The Irresistible Rogue

by Valerie Bowman

  She made her way to the edge of the settee, then stopped. Hmm. Where should she sit? How would they go about this? She decided to truly shock him by sitting on her side directly next to him, facing toward him, her legs out to the right. She positioned her skirts to make it work and sidled up next to him.

  Rafe arched both brows. Then she lifted up on both knees and placed her hands on either side of his shoulders. Her fingers trembled and she silently cursed herself for it. She pressed her fingertips into his shoulders to keep them from trembling. Oh, but touching him had been a mistake. The man’s shoulders were pure muscle. Strong, and square, and … The scent of him so near made her mouth water. Perhaps that was why open mouths were involved in some forms of kissing.

  He’d crossed his arms over his chest and regarded her with a bit of nonchalance. She mentally vowed to wipe that look from his handsome face.

  He’d not make this easy for her, indeed. Well, she wouldn’t make it easy for him.

  Rising up higher on her knees, she towered above him. He lifted his chin to meet her eyes but his arms remained tight across his chest.

  She slowly lowered herself, hooding her eyes more and more as she got closer to his mouth. And what a mouth it was. His lips were firm, but perfectly shaped. They were closed, but puckered slightly at the corners. As she moved closer, she heard the sharp intake of his breath. That was it. The one moment. The only moment she knew that she’d got to him, affected him.

  Her mouth hovered a scant inch above his. “Memorable, you say?”

  “If you can manage it.” Blast. His voice had been strong, sure, slightly mocking.

  “Oh, I can manage,” she breathed, just before her lips met his.

  His lips were warm and dry. But his mouth wasn’t open. Nothing happened. No great passion. No insane lust like what she’d seen between the footman and the maid. She pulled back and stared at Rafe quizzically. He shrugged.

  She nearly laughed aloud. All these months she’d fancied herself in love with him. Thought she wanted him. But there was no passion between them at all. None. That kiss was going to be memorable all right. Memorable for being bad.

  “Is that the best you can do?” he mocked.

  Daphne frowned at him. How dare he? Clearly, the man didn’t understand that there were no inherent sparks between them. How did he expect her to make up for that? But the competitive side of her nature whispered in her ear and she scrunched up her nose. “No,” she replied, merely to be contrary.

  She might as well humor the poor man and give him one more sad little kiss just to say she tried.

  She leaned back down and pressed her lips to his again. There was a bit of friction this time, a pop, a spark. Her eyes widened in surprise and she wrapped an arm around his neck to steady herself.

  The moment she did, Rafe’s mouth opened and slanted across hers. His hot, wet tongue plunged inside of her mouth and she whimpered. He growled. His lips were no longer warm and dry. They owned her. With another growl, he shifted her body in his lap with ease and she was lying across his thighs, her arms clutching his strong neck.

  His hands moved up into her hair and loosened the pins holding up her chignon. His fingers rubbed along the back of her neck. Gooseflesh popped up along her bare arms.

  What was that about there being no passion? Rubbish.

  He kissed her eyelids, her cheeks, her temple, and when his hot tongue traced the seashell of her ear, Daphne’s entire body bucked. One of his hands went to her hip to steady her. It burned through her skirts, scorching her. She suddenly had the urge to flip up her skirts and let his hands move along her thighs, up, up, until—

  No. This was only supposed to be a kiss. But she couldn’t think with him touching her like this.

  His mouth was back on hers. Her fingers threaded through the short hair along the back of his neck. She was clutching his muscled shoulders for dear life. Afraid that if she let go, she’d fall, or cease to exist. It was like there was only him in the universe and nothing else mattered.

  His teeth tugged at her bottom lip and she moaned. His mouth slanted over hers again. Again. Fiery hot slashes of lust roiled through her entire body, pooled at a spot between her legs where she desperately wanted his hand.

