She tricked me, Doyle thought in disbelief as he stared at her. The bloody minx had played him for a fool. Well, little did she know he was no fool…and he was done with playing nice.
Harper’s laughter abruptly ceased and her eyes widened as she read the dark intent in his gaze before he caught her arms, yanked her against his hard chest, and brought his mouth crashing down on hers.
CHAPTER FIVE
Heat.
As Doyle slipped his tongue between her lips and ravished her mouth as though it were a banquet and he a man half starved, heat was the only thing Harper felt. Burning, blistering, intense heat that left her gasping from the sheer force of it.
Need pulsated through her, the same need she’d felt at the Farcott Ball. Need for something she didn’t quite understand…but desperately wanted.
She clutched the nape of Doyle’s neck, nails digging heedlessly into his flesh as he tilted his head and deepened the kiss, tugging on her bottom lip with his teeth before plunging his tongue into her mouth. She moaned, ignoring the dim, distant part of her mind that was shouting at her to push away, to scream, to do something other than let herself be ravished senseless.
He coiled her long braid in his hand. It wrapped around his wrist like a silky black ribbon and when he tugged, stopping just shy of causing her pain, Harper moaned again. She rose up on her toes, mindlessly plastering her entire body against Doyle’s tall, hard length. Through the layers of fabric separating their warm, aching flesh she felt his heart beat. It raced in tandem with her own, beat for beat, breath for breath. When he licked the curve of her ear she mewled like a kitten and dropped her head back, exposing the slim column of her throat and the creamy tops of her breasts. Beneath her shirt her nipples were stiff with arousal. Rubbing them against Doyle sent heat shooting straight down to the most secretive part of herself, forcing her to cling to his broad shoulders as her legs trembled and threatened to buckle.
Was this what women meant when they whispered about passion and lust behind fluttering fans and gloved hands? Was this what she’d glimpsed when she saw Miles and Dianna tangled in each other’s arms in the middle of the library? Was this what Lady Elle and Sir Edgar Thomas were missing?
“Do you want more?” Doyle said harshly as he cupped her breasts and ran this thumbs across her hot, throbbing nipples. “Do you?”
“Yes,” she cried, caught in a wave of insatiable desire that rendered her incapable of telling a lie. “Yes.”
With a low, animalistic growl he lowered his head and, to Harper’s shocked disbelief, yanked her shirt down and drew her nipple into his mouth. His tongue swirled the sensitive nub and to her embarrassment this time her legs did buckle but Doyle’s arms were there to catch her. Spanning her waist with his hands, he held her upright as he lifted his chin to reveal brandy colored eyes dark with lust…and the faint, unmistakable stirrings of amusement.
Stiffening, Harper finally did what she should have done when he first kissed her. Shoving her palms into his chest she twisted out of his grasp, cheeks blooming with color as she glanced down and saw her shirt was still askew and her breast - the one Doyle had suckled - was on full display. Looking up, she caught him staring unabashedly at her exposed chest.
“Unbelievable,” she seethed as she yanked her shirt up, right hand itching to slap the smug look right off his face. She didn’t of course. To commit such an act of physical violence, even considering what he’d just done, would have been grossly obscene, not to mention annoyingly predictable. But she did pin her hands to her hips and fix him with a glare that had caused lesser men to turn on their heels and run in the opposite direction.
Doyle, being Doyle, merely lifted a brow and grinned. “What is unbelievable?”
“Your arrogance, for one.” And my stupidity for another, she added silently.
“Do not pretend you didn’t love every single second of it.” One side of his mouth lifted in a mocking smile. “Or have you already forgotten you were begging me for more?”
Her hands curled into tiny fists as she fought the urge to kick something. “I am going to pretend this never happened.”
“Then you must have a far better imagination than I, for I don’t think I shall ever forget the taste of your lips.”
