Forbidden Kisses

by Laurel O'Donnell

  She nodded, unable to get a word out while he held her hands to unwind the ties. He then took custody of the bonnet before she inadvertently ruined it. No matter the reason for his touch, the graze of his fingers felt splendid and exciting against hers. “Celebration? Oh, that’s why I stopped by today. I’ve left my invitation with Hutchins. My parents are hosting a party this coming Saturday in honor of my birthday. You will attend, won’t you? Please, you must.”

  He nodded and his grin softened to an indulgent smile. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  “Really?” Her eyes widened in surprise once more and her bones turned soft and tingling. Goodness, he was perfect. There was something quite arousing in the manly scent of him, a mix of healthy sweat and sandalwood soap. The trace of fatigue in his eyes caused them to droop seductively.

  He tweaked her nose. That counted as something, didn’t it? Not quite a kiss, but he’d held her hand for almost ten seconds, and now he had touched her nose.

  “Really,” he said, glancing at the stream that ran behind the mill. “Give me a moment and I’ll take you home.”

  She meant to protest, for he was obviously busy and she’d already kept him from his other duties. But the words caught in her throat when she caught his wickedly intriguing expression. “What?” she asked.

  “Each year, I celebrate the infamous day that I broke my arm–”

  “And three ribs,” she interjected.

  “Right, and three ribs.” He absently ran his hand along his rib cage. “I celebrate it by taking a dip in the stream. I’ve dubbed this day Saint Mallory’s Day.”

  She inhaled lightly. “You named this day after me?”

  “Of course. You were the best thing to come out of that embarrassing time.” He shrugged. “Why are you gawking at me?”

  He tucked a finger under her chin to nudge her mouth closed. Third time he’d touched her today. This was turning into her best day ever. “I did not think you’d noticed me. My sisters are far more dazzling. I pale in comparison.”

  “There’s much to be said for a quieter beauty. Come along, I’ll take you home.”

  “What about your swim? I’d hate for you to break that proud tradition on my account.”

  He threw his head back and laughed. “No, my girl. With you peeking through the bushes at me? That would be too much of an adventure for either of us. Your father will come after me with his hunting rifle. No, not a chance. Time to get you safely back home.”

  Mallory silently chided herself. She was not only innocent, but exceptionally dense. Of course, he couldn’t swim now because his proper celebration meant removing all his clothes. Indeed, to see him... well, that would be a most pleasant adventure.

  She blamed the sudden flush to her cheeks on the bright sun.

  But as Lucien used his handkerchief to dab away the moisture on her overheated cheeks - a fourth touch - she was more certain than ever that she’d made the right choice.

  Lucien simply had to kiss her.

  How would she convince him to do it?

  Chapter Two

  Lucien tried not to look at Mallory as they walked to the shady copse beside the stream where he’d tethered his black gelding, Charlemagne. Until this very moment, he’d thought of her as a gangly child. Pretty and sweet, but nothing to stop a man’s heart.

  He was wrong.

  She would not only stop hearts, but break them.

  She somehow managed to have his heart pounding through his ears and he was too experienced and cynical for that boyish nonsense. “This way, Mallory,” he said, trying not to notice the way the sun shone on her lush, mahogany-dark curls and made them glisten. “I left Charlemagne to graze on the reeds along the stream’s bank.”

  “Your Grace, you needn’t go out of your way for me. I got here on my own two feet and am quite capable of returning home the same way.”

  He wanted to tell her to call him Lucien, for they’d been friends and neighbors all of her eighteen years. But that was the problem. All of a sudden, she wasn’t little Mallory, the viscount’s sweet, but unremarkable youngest daughter.

  She was now Incomparable Mallory, a sultry beauty destined to have grown men falling in worship at her daintily slippered feet. They’d be lined up, groveling and begging for a taste of her sensual mouth the moment they caught sight of her. Her lips were full and had a slightly downward droop at the corners, so that she looked like she was pouting when they were at rest. Not one of those angry, I’m-in-a-snit pouts, but one of those I-want-to-have-sex-with-you pouts that would have a dead man springing back to life.

