Dare to Love

by Alleigh Burrows

  “That will not be necessary. The Horshams are having a tray sent up. I will just wash up and retire for the evening.”

  “I would like to change your bandage—”

  Dare cut him off with a silencing glare. “There is no need. Cook is sending up a poultice that I will apply after I wash. You are dismissed for the evening,”

  Jackson may have been surprised by his self-reliant behavior, but that couldn’t be helped. Knowing Nivea was on her way, Dare wanted his manservant to be off as quickly as possible. Although Jackson had been the soul of discretion during his service, Dare did not want him privy to this situation.

  Dare was beginning to feel very protective of the girl. It was not a sensation he was familiar with. If women wished to risk their reputation to be with him, he considered it their own affair. He was a well-established rake, and if they did not understand the consequences, the blame lay fully at their door.

  But tonight there was no need to set tongues wagging. He would merely put Nivea’s mind at ease and then send her on her way without the slightest taint to her reputation.

  First, he needed to get cleaned up. He strode over to the bath closet, removed his shirt, and ran a damp cloth over his face and down his chest. Twisting with care, he checked his bandage, pleased to see it hadn’t bled through.

  Crossing to his expansive four-poster bed, he sat back against the pillows, intending to relax for a moment before donning a new shirt.

  He considered discussing the outcome of today’s events with Nivea. She, of all people, would understand the magnitude of his actions. The restraint he’d shown when dealing with the Dugan boys was remarkable. He could imagine her eyes growing warm with pleasure when she learned of his newfound control. Perhaps she would wrap her arms around him, press herself against him, and he would draw her down—

  No! He could not think of her that way. He would honor his vow to cease all unseemly behavior toward her. She deserved respect. Resolutely, he closed his eyes and forced himself to imagine the most unpleasant and non-erotic situations possible.

  The next thing he knew, Nivea was above him with a cool hand placed on his brow. “You don’t have a fever. That’s encouraging,” she said.

  He jerked upright, startled to discover he had fallen asleep. He tried to swing his legs off the bed, but she pushed him back down.

  “No, rest for a moment. I would like to check your wound and then you can eat.”

  He swept away her hand. “I’m fine. It’s just a scratch.”

  With her hands on her hips, she fixed him with a defiant stare. “It’s not a scratch. You were shot and that can be very serious. I know men are irritable when they are injured, but you will not deter me from this. I will be removing the bandage and applying Cook’s poultice. Now lie still and let me look.”

  Dare did not like to be ordered about. In fact, more likely than not, if he was ordered to do something, he would do the complete opposite. Yet when he tried to fix a rebellious glare at the woman beside him, he found himself unable to resist. She stood there, like a defiant angel, feet planted, mouth firm, but her eyes filled with concern. For him.

  Imagine that.

  Noticing a spray of forget-me-nots tucked in the bodice of her dress, he allowed a faint smile. He had forgotten he’d left them in her room earlier. It seemed a long time ago.

  Relenting, he growled, “Fine. Take a look. But I assure you, I need no nursing.”

  She unwrapped the bandage and drew her fingers over his tender skin, ignoring his slight flinch.

  “It looks quite well. No sign of swelling or infection. I should like to sponge off a little blood and reapply the bandage.”

  He nodded his head once, so she rose to pour water on a clean towel. Very carefully, she patted his wound before dabbing some of cook’s yellowish brown concoction onto a strip of cloth and placing it on his side.

  “There, that should help,” she said, tucking in the ends of his bandage with a tender smile.

  He was surprised to find that it did. Her touch was much more soothing than Jackson’s brusque treatment. Letting out a breath, he found that it was nice to be taken care of, spoiled even.

  “Are you hungry now? I’ll bring you your tray.” Without waiting for a response, she crossed to the table near the door.

  He watched her hips as they swayed rhythmically away from him. He had always found a woman’s derriere to be an entrancing sight. Granted, hers was a little more rounded than most, but for some reason, that didn’t detract from her appeal.

