The Gunslinger
Page 9
“You were so remarkably slow in retrieving it that I’m no longer of a mood to drink it.”
“Surely you’ll not deny yourself the pleasure of allowing these bubbles to tickle your palate.”
He wrapped a wealth of meaning around the word pleasure. That he would be so bold as to speak to her with such disregard while others were near … it was not to be tolerated. But for the life of her, she could think of no witty rejoinder because he was studying her as though he could well imagine her tickling his palate.
“With your tarrying, I believe it has gone flat,” she said, before turning her back on him. “Avendale, I believe you were discussing—”
Drake Darling had the audacity to wedge himself between her and the duke. His eyes were narrowed, his jaw taut. “Lady Ophelia, I must insist that you take the champagne.”
“You, boy, are in no position to insist on anything where I am concerned.”
His gloved finger tapped the side of the flute, while his gaze bored into hers, and she could fairly see the wheels of reprisal turning in his mind. She didn’t know why she sought to provoke him, yet something about him unsettled her, always had. She wanted to put him in his place, to remind him—and herself—that he was beneath her. Her father had taken a belt to her backside and bare legs when he once caught her speaking with Darling. She’d been twelve at the time, but it wasn’t a lesson easily forgotten. She was not to associate with anyone not of noble birth.
“So be it,” he murmured, lifting the glass. He tilted back his head and downed the golden liquid in one long swallow. She could see only a bit of his muscles at his throat working, because a perfectly tied cravat hid the rest from view. But his neck, like the rest of him, was powerful. Moving aside the glass, he licked his lips, satisfaction glinting in his eyes. “Not at all flat. Quite pleasant, actually, like the kiss of a temptress.”
Anger, hot and scalding, shot through her. He was mocking her, ridiculing her. It didn’t matter that she had begun this little drama with her earlier request. He was supposed to scurry away when he realized she no longer had an interest in the champagne. He wasn’t supposed to make her wonder if any lingered on his lips, if she might taste it there. “Boy—”
“It’s been a good long while since I was a boy.”
She angled her chin. “Boy, perhaps you would fetch us all some champagne.”
“When hell freezes over, my lady.”
He took a step toward her. She took a hasty step back. Triumph lit his eyes. Blast him. She would retreat no further.
A footman passed by, and without removing his gaze from hers, Darling set the flute on the silver tray the servant carried. Then took another long step forward.
She fought to hold her ground, but she could inhale his intoxicating fragrance now. Earthy and rich, the scent of tobacco or perhaps sin. He eased closer—
Half a step back.
“Dance with me,” he said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me.”
She angled up her chin. “I don’t dance with commoners.”
“What are you afraid of?”
“I don’t fear anything.”
“Liar.”
She darted her gaze to the left, the right. Without her noticing, he had managed to maneuver her into the shadows of an alcove and was now barring her way. Those she had been visiting with earlier were nowhere about. She should have known that Avendale and Langdon would side with this blackguard and escort her friends onto the dance floor, into the gardens, or off for refreshments. Blast them! Still, she’d not be intimidated by the likes of Drake Darling. “You, sir, are despicable.”
“And you’re a haughty miss who needs to be taught a lesson.”
“I suppose you think you’re the man to do it.”
His eyes darkened, his gaze dropped to her lips, and she found herself taking three quick steps back. “Don’t you dare,” she whispered, hating that her voice sounded more like a plea than a demand.
“You’ve been poking the tiger for some years now. You can’t always expect him to remain docile.”
He had the right of it there. She didn’t know why she had continually singled him out. Perhaps because she sensed a darkness in him, one that called to her, one that was dangerous to welcome.
“You’re making a spectacle of us,” she pointed out.
“We’re in the shadows. No one is paying us any heed at all.”
Like some great hulking predator, he advanced on her. While she knew it to be unwise, she retreated farther into the alcove until her back hit the wall. Her heart beat out an unsteady tattoo. Within her gloves, her palms grew damp. “If you do anything untoward, I’ll scream.”
He laughed darkly. “And risk being caught with a guttersnipe? I think not.”
“You’re a black-hearted scoundrel.”
“Which is exactly why I intrigue you. You’re bored with all the fancy gents hovering around you. They’d never think of touching you with ungloved hands.”
She caught her breath as his warm, rough hand cradled the left side of her face. Such a massive hand, his fingers easing into her hair, the edge of his palm against her jaw, the pad of his thumb stroking her cheek.
“You’re bored with gentlemen running about doing your bidding,” he continued.
“I’m not bored.” She hated how breathless she sounded, as though she’d been running up a never-ending hill. Her chest felt tight, painful.
