideon was ready to punch that voice in the back of his head.

  Because he wasn’t going to take advantage of their temporary marriage to satisfy his lust. Though from the way she was looking at him, she perhaps wouldn’t agree that he’d be taking advantage. Her gaze kept dipping to his erection, which wasn’t helping matters. And dear Lord, now she was licking her lower lip.

  “Pardon me,” he said, startling her to move into the bedchamber. He stalked through it as quickly as possible and, finding the door on the opposite side, escaped into safety.

  He closed the door and collapsed against the wood, his breath coming as fast as if he’d run across the bloody room at full speed.

  “Don’t dawdle for dinner.” The voice—Gwyneth’s—coming through the door as if she stood right behind him, and he supposed she did, made him pitch forward in surprise.

  Blast, he supposed he didn’t have time to take care of his inconvenient arousal just now. Instead, he went to the window and wrestled it open so he could bask in the cool night air.

  Once his body was back under his relative control, he found his clothing, which someone had unpacked from his saddlebag and arranged in the armoire. He dressed quickly, then made his way from the chamber. Margaret loitered at the end of the gallery that overlooked the hall. “The dining room is through the great hall.” She gestured down toward the stairs. “I’m waiting for Miss Foliot.”

  Miss Foliot.

  “She is Lady Stratton now.”

  Margaret’s eyes widened, and her brows arched high. She gave a single nod. “Felicitations.”

  “Thank you.” He made his way downstairs and into the dining room, which was completely vacant. Why had he needed to hurry?

  There was, however, wine on the table. He poured a glass and took a healthy drink, appreciating the warm ruby liquid as it washed down his throat. Perhaps if he drank the lot of it, he’d be able to sleep tonight. If not, he was bound to be tortured knowing Daphne was just a short walk away.

  And why not? That was how he’d spent the past two nights. First, at Hollyhaven when she’d been just across the hall and he’d listened desperately, hoping she might have another nightmare and necessitate his care. What kind of beast was he?

  Then last night at the inn, where they’d had to share a room, but it had thankfully had two beds. Still, he’d been able to hear her disrobe and had remained awake far too long listening to her sleep. Again, hoping she might require his assistance.

  All in the name of being able to touch her again. Yes, he was a beast.

  The air around him suddenly changed. He turned and saw her standing in the doorway. She was dressed in a simple gown that couldn’t have been hers. The wardrobe she’d brought along consisted of two riding habits and two dresses, one suitable for day wear and another for dinner. This was none of those. It was white, with volumes of sheer mater
ial that, piled together, made her look like the sweetest, most tempting confection. He supposed the excess was so that it wasn’t completely transparent, for just one layer of it would certainly be. It reminded him of the garment she’d worn the first night he’d dreamed of her.

  He pictured her nude as she’d been in the bathing chamber, but with the diaphanous material draped across her lush body. Christ, he was going hard again. He should’ve taken the time to toss himself off. Except he suspected he’d be in the same predicament anyway. His reaction to Daphne was profoundly erotic and growing more so by the minute.

  She moved into the room, and the candles from the chandelier above them caught the pearlescent light of a strand of pearls woven into her dark locks, which had been swept into a simple yet artful style.

  Seeming to realize he was looking at her hair, she touched it gently. “Nancy is quite good at styling hair. She insisted.”

  “You look lovely.” It was a gross understatement, but he didn’t think there were words to sufficiently describe her beauty or the devastating effect it had on him.

  “Thank you. You look splendid too.” Her gaze dipped over him, again seeming to hesitate the slightest bit in the region of his groin.

  He pivoted and took another drink of wine before offering to pour some for her.

  “Yes, please,” she answered.

  Glad to have something to do, Gideon set his glass on the table and poured one for her. He moved to give it to her and tensed, praying their hands wouldn’t touch while also wishing just as fervently that they would.

  “You’re married?”

  Startled by Gwyneth’s sudden arrival, they both turned toward the door and neither grasped the glass of wine. It tumbled to the carpet splashing ruby claret across the blue-and-red pattern.

  “Oh my goodness, I am so clumsy,” Daphne said.

  Gideon bent to pick up the glass. “It was my fault.”

  Gwyneth waved her hand. “Leave it. Margaret will take care of it.”

  Gideon set the empty glass on the table.

  “Now, tell me why you let me put you in separate rooms if you are husband and wife.” Gwyneth moved to the table and poured wine into the third remaining glass and handed it to Daphne. Then she took the glass they’d dropped, refilled it, and promptly took a drink.

  She really was an odd woman. But endearing at the same time.

  “It’s not a real marriage,” Daphne said. “My father wanted us to marry, and we wanted to complete this quest together, so it seemed the most expedient…course.”

  Gwyneth looked from Daphne to Gideon and back to Daphne, then back to Gideon. “That makes absolutely no sense.”

  “It’s temporary,” Gideon said, hating that word more than he ever thought possible. When he thought of never seeing Daphne again, his chest constricted and he fought to draw a deep breath. “We plan to seek an annulment.” He hated that word even more.

  Gwyneth’s brows drew together, and she stared at them with a thoroughly bemused expression. “You’re both mad. Clearly the forces of nature have pushed you together—as you should be. I will hope that you regain your senses. And when you do, you’ll thank me for putting you in adjoining rooms.” She smiled and took another sip of wine.

  “Now, let us eat.” Gwyneth swept to another door and knocked loudly on the wood. “We don’t have a formal staff here, so Margaret will just bring out one large course.” She came back to the table and took a chair on one side, leaving Gideon and Daphne to take the two seats opposite. It was obvious Gwyneth wanted them to sit close together.