  “Rafe, I—”

  But her thought was forever lost to the sound of the door opening and someone’s throat clearing.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Daphne snapped from her haze. Dear God. Who was it? She hastily pushed away from Rafe and slid onto the opposite corner of the settee. Rafe had apparently heard it, too. They both swung their guilty gazes toward the door to see Lucy Hunt standing there, her eyes politely averted.

  Rafe stood, cleared his throat, and adjusted his breeches. “We’re just … I’m—”

  “Not to worry, Captain Cavendish. I didn’t see a thing,” Lucy said. “And had I seen a thing, rest assured that I most certainly would never repeat that news to a soul.”

  Rafe straightened to his full height. It seemed to Daphne that his shoulders bowed a bit in relief. Was he that pleased to know that the person who had caught them in a compromising position was someone who could be counted on to keep it to herself? Hrmph.

  “I’ll just get back to the ballroom. Good evening, Lady Daphne.” Rafe bowed to Daphne, then to Lucy. “Your grace.”

  He strode past Lucy, who had a tiny smile on her face. “Good evening, Captain.”

  The door shut behind him and Lucy tilted her head to one side and arched a brow at Daphne.

  Daphne’s head was still reeling. How was it possible that something that had begun so, so, uninterestingly, had turned into that. The footman and the housemaid had seemed to be quite taken with each other, but even they couldn’t have felt anything like that. Daphne was certain of it. If they had, there was no way they could have done so while standing. Even now her legs felt like water and she didn’t dare stand. She could also barely look at Lucy.

  Lucy whistled. “Well done.”

  Daphne put her hand to her forehead. What was wrong with her? She still felt too hot. Was it possible that she’d been struck by malaria? In London? She had been to the milliner’s last week. And the fabric shop. Perhaps she’d caught malaria there. Yes. The fabric shop was the likely culprit.

  “Well what?” She mustn’t have heard the duchess correctly.

  “I said well done. That man is gorgeous. Now, do you want to explain what that was about?” Lucy waved her hand toward the door.

  “What?” Stalling was a tactic that had usually worked on her brothers.

  Lucy moved closer to the settee. “You’re beginning to echo, dear. Now out with it. Explain yourself.”

  “I don’t think I can.” Daphne winced.

  Lucy stamped forward and slid onto the settee next to Daphne. “No you don’t. You’re going to cough up the details and now. And while you’re at it, might I suggest you see about your hair.”

  Daphne’s hand flew to her coiffure. The mess of pins had come loose.

  “Here, lean forward. I’ll help,” Lucy offered.

  Daphne nodded shakily. “Thank you, your grace.”

  “Now, none of that. I thought we established at Julian and Cass’s wedding that you were to call me Lucy.”

  “Yes, Lucy. Though I must say it feels quite queer to have a duchess acting as my lady’s maid.”

  “We must adapt to our circumstances, mustn’t we? Now, stop trying to stall. I’m ever so familiar with that tactic. You’re speaking to the lady who came up with the idea to hire a nonexistent chaperone for Jane Lowndes. In fact, I was explaining the concept to your cousin Delilah earlier. I like that girl. She reminds me of me when I was a child.”

  Daphne had to smile at that. “Very well, I’ll explain. But promise me you won’t tell Julian.”

  Lucy clucked her tongue. “Of course I won’t tell Julian, but you’re going to tell me. What exactly is going on between you and Captain Cavendish?”

  Daphne expelled her breath. “I don’t know.�
�

  “You don’t know?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea.”

  “You are still married to him, aren’t you?”

  Daphne groaned. Lucy and Derek had been there last spring when Daphne had announced to Julian and Cass that she was married to Rafe and she needed an annulment. At the time it had seemed logical to tell her brother and his friends all at once. Daphne knew for certain that Julian would tell Cass and Cass would tell Lucy and once Lucy knew, there was little hope of Jane Lowndes and Lucy’s cousin Garrett Upton not finding out. The six of them were as thick as thieves, after all. And all of them could be trusted, but now Daphne wished she hadn’t been quite so loose-lipped. “Yes.” Daphne glanced around. “But please keep your voice down.”

  “No one is here.” Lucy pushed a pin into Daphne’s coiffure.

