by Cheryl Bolen
"You're much too kind."
"I think you'll find," she said in a raspy voice, "kindness is not one of my virtues."
The lady certainly knew how to project her sexuality. No wonder she was courtesan to a royal duke.
"In any case," she continued, "if you should ever find you need the affections of another woman, I do hope you will seek this lonely French expatriate."
He held her at a stiff arm's distance and peered down at her. "Would that not jeopardize your position with the duke?"
Her simmering eyes met his. "I've trained him well. I always know exactly when to expect him. And, best of all, I can be discreet."
"I would think--after your stunning beauty--discretion your next most valuable asset."
She seemed pleased that he had spoken of her stunning beauty.
His eye traveled across the dance floor until he spotted Daphne's peachy dress. Then he cursed under his breath.
"What's the matter?" the comtesse asked, her grip on his hand tightening.
He spoke through gritted teeth. "That cad is holding Lady Daphne entirely too close."
The comtesse burst out laughing.
* * *
Daphne really preferred dancing with Captain Dryden, but she could hoard his companionship at other times. An occasion such as tonight's afforded the perfect opportunity for him to mingle with potential suspects.
For as much as she distrusted Princess Caroline (and currently loathed her), she must remain alert to the possibility that someone else could very well be responsible for the attempts on the Prince Regent's life. (Though she really and truly hoped Princess Caroline was the guilty party.)
Daphne paid little heed to the gushing men who had danced with her that night and was scarcely listening to her present partner when she heard, "...a diamond of the first water" tumble from his lips.
Really! Had these men not an ounce of imagination? Every single man she had danced with that night had used the exact same expression to describe her metamorphosis. She wondered how true beauties could tolerate the company of such simpletons and found herself excessively glad she was not a true beauty. She was even more thankful that her days of trying to be a diamond of the first water were limited. There was no way she could spend the rest of her life pursuing such a shallow goal. And no way she would continue to subject herself to breast smashing, tedious hair dressing, and even more tedious fittings of frilly dresses that did not suit her personality in the least.
She had only subjected herself to such ministrations for him. Ever since she had beheld herself standing beside him in the trumeau mirror at the Winthrop's she had determined that Captain Dryden's sublimeness demanded a lovelier woman.
And she wanted so desperately for him to find her as lovely as she felt when she was with him.
She had told herself all the deplorable beautification would be worth it to see him gaze admiringly at her. But whether he had gazed admiringly at her or not, she could not say. He'd actually seemed displeased. But he could not have been too displeased for he had wanted to kiss her!
Her very breath caught at the memory. No man had ever wished to kiss her before. That is not to say no man had ever kissed her. But kissing her out of duty and kissing her because one wanted to were two entirely different things. And until Captain Dryden she had never wanted a man to kiss her.
Now, she wanted it desperately.
She had been utterly disappointed when her mother's sudden presence prevented the kiss, but now she told herself it had been for the best. It wouldn't do to allow herself to fall in love with him. Even if he returned her love--which was a total improbability--a match between them could never be. Her father would never allow it once he knew the captain's true identity, and she was far too dutiful a daughter to cause a rift between herself and her loving parents.
Even if she was determined not to fall in love with the captain, she developed a strong dislike for the Comtesse de Mornet, who had obviously developed a strong liking for her captain. She had a good mind to tell the Duke of York and hope he would send the comtesse back to France!
Once Lord Dunleath restored her to "Mr. Rich," she glared at the Comtesse de Mornet, who promptly took her leave. Tucking her arm into the captain's, Daphne looked up at him. "I'm very proud of myself."
"Because you've made so many conquests tonight?" he asked in a gruff voice.
"No. Because I've persuaded my parents to ride home with Cornelia and Lankersham, allowing you and me a private tete-a-tete."
He smiled. "I'm surprised you can wait that long to learn the details of today's visit to Blackheath."
"I confess it's not easy for me. I had hoped to corner you when you arrived at my house tonight, but . . ." If only Mama hadn't come bursting from the saloon!
Oddly, Daphne had a stronger interest in kissing him during the carriage ride home than she had in hearing about his session with the princess. Which made her rather ashamed. Saving the regent's life should be her first concern.
* * *
He had told her what had transpired during his visit to Blackheath that day, omitting the verdant details of the princess's smile. He also neglected to tell her about the princess rubbing his thigh.
But Daphne knew.
"She expressed an interest in a sexual relationship with you, did she not?" Daphne asked.
Lady Daphne Chalmers was far too perceptive. "I've told you what you need to know." Just speaking about body parts in Daphne's presence could be disastrous, given the effect her nearness was having upon his anatomy.
"I know she wished to be intimate with you--and I know you did not wish to be intimate with her."
He would not deny it, but never would he admit to kissing the heavily jowled woman with spinach dangling between her teeth! Daphne stroked his arm. "I know such a deception's repellent to you, but it is quite satisfying that things are moving so quickly."
Did she have to touch him so seductively? He only sat on the same side of the carriage as she because her parents had been watching them climb into the coach.
"Tomorrow, I believe, is a critical day in your investigation," she said.
