“I did not realize anyone was in here,” the intruder – unmistakably female if her soft, lilting voice was any indication – replied.
Gavin rolled his eyes at the dormant fireplace before him. “Do you make it a habit to wander into dark empty rooms by yourself?”
“Do you make it a habit to sit in dark empty rooms drinking by yourself?”
He stared down at his empty flask, well hidden from view in the crook of his arm, and frowned. “How do you know I was drinking?”
His unwanted guest snorted under her breath. “Because it reeks of spirits in here. And what other reason would a gentleman have to retreat to a dark room than drink himself foolish? Unless you’ve been jilted. Are you?”
“Am I what?” he asked irritably.
“Jilted.”
Gavin gave that question all the response it deserved, which was to say none at all. Still, he could not stop himself from leaning on one elbow and peering around the side of the chair to see who had marched into the study with all the finesse of a bull in a china shop.
The light was dim and the air heavy with shadow, but what he was able to see had his eyes widening and a low whistle of appreciation forming between his lips. Lady or no – and he would be willing to bet everything he owned she was a lady – there was no denying the chit her stunning beauty.
Her countenance was that of an angel’s, all soft lines and creamy skin with a pert little nose that hinted at stubbornness and a full, voluptuous mouth just begging to be kissed. Her eyes, neither brown nor green but a captivating mixture of the two, were tilted at the corners and framed by the longest lashes he had ever seen. Curls the color of fire framed her heart shaped face and tumbled down over bare shoulders, drawing his eye to the rest of her body.
His gaze traveled leisurely from the rounded tops of her breasts to her trimmed in waist and back again, drinking his fill. He had gone too long without a woman, and certainly too long without one who looked like this. She was a vision, and were it not for the fact that she had undoubtedly been sent to him like a lamb to the proverbial slaughter, he would have done more than just enjoy her with his eyes.
“Are you done yet?” the titian haired goddess asked in a very un-goddess like tone. “Or would you like me to do a turn and stick out my tongue so you can check my teeth?”
“Would you?” he asked hopefully, and he grinned despite himself when she merely pinned her hands to her hips and cocked one eyebrow. Bounding to his feet with ease, he stepped around the chair and leaned up against the back of it, crossing his arms over his wide chest and raising one of his own eyebrows in turn. “Gavin Graystone at your service, my lady. Congratulations. You have found me.”
Her lips thinned. “I thought said Graystone was not here. A liar and a drunk? No wonder you are in hiding.”
She was good, he would give her that. He was amused by her belligerence and impressed with her wit, two things so rarely found amidst the beauties of the ton. They were undeniably pretty to look at, but the moment they opened their mouths the poor girls revealed they had nothing in their heads save feathers and rocks.
“I suppose now you will try to tell me that you came across me by complete coincidence, and there is no one waiting outside the door to catch us alone together in a compromising position.” Some of his amusement fled at the thought that he had, in all likelihood, just revealed the girl’s plan. Beautiful face or not, she was no different than the rest. “A valiant effort, my lady, but one I fear will be wasted. I am no prancing dandy to be so easily fooled, nor a fox to be chased to ground by a pack of howling bitches.”
Her lips parted at the slur and two splotches of color appeared high on her cheeks. “You are correct when you say you are not a fox, Mr. Graystone, for they are cunning, handsome animals while you possess the qualities more commonly associated with a boar!”
A reluctant smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “Your flattery could do with some work. Best return to your mother and practice some more before you attempt to snare a husband by fair means or foul.”
The girl’s eyes widened. “Is that what you think I am doing? Well, let me assure you that a husband is the last thing I require, especially a husband like you!”
“Every woman wants a husband.”
“Then I must not be a woman. Good day to you, Mr. Graystone.” She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “I would say it was a pleasure to make you acquaintance, but that would be a lie.”
Gavin did not know why he did it. One moment he was lounging against the chair; the next he was uncoiling to his full height of six feet and crossing the room to stand behind the girl as she attempted to leave.
She wrenched the door open. He moved with lightening quickness to slam it shut. He saw the muscles in her shoulders and neck tighten before she whirled to face him and lifted her chin, a warrior princess with a cupid’s bow mouth just asking to be ravished.
“What do you want?” she snapped.
“You cannot leave yet.” His voice was huskier than normal. Lord, but she smelled sweet. Like violets and sunshine and something a little dark. A little dangerous. She was dangerous, if only for the fact that she made it so temptingly easy to forget who and what she was: an innocent, but worse than that – far worse, to Gavin’s mind – a highborn lady.
Aye, this one’s blood was as blue as they came; he would stake his life on it. He struggled to remember why he hated the nobility, but it was a losing battle. In this moment, in this breath, she was only a woman and he was only a man.
He ached to touch her. To know the feel of her skin. The taste of her flesh. The sound of her sigh.
“Are you going to kiss me?” she whispered.
In the dancing candlelight her eyes were endless pools of shimmering amber. He shifted closer and her eyes widened, but she did not look away or fight to be free of him. She stood quietly, her head tipped slightly to the right, her arms poised motionless at her sides. Gavin wet his lips. The small motion drew her gaze to his mouth, and the naïve curiosity he saw flicker across her face was nearly his undoing.