  “Ouch.” Daphne rubbed her head.

  Lucy bit her lip. “I’m terribly sorry. I never claimed to be good at filling in as a lady’s maid.”

  “Oh, Lucy. I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing.”

  Lucy stuck another pin back into Daphne’s hair. “You might start by explaining how you came to be alone in here with Captain Cavendish and him kissing you.”

  “He wasn’t kissing me. I was kissing him.”

  Lucy snorted. “It looked to me as if he was doing a fair amount of the kissing.”

  “He asked me to kiss him.”

  Lucy’s fingers fell away from Daphne’s head. “That’s surprising.”

  Daphne slapped her hand to her forehead. “What am I going to do?”

  Lucy reached over and squeezed Daphne’s shoulder. “You just so happen to be sitting next to a person who is well versed in both awkward situations and surprising ones. Not to mention scandalous ones. Don’t worry a bit. We’ll figure it out. It’s quite simple, really.”

  “How could it possibly be quite simple?”

  “You merely have to ask yourself, what do you want?”

  Daphne blinked. “What do I want?”

  “Yes. What do you want?”

  “I…” Daphne tugged at her third finger. “I don’t know what I want.”

  “We always know what we want, dear. We usually just don’t want to know that we know what we want.”

  Daphne furrowed her brow. “That’s exceedingly confusing.”

  Lucy smiled at her and resumed her work on Daphne’s chignon. “Allow me to present it another way. Do you want Captain Cavendish?”

  “I want to kiss Captain Cavendish. Or at least I did while I was doing it. The whole thing has completely befuddled me.”

  “I don’t blame you, dear. The man is positively delicious. And might I suggest you hire Mrs. Bunbury as your chaperone if you intend to go about kissing men who are not your betrothed at house parties.”

  Daphne shook her head. Mrs. Bunbury was Jane’s fictitious chaperone, whom she’d used to fool her mother last spring when she’d attended Cass and Julian’s wedding house party. “I have no intention of employing Mrs. Bunbury. I don’t need her. It’s not as if I could marry Rafe. He’s completely unsuitable and—”

  “I do believe you’re forgetting that you’re already married to him, dear.”

  Daphne sighed. “Yes, but we’re not married, married. Not really. And Julian’s already agreed to help me with the annulment as soon as we—”

  “As soon as you what, dear?”

  Daphne leaned her neck against the settee and blew out a long breath. “I’m so confused.”

  Lucy pushed another pin into place. “I know all about confusing kisses. Derek once punched a tree, climbed into my window, and kissed me. I had no idea what to do.”

  Daphne pressed a hand to her still-warm cheek. “What? That seems ever so much more complicated than my little kiss in the library tonight.”

  “It wasn’t little, my dear. And I might further point out that you kissed a man at your supposed engagement party. But you’re missing the point. What about Lord Fitzwell? Do you want him?”

  Daphne thought about it for a moment. “I can’t say I’ve imagined kissing him. But I do want him to ask me to marry him. At least I think I do.”

  Lucy’s hands fell away from Daphne’s coiffure again and Lucy eyed her closely. “You’re certain?”

  “Yes.”

  “Entirely certain?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, then. Problem solved. Don’t get yourself alone with Captain Cavendish again and don’t kiss him again. Lord Fitzwell is sure to propose. He hasn’t done so yet so there is absolutely no harm done. Think of it as a last moment of being unattached. And your hair is set to rights again, by the by.”

  For the first time since Lucy had entered the room, Daphne smiled. “Yes. Yes. That’s just what I’ll do. It meant nothing. It was completely harmless, really. Thank you, Lucy. Thank you!”

  “It’s my pleasure, dear.”

  Daphne tugged at her bottom lip. “I do think he only asked me to kiss him as a prank. It went too far, that is all. He didn’t believe I had the courage to do it.”

  “I think he knows you well enough to know you have courage in spades, Daphne. But at any rate, clearer heads often prevail when one thinks things through rationally.”

