Dauntless

by Lynne Connolly

  A deliberate insult, which Trelawny took as one, from the way his thin mouth tightened into a straight line. “I already have a nursery full of babes. My wife would not be required to fill it, as yours must. I am searching as much for a companion as a mother to future generations.”

  “I have time and heirs,” Mountsorrel said, his tone tighter. “I do not regard a wife as a necessity, nor will her duties involve anything she does not wish for.”

  Dru caught her breath. Undoubtedly he was implying that sharing a bed with the baron would be a chore no woman could wish for. His words, accompanied by the irritation he did not trouble to hide could only mean one thing.

  These two men were fighting over her.

  The stuff of legend. Perhaps her wishes were coming true, after all. At this late stage in her career as spinster was she finally to become a desirable woman? More than one of Strenshall’s daughters, a lady sought out because of her family, not herself?

  Both men were comfortably off, the duke probably much more than that, and they made their admiration apparent by their squabbling. A thrill worked its way up from her stomach right to the top of her head. Her hair prickled as if it was standing on end.

  But she did not have the wit or the beauty to sustain such attention. Already she was straining to think of something clever to say. Her sister Claudia would have thought of it in an instant. Livia had the beauty to sustain attention.

  “I will not squabble over a lady,” Trelawny said. “Lady Drusilla, I intend to call on you soon. I trust you will receive me.”

  Oh, heavens! He would propose to her, she was sure of it. “Why, of course.”

  As if he’d dealt with the matter, his lordship sent the duke a glare of pure triumph, before bowing and turning on his heel.

  “Did he mean what I thought he meant?” Mountsorrel demanded.

  Dru favored him with an arch smile. “I believe he intends to ask for my hand. He has already approached my father.”

  “What a slow-top.” The duke stared after the earl, who was beating a leisurely retreat down the stairs at the end of the hall. “To approach your parents first. Doesn’t he know it’s better to make sure of the lady?”

  “That’s a very enlightened way of looking at the matter.”

  “Practical,” he said with a snort. “I’m seeking a life’s partner. I would have thought that was the first consideration.”

  “Oh.” Of course he was right, but she had never thought of marriage that way before. In the circles she moved in, it was a contract, like all the others people signed.

  He caught her hand in his. “Do you trust me?”

  What had made him ask that? “Yes of course,” she said calmly, although her heart was beating a trifle faster than usual.

  “Good of you to say so. I merely wanted to let you know that you are safe with me.” He paused. “Safer. I would give my life to save yours, if I had to.”

  She recalled the deft way he had rolled when the carriage had collapsed under them, so she fell on top of him. And oh, what a sensation that had been! “You took great care of me in the park. But you do not have to sacrifice your existence to save mine.”

  “It’s the least I can do.”

  His words sounded uncomfortably like love, devotion, or adoration. He could not feel that. But she could hardly bring up the subject.

  “He staked his claim, you know,” Mountsorrel said next. “Trelawny, just now. He believes he got there first.”

  “I am not a piece of land,” she said indignantly, releasing her death grip on the side rail, the better to wave her hands about. “I am a person, not a member of a family, or a field to be fought over.”

  “Do you want men to fight over you?”

  His mild tone did not fool her. “No.” Or perhaps she did. The thought thrilled her, because nobody had ever wanted her that much. On the other hand, the forbidden nature of duels drew her. Val had fought for Charlotte, with all the ferocity of a man scorned. Or so Dru understood, because naturally she was not there to witness it.

  He had the temerity to laugh. “Liar,” he said softly.

  “Sir, you forget yourself.” Her hurt bled through her carefully cultivated manners. How dare he accuse her of such a thing?

  “I think you would thrill to the sight of two men dueling to the death for you.” His intimate tone and soft smile warmed her right through.

  “But I don’t want anyone to die for me.” The very thought curdled her blood.

  Voices rose from the hall downstairs.

  He muttered something under his breath, and then louder, he said, “I must deliver you back to the ladies’ room, and take the utmost care, must I not?” As if driven to say it, he added, “You felt like silk under my hands that day.”

  She did not understand his words for a moment, as if her mind had stuttered, unused to such sentiments. But when she did, Dru heated fast. “Me?” she squeaked. She cleared her throat.

  “You,” he confirmed. “I wanted more. I wanted to pull you tighter and damn the consequences. I must have been out of my mind.”

  “Perhaps your brain was rattled in the fall,” she suggested sweetly.

  “Perhaps it was, but it has remained in the same position. I still want to touch you again.” He turned to her with the sweetest smile she had ever seen. “Society has sketched out the way a courtship must go. I have decided to become better acquainted with you, Lady Drusilla Shaw, and let you get to know me. So do not give your Lord Trelawney an answer just yet, unless you have made up your mind.”

  “Sir, you—” She swallowed. What should she say? If she were honest, she’d admit that she wanted the same thing, but was such a desire a basis for a lifetime’s commitment? She knew her other suitors, had met them and considered their acquaintance advanced, but she had not encountered the Duke of Mountsorrel above a half dozen times. Less. Yet she did want more. “I can’t—”

  “Neither can I,” he said, “but I want to. I know of you, Lady Drusilla, but nothing prepared me for my reaction to you. You must know of me, about my life and how I conduct myself. I can furnish you with the usual assurances about my suitability as a life partner, your status and so on and so forth. But the truth is, marriage is more than a linking of families.”