  Anxious to talk about anything but his marriage to Daphne or anything else relating to the two of them, Gideon said, “We found the cloak.”

  Gwyneth’s eyes grew animated, and she leaned forward. “Did you! How wonderful. Where was it?”

  “In the chest. I thought it was just the lining.”

  Her lips spread into a cat’s smile. “Things aren’t always what they seem.”

  No, they weren’t, and he’d learned that lesson many times. Hopefully some day he’d remember it.

  “Did you know it was the lining?” Daphne asked, sounding rather suspicious. And now Gideon was too. He was also a little annoyed with himself for not thinking of that too.

  “I didn’t,” Gwyneth said. “But I hoped it was still in there somehow—that’s why I wanted you to bring it to me. You see, the women of Brue Cottage have always provided the chests to the Nash family. That’s how I knew the cloak was inside it.”

  Gideon had wondered if there’d been some sort of enchantment on the cloak to make it at least somewhat adhere to the chest and appear to be lining.

  Margaret came in with a tray, followed by another woman they hadn’t yet met who carried a second tray. They set platters and bowls of food around the table but close enough so one of them could reach each item without getting up.

  Gwyneth helped herself to pheasant and then passed the tray across to Gideon. He offered a serving to Daphne first.

  Setting the pheasant down, Gideon took a bowl of peas from Gwyneth. “Now that we have the cloak, we plan to return it and the heart and sword to Gareth. We just need to find where that is.”

  “We can discuss that tomorrow,” Gwyneth said.

  Tomorrow? Why not now? Before he could ask, Gwyneth focused her attention on Daphne. “Tell me, dear, why did your father want you to marry Gideon? Aside from the obvious.”

  Daphne glanced toward Gideon. “The obvious?”

  Gwyneth blinked at her. “He’s an earl. And very attractive.”

  Gideon looked sideways toward Daphne and saw color rise up her neck and into her ears, turning the tips a fetching shade of pink.

  “He wanted me to marry a descendant,” Daphne said.

  “That’s important to him?”

  “Yes, he’s a member of the Order of the Round Table.”

  “Well then, of course it is. I’d forgotten for a moment that he was a member.” She cut a piece of pheasant and waved her fork in the air. “What a silly organization. I really don’t understand their purpose.”

  Daphne picked up her wineglass. “To protect the Thirteen Treasures and keep proof of Arthur and his knights away from scrutiny.”

  “Why? People have a right to know their history. And they’ve gotten it dead wrong for centuries. Arthur wasn’t some perfect leader. Just as Morgana wasn’t an evil sorceress.” She narrowed one eye and nodded toward Daphne, who lifted her glass higher in silent toast.

  “If people delve too deeply, they’ll find the treasures,” Gideon said.

  Gwyneth peered at him with an unflinching stare. “As you have?”

  Gideon shifted. At first, he’d pursued them with the intent to possess them—or at least to give them to Foliot, who intended to keep them away from those whom he called the zealots within the Order. “I only want to put them where they belong.”

  “Which is why you are The Worthy. That you found the cloak only confirms what I thought.” Gwyneth turned back to Daphne. “So your father wanted you to marry a descendant. He has to be ecstatic that you landed an earl—and a good-looking one at that—who is also descended from Gareth the Worthy. You can’t do much better than that. Unless you’re a descendant of Arthur himself, but there aren’t any more of those, unfortunately.”

  “There aren’t?” Daphne’s gaze darkened, and Gideon was close enough to her to feel her stiffen.

  Gwyneth shook her head.

  Daphne used her knife to viciously cut her pheasant into small pieces.

  Gideon realized then that her father had told her he was a descendant of Arthur. He brought his hand to his lap, then reached over and touched her leg gently—and quickly, lest he want to linger.

  She glanced at him, and the hurt in her gaze speared into him more sharply than any blade. She turned her head to look at Gwyneth. “My father is rather obsessed with Arthur and the treasures. He’s wanted me to marry a descendant as long as I can remember.”

  “What a happy c
oincidence that you fell in love with one, then.” Gwyneth smiled before she focused on her plate once more.

  “I’m not—” Daphne turned her attention to her plate too, but not before her ears turned pink once more.

  Was she in love with him? God, he hoped not. He wasn’t worth that emotion.

  The rest of dinner passed with conversation about the history of Brue Cottage, which had been here in one form or another since the seventh century. Women who were accomplished healers who wished to study with other healers came here. Some could claim a relation to other women who had lived at Brue Cottage, while others could not. It didn’t matter to those in residence. All were welcome—provided they were women.

  “If your marriage doesn’t last, but I am sure it will,” Gwyneth said to Daphne, “you’re welcome to return here and live with us. It would be wonderful to have a historian to continue recording our stories. We haven’t had one in residence since the middle of last century.”

  “What a wonderful offer. Thank you.” Daphne’s lips curved into a smile, and she sat a bit straighter. She deserved to look and feel like that all the time.

  When they’d seemed to eat all they could and had finished the bottle of claret, Gwyneth stood. “It is time for my nightly meditation and exercise.” She stepped away from the table. “Tomorrow, we will discuss Gareth, and you’ll bring the chest to the library.”

  Gideon nodded. It was currently in his chamber upstairs, having been transferred there with his clothes.

  Gwyneth glided toward the doorway, then turned her head to look at them over her shoulder. “Don’t be fools—the world is full of far too many of them. Sleep well!”

  When they were alone, Gideon stood from the table. “She is committed to playing matchmaker.” He pulled Daphne’s chair out so that she could rise.

  “Yes, quite.”

  They left the dining room together, and he pondered offering his arm, but then she’d touch him and touching seemed destined for more touching. Which they should probably avoid.