  He blamed the wanton path of his thoughts on heat stroke. After all, he’d been toiling for hours in that hot mill, struggling to repair its broken wheel.

  Against his better judgment, his gaze fixed on her cat-like, green eyes and lingered on her dark brown mane, dark as Jamaican coffee, that threatened to cascade down her shoulders in a sinuous, tumbling wave.

  No, not heat stroke.

  Just sizzling, hot Mallory.

  He cleared his parched throat. “You’re here now and therefore my responsibility. I will see you safely home and that’s an end to this discussion.”

  She sighed, a soft, breathy sigh. “Very well. If you insist on being nonsensical about it.”

  That she was unaware of her appeal only added to her allure.

  Hell in a handbasket.

  Of all the bloody bad luck. Why did she have to turn out so beautiful? More to the point, why did he suddenly have to notice? He was about to secure himself an heiress, one with a solid dowry of thirty thousand pounds and an annual income of three thousand pounds. There was no other way to dig himself out from under the mountain of debt his father had built, no other way to restore the ducal properties to their former splendor in his lifetime.

  He couldn’t allow Mallory to interfere with his plans.

  No, he was doing it again. Blaming Mallory when he was the one at fault for allowing this unexpected surge of lust to get the better of him. The last time he’d thought with a body part other than his brain, he wound up with a broken arm and three cracked ribs.

  Not making that mistake again.

  He spared Mallory a sidelong glance. She smiled back sweetly, too innocent to understand the effect she was having on him.

  Too bad she wasn’t an heiress.

  Viscount Goodell was a man of more than adequate means, but Lucien doubted his youngest daughter would come with more than two or three thousand pounds in settlement and an income of perhaps five hundred pounds a year. Blast. Why was he even thinking of Mallory in those mercenary terms. She was witty and beautiful, a young woman of worth who should be considered on her own merits.

  She would not need a handsome dowry to attract a man of substance.

  When they reached Charlemagne, Lucien took his reins in hand and turned to assist Mallory. “Here, let me help you up.”

  There was no log nearby, so he put his arms around her waist and waited for her to clutch his shoulders while he lifted her onto the saddle. She made no fuss, for there was an easiness about their friendship that made his actions feel natural, as though he were attending to a younger sister.

  But there was the problem. He didn’t have a younger sister, and Mallory was not evoking brotherly thoughts. No, indeed. If he did not let go of her now, she would know something was amiss.

  He released her almost too abruptly.

  She regarded him with confusion when he started to turn away. “Aren’t you going to climb up, too?”

  Lucien shook his head. “No, I was going to walk Charlemagne to your home.”

  Mallory hastily dismounted and then turned to him with a frown. “That’s absurd. Why don’t you simply let me walk back home on my own?”

  “Put the notion out of your head. You’re on my property and under my care. Don’t be difficult. Just do as I ask.” He tensed, knowing he’d have to feign indifference when he put his hands about her waist again.

  She was at ease an
d laughing. “Me? Not be difficult? Or stubborn. Or opinionated. You do recall that this is me, Mallory.”

  “But you were never as irritating as you are now.” He couldn’t resist a chuckle. “Do as I ask. I’m not going to let you win this battle.”

  She grumbled but allowed him to lift her back onto the saddle. He’d barely contained himself the first time. His body was now a powder keg and she was the lit fuse about to ignite him.

  He turned away and grabbed the reins.

  Charlemagne was a big, sweaty beast. But the scent that filled his nostrils was Mallory’s apples and cinnamon scent.

  Bah!

  He must be hungrier than he realized.

  Cinnamon and apples, indeed. A freshly baked pie would satisfy his appetite. That’s all he needed.

  Not Mallory.

  Not her sultry lips or her cat eyes or her have-sex-with-me– He stopped himself right there. This was Mallory, not some trinket to amuse him until something better came along. She was the best. Nothing better would ever come along than this girl.

  Too bad she wasn’t an heiress.

  But he’d already found his heiress.

