The Danice Allen Anthology

by Danice Allen

  Zach looked surprised. “I’d think the company of your betrothed would enliven things a bit. He seems a general favorite.”

  “Oh, yes! Rory’s very popular!” She bowed her head. “Only…”

  Gabrielle could sense the shifting of Zach’s shoulders as he bent to look into her face. She could hear the faint static swish of linen against muslin, she could smell the scents of chimney smoke and the crisp wintry smell that clung to his clothes. “Only what?”

  “Only sometimes I miss Cornwall.” I miss you, she added to herself. She lifted her head and was disconcerted to find his face so close to hers. “Don’t you miss home, Zach?” she asked him on a caught breath. Don’t you miss me?

  Zach straightened, putting space between them. “Everywhere I go, I miss Cornwall. I can never stay away too long.”

  “But you leave Cornwall frequently,” she felt bound to remind him.

  “I never said I didn’t like to travel. I just don’t like staying away from home too long, that’s all.”

  “I hope you aren’t leaving Edinburgh very soon?”

  “I haven’t decided about that yet.” He paused, studying her. “You will have to grow accustomed to being away from Cornwall, you know. After all, you’re going to make your home in Perthshire.”

  Gabrielle shrugged. “Rory says it’s beautiful there.”

  “I’m sure it is.”

  Another pause. Zach’s eyes fixed on the gift she’d nearly forgotten. Perhaps to have something to say, he tapped his finger on the lid of the shiny box and said, “Is this a present for the marquess?”

  “No, as a matter of fact, it’s for you.” She thrust the gift toward him with an awkward little jerk of her arms.

  “For me? What’s the occasion?” He took the box, balancing it in his long fingers as he examined its shiny contours. “Not a Christmas gift, I hope, since you already sent to Ockley Hall the slippers you’d knitted for me. Did I never thank you for them? They’re wonderful. Warm and soft. I don’t need another gift.”

  “Thank you, I’m glad you liked the slippers, but this is not another Christmas gift, it’s a handsel. A token of good luck for the coming year.”

  “Ah!” Zach nodded his understanding. “We don’t do that in Cornwall, but I keep forgetting how much the Scots like New Year’s. Do you want me to open it now?”

  Excitement was beginning to well up in Gabrielle. She was feeling more comfortable, more natural with Zach. Perhaps they’d only needed time alone together. Even the chambermaid had finished her task and was gone now. “Yes, do open it,” she said, then clasped her hands behind her and rocked on her heels.

  Zach pulled on the bow, and the satin easily slipped from its decorative knot. He shoved the ribbon into his coat pocket. He lifted the lid of the box and looked inside, staring for what Gabrielle deemed an inordinate amount of time. Doubt crept into her heart.

  “Don’t you like it?”

  Zach reached inside the box and drew out the large, flat, fan-shaped seashell. Its pinks and pale yellows, streaks of oyster-white and silver-gray, lustered in the candlelight.

  “Is it from Dozmary Cove?” His voice seemed odd, rather strangled.

  “Of course! Where else? I cleaned it and spent hours polishing it. Beautiful, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  Gabrielle heard the sincerity in Zach’s tone, and her doubts vanished. Relieved, she laughed. “I thought it might make you think of Cornwall and miss it a little less when you’re away from there. It makes me think of all our fun excursions in the cove, swimming and burying each other in the sand. Do you remember?”

  Zach looked up abruptly. “Of course I do. In fact, just today I was remembering—” Zach cut himself off. It would not do to explain that he’d fondly remembered her as a child in a dripping-wet bathing gown, then with much different feelings—warm, aroused feelings—he’d vividly imagined her as a woman in a dripping-wet bathing gown. Oddly, Gabby did not press him to complete his thought. But maybe she knew what he was thinking. He darted her a nervous look, but she only seemed happy to have pleased him with the gift.

  “Where did you go today, Zach?”

  “I toured the town.”

  “My abigail said your servants returned to fetch you a fresh pair of trousers.”

  Zach made a mental note to ask John and Malcolm if they understood the word discreet. “I had an accident.”

  “You’ve been having a lot of those lately.”

  Gabby grinned, and Zach couldn’t help but grin back. “I’m in your general vicinity, aren’t I?”