The huskiness of his voice sent a shiver rippling down her spine. Stay strong, Harper told herself as her loins quivered with longing. One moment of pleasure is not worth being forced to endure this appalling display of self-satisfaction. It was only a kiss, no doubt not unlike one he’s given to a hundred other women. You cannot lose your heart over one kiss.
Except she very much feared she may have done exactly that. After all, what other reason did she have for not being able to get him out of her mind for the past three months? She may have called him names and feigned indifference, but the truth was she was about as far from indifferent as a person could possibly be.
Especially after the mind numbing, body tingling kiss they’d just shared.
She struggled to think of a response. One sharp, biting rebuttal that would set him back on his heels and let him know once and for all she was simply not interested. Unfortunately, no words came to mind, leaving her to flounder in unfamiliar silence which simply wouldn’t do. Squaring her shoulders, she drew a deep breath. “I should…That is, you…We…”
Blast it all, she sounded worse than Edna.
Clearly enjoying every second of her incompetent stuttering, Doyle’s head canted to the side as a grin spread across his entire face. “Frog in your throat? I do not believe I’ve ever caught you at a loss of what to say before. I must admit, I rather like it. You are much nicer when you’re not speaking.”
Her nostrils flared. “And you are a lecherous, conceited-”
“Careful,” he warned mildly, “or I may just have to kiss you into silence again.”
“Oh!” she cried in frustration before driving the heel of her boot into the ground. Leaves flew up and Petunia, having fallen asleep in the shade of an overgrown wild privet with ripe black berries weighing down the branches, came awake with a braying howl.
“Easy there P,” said Doyle, holding out a hand. With a wag of her tail the foxhound trotted up to her master and rubbed against his side before turning her attention on Harper.
Finding herself the recipient of a pair of soulful golden eyes, Harper couldn’t help but soften just a bit. She’d always loved animals, and after horses dogs were her favorite. Especially old ones with gray on their muzzles and the bluish sheen of cataracts in their eyes. That Doyle so clearly loved the elderly foxhound was a point in his favor. Perhaps he wasn’t quite as awful and arrogant as she’d first assumed…for surely an awful, arrogant man would never have taken the time to take their dog on such a long, wandering walk so far from home. But that didn’t change how she felt. Or rather how she wanted to feel: impervious and completely aloof to Doyle’s considerable charms.
“I - I should be going,” she said stiffly, as though her nipple hadn’t been in his mouth but a moment ago. “I need to find my horse.”
“Horses have a knack for returning to the barn from whence they came,” said Doyle. “Your mare has probably run all the way back to Winfield by now. We’re only a mile or two from my estate. It will be faster if you return with me and take a carriage home.”
Return with him? Absolutely not. She needed to get away from him, not spend more time together traipsing through the woods. Harper knew most women - Edna and Mary first among them - would have gladly cut off their pinky finger for a chance to be alone with Doyle, but as her actions had already proven she wasn’t like most women. For some reason or another she’d clearly caught the duke’s attention, but that did not mean she wanted it.
What she wanted was to publish her novel and go riding by herself and never be forced to attend another ball for as long as she lived. Three things she wouldn’t be able to do if she were to ever become a duchess. Not that she had taken - or was taking - Doyle’s offer of marriage at the Farcott Ball
seriously. He could have been well and truly foxed for all she knew. Probably had been, given that he’d yet to bring it up again. But his continuing attentions could only mean one of two things. He either wanted her for a wife, or he wanted her for a mistress.
Neither position held any appeal.
“Thank you for the offer,” she said with a tight lipped smile, “but I think I would be better served to walk.”
Doyle lifted a condescending brow. “Do you even know where you are?”
“Of course I know where I am,” Harper scoffed, but as she took a quick glance around at her immediate surroundings she realized with a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach that nothing looked familiar. She must have taken Jewel further than she’d intended and while her mare had most likely found her way home again, Harper doubted she would have similar success. At least not without a considerable amount of walking and with night rapidly approaching she didn’t exactly have the luxury of time.
