Eyes moving from Lady Rebecca to him and back again, Laura looked undecided. She eventually nodded, much to his relief, and took her seat in the corner, where, picking up her needlework, she looked positively oblivious to anything going on around her. Daniel knew better though. He’d pressed his luck with the joke and would not risk jeopardizing his chance of enjoying Lady Rebecca’s company any further. No; he must behave as the perfect gentleman even if he was tempted to do otherwise, and Lord help him if he wasn’t tempted.
How he longed to run his hands along the edge of Lady Rebecca’s shoulders, to plant a row of kisses across the back of her neck as he eased the sleeves of her gown down over her arms, exposing her breasts. He could well imagine how they would feel in the palms of his hands, had considered it repeatedly since making her acquaintance . . . thoughts that led to restless nights of aching need and unfulfilled pleasure.
Clenching his hands, he made a stoic attempt to ignore the stirring desire that threatened. He could not allow it to show—would not embarrass himself or her in that way. So he followed her quickly to the table and chairs instead and promptly sat, removing all evidence from view. Belatedly, he recognized his mistake. A gentleman did not take his seat before a lady. Unfortunately, he’d been left with little choice. He moved with the intention to get back up, but before he could manage it, she’d thankfully taken her seat as well.
“My apologies,” he said. “That was ill mannered of me.”
Saying nothing to the contrary, she simply began pouring the tea. “Think nothing of it.” Her voice was sweet like music when she finally spoke, with that trace of humor that always made her tone so delightfully light. He loved listening to her speak. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not much of a stickler when it comes to propriety or etiquette, though your apology is much appreciated.” The left corner of her mouth drew up as it always did when she was speaking her mind with mischief.
“Then you will not mind if I dance on the table or swing from the rafters?” he asked, goading her.
“Not in the least, Mr. Neville. On the contrary, I would probably join you.”
He laughed at the image that presented and shook his head with wonderment. “Lady Rebecca. Of all the women I’ve ever known, you are by far the most charming and memorable.”
She’d been taking a sip of her tea as he’d said it and now lowered her cup slowly to the table while her eyes remained locked with his. It was impossible for him to look away, not that he wanted to do so in the least, for it was almost as if she was mesmerized by something—something that made him wonder what exactly she might be seeing. The good in him, he hoped. For he was good, deep down beneath the façade he’d erected to ward off pain and heartache. Yes, he’d lived a tainted life, always trying to escape the fate that had been his father’s. If he could just enjoy himself and have some fun without getting close to anyone, then he could keep himself and his heart safe from harm.
But there was something about this woman, an openness and freedom of spirit that made him want to leap blindly into marriage with her, knowing full well what the risks would be. And the risks would be massive, for he liked her well enough already, enjoyed her company more than that of anyone else he’d ever met before, and knew they could easily be friends . . . lovers . . . and with time . . . so much more. The notion was not without danger, yet if he married as he had to, then he couldn’t envision himself with anyone else. Only Lady Rebecca would do.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice a little breathless and a great deal surprised.
Recalling her reaction when he’d told her she was stunning, he suspected that praising her for her looks would lead him nowhere. Judging from her present response, however, he deduced that she appreciated being admired for how distinctive she was. Perhaps she was self-conscious about it? He decided to broach the issue gently. “I’ve noticed many women over the years, Lady Rebecca, but the truth of it is that most of them bore me.”
“Do go on, Mr. Neville,” she said, leaning forward a little as she cradled her teacup between her hands.
Pleased to have gotten her attention, Daniel said, “They are all the same in every conceivable way, most of them without a thought of their own.”
Lady Rebecca scrunched her nose. “That is not very flattering.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.” He smiled conspiratorially at her. “You see, what oftentimes occurs is that one of these women, whether she be a debutante or older, becomes so immensely popular that everyone else starts to mirror the way she is dressed, how she sets her hair, the places she enjoys frequenting, along with the things she says. They are like sheep, if you must know, and not the least bit unique.
“You, on the other hand . . .” Reaching across the table, he took her hand in his, just as he’d done the previous evening, only this time, he brushed the pad of his thumb against it and was rewarded as an undeniable spark ignited in her eyes. “You are so different in every way, from your looks to your daring personality, and I simply cannot help but be fascinated by it.”
A flush crept over her skin, and he heard her breath catch. Her hand trembled ever so slightly and she slowly lowered her lashes, her gaze fixed somewhere on the table. “There are those who would disagree,” she said.
“There always are, and if you ask me, they can all go hang.”
She laughed at that, but not wholeheartedly. Something—some niggling insecurity, no doubt—was holding her back, reminding him that this was a subject with which she wasn’t comfortable. “I must confess that I’ve always wished I looked like all the other women so I wouldn’t stand apart as much as I do.”
A deep sigh escaped Daniel. He’d suspected as much, but having her confirm it and know that a woman of her great beauty would ever doubt herself to such a degree made his heart ache. “I can think of no greater pity than for you to look like all the rest when you are as perfect as you are. You may think that I am saying this to flatter you, but that is not the case. I am saying it because it is the truth—at least in my eyes.”
