by Dara Joy
“What about that one, Tyler?”
He peered at a boxy-looking cloud. “It appears to sail across the sky like a schooner at sea. I have often noted the similarity between clouds and the sails of my–” He quickly corrected himself, “–dreams.”
“The sails of your dreams? How very poetic, Lord Devon. Do you compose perchance?” Ginny yawned sleepily.
Tyler regarded the heavens. “I used to, once,“ he replied in a serious vein. “A long time ago, when I was but a young boy. I thought that when I grew up I should like to be a knight of the quill...”
He looked over at her, noting that she had fallen asleep. “But life often takes twists and turns we cannot foresee, Ginny,” he finished softly. “I became not a knight at all.”
In a contemplative mood, he looked again at the sky, wondering not for the first time how different his life might have been if he hadn’t climbed that oak tree to overhear the words that forever changed his life.
Soon, his eyes drifted shut as well.
* * *
Something was tickling her neck.
Ginny opened her eyes. She was not in her bed, but lying on a blanket in a sun-dappled vale.
She blinked, and full awareness returned. She must have dozed off... The last thing she remembered was gazing at the clouds.
Again, she felt a cozy nuzzle at her nape.
Lord Devon!
He was wrapped tightly around her. His arm encircled her waist, pulling her up against him. One long leg was thrown carelessly over hers, pinning her in place with a boot, as if to ensure that his comfortable pillow remained firmly in place.
The rogue’s beautiful face was buried deep in her hair.
It was the gentle puffs of his breathing that she had felt in her sleep. She nudged him sharply with her elbow.
“Lord Devon.”
The handsome rake mumbled something incoherent into her neck, pulled her closer, and kept on sleeping.
Ginny stared straight ahead. This was a situation.
How was she going to disengage herself from the annoying clod? Why did he have to go and fall asleep across her! The warmth of his body around her contrasted perfectly with the cool, light breeze, and if forced to be honest, she’d have to admit he didn’t feel altogether terrible next to her.
In fact, he felt rather soothing.
Until butter soft lips pressed against the tender skin under her jaw.
Ginny was horrified.
She sucked in her breath. Was the reprobate attempting “The Deed” on her in his sleep? “My-My lord! Are you about to kiss me?” Her voice came out a breathy squeak.
Tyler’s raspy response was muffled against her throat.
“Of course not, love.” The large hands, which had been locked around her waist, began to stroke down the front of her thighs. “We have a bargain, remember?”
Ginny could hardly breathe. She was quite sure kissing was a dangerous sport for any lady to engage in, the consequences of which could be dire. The feel of him behind her, of his warm palms gliding down her legs, his hot breath at her throat, surely spelled trouble.
“Then- then what are you doing?"
A muscled arm hooked firmly around her waist to pull her closer as he continued to massage her with the other. “I’m cuddling you.” He leaned closer to mouth in her ear, “Have you never been cuddled?”
Cuddled? There was nothing unseemly about cuddling, was there? Letting out a pent-up breath, she answered his question honestly. “All night long with Charles and I swear if he had his way it would be half the day, too.”
All cuddling ceased.
“And just who is this Charles?”
There was that voice again. The one that iced her through and through. Ginny turned in his arms, looking up in disbelief at his tone. “My cat– remember?”
Tyler instantly relaxed. Perhaps he had overreacted.
“Ah, yes; the kitten.” Glancing down, he contemplated the full, soft lips so enticingly close to his own. All he had to do was drop his head slightly–
And promptly scare her out of the agreement they had made.
No.
He could well afford to wait until Saturday.
But... nothing was stopping him from turning up the heat a little. He smiled sardonically as inspiration struck. “And how does Charles cuddle? Does he do this?” Tyler rubbed his face into her fragrant hair mussing it up.
Ginny rolled her eyes at his outlandish behavior.
“Or this?” He caught her earlobe with the edge of his teeth, giving it a sharp little tug.
Ginny laughed, fully relaxed against him now. A mistake, to be sure. Men like him always played with intent.
“Or perhaps he does this?”
A hot tongue flicked against the moist skin of her throat.
“Tyler...!”
“Does he mistake you for a sweet bowl of cream?”
The silky tongue swirled the tender skin at the juncture of her shoulder, laving the creamy smoothness with long, sensuous strokes.
She could not believe how interesting it felt.
Ginny promptly let out a little moan and turned her head to the side to grant the reprobate better access.
Perhaps it wasn’t wise to encourage a rake’s frolicsome ways, but it felt so-o bloody good! Besides, if a man wanted to play at being a cat, who was she to gainsay him? She arched into him as he hit a particularly sensitive area.
Tyler was not surprised by her reaction. He had wanted to bring forth just such a response from her. What did surprise him was his own response.
The velvety taste of her beneath his mouth drove him wild.
His breathing increased; a slight sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead. He wanted so much more from her...
He froze.
What?
What?!
What!
Hell’s bells, he had to stop this now– before he could not stop himself. His hands shook with a slight tremor as he released her.
What in Hades had just happened?
He stood abruptly, running shaking fingers through the long length of his hair. In all his thirty years, in the countless situations he had been in, this had never happened to him. Tyler Devon– who, in some circles was rather infamous for his iron will– had been close to losing himself.