  “You never did adequately or consistently explain how you blackened your eye,” she persisted.

  “One of the explanations I gave was strictly the truth. I leave it up to you to decide which one, Gabby. You like riddles, don’t you?”

  Gabby sniffed. “At least tell me what happened to your pants.”

  “A woman dumped her garbage on me from an upper window.”

  Gabby’s brows furrowed. “Truly?”

  Zach nodded.

  “I heard they still do that in Old Town, but not around here. Who do you know in Old Town?”

  “No one,” he lied. “I was admiring the sights.”

  Gabby’s frown deepened, and she looked troubled. “I’ve never been to Old Town. Lady Grace forbids me to go there.”

  “You want to go there?”

  “Yes. There’s a family of children I met on Christmas Eve—very poor and ragged. They were caroling, and they weren’t very well received by Princes Street merchants. I’d like to pay them a visit, but whenever I broach the subject to Lady Grace, she reads me a discourse on the perfidy of mankind. She says perfidy runs rampant in Old Town.”

  Besides her fears for Gabrielle’s safety, Lady Grace had distinct opinions about poor people in general. Gabrielle remembered her saying, You can’t trust them. You can never tell the deserving from the undeserving. I’ve heard of men who became quite well off from begging on street corners, making more money than an honest man at his honest job. And what do they do with the money, I ask you? Buy whiskey. Do as I do, Gabrielle. Give your mite to the church and let them disperse it properly amongst the poor. There is no need to fraternize with them, after all. ’Tis not safe or healthy or conducive to one’s delicacy of mind.

  And thus the subject had been swept under the rug. Upon contemplation, however, Gabrielle couldn’t help but strongly disagree with her kind host, but she felt her hands were tied. Unless …

  Zach was impressed by Gabby’s compassion for the children, and, yes, a little surprised. She’d always shown a charitable disposition in Cornwall, but he’d thought that perhaps she’d been too self-absorbed lately to pay much attention to the plight of others. Besides, women of her social standing were insulated by their guardians from much of the harsh realities of life. “Auld Reekie is a rough place, Gabby.”

  Gabby grudgingly mumbled agreement to this fact, then her face brightened. “But I would be safe if I went with you!”

  Zach grunted. He’d seen this one coming, yet he’d still blundered into it with the adeptness of a born fool. “Do you know the name and the address of these children?”

  “I know their name. Tuttle.”

  “Thousands of people live in Old Town, Gabby. The layout of the town is a hopeless maze of narrow streets and wynds. There’s little chance you’d locate these Tuttles.”

  Gabby sighed heavily. “I’ve been worried about them. Their mother was sick, they said. I wish I’d thought to ask them their directions.” She chuckled self-consciously. “I’ve even dreamed about the little girl. She had hair like …” Gabby’s voice trailed off.

  “Don’t fret,” Zach said, moved by her sincere concern. “I’ve business in Old Town for the next few days, and I’ll see what I can find out about this family of carolers.”

  “But I thought you said you didn’t know anyone in Old Town?”

  Zach gave a hiss of exasperation. “Do you want my help, Gabby?”
r />   “Well, yes, but I still want to know—”

  “If you do want my help, then you’ll have to stifle your damnable curiosity for once and quit plaguing me with questions!”

  When he saw Gabby flinch, Zach realized that he’d sounded harsh. He didn’t want to hurt her; no, never that. Impulsively he reached out and cupped the back of her head with his splayed fingers. “I’m sorry, sweeting. I didn’t mean to snarl.”

  Gabby turned her head and pressed her cheek into the cradle of Zach’s large palm. He would have pulled back, but she reached up and held his hand against her face. Her eyes drifted shut. The softness and warmth of her skin made his pulse accelerate. Heaven help him, she might detect the throbbing pace of his heart through the thin, fluttering skin at his wrist! Then she’d know! She’d know how she affected him! But he couldn’t pull away.

  She opened her eyes. How could a woman look so innocent, yet so sultry? “You haven’t called me ’sweeting’ since we last saw each other in Cornwall.” Her voice was breathy, reverent.

  Zach tried to swallow past his dry throat. “Haven’t I?”