“Bloody hell,” he murmured, dropping his head and bracing his arms on either side of the door, effectively pinning her against it. From inside his chest his heart pounded and his pulse raced, as if he were an eager, inexperienced lad again about to lose his virginity all over again.
When had a woman ever affected him like this, let alone a slip of a girl with fire in her hair and steel in her eyes?
Never. The answer was never.
“Tell me to let you go,” he said roughly, dragging one hand from the door to cup the delicate curve of her jaw. Her skin felt like velvet.
“Why?” she asked.
Why indeed? Throwing caution to the wind, Gavin muttered a savage oath as he claimed her mouth with his.
CHAPTER FIVE
It felt as though everything was happening with lightening quickness.
One moment Charlotte was fleeing the ballroom and the next she was being pressed up against a door and kissed senseless by a handsome stranger. No, not kissed, she thought dazedly. Surely this was not kissing. This was ravishing. She was being ravished and it felt… it felt wonderful.
Gavin’s mouth was hot and heavy on her lips. His body pressed against hers in the most delicious places, all hard lines and long angles. One hand slipped from her jaw to curve around the back of her neck while the other settled high on her left hip and squeezed. She shivered in response, a quick jolt of movement that earned her a hard nip on her bottom lip. He soothed the bite almost before he gave it, nursing it with his tongue and because it only seemed natural she opened her mouth as well and oh… Oh. Who knew one could kiss like this?
It was like dancing, but with their tongues instead of their bodies and infinitely more exciting.
The rational part of her mind knew what they were doing was wrong. She knew she should stop, but she did not. In truth, she could not.
Pleasure crashed over her like a violent wave, dragging her under and
spinning her around and around until she did not know left from right or up from down. The hand at her hip began a slow, sensuous descent and when Gavin cupped her bottom through the layered fabric of her gown and thrust her hard against him she moaned into his mouth and clung to his shoulders with all of her strength. He rocked his body suggestively, and her eyes flew open at the new sensation that burst to life in the most secret part of her.
“Do you like that?” he murmured, and when she nodded he did it again, and again, until she was trembling in his arms and gasping for breath.
Then, without warning, the kiss ended as quickly as it had begun. Gavin stepped back so abruptly she stumbled, and were it not for the edge of a table she used to brace her hands against she feared she would have crumpled to the ground completely, so shaky were her limbs.
Touching her swollen lips, she bit back a long, lingering moan. “That was…”
“A mistake,” Gavin said flatly.
In the time it had taken Charlotte to regain her balance he was across the room and now stood facing the far window with his back to her. His body was one hard knot of coiled muscle, his shoulders tensed and rigid beneath the sleek line of his black overcoat.
He was a large man, both tall and solidly built, with hair as black a raven’s wing and eyes so gray they made her think of a tumultuous summer storm right before the thunder rolled in. His face was turned away from her and hidden in shadow, but she remembered it distinctly. The harsh lines, the slashing brows, the nose that was slightly off center as if it had been broken more than once. Just by looking at him one knew he was a dangerous man; the sort of man she had never been allowed to associate with, let alone kiss.
The thrill of it all continued to pulse through her; quivering little after shocks that thrummed pleasantly inside of her belly. She straightened and moved away from the table, crossing her arms tight over her chest as if to hold in the pleasure, if only for a little bit longer.
“Would you like to know my name?” she asked hesitantly, unsure what the next step was in matters such as these, having never been ravished by a stranger in a dark study before.
“No.”
Her eyebrows knitted together. Well, kissing had certainly done little to improve his disposition. The man was still surly as an old bear. “All right then. I suppose I will be on my way.” She moved slowly towards the door, taking great care to smooth out her skirts and adjust her hair in the vain hope Gavin would ask her to wait, and her shoulders drooped in disappointment when she reached the door and there was only silence from the other side of the room.
It was for the best, she told herself consolingly.
A lady simply did not indulge in a dalliance with a stranger such as Gavin Graystone and if she did, nothing ever came of it. What did she expect? That he would pledge his undying love after one soul searing kiss and whisk her away to live with him in his castle high on a hill?
Well yes, she admitted to herself with a wry little smile as her hand closed over the brass doorknob, that would be rather splendid.
“Stop.”
Charlotte sucked in a breath. “Yes?”
“I would.”
With a soft, deliberate click she let the doorknob fall back to its original position before she turned to face him. Inside her chest her heart beat a rapid tattoo, but outwardly she was calm, cool, and composed. “You would what, Mr. Graystone?”
He stepped away from the window. Shadows danced across his face, adding to his sinister appeal. “I would like to know your name.”
“Lady Charlotte Vanderley,” she said without preamble. No doubt other women would have made Gavin wait a bit before divulging such intimate details, but Charlotte had never been fond of games. She preferred to say what she had to say and be done with it, coy flirtation be damned.
Gavin released a short, bitter laugh. “Of course you are,” he muttered cryptically.
Charlotte frowned. “Pardon me? Have we met before?”
“No, Lady Charlotte, we have not met.”
