The Danice Allen Anthology

by Danice Allen

  He turned back to her, his hands upheld in supplication. “God, Gabby, if you want to be perceived as an adult, you have to act like one! And blinding yourself to the people around you, the hurts you may be inflicting on them, is the height of selfishness. And if that’s not childish, I don’t know what is.” He turned away and walked to the window, once again staring out into the pearly black and white of a moonlit winter nightscape.

  Gabrielle was stunned. How could she have been so blind? Everything began to fall neatly into place now, to make eminent sense. Regina’s blushes when Rory teased her, the absence of animation when he wasn’t in the room, her laughter and excitement when he was. Of course Regina loved Rory. She behaved around Rory exactly as Gabrielle behaved around Zach. Now Gabrielle’s tears fell in earnest. Tears of shame.

  “Zach, I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know.”

  Zach heard the tears in Gabby’s voice and her watery remorse. He tried to blot out the image of her standing there in her white dress, trimmed with gold to match her hair—regal and lovely—reduced now to misery. Her cheeks would be streaked and damp because he couldn’t stop himself from flinging hurtful words. His behavior was as childish as hers. But seeing her tonight, looking so beautiful and so obviously bent on making him jealous by flirting with Rory, was more than he could bear.

  He’d thought about what Kate had said that afternoon. He’d even gone so far as to consider confessing all to Gabby and asking her to help him heal. To heal. To be whole again, unafraid. To be able to love her. To love her! But he was still fighting it, still so afraid. Still pushing her away with angry, hurtful words.

  Even without the telltale swish of skirts, he’d known she had moved closer to him. Her orchid scent drifted on the cool air. He felt his whole body stiffen, tension pulsating through every nerve. Like an automaton, he turned, steeling himself for the impact of seeing her, of seeing what he’d done to her.

  The tears had been wiped away. All that was left were cheeks pinker than usual, eyes that glistened with spent grief, lashes stuck together in thick wet spikes. Her manner was composed, contrite, resigned. “I’m sorry, Zach. I hope you’ll forgive me.” Then she turned and walked toward the door.

  Terror gripped Zach. Suddenly he knew there would be no more lies from Gabby, no more make-believe betrothals, no more naive seductive advances to try to convince him that she was a grown-up woman and that he loved her. He had finally wrung the last bit of hope out of Gabby’s tender heart. He was a fool! He needed her and he had pushed her away. He couldn’t let her go. No, he wouldn’t let it happen again!

  “Gabby!”

  With her hand on the cut-glass knob of the door, she turned. She wore an anxious expression, and he knew she didn’t know what to expect. Another lecture, perhaps. To dispel the anxiety, he spoke quickly. “I’m the one who should be asking forgiveness, Gabby. You’re right. You’re right about so many things.”

  She stood there, waiting for more explanations, but he’d run out of words. There was so much that needed to be said, but he didn’t know where to begin. Maybe he should begin by holding her… He lifted one arm and extended it, his hand upturned in a mute invitation.

  After a moment’s hesitation, she came. He wasn’t sure he should be allowing himself this sheer indulgence, this gift of giving in to what he wanted most in the world. But she was in his arms, and he would forget, for now, everything else but that.

  He held her fast against him, her head tucked beneath his chin. Her hair was fragrant, the pearls she’d used as decoration rolled against his cheek. Her arms were like bands around his waist, so strong and possessive. Her voluminous skirt swathed both their legs. He rocked her in silent joy, back and forth, the swishing tulle and taffeta keeping rhythm. They were one. Like two jigsaw pieces, they fit perfectly.

  She stirred, pulling slightly back, lifting her face to look at him. She glowed like a Rembrandt painting, all light and vibrant softness. He bent his head and kissed her smiling mouth.

  The other times he’d kissed Gabby, Zach had held his emotions in check. Now, like a reservoir dam cracking and giving way under the strain of flood waters, he was allowing himself to feel everything he’d been suppressing. It was terrifying how right she felt in his arms, how good she tasted, how much he wanted her.

  Gabrielle slid her hands from around Zach’s waist, slowly up his hard, broad back. Every nuance of muscle and bone delighted her. Her fingers tangled in the thick, straight hair at the nape of his neck. It felt like silk, like something Rumpelstiltskin would spin at his magic wheel. Spun gold.

