Recognize the soul that had inexplicably crashed into yours . . .
Even as the words from the love letter formed in her mind, deep down, she knew that she shouldn’t be thinking of them while in the arms of Everhart. She shouldn’t be feeling this inexplicable connection. She shouldn’t be risking her heart again. Hadn’t she already learned not to fall in love with a man who had no interest in her beyond a passing fancy?
Apparently not.
Calliope wanted to live page to page, but the notion still frightened her. She tilted her face away. “You should probably put me down, regardless.”
Everhart did not listen. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her waist and carried her through the snow toward a cedar tree nearby. He lowered her beneath the sparse evergreen branches, where there were more pine needles underfoot than snow.
The house was hidden from view now. When she glanced at him, she noted that his smirk had turned into a grim line. Without a word, he untied her bonnet, lifted it away, and settled it on a branch out of her reach.
When he returned to her, his blue-green eyes swallowed up by dark onyx, he took her face in his hands. “Forget him, Calliope.”
“I don’t know what you—”
“Forget the letter. Forget the man who wrote it. Forget everything in the past and think of the man before you now.”
Then he kissed her, cutting off her denial.
He kissed her hard, a claiming of lips and tongue, a nip of teeth.
Gabriel knew it was insane to be jealous of himself, but he felt it nonetheless. The instant he’d seen her gaze grow distant, he’d known exactly what she’d been thinking. The letter.
Jealousy ripped him apart inside. He didn’t want her to think about the idea she had of him, of the man he’d been five years ago. He wanted her to think of him now. The man he was right here in this very moment. He refused to allow her to think of anyone else.
Drawing on her mouth, he breathed her into the deepest part of him and earned a low purr from her throat. The sound drove him mad. His mouth roamed, exploring her corners, the underside of her chin, her throat. Somewhere along the way, he’d stripped off his gloves, and now his fingers made quick work of the looped fastenings of her redingote, all the way down to her knees. On the return journey upward, he pushed the wool and fur trim wide, exposing her Nile green day dress.
Gabriel plunged forward, pressing against her, tilting his hips into hers. The breathy moan that escaped her nearly undid him, and he stilled. “Who is kissing you, Calliope?”
Eyes closed, lips parted, she arched against him. “You are, Everhart.”
“Gabriel.” His hips rocked slowly as he tried to calm the churning sea within him. This was about pleasure, not possession, though the urge to possess her, right here against the cedar tree, was still inside him.
“Mmm . . . Gabriel.”
His lips plotted a path along her jaw to the tiny, plump lobe of her ear. “Even better. You, and you alone, will add the mmm before my name. Always.” Yes, always. He liked the sound of that.
Hands splayed over her waist, they rose like the tide to her breasts. He raked his thumbs over the faint, taut peaks of each breast. The deep purring sound came again, only this time from his own throat. How long had he waited for this, years? No, centuries. Eons.
Aroused to the point of bursting, he rolled his hips against hers. His name escaped her lips on a moan. The need to touch her, to feel her flesh, to taste the ripe fruit of this uncharted territory consumed him.
His hands roamed beneath her arms and to her back, searching for a row of buttons. He found none. Instantly, he knew the fastenings were hidden in front. Grinning against her lips, he traced her modest neckline until he found the small hooks. The soft muslin front fell away. Delving beneath the thickness of her petticoat, he tugged at her stays and chemise in one motion. Then finally, he held her warm, quivering flesh in his hand.
She was perfect. Beautiful. His.
He panted, hard and heavy. This was the pinnacle of his journey. The first pinnacle. Calliope opened her eyes, slowly, drowsily. Releasing her grip on his shoulder, she settled her gloved hand over his. She whispered his name against his lips, as if declaring this terrain his. And his alone.
Gabriel agreed with a nod, nudging her lips apart for his kiss. Gently now, his thumb traced the small circle of ruched flesh before he brushed the peak. She trembled against him, her jagged breath filling his mouth.
