To Wed a Wild Lord (15 page)

Romantics did that. She was a romantic.

God, he should have realized it before. He would never get anywhere by arguing the practicality of the thing. Her emotions ran too high. He needed to take a different tack.

“And do you know
why
you were trying to provoke me?”

“Because I was angry at you for being an arrogant, deceitful—”

“Because you didn’t like the idea of my marrying you for money. Because you wanted me to marry you for other reasons.”

When her cheeks pinkened, he knew he’d guessed right.

She squared her shoulders. “Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t want you to marry me for
any—
”

He lifted his hand to catch her chin. “You desire me. And you want me to desire
you
.”

A panicky look came over her face. “That’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Is it?” The time was past for talking. Instead, he kissed her.

For a second she was stiff and still, like a filly about to bolt. Then her lips softened and her body angled into him, and he knew he’d chosen right.

Because Virginia was more like him than she cared to admit. She was physical, susceptible to touch and taste, not words and arguments. And that was fine by him. With his blood still running high from the race and their argument, he burned to touch and taste her again.

He thrust his tongue between her tender lips to tease and explore. God, her soft mouth made him want to lose himself in it forever. She gave as good as she got, too, tangling her tongue with his, curling her fingers into his coat to hold him still so she could set his blood afire.

This was the woman he wanted, with her slender body and her smooth skin and her throaty laugh that was surely the envy of females everywhere. She was a wild forest enchantress succeeding in her merciless mission to drive him mad.

Suddenly she tore her mouth from his. “You can’t just win the argument by kissing me senseless.”

“I can try,” he murmured against her impudent little chin. “You know damned well this isn’t just about money. Every time I see you my blood runs hot, and I can think only of how badly I want to take you to bed.”

The minute she stiffened he knew he’d spoken too bluntly, but he couldn’t help it—words weren’t his purview. Actions were.

“You’re suffering under a grand delusion if you think that I—” she began.

He kissed her again. Only this time, he dragged her into his arms and ravished her mouth. It took a few moments for her to relax, but once he had her soft and eager, he laid a path of kisses down her jaw so he could bury one in the curve of her neck . . . her silky-skinned neck, with its scent of orange blossoms and almonds that made him want to devour her whole.

When he tongued her throat, she gasped. “I wish . . . you would . . . stop being so . . . naughty.”

“No, you don’t,” he murmured and kissed her again.

By God, she was sweet, her body pressing up against his, clinging to him, driving him to an insane arousal. He ran his hands over her trim form, down her slender waist to her surprisingly shapely hips, then up to her ribs and the breasts he ached to touch.

Lyons’s warning about how to treat a respectable woman came into his mind, but his hands seemed to have a will of their own as they slid up to cup her perfect little breasts, with their perfectly aroused nipples poking through her gown. He yearned to tear off her clothes and suck those tips until she moaned and melted in his arms.

But this was insanity. Anyone might come upon them.

Good,
his mind whispered. Then she’d be compromised, and he could marry her without having to navigate the obstacle course of courtship.

If whoever found them didn’t kill him first.

But he didn’t care. As long as she would let him touch her, by God, he would. Because some things were worth dying for.

Chapter Eight

V
irginia couldn’t believe Gabriel had his hands on her breasts. It was shocking! Outrageous!

Delicious.

How could something so scandalous feel so
good
? Bad enough that he’d kissed her, now he was wreaking havoc on her senses with his naughty caresses. It simply wasn’t fair. He was cheating. And she was letting him.

She was a fool. She should make him stop. And she would, in a few minutes. After she figured out why she didn’t want to.

He pushed her against the hedge, his body plastered to hers as he ravaged her mouth over and over. The clipped edges of boxwood pricked her through her gown, and its pungent smell wafted through her senses, but she was only conscious of how he made her feel, hot and eager and agitated. Pleasurably so. Especially with him kneading her breasts and thumbing her nipples through her gown. It was hard to tell where his rapid breathing ended and hers began. Sweet Lord, he was driving her wild!

And she must be doing the same to him; she could feel the hardness rising in his trousers where he was pressed up against her. Raised on a stud farm, she knew precisely what that signaled. It ought to be a warning to stop this madness, but it merely made her exult. He’d told the truth about desiring her. When he was kissing her there was no sign of the cold and remote lord, and her feminine vanity thrilled to that.

