Demi didn’t know whether to be amused or irritated. Finally, amusement won out. “I had not pegged you as being so full of your own consequence.”
He sighed. “It’s hard to remain humble when so many designing mamas and dutiful daughters are throwing themselves at your head.”
Surprised by the comment, Demi looked him over searchingly. “I suppose by that you mean that no matter what your station in life, there are always obstacles to one’s happiness. You, at least, have the option of running, however.”
“But that wounds my dignity,” he said pensively.
She chuckled in spite of herself. “I’ll admit I have trouble imagining it.”
“Would you run if you could?”
Demi shrugged. “I’m certain I will grow accustomed,” she said, not very convincingly.
“I take it by that the answer is no. There are no other options?”
She turned to study him again. She’d been at pains not to admit how distasteful she found her engagement, but she supposed it would’ve been obvious to a stump that she was unhappy about it. “None that I would seriously consider. None that are not as bad or worse.”
“You’ve no sense of adventure then?” he said, smiling faintly.
She sighed. “Aunt Alma has always accused me of being just like my father whenever I displease her, but I’m afraid I’m not as much like my father she seems to think--no, I don’t. I have far too much imagination.”
“Some would say being adventuresome requires an imagination.”
“A fanciful imagination, I should think,” Demi said tartly. “For myself, I am more inclined to imagine the consequences of rash actions.”
“You have a particular reason for not wishing to wed Reverend Flemming?”
“Beyond the fact that I would be trading one tyrant for another far more dangerous one?” Demi responded tartly, then gasped and covered her mouth with her hand, looking at him wide-eyed. “I should not have said that. I don’t know what made me say that.”
Lord Wyndham was frowning. “The fact that you believe it to be true?”
She sighed. “You don’t? I mean, do you think that I’ve misjudged him?”
Again, he shrugged. “You would be in a better position to judge than I.”
Demi huddled a little deeper into his coat and shivered. The sun had set and long shadows spilled into the meadow from the wood that surrounded it. It would be dark soon. She knew she should go in, but she was reluctant to return to Moreland Abbey and the almost certain wrath of her aunt. As if he sensed her thoughts, or perhaps because she’d shivered, Lord Wyndham slipped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. She stiffened, but she didn’t try to pull away. After a few moments, she relaxed against him, dropping her head against his shoulder, relishing her closeness to him.
She knew he meant to kiss her when he tucked a finger beneath her chin and urged her to look up at him.
She knew she shouldn’t allow it.
She lifted her face to look up at him without hesitation, with complete trust. Their gazes locked for a suspended moment in time, then, slowly, he dipped his head closer to hers, brushed his lips lightly across the sensitive surfaces of her own. A rush of delight filled her at the feather light contact, suspending her breath in her chest. When he lifted his head slightly to look into her eyes, she held herself perfectly still, waiting to see what he would do next.
He released a sharp exhalation from his chest as she met his gaze, as if he, too, had been holding his breath. Something flickered in his eyes, surprise and something more, something dark, heated. Slipping his hand from her chin to the base of her skull, he lowered his head once more, pressing his lips to hers and releasing, and then moving ever so slightly and molding his lips against hers again, as if seeking the perfect fit. An intoxicating lethargy swept through Demi at his light caresses, as his breath mingled with her own. Lifting a hand, she caught a fistful of his shirt above his pounding heart and moved closer.
Lightly, he touched the seam where her lips met with the tip of his tongue. A ripple of surprise went through Demi, a touch of doubt. She subdued it. Hesitantly, she parted her lips, not entirely certain that that was what he wanted, but willing to allow him to do what he would with her. He opened his mouth over hers then, thrusting his tongue past the lax barrier of her lips and teeth and raking it along her own. A jolt went through her at the unaccustomed contact that was part surprise and part something else she couldn’t begin to define. Like the spirits she’d drank from the flask, it sent a wave of dizziness through her and created a warm, melting sensation inside of her, evoking a frantic rhythm from her heart. Briefly, she wavered between fear of the unknown and the desire to see where he would lead her. Desire won out, and she relaxed against him, savoring his possession, submerging herself completely in the unaccustomed sensations creating havoc within her as he explored her mouth thoroughly, caressing her in a way she would never have imagined allowing any man, let alone wanting.