“Ah,” she said with a decisive nod as it all made sense. “You must have heard of the engagement then. Well, yes. I am the same Charlotte Vanderley who is involved in all of that nonsense.”
For the first time the word ‘engagement’ did not lodge and burn in her throat like it usually did. It slipped out matter-of-fact, like a cork twisting free from a bottle. She wondered at the ease of it, and hoped it was not because she was – heaven forbid – getting used to the notion.
“I never said I – engagement?” Gavin’s mouth twisted. “What bloody engagement?”
“My engagement to the Duke of Tarrow.”
Ah, there it was. The familiar twisting of nausea snaking up from her stomach to tickle the back of her throat. Trying not to gag, she explained, “The announcement was printed in all of the papers this morning.”
“The Duke of Tarrow is an old man.”
“Yes,” she sighed. “I know.”
In three long strides Gavin was in front of her. He caught her chin in a bruising grip and forced her head up so their eyes met, stormy gray against burning amber. “You are no different than the rest,” he said scornfully. “Pledging yourself to the wealthiest man with the highest title no matter how sane his mind or wrinkled his body.”
Working her jaw from side to side just enough to loosen his hold, Charlotte twisted her chin and sank her teeth into the flesh of his palm. He howled and released her immediately, clutching his hand.
“You little hellcat!” He held his hand up to the light to examine the even row of teeth marks imprinted into his skin and shook his head in disbelief. “You bit me!”
“Yes,” Charlotte said with no small amount of pride. “I most certainly did and I will do it again if I have to. Do not touch me without my permission, Mr. Graystone.” Her eyes narrowed. “I do not like being accosted in such a manner.”
“Something I will surely keep in mind.” Scowling, Gavin rubbed his palm on the side of his coat and flexed his fingers.
“Furthermore,” Charlotte continued, her voice rising with every word as her temper flared, “I did not choose to become engaged to the duke! If it were up to me I would have nothing to do with him, no matter if he were the richest man in all of England or some beggar on the street!” As often happened when anger got the best of her tears sparked in her eyes, and with a hiss of embarrassed dismay she whirled from Gavin and ran for the door.
She reached it a second before he did, and this time when he held it shut she did not turn into his arms but rather kicked it with all her might which resulted in nothing more than a smarting foot, as dancing slippers were hardly good protection against solid oak doors.
“Ouch,” she sniffed, hopping on one leg. “That bloody well hurt.”
“About as much as my hand does, I imagine,” Gavin said dryly and despite her frustrations Charlotte found herself smiling through her tears.
Balancing like one of the beautiful pink flamingoes she had seen once at a traveling zoo, she turned carefully around and leaned up against the door. Gavin did not step back to give her room, but rather than feeling crowded by his large, rangy body she felt oddly protected, as if his very presence had the ability to right all of her wrongs. “I apologize for biting you,” she said, dropping her gaze to his chest. “My mother says it is because of my red hair that I let my temper get the best of me.”
Reaching out, Gavin captured a glossy curl between his fingers and rolled it back and forth. “I have never seen hair this shade before. It is like copper gleaming in the sun. Surely something so beautiful could not be responsible for something so heinous.”
Charlotte’s nose wrinkled. “Did you just call me heinous?”
“Not you, your temper. Do you always shriek like a banshee when you get angry?”
“Most times,” she admitted, peeking up at him through her lashes. He had a dimple, she realized with a start. A charming, boyish dimple that had no business existing on the face of a man who was already so handsome
. “It is something I have put considerable effort into improving.”
He chuckled softly and let her curl drop, but did not release his hold on her completely. The back of his hand, devoid of a glove as a proper gentleman’s should be, began to move in slow, soothing strokes up and down the length of her arm. Goosebumps rose on the ivory flesh, and Charlotte bit down hard on the inside of her cheek.
“You are quite forward, Mr. Graystone.”
“With you I seem to be,” he said, his gray eyes darkening with an emotion she could not easily decipher. “Tell me more about your engagement.” His hand fell away and he stepped back.
Charlotte drank in the space between them, telling herself it was necessary even as she yearned to be close to him once again. You are a proper young lady, she reminded herself sternly, and he is no doubt a rake and a rapscallion who behaves this way with anything in skirts – control yourself!
“What would you like to know, Mr. Graystone?” Her bare shoulders lifted and dipped in what she hoped came across as a careless shrug. “He asked my mother for my hand and she accepted on my behalf.” And oh, didn’t that make her want to kick a few more doors!
Gavin’s brows lifted in visible surprise. “Surely she consulted you first.”
Her only answer was a purse of her lips, to which he shook his head and muttered, “Bloody nobility.”
Charlotte hid a smile behind her hand. “I should be going now,” she said reluctantly.
It was one thing to indulge in a secret kiss with a stranger behind closed doors; it was quite another to be caught indulging in a kiss with a stranger behind closed doors and she knew with every second she lingered her chances of being discovered increased tenfold.
This time Gavin made no attempt to stop her when she opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. Picking up the hem of her skirts she walked briskly towards the ballroom, and although she never turned around, she felt his eyes on her back the entire time.
The Runaway Duchess Page 4