  Zach gasped, and their lips parted for a moment, just long enough for him to drift feather-light kisses over her face—each feature duly given its share of affectionate notice. Then he bent his head and nuzzled her neck with his mouth. Her head fell back instinctively, allowing him full access, conveying with her deep breathing and closed eyes all the encouragement a man could possibly want.

  Desire imploded in Zach, catching him unaware. But he was only a man, after all, and the pent-up need for Gabby had been denied for too long. He kissed her again, but this time his mouth closed over hers with a reckless, brutal force. His tongue swirled and danced with hers. Her fingers convulsed in his hair, then splayed over his shoulders, holding him to her, apparently as disinclined to end the kiss as he was.

  Her breasts were pressed against his chest. He could imagine the nipples rosy and turgid, as they’d been at Mother Henn’s. Then he cursed himself for putting Gabby and Mother Henn together in the same thought. His hands moved up from her narrow waist along the side seam of her gown, around to the front, cupping her breasts. She moaned into his mouth, arching her body against his open palms.

  Just like in her dreams, Zach’s lean, beautiful hands were caressing her, making her feel warm and womanly, powerless and powerful at the same time. Gabrielle didn’t want the lovemaking to stop. She wanted more…

  Still cupping her breasts, Zach kissed her bare collarbone all along the sensitive ridge. Then he went lower, tasting the skin just above her bodice where her breasts plumped up like firm pillows.

  Gabrielle was in heaven. She held onto his shoulders like a drowning woman to a piece of driftwood, clinging, fighting against complete submersion. Zach pushed down the sleeves of her gown, taking the upper portion of her bodice with them, till her breasts were exposed. She felt the cool air against her nipples, then warm hands covering them, clever fingers kneading them to hard, sensitive nubs.

  Zach couldn’t believe how beautiful she was. Her breasts were like alabaster marble, cool, white, the skin almost transparent with tiny blue veins showing through here and there. But the nipples were bold red, like rubies. He bent his head and took one in his mouth, pushing and pulling with his tongue and teeth till Gabby groaned, her fingers curling and clutching in his hair.

  Zach was losing control. Somewhere in the back of his consciousness he knew that what they were doing was dangerous. By now they’d be missed. By now Clarissa might have been roused from slumber by some viola player tuning and plucking his instrument. She might be looking for them, opening each door along the hall, just as Gabby had done, till she found them.

  He was about to pull away when Gabby’s curious hands began exploring again, this time starting at the backs of his thighs and moving slowly up till her palms lay flat and firm on his buttocks. Instinctively he did the same to her, pulling her against him, against the hard, hot swelling in his groin.

  Gabrielle’s eyes blinked open, her lips parting in a shudder of unexpected, overwhelming pleasure. She never knew she could feel this way. Every inch of her throbbed with an unfulfilled need. And that most sensitive and private part of her felt it most of all. She could feel Zach’s hardness against her. Since her mother grew faint and queasy at the mere mention of such a forbidden subject, Gabrielle had learned about the anatomy and function of male parts from her sister, Beth. And because of that candid conversation, Gabrielle knew that Zach was ready to make love.

&n
bsp; Fascinated, curious, her hands drifted around to the front placket of his trousers, her fingers closing over the hard ridge of his manhood. Zach’s breath drew in sharply. Yes, he was ready, and so was she.

  “Make love to me, Zach,” she begged him. “Make love to me right now!”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Zach could hardly believe that he’d allowed the situation to progress this far. He’d obviously underestimated Gabby. He’d had a feeling she’d be a passionate woman, ready and eager to indulge in all the diverse delights of lovemaking, but he didn’t think she’d be ready and eager in the conservatory of one of the pillars of Edinburgh society! If they were caught, she’d be the grist of drawing room gossip for time ad infinitum. He couldn’t allow that, no matter how hard it was to resist her innocent seductiveness.

  Garnering all his strength of will, he caught her wrists and gently pulled her hands away from the front of his trousers. She looked confused at first, then, as he carefully pulled her bodice up to cover her breasts, her face flushed with humiliation. As he fumbled with her sleeves, she turned away. “Thank you, but I can dress myself.”

