by Amelia Grey
She found it difficult to steady her cold fingers as she unfolded the paper. “Since you seemed to enjoy Lord Snellingly’s poetry so much a few nights ago, I thought perhaps I’d read you some of mine.
“In the shadows of a cold night, my fragile dreams…”
Lord Brentwood reached over and slipped the foolscap out of her hands and dropped it to the ground behind him. “I don’t think so, Gabrie.”
“No?” she whispered.
“No,” he answered with a smile. “We’ll let the wind read it.”
He shoved the food basket out of his way so suddenly it knocked over her cup and disturbed Brutus’s slumber. He growled, a low woof sound.
“Stay out of this, Brutus,” Lord Brentwood said and moved closer to Gabrielle.
He positioned his legs in the opposite direction from hers and pulled up his knees so she could rest her side against his thighs. He slid his arms around her, pulling her close.
“I can think of a far better way to spend our time in the park than reading poetry. Tell me how you like this.”
His hold on her was possessive as he lowered his head to hers. Gabrielle instinctively closed her eyes. His lips pressed against hers and moved languorously over them. She parted her lips, allowing his tongue to slip inside and probe the depths of her mouth. The kiss was generous and glorious. At times she heard short, gaspy breaths, and sometimes she heard long contented sighs, but had no idea if the sounds came from her or Lord Brentwood. She loved the way his lips roved expertly across hers, loved the taste of brandy and chocolate that lingered on his tongue.
He raised his head and looked down at her with his crooked smile and asked, “Well?”
“I do believe you are right. Kissing is much better than reading poetry.”
Lord Brentwood chuckled, and with all thoughts of verse fading from her mind, Gabrielle slipped her arms inside his coat and around his waist. His body was warm and inviting. She drew him closer to her. There was something decidedly rebellious and thrilling about being in his arms and kissing him in the bright light of sunshine, and suddenly she was aware of nothing but the ecstasy she felt in his arms.
His hand found the ribbon under her chin and he untied it. He gently pulled the bonnet off and set it aside. She felt his fingers at her throat as he pulled on the bow of her short velvet cape and let it fall away from her shoulders. With ease, he unfastened her velvet pelisse and opened it, exposing her scooped-neck carriage dress. His lips left hers and kissed their way down the column of her throat to the part of her chest that was exposed by the neckline of her dress. The touch of his warm lips on her cool skin excited her.
He rested his open palm on her breast over her heart, and she wondered if he could feel the constant pounding that sounded like a loud drum in her ears. She knew what she was allowing him to do was beyond the pale, but she had discarded all caution and reasoning the moment his lips met hers. She had no inclination to stop him until, in the distance, she heard the sound of carriage wheels.
Startled, she tried to pull out of his arms.
“Wait,” he whispered.
Without letting go of her, Lord Brentwood leaned forward and carefully peeked around the trunk of the tree directly in front of them.
“Don’t be alarmed,” he whispered, brushing aside her concern and scooting even closer to her. “The carriage is far away and not coming in this direction. I can see around the tree and I will keep watch. I will not let anyone catch me kissing you.”
When he looked down at her, she touched the side of his mouth again and said, “Didn’t it hurt to kiss me so passionately?”
He smiled and outlined her lips with the tip of his finger. “It didn’t hurt at all.” He placed his lips on hers again and whispered against them, “Your mouth is so soft, sweet, and gentle, it could never hurt me to kiss you.”
Her mouth opened and met his once more. She didn’t know why, but she felt an inexplicable feeling of urgency. His kisses bruised over hers hungrily, and she matched his furor. His arms wrapped tightly around her back, crushing her to him. Her tongue filled his mouth, and it pleased her when she heard him swallow soft gasps of pleasure.
His hand skimmed over her breasts, causing her breathing to be erratic. There were the sounds of men talking in the distance, and Gabrielle stiffened in his arms once again. Lord Brentwood looked up and leaned forward.
He gazed down at her and, with the pad of his finger, drew a line from her lips down to the hollow of her throat, and let his finger rest there. “We are safe here, Gabrie.”