  She turned and he quickly dropped his gaze. It wouldn’t do for her to catch him ogling her like a common doxy. It also wouldn’t do for him to let his thoughts continue in that vein.

  Unaware of the effect she was having, she handed him the tray and a tall glass of lemonade before turning once again to seize a decanter of brandy. Thankfully, she placed it within reach on the nightstand, and then sat on the chair next to the bed.

  The scent of food reminded him how hungry he was, and he downed a few bites of poached salmon. When he finished chewing, Nivea handed him the glass of lemonade and asked, “Would you like to tell me what happened today?”

  Did he? Now she was there, he wasn’t certain he wanted to tell her. Maybe it wasn’t so impressive. He’d already proven himself embarrassingly weak in front of her, hadn’t he? Best to stick to the Earl’s summary. “You heard. It was just some boys from the village.”

  She appeared to consider his response before announcing, “No. There was more to it. I can tell.” Sitting there, serenely, one would think she’d spent hours chatting with partially clothed men in their bedrooms.

  He longed to invite her beside him on the bed. To bury his face into her bosom and breathe in the faint flowery scent of forget-me-nots as it mingled with her essence. He would nibble his way down to her sweet rosy peaks hidden by her gown.

  Damn it all. He was supposed to maintain control, but doing a damn poor job of it. Instead he was in danger of upending his tray of food. He would relay the events of the day and get her the hell away from him before he caused any more damage.

  Leaning back against the headboard, he began, “As your father explained, we went out to the ruins and found a small campsite of sorts. It appeared young boys were attempting to practice their shooting skills. Having discerned it was the Dugan boys, we headed to town to inform their father of their actions. When William told him what had occurred, Dugan flew into a rage, dragging his two sons into the yard and threatening to beat an apology out of them.”

  Dare paused as unbidden memories surged forward, along with the latent pain and humiliation. He remembered his own efforts to maintain a stoic visage in the face of such anger, just as the two Dugan lads had, and only now realized how badly he must have failed. It was humbling.

  “I saw myself at that age. It was so disconcerting to witness the rage and hear the words that had permeated my childhood coming from this complete stranger. I watched the boys as they struggled to understand their transgression. All the while, having the unerring knowledge that the pain of the beating would linger for days.”

  He took a deep breath, but found he couldn’t banish the painful sensation haunting him. Hands shaking, he reached for the bottle of brandy on the bedside table. He splashed it into a glass on his tray and downed it in a gulp.

  Lord, this was difficult. He couldn’t look at her, afraid what he might see. But he pressed on. “I couldn’t allow that to happen, Nivea. I remembered how desperately I had prayed that someone would intervene on my behalf. That something would happen to protect me.”

  Pouring another glass of brandy, he took a sip, savoring the slow burn. It cleared his head and brought him some semblance of control.

  “I realized I could provide that protection for these boys. They had no intention of hurting me. It was an accident. So, I led them into the house as they babbled their apologies. A few younger boys with dirty faces and tattered clothes peered out from the doorway. From what I could tell, t
hey had no guidance, no order to their lives. Their home was unkempt and neglected.”

  Picturing the scene in his head, he absently took another sip.

  Nivea leaned forward in her chair. “So, what did you do?”

  “Oh, yes—well, I advised the boys that I would not have them arrested if they promised to honor their mother’s memory. I instructed them to sweep and polish the house ’til it shone, then dress in their finest clothes and offer to apprentice with the baker, thus earning their keep and becoming men of honor. They stared at me wordlessly until I waved my hand and they scattered, each grabbing a rag to begin cleaning.”

  “That was very kind of you.” She smiled, reaching up to twirl a loose lock of hair around her finger.

  “Yes, well, they were happy to have escaped punishment from me, but were still expecting one from their father. Determined to prevent that, I decided to fix it as any lord of my standing would.”

  “What does that mean?”

  He raised his glass in mock salute and answered, “I threw money at him.”

  Her hand dropped to her lap. “You what?”

