‘Is that a warning or an invitation?’ They had made their way to the back side of the island and they were entirely alone. The water was quiet here, undisturbed by the splash of oars and the shouts of boaters. She should not be out with him, not here where no one could see, and yet his words resonated; rebellion could not be halfway. Rules must be broken or she would end up engaged to Markham, her defiance coming to naught. She understood. He was daring her to declare herself, testing her resolve to see whether she was all bluff.
He grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he rowed towards the shale beach. ‘You decide.’ There was another factor too—rules or not, she wanted to be out here with him. Not just for rebellion’s sake, but for hers. His touch roused her, the audacity of his words excited her, and yet she could not simply embrace that excitement with abandon. There would be consequences. Was she ready for them?
Gage pulled off his boots and took off his stockings. He nodded her direction. ‘You might want to take yours off too. I’m not carrying you to shore.’ ‘Shore’ was only a few feet away, but there would be a small amount of wading required.
Zara narrowed her eyes. ‘Are you here hunting a wife, Mr Gage?’
He gave a loud guffaw. ‘Hardly. I’m not the marrying type, Miss Titus.’ He lowered his voice and waggled his dark brows. ‘Does it disturb you to think we have something in common?’
‘No.’ Zara was all coolness as she reached for the lace of her half-boot. ‘I’m relieved, actually, because asking your intended to take off her stockings and shoes is not the most romantic way to get under her skirts.’ There. That should shock him. She was feeling worldly and rather pleased with her sophisticated set-down. It would pay him back for that comment about positions earlier and prove she wasn’t afraid to play his naughty little games.
Gage folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in the prow of the boat, considering her with dark, hot eyes. ‘What do you know of getting beneath skirts, Zara?’
She blanched. The old Zara was not entirely vanquished and she was well aware her ploy had completely backfired. She had not repelled intimate conversation, but invited it, and from a man who knew no boundaries when it came to civility or its antithesis. He arched a dark eyebrow. ‘Did Haymore get beneath your skirts? Is that why the two of you “mutually” cried off?’
Her cheeks heated. ‘That’s backward logic. If he had, do you think we would have broken our betrothal?’ This was the oddest conversation she’d ever had—discussing sex and her former fiancé with a man she barely knew. It was a scandal in itself. She had never entertained such thoughts about anyone, not even Haymore, before, but now Kael had her thinking all nature of wickedness. ‘It would have been all the more reason to stay together.’ She could hear the mortification in her own voice. She hated it. She wanted to sound assured, a woman capable of rebellion, capable of making her own choices.
‘Not if you didn’t like it. Then, it makes perfect sense,’ Gage suggested. ‘Life is a long time to be with a man who is no good in bed.’
That was outside of the pale. Zara grabbed her shoes and stockings in one hand and stood up, rocking the boat dangerously with her sudden movement.
‘Zara!’ Gage grabbed either side of the boat with his hands, trying to steady it. ‘Do you want to land us in the water? It might be a bit hard to explain both of us coming back wet.’ Ah, so the rogue did have a tiny bit of social conscience, after all.
‘It can’t be any harder to explain than your last comment!’ She stepped out into the water, skirts in one hand, shoes in the other, the water coming up her calf. ‘Only a cad would make such assumptions.’
Zara strode towards the beach, water splashing, the shale hard beneath her bare feet, but she didn’t care. He was outrageous! And he was exciting. Maybe the person she wanted to get away from was herself. She could hear him splashing behind her. His hand closed about her arm. ‘Only an honest man would make such assumptions,’ he corrected. ‘Why shouldn’t you try out the goods before you buy them?’ he challenged. ‘Why shouldn’t a woman have a taste of what awaits her?’
She made the mistake of looking at him. Her face gave away too much. ‘Hah!’ he crowed. ‘You think so too, you just don’t want to admit it.’
‘You are a scandal.’
‘Do you mean that as fact or censure?’ His eyes glittered, his voice was low, his words private. ‘It’s hard to get a read on you, Zara. Are you truly scandalised or do you only believe you should be?’ His mouth, his body, were just inches from her and she pulsed with the knowledge of it. His finger traced her lips. ‘I think such plain speaking excites you. I think I excite you.’ His eyes lingered on the mouth he’d traced, his words a whispered murmured before his mouth covered hers. ‘And you, Zara, excite me.’