She took in a deep, relaxing breath and settled more comfortably against his legs. She smiled her pleasure at being so close to him and so free to be able to enjoy all the wonderful sensations he created inside her with just a touch and a kiss.
“That’s the second time you’ve called me Gabrie.”
He nodded as his hands moved over her breasts, up to her face, where his fingers drew circles and patterns around her lips, on her cheeks, down her neck, and over to her earlobe, where he softly caressed it. She could hardly concentrate on what she wanted to say for the wonder of all she was feeling.
“My family nickname is Gabby,” she finally got out.
His eyes and forehead formed into a frown as his fingers trickled down to her chest and rested on her breast again. “And I think it’s fine for them to call you Gabby, but I like Gabrie, and that is what I will start calling you.”
“It would be forward of you to do that in front of anyone, my lord.”
“Indeed, but I think I like being forward. I want you to call me Brent. I don’t want to hear you say ‘my lord’ to me anymore.”
“That’s extremely improper, and I know my father wouldn’t approve of that, and certainly not of the kisses and intimate caresses we are sharing now.”
He smiled and bent his head toward hers. “No, he wouldn’t approve, but right now I don’t want you proper. I don’t care about what the duke thinks. I am Brent, you are Gabrie, and we are going to kiss. Understand?”
No matter how delicious his kisses were making her feel, she had the presence of mind to know that enjoying his embrace was not part of her plan to convince him she would not be an acceptable wife for him. She had to do something to break the spell of desire he’d cast over her.
Taking a long breath, she moistened her lips and said, “Did I ever tell you madness runs in my family?”
His eyes narrowed, his forehead wrinkled into a frown, and he leaned back as if to get a better look at her. “Where did that come from?”
“Oh, from my father’s side of the family. There have been many relatives, and going back for several generations.”
His gaze searched her face curiously. “No, I meant why did you bring it up now?”
Gabrielle moistened her lips again. Telling prevarications wasn’t as easy as she’d thought, and obviously what she’d always heard was true. If you tell one, you’ll most assuredly have to tell another to explain the first.
“I felt I needed to warn you before you thought further on marriage with me.”
His lips slowly eased into another smile, and she knew he didn’t believe her for a moment.
“Oh, I see,” he said. “I’ll keep that in mind to think on later, but for now, I’m going to kiss you.”
And he did.
His lips lowered to hers again, and this time he kissed her softly at first but then deeply and passionately. His lips moved from hers, across her cheek, and over her jawline, to the delicate spot behind her ear. He breathed in deeply. Her skin pebbled with delicious goose bumps. He kissed the lobe of her ear on his way down to the hollow of her throat, swirling his tongue in its shallow depths and lingering there to tease, taste, and moisten her skin. His hand gently massaged her breasts, and she moaned softly.
Gabrielle was hardly breathing. She felt as though her insides were twisting, folding, and floating into a wonderful and exciting knot of desire. His touch was thrilling. Through the fabric of her dress and stays,
he palmed her breast, lifted it, and closed his fingers around it, squeezing gently yet firmly.
She didn’t understand why she had no inhibitions when she was in his arms. Shivers of delight bolted through her at breakneck speed at his touch. She was amazed at how much enjoyment she received from the caress of his hands. She couldn’t let her hands be still, either. She was eager to explore and enjoy everything about him, from the silky feel of his hair to the expensive fabric of his coat beneath her hands. She was succumbing to a brand new world that she had never experienced before.
Some of their kisses were soft and warm, while others were fierce and passionate. For the first time in her life, she knew what it was like to want a man to desire her, love her, and it was an exhilarating feeling. She boldly slid her tongue deep into his mouth again, and he muffled a groan.
“If I could remove your dress, I know your breast would fit perfectly into my hand,” he whispered passionately against her lips. “I would warm it with my mouth.”
He raised his head and looked into her eyes, as if considering the possibility of undressing her, and God help her, she was considering the possibility of letting him.