  He savored the look of surprise that flashed across her face. “I called him into the house and explained that he was not to whip his children. I told him if I ever heard that he laid a hand on them again, I would come to his house and run him through.”

  Beginning to enjoy the account, he continued, “Quite insulted, he began to argue, insisting that I had no right to interfere. That there was no other way to survive. I poured out a handful of shillings and advised him to use it to convince the baker to apprentice his two oldest sons. It would teach them the value of work, keep them out of mischief, and help put food on his table.”

  “Oh Dare, what a wonderful idea!”

  “I then threatened him again, saying if I found out he had used it for drink or other personal vices, I would hear of it and convince the constable he had shot me and stolen my purse.”

  He grinned at the memory of Dugan’s face at that proclamation.

  Nivea sat back in her chair, a look of astonished joy on her face. “Oh, Dare, you will be their hero. I am so proud you were able to overcome your anger.”

  As he had hoped, she leaned over to kiss him on the cheek.

  “Surely, such noble behavior deserves more reward than that,” he teased and turned his head, catching her lips with his. Oh, she tasted so sweet. Then he caught her scent, that subtle, entrancing essence of vanilla. He couldn’t resist gliding his tongue into her mouth.

  “Ohh,” she breathed.

  At her reaction, he deepened the kiss, teasing her tongue with his. Dipping in and out of her lips, he tasted her essence, sensed her passion. His desire spiked with surprising alacrity.

  Grabbing her shoulders, he trailed kisses down to her neck. His gaze strayed to her bosom, overflowing her gown as she leaned forward. Her skin was so impossibly white and soft. He remembered how her skin had tasted in the cabin, how responsive she’d been, and he needed more. Sliding the tray off his lap, he pulled her down to sit next to him and wrapped his arms around her waist.

  When she let out a breathy moan, his unreliable conscience resurfaced. He pushed her back and took a deep steadying breath.

  And then another, damn her.

  “That is enough. We shouldn’t be doing this. You need to leave, now, before I dishonor you once again.”

  But she didn’t. She settled next to him and leaned over to nibble his earlobe. “But I like doing this. I know it’s wicked, but I don’t care.” Her voice was low and husky. With a sinful smile, she let her fingers creep across his chest to skim his nipple.

  He yelped and grabbed her hand. “God in heaven, Nivea, don’t do that!”

  Taking no pity on him or his noble efforts, she pulled her hand free and repeated the motion, rubbing the right nipple and then the left, while nibbling on the taut cords of his neck.

  That did it. There was no turning back. All rational thought vanished into the ether. Ignoring his wound, he rolled her beneath him and plundered her mouth. His hands roamed over her body, pushing fabric out of the way to knead the soft flesh. The heat between them flared to a fiery pitch.

  “Oh, Dare, this feels so wonderful,” Nivea groaned. Her soft, warm hands caressed his shoulders before moving around to his back and touching the raised flesh.

  Chapter 25

  “Don’t!” Dare bellowed.

  Nivea’s fingers had barely encountered the smoothed ridges of a scar below his shoulder when she was shoved backward.

  Her heart clenched. She hadn’t meant to touch his scar. Hadn’t meant to upset him. She had been lulled into a haze of desire and hadn’t even realized what she was doing; she was simply trying to pull him closer.

  At the haunted pain lurking in his eyes, she stuttered, “I’m so sorry, Dare. I didn’t mean to upset you. Here, let me…” She reached out to place a soothing hand on his arm.

  He jerked away and hissed through clenched teeth, “Don’t touch me. I don’t need your pity. Just leave me alone.”

  That stopped her. “Pity?” she cried. “Is that what you think?” Then she froze as a horrible thought struck her. “Is that what your other women felt? Pity?”

  “No!” he shouted, his eyes blazing. “Haven’t I made myself clear? No one else knows about this.”

  Now she was truly bewildered. How was that possible? She sat there trying to puzzle through such an amazing revelation. “But surely, after all those women, how did you hide it?”

