by Olivia Drake
The chimp gave a drawn-out wail that raised prickles on her skin.
Sir Charles stooped down and picked up a scrap of paper, studying it with a fierce glower.
Idly curious, Meg asked, “What’s that?”
“A note dropped by one of my servants,” he said, shoving it into his pocket. “Now, I’d like to know how that creature escaped. I thought he was confined to Lady Stokeford’s chamber.”
“More to the point, what was he doing down there?” Meg said as she soothed Jabbar. “He must have seen something that scared him.”
Sir Charles narrowed his eyes. “I wonder what it could be.”
“Do you think he saw...a ghost?” she whispered.
Before the baron could reply, Jabbar did something even more peculiar. He jumped out of Meg’s arms and took hold of her hand, tugging her toward the shadowed stone steps that led down to the dungeons. “Sir Charles! I do believe he wants to show us something.”
With alacrity, Sir Charles stepped forward. “Then by all means, let’s go.”
But the sound of voices intruded from the end of the passageway. To Meg’s surprise and chagrin, Lady Stokeford and Uncle Nathaniel hastened toward them.
“What’s happened?” the dowager asked, her delicate features drawn with apprehension. “We heard you scream, Meg. You sounded terrified.”
Uncle Nathaniel scowled at Sir Charles. “If this knave has harmed you—”
“Oh, no!” Meg said. “Jabbar jumped out of the darkness, that’s all.”
“Then you’re quite certain you’re all right?” Lady Stokeford asked anxiously, coming forward to touch Meg’s cheek.
“Yes, I’m perfectly fine.” Feeling guilty for having worried her chaperones, Meg picked up the chimpanzee again as a shield against their distress. “Sir Charles was giving me a tour of his castle.”
“It’s entirely my fault,” the baron said gallantly. “I would have asked your permission, but I couldn’t locate either of you. Nor Miss Talisford. She seems to have disappeared.”
The dowager exchanged a veiled glance with Uncle Nathaniel. “Kate developed a headache, so she went to her chamber,” Lady Stokeford said. “Nathaniel and I merely stepped out of the ballroom for a few minutes. When we left, Meg was dancing and needed no chaperone.”
“Damson, you risked my niece’s reputation,” Uncle Nathaniel accused Sir Charles. “I won’t allow you to dishonor her.”
The baron bowed his head, his fair hair gleaming in the candlelight, his smooth features showing a polite regret. “I humbly beg your forgiveness. But as you can see, no harm was done.”
“Sir Charles acted the perfect gentleman,” Meg said. “Truly, he did!”
Ignoring her, Uncle Nathaniel shook his fist at the baron. “I’ll call you out for this, Damson. Pistols or swords, take your pick.”
Meg gasped, but Sir Charles’s noble features wore a look of suave composure. “I’ve no wish to duel with a man of your age. It’s an archaic way to settle a misunderstanding.”
“A man of my age?” Uncle Nathaniel said, bristling with outrage. “Why, I’ll show you what’s what—”
“No, you won’t,” Lady Stokeford said firmly. She placed her hand on his sleeve and frowned at the older man, and Meg had the oddest sense that a secret message passed between them.
His movements jerky, Uncle Nathaniel motioned to Meg. “Come with us,” he said through his teeth. “You’ll go to her ladyship’s room and remain there.”
Meg dug in the heels of her blue dancing slippers. “But I want to see the dungeons. We were just now going down there.”
Lady Stokeford pursed her lips. “Why on earth would you do that?”
“Jabbar saw something,” Meg said. In her arms, the chimpanzee had quieted, observing the others with intelligent black eyes. “I don’t know how he escaped your chamber, my lady, but he came up the staircase at a dreadful run, and he was screeching with fright. I do believe Sir Charles and I should investigate the matter.”
The dowager flashed a keen stare at the baron. “Pish-posh,” she said crisply. “It must be filthy and damp down there, and you’ll only ruin your ballgown. Not to mention your reputation.” On that, she took Meg’s arm and drew her away.
Hugging Jabbar, Meg opened her mouth to make one last desperate plea. She couldn’t leave Sir Charles, not now, when he’d been about to fall in love with her!