Chapter Four
Zara Titus was exciting. Kael ran his tongue along the seam of her lips, encouraging, coaxing her to open. He felt the slightest of questioning hesitations, proof that Haymore certainly hadn’t kissed her with any amount of proficiency. Who kissed with their mouths shut? Zara wouldn’t, now that she knew better.
Her mouth opened beneath his, eager, her untutored hunger intoxicating, perhaps even defiant, wanting to prove to him that she could match him. She couldn’t, of course, she hadn’t an ounce of his experience and yet this was what made her exciting—she was a woman who yearned for that experience, yearned to tap her own sensuality. Untried though she was, she was not afraid of her body’s physicality like so many other purebred misses. He’d seen that confidence in her smile, in the cut of her gowns—simply but exquisitely tailored to show off the contours of her body instead of hiding them behind ruffles—he’d not been wrong about the cues of her clothing. A woman dressed her truth, just as she kissed it. He’d not been wrong the other night. Zara would demand a man’s all, an appealing and terrifying prospect altogether.
‘Put your tongue in my mouth, Zara,’ he instructed, nipping at her lower lip with his teeth. ‘Taste me.’ She would be a delight to tutor, to awaken. She was ripe for rebellion, ripe for whatever earthy pleasures he cared to introduce. There were plenty of pleasures that didn’t require the breaching of her maidenhead. He’d leave that intact for Markham.
‘Would you like me to bite you too?’ Zara’s voice was husky as her tongue traced the outline of his lips in a teasing, flicking motion that had him imagining that tongue on another entirely male body part. Haymore had missed out. His Zara was a fast learner. That made her dangerous, that and her innocence. If they were caught, it would be a disaster. And yet the thrill drove him to continue.
‘Bite me, lick me, suck me,’ Kael murmured at her ear, his own tongue beginning a flicking caress inside the curve of her ear. ‘I am yours to command.’ Would Markham know what to do with her? Markham was nice enough, but nice sex had never inspired anyone. She would be wasted on the likes of him.
Water lapped at his bare feet, reminding him they had to move further into the island. Zara’s skirt would get wet and it was deuced hard to kiss without hands. He had his hands free, but she didn’t. Her hands were holding shoes and skirt hems. He wanted them to hold him, wanted her to cradle his face when she kissed him, wanted those hands to roam free on his body to feel what he was made of.
Kael moved them away from the shore and selected one of the paths leading to the interior. There were other reasons too to step into the island, reasons like the risk of discovery. He’d fled London because there’d been a ‘small’ indiscretion with a lady whose virtue was questionable, but an angry brother who was not. Said brother had made London rather uncomfortable of late. It would hardly do to commit the same faux pas under the esteemed Duke of Brockmore’s roof after the duke had so generously looked the other way.
Not only that, but Zara wasn’t his usual sort of woman. Discovery would have consequences. She wanted to be rebellious, not married, certainly not to a man
she hadn’t chosen. She would hate being forced. If she was going to marry anyone, it should be a man worthy of her in rank and position, a man like Markham. She’d already established she wasn’t interested in such a man. At present, she was still reeling from Haymore. But some day, she would be interested again. When that day came, she would no doubt look back at her interlude with him and recognise it as foolish.
‘Oh, look! A little cottage,’ Zara exclaimed. The interior of the small island was full of tall trees and maintained paths, all of them directing the adventurer to the island’s centre. In her excitement, she tugged on his hand and drew him forward.
The cottage was open, as Gage suspected it always was, and Zara couldn’t resist going inside. It was a single, simple room containing a bed, a table, two chairs, a small cupboard and a fireplace. Gage chuckled. The duke was a devil still, in his middle years. The intentions of the cottage were obvious. This was a place for secret trysts very few knew about other than the duke and duchess. The old Silver Fox was a romantic at heart.
Zara moved about the little room, hands trailing over furniture, gaze distracted. He let the silence linger, waiting for her to speak, waiting to see what she’d do next. She stopped next to the table and met his eyes. ‘What was that down at the boat?’