“You’re cold,” he said, only to have her shake her head in disagreement. “Shh . . . let me warm you.” Proving his argument, he dipped his head and set his heated mouth to her breast.
Crying out, her fingers clutched the back of his head, pulling him closer. “Gabriel. Yes.“
He liked those words even better than mmm . . . Gabriel. Flicking his tongue over her crest, he teased and taunted it until it was firm as a pebble. Then he drew on her flesh, suckling her long and deep, taking her to the edge. She moaned his name again.
Unconscionably eager and with little finesse, he lifted the hem of her dress and petticoat and settled his hand against her silken thigh. Lightly kneading, coaxing, he drifted higher until he felt her. Soft, warm, and—ahh—wet. For him.
A whimper tore from her throat. Sweeping his tongue over her sweet flesh once more, he lifted his mouth away from her breast and took her lips again. In the narrow haven between her thighs, he cupped her. Then he shuddered, barely holding on to control.
His need for her pleasure, the longing to be inside her seeking his, overwhelmed him. He’d never felt this way before. No other woman could bring him to the brink without so much as the sounds she made.
He stroked the swollen seam of her sex, before breaching the heated folds to find her utterly drenched. Another shudder coursed through him. His hips rocked of their own volition. He didn’t know if he would last. But he could not stop.
Her breathing quickened. Her teeth nipped at his lower lip. Soft wanton purrs rose from her throat. All of it told him that her need was equally as urgent. With the tip one finger, he circled her.
Instantly, she came apart in his hands, crying out. She clung to him, quaking, her hips writhing against his hand.
He yearned to be inside her. Right now. The force was so strong that he bit down on his cheek until he tasted blood.
“Hold still,” he begged. Out of breath, he pressed his forehead against the bark of the tree beside her head. Releasing the hem of her dress, he settled his hand at her waist, unwilling to abstain from contact. “I’m drugged by desire . . . and would likely . . . take you . . . right here . . . in the snow.”
Behind him, the dog barked, adding a growl for good measure. Soon, Gabriel felt a series of tugs at his greatcoat. Looking down to his side, he found that Duke was rather earnest in his endeavor.
A semblance of sanity returned. Gabriel thought about where they stood, what he’d done to her, and especially what he’d almost done. He would have changed their lives irrevocably. More than that, he’d been willing to. And if he were honest with himself, he still was.
“It appears that our chaperone is doing his duty after all.” Calliope blushed as she went about arranging her clothes. “Though, perhaps, he was not quite as vigilant as he should have been.”
“Here. Allow me.” On unsteady legs, Gabriel pulled away from her. Fighting the desire to remove her clothes altogether, somehow he managed to put her back to rights. Then he tipped up her chin and held her gaze. “I do not want you to have any regrets, Calliope.”
She let out a breath of a laugh that brushed his lips. “At the moment, regret is the farthest thing from my mind.”
“I could change that, if you like.” He grinned as he leaned in to taste her lips once more. But the dog jerked the hem of Gabriel’s coat hard enough to draw him back.
Calliope reached down and patted the dog’s head. “You were very good to save us, Duke. Otherwise, Everhart’s rakish skills would have sent me home quite altered.”
�
�And we would be in quite the proper fix.” Gabriel was not inclined to thank him but could not resist crouching down beside Calliope to pet the beast. Astonishingly, he still felt a wide grin on his face.
However, Calliope’s response was quick to remove it. “Not we,” she said. “I know you well enough not to expect your actions to be dictated by societal obligation.”
“You should,” he growled, annoyed that her expectations of him were so low, no matter what he’d professed in the map room the other night. “Understand that what happened between us—and what could have happened—was not simply because I am a rake.”
“I like the rake in you, Everhart,” she said softly. “Even more, I like knowing what to expect from you.”