All of a sudden, his head jerked to the side and he said, “Did you hear that?”
“What?” she whispered from the fog of passion. “Is someone coming toward us?”
Then she heard it, the bark of a small dog. Gabrielle noticed Brutus had roused his head and was looking in the direction of the barking, too.
“That sounds like Prissy,” she said and shoved out of Lord Brentwood’s arms.
Twelve
The intelligent man finds almost everything ridiculous, the sensible man almost nothing.
—Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Brent jumped up and then helped Gabrielle rise. “I don’t know if it’s Prissy, but that is a small dog we hear. Let’s go.”
Gabrielle quickly turned to Brutus, who was struggling to rise. She pointed her finger at him and said, “Stay. Stay.”
“He won’t, you know,” Brent said and took hold of her hand.
She threw Brent a worried glance. “But he can’t run anymore. He can’t keep up.”
“No, but he can catch up with us, and he will. Let’s go.”
They took off toward the barking. After they passed the stand of trees that had been their shelter, in the distance they saw an old woman pushing a small cart that was covered by a lumpy canvas. They headed in her direction. The woman must have heard them running toward her, but she paid them no mind and kept walking.
As they approached her, Brent could see that her dark gray coat was soiled and worn. A frayed woolen scarf was wrapped around her head, covering her neck and chin. The dog, hidden by the canvas, continued to yelp and scratch, but she made no attempt to stop and see about it.
Brent and Gabrielle slowed their steps a few yards from the woman. “Don’t be frightened, madame,” Brent said, breathing hard as they walked alongside her. “We mean you no harm.”
The woman kept walking and didn’t bother to even glance his way as she said, “Didn’t think ye did. Not done nothing to ye. Got no reason to think ye’d ’arm me, ’ave I?”
“No, of course not,” he said. “Do you mind if we have a moment of your time.”
At that, she looked over at them and stopped. “Don’t mind at all.”
Brent saw that her gaze suddenly sailed past them and froze on something behind them. Concern etched its way into her lined face. Brent knew she must have caught site of Brutus. He glanced back and confirmed his suspicion. The large old dog was slowly lumbering toward his mistress.
“Don’t worry, madame,” Gabrielle said in a friendly voice as Brutus came up beside her, panting heavily from trying to keep up with them. “He’s big, but he won’t hurt you.”
“’E’s old,” the woman said as the dog under the canvas continued to bark and scratch, clearly wanting to be free.
“Yes.” Gabrielle reached down and patted Brutus’s shoulder. “He doesn’t see or hear as well as he used to, but age has given him a quiet and gentle nature.”
The woman wasn’t convinced. Apprehension about the dog didn’t leave her face. She said, “What can I do for ye? I don’t ’ave a thing a fine fella like you or a fancy-dressed lady like her would want.”
Brent smiled and nodded once. “I understand that. I was hoping you wouldn’t mind telling me what you have under that canvas in your cart?”
At first she looked at him as if he was daft, and then she gave him a happy, toothless smile. “I ’ave me dog under there. Can’t you ’ear?”
Brent gave Gabrielle a hopeful glance and then turned back to the woman. “Why do you have her covered up?”
“It’s a ’e, not a she.”
At hearing the dog was male, Brent’s anticipation faded and disillusionment flared.
Stepping closer to the woman, Gabrielle asked, “Do you mind if we ask why you have him covered in your cart?”
The old woman looked at Gabrielle as if she didn’t have a brain in her head. “Don’t mind at all. It’s cold today if ye ’adn’t noticed. I’m trying to keep Sir William warm.”
“I’m sure he likes the kind treatment,” Gabrielle said. “I adore little dogs. Do you mind if I see him?”
She looked at the mastiff again. “I guess it will be all right. ’E’s not going to stop barking ’til ’e sees who you are, anyway.” The woman reached down and peeled back the canvas, revealing a covered basket. She took the lid off, and a small black-and-white dog of undetermined breed jumped out and into the cart, barking like a banshee at the mastiff. Brutus never uttered a woof.