  His plan was set.

  All he had to do was keep to it.

  But Mallory was achingly beautiful.

  This wasn’t going to be easy.

  Chapter Three

  “Mallory, stop dawdling,” her mother said, shaking her head and tsking when she caught her daughter staring out the window, studying the tufts of white clouds floating across the azure sky. “Most of the guests have arrived for your party. I’m sure the last carriages will be rolling up the drive right now.” Her mother’s mouth pursed in disapproval as she inspected Mallory. “Oh, dear. This will never do. Your hair is already coming undone.”

  “It must be the damp weather, Mama. There’s nothing to be done about it.” Mallory’s maid had attempted to sweep it up atop her head in a fashionable twist, but all her hard work was to no avail.

  “What are you talking about, child? There’s no sign of rain, no hovering mist to curl your impossibly unruly hair. It’s a delightfully sunny day. Now, get away from the window and finish dressing.”

  “Very well, but I was– never mind, what’s the use?”

  Her mother gave another tsk. “Are you still searching for a star to wish upon?”

  Mallory stuck her chin in the air. “Perhaps.”

  “Time to stop dreaming, my girl. I don’t know what’s wrong with you lately. You’ve been distracted and forgetful all week, floating about in a fog. Stop it at once and put your fanciful notions aside. The stars belong in the sky, not in your eyes.”

  “Ah,” Mallory said with a knowing nod. “I forgot. Marriage is a business to be taken seriously if I’m to secure my future. However, I’m not to be shopped on the marriage mart for another year, so why should I not enjoy my dreams a little while longer?”

  Her mother’s expression softened, but only a little. “Dreams do not put food on the table or place a sturdy roof over your head. Remember that, my girl. You’ve lived comfortably up to now, but all that can change in the blink of an eye. Your father is not a young man. There will come a day when–”

  “I know, Mama. I’ll keep my wits about me when the moment comes to choosing a husband. I just wanted today to be carefree and filled with fun. Is there anything wrong with wishing for that?”

  “I suppose not, my dear.” After a moment, her mother reached around her to shut the window, a signal that her reverie was now at an end. “Sit down and I’ll stick a few more hairpins in that thick coil of yours to hold it fast. And why are you wearing the amber silk when I distinctly recall setting out the new pink gown upon your counterpane? I thought we had decided you ought to wear the pink.”

  Mallory groaned. “No, Mama. That gown has too many frills and bows. It makes me look twelve.”

  “It makes you look stylish. The amber gown is too simple.”

  “I like simple.”

  Her mother shook her head and tsked yet again. “Mallory, you are a beautiful girl. But yours is more of a quiet beauty that one might not notice upon first glance. Therefore, you need to be noticed. I will not have my youngest daughter sitting among the wallflowers.”

  She gave her mother’s suggestion serious consideration, but she truly detested that pink confection that passed for an elegant gown, and knew she would never appear more sophisticated in it than her eighteen years. Why was this gown so important anyway? She doubted Lucien would notice what she wore or ever stop thinking of her as the naive innocent she unfortunately was.

  Her mother persisted. “But we decided–”

  “You decided, Mama. This party is in honor of my birthday. Can’t I choose what I am to wear this one time?” She hurried to the mirror and gave herself a final inspection. Her hair would hold up, she hoped. Besides, she detested those London styles that were all the current fashion, springy curls that were pulled back tight and made her look like a startled pigeon. “Has His Grace arrived yet?”

  Her mother frowned. “The Duke of Hawthorn? Honestly, Mallory. Is this what your distraction is about? He’s handsome, for certain. But you must give up this ridiculous dream of yours. He will never notice you.”

  “Why not?” She sounded defiant, but her mother’s words had wounded her. “I know I’m not as pretty as Alicia or Dierdre, but not every man’s taste runs to petite and blonde.” Although she cared for her sisters, she was different from them in many ways. Appearance. Temperament. Her hopes for a love marriage.