  “Yes. I quite agree. The good news is that now that I’ve kissed him, he’s agreed to leave.”

  “Really?” Lucy arched a dark brow over her blue eye.

  Daphne nodded. “That’s right.”

  “Well, then. It’s all sorted.” Lucy patted Daphne’s hand again.

  Sorted until Daphne was left alone with him on the True Love for a sennight. But that wasn’t the point at the moment and she wasn’t about to tell the Duchess of Claringdon about her scandalous mission. All of that could be sorted later. At the moment, Daphne was merely desperate for Rafe to leave so that she could progress with her engagement. It was true that she was normally not one to make plans or follow rules, but she had a plan at present, by God, and the man was disturbing it. Check one, get rid of pesky husband. Check two, ensure engagement to handsome, titled, eligible bachelor. Check three, help to exact revenge upon the men who killed Donald. Check four, secure annulment. Check five, return to Mayfair, marry said eligible bachelor, and live a long, happy life with a blue-eyed son and blond daughter. Both of whom would hopefully be considerably taller than their poor mother.

  “Thank you, Lucy, for your help … and your discretion. I greatly appreciate it.”

  Lucy stood. “Don’t mention it, dear.” She glanced around. “Now, I came in here to fetch a book for Jane. She said she left it on the desk.” She wandered over to the desk and picked up a tome. “Ah, here it is. The Long History of Ancient Greece. That’s Jane for you. Always reading something that would surely put the rest of us to sleep immediately.”

  Daphne smiled at that. “I suppose I should be grateful that you found me instead of Jane.”

  “Don’t be too certain about that. Before Jane and Garrett were married, they engaged in some antics in libraries that would make you blush.”

  And with that astonishing pronouncement, Lucy turned and sauntered from the room.

  Daphne counted ten, stood, smoothed her skirts, patted the pins in her coiffure, then straightened her shoulders and made her way to the door. Surely the fact that she’d returned to the festivities so long after Rafe’s reappearance would cause any suspicions about them leaving together to be overlooked.

  She hoped.

  * * *

  The door closed behind Daphne and Delilah popped up from behind the settee and rested her chin on the back of the furniture. “Oh, this was all très intéressant,” she announced to the empty room. “Quite interesting, indeed.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The next morning, Daphne’s maid had no sooner finished pulling up her hair and pinning it in a soft knot on the top of her head than Delilah came strolling into the room. Daphne had chosen a lavender gown with white ribbons at the top and silver cording along the hem. Delilah was wearing a pre
tty light green day dress with an emerald-green bow on the top of her head. The girl balanced a plate of teacakes in her dainty hand and wore an irrepressible smile on her face.

  “Bonjour, Cousin Daphne.”

  “Good morning, Dee. Looks as if you’ve been downstairs already.”

  “Indeed I have. The breakfast display is particularly impressive. Though I must admit I had a bit of a tussle with Mrs. Upton to get these teacakes. They were the last on a platter. And j’adore teacakes.”

  Daphne turned in her seat to look at her cousin. “You won in a fight over teacakes with Jane?”

  “I sniffed a little and allowed my upper lip to quiver. I believe she thought I intended to cry. No one likes to see a little girl cry.”

  Daphne shook her head, but couldn’t suppress her smile. “You are an irrepressible scamp, Mademoiselle Montbank.”

  Still balancing the plate, Delilah took a bow. “Thank you. I consider that a great compliment. There is something much more interesting downstairs than the teacakes, however,” Delilah added.

  Daphne widened her eyes. “What’s that?”

  “Capitaine Cavendish.”

  The brush that had been in Daphne’s hand clattered to the carpet. “Captain Cavendish is still here?”

  “Yes,” came Delilah’s swift reply. She popped a bit of teacake into her mouth. “Isn’t that interesting?”

  Daphne dismissed her maid and quickly bent and retrieved the brush. There was something in her cousin’s demeanor that told her she knew more than she was letting on. She eyed her cousin warily. “Delilah Montbank, what do you know?”