“You do not have any idea, do you?”
“No,” she admitted, shoulders slumping in defeat.
“Come on then, Petunia knows the way.” Without another word - or, rather surprisingly, even the hint of a smirk - Doyle turned and started walking down the trail. Left with little other option, Harper hastened to catch up.
“I have been thinking,” he said as she came abreast of him.
“What a novel idea.”
Slanting her a sideways glance, Doyle shook his head as a reluctant smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Do you always have an answer for everything?”
“Usually.”
“And it hasn’t crossed your mind that people normally go out of their way to impress me rather than insulting me at every turn? I am a duke, you know.”
“Are you?” Feigning an expression of horror, Harper stopped dead in her tracks. “Heavens. I don’t know what I should do first, curtsy or shower you with insipid compliments. Pray tell, which would you prefer?”
“As I am fairly certain either one would send you into a fit of apoplexy and we are still a fair ways from Longmeadow, I think it best if you avoid any gestures that may be deemed as polite or kind in nature,” Doyle said dryly, looking back at her over his shoulder.
Harper frowned, not quite sure if she particularly liked what he was insinuating. “I can be polite and kind,” she objected. “I am polite and kind all of the time.” Well, almost all of the time. Or at the very least, a little bit of the time. Harper knew she often came across as somewhat…standoffish. But it did not mean she was trying to be that way. It was simply who she was. She couldn’t help it any more than a rabbit could help from being skittish or a wolf from being hungry. Perhaps if her childhood had been different - if she hadn’t spent so much time alone in the library with only her beloved books for company - then she would be different, but there was no changing herself now and she wasn’t about to waste precious time crying over shed milk. She was who she was, for better or for worse, and Doyle could take her or leave her for she certainly wasn’t about to go out of her way to impress him just because he was a duke. If he thought otherwise, well, bugger for him. After all, in the grand scheme of things what did his opinion matter?
It doesn’t, she told herself firmly even as the betraying flutter of her heart said otherwise. It doesn’t matter at all.
“Come on,” Doyle said, extending his arm. “Petunia is getting hungry.”
Tilting her head at the sound of her name the foxhound released a sharp, high pitched whine as though she’d understood exactly what Doyle had said and was in full agreement with him. Exhaling loudly, Harper slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow and they resumed walking, albeit this time in silence.
Absorbed with her conflicting emotions Harper didn’t realize they’d reached Longmeadow until her boots touched stone. Looking up, she saw the long, oak lined drive stretched out before them with the manor at the end, looking like something out of a fairytale with the sun setting behind it and the last fading rays of light reflecting off the windows.
“We made it,” she said, stating the obvious for she couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“So we did.” Something flickered in Doyle’s gaze. Something hard. Something cold. But it was there and gone again before it had time to take root, leaving Harper to wonder if she was imagining things. They continued down the drive side by side, but it wasn’t until they’d climbed the marble steps leading up to the front door that Doyle asked, “Would you care to come inside for a glass of water or lemonade?”
Feeling a rather surprising amount of regret, Harper shook her head. “I really should be getting home. My sister-in-law will be wondering where I am and I do not want her to worry. And,” she added with a rueful glance down at her shirt, now covered in dust and dirt from her tumble off of Jewel, “I am hardly fit for polite company.”
One corner of his mouth lifted. “Who ever said I was polite company?”
“You know very well what I mean.” Not liking the effect Doyle’s half-smile had on her resolve to remain impervious and aloof, Harper took a step backwards. Unfortunately, in her haste to put distance between them, she hadn’t noticed how precariously close she was to the top step. For one moment - one arm flailing, heart-in-her-throat moment - she managed to keep her balance until, with a short shriek of alarm, she fell.
Expecting to hit hard stone she pinched her eyes tight, but instead of striking the ground she found herself enveloped in Doyle’s arms as he moved with catlike quickness and caught her around the waist, yanking her away from the edge in the very nick of time.