He squeezed her hand a little and was touched to find her eyes glistening as she stared back at him from across the table. “Thank you,” she said.
They sat like that for another moment until the silence between them grew heavy, at which point Daniel pulled his hand away from hers, leaving him bereft. It was not a pleasant feeling in the least, and one he quickly hoped to disband by finding something else to talk about. She beat him to it, however, asking plainly, “How does a man go about becoming a rake anyway?”
Having just taken a sip of his tea, Daniel almost choked. “Excuse me?”
“I mean, is it something he decides to become from one day to the next the way other men might choose a profession, or is it something that happens gradually?”
Why, the little minx. If she wasn’t giving him the most mischievous smile at the moment, then he wasn’t sure what was happening. Clearly she’d returned to her bold and adventurous self.
Daniel decided not to point out how irregular such a question was when posed by a young lady, since that would only be stating the obvious, so he said instead, “I believe every man’s situation is different, but I can tell you that in my case, it was a night of heavy drinking that led me down that path. That and a bleak mood.”
She nodded thoughtfully, as if this made perfect sense to her. “I imagine such a state would prompt anyone to seek comfort in some way or other, and I suppose that seeking the company of women is as good a way as any. It’s certainly better for your health than excessive eating. That is of course unless you happen to catch the French disease the way my cousin Vincent apparently did. He eventually died from it, you know.” She narrowed her eyes and then posed the most damning question of all. “You don’t have the French disease by any chance? Do you, Mr. Neville?”
Daniel gaped at her. Of all the brazen things to ask a man. “No,” he finally managed. “No, I do not.”
“You’re quite sure?” she pressed, her face perfectly serious. “From what I understand, it can sneak up on you—catch you by surprise.”
“How on earth would you know that?” He just couldn’t help but ask. The conversation was far too peculiar for him not to.
“Well, when it became clear that Vincent had taken a turn for the worse, my mother took me aside one day and explained what had happened to him. I was only thirteen years of age at the time and had not imagined that a man and a woman would do more than hold hands with one another or perhaps steal an occasional kiss. As you can imagine, my mother’s talk put fear in my young mind—the very idea that getting too close to a man could actually result in death was indeed quite frightening.”
Daniel blinked. He could not believe that they were having this discussion. “And er . . . does the idea of being . . . close with a man still terrify you?”
“Not as long as I have every confidence that the man in question is a gentleman, for you see, Lady Trapleigh has informed me that if he is, he will have taken certain measures to prevent catching the disease.” She frowned, her nose scrunching quite adorably as she did so. She then said, “Though I can’t begin to imagine what such measures might entail. I believe I should have asked her to be more specific when we spoke on the subject.”
Bloody hell.
“I think perhaps she was trying to spare your sensibilities,” Daniel said.
“Perhaps you’re right.” She took a sip of her tea and leaned back in her seat. When she met his gaze again, there was great intensity to be found in her eyes. “You are not exactly a gentleman, Mr. Neville, for you are considered a rake, and yet you have behaved very gentlemanly toward me, for which I am grateful. When thinking logically about the matter, I must deduce that you are a man of great experience, and as such, you must have taken precautions to ensure that you would not risk your health while entertaining your paramours. Am I correct?”
Daniel nodded numbly. This visit was by far the most unusual one he’d ever enjoyed. The topic, not to mention the implication of everything she was saying, was completely outrageous, and yet he liked her better for it. There was something to be said for being honest and direct, for speaking one’s mind, something that most people were too cowardly to do. Not Lady Rebecca though. She had more courage than any other woman he’d known, and it was intoxicating.
“Well then,” she said. “If I do decide to take you up on your offer of elopement, I’ll have nothing to worry about.”
Daniel couldn’t help himself. Reaching out, he cupped her chin with his hand and ran his fingers gently back and forth against the smooth skin there, marveling at the way her breath hitched in response and the rosy hue that appeared upon her cheeks. “On the contrary,” he murmured, “you have every reason to look forward to it with great anticipation, for I promise you that it will be marvelous.”
Her blush deepened, and he removed his hand and rose.
She followed him to the window and watched as he climbed back out. Pausing on the ladder, he met her gaze. “I have enjoyed your company immensely this evening, my lady.” And he meant every word of it. “I shall return again tomorrow at the same hour.”
Rebecca waited until he was on the ground, hoping that he might look back at her one last time, but he didn’t—he just turned his back and walked away, fading into the darkness until there was no trace of him left.
“You like him a great deal, my lady. I can see it in your eyes.”
Startled from her reverie, Rebecca spun around to find Laura standing close. Denying it would be pointless, since Laura had already guessed the truth, so Rebecca nodded and said, “I must admit that I do—so much it frightens me.”
“Is that why you tried to shock him?” Laura asked, her round cheeks dimpling as she spoke.
“You heard that, did you?” Rebecca took a deep breath and walked across to her bed, the mattress sagging as she flopped down onto it. Covering her face with the palms of her hands, she groaned, “Why didn’t you stop me? I can’t believe I said all those things to him. The man must think me completely addled, not to mention inappropriately forward, but once I got started I couldn’t seem to stop.”
