But the moment he captured her breath with his own, her fingers dug into his biceps and she matched him kiss for kiss.
Her mouth opened beneath his. Tempting him. Teasing him. She suckled his lower lip until he gave her his tongue, and then she suckled that, too. He hauled her against his body, not caring if he destroyed her hair, if she destroyed his cravat, if his cock throbbed against those maddening layers of fall and gown and chemise.
He had to have her. She was his. His to have, his to kiss, his to protect. No one could take her from him. And whether she wanted Gavin the man, her body wanted his body, and that was enough for now. It would have to be. He was dying for her. Whether or not she was truly his—he was hers.
She gasped into his mouth, ground her hips against him. He was moving too hard, too fast, bruising her with kisses. He had to be. But she pulled him closer, tighter, wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him.
He deepened the kiss. What choice did he have? He could do nothing but succumb to desire. Succumb, and pray she felt the same. He slid his hands from her hips to her derrière, nestled her more firmly between his thighs, made love to her with his mouth and tongue as he rubbed his aching cock against the softness of her body.
She did not recoil. She did not push him away. She wriggled against him, met his tentative thrusts with a whimper and her own rocking hips. She dug her fingers into his shoulders, his neck, his hair.
“Gavin,” she moaned against his mouth.
He almost came.
He tilted his head back long enough to grin at her, with eyes that drank in her beauty, with lips that yearned for the touch of her mouth.
“I knew you’d first-name me eventually,” he teased. Or meant to tease, but the words came out so low and so husky, he barely recognized his own passion-strained voice.
She smiled back at him, the slow sensual smile of a woman who had a man by the balls and well knew it, the smile of a woman swept up in the furor of her awakening body, the lilting, teasing, touch-me-kiss-me-love-me smile of a woman who wanted him. Unbelievable. And unutterably arousing.
“I welcome you to call me Evangeline.” The smile in her eyes took on a knowing, suggestive edge. “I welcome you to Evangeline.”
And then her mouth was upon his. Her arms tightened around him, twined, then loosened just enough to unplaster her breasts from his shirt, to rub them against his chest.
God help him. He swore he could feel her hard nipples through his waistcoat. And just in case that wasn’t possible, just in case the only thing feeling her nipples was his frenzied imagination, he slid one of his hands from her rear to her hip, from her hip to her waist, from her waist to her ribs. His thumb brushed against the underside of her breast, then his index finger coasted upward, then his palm, and yes, an erect nipple definitely crowned that perfect breast.
Her breath hitched as he rubbed the tips of his fingers against it, rolling, teasing, gently tugging. He longed to feel her, skin to skin. Curse whoever invented clothing! He’d get rid of it in under two seconds. Maybe. Where the hell was the bottom of her skirt? He had to touch her. Now. God damn frustrating mess of silk and—
She tore her mouth from his. “Why did you stop? Don’t stop. I liked it. I—”
“I didn’t stop,” he promised. “I’m about to do something better, just as soon as I get my hands underneath this infuriating ream of—”
“Inside the summerhouse?” came an overloud female voice from outside the thin walls. “Are you sure he’s in there, Mother?”
Damn, damn, damn. He was going to kill that Stanton chit one of these days.
Gavin gave up trying to get under Miss Pemberton’s gown and instantly set about righting it as best he could.
“Oh, no,” she breathed, her eyes now wide with horror instead of heavy-lidded with passion. “It’s Susan.”
“I know. I’ll kill her later. Stand up straight and let me look at you.” He cocked his head and shrugged. “You look fine. Well, mostly fine. Your hair is doing something interesting, but other than that, you’re as ravishing as ever. I mean, non-ravished-looking. I hope.”
She eyed him and giggled. “You, on the other hand, look like somebody clutched fistfuls of your hair and smashed her breasts into your cravat.”
He lunged for her, grabbed her, then forced himself to let her go. “Woman, if you keep talking like that, I will give the Stanton chit something shocking to see.”
As if on cue, the Stanton chit’s whiny voice grew even closer. “But I don’t wish to be compromised today. I told you I’d rather wait until the end of the party. Besides, Evangeline says he won’t marry me anyway.”