She did want it, though. The sensations enthralled her as much as they confused her and when he began to withdraw, she leaned closer, thrusting her tongue into his mouth to explore as he had explored hers. A shudder went through him, but before she could retreat in her uncertainty over his reaction to her boldness, he closed his mouth around her tongue and sucked. It sent a hard jolt of fire through her veins, draining the strength from her so that she felt weak all over.
Abruptly, he broke the kiss. Disappointment instantly flooded her. With an effort, she lifted her lids to look up at him reproachfully. He stared back at her for a long moment, his face taut, unyielding. Finally, he tucked her head against his shoulder, stroking a shaking hand along her shoulder and down her arm. “Don’t look at me like that,” he said hoarsely, “unless you’re of a mind to have your skirts tossed over your head.”
She stiffened. After a moment, she pulled away from him, trying to sort through her chaotic feelings. She knew very well that she should have been outraged at the comment. Somehow, though, she was more intrigued by it than insulted.
He released her, scrubbed a hand over his face and shifted uncomfortably, straightening one leg. She looked him over curiously. “You have a muscle cramp?”
The question startled a chuckle out of him. He turned and studied her a long moment. Finally, he took her hand and, watching her face, pressed her open hand against his lower belly, sliding her palm over a long, hard ridge of flesh that she hadn’t noticed before. Comprehension dawned almost instantaneously, however. She’d spent much of her life in the country, certainly enough to have a fairly firm grasp of the concept of mating between animals. She just hadn’t, previously, considered there might be a similarity between humans and animals. “Oh.” She felt her face redden and jerked her hand back.
Settling back, she stared down at her hand in the deepening twilight. She could still feel the impression along her palm, the heat of it, a faint pulsing of life. Her belly clenched as she stared at her hand and she curled her fingers inward. She knew she shouldn’t pursue it further, shouldn’t have pursued it as far as she had, but she discovered a burning need to know if it was in any way significant for him as it had been for her.
She was not in the habit of allowing men to kiss her, although she knew Phoebe had experimented with kissing more than once. She had not, in point of fact, had either the opportunity or the desire to do so before. “Does it … does that always happen?”
He sent her a sharp glance. “You should never ask a man a question like that, my dear, if you expect him to treat you like a lady.”
The rebuke was certainly warranted. It stung nevertheless. She nodded. “I expect I shall discover it for myself soon enough,” she muttered to herself, revolted at the idea of discovering something like that in Jonathan Flemming’s breeches when he kissed her. Would it be that big, she wondered? Or would it be bigger still, since he was a bigger man than Lord Wyndham? The thought sent a wave of panic through her. She knew it was supposed to fit inside of her, s
he had just never quite figured out where.
Beside her, Lord Wyndham stiffened, and she realized, belatedly, that she must have muttered her thoughts aloud. “I should go in now,” she said quickly, pulling his coat from her shoulders and handing it back to him. “Thank you.”
He took it, and stood up, pulling her to her feet. Peering up at him, she saw that he was still angry, far more angry than she’d realized. She was sorry for it, but would it be better to apologize for her brazen manners, she wondered? Or would it be best to try to pretend that it had never happened?
She stared down at her hands a moment. “You are so … comfortable to talk to. I apologize if I made you uncomfortable after your kindness to me.”
He caught her shoulders when she would have turned away. She looked up at him in surprise. “You should not get too comfortable with me, Demi. It would be all too easy for me to forget that I am a gentleman and you are lady, particularly when you kiss me like that.”
She grimaced. “I shouldn’t have kissed you back?”
He shook his head slowly, moving closer. Catching her arms, he placed them around his neck, pulling her tightly against him. “No,” he murmured, leaning close and brushing his lips against hers lightly once more. “Nor allowed me to kiss you the way I did.”
“Why?” Demi asked breathlessly when his lips parted from hers briefly.
