Too Tempting to Resist

by Erica Ridley

Daniel hadn’t enjoyed a game of billiards that much before or after.

  He crossed the threshold just as Rebecca finished placing the red ball and the spot ball onto the billiard green.

  “No ball for me?” he asked as he entered the room.

  She glanced up in surprise. “You want to play?”

  “What gentleman ever doesn’t wish he was playing billiards with a beautiful woman?”

  Her eyes fluttered heavenward, but she placed the white ball atop the table and motioned for him to take his shot.

  Rather than aim at the carom ball, he sent his ball flying lengthwise to the other end of the table, where it bounced against the rail and rolled back to where it began, about ten inches from the head rail.

  He couldn’t remember if he’d ever taught her this method of returning one’s ball as close to the rail as possible in order to determine which player went first, but before he could explain what he was about, Rebecca lined up her cue and took her shot.

  Her ball flew smoothly across the green, kissed the far rail, and sailed past where it had first taken flight to stop flush against the cushion.

  It was the most perfect lag shot Daniel had ever seen in his life.

  He cleared his throat. “Would you like to go first?”

  The corner of her mouth twitched. “You don’t want me to go first.”

  “Your mistake,” he said with a shrug as he lined up his cue. “First to score eight wins.”

  The first stroke was a classic ricochet off the red ball and he scored his first point. The second stroke caught the red ball slightly off center, but scored another point. The third hit, however, was slightly too inside the triangle to properly be considered good form.

  He glanced at Rebecca out of the corner of his eye.

  She gazed back at him placidly.

  He’d count it as a point. He chalked his billiard stick and considered his next move. Rebecca neither seemed impressed nor unimpressed with his play thus far. Despite scoring three in a row, she barely seemed to be paying attention.

  Determined to dazzle her, he lined up a two point shot, intending to hit her ball with the carom ball, all in one strike.

  But due to inexplicably unsteady fingers, the only ball he managed to hit was his own.

  “My turn?” she asked, her wide gray eyes spellbinding.

  He stepped back from the table and bowed. “Milady.”

  She chalked her stick, spent absolutely no time bothering to line up her move, and instantly scored a two point shot by ricocheting the red carom off the side rail and into his ball.

  His throat went dry.

  Without pausing between shots, she hit a second two pointer, then a third, then a fourth.

  “That’s eight,” she said briskly. “I win. Thank you for playing a game with me, Daniel. It was quite instructive.”

  He smiled back weakly. Or tried to. His entire body was pudding. Partly because he’d just received the swiftest, most obliterating billiards thrashing of his life. And partly because, whether she realized it or not… Rebecca had finally called him Daniel again.

  “Er…” he managed to say.

  As if oblivious to his continued presence, she casually leaned back over the billiards table and made another two point shot. And another. And another.

  He completely lost count of how many points she had earned and instead concentrated on admiring her form. She was magnificent. Masterful. Never before had he realized how passionately a humiliation at the billiards table could stir his lust. If they weren’t in haunted Crowmere Castle, he would have liked to play an entirely different game with her atop the green felt table.

  When effortlessly making impossible shots grew dull—or perhaps her slender arms had simply grown tired—Rebecca rested the end of her stick against the floor and arched an eyebrow. “Want to play again?”

  “Uh…” he managed this time.

  She licked her lips as she slowly chalked her stick. “I can help you with a proper stance if you like. It’s all in the position of the hips.”

  “I have no idea what’s happening right now,” he rasped through a suddenly tight throat, “but if it involves you touching me, I volunteer to practice all night.”

  Her gray eyes met his as she blew the excess chalk off the tip of her stick. “Sorry. No touching.”

  His breeches tightened and he nodded quickly. “At this point, no touching is definitely the wisest plan.”

  She lay her stick across the green and perched her derrière up onto the wooden edge of the billiards table. “Do you play often back home?”

  Did he? Daniel was finding it hard to concentrate. All he could think was that in the space of half an hour, she’d gone from the most intriguing woman of his acquaintance to probably the most fascinating woman on the planet.