"I'm not going to make love to her." The occasional splotch of lantern light through the carriage windows allowed him to watch her in the darkness. He was possessed of an overwhelming desire to lower the bodice of her gown and cover her breast with his mouth. He wondered if her nipples were pink or brown, but decided they would be pink because of her excessive fairness.
"We've gone over this before. I'm sure you'll be able to convey to her your acute sexual attraction to her without actually having to . . ."
"Bed her," he said in a husky voice.
Her golden curls bobbed when she nodded.
"I'm going to be late tomorrow," he continued. "I'll say I've been with my physician."
"And the doctor, of course, will have cautioned you against sexual intimacy until you've fully recovered."
He turned to her. "Spoken like a doxy, my dear."
She giggled. Though her giggle was nothing like that of those Pretty Young Things at Almack's. Thank God.
"If I were a doxy, I'd be far more experienced at . . . kissing," she concluded in a breathless voice, moving her face closer to his.
His body strummed with a heated desire to kiss her. He lowered his face until their lips touched.
Chapter 13
His lips settled on hers with only the slightest pressure. Had he the presence of mind to consider it, the kiss was a testing-the-waters kind of kiss, a prelude to something deeper--if the lady were so inclined. Not that he could string two coherent thoughts together to understand what was happening to him, to analyze this pleasant chaos that collided within him.
He did have enough presence of mind to realize she drew closer to him, that her arms came up around him. His own arms closed around her, and his senses opened to the sweet taste of her, the smell of her, and now the feel of her slender warmth as close to him as his own skin. In his arms she felt unexpecte
dly elegant.
But more than her elegance, he was aware of a deep sensuality within her. Her breathlessness matched his own; her lips parted as his did. The kiss intensified a hundred times. The profound sense of bliss that had settled over him was replaced by a roaring, leaping tide that swept him up in its destructive path.
Indescribable pleasure poured through him. He felt as if he had fallen into a swirling ocean where the only reality was Daphne and her wet, passionate kisses. He fought against this subservience to passion. He needed a clear head.
For her.
If he valued her, he must deprive himself of her. Suddenly he sat up straighter and slowly pulled away. He held her at arm's length and spoke tenderly. "Forgive me. I shouldn't have done that." He shouldn't have done that because Lady Daphne Chalmers was from another world, an exalted place where he did not belong. Because Lady Daphne Chalmers was only his partner in this investigation, but not in anything else. Because all his energies must be focused on apprehending the person who planned to kill the Prince Regent.
She shrugged. "There's nothing to forgive. I believe it was I--not you--who initiated it."
A smile played at his mouth. "You may have brought up the subject of kissing, but it was I who actually initiated our. . . kiss." He could not believe they were having this conversation. He had never before discussed intimacies with a lady, not even a lady who had shared such intimacies with him.
She folded her hands into her lap, a wistfulness in her voice when she asked, "Did you like it?"
"The kiss?"
"Yes."
"Indeed I did." He could not help it. His fingers touched her lips. "This mouth must have been kissed a great many times." Before their kiss, he would have thought her inexperienced. Now he believed her experienced.
She kissed entirely too well.
He was disappointed that she didn't answer. He was even more disappointed to think of her kissing another man.
"Are you truly sorry you kissed me?" she asked.
"Truly?" He eyed her in the dark carriage. "No. It was far too enjoyable. But I cannot allow myself to repeat such a pleasurable activity."
"Why?" Her voice had never sounded so feminine.
"Because doing so would rob me of the ability to think clearly, and in case you've forgotten, the matter that brought us together is more important than my own fleeting pleasure." There was more. He should have told her that he had aimed too far above his station. But he could not do so. He was too proud to bring up his own unworthiness.
When the coach halted in front of Sidworth House a deep disappointment swept over him.
* * *
She wanted to see him in the light. She wanted to be able to see if he looked at her differently, see if kissing her had provoked a change in him.
The greater change, she knew, would be in her. Could anyone look at her and not tell she had come straight from a lover's arms? Would they not see her slightly swollen lips or the glittering in her eyes? Would they not detect the breathlessness in her hitching voice or the trembling in her unsteady hands? Could anyone look at her and not know how profoundly affected she was by this man's recent kiss?
He accompanied her into the foyer of Sidworth House and turned to face her. "I must go."
She stared at him as his gentle eyes lazily perused her. The tender intensity of his gaze once again made her feel as if she were beautiful. And something more. There was an unspoken bond between them that transcended their vital work and shared interests.
Though a man as handsome as Captain Dryden had been with many women and though he had admitted to sexual experience, she swelled with the sudden knowledge that what they had just shared affected him as provocatively as it--her first real kiss--had affected her.
She moved closer to him, longing to find herself in his arms once again. "Will you come to me tomorrow night?" Would he sense the intimacy in her words?
He was as powerless as she not to touch her. His gentle finger stroked her nose. "I'll come as soon as I return to London."
The front door burst open, and Lord and Lady Sidworth strolled into the foyer, chatting amiably as they divested themselves of their cloaks. When he looked up and saw Jack, Lord Sidworth's eyes lighted. "I was just telling her ladyship that I needed to take you to my club."