“He’ll have to,” came Lady Stanton’s cold response. “Or his honor will be forever impugned.”
“Ha,” he whispered to Evangeline. “My honor was impugned ages ago. I haven’t had a reputation to uphold in years. You, however…Turn around.”
“What?”
“Quickly. Turn around.” He spun her backward, steadied her, scooped up her curls. “My apologies in advance. I’ve seen Rose do this to the twins about once an hour, but you seem to have lost the majority of your pins.”
“You’re fixing my hair?”
“Attempting to, my lady. No compliments just yet.” He twisted that gorgeous mane into a long, thick rope until it began to buckle and coil. He scrunched the mass into as boringly normal a chignon as he could, and affixed it with the few remaining hairpins. Not too bad for a first attempt. Lopsided, yes, but when was it not? And the tendrils escaping at the temple and nape only added to her beauty. As if she needed anything to add to her beauty. He wanted to shake her hair free and make love to her until their muscles were too weak to do more than tangle together. He wanted to—
“Step lively, Susan! We haven’t all day. I’ll be back in five minutes to ‘accidentally’ come upon you just as soon as I fetch another witness. There’s Mr. Teasdale; he’ll have to do. Go on, now, before Lioncroft leaves. Lord knows what he’s doing in there. And don’t let him truly ravish you. I’ll only be a second.”
Before Gavin had a chance to do more than leap to the opposite side of the room, the summerhouse door opened. The Stanton chit stumbled inside as if shoved, and the door shut just as quickly behind her.
“Good afternoon, Susan,” Miss Pemberton said evenly, her tone and manner remarkably calm considering the arch glint in her eyes.
The Stanton chit gulped, grimaced, swung her gaze from Miss Pemberton to Gavin and back to Miss Pemberton again.
“Now is not the time for manners, Evangeline. We have to hurry. Mother’s fetching Teasdale.”
Gavin propped a shoulder against the wall. “Hurry and what, may I ask? Is this the moment where I get to ravish you both?”
The corner of Miss Pemberton’s mouth quirked.
“I assure you,” the Stanton chit said through clenched teeth. “This is not my idea.”
“We know.” Miss Pemberton jerked her head toward the window, dislodging another pin. “We could hear everything. Come, before your mother returns.”
The Stanton chit shot him a suspicious look over her shoulder before following Miss Pemberton outside. Gavin closed the door behind them and they all headed toward the side of his house, away from where Lady Stanton’s bonnet and Mr. Teasdale’s beaver were just visible atop a row of blackberry bushes.
“How did your mother know where to find me?”
“The twins told her.” The Stanton chit slid a half-reproachful, half-impressed glance toward Miss Pemberton. “She neglected to inquire as to whether he was alone.”
“Susan? Susan, darling, where have you gone off to?” came Lady Stanton’s glass-shattering falsetto from beyond the hedgerows. “Mr. Teasdale, would you be so kind as to help me locate my daughter?”
“Your mother,” Miss Pemberton whispered, “is terrifying.”
“I know.” The Stanton chit blanched. “She’s coming! What are we to do?”
“Nothing. We’re out of the summerhouse and w
andering about like everyone else.” Miss Pemberton affected an exceptionally awkward stance. “Look natural.”
One of the side doors to Gavin’s house swung open. A footman stepped outside and shaded his eyes from the late afternoon sun. As soon as he caught sight of the trio he strode forward, reaching their side in seconds.
“My lord,” he said when Gavin inclined his head. “You have a…guest.”
Something in the slight hesitation sent alarm skittering across his skin.
“Who?” he demanded. “The constabulary?”
“No,” Miss Pemberton breathed, backing up until her shoulders bumped against the gray stones of the outer wall. “Please, no.”
The footman handed Gavin a small white card. No matter how many times he read it, the name inscribed therein remained the same.
* * *
NEAL PEMBERTON
Chapter 31
Evangeline plastered herself against the side of Mr. Lioncroft’s house, wishing the stones scratching at her hair and clothes could swallow her whole.