Kael crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe. ‘What would you like it to be? An invitation to pleasure? A caution against sharp tongues? This is your rebellion, Zara. If you mean to rebel, you have to do more than give Markham a cold shoulder.’ That got her ire up. Her chin tilted, her arms crossed beneath her breasts. Did she have any idea how alluring she looked when she was defiant? He wanted to pull off her hat and take out every pin from her perfectly arranged hair until it tumbled over her shoulders. He wanted to see her mussed. ‘Do you know what I’d like to do right now?’ Kael growled, pushing off the door.
Her eyes narrowed, watching him stalk towards her. Her tongue wet her lips. ‘What?’ She wasn’t afraid. She was aroused.
He untied the blue ribbon of her hat and tossed it aside, his eyes holding hers. He would start slow, with liberties she’d likely allow. ‘I want to take down your hair.’ He slid one pin free, then another and another until the pile of it came loose, falling over his hands, satiny and smooth. He raised a length to his nose and inhaled, eyes open, never leaving hers. Lavender—a lady’s scent—and sage—earthy, faintly lemony, not nearly as innocent as the lavender.
‘And now?’ Her words were a mere whisper. ‘What now?’
‘Now, I want to push you up against the wall and kiss the hell out of you.’ His voice was rough and hoarse as he pushed his hands through her hair, framing her face between them, his body taking them to the wall, his mouth coming down hard on hers, and she took him, tongue and all.
Her arms were about his neck, her body answering the press of his. He moved his hips against her, letting her feel the rock-hard solidness of him. Her moan filled his mouth. She was a vixen, this beautiful untried woman, although he doubted anyone would believe the untried part if they could see her now, her hair about her face, her lips swollen from his kisses, his bites, her eyes wide and wild. He kissed her again, his hand curving over the swell of her breast, the flat of his palm feeling her nipple tighten beneath the fabric, beneath his touch. She arched into him, impatient.
‘Touch me, Zara.’ He took her hand, guiding it to where the core of him jutted hard against her abdomen. She did not shrink from the blatant intimacy. Her hand closed about him through his trousers and his body raged. She didn’t need any more encouragement. Her hand traced him, moulded him. He had his mouth on her again, allowing himself a few more moments in this heaven–hell of pleasure before he had to stop it, before he had to get her to commit. He was seldom surprised, but Zara Titus was far more exciting than he’d even imagined.
‘How does rebellion feel, Zara?’ He touched his forehead to hers, struggling to get his breathing under control. He’d not thought he was that far gone.
Her hazel eyes were dark. ‘Unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.’ There was honesty in the throaty response. The experience might have overwhelmed a more timid miss, but she had mastered it, even revelled in it.
‘There is more pleasure to be had, Zara. I meant it. I am yours to command. I can show you more, give you more,’ he murmured his temptation. He wanted her to say yes. ‘I can show you things Markham would never dream of. But you have to decide how far this rebellion goes.’ He twisted a strand of her hair around a finger.
‘I think it’s already been decided.’ Zara gave a shaky laugh. ‘We’ve—we’ve...’ she stammered, looking for words. ‘We’ve done so much.’
‘And no one saw a thing,’ Kael finished. ‘Everything you’ve done today doesn’t count. Nothing you did with Markham, everything you’ve done with me, none of it counts because no one saw.’ He stepped back and scooped up her hairpins. ‘It’s the old-tree-falls-in-the-forest argument. If a virgin puts her hand on a man’s cock and no one sees, has she really done it?’
Her eyes flared. She didn’t like the crassness of his comment. Kael took her hand and cupped it, pouring her hairpins into it. ‘Put your hair up, Zara, and put your hat on. I’ll wait outside.’ She could choose, of course, to keep her hair down and signal to all and sundry they’d got up to some mischief, but she wouldn’t. Not today. She might be willing to kiss a scoundrel in private, but she wasn’t ready to own her rebellion. Yet. The question was, would she own it before it was too late? Markham might be nice, but he was shrewd. Markham knew how to close a deal and so did the duke. Zara had five days. He’d match her step for step, but how far was she willing to go?