  Her lips made a small pout. “And you’ve never even kissed me ‘hello’ as you used to do.” She tilted her face. “Won’t you kiss me, Zach?”

  Chapter Five

  Zach stared down at the beautiful candle-lit face angled up to him so trustingly. Gabby’s dark-amber lashes fanned against delicate skin, her lips parted slightly, and her mouth ever so barely curved in an expectant smile, with now and then a little quiver at the corners. She was hopeful but nervous, brave but braced for disappointment. She was adorable.

  Zach’s thumb rested just to the side of her mouth, and he could faintly feel the passage of her breath. All was silent, except for the thunder in his ears from the harsh, insistent pounding of his heart.

  He was too aware of her—all of her. The soft but solid reality of her. The living, breathing, pleasing shape of her. And she wanted him to kiss her. Not on the head, he’d wager. No, not there, not where he used to plant a brotherly peck. And he wanted to oblige her in the worst way.

  Yet he did not want to stop with a kiss on those tentatively upturned lips. He wanted to crush her against him till there was nothing left of her but a powdery, magical essence he could mix up and drink like a potion. He wanted to absorb her, mesh her soul with his, become one. This fierce possessive urge frightened him. He must guard against it. He must keep their physical relationship as platonic as it had ever been.

  He leaned down and touched his lips briefly to her forehead. Coming so close to Gabby was a test of his strength, because her softness, her orchid scent, her lacy ribbons, and silky sensuality tempted him to make that pure salute only a prerequisite to a thorough tactile exploration of every feature of her face. Yet he managed to pull away …

  Until her eyes opened and she looked at him. Again she challenged him with her half-reproachful, half-daring look, just as she’d so effectively done across the McLeods’ crowded drawing room. Zach felt as though he’d been issued an invitation to duel at twenty paces; the glove had been thrown down, his honor at stake. So stupid of him to react in a knee-jerk fashion, as if her taunting, teasing look somehow challenged his courage, his manhood! Yet he could not resist the age-old lure. One kiss on the lips, that’s all he would permit himself. Perhaps he could prove to Gabby and to himself that just as it had been with her sister, Beth, there was nothing between them but the sort of affection he’d show a sibling. He bent his head and touched his lips to hers.

  Gabrielle was totally unprepared for the sensation of Zach’s lips against hers. She’d imagined this moment a thousand times, the image filling every thought that wasn’t specifically assigned to the rational processes of day-to-day living. At night she fell asleep thinking of him, priming her dreams to complete the fantasy of lovemaking she was too naive and too well brought up to dare to complete in the daylight hours. But she’d never imagined that kissing Zach could feel like this.

  Her whole body warmed, every inch of her skin aflame with new awareness. A weakness seeped into her legs, yet an overwhelming strength of feeling permeated her. How odd, this seesaw of weakness and strength, and how utterly delicious. She strained toward Zach. She let go of the hand he still held against her cheek, and twined both arms around his neck. She needed to be next to him, as close as two people could come.

  Somewhere in the distance, Zach heard the box drop to the floor, releasing his hands to do what they most wanted to do—hold Gabby as close to him as possible. The kiss had started out so chaste, so well rationalized, but the jolt that surged through him as their lips touched gave every reasonable objection to kissing Gabby as littie impact as a pebble flung into the sea.

  She gave a small moan, a throaty purr of pleasure that not even the most expert Cyprian could imitate with the same results. Her honest enjoyment of being kissed, of being held by him, was the most powerful aphrodisiac Zach could imagine. He was immediately aroused to the point that he could have flung her to the ground on the spot and taken her with the gusto of a sailor just returned from months at sea. And he had the most tantalizing, the most frightening suspicion that Gabby—his curious, intrepid, life-loving Gabby—would fully participate.

  Each passing second deepened the kiss, Gabrielle eagerly opening to Zach’s graceful, forceful exploration of her mouth. Smooth, sharp, moist textures of tongue and teeth. It was so intimate, yet she knew that it was only the beginning of even greater intimacy, an act of love that her body was preparing for. She felt it in the stirring in her stomach, the aching heaviness of her breasts. She wanted him to touch her in all the spots that suddenly tingled with needy anticipation. Rory was wrong. There was a difference between kissing one’s friend—even though he was an acclaimed kisser—and kissing the one person you’d loved and waited for your whole life. Zach.