But when she turned a beseeching look at him, the baron gave her a small, encouraging nod. A nod that sent her spirits soaring, for it promised this wasn’t the end of their friendship.
It was merely the beginning.
“Betrothal?” Kate repeated, her mouth dry. Gabriel’s leg lay heavily over her thighs. His chest touched her bare breasts, and his body heat penetrated her. Those physical signs gave solid proof that she wasn’t dreaming.
But she had to be.
He nodded rather stiffly. “I’m asking you to be my wife, Kate.”
His wife. He was offering her a proposal of marriage. Gabriel, who had been both her friend and her enemy. Gabriel, who had made love to her with compelling expertise. Gabriel, who had the soul of a wayfarer, the heart of a wanderer.
He raised her hand to his lips, his gaze resolute as he kissed her fingertips, one by one. “We’ll wed by special license,” he went on. “As soon as I can make the arrangements.”
His confident manner caused a treacherous melting inside her, casting her adrift in a sea of love. Foolish, fickle love. Against all wisdom, ardor leapt in her bosom, urging her to take him on any terms. Dear God, she could wed him, love him, keep him close to her forever...
Sharp awareness burst the bubble. She could never hold Gabriel Kenyon because she could never change his basic nature. Men were unreliable, self-centered creatures who abandoned their families on a whim. And Gabriel—her charming, exciting lover—was an adventurer who could never be satisfied to settle in one place, to commit himself to one woman.
She wriggled out from under him, scooting up against the headboard and hugging a feather pillow to shield her bosom. “No,” she whispered. “I won’t marry you. So you needn’t feel obligated.”
Into the silence came the muffled crashing of the surf at the base of the cliff. The rain had slowed to a patter, the thunder fading in the distance.
Something flickered in Gabriel’s eyes, but he lowered his lashes slightly to hide his thoughts. “I’m not the marrying kind, Kate. I’ll admit that. My parents didn’t set a very good example.”
“What do you mean?”
“My mother was obsessed by prayer. After bearing three children, she rebuffed my father in the bedchamber. Her coldness drove him to drink.”
Kate blinked. She herself had never even pondered the private intimacy of her parents. “How do you know that?”
“My father told me once, when he was dead drunk on gin. I was eleven years old and rather shocked to hear of his troubles.”
He spoke offhandedly as if the incident didn’t matter. Compassion and anger flared inside Kate. “No parent should burden his child with such secrets. Not only does it destroy the child’s innocence, it’s a betrayal of the trust between husband and wife.”
Gabriel shrugged. “Perhaps.”
“There’s no perhaps about it.” At least now she knew why he’d shunned commitment, why he’d left home to wander the world. “That was wrong of your father, Gabriel. Utterly wrong.”
He sent her a level, concentrated stare. “I’m glad to hear you’ve such strong feelings about parenthood. You may have conceived my child.”
A baby. The possibility both stunned and delighted her, driving out all other thought. Beneath the pillow, her hand stole over her belly. In the torrent of physical need, she had neglected to consider the consequences of their mating. Now she felt a wondrous craving to have a baby grow inside her. Gabriel’s child. A tiny blue-eyed girl with a charming manner. Or a dark-haired boy with a winsome smile...
Mistrust reared its bleak head. “But you won�
��t stay,” she whispered. “You’ll leave us.” And I couldn't bear that pain.
“Nonsense,” he said, his mouth tight. “We’re going to write that book together.”
“And when it’s finished? Can you vow that you’d never go off on another lark? That you’d be content to make your home in England and never travel abroad again?”
He hesitated for a moment. A telling moment. “I swear I would never forsake you.”
“But you wouldn’t be happy,” she said, swallowing a bitter dose of reality. “You love to wander. It means more to you than I ever could.”
He didn’t deny it. Abruptly, he rolled to the edge of the bed. His scars shone faintly in the shadowy lamplight. Beset by the ache of yearning, she admired his tough male beauty. Sleek muscles delineated his shoulders and back as he stretched an arm down to the floor and snatched up his coat.