  “I’d hidden it from you, hadn’t I?” he jeered.

  Still stunned by the implications, she managed to respond with only a slight edge, “Well, yes, but I was an innocent, as you well know. Not all your women were.”

  He sat there, arms crossed rigidly, his expression fierce.

  Curiosity overcame desire. Sitting up, she tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear and pondered this paradox. How was it possible that he’d bedded dozens of women without them discovering his secret?

  “I don’t recall asking you to make yourself comfortable,” he growled.

  She couldn’t help but smile, “Yes, I know. You want me to leave. But please, you have to tell me. How did you keep it a secret?”

  Digging the heel of his palms into his eyes, he sighed. “Please, don’t ask. You would not think well of me.”

  At that, she laughed. “After all I’ve heard about the infamous Lord Landis, I dare say I won’t be shocked.”

  Clenching his jaw, he looked at her steadily, as though taking her measure. Then narrowing his eyes, his demeanor changed and the unrepentant rake appeared.

  “I had a few tricks,” he drawled. “You would not appreciate them, I’m certain, but others did. Many, many others.”

  She knew he was trying to drive her away, but she couldn’t help but be fascinated by this side of Dare—the sensuous, dangerous, Lord Landis. He’d definitely peaked her interest now. “Tricks? What kind of tricks?”

  Given his exasperated expression, he did not want to tell her. But she had to know. Feeling reckless, she pressed her advantage. Placing a hand to his chest, she leaned over and cooed as she’d seen other ladies do. “I would like to know your tricks.”

  He huffed angrily and glared at the ceiling.

  She leaned closer and paused, her face only inches from his. “Please?” she breathed, surprised at the silky, sexy tone she was able to affect. He returned her gaze, but still did not move, except for that compulsive tightening of his jaw.

  Silently, patiently, she waited until he finally relented.

  “All right, if you must know,” he growled, shoving himself into a seated position. “In most cases, I would simply keep my shirt on, my waistcoat too, if circumstances allowed. It seemed more like uncontrollable passion than an unwillingness to disrobe.”

  Nivea felt herself blush. That was how he had taken her, not once but twice.

  Warming to the subject, his voice turned silky as he continued, “Sometimes I preferred to
take my time, savoring the moment. In that case, with a less experienced woman, I may blindfold them, keeping their hands pinned down, so they couldn’t see or feel the scars. They usually found the suggestion titillating and never questioned me.”

  She should be horrified, disgusted even, but instead she was more aroused. “And the more experienced ones? What of them?” she breathed.

  Dare’s deep hooded eyes bored into hers, and she knew he could sense her longing. An odd, calculating expression crossed his face, only to be replaced by the gleam of a perilous predator. “If you must know, I will show you.”

  Pulling her into a hard embrace, he drove his tongue into her mouth. Eagerly, she kissed him back. He was so delicious, tasting of brandy and spices and Dare. His soft, full lips nipping and sucking, his tongue probing and tickling.

  She could feel the heat of his skin and wanted more. She ran her hand through his silky, dark hair before inching toward his shoulders. He suddenly rolled over her, locking her in place with a long leg. Then he grabbed her wrists and stretched them above her head. Now trapped, she could do no more than moan as he trailed kisses down her neck, collarbone, and into the expanse of skin above her bodice. As she sighed with delight, he straddled her, and rubbed his hardened member against her skirts.

  His eyes were black, hypnotic when he purred, “Darling, you drive me to distraction. If you wouldn’t mind, I would love to treat you to a little excitement.”

  He leaned forward to press a warm, lingering kiss on her lips. “It’s a little daring, but I think you would like it. In fact, I know you will like it.”

  Thoroughly intrigued, she managed to nod her head in agreement.

  “Good. Now, close your eyes and don’t move,” he crooned. His hand trailed across her breast before she felt his weight shift away from her. In an instant, he settled back on the bed.

  Once again, he grabbed her hands resting above her head before wrapping fabric around her wrists. Alarmed, she tried to tug them free.