  He was losing control. Zach felt his rational thoughts pushed aside, replaced by erotic images of Gabby beneath him, her back arched, her breasts bare and white. He wasn’t sure if he ever consciously made the decision to maneuver her into the embrasure of her bedchamber door, but they were there, and he had her pressed against the panels, her light weight entirely supported by his own body. Every curve Gabby owned—and these were considerable—were molded against him. He couldn’t get enough of her mouth. She intoxicated him. He was drunk with wanting her. He reached down and around to her breast, cupping and squeezing the firm shape of her, and she gasped.

  Then they heard voices. Someone was coming up the servants’ stairs. Gabrielle didn’t care who saw them, but apparently Zach did. He took her by the shoulders and put her firmly at arm’s length, backing away. Gabrielle caught a brief look at Zach’s face before he turned and stooped to pick up the box. His expression was confused, distraught, almost panicked. She looked down at his bent head and beyond to the floor where the box lay on its side, the lid off. The seashell was scattered on the polished wood floor, broken in three clean pieces.

  “God, Gabby, I’ve broken it.”

  It took a moment for Gabrielle to register everything. The butler, Mr. Phipps, was quietly chastising a meek chambermaid who’d neglected to dust her ladyship’s jewelry casket. They glanced toward Zach and Gabrielle, gave quick, slight bows of respect, then turned down the hall the other way. Gabrielle wondered that they didn’t stand gaping at her, for surely she’d changed outwardly to reflect her inner transformation. She was dazed; she felt like she was fighting through clouds to regain an earthly footing. Zach’s next words brought her back to reality with a thud.

  “I break everything.” Gabrielle looked down again at the back of Zach’s head. He was holding the three broken pieces of the seashell in a cup he’d made with his hands. He looked up at her. His eyes were glassy with anguish. “Don’t you understand, Gabby? I break everything.”

  “It can be fixed. The edges are neat. I can glue it for you.” She kneeled, balancing herself with a hand on Zach’s raised knee. He flinched. She looked into his face and was fri
ghtened by the depth of remorse she thought she saw there. “Don’t be so upset. It’s nothing. Just an accident.” She tried to cajole him with a smile. “You’re being much too hard on yourself.”

  Zach laid the pieces carefully back in the box. He stood up. Gabrielle stood up, too, peering into his face, trying to catch his eye. But he successfully avoided her gaze. “You’d better go to your room now, Gabby.”

  Gabrielle gave a nervous laugh. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say to me after what happened just now?”

  Zach sighed, rubbing his eyes with a thumb and forefinger. In an expressionless voice, and as if he were reciting from rote, he said, “It would be best if we both forgot what happened, but if you mean I should apologize, you’re absolutely right. I’m sorry I took advantage of the situation. I should have kissed you on the head, as I’ve always done before. Forgive me, Gabby. I completely lost control of myself. I shouldn’t have touched you so… but never mind! If you feel duty-bound to tell Rory what a cad I’ve been, I’ll understand.” Zach finally met her eyes briefly, mugging a self-derisive smile. “I just hope he lets me choose the weapon. I’m not good with bow and arrow.”

  Disbelieving, infuriated, Gabrielle stamped her foot. “Oh, Zachary Wickham, how can you be so stupid? How can you make jokes?”

  Zach fixed her with a straight-on, piercing look. “Doesn’t Rory have a right to be angry if you kiss another man? He is your betrothed, isn’t he?”

  Gabrielle could see that Zach wasn’t going to be a bit cooperative. Even when it was obvious that the sparks between them could light the darkest dungeon, chasing out all the past ghosts and demons that kept him from committing to a new course of happiness, he remained stubbornly opposed. The charade was not over. The contest was not won. He loved her—she knew it, she felt it to her bones! But he wouldn’t admit it. Not yet, anyway. But she wasn’t about to give up.

  “Of course Rory would be furious,” Gabrielle said, accommodating Zach in his penchant for misery, deliberately, obligingly pouring salt in the wound. “You’ve seen how possessive he is, how demonstrative.”