  “Not for some.”

  “But always for your family,” he pointed out. “You are notorious for marrying for love.”

  She pulled her hands away. She could not possibly allow him to do this. Why, there was a footman stationed outside the ladies’ room. He would note everything they did. “Please, let me go and see how my sister is.”

  A moment later, she returned. “She’s asleep. I’ll leave her. The soprano will be caroling for another half hour at least. You may go into the drawing room if you wish. I assure you we are perfectly well.”

  A smile curled its way across his mouth. Fascinated, she watched its progress.

  “Oh no, my lady, I’m going nowhere. Not unless you come with me.”

  “Oh, but I can’t leave my sister.”

  “Such a pity. Not at all? Is she not perfectly safe in there? I could take you for a turn in the garden. You were feeling quite faint, were you not?”

  He was offering her a chance to be private with him. Unless he meant to propose marriage to her, their times together were severely limited by propriety. But a gentleman accompanying a lady for a walk in a garden on a fine spring evening, especially with the tacit approval of her sister—that would be allowed.

  How could she resist? Sparing him an impish smile, she gave him her hand. Tenderly he placed it on his arm and took her down the stairs to the garden.

  A footman opened the side door for them. The sun streamed in, but she hardly noticed it as she went outside with him.

  Lady Comyn had an extensive garden, laid out with care, especially for the purposes of entertainment and diversi
on. She even had a small maze, but when Mountsorrel led her toward it, she shook her head. “Mazes are cold and damp. Do you know the key?”

  “Don’t you always take the first right?”

  “No.”

  “Shall we try?”

  Doubtfully, she looked at the opening. The hedges were little more than calf-height. She could see no point in wasting her time solving puzzles she did not much care about. But when she told him, he only laughed. “Then let us move on.”

  She found the rose garden more to her taste. Lifting a pink bloom to her nose, she caught the scent. The perfume was often intense in the evening, just before dark fell. They had an hour yet, but they smelled sweet.

  “Stay there. You make the most exquisite picture. I should have you painted like that.”

  Ignoring his request, she straightened and met his eyes. “You are not an incurable romantic, are you?”

  “Not in general.” Shrugging, he turned away. “But I was struck by the picture you made. That blue gown and the pink roses surrounding you. You should have something made in those colors.”

  “You are foolish.” But he had made her pulse jump. She felt it in her wrist, a throb she had no way of explaining. Her breath shortened.

  “You won’t take that picture away from me,” he said softly.

  They walked on, strolling around the deserted garden. The sky glowed as the sun sank slowly, leaving pink streaks in its wake.

  “Her ladyship has her guests in her thrall. They dare not leave the drawing room,” she commented lightly. The well-sifted gravel stirred under her feet, and they turned a corner.

  A path meandered around a few young trees, an almost bucolic scene. Apart, that was, from the sound of carriages passing and the occasional raucous cry from outside. Chairmen and street sellers trying to make a living, not sounds she had ever heard on the family estate. But she could pretend, let a little tranquility sink into her.

  Except she found the task impossible with this man by her side. What was happening to her? Even when he said nothing and behaved with perfect propriety he scrambled her senses.

  “You’re besieged by suitors this season.”

  Dru bit her lip. Her suitors, no doubt egged on by her father, had pressed their case at the balls and the theater. “Four gentlemen have expressed interest in marrying me.” One had dropped out, proposed to another lady. Perhaps he’d fallen in love.

  They strolled a short way in silence. A breeze swept across her face, ruffling her hair.

  “Are you in a rush to marry?”

  Heat rushed to her cheeks. She turned her face away. “Of course not. But my parents decreed I must marry or retire from the field this season. They will not abandon me, of course…”

  “But they’ll remove their support. They will not actively promote your marriage.”

  He understood too much. Without her parents working on her behalf, she would have to take what she could find on her own. Although her family had been fortunate, she would not have that. For one thing, she wasn’t as forward as her sisters. She could not sally forth boldly as Claudia had. Without the freedoms her brothers were afforded she would wilt away. She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I will not starve.” But she would keep her pride.

  “Not of food and drink, maybe. But of love, concern, happiness?” He stopped abruptly.

  Placing his hands on her shoulders, he turned her to face him before releasing her. “Not very well done, Drusilla.”

  He had never used her name like that before. Not without the honorific. The bare word thrilled her. “What? What was not very well done?”

  “If you are trying to hurry me, I will have to disappoint you.”

  Her heart plummeted, but a thread of anger drove her to answer, “I do not connive. If I have something to tell you, I will do it directly, as I am now. We are friends, at least I thought so. I was merely telling you what my mother told me. If I am not married by the end of the season, they will choose my husband for me. If I refuse to agree, they will not actively pursue anyone on my behalf.” She bit her lip, the small shot of pain pushing back her tears.