“Because now I know what you do to me … and what I do to you … instead of merely imagining what it would feel like to kiss you,” he said between short, nibbling kisses. “And now I have a burning need to discover what it would be like to make love to you.”
He kissed her deeply then, as he had before, but with far less restraint. Her belly clenched as excitement washed through her. Heat burgeoned instantly inside of her, where before it had grown slowly from warmth to fire. Dizzy, breathless, she rose up on her toes and tightened her arms around his neck, caressing his tongue with her own and finally sucking on it as he had hers before. He groaned, slipping a hand down along her back and cupping her buttocks through her gown, pressing her lower body tightly against his own. The swollen ridge of flesh was bruisingly hard, but she imitated his movements, rocking her hips against his.
He squeezed her buttocks tightly, holding her still as he tore his lips from hers and buried his face along the crook of her neck, breathing raggedly. Finally, he set her away from him. She looked at him doubtfully, confused that he’d pushed her away.
“Go inside, Demi,” he said harshly. “Now!”
She took a step back at the growled order and finally turned and fled.
Chapter Four
Luck was not something Demi had more than a passing familiarity with, but for once it came to her rescue. She managed to make it into the house and up the servant’s stairs without encountering anyone. Her maid, Sarah, was in her room when Demi dashed inside and bolted the door behind her. Dragging in a shuddering breath of relief, Demi leaned back against the door, her eyes closed tightly.
“Ye look as if ye’ve seen a ghost.”
Demi opened her eyes and stared at her maid, repressing a hysterical urge to giggle nervously. “A dragon more like. I thought sure Aunt Alma would meet me on the way up.”
Sarah moved across the room, a finger to her lips. “Ye’ve only missed her by a hair,” she said quietly. “How did ye manage to get by without her seeing you?”
Demi grimaced. “I sneaked up the backstairs. I … uh … was ill. I went out to the necessary.”
Sarah eyed her suspiciously. “An’ stopped by yer dear departed uncle’s cellaret on the way back from the smell of ye,” she responded tartly, leaning a little closer and sniffing.
Clapping a hand to her mouth, Demi’s eyes widened. “You can smell it!” she gasped in horror. “I only had a sip.”
Sarah nodded. “An’ I suppose ye had no more than a toke of one of his cigars while ye was at it?”
“Good God!” Demi exclaimed, fighting the rising tide of hysteria inside of her. “Help me change! Quickly! Aunt Alma has the nose of a bloodhound. If you can smell it, she certainly will.”
Without another word, Sarah helped her strip her gown and shift off, bundling them into a ball as Demi rushed to the washstand and quickly bathed her face and hands with soap. When she turned, Sarah was holding out a linen hand towel. “Ye’ve the look of a maiden that’s been thoroughly kissed, if you don’t mind my saying so,” she commented, “and the smell of him on yer clothes.”
Demi pressed her hands to her cheeks. “Have I?” she asked self-consciously.
Sarah nodded. “I’m thinkin’ it weren’t the Reverend Flemming, neither. He was that put out when he left a bit ago.”
Demi moved to the bed and sat down weakly on the edge of the mattress. “Aunt Alma will be furious with me.… He didn’t…. You don’t think he called off the engagement, do you?”
Sarah studied her curiously for several moments. “I’ve a notion I would’ve been belting back a bit o’ the hard stuff if I found meself tied to that one. An’ I’m thinkin’ ye agree with me on it. Would ye be that displeased if he did?”
Demi covered her face with her hands, feeling the urge to weep sweep over her. With an effort, she swallowed the knot of misery. “It’s not a matter of what I want. It’s what Aunt Alma wants, and what he wants. I don’t have a choice …. Aunt Alma all but said plain out that she would disown me if I refused his offer. And I’ve got nowhere to go!”
Frowning, Sarah moved across the room. Dropping the bundle of clothing near the door, she went to the armoire and pulled a nightgown out for her mistress, then returned and helped her remove her corset and slip the gown on. “What about Lord Wyndham?”
Demi glanced at her sharply. “Lord Wyndham,” she echoed faintly.