Was he leaving her already? she wondered with a piercing regret. Had she driven him away with her mistrust? It was for the best, Kate told herself. Best that he leave now, rather than shatter her heart later.
But Gabriel didn’t don his clothing. He probed an inner pocket of the coat, then dropped the garment. Returning to the bed, he sat down beside her, the feather mattress sinking under his weight.
He pressed something into her hand. “Perhaps this will convince you.”
She stared down at the small, round object in her palm. A plain ivory button. Confused, she lifted her gaze to him. “I don’t understand.”
“It fell off your nightdress a long time ago.”
The memory came swooping back. The night she’d gone to his chamber at Larkspur Cottage. When she had tom open her gown and offered herself to him. Remembering that foolish, innocent girl, she felt a blaze of bewilderment. “You kept this?” she whispered. “For four years?”
A certain wariness in his manner, he inclined his head in a nod. “I took it to Africa with me.”
“But...why?”
“It was a memento. Of the girl I never forgot.”
Kate’s fingers closed around the lost button as she fought against the rise of hope. She must have meant more to Gabriel than she’d ever imagined. But it didn’t mean he loved her.
I'm not the marrying kind.
Kate couldn’t quarrel with that. Yet she wanted desperately to believe Gabriel felt more for her than duty. If he would, just once, speak from his heart, perhaps it would ease her doubts...
He sat beside her on the bed, his arm resting on his crooked knee, his body taut and glistening in the pale lamplight. Her gaze catalogued his strong chest, flat belly, lean waist, coming to rest on his loins. Nature had shaped him superbly, her perfect mate.
To her astonishment, his male member thickened and grew before her eyes.
His mouth quirking in wry humor, Gabriel glanced down. “The cursed adventurer. He wants you again.”
Kate felt a sweet, involuntary clenching inside her, a sensation she now recognized as the stirrings of desire. It was disconcerting, this effect he had on her. Clutching the button to her heart, she said, “I want you, too, Gabriel. But I don’t know yet...”
A muscle tightened in his cheek. For a moment he looked impatient, intensely frustrated at not getting his way. “I won’t give up, Kate. One way or another, I intend to marry you.”
Perversely, his arrogant insistence pleased her. She felt an undeniable pride to know that this powerful man had chosen her, above all other women, to be his wife. That he’d kept her token all these years.
“Then convince me,” she murmured.
Dropping the button, she brought her leg over so that she sat astride his lap. Her slim thighs embraced his, and she could feel his arousal, firm and hot beneath her. With a sigh, she melted against him.
Gabriel skimmed his hands up and down her spine, cupping her bottom in his big palms. “My God, Kate. Where did you learn that move?”
“There were statues upstairs...I thought about you and me...”
A smile in his voice, he pressed his brow to hers. “Let me fulfill your every fantasy. Tonight belongs to you.”
With that, he took her mouth with a hungry passion that transcended her romantic dreams. There was no past and no future, only the glorious present. He caressed her most sensitive places until she cried out in a quest for satisfaction. With a smooth, upward thrust, he joined their bodies, filling her completely. His face reflected the potent vigor of his passion for her. Seduced by that look, she gave herself up to mindless indulgence, relishing the freedom of movement the position lent her. She looped her arms around his neck and clung tightly to him as they rode together to paradise.
Awash in contentment, Kate slid into an exhausted doze, her face tucked into the crook of his shoulder. Sometime later, she had a hazy awareness of Gabriel lifting her, laying her down on the linens. She stirred, protesting feebly at the loss of his warmth. Then he settled down beside her and drew the coverlet over them.
Gathering her to him, he pressed a kiss to her hair. His voice was a mere breath of sound. “Sleep, love.”
Sighing, she snuggled closer, preferring his hard form to the soft pillows. The last thing she remembered was the steady beating of his heart against her breasts.
A sharp noise awakened Gabe.
He thought at first that he’d died and gone to heaven. Kate lay curled into him, her breath feathering his arm, her hair draping the pillows. Her fragrance mingled with the scent of their lovemaking, and longing caught his groin in a hot fist. Even in slumber, she aroused him to the verge of pain. His prickly, sweet Kate.
The sound came again. A rapping on the door.