  She was incredible. He wished he could take her home with him. Not just for the vivid fantasies that flashed through his mind as she sat on the edge of the table with her hips at the perfect height for lovemaking, but for a thousand other reasons.

  He’d love to watch her trounce every one of his profligate friends in a game of carom billiards. He’d love to get her opinions on a few investments he was currently considering and he’d love her thoughts on half a dozen issues he was debating bringing up in the House of Lords. He’d love to take her dancing. Or to Gunter’s Tea Shop for ices. And to Vauxhall for the nightly fireworks.

  Perhaps if she were sufficiently caught up in the romance of the moment, she might even let him sweep her away for a kiss.

  He shook his head as reality once again took hold. All the things he liked best about her were the very same traits his grandmother found horrid and untenable. The dowager not only had rigid ideas on what qualities became a future viscountess, she also had the social influence to make Daniel’s life hell should he deviate from her dictates.

  If his grandmother had disapproved of Rebecca before, her retaliation would be brutal if she believed Rebecca stood in the way of her wishes once again.

  Daniel set his jaw. He wouldn’t give the dowager a reason to attack Rebecca. Or subject her to the rest of the ton. The beau monde wasn’t just a self-important coterie of old money and grand dames. The fashionable set could be vicious. He couldn’t let Rebecca be hurt a third time.

  She meant too much.

  Although every part of him yearned to stay with her, to reach for her, Daniel returned his billiard stick to the wall mount and took his bow while he still could.

  “Good night, Miss Bond. Thank you for a lovely game.”

  “Rebecca,” she whispered softly.

  His heart clenched at the sorrow in her eyes. She’d been having fun. Enjoying herself as much as he had. Perhaps even thinking a few of the same carnal thoughts.

  Nothing could be more dangerous than indulging a moment’s fantasy.

  While he could, Daniel forced himself to walk away.

  Chapter 7

  T

  he following morning, Rebecca didn’t bother adding extra curls to her hair. Daniel had bolted from the billiards room with such alacrity the night before, there was no sense pretending an extra ringlet or two would mark the difference between attractive and repulsive.

  He liked her. She believed that much; otherwise his immediate departure from his whirlwind London life for an early visit to Crowmere Castle would make no sense. But he didn’t like her enough.

  He never had.

  Rebecca had always been relegated to a category wholly separate from real, actual ladies worth a man of his stature’s attention. Some women were for dancing with, some for courting publicly, and some for wooing in private.

  And then there was Rebecca.

  He could withstand her company long enough to chat in the library, share a slice of apple pie, shoot a little billiards. But there was always a limit. A moment when the drawbridge went up and the gates came down. Sometimes it was as trifling as quitting the billiards room in the middle of a conversation.

  Other times it was publ
ic humiliation.

  She twisted her messy curls into a loose bun and shrugged at her reflection. She supposed she should be grateful for the clarity of her situation. Some women sighed over the uncertainty of not knowing where they stood with this swain or that. Rebecca had no such puzzle to solve.

  Daniel was not, nor would he ever be, her beau. He had told her so when he was only seventeen. His grandmother had told her so. Repeatedly. She was simply not ton material. Society itself pointed out the chasm at every turn.

  The difficulty lay in protecting her heart. Just because an intelligent mind knew a thing was impossible to attain, didn’t stop a foolish heart from weaving a few dreams.

  This time, however, she was prepared. She would not be crushed when his title drew him back to London and the society papers filled their columns once more with lurid descriptions of his innumerable anonymous conquests.

  This time, his disinterest wouldn’t bother her in the least. It couldn’t. Because this time… she would be betrothed to someone else.

  She wished the idea inspired a modicum of joy.

  Nothing for it. Her only hope for securing her future was to marry quickly. And her only hope for a happy future was to marry someone who truly wished to wed her. Someone who wanted her to be his wife. Who was overjoyed to be her husband.