  “Gabby,” he began in a reasoning tone, his voice still rough-timbred with passion, “they’ll have missed us by now. What if someone walked in on us with you looking so… compromised?”

  Gabby turned to face him, her dress now pulled modestly into place. “I expect you’d be bound to marry me, and that wouldn’t do at all, would it, Zachary?” She grabbed handfuls of her skirt and walked majestically toward the door.

  Zach followed. “Gabby, sweeting, you don’t understand. It’s not that I don’t—Oh, hell! We need to talk, not make love in the Garrisons’ conservatory, for Christ’s sake!”

  “I’m done with throwing myself at you, Zachary Wickham,” she told him in a voice that strived to be brisk but couldn’t hide an underlying tremor. “You’re always running away from me! It’s lowering to one’s pride to be constantly … rebuffed.” She stumbled on that last word. Her huffiness was all an act to hide her hurt. He wanted to beat his head against the wall out of pure frustration. He’d hurt her again, damn it!

  “Gabby, don’t go. Let’s talk.”

  “Talking doesn’t seem to get us anywhere. You just lecture, accuse, and deny.”

  She was right, but Zach was ready to change that. “Gabby, I promise—”

  But she had reached the door, opened it, and was already half running down the hall, her skirts swishing and swinging out behind her like a great, fancy whisk broom. Feeling powerless and frustrated by the situation, Zach watched as she disappeared around the corner. He stood there, knowing he dare not insult his host by going back to the conservatory and shutting himself in for the evening to sort things out. He did not, however, look forward a bit to returning to the drawing room and putting on a social face for all those people.

  He sighed and moved slowly down the hall. The musicians had arrived and were tuning their instruments. He would try to finagle a seat by someone who was not an inveterate chin-wag. Perhaps if left alone to enjoy the music, he could unscramble his brain to the soothing cadence of a pastorale. With his luck, however, the musicians the Garrisons had secured for the evening’s entertainment would be the tortured, romantic type, with a decided preference for similar music. Then he’d be too stirred up to think of anything other than what had occurred in the conservatory. Even now he had difficulty removing the images and sensations from the forefront of his mind.

  Finally he stood at the entry of the drawing room. People were filling the chairs placed round the musicians. Gabby was already seated in the front row between Rory and Regina. Mr. Garrison glanced Zach’s way, smiled, and waved him over. Zach returned his smile politely and cast about for someone to sit by who looked as though they would not annoy him with constant jabbering.

  Ah, the perfect choice. Aunt Clarissa was, incredibly, still nodding in the chair where she’d been sitting a half hour ago as he’d exited the room with Rory. He would wake her up and insist that she sit by him during the performances. No doubt she would sleep like a babe, leaving Zach with plenty of uninterrupted time to think. For both their sakes—his and Gabby’s—he had to decide what to do about this love, this passion, they had for each other. Yes, he knew now that something had to be done.

  Somehow the evening passed. Gabrielle sat through each musical selection with her face arranged in a pleasant, smiling mask which said much indeed for her acting abilities. She felt horrid. Each lyrical, evocative piece melded into the other, her rankled, wretched thoughts never far away, and her inherent appreciation for music dulled by more pressing considerations. There was much to think about, not the least of which were Zach’s revelations about Rory and Regina.

  There was a restraint in Rory that hadn’t been there before, presumably brought on by his conversation with Zach. And if Gabrielle had been paying attention, she would have noticed that ever since their conversation that morning in the breakfast room, Regina had been unusually quiet and withdrawn. At first she supposed that Regina had truly been unwell when she’d cried off going on the skating excursion and was still suffering from a lack of energy, but now she knew that Rory’s flirtatious comments about making their engagement official had plunged Regina into gloom.

  Now, seated between them, Gabrielle felt the veriest fool. Zach was right; she’d been so caught up in her own affairs that she’d blinded herself to the people around her, people she cared about and who had always treated her with the utmost kindness. This group of victims included Sir George and Lady Grace, Aunt Clarissa, Rory’s grandmother, and her own mother, who was whiling away the long, windy, winter nights in Cornwall by blissfully anticipating Gabrielle’s spring nuptials.