His senses at instant alert, he shot into a sitting position. The watery sunlight of mid-morning streamed into the tower room. The lamp in the window had burnt out, and the sight galvanized him.
Damn, had Bickell arrived? Had he found the goddess?
Bending down, he shook Kate’s shoulder. “Wake up, darling.”
Moaning a protest, she stretched luxuriously against the sheets. A veil of red-gold hair enveloped her nakedness, her breasts peeking through the lush, curly strands. Her eyes opened, sleepy and heavy-lidded. Fighting the powerful need to ignore the world and make love to her again, he muttered, “Someone’s at the door.”
Although urgency nagged at him, he felt the greater need to protect her reputation. God forbid anyone should know he’d spent the night in her bed.
“Kate,” called a familiar voice. “Are you in there?”
His grandmother. The situation was going from bad to worse.
Cursing, he snatched up his breeches and stepped into them, catching his toe on the cuff and hopping to keep his balance. As he pulled them up and fastened the buttons, Kate leapt out of bed and dragged on her chemise.
“Dear, sweet heaven,” she whispered frantically. Then louder, she cried out, “I’ll be there in a moment, my lady.”
She looked so charmingly flustered that Gabriel forgot his irritation. Catching her close, he stole a swift, heartfelt kiss. She responded, her lips soft and warm, her fingers sliding into his hair. Unable to resist, he cupped her bottom and pressed himself into the cradle of her hips.
She pulled back. “Gabriel! Don’t do that.”
“Don’t look so tempting, my sweet.”
Her blush deepening, she gathered up his things, wig and shoes and shirt, and thrust them at his bare chest. “Go into the dressing room. Lady Stokeford mustn’t know you’re here.”
Gabriel despised the need to hide, to skulk in the next room like an illicit lover. Dammit, if he had to marry her, he’d stand proudly at her side as her husband.
But he nodded, touching her cheek. “Whatever you do, don’t let Grandmama into the bedchamber,” he advised. “She’ll guess at once that I’ve been with you.”
Their gazes held for an eloquent moment. Calling himself every kind of fool, Gabe knew that he wanted Kate to wed him of her own free will. Not because she felt obliged, as he did, hypocrite that he was. After a moment she n
odded, then went to don a bronze-hued dressing gown, tying the sash around her slender waist. The sunlight lent a fiery sheen to her long, tousled curls.
She looked like a woman who had been thoroughly loved.
Veering to the bed, Gabe snatched up the crumpled linen pillowcase that bore a trace of her virgin’s blood. He wouldn’t give his grandmother any more ammunition with which to trap Kate. Then he strode into the dressing room as Kate went to answer the door.
Though he strained to hear, the women stood outside on the small landing, and he was unable to discern their words. Tense and edgy, he finished dressing, stepping in front of the pier glass to straighten his collar and don the annoying powdered wig. When he returned home, he’d banish all wigs at Fairfield Park and convince Michael to do likewise at the Abbey. No servant ought to suffer the stupidity of outmoded tradition.
In the mirror, Kate appeared in the doorway behind him.
She put her hand to the wall as if to steady herself.
He wheeled around, struck by the pale delicacy of her features. “What is it?” he asked, closing the distance between them in two long strides. “Did Grandmama guess that we spent the night together?”
“It isn’t that. Mr. Bickell is here. And something terrible has happened.” Her gaze stricken, Kate went on, “The goddess has vanished.”
In the Dungeon
Precisely three minutes later, Gabe strode through the open door of Damson’s bedchamber.
Sunshine streamed through the recessed windows, highlighting the sordid decor, from the rumpled bed to the lewd artifacts. A knot of people were gathered in the center of the room. His stout back to the door and his arms akimbo, Barnabas Bickell stood in an authoritative stance before Sir Charles Damson. The baron looked coolly amused in a black silk dressing gown, as if he enjoyed being rousted out of bed and accused of theft by a Bow Street Runner.
The darkly sensual Yasmin clung to Damson’s arm, her full lips forming a petulant pout. Figgins lurked in the background.
Gabe surged past them and stopped in front of the alcove. On the marble pedestal stood the statue of a naked woman.