  “I beg your pardon.” He spoke quietly, but emotion shook in his voice. “I should have known. The truth is that I am a coxcomb, a vain fool who does not deserve to be spoken to as a friend. I didn’t think it would be this bad.”

  “What? What is bad?” Who had hurt him? For his expression showed only somber concern.

  “The pursuit. I have had women lie in wait for me. Somehow they know I came to town in search of a potential bride.” He swallowed. “I do not like it.”

  Her anger forgotten, she laid her hand on his shoulder. The soft cloth gave under her palm, giving her a hint of the hard muscle beneath. “I’m sorry. I remember that, from my early seasons. I was the first Shaw daughter to make my entrance into society, and because of who they are, I was pursued relentlessly. Now I am taken for granted, although suitors still arrive, especially of the unsuitable variety.” She gave a hard laugh. “Fortune hunters, or men wanting someone amenable and convenient.” She tried not to say the words bitterly, but from his expression she had not succeeded. “Not that anyone has tried to abduct me. With my relatives, they would not dare.”

  “Lord, yes.” He gazed down into her face, and she forgot to remove her hand, as she no doubt should have done. “I’m sorry. Walking with you, talking to you. I let out more than I should, more than I mean to. So you have to marry before the end of the season?”

  “It’s only fair. Livia—”

  “I don’t give a damn about Livia.”

  With a convulsive, unconsidered movement, he spread his hands over her waist, and drew her to him. Silk rustled in a rush as he dragged her close and brought his mouth down on hers, sealing them together in a way she had never known before.

  Oh, she’d been kissed. She’d even kissed back. But not like this, never like this.

  The warmth, the sense that he was surrounding her, holding her within him had never been so strong, so overwhelming. Dru held on and slid her other hand around the back of his neck, where small hairs tickled her fingers when he moved.

  His scent swamped her in sensation, hard, hot male blended with soap and a faint tinge of lavender, no doubt from his clothes. She nestled closer, rubbed herself against him. Inside her tightly laced bodice, her breasts heated and swelled, and under her rib cage, her heart pounded.

  Birds sang, carriages rolled over cobbles, someone in the street shouted about chairs to mend, and still he kissed her. She never wanted him to stop. She rested her head on his shoulder, whimpered into his mouth. He stroked his hands up her back, over the box pleats, as if trying to find a way in.

  He touched his tongue to her mouth, a mere flicker, in a sensation she wanted to experience again, but he drew away.

  His lips were reddened, as no doubt hers were, too, and his eyes slumberous, the lids drooping over the bright irises in a way that made her shudder in the most secret place in her body. She had told herself she was no innocent. Sometimes in the dead of night she’d touched herself, but she had never done more than explore, the better to know herself. Now, sudden realization hit her with the force of a thunderbolt. The slick, wet feeling—that was for him.

  He did not let her go. “Open your mouth, my sweet,” he murmured. “Kiss me back.”

  “I am. I was.” Dazed, she licked her hot, swollen mouth.

  “Just like that.”

  When he traced her lips with his tongue, she opened them in a sigh of surrender. He licked into her, thrusting his tongue in her mouth with an insistence that spoke of his need more clearly than words. The intimate invasion overwhelmed her, made her yearn for more and yet more. He groaned into her, and she greedily swallowed the sound. She let it reverberate down her throat to her stomach and beyond, feeding the part of her that was the most lonely and needy. He tasted glorious, so wo
nderful, as if she could feed off him forever and never want for anything.

  His big hands felt delicious on her body, making her feel delicate, cherished even. Gentle strokes turned into harder caresses. He slid his hand under her hair, searching for a way in, and she let him. Her fichu came loose, tugged out from her gown. The cloth pulled up as he explored beneath the fine fabric, tracing the edge of her gown and stomacher with firm touches.

  She sucked gently on his tongue, and then with more insistence as her confidence grew. She was desperate for contact, to touch him, feel his flesh under her palms, have the right to explore every part of him. The notion of them naked, intertwined, bored its way into her brain. She would never be free of it. Moaning, she scrabbled at his waistcoat buttons.

  He lifted his mouth, tore it away. “We cannot continue.” He was panting, his chest heaving.

  Shocked into the realization of what they were doing and where they were doing it, she stared up at him with horror. How could she have done this? She never forgot herself, never. Except that now she had.

  Shyness and embarrassment swept over her in a great wave. She had thrown herself at him. He could have taken everything he wanted, and she wouldn’t have fought him off. What had she been thinking?

  Nothing, that was the trouble. She hadn’t been thinking anything, only gone with the emotions of the moment.

  “Well that takes care of that,” he murmured, smiling down at her. He was still holding her tightly, and Dru didn’t try to break away.

  His words made her frown. “What?”

  “I wondered what it would be like to kiss you since I first laid eyes on you.” He dropped a light kiss on her forehead, lingering as her father and brothers never did when they kissed her there. “Now I know. It was better than I imagined, and I’ve imagined it far too much recently.”

  “You have?”

  “What do you think? How could I spend time with you without wanting to do this?”