“You expected me to seduce you, and that is what you would’ve preferred?” He frowned. He should have known that the woman who read the last page of a novel first would feel this way. “Would it obliterate your expectations of me if I told you that I never intended on seducing you when I planned this outing?”
She smiled the way Eve must have when she’d offered Adam the first bite of apple. “Didn’t you?”
Damn. She was right. He was always thinking of seducing her.
He scrubbed a hand over his knitted brow. Out of the corner of his eye, a flash of color drew his attention to a lone red feather lying atop the snow. Reaching out, he picked it up and twirled it between the tip of his thumb and forefinger.
“Oh, look!” Calliope exclaimed.
Thinking she was going to comment on the feather, he held it out for her. Instead, he saw her gaze on the ground at Duke’s feet. Before Gabriel could blink or draw in a breath, she reached down and lifted a speckled green stone resting above a sparse bed of needles. “The eye of a dragon.” Her eyes widened when she looked at the feather in his grasp. “And a phoenix feather.”
“I often find them not too far apart from each other.”
“What about the white bells?”
He thought of what he kept in the leather pouch, remembering that day five years ago when he had finally found all three together, but he did not tell her. Not yet. “There has only been one time when I have found all three on one single quest.”
And that moment had changed him forever.
Gabriel pressed the feather into her glove as a token. A promise. He was ready to confess everything.
“Perhaps we will find them yet this morning,” she said and then gasped. She straightened and immediately started fastening her coat. “Morning! Oh dear—I nearly forgot. Your grandmother asked me to have tea with her in the morning room. Do you suppose I’m too late?”
His confession would have to wait for now. “It is early yet,” he assured her but wasn’t entirely certain.
Gabriel retrieved her hat and led her back to the sleigh. On his mind was his plan to court her and give her back all of the years that he’d stolen from both of them. Of course, this was assuming that she felt the same way toward him. Right now, however, she was in a rush. It was not the time for such questions.
Yet there was one way he could find out if they were of like minds.
“Just so you know, my grandmother prefers lemon in her tea and tends to approve of anyone whom shares her taste.” And if Calliope cared for him at all—and not the man who wrote the letter—then her choice would be simple.
Sitting beside him, Calliope quirked her well-kissed lips. “Does she? Well, it so happens that I prefer mint in mine.”
That was not the response he’d hoped for.
Frowning, Gabriel snapped the reins. “I’m relieved to know you’re not interested in making a favorable impression. We rakes enjoy knowing we are safe from marriage-minded young women.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Calliope rushed to the morning room. After the outing with Gabriel, she’d barely had time to don a less wrinkled dress. Her hair was still unkempt, however, but there was no more she could do. Tardiness showed an unforgiveable lack of respect—even more so than arriving disheveled—and contrary to what Everhart thought, she did want to make a favorable impression on the dowager duchess.
Why?
Calliope wondered the same thing. Already she knew her reason was something more than simply wanting to please one of the ton’s most formidable dragons. Much more.
Reaching the doorway, she gulped in air and released it slowly before stepping into the room. She expected her cousin to be in attendance already, but the dowager duchess and an upstairs maid were the only occupants of the pale blue sitting room.
Gabriel’s grandmother looked over to the clock on the mantel and then to Calliope. She was one minute late. Only one; that wasn’t too terrible. “Forgive me, Your Grace,” she said, dipping into a curtsy.
Making no comment, the dowager duchess gestured to the chair directly across the low table from her place on the gold silk settee. “I trust you enjoyed your outing this morning, Miss Croft.”
Calliope felt a rush of panic. Had the dowager duchess seen them together and without a chaperone? “Very much, though it is the only time such an outing has occurred. I have spent the majority of my time indoors. With my cousin.” Who was not here to corroborate her story.
The dowager duchess looked to the empty seat and then summoned the maid to pour the tea. “Your cousin sent her regrets this morning. She is . . . unwell. I do hope your high color does not mean you are becoming ill too.”