“You’re spoiled because everyone gives you what you want. You’ve never had to work for anything. Not even a gentleman’s attentions or affections.”
“You know nothing at all about me.” Her voice came out small, frightened. In her heart of hearts, she knew he wouldn’t physically harm her, nor would he do anything to damage her reputation. Grace would never forgive him, and if she’d learned anything over the years, it was that he desperately wanted to please Grace and her family. But she feared he had the ability to glimpse into her shattered soul. Like called to like, dark to dark.
“I know more than you think, Lady Ophelia. Understand more than you can possibly imagine. You’ll marry some proper lord, but I suspect you would very much like to waltz with the devil first.”
“You’re quite mistaken.”
“Prove it.”
Before she could respond, he settled his pliant mouth over hers. It was softer than she’d expected, hotter. His thumb grazed the corner of her mouth, over and over, as though it were part of the kiss. She felt his tongue outlining the seam between her lips, before tracing the outer edges. Once, twice, then returning to the center, but no longer content with the surface. With an insistence that should have frightened her, he urged her to part her lips. His tongue slid through, gliding over hers, velvet and silk. Inviting her to explore, to know the intimacies of his mouth as he was discovering hers.
She should have been repelled, horrified. Instead she was entranced, drawn into sensations such as she’d never experienced. He was so terribly talented at eliciting delicious responses that began at the tips of her toes and swirled ever upward, a tingling of nerve endings, a lethargic warmth, that weakened her knees, her resolve to push him away.
She heard a deep groan, felt a vibration against her fingers and realized she was clutching the lapels of his coat. Clinging to Drake Darling was all that was keeping her from melting into a puddle of pleasure at his feet. This was merely a kiss, an ancient dance of mouths, yet it was proving to be her undoing.
He drew back, triumph glittering in his eyes. “Five more minutes and I could have you divested of your clothing and on your ba—”
Crack!
Her gloved palm made contact with his cheek, startling him, startling herself as well, but she would not allow him to make her feel as though she were a whore. “You are not only disgusting but you overvalue your talents. I didn’t enjoy your touch, your kiss, not in the least.”
“Your moans implied otherwise.”
She lifted her hand to deliver another blo
w, but he snagged her wrist, his long, thick fingers wrapping firmly around her slender bones. He could snap them so easily. She was breathing heavily, while he seemed to have no trouble at all finding air.
“One slap is all you get, my lady. I would have ceased my attentions with the slightest of protest from you. You can’t now be angry because you wanted what I was offering.”
“I want nothing at all to do with you. Now unhand me.”
His fingers slowly unfurled. Snatching her hand free, she fisted it at her side. “You are no better than the muck I wipe off my shoes.”
“Methinks the lady protests overmuch.”
“May you rot in hell.” She sidestepped around him, greatly relieved that he didn’t attempt to stop her, slightly disappointed as well. Whatever was wrong with her? It was an odd thing to realize that with him she’d felt … safe. Completely, absolutely safe.
Which was ludicrous. He didn’t like her. She didn’t like him. He was simply striving to teach her a lesson. She could only hope that she’d taught him one: she wasn’t a lady to be trifled with.
About the Author
LORRAINE HEATH always dreamed of being a writer. After graduating from the University of Texas, she wrote training manuals and computer code, but something was always missing. After reading a romance novel, she not only became hooked on the genre, but quickly realized what her writing lacked: rebels, scoundrels, and rogues. She’s been writing about them ever since. Her work has been recognized with numerous industry awards, including RWA’s RITA® and a Romantic Times Career Achievement Award. Her novels have appeared on the USA Today and New York Times bestseller lists.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.
Also by Lorraine Heath
When the Duke Was Wicked
Lord of Wicked Intentions
Lord of Temptation
She Tempts the Duke
Waking Up with the Duke
Pleasures of a Notorious Gentleman
Passions of a Wicked Earl
Midnight Pleasures with a Scoundrel
Surrender to the Devil
Between the Devil and Desire
In Bed with the Devil
Just Wicked Enough
A Duke of Her Own
Promise Me Forever
A Matter of Temptation
As an Earl Desires
An Invitation to Seduction
Love with a Scandalous Lord
To Marry an Heiress
The Outlaw and the Lady
Never Marry a Cowboy
Never Love a Cowboy
A Rogue in Texas
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Excerpt from Once More, My Darling Rogue copyright © 2014 by Jan Nowasky.
THE GUNSLINGER. Originally published in a different form as “Long Stretch of Lonesome” in To Tame a Texan. Copyright © 1999, 2014 by Jan Nowasky. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition JULY 2014 ISBN: 9780062353078
Print Edition ISBN: 9780062353108
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