  Presuming any such man existed.

  With a sigh, she rolled back her shoulders and headed toward the front door.

  And smacked face-first into the cravat-adorned chest of mercurial viscount Lord Stonebury.

  “Why, good morning,” Daniel said cheerfully. “Fancy running into each other so soon, in a castle this large.”

  She jerked her head back to scowl up at him. “You seem to have positioned yourself a mere inch outside my bedchamber door.”

  “Did I?” He gave her a sunny smile. “You know us city types. Always getting lost whenever we leave London.”

  “If you’d like to get lost,” she said with little fire, “you might try the hedge maze at the rear of the property.”

  “Try the…” His face lit up in delight. “There’s a hedge maze? When did Crowmere Castle get a hedge maze?”

  “Hmm, I suppose you haven’t had a chance to drop by since inheriting your title… nine years ago.” She gave him a pointed look. “Things change so rapidly when it comes to centuries-old castles. Little wonder you couldn’t keep up.”

  To his credit, Daniel offered no flimsy excuses to try to wave away his long, conspicuous absence.

  “Will you show me?” he asked instead, his green eyes intense. “If only so I don’t lose my way?”

  “You’re assuming I want you to come back,” she grumbled, to hide her reluctant pleasure at his company. But she nodded her assent. As he’d known she would. Blast him.

  As before, she ignored his proffered arm. Not because she wished to be rude, but because touching him would feel too much like he’d come here for her. He’d had years to do that, and never bothered before. They both knew he wouldn’t even be here today if it weren’t for the bequests being read next week. Safer not to pretend otherwise.

  When they stepped out of the rear exit, the sky overhead was not blue, but a foreboding swirl of mottled gray. A storm was coming in. By the strength of the wind, thunderclouds would arrive in the next hour or two.

  But the biggest danger was the broad-shouldered, emerald-eyed rogue at Rebecca’s side.

  “Should we go back indoors?” she asked.

  “I’m not afraid of a little rain.” He gave his hat a jaunty tweak. “Are you?”

  “I’m not afraid of anything,” she lied. The strength of her attraction to him terrified her.

  He squinted ahead. “How long does it take to traverse the maze?”

  She tilted her head to consider. “If you know the way, it’s half an hour to the folly in the center.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “And if one does not know the way?”

  She smiled wickedly. “Crowmere Castle loves to collect ghosts.”

  “Vixen.” He gave a shudder that might or might not have been exaggerated. “You know how fervently I despise haunted castles.”

  “Then I hope we don’t lose our way.” She blinked up at him placidly before darting forward and into the maze.

  “Rebecca!” Loud footsteps tore across the grass behind her as he hurried to keep up.

  She maintained her most innocent expression as the handsome, wide-eyed viscount nearly bowled her over, just a few feet inside the entrance to the maze.

  “Why, how do you do, Daniel?” she asked in faux surprise. “Fancy running into each other so soon, inside a hedge maze this large.”

  He burst out laughing. “You seem to have positioned yourself right inside the entrance, minx. And for that, I am truly grateful.”

  She grinned back at him, then gestured down the path. “Lead the way, milord.”

  He affected a cocky pose. “Of course, my dear. A gentleman would never get lost. Or become a ghost in a haunted castle. Everyone knows it’s females who cannot maneuver labyrinths, bless their pretty little heads. Feel free to leap into my arms any time you become overwhelmed from the terror of it all.”

  “Astonish me with your manly sense of direction.” She clutched her chest as she fell into step beside him. “I shall endeavor to limit my maidenly swoons.”

  “Swooning into my arms is perfectly acceptable behavior,” he assured her. “Please do not limit any fits of the vapors on my account. I am ever at your disposal.”

  “Oh?” She pressed the back of her wrist to her forehead. “Have you sequestered a vial of smelling salts in your waistcoat?”

  “Alas, I have not!” He affected a thunderstruck expression. “I shall be forced to cradle you in my arms for as long as necessary. I am a gentleman, of course.”