Sarah gave her a look. “It was him ye met in the garden, weren’t it? I’ve seen the sheep’s eyes you been castin’ his way for the past six months and more, and the look on your face whenever his name’s mentioned.”
Blood climbed into Demi’s cheeks. She looked at Sarah in dismay. “I’ve been that obvious?”
Sarah smiled faintly. “Ye’ve no need to worry anyone else noticed … except his lordship himself, that is. There ain’t a soul in this household that ever notices anything beyond their own nose.”
Demi felt only marginally better. “I’m sure he didn’t notice. I never once even glanced his way when he was looking in my direction.”
Sarah chuckled. “It’s been almost comical to watch the two of you going to such pains not to glance at each other. Lord Wyndham’d be loungin’ against a wall, or sprawled all casual-like in a chair, watching your every move like a big, sleepy cat ready to pounce and gobble you up the moment you came close enough. An’ you flutterin’ all nervous around the room, like the little bird that knows that old cat’s just waitin’ for you to make the wrong move.”
Demi blushed all over again, but frowned as she crawled into her bed and pulled the covers up. “You’re just saying that,” she said, doubt and hope warring for dominance.
“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t know it was true,” Sarah assured her, dampening a towel in the washbowl and then moving to the small fire on the hearth and holding the cloth out to catch the heat. “I’ve been around enough to know what that look in a man’s eyes means.”
Demi sighed, stilling the nervous fluttering of her heart with an effort, but she forced a smile. “I’m glad you told me. At least that’s something … even though … even though nothing could ever come of it.”
Sarah’s brows rose. “Why would nothing come of it? He’s taken a fancy to you. You’ve taken a fancy to him.”
Demi shook her head. “He’s a peer of the realm, Sarah. I’m … a nobody and as poor as a church mouse. It wouldn’t be a suitable match. I know it, and he knows it, too, I can assure you.”
Sarah flipped the towel over, fanning it. “He’s poor, too?”
Demi grimaced. “I don’t think so. Aunt Alma wouldn’t let him near her precious Phoe
be if he was. At any rate, if he was, it would be even more unsuitable, for then he’d have to marry a woman of wealth. What are you doing, anyway?”
Sarah grinned. “Yer aunt’ll be back. I’m thinkin’ she’ll be less inclined to linger if yer hot and flushed.”
Demi stared at the cloth for several moments while that comment slowly sank in. Almost as if on cue, she heard someone coming along the hallway. Signaling frantically for the cloth, Demi pressed it to her face and lay back, listening intently. She knew almost immediately that it was her aunt. It seemed doubtful she would knock. She wasn’t in the habit of doing so at any time, and she was convinced Demi was up to something tonight. The moment the footsteps paused outside her door, Demi snatched the cloth off her face and shoved it under the covers.
The door flew open. Demi raised up slightly, peering through blurred eyes at the door. By the time she’d managed to blink the steaming moisture from her eyes and focus, Alma Moreland’s expression had gone from rage to one of suspicion. Stalking across the room, she stared down at Demi for several moments. “I came to check on you. Where have you been?”
Demi licked her dried lips. “I was ill. I went out to the necessary.”
Her aunt’s lips tightened. After a moment’s hesitation, she touched Demi’s face. “You may have a touch of fever,” she concluded ungraciously. “Mr. Flemming was not at all pleased with your behavior today. He’s to call tomorrow to take you on an outing. Unless you’re at death’s door, I suggest you be ready to greet him with more warmth.”
Turning, she stalked from the room and slammed the door behind her.
Sarah glared indignantly at the door, her hands on her hips. “Might have a touch of fever? An’ yer face as red as blood and hot as fire!”
Demi couldn’t help but chuckle. “You know very well I don’t have a fever,” she said, fishing the damp cloth from beneath her coverlet and handing it to Sarah.
Sarah looked at her, but she didn’t seem appeased in the least. “Aye, but she didn’t, the old battle ax. Yer not goin’ to let her push ye into marryin’ that man, are ye?”
The Rake Page 4
