by Shana Galen
He shouldn’t have left her. He’d promised he wouldn’t. This wasn’t just about him anymore. He’d hurt her in the past, and he would hurt her again if he continued rebuffing her attempts to get close to him. She loved him. That was no small thing. She wanted him to tell her he lo—that he cared for her. But if he said it, if he allowed himself to feel it, there was no going back. He would be committing to a real marriage. There would be no living separate lives and meeting once every Season in London. He would give himself to her wholly—she would accept nothing less—and that meant living every day with the fear she would be hit by a carriage or contract some horrible disease or die in childbirth.
“Colin! There you are. Colin!”
Colin snapped out of his thoughts and turned toward the sound of the voice. It was his father’s voice, he realized now. His father’s coach glided toward the side of the street, splashing through puddles Colin only now noticed. It must have rained while he’d been with Daphne.
“Sir,” he said, approaching his father’s lowered window. He peered inside and saw the viscount with Pugsly on his lap. “What are you doing out this late and alone?”
“The steward has called me back to the country. Agricultural crisis, you know.” His gaze traveled over Colin. “Are you well? You’re looking a bit ragged.”
Colin well knew it, but he hadn’t bothered with trying to button his waistcoat or tie a cravat. “Is there something I can do to help?”
The viscount waved his hand. “No, no. Tenant dispute. I can handle it. I went to your club, but the man at the door said you were not in. I was just on my way to your town house. John Coachman says he knows where it is, though I haven’t been invited yet.”
Colin refrained from rolling his eyes. He’d had more on his mind than entertaining. “What do you need from me, sir?”
“I need you to take Pugsly for a few days. You know he does not enjoy long carriage rides, and with all the children in the town house, he has not been himself. Louisa suggested your home might be more peaceful at the moment.”
Colin could hardly refuse. His father spoke the truth that the elderly dog did not like children or long carriage rides. More than once he’d been forced to replace boots after Pugsly had cast up his accounts on a trip to the country.
Colin held out his arms. “Of course, I will take him.”
The viscount handed the dog through the window to Colin. Pugsly licked his face.
“Shall we take his personal items to your town house?” the viscount asked. Colin remembered he had instructed the butler not to admit anyone.
“I’ll take them.” He held out his hand and the viscount gave him a box, which Colin tucked under his arm.
“Feed him twice a day and walk him three times, at least,” the viscount instructed.
“I know, sir. He’ll be in good hands. When do you leave for the country?”
“At first light tomorrow. I want to be there by dinner.”
“Safe travels, sir.”
“Yes, and when I return, I want to see your house and that lovely wife of yours. Remember what I told you about marriage and Lady Daphne?”
“I remember, sir.”
“Good.” He sat back and rapped on the roof of the coach. “Take good care of Pugsly.”
A few minutes later, Colin handed Pugsly and his box of personal effects to Porter as soon as the Master of the House opened the door to the Draven Club.
“Thank you, sir.” Porter looked at the dog squirming in his arms. “What shall I do with it?”
“It’s a him, and his name is Pugsly. Put him in the parlor with a fire. He’ll be content there for the present.” He started up the stairs. “Don’t let me forget him, Porter.”
“No, sir.”
Colin knew he wouldn’t find any of the married members of the Survivors at the Draven Club this late, but he hoped Duncan and Stratford had foregone the balls tonight, and he was fortunate enough to find them in the card room. They were not playing, but Stratford had built a tower out of cards and Duncan was giving him advice to keep it from falling.
Stratford glanced at Colin when he entered then stepped away from the card tower. “What happened to you? You look like you just came from bed.”
Colin took a seat next to Duncan. “More or less.”
“Lucky bastard,” Duncan muttered.
“Still no prospects for a wife?” Colin asked.
“Nae yet.”
“Rowden has a match tonight. You should come with us,” Stratford said, stepping close to the tower again and holding a card just above two cards, like a roof.
“Steady,” Duncan advised. “Take yer time now.”
Colin waited until the card had been placed before speaking again. “I’d rather not see my friend have his nose bloodied.”
“The odds are he’ll bloody the other man’s nose,” Duncan said.
“I have a more pressing problem.”
“What’s that?” Stratford asked, bending to study the card tower.
“The Earl of Battersea.” He went on to summarize the situation with Battersea and Daphne, pausing on occasion while Stratford carefully placed a card.
“The solution seems simple enough to me,” Stratford said after placing a card very high and watching as the entire tower teetered.
“Aye,” Duncan agreed. “Ye are the Pretender, are ye no?”
“Exactly,” Stratford said, tapping the card in his hand. “Why wait for a man to approach Battersea and ask him to find a woman? You do it.”
“In disguise, ken?” Duncan added.
“It’s really very simple.” Stratford, who was known for strategy then laid out a scheme that made Colin’s head spin. It was simple and would catch Battersea in the very act.
“That’s brilliant,” Colin said. “Are you certain it will work?”
“Not a doubt in my mind.” Stratford placed the last card on the tower and with a whoosh the entire tower toppled into a stack of cards. Colin hoped the fall wasn’t a bad omen.