"I would be honored," Jack said.
"Tomorrow night agreeable?"
"Indeed it is." Jack moved to leave.
Daphne's hand touched his sleeve, and he turned toward her.
She stepped on her tiptoes and puckered, leaving him no choice.
His head lowered, and he brushed his lips across hers.
When he broke away, she said, "Good night, dearest."
"Good night, my lovely one."
After he was gone, her father gushed on about Jack's attributes so much it made her feel wretchedly guilty. It was as if Jack--or the man he thought was Mr. Rich--was the son he had never had. Lord Sidworth had never been so taken with the twins's husbands. Of course neither of them conversed in seven languages nor did either of them fill out their clothes as sublimely as "Mr. Rich."
As she climbed the stairs to her bedchamber, Daphne wondered what her father's opinion of Jack would be if he knew the truth.
Her knuckles whitened as her hand coiled around the banister. Though her father was normally an exceedingly genial man, he could adopt a haughty demeanor at the blink of an eye if a social inferior dared to aim for one of his daughters. And, unfortunately, Lord Sidworth would deem a captain in the dragoons a social inferior.
The buried memory of Cornelia's torrid love affair with a penniless young naval officer came flooding back. Throughout the months that Cornelia pleaded to be allowed to marry the man of her heart, Lord Sidworth's opposition was unwavering. His rage had been so complete he had banished Cornelia to the country under constant watch by footmen until her lover sailed from England.
Even such melancholy memories, though, could not diminish Daphne's bubbling sense of well-being.
After her abigail helped her dress for bed, Daphne snuffed the candles and encased herself into the bed coverings, a wide smile on her face. She lightly closed her eyes and could still feel his open mouth over hers, still feel his breathlessness as he sucked her tongue into his mouth. She recalled, too, that he had called her his lovely one. Though a chill permeated her bed chamber and the cool winds howled outside her many casements, she had never felt warmer.
Every squish of her breasts, every tug on her curls, every tedious minute of being fitted at Mrs. Spence's had been worth it.
* * *
It was a good thing he had decided upon arriving later than usual at Blackheath today. He had slept late, owing to his impaired sleep the night before. He had lain in his bed for hours, torturing himself by remembering the exquisite feel of Lady Daphne Chalmers and hungering to pull her slenderness into his aching arms once more. Even a good dousing with a bucket of ice water could not have extinguished his feverish desire for her.
For the first time in his life, Jack Dryden knew what it was to taste failure. Though women had always fallen at his feet, though he'd been wildly successful at everything he'd ever done, though his aristocratic commander--and even the regent himself--acknowledged Jack's many achievements, none of his accomplishments during the past decade could ever compensate for the inferiority of his birth. That he would even for a second contemplate wooing Lady Daphne Chalmers astonished him. The earl's daughter may have kissed him seductively, but they could never share more than a kiss.
To kiss her again would do neither of them a good service. But, God in heaven, how he wanted to!
Bitterness bit through him last night and lingered this morning.
Kissing was most assuredly on the princess's mind today. Because a light snow was falling, they could not walk on the heath. Instead, the princess had demanded that he meet her in her second-floor parlor where they were completely alone. Even the room's many windows remained heavily draped so that no one would be able t
o see in--and possibly glimpse the married princess being kissed by another man.
"Sit here," she said when he entered the room. "You are late."
He frowned as he strolled toward her, his plumed naval hat tucked beneath his arm. "Alas, your highness, I've been consulting with my physician."
Her brows lowered. "Vut did he say?"
He sighed. "I'm not healing as quickly as we had hoped."
She pouted. "Zen ve vill have to settle for kissing."
He stole a glance at her as he dropped onto the cushions beside the princess. Thank God there was no spinach today. Her mention of kissing instantly transported him to last night's carriage ride when his lips settled over Daphne's. He was instantly aroused.
Perhaps he could use this to his advantage. . .
He lowered his lashes and drew the princess into his arms. Though he instantly recoiled, he tried to convince himself it was Daphne he held in his arms.
Princess Caroline immediately smashed her wet lips against his. He forced himself to make an appreciative moan. This was followed by an appreciative moan from her. He pulled her tightly against him. Her breasts flattened into his chest, and she moaned deeper.
Dear God, the woman had left off her perfume today! His efforts to evoke Daphne's spearmint scent failed. He was reminded of nothing so much as the smell of dog which had been rolling around in the mud. Lest he recoil, he tried to envision Daphne as she had looked on the previous night in her elegant peach colored gown, and the vision of her fragile loveliness rose into his mind like a favorite memory that suffused him with joy.
And his kiss with the princess deepened.
After a moment, she broke away and nestled her face against his chest. "I see that you vant me," she said in a husky voice.
Dear lord, she must be gazing at the erection Daphne's memory had aroused! Thinking of Daphne, he said, "I've never wanted a woman so badly. Every waking moment I'm tortured by this woman's memory." At least he wasn't actually lying. He was merely describing Daphne's effect on him.
"Zis voman is tortured vid thoughts of you."