* * *
Zara had put her hand on a man’s penis. She had put her tongue in his mouth. He had put his hand over her breast, his mouth had done decadent things to hers, and, none of it had been rebellious? It had certainly been glorious. So glorious, in fact, that dinner paled in comparison.
Under other circumstances, dinner would have been dazzling. Brockmore had set up a long table outside on the veranda, flowers and candles running the centre of it. The evening had cooled to ‘pleasantly warm’ and the menu was entirely self-contained; from the flowers on the table to every dish served, everything was produced or raised on the Brockmore estate. It was quite an accomplishment, but so was this afternoon. How was she supposed to think about the meal when all she could focus on was the man sitting across the table from her?
Kael Gage, like the other men, had traded his casual boating attire for the dark evening clothes of a gentleman. This might be the country, but it was still the duke’s house and the Silver Fox was a stickler for propriety at dinner. Everyone dressed. But Zara didn’t think any male present could compete with Kael, not even Markham who sat beside her. Perhaps it was only natural to feel that way since the incident at the lake. They had kissed one another, touched one another. Whether it was rebellious or not, it had certainly been enlightening, exhilarating. She had not imagined a man would feel that way—so hard, so hot, so alive.
‘Miss Titus, how do you find the fish?’ Markham asked. ‘I am told it was caught in the river on the duke’s property where the gentlemen will be fishing on Tuesday.’
‘It’s very fresh,’ Zara managed, taking a bite in the hopes it would redirect her thoughts. The effort was only marginally successful. Would Lord Markham feel the way Kael had? Would Markham ever take off her hat and pull down her hair with a fierce, almost primal look in his eyes? Would Markham ever ravage her against a wall?
‘There are a lot of fresh things at dinner, I’ve noticed,’ Kael said from across the table. Zara felt her cheeks heat at the innuendo she might be one of those fresh things. He was trying to draw her out, trying to make her say something rash.
‘Yes,’ Markham replied with stiff politeness to the interruption. ‘Everything tonight comes from Brockmore’s estate. It’s a very impressive feat.’ He
directed his next words at Miss Falk, who sat beside Gage, looking lost and perhaps intimidated by the masculine force at her side. ‘My apologies, I did not mean to interrupt.’ It was a neat rebuke, as Markham hadn’t been the one to intrude. Kael ought to be talking with his dinner partner, not eavesdropping on conversations held across the table.
‘I do hope I did not err in leaving you with Gage this afternoon.’ Markham said in low tones once Kael returned his attentions where they belonged. ‘It was a rather impossible position and Miss Falk was out of her depth. I don’t know what the duke was thinking to pair her with Gage.’ There was an undercurrent of anger beneath his words. Zara couldn’t help but glance over at Ariana. Her blonde hair and blue eyes gave her the look of a porcelain doll, a look enhanced by the fragile structure of her bones. Delicate was exactly the right word to describe her. Honourable men like Markham would feel compelled to defend a woman who looked like that.
‘She is a far too delicate specimen of womanhood for a man of Gage’s attributes.’ Carried away by his chagrin, Markham caught his faux pas too late. He reached over and squeezed her hand in apology where it lay in her lap. ‘I did not mean to imply, Miss Titus, you are not delicate. You are in, fact, the very flower of womanhood, a rose among daisies.’ She could not imagine the nice, warm hand that squeezed hers on her breast, where it would probably be very ‘nice’ as well, touching her gingerly lest he shock her sensibilities with his base urges. He might even apologise afterwards. Such lukewarm efforts did not appeal. She’d liked the aggressive glide of Gage’s palm over her nipple, the somewhat rough squeeze of his big hand as he’d cupped her. Did that mean she was not delicate? Probably.
‘Of course not, Lord Markham. I didn’t take the comment as such,’ Zara assured him with a smile. Markham was usually a very collected fellow, not given to misspoken words and the need for apology. A foot sans shoe made contact with her ankle beneath the table and began to work its way up her skirt. She fought the urge to jump. She didn’t need to look to know the foot belonged to Kael and he was trying to provoke a response. But two could play that game. She slid her foot out of her slipper and walked her toes up his calf, more than gratified when he had difficulty swallowing his wine.
Scandal at the Midsummer Ball Page 14