  “Of course,” she murmured, trying to hide her smile. “One could not possibly interpret otherwise.”

  “Are you feeling faint?” he asked hopefully. “Should I take you into my arms now as a preventative measure?”

  “We’ve barely been strolling for a quarter hour. I can persevere a few moments longer. Do check back with me if this outing causes me to miss nuncheon. I shall either feel faint… or furious.”

  “Never fear, pet. You are by the side of an experienced gentleman. I have several fond remembrances of your homicidal tendencies when deprived of a timely meal, and have taken steps to prevent disaster.” He patted his handkerchief pocket and whispered, “Scones nicked from the kitchen.”

  She fluttered her hand atop her heart. “A true hero. You have thought of everything. Your competence astounds at every turn.”

  He nodded sagely. “I am also adept at backgammon and Latin verb conjugation. Should the need arise.”

  She shook her head with a laugh. This was the Daniel she remembered. The clever, silly, self-aware lad who charmed her effortlessly every time he opened his mouth.

  It would not do to tie herself into knots all over again. He was no longer the boy he once was. He was a man now. A rakish viscount with little time for one such as her under ordinary circumstances. There were too many parties to attend. Too many flirtatious young ladies to seduce. Daniel had changed. She should focus on that.

  “You must miss London dreadfully,” she said as he led her round the same corner spiral for the third time in a row.

  “Monstrously,” he agreed.

  Her heart fell. She knew better—had just reminded herself, for heaven’s sake—and still the admission that he’d rather be elsewhere stung as deep as ever.

  “It’s Ravenwood,” he continued. “If there’s anyone in the House of Lords whose opinions I respect without question, that man is the Duke of Ravenwood. He’s arranged a convocation to discuss and approve preventative measures to curb burgeoning unrest from those who fear modern advances in weaving technology, and I’ll miss the whole affair because it’s the same day as the will reading.”

  “Convocation?” she echoed in surprise. Somehow, she’d ex
pected his homesickness more properly attributed to being too far from fawning debutantes than from a desire to return to Parliament. “Modern advances in weaving technology?”

  Daniel nodded, his eyes shining. “Spinning frames, stocking frames, power looms… The textile industry is on the cusp of an exciting new horizon. Or teetering on the brink of national disaster, depending on whom one asks.”

  Rebecca’s heart twisted. The boy she remembered had changed even more than she’d thought. He didn’t miss his gentlemen’s clubs or his drunken doxies. He missed the House of Lords. Planning England’s future. Being a respected and integral member of Parliamentary process.

  Drat the man. She glanced away. Daniel’s obvious passion for bettering everyone’s lives only endeared him to her all the more.

  Positively unfair.

  He let out a shout and dashed toward an opening in the hedgerows. “Come look! I found the folly!”

  A smile curved her lips as she joined him at the break in the hedges. It had only taken just over an hour.

  In the center of a small grove, an octagonal stone base supported a tall, white, six-column wooden folly with a moss-covered cupola.

  It looked beautiful and romantic and abandoned. Rebecca loved to sit inside whenever she felt lonely. Close her eyes in order to listen to the chirping of the birds, and pretend the world was as serene and uncomplicated as it seemed in those moments.

  “Come with me.” Daniel grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the stone steps leading up to the folly.

  Rebecca should have pulled her trembling fingers from his grasp. No touching. She knew better.

  But her hand refused to let go.

  When they reached the top of the steps, he pulled her beneath the cupola and swung her in a tight circle between the fading white pillars.

  “We did it,” he said, his eyes sparkling. He had yet to release her from the warmth of his embrace. Nor did she wish him to. His mouth was mere inches from hers. “I owe a debt of gratitude to the diabolical architect who crafted the labyrinth. Finding this folly with you was worth every twist and turn.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said softly, without pulling from his grasp. A blush heated her cheekbones at the surprise in his eyes. She averted her gaze. “That is, I might have switched the lackluster original design with one of my own making.”