Calliope lifted her hands to her face, trying to cool her cheeks. Absently, she wondered if her lips were swollen as well. “I don’t believe so, Your Grace.”
“Good. I’ve always found that those who come from larger families have heartier constitutions.”
Calliope glanced at the dowager duchess, who had an air of careless disregard as she folded her hands in her lap, waiting patiently. On the tray was an assortment of small dishes filled with sugar, milk, lemon slices, and even mint leaves. After what Gabriel had mentioned a few moments ago, she knew this was a test.
Did Gabriel care whether or not his grandmother approved of her?
Her heart quickened. Calliope was no longer the young debutante who’d been so easily swept off her feet. The truth was, she never would have allowed Gabriel—or wanted him—to seduce her if she didn’t love him already.
Love him.
But wait . . . wasn’t she still falling? Surely, it was like stumbling after tripping over a hem. She still had the chance to right herself. Didn’t she?
Shaken, she already knew the answer.
Love.
It had taken her unaware again. This time, it was different. Real. Tangible.
Reaching forward, Calliope picked up the tongs. She made her choice, her hand surprisingly steady.
The lemon slid into the dark liquid without a ripple. Yet she felt as if a great wave had risen out of her cup and washed over her. In this one simple act, a profound realization took hold. By choosing a slice of lemon, she was declaring her love for Gabriel.
She’d had no idea that tea with the dowager duchess would be such a monumental occurrence in her life.
“Your family is moderately sized, with you the second eldest, beneath your brother and above your three sisters,” the dowager duchess continued, adding a slice of lemon to her own tea as if nothing of great importance had transpired. Or as if she’d expected nothing less. “Do twins run in your family?”
Calliope was still reeling. It took a moment for her to catch up to the dowager duchess’s question. It surprised her that the dowager duchess knew so much about the Crofts, including the fact that Phoebe and Asteria were twins.
Had she passed the test, she wondered, or was this another part of it?
Calliope nodded. “On my mother’s side, my uncle has two sets of twins among his seven children.”
“Seven. Good heavens, what a number.” The dowager duchess’s eyes widened, her cup paused in midair. Then she pursed her lips and tilted her head, as if in contemplation, before she returned the cup to the saucer. “The important ne
ws is that you are used to large families. As you know, until his father remarried, Gabriel was an only child. Though he dotes on his siblings, the years between them are too great to have offered him much companionship. I’ve always thought that he is of a nature that would do well with a large family.”
Suddenly, Calliope remembered the wager. The light fluttering of her heart stopped.
How could she have forgotten? The three gentlemen living here had declared not to marry for a year. Or perhaps, not to marry at all. What if she was the only one suffering from this affliction? After all, Gabriel had made no declaration.
The dark liquid in her teacup had turned sour. And now, her fleeting hope wavered, like the slice of lemon on the surface.
To her companion, Calliope nodded in agreement but did not say a word. It was not her place to inform the dowager duchess that Gabriel had no intention of marrying or of starting a family, large or small.
She recognized her own pang of remorse. These days with Gabriel had opened her heart to love once more. Unfortunately, she had a peculiar tendency to fall in love with men who only pretended an interest in her.
From the window in the north tower, Gabriel stared out at the cedar tree across the expanse of snow, and smiled. The sleigh tracks nearby were still visible, even though it had been hours since he’d had Calliope in his arms. He wanted those marks to remain there forever.
“I’m disappointed, Everhart,” a voice said from a distance behind him. “You’re making it far too easy for your friends to win the wager.”
Gabriel glanced over his shoulder to see that Brightwell had entered the map room. His friend wore no easy grin or teasing expression, and the lack of it caused apprehension to settle like a vise at the back of his neck. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Brightwell picked up a spyglass from a nearby table and peered through it toward the window over Gabriel’s shoulder. “Or perhaps you’ll be saved—once again—and she will leave Fallow Hall.”
The Elusive Lord Everhart: The Rakes of Fallow Hall Series Page 17