Eighteen
Daphne was almost asleep when the door to the bed chamber opened. She was facing the door and opened her eyes, surprised to see Colin enter, holding a candle. She debated pretending to sleep, but he was looking at her and had already seen her eyes were open.
“Did I wake you?” he asked.
“No. I couldn’t sleep.”
He approached the bed, set the candle on the table beside her, and then sat. The bed dipped, and she slid closer to him. She had donned a white nightgown with pink ribbons on the bodice, and she saw his eyes briefly lower to the ribbons then back to her face.
“I shouldn’t have walked out like I did,” he said. Her brows rose. Was this an apology of sorts? “I should have stayed and talked to you. I’ll do better next time.”
She wanted to believe him. But she wasn’t certain she could trust him. And wasn’t that ever the problem between them? He had never been there when she’d needed him. She couldn’t trust him to be there in the future. But she needed him now. She had no choice but to count on him in this moment.
“I do have a plan,” he said. “If you’re not too tired, I’d like to tell you about it.”
Daphne pushed herself up. “I’m not tired at all.” From somewhere downstairs a dog barked, and she knitted her brows. “Was that a dog?”
“Pugsly. I’ll explain later. I would like your opinion of the plan. It involves you as well.”
Her breath caught at that statement. Not only did he want her opinion, he had included her in the plan. Finally, he seemed to understand that she needed to be part of the solution with Battersea.
“Murray and Fortescue reminded me that I know something about disguises. We can use that skill against Battersea.”
“How?” she asked.
“I will dress as a wealthy Frenchman and approach Battersea at the theater tomorrow night. I will say that I am a man with particular tastes, and that I know he is a man who caters to those tastes.”
“A
re there really such men?” she asked.
“Unfortunately, there are. And if a man or woman has enough money, he or she can usually acquire whatever he or she desires.”
He took her hand, and she looked down at their linked fingers. He rarely initiated such casual affection.
“I will tell him I want him to bring me you—not you specifically, but I will describe a woman who looks exactly like you, who is the daughter of a peer, and so on. If the information Jacobs gave me is correct, Battersea has a residence where he brings women—willing or not—just for these purposes. Battersea will tell me when and where to meet him, and we’ll know where to keep watch. I’ll push him to have the woman—you—in two nights’ time. He’ll probably argue it can’t be done, but I’ll offer him an obscene amount of money, and he’ll agree.”
Daphne squeezed his hand. “And then do I go out walking alone so he can abduct me?”
He gave her a horrified look before seeming to reach for patience. “No. You are never to even think about doing such a thing. You will attend a Society function. We’ll look through your invitations and accept one to a ball. I don’t care whose ball, but we make it known you will attend. This, of course, is the part of the plan I cannot control. Battersea will do one of two things. He will try to kidnap you from the ball, in which case I will catch him and expose him, and with Gladwell’s added accusations, he will be done for.”
“Or?” she asked.
“Or he will see it’s not possible to take you from the ball and find another woman who will meet the Frenchman’s needs. Mr. Murray and Mr. Fortescue have agreed to wait at Battersea’s secret lair to catch him with that woman or, on the off chance that the earl is successful in abducting you—which he won’t be”—he clenched her hand—“they will rescue you.”
“And then we’ll have him.”
“Yes.”
She went through the whole thing in her mind again. She could see no obvious flaws. There were things left to chance, she supposed. Battersea might tell the Frenchman he had no interest in helping him. Or something might go wrong, and Battersea might succeed in abducting her. He would certainly take advantage of that opportunity. But Colin had said he would not allow her to be taken, and if she were abducted, his friends would be there waiting to rescue her—provided she hadn’t already rescued herself.
“It’s a good plan,” she said. “Very good.”
“Stratford has a knack for making them, so I let him have his way with it. It was a bit more complicated, but I simplified it for all our sakes.”
“And so tomorrow night you go to the theater as Monsieur...?”
“I haven’t decided on a name yet.”
Her free hand reached out and slid down the lapel of his coat. “You have time. Right now, you should come to bed.”
His brow rose. “With you?”
She would not ask him again. She did have some pride. “Wherever.”
She saw his throat work as he swallowed. “I want to stay with you.”
She pushed hard to tamp down the hope that threatened to bubble up. “I’d like that too. I was thinking of you before you came in.” She released his hand and fingered one of the bows between her breasts. She might not have him with her much longer, but she could make the most of the time she had. Slowly, she began to loosen the bow.
“Stop,” he said.
She paused. “Why?”
“I want to do it.”
She allowed her fingers to linger on the bow, fingering the silky ribbon. He stood, stripped off his coat and stepped out of his boots. He started back toward the bed, but she shook her head. “Your shirt and trousers too.” She did not want him to have any excuse to leave her.
He pulled the shirt over his head, revealing his broad shoulders and taut stomach, burnished gold by the firelight. Then he stepped out of his trousers. He was already swollen and hard for her. Her heart leapt in anticipation when he knelt on the bed then braced himself over her. She was not used to the feel of a man’s body against hers. He nudged her lips open with his, and she forgot to think as his mouth took hers, leaving her breathless and aroused.