Mr. Lioncroft hadn’t said as much, but the way he stared at the calling card instead of meeting her eyes spoke volumes. Volumes about how she didn’t have until tomorrow after all, how those stolen moments in the summerhouse had now become farewell kisses, how she should’ve been running away instead of flying kites, for heaven’s sake. She should’ve fled as fast as her feet could take her, until she wore clean through her boots and her feet bled over the dirt and rocks.
And then run some more. Run until her lungs ached, until her knees buckled, until she died of exhaustion if that’s what it took, because if her stepfather caught her, she’d never escape again. He was here. He had caught her. He would strike her, he would take her, he would lock her up…but he wouldn’t kill her. No, not yet. Not until he was done with her. Not until death was the more favorable option.
She should’ve run.
Strong hands seized her by the forearms. Mr. Lioncroft. Gavin. Too late.
“No,” he said to her, his voice low, urgent, determined. “Whatever you’re thinking: No. Trust me. I know it’s impossible, but do it anyway.”
“I have to leave,” she whispered. “I have to run. I have to—”
“Wait.” His knuckles caressed the side of her cheek, softly, briefly, and then he turned to his footman. “Where is he?”
“Doyle showed him into the Yellow Salon to await you, my lord.”
“Well, show him out.”
“My lord?”
“Show him to the porch. He can wait for me there. He’s not welcome in my home. Porch. Go.” The moment the footman disappeared, Mr. Lioncroft’s gaze was upon her again. He reached out, slightly, subtly, to brush her fingertips with his own. His neck was corded, his muscles tensed, his jaw hard. He cut his gaze toward Susan. “Take Evangeline inside. Now. Use the servants’ side entrance.”
“I-I won’t know how to get back to the guest quarters,” Susan stammered.
“You don’t need to. Stay in the servant quarters.”
“With the servants?”
“As a precaution. It’s the last place anyone would look for you two.” He hauled open the side door. “Go. Keep her safe.”
Susan nodded, nudged Evangeline forward and through the darkened doorway. Evangeline stepped inside, turned, gazed at the man still standing outside the cracked door.
“He’ll take me,” she said, unable to keep the bleakness from her tone.
“He won’t.”
“He’ll hurt me, and then he’ll take me. That’s his way.”
“He won’t.” A muscle clenched at Gavin’s temple. “I may not be a peer or have a positive reputation myself, but I can pay for a solicitor—"
“—who can do nothing. He owns me. I have no evidence of wrongdoing to offer. There’s nothing you can do.”
“I’ll do it anyway. I—” He broke off, blinked, shook his head as if startled by whatever he’d been about to say. “I’ll be back. Stay safe. I…I’ll be back.”
Then he shut the door and was gone.
“Come.” Susan curled her gloved fingers around Evangeline’s wrist. “We oughtn’t to stay by the door.”
Susan tugged Evangeline forward by the wrist. They headed away from the door, made their way down the shadowed corridor and around a corner. A small maid raced to meet them.
“Underbutler sent me,” she said by way of greeting. She paused, bobbed, motioned hurriedly. “This way.”
They followed her to an oblong room with a lit fireplace and a dozen or so mismatched chairs. A lone candelabrum flickered atop a short bookcase, casting its glow on the worn cushions and dark paintings.
“This is the servants’ relaxing room,” the maid explained. “Not much to do in here, ’less you know how to read, which those of us as don’t are trying to learn, seeing as how the master makes sure we have time for ourselves, but there’s a fire to keep you warm and seats as cozy as any, and if you don’t mind my company overmuch, I’ll be back frequent-like to relate as what’s going on out-of-doors.”
“Back?” Susan repeated when the maid paused for breath. “Where are you going?”
“To watch, of course. I’ve been here six years this December, and this is the first week we’ve had guests of any sort, much less those that dance and fly kites, and now here comes a man with a card and a cane looking smart as you please, and the master has him tossed outside like so much filth? I’d wager there isn’t a servant in the house without an eye to a window or an ear to a door.” She paused for breath. “You want me to come back regular, and tell you what’s what?”