By God.
‘Twas a bleedin’ miracle.
Or a friggin’ curse.
Chapter Ten
She was almost his.
Tyler idly wondered if he would survive long enough to get through his marriage vows.
He squinted his eyes in the musty coach, vainly trying to block out the caterwauling coming from the roof of the conveyance. Charles, the cat cuddler, had been screeching for two and a half hours.
If his head weren’t hurting so badly; he might marvel at the animal’s strength of will. The feline was not a happy passenger and he was letting everyone know it. Constantly. Loudly.
A pleasing scene went through his mind involving a plump cat head and a cutlass. Automatically, his hand went to his waistband, forgetting for the moment that his usual weapon was not there.
Resigned, he exhaled through his teeth.
Tyler coolly observed the other passengers in the carriage.
The woman, Mabel, from what he could glean, was a combination housekeeper and lady’s maid. She didn’t look or sound like any lady’s maid he had ever seen. At present she was eyeing him from under her fussy mobcap as if he were a salacious purveyor of human flesh.
His glance moved on to the uncle.
The Toad was gloating and beaming as if he had just swallowed a nice fat fly. Tyler wouldn’t have been surprised if a long tongue snapped out of Jediah’s mouth to make a go at a passing insect outside the coach.
Well, he must appear as Father Christmas to the avaricious old reptile, seeing as how he was about to hand over Ginny’s fortune and take the chit off his hands at the same time.
Then there was Lord Henley Henry.
His Eau de Fop perfume had been suffocating Tyler in the cramped confines of the coach. Like the other two passengers, Henry also stared intensely at Tyler; although what his particular look meant Lord Devon had no desire to interpret.
Thank God the idiotic Reggie had taken a slight chill and could not attend today! It was the only bright spot so far in a day gone abysmally dark. Even the weather seemed to be aligned with his mood, as it was damp and drizzly outside the coach.
Finally, his gaze fell upon Ginny.
His soon-to-be-wife.
She seemed unaware of his perusal as she stared morosely out the window. No doubt she was thinking that bargain or no, she would have been better off without the likes of Tyler Devon.
She would have different thoughts about him before this night was through, he’d wager.
But for now that was his secret.
He continued to regard her as the horses clip-clopped along the roadway. She was young and innocent, nothing more than a mullet to his shark. Perhaps it would be wiser to approach matters slowly with her.
An even keel, a smoother ride as they say.
Aye, he probably should take his time with her...
It was at that moment Ginny chose to rub at a stiff muscle in her neck. Tyler noted it was the exact spot his tongue had tasted. The spot that had driven him mad.
Blood rushed straight to his groin. Exactly as it had that day.
Despite the chill in the air, beads of sweat broke out across his forehead.
I am fevered.
Fighting back a rising desire, he tried to concentrate on his original avenue of thought. Would she ever forgive him for his deception?
Perhaps, if he made it enjoyable enough for her.
Surely, he had no doubts along those lines; he was too experienced to do aught else. Of course, it would go easier on her if she had some affection for him.
It might be a good idea to woo her first.
Yes, the more he thought on it the more he realized the wisdom of that approach. He definitely should take the time to cultivate an affection from her.
Not that he needed it.
Of course not.
He would do it for her sake. For the first time in his life, he would be noble.
But not too noble.
It wouldn’t have to be a long courting period...
His focus was drawn inexorably back to that sweet spot on her neck.
A week. No more than that.
Settling back against the seat cushion, Tyler closed his eyes. It was settled. In one week, Ginny Thomlinson, nay, Ginny Devon would love him.
He refused to ask himself why this one woman must come to love him when so many others he had taken had not.
* * *
The imposing stone mansion stood a regal watch in the late afternoon sun.
As the carriage turned into the drive, Ginny was astounded by the sheer size and breadth of Islemoor Hall.
The front doors of the house opened wide at the sound of the coach and servants eagerly issued forth, lining both sides of the stairs in a formal greeting of the Duke’s grandson and his bride-to-be.
Ginny heard Lord Devon suck in his breath.
She followed his line of sight. At the top of the stairs stood the Duke of Islemoor himself. He had come out to welcome his errant grandson home.
“My dear, it is a real pleasure to see you again.”
The Duke came towards her, attempting to take her hand.
Tyler would not release it.
He glared at his grandfather as if daring him to object to the hold he had on her.
The Duke’s gaze fell momentarily on Ginny’s entrapped hand. An enigmatic smile briefly flashed across his aged face before he quickly gave her a little hug.
Ginny could feel Tyler stiffen at her side. For some reason, he did not like his grandfather touching her. As soon as the Duke released her, he pulled her to his side in an almost protective manner.
Confused, she searched his expression for a clue to his strange behavior.
Despite his nonchalant demeanor, she was learning that Lord Devon was not someone who was easily deciphered. No ready answer was forthcoming.
She turned back to the Duke. “Thank you, your grace.
Have we met before? I confess you do seem somewhat familiar to me, although I can’t quite place–”
“Please, I wish for you to think of me as your own grandfather and call me such.”