Bracing himself on his elbows, his fingers brushed hers out of the way, and he took hold of the pink ribbon. It looked so small and fragile in his hands. He pulled at the ends, freeing it, and revealing a small V of her skin. His hand skated down to the next ribbon. He wrapped the ends around his finger then pulled it free. Her nightgown opened wider, revealing the curve of her breasts. There were two more ribbons tied in delicate bows. He lowered his mouth, kissed the V between her breasts and took the next ribbon between his teeth.
Daphne groaned at the heat of the desire that swept through her. She wanted that mouth on her. All over her. Clenching the ribbon delicately between his teeth, he loosened it. The garment opened wider, almost revealing her fully. One of his hands traced her bare skin from neck to the top of her abdomen and then he took the last bow in his hands. Slowly he untied it, and her gown fell open, leaving her bare from the waist up.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, kissing his way back up her abdomen then detouring to lavish first one breast then the other with attention. Daphne’s hands clenched in his hair as she moaned and arched for him. At some point, he shoved her nightgown off, and her skin slid against his. She couldn’t get enough of the feel of his hard body moving against hers. His hand dipped between her legs and stroked her. Her hips bucked and she moaned her approval. When two fingers entered her, she gasped in pleasure. He touched and fondled, kissed and caressed until she could not breathe, could not think, could do nothing but feel.
When she climaxed, she called his name and bit his shoulder. He chuckled, took her waist in his hands and rolled her onto her stomach. “Little vixen. You’re dangerous.”
“Don’t stop touching me,” she murmured as he lifted her hips and wedged them open with his knee. It was strange to have him behind her like this, to be open to him. It felt even stranger when he entered her. He felt large, and the pressure was different. He rocked into her slowly, making her moan and push back to take more of him. His hands moved over her hips, then her breasts, then down to her still sensitive sex.
His movements were slow and steady and so were his fingers as they stroked and teased. She hadn’t thought she could climax again. She was already heavy and her body still tingled, but as he rocked into her and his fingers played over her tight bud, desire began to swell.
His mouth was on her back, his teeth scraping over her skin lightly. She moaned his name as well as other demands she did not think a lady should know about much less voice. He whispered encouragement as he pushed deeper into her, the sensation mixing pleasure and pain. And then he removed his fingers, licked them, and placed them back on that nub of nerves, and she spiraled into oblivion.
He thrust harder into her, his shout matching her cries of pleasure. “Colin, I love you,” she heard herself say. She hadn’t been able to stop it. He hadn’t stopped thrusting and his own cry had sounded ragged in her ears. She prayed he hadn’t heard. Her knees weak, she collapsed, and he rolled off her and gathered her to him.
“That was...” She tried to catch her breath. She tried to think of words to describe what they’d shared. He kissed her temple and pulled her close.
“I know. Sleep now.”
She knew it was his way of avoiding any talk of emotions, but she was too tired to argue. She closed her eyes and slept.
COLIN WOKE WHEN THE maid came in to tend to the fire in the early hours of the morning. The girl kept her gaze away from the bed, and Colin thought that was probably a good thing as he and Daphne were both still naked and tangled up in the bed sheets. Sleeping with her kept him warmer than he was used to, and he’d thrown off the covers. He pulled them back now in case the maid looked over. He tried to go back to sleep when the maid finished and scurried back out, but it was difficult with Daphne’s round bottom pressed against his thighs. He wanted her again, which unnerved him. Shouldn’t he be tiring of her by now?
Instead his mind continued to think of new ways to have her or about how much he’d like to try what they’d done all over again.
He supposed he was making up for all the years living as a celibate. He’d certainly woken up many mornings in the past wishing he had a woman beside him. The difference was that having the real woman was not without complications. She’d told him she loved him at the tavern. That had been alarming but somewhat abstract. At some point in the past, she’d loved him. But he’d heard her say it last night, and it wasn’t at all abstract or in the past. The admission had startled him and also pleased him. He’d come even harder after she’d said it, and he hadn’t wanted to think too closely as to why that should be.
But had she meant the declaration or had she simply said it in the throes of passion? Or perhaps she’d said it because she couldn’t stop herself in that moment. He had pretended he hadn’t heard, but what was he supposed to say or do if—no, when—she said it again?
You’ve said that already would probably anger her.
She’d have a similar reaction to I know.
Thank you didn’t seem quite right.
He rather liked Good. Keep that to yourself from now on, but he doubted she would oblige.
Why couldn’t she just love him silently? Why did she have to say it? And why couldn’t he say it in return? It didn’t have to mean anything. It was just words. But he’d never said it to anyone. And if he said it to her, he knew he would mean it. He did...feel that way—some strong way, at any rate—for her. Hadn’t he shown her that? Why was there a need to say the words? And if he said those words, would not more words be required in the future? When did he fall in love with her? What did he love about her? What did he love most?
Colin wanted to tear his hair out at even the idea of such conversations. He could kiss her. That would shut her up, but that would not work forever.
She sighed and rolled over, one of her legs sliding over his hip. Colin glanced down at her face, and she had a small smile on her lips. “I could feel you were awake,” she murmured, her eyes half closed. His cock had indeed been awake. It was always awake in her presence, it seemed.