“Yes, please.” Evangeline sank onto the closest chair and dropped her head into her hands.
The maid bobbed and fled.
“That,” Susan said slowly, “was the oddest maid ever.”
“That was Bess,” Evangeline said without taking her head from her hands. “Younger sister to the enceinte parlor maid. She means well.”
“Do you talk to all the servants?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Evangeline groaned into her hands. “I don’t know, Susan. Do we have to discuss this?”
“What do you prefer to discuss? What you were doing alone with Lioncroft after I told you today was the day for my compromise? Or perhaps when he became such an intimate friend as to first-name you within my hearing? How intimate is intimate, Evangeline?”
This time, Evangeline lifted her head. “You say that as if you have some claim on him.”
“My mother—”
“Your mother has no more claim on him than you do. When will the two of you realize that he’s his own man and immune to your stratagems? He doesn’t wish to marry you.” Her voice rose. “He will not marry you.”
“And why is that?” Susan flounced into a chair across the room. “Because he’s pledged to you?”
Evangeline shook her head. “He’s not pledged to anybody. Leave him be.”
“If he’s not pledged to anybody, then you have no more claim to him than I do. Yet you are not leaving him be.” Susan’s chin lifted. “If he doesn’t marry me, it will be because you got in the way.”
“So?” Evangeline snapped. “You don’t even want him.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Everything!”
“Marriage isn’t about wanting the other person, Evangeline.” Susan’s voice took on a lecturing quality, as though repeating a lesson she’d learned by rote. “Marriage is about bettering your position, making alliances, moving upward. Lioncroft is my chance to escape Mother and reenter Society. It’s also his chance to reenter Society. He has no title. My parents do. With a match as infamous as ours, every hostess will shower us with invitations, in the hopes of having the crush of the Season. We’ll both have a second chance.”
Evangeline glanced away and pretended she didn’t care that Susan was right, was born superior, was raised to be exactly the sort of woman a gentleman of Quality would want. �
�Ton matches may be about bettering positions and bartering for upward mobility, but love matches are about caring for another person as much as you care for yourself and putting their needs and desires on a par with your own.”
Susan snorted. “Balderdash. You’ve been reading too many novels.”
“And you’ve been listening to your mother too much,” Evangeline returned.
They were still glaring at each other from opposite sides of the room when the maid burst back in.
“I can’t stay long,” she warned, “because I think it’s going to come to fisticuffs at any moment and I shan’t miss that, but what has happened so far is this: After my master had the handsome gentleman shown out to the porch—”
Susan started. “Handsome?”
“They’re both right handsome, my lady, but as I don’t know the name of the one with the light blue eyes, he’s to be ‘the handsome gentleman,’ while the other is to be ‘my master,’ for the sake of storytelling. In any case, the handsome gentleman is waiting on the porch as pretty as you please until my master comes around the corner—for he was out-of-doors, as you know—and says, ‘Why are you here?’ Just like that, with no polite words of greeting at all. And the handsome gentleman says, ‘Are you Lioncroft?’ And my master says—”
“Bess,” Evangeline interrupted. “The main points, if you please.”
“Right. So my master lounges against a column in that way that he’s got—where he looks like he’s relaxed, but really you see he could pounce on you at any moment—and he says to the handsome gentleman, ‘I told you not to come here.’ And the handsome gentleman says, ‘No, what you said was that you’d send my property onto me when you was done with her—’ Oh, good Lord, my lady, are you quite all right?”
“I’m fine,” Evangeline managed, her heart racing in panic. “Pray continue.”
Bess hesitated for only a second. “Well, once he says he came to see if my master could be trusted, I thought there’d be brawling right then and there, but my master just smiles as if to say, of course, he can’t be trusted, and he pushes off from the column and kind of prowls closer to the handsome gentleman who, to his credit, doesn’t back up none, although he did glance around shifty-eyed for a moment as if taking careful note of the paths to escape. So my master says, ‘What property is that?’ and you’ll never believe what the handsome gentleman said in return.”
Too Wicked to Kiss: Gothic Love Stories #1 Page 25