  Indeed, her sisters were quite content with their marriage bargains. Alicia was now a countess, for she’d married a wealthy earl and boasted of keeping two carriages, a townhouse in Mayfair, and a monthly allowance that would keep a hundred orphans clothed and well fed were it applied to them and not the jewels, silk gowns, and gaming tables that she spent it on.

  Dierdre had done almost as well for herself, snaring a baron whose elegant townhouse was in Belgravia, who kept a carriage and a sporty phaeton, and whose generous allowance would have allowed Dierdre to keep fifty orphans fed and clothed had she the slightest desire to be generous, which she hadn’t.

  “The problem is not your looks, but the size of your purse,” her mother said. “The duke is in desperate need of an heiress to clear away the substantial debt his father placed upon his estate. Your dowry, while ample enough to entice many suitable gentlemen, is not nearly enough to meet his requirements.”

  Mallory nodded, yet it did not seem fair to her that notions of love had to be discarded altogether. But what did she know? Even if Lucien fell in love, it wasn’t likely to be with her. He was handsome, experienced, and sophisticated. He was all the things that she would never be. “You’re right, of course.”

  “Besides, his betrothal to Lady Heloise, the Duke of Digby’s daughter, will be announced any day now. It’s the juiciest on dit. The match of the year, or so it has been declared in all the papers. He’s been seen escorting her around London these past three months. Exclusively. What else can it mean but a marriage in the offing?”

  Mallory furrowed her brow in thought. “If he is about to propose to this Incomparable,” she remarked, unable to hold back her sarcasm which might have been tinged with a good dollop of jealousy, “then why is he back home now? At the height of the Season, no less. Should he not be staying close to her side? Marking his territory, so to speak.”

  Her mother sighed. “You’ve been reading those animal stories again by that man.”

  “Sir William Maitland is a renowned naturalist and explorer. His books are not mere animal stories. They are of scientific and historical importance. His daughter, Joanna Maitland, travels everywhere with him. And now he has several scholarly women–”

  “Bluestockings,” her mother said with a disdainful huff. “Spinsters, no doubt. With nothing better to do than to concentrate their efforts on books since they’ve been overlooked by all men of marriageable age and good reputation.”

  Mallory rol
led her eyes. “They are intelligent and talented women. Did you know that the Duke of Melbourne’s wife is assisting Sir William with his illustrations of the various flora and fauna...”

  Her voice trailed off as her mother turned away, muttering under her breath as she ignored Mallory and started for the door. “Where have I gone wrong with you, child?”

  “You haven’t. I’ve been well educated in the art of trapping a suitable bachelor. But I wish to marry someone I can love. Lucien–”

  “Oh, it is Lucien now, is it?” Her gaze suddenly turned keen and assessing as she studied Mallory. “Has he given you permission to call him that?”

  “No, but it’s how I like to think of him. I wouldn’t presume to–”

  “Enough.” Her mother emitted a sigh of exasperation and held up a hand to stop her protests. “I’ll hear no more talk of him. He showed little interest in either of your sisters, both of whom were far more proficient at moving about in Society than you are. Alicia was declared a diamond by all who met her, and still, he showed her no interest.” She gave a small harrumph. “Mark my words, the duke will be marrying Lady Heloise. He is only here to attend to urgent matters at Hawthorn Hall and will hie himself back to London and Lady Heloise’s side as soon as he’s dealt with this latest problem.”

  She locked her arm in Mallory’s and bustled her downstairs to greet their guests. “I do wish you had worn the pink.” But her mother said no more about it as she sailed her toward the parlor where her father, Viscount Goodell, was already holding court.

  He cast her a disapproving nod. “Ah, finally. Mallory, it isn’t good form to be late to your own party.”

  She paid him no heed, for her heart was already sinking into her toes. Casually leaning his muscled form against one of the doors that opened onto their terraced garden was her very own, magnificently handsome, Lucien. Of course, the sun chose just that moment to emerge from behind a passing cloud, casting its rays upon the golden waves of his hair and wrapping him in its glorious illumination as though he were a warrior angel descended from heaven or a majestic Greek god.