Ginny could feel Tyler’s displeasure at his grandfather’s words. The Duke, however, seemed oblivious to his grandson’s hostile reaction as he blithely continued on.
“We have met, my dear, but ‘twas long ago. You were just a young girl. I knew your parents. Fine people. I was so very sorry to learn of their unfortunate... well...” The Duke cleared his throat, at a loss for words.
Ginny patted his arm. “I understand. It was a long time ago; you mustn’t be embarrassed by bringing it up.
Really.”
Tyler beheld Ginny’s kind expression, feeling an immediate compassion for her. She had been through much, and at a young age. It upset him for some reason to think she had been left for so long under the care of that reptile.
He tightened his arm around Ginny as he gazed down at her, glad, at the very least, to be removing her from her uncle’s influence. Suddenly, he realized how much they had in common. Both of them had been orphaned at a young age and left in the care of an unfit guardian.
‘Twas different for a man though, Tyler concluded.
A man made do. ‘Twas the nature of things. But a little girl? How had such a kind girl fared? Was her uncle brutal to her?
His eyes narrowed as he remembered the day he had met her in the garden. Her cheek had been red and slightly bruised. At the time, he thought she had scraped it while climbing down from the tree. Now he wondered if the discolorations might not have been fingerprints.
His temper flared at that notion and his thunderous expression reflected his opinion on the matter.
Just let the Toad, or any man touch her. He’d slice him from stem to stern.
To reassure himself she had not been harmed, he skimmed his forefinger lightly across the smooth skin of her cheek. The silken surface felt like the softest velvet under his light touch. Tender and succulent.
“Like a hearty rump roast,” he murmured, distracted.
Ginny blinked at him, stupefied. What odd, strangely salacious notion had fixed in the rake’s head now?
“Good grief, my lord, why are you prattling on about the hind portion of an animal?”
Tyler devilishly decided to play upon his mal-apropos and her wariness. She was rather engaging when he irritated her.
Which for some reason seemed to be most of the time.
Leaning over, he knew what he was about to convey privately in her ear would sound full of condescending arrogance. Hence, he couldn’t wait. “I am assessing the worth of our bargain. To my calculation it amounts to a rump roast– the flavor may be there, and it could be quite tender but one still gets the feeling much gnawing will be involved.”
He hit his mark. Insulted, Ginny bristled. “This is what you say to me on our wedding day? Compare me to a side of beef?”
Tyler shrugged. “Could be goat.”
Ginny arched a delicate brow. For some reason, the man seemed to enjoy teasing her. “You reprobate.”
The Duke discretely looked away, but not before Ginny caught his amused look. She whispered to her erstwhile intended, “Sometimes I wonder if you do these things simply to irk me.”
Tyler snapped her nose. “I rarely irk. Ask anyone.”
“You–” Ginny stopped as she noticed Lord Devon becoming aware of the Duke’s amusement. Again, the stone mask fell into place as he addressed his grandfather in a rather chilling tone.
“May I assume that in your usual way, you have arranged everything?”
The Duke of Islemoor also lost all signs of levity as he faced his grandson. When he spoke, his voice was just as dev
oid of warmth. “If I didn’t, who would?”
The implied criticism of Tyler’s wastrel existence hung in the air.
Ginny doubted the barb pierced Lord Devon’s thick armor, though. She applauded herself as correct when Tyler replied in an equally bland tone, “Who, indeed?”
At that moment Jediah and Henley alit from the coach.
Jediah immediately expressed fawning awe over Islemoor Hall; Henley complained that the curls in his wig had altogether drooped in the humid weather.
“I don’t know why you’re so happy, Jediah Moore.”
Lord Henry withdrew a lace handkerchief from his sleeve to dab at his red-rimmed eyes. “To think, my little Ginny is getting married.”
“Stop that nonsense right now, Henry. Ginny is only doing what nature intends for the female– marriage and family.”
“Why, you little prig!” Henley fairly spit at him.
“What do you know about what’s right for her? And as for what nature intended–” He waved a bejeweled hand dramatically in the air. “I, for one, have never done as nature intended and look how perfect I’ve turned out.”
So saying, he stormed off in a flurry of perfume and lace, leaving Jediah gape-mouthed.
The coach shook as Mabel stepped down. She captured both the Duke and Islemoor Hall in one searing, disdainful glare. It was clear to anyone watching that she deemed neither worthy of her charge.
In that one moment, Tyler could’ve kissed the old bat.
He rather thought he might come to adore Mabel Dooley.
Introductions were made, and they all started up the steps toward the front door. A loud indignant screech from the roof of the coach served as a reminder that Charles had also arrived and was not happy to be kept waiting inside a cage.
Ginny told Tyler to personally retrieve her cat as they headed inside.
Lord Devon raised an eyebrow at Ginny’s retreating back as they left all him behind on the front stoop of the mansion. So, when did that kitten get the idea she could order this leopard about?
He’d have to see about correcting that little quirk before it became a habit. He never took orders.
Never had. Never would.
Yet, the girl left him with no choice but to go down the stairs and liberate her cursed beast. No one else would go near the bloody bugger! Who would choose such a cantankerous rapscallion for a pet?