“Steady,” he murmured, adjusting his hold until she was cradled against his chest with one strong arm beneath her knees and the other supporting her head. His eyes twinkled as he gazed down at her. “I think one fall is enough for today, don’t you?”
“Y-yes.” She could barely hear her own voice over the pounding of her heart, although she suspected her accelerated heart rate had little do with almost breaking her neck and a lot to do with the handsome duke cradling her in his arms. Heavens, but he smelled divine. How had she not noticed it before? Like sandalwood and a touch of air freshly blown in off the dark, moody sea. “You - you can set me down now. I am quite all right.”
“I don’t know,” he said with a wicked grin. “I rather like you like this.”
“Helpless?” she said with a quick roll of her eyes. “I should have a known that is how you like your women.”
“Not helpless,” he corrected. “A damsel in distress.”
Harper made a face. “I am about as much a damsel in distress as you are a prince charming.” She kicked her legs. “Now put me down!”
“Doyle, is that you?” A feminine voice, sharp with worry, drifted through the door before it was opened to reveal a pale, slender woman with chestnut hair and sharply jutting cheekbones. “I was wondering when you would - oh my goodness,” the woman gasped as Doyle turned, revealing Harper who was - to her chagrin and general annoyance - still being held. “What are you doing with that poor girl? Is she injured? Has she fainted?”
“I am quite fine,” Harper said before Doyle could provide an answer. Tilting her head back, she glared up at him, green eyes filled with exasperation. “And I would be finer still if this brute would set me down.”
“I am afraid I do not understand what is going on,” the woman said uncertainly.
“Everything is fine, Aurelia. Lady Harper here” - he gave her a squeeze that promptly earned him a poke in the ribs with her elbow - “merely lost her footing. She can be a bit clumsy like that.”
“Clumsy?” Harper hissed between her teeth. “I’ll show you clumsy, you great big-”
“Which is rather unfortunate,” Doyle continued, “as she is otherwise so very endearing.”
Aurelia bit her lip. “She seems a bit upset. Perhaps you really should set her down.”
“An excellent idea,” said Harper.
“Unfortunately, I think she struck her head when sh
e fell,” Doyle said gravely. “I think it would be best if I brought her upstairs and she rested for a while. Could you have one of the maids bring up a basin of cold water and a cloth to put on her forehead?”
“The poor dear,” Aurelia said, her eyes going wide. “Yes, yes of course. Why don’t you take her to the Paisley Room. The linens were refreshed just this morning. I shall find Bridgette and have her bring everything straight away. Do you think we should send for a doctor?”
“I do not need a doctor,” Harper fumed as she struggled to free herself only to quickly discover trying to break Doyle’s grip was the equivalent of bending steel which was to say, all but impossible. “What I need is to be put down!”
But Aurelia was already gone and Doyle, the blasted man, wasted no time in carrying her through the doorway, across the foyer, and up the stairs, resolutely ignoring Harper’s cries of protest.
“Release me this instant!” She pummeled his chest with her tiny fists to no avail. “You cannot do this! It’s - it’s kidnapping. And we both know I did not hit my head!”
“You could have,” he said, briefly transferring her weight to one arm so he could use the other to open a door at the end of the hall, “when you fell from your horse.”
“I landed on my side, not my head, and I - oompf!” she exclaimed as he tossed her onto a canopy bed. Tasseled pillows went flying in every direction as she floundered across the mattress before sliding off the opposite side and jumping to her feet. Whipping around so fast her braid stung her cheek, she glared at Doyle, teeth clenching together as she tried to think of an insult deserving of his high handed, outrageous behavior. Had she really thought she might be attracted to him? The man was an ass! A conceited, arrogant, egotistical-
“Before you dirty your mouth with all sorts of indecent slurs,” Doyle drawled as he leaned up against a mahogany bed post, brandy eyes cool and unreadable, “I think you should thank me first.”
London Ladies (The Complete Series) Page 62