“Sir William is a fine-looking animal,” Brent said. “Thank you for showing him to us.”
“Yes, thank you,” Gabrielle said, and then she, Brutus, and Brent turned and headed back in the direction of the curricle.
As they walked in silence, Brent knew it was time he stopped searching for Prissy. He didn’t want to, but it was ridiculous for him to take off running every time he heard a small dog bark. It was time to accept that Priss was gone and not coming back. He had to put her memory to rest.
Halfway to the carriage, Gabrielle touched his arm, and they stopped. Her eyes were soft and full of compassion. It was as if she knew what he’d been thinking. When she looked at him with so much concern, Brent’s stomach tightened with desire. The strong wind had blown strands of her golden blonde hair from the chignon at her nape, and they caressed her cheeks. Her lips were moist and inviting. All he could think was he wanted to pull her to him and kiss her again, but they were no longer shielded by trees, and it would be too risky. Besides, Brutus stood between them, too. He couldn’t help but think maybe the mastiff was a good watchdog after all.
“I’m sorry the dog wasn’t Prissy,” Gabrielle said.
“So am I,” he said, not wanting to share with her that he’d come to the conclusion Prissy wasn’t going to be found.
“Do you think there is any connection to Prissy’s disappearance and Lord Snellingly’s dog?”
“I do not believe in ghosts, Gabrielle.”
Her eyes brightened as if she’d just had an amazing thought. “Oh, I do. They are real.”
He laughed. “And I’m sure one or two of them visit you from time to time, and yes, after we are married, your ghosts can continue to visit you.”
She folded her arms across her chest and gave him an annoyed look. “You are laughing at me.”
“Yes,” he said, and with great effort he wiped the smile off his lips. He cleared his throat, and they started walking again. “I don’t see how there could be a connection between our two dogs. Snellingly’s dog ran away from him at his house in Mayfair, not here in Hyde. If there is a large wild animal roaming the park, as some believe, I’m sure someone would have spotted him by now, especially if he was roaming the streets of Mayfair, too.”
“I suppose you’re right. I just don’t want you to give up hope of Prissy’s return, my lord.”
/> I must. Starting now.
His brows drew together as he looked down at her with an exaggerated frown. “I didn’t hear you say my lord, did I?”
She gave him an apologetic smile. “Excuse me, Brent.”
“Much better,” he said as they started down the slope toward the blanket and carriage. “I don’t want to give up hope, but it’s been almost three weeks now.”
“I don’t consider three weeks such a long time,” she argued.
Brent glanced over at her. “You don’t? What if Brutus had been missing for more than two weeks? Would you consider it a long time then?”
She wrinkled her nose at him, and it was so engaging, he laughed.
“All right, yes, I suppose I would think three weeks were forever.”
“I’ll keep the notice running in The Times for now, but other than that, I’ve done everything I know to do. It’s time.”
She kept her gaze straight ahead for a few moments and then turned to him and asked, “Will you be at the Cuddlebury’s party next week?”
“I don’t know. I was thinking perhaps I should stay out of the social scene for a while.”
Her brow furrowed. “Why? As my aunt would say, the disappearing act won’t make the rumors about us and your brothers go away.”
“I wasn’t thinking about that at all. I was thinking about Staunton. I fear if he approached me again and wanted to fight, I wouldn’t have the good sense to walk away a second time.”
“Meaning you would never let him hit you again without retaliating.”
“That’s exactly what I mean, Gabrie.” For some damn reason, Brent felt Staunton deserved throwing that one punch, even though it was never Brent’s intention to kiss another man’s fiancée.
Gabrielle gave him a nod of understanding as they made it back to the blanket. She picked up her bonnet and settled it on her head. “I’ve made up my mind.”
He gave her a quizzical look. “About what?”
“About what I would like for us to do at our next outing. Remember you said I could decide. You aren’t going back on your word, are you?”
He found it odd she thought he’d go back on his word. “No. It’s your choice. What would you like us to do?”