“Hush now. I don’t believe Mr. Neville’s so easy to scare off. If anything, I think he quite enjoyed himself—his face seemed to radiate with enthusiasm. And the way he was looking at you the entire time he was here . . . why, I do believe it would be a chore for anyone to try and change his mind about marrying you. The only thing that remains to be seen is whether or not you’ll accept and elope with him.”
Lowering her hands, Rebecca said, “You know that I will, Laura. The alternative would be unthinkable.”
Chapter 9
When Daniel returned to Roselyn Castle the following evening, it was with renewed determination. Tonight he would make another effort at convincing her to place her trust in him. He knew that she had reasons to be apprehensive, not only because of his past but also because of what would probably happen to her should they get caught before they were married. The Griftons were not forgiving people and would likely punish her severely for thwarting their wishes yet again. It was imperative that he prevent such an outcome, not only because of his own pride but also because of a deep need to make her happy. He couldn’t say precisely when he’d started to care so much about her well-being. In all likelihood, he’d fallen for her the moment they’d met, drawn to her company by her spark. But the emotions that now shot through him at the thought of her in the arms of any other man were intense—a need to both protect and possess that had developed gradually since the night of the ball. Since then, his longing for her had not diminished but grown, until he found himself tossing and turning at night, restless with thoughts of loving her the way she deserved to be loved.
Tapping gently on the window, he waited impatiently for it to open, but when it finally did, it was Laura who greeted him rather than the lady herself—surely not a good sign. “May I come in?” he asked.
Laura nodded. “I think she could do with a bit of cheering up.”
Daniel paused a moment, wary of the state in which he would find the otherwise vibrant Lady Rebecca. He would do anything to make her smile again, and without further hesitation, he quickly swung himself through the window and signaled for Mr. Shaw and his son to fall back.
He then looked around the room in search of the lady in question, except she was nowhere to be found. Puzzled, he turned to Laura, who nodded toward a massive wardrobe. “She sits in there from time to time when she wants to be alone with her thoughts.” He moved toward it, but Laura stayed him with her hand and said, “You ought to know that things have progressed. His Grace, the Duke of Grover, has gained the right to marry her.”
Fresh rage swept through Daniel. “Not if I can help it,” he muttered. He then stepped toward the piece of furniture that Lady Rebecca had retreated to and knocked gently on the door. When no answer came, he slowly eased it open.
It was dark inside but not overly full of clothes, making it easier for him to spot the slight figure of Lady Rebecca as she huddled against one corner. Crouching down, Daniel silently pushed a box aside and eased himself into the narrow space beside her. He then pulled on the door until it remained just slightly ajar and the light within had been diminished to a murky blackness.
“It’s good to see you again,” she said, her voice dismal when compared with the happiness it usually contained. “Has Laura told you the news?”
Daniel’s greatest desire in that instant was to restore her characteristic joy and laughter. He hated seeing her like this, but he could not blame her; she had good reason to feel miserable. “I want to help you,” he said, preparing to fight for her. “Will you allow me to do so?”
A beat of silence followed, and then she said, “I fear it may be too late. My aunt and uncle have already accepted the Duke of Grover as my future husband. The lawyers wil
l be stopping by the day after tomorrow to handle the settlement, and then we’re off to London to announce the engagement. It is all settled.”
Fumbling about, he found her arm and followed the length of it with his fingers until he reached her hand. Wrapping his fingers around it, he gave it a gentle squeeze that he hoped would reassure her of his friendship and his willingness to assist her in any way possible. She didn’t pull away, but he heard a sharp intake of breath the moment he touched her. Was that a good or a bad thing? he wondered. It was difficult to tell.
“It is not too late until you speak your vows,” he said as his thumb brushed back and forth against her soft skin. He heard her swallow, her breathing grow a little deeper, and he couldn’t help but smile. He’d been aware of the effect he had on her a few times before, but he had buried his own urges because he’d wanted her to think well of him. This was still the case, of course, especially if he was going to convince her to come with him, but it also supplied him with the confidence he needed to press his case. “Elope with me to Scotland. I’ll marry you, and your aunt and uncle won’t ever be able to hurt you like this again. You’ll be under my protection.”
Mr. Neville’s willingness to risk scandal on her account touched her heart, and whatever qualms she’d previously had about accepting him were long gone now that she’d become affianced to the Duke of Grover—a man fifty-five years her senior who’d alluded to some most explicit bedroom activities that had made her stomach churn.
On the other hand, considering what she knew about Mr. Neville, she still wasn’t entirely sure she could trust him, particularly when it came to her dowry. All of it would become his property if a settlement wasn’t drawn up, and it wouldn’t be, not if they eloped. In fact, he would be able to disappear with her five thousand pounds the moment they were wed—a possibility that ought not to be dismissed, considering that he was marrying her for money to begin with.
The Scandal in Kissing an Heir Page 9