  Well, as for that, Gabrielle was going to waste no further time in telling everyone the truth. As she drove home with Rory that night, she’d convince him that the time had come to tell the truth, and together fix on an hour on the morrow to meet with the Murrays to do the disagreeable deed of telling the whole story. It would probably be ill-advised to break the news that night, since Gabrielle knew Lady Grace grew rather fragile and fatigued after the clock had struck midnight, and she didn’t think Lady Grace would appreciate such a confession being sprung upon her at such an odd hour. No, she’d let her enjoy a sound sleep tonight. Tomorrow would be soon enough to out with it, just after Gabrielle had returned from visiting the Tuttles.

  Yes, that was another thing Gabrielle wasn’t going to delay another moment, because once she’d made her confession to the Murrays, she would make plans to return to Brookmoor immediately. There were two reasons for this expediency. First of all, once she knew the truth, her mother would be beside herself with disappointment and resentment toward Gabrielle, and would fancy herself ill. Gabrielle should be there to soothe and nurse her mother through the worst of it.

  Secondly—and Gabrielle knew this was selfish—she couldn’t bear the idea of facing all of Edinburgh once her broken engagement had been circulated by the capable machinations of the gossip mill. The end of a much-talked-about engagement was a dicey affair in the first place, but if the truth got out, that they had been pulling the wool over the eyes of the Edinburgh elite for their own nefarious purposes, Rory and Gabrielle would be decidedly de trop, an embarrassment to the Murrays as well as themselves.

  Gabrielle couldn’t imagine why she hadn’t thought of all this before. She had been single-minded in her efforts to somehow get through to Zach, and she supposed she had thought that everything could be smoothed over in the end by her engagement to him.

  Zach. Gabrielle ought to be heartened by his obvious desire for her, as illustrated by his ardent behavior in the conservatory. Just thinking about what had transpired there made Gabrielle’s arms and legs go rough with gooseflesh. But they’d started out the encounter in an argument, with Zach still guarding his feelings and his secrets as if they were the Queen’s jewels. Physically he’d let down his guard, and for a blissful few moments they’d shared the sort of
intimacies Gabrielle had dreamed about. But, though he’d expressed a desire to talk after he’d abruptly stopped their lovemaking, she knew that chances were he’d pull himself into his shell again like a cantankerous clam.

  Gabrielle sighed. She needed more patience. But she was beginning to wonder if her self-respect could allow her the leisure of more patience. She’d frightened herself that night because she’d realized how desperately besotted she was with Zach and to what lengths she was prepared to go to prove herself to him and to convince him that they were meant to be together! After all, what self-respecting woman could beg a man to make love to her in total disregard of the fact that they were in an unlocked chamber in the respectable lodgings of perhaps the most respected family in all of Edinburgh?

  But the truth was, there had been no conscious decision-making going on at the time. She had not thought to prove herself, or seduce him, or any such nonsense. She had been, quite frankly, swept away by passion. Even if he left for Cornwall in the morning, if they’d made love she’d not have considered it a shameful thing or a wasted endeavor. She would have cherished it forever. She loved him that much.

  This was the frightening part of it. For Gabrielle, this was the straw that broke the camel’s back. She couldn’t keep up the facade. She couldn’t be patient anymore. She loved him to the point of abandoning prudence and pride. This would never do. Now the time had come for Zach to make his decision without any further interference and promptings from her. If he truly wanted to talk, tomorrow, in the sanity and safety of the parlor in Charlotte Square, he must be the instigator.

  Having thought all this through, Gabrielle was filled with a sense of peace. Suddenly the comforting strains of Beethoven’s Pastoral broke through her troubled preoccupation. Deep within her she felt her spirit stir as if revivified with hope. She would share this new optimism with the Tuttles, leaving to find them first thing in the morning with Ralph the burly footman in tow. Ralph could handily carry her bundles and fight off whatever ruffian might happen to be lurking in the dark alleys of Old Town. With Ralph she’d be safe. She didn’t need Zach this time. Surely she could do this one thing without his help.