But when he flicked open the top button on the front of her bodice, she balked and caught his hand. “You mustn’t,” she whispered, staring down at his other tanned hand, still caressing her breast. “It’s unseemly.”

His eyes gleamed at her. “Exactly the word I was thinking. Unseemly.”

Awful man, for laughing at her. “And reckless,” she chided, to keep her mind off the fact that he had undone two more buttons. “You’re being very reckless.” And she was dying to feel his fingers on her bare flesh. He might as well tip up her skirts and call her a soiled dove.

“What do you expect of a man like me?” He brushed a kiss to her temple. “Recklessness is my calling. Besides, you like that I’m reckless.”

“I do not!” she said, but that was a lie. The feel of his bare hand sliding into her bodice was exquisite. It made her feel like a real woman.
His
woman.

Oh, she was mad.

He kissed her ear. “You like it because you’ve secretly got some recklessness in you, too.”

Her heart raced. Why did he have to be the only one to notice her urges to be insanely irresponsible?

“Don’t tell me you weren’t swept up in the excitement of the race this afternoon,” he went on like a little devil sitting on her shoulder, whispering terrible truths. “I could see it in your face.”

“Before or after you almost got yourself killed?” she choked out. Oh, Lord, he’d reached inside her corset cup to fondle her nipple through her shift. She longed to tear her clothes off so he could do it better.

His hand paused on her breast. “You really were worried about me.”

What had she said? Oh, yes. She shouldn’t have said that. “I meant, before you almost got
us
killed.”

“Don’t deny it—you were worried about me.” He rolled her nipple between his fingers, making her weak in the knees. Why didn’t she just make him stop?

Because she hoped he never stopped.

His breath thickened, falling heavily on her cheek. “No one but my family ever worries about me. Everyone thinks I’m invincible.”

Something in his voice made her want to draw him in her arms and soothe him. Instead she pulled back to stare up at him. “That’s because
you
think you’re invincible, you daft fool.”

His eyes held a bleakness that made her ache for him. “Actually, I just don’t care if I am or not.”

The words chilled her. Thank goodness, he’d stopped caressing her, because she really needed to think straight right now. “Then why marry, if you’re just going to make some woman a widow?”

A raw, vulnerable expression came over his face before he masked it. “I told you why. Because Celia—”

“Ah, yes. Your sister needs you to.” She didn’t know whether to admire his loyalty to his family, or despise his arrogant assumption that his plan was best for everyone. “And you don’t care what woman you hurt in the process.”

With a sigh, he bent his head to nuzzle her cheek. “I’m not trying to hurt you. I need a wife, and you need a husband. Why not make it easy and marry each other?”

The words tore into her. “I don’t want a husband who marries me out of pity for my situation. Or because he wants his sister to gain her inheritance.”

His hand moved over her breast again, softly, delicately. “Does this feel like pity to you? Does this feel like mercenary intent?” When she sucked in a harsh breath, he added, “I’ve had seven months to find a wife, sweetheart, and you’re the first woman I’ve even considered. Do you want to know why?”

Lord, yes.

“You rouse my blood. I have no other way to describe it. I’m not a poet, I’m not good with pretty compliments, and God knows I have little to offer except a possible inheritance. But I promise that at least in the bedchamber, I can make you happy. Perhaps that doesn’t count for much, but people have married for less.”

“I prefer to marry for more.”

“So you have another, better prospect?” he asked, still fondling her, driving her to distraction.

He knew the answer to that.

“Give me a chance to show you how good we can be together,” he whispered. “Just . . . one . . . chance . . .”

He was kissing her again, so sweetly it made her throat ache with the beauty of it. What if he was right? What if this was enough? Lord knows he roused her blood, too. If not for his mad need to be in danger at every moment—and her feeling that she was somehow betraying Roger by being with him—she could almost envision a life with him.

For a moment, she gave herself up to the pleasure he wound about her. He smelled of horses and leather and tasted of wine, intoxicating her with his kisses. His hot mouth moved down her chin to her neck to suck at the pulse that beat there, then skimmed lower toward her breast, making her moan and arch into him to grab at his shoulders.

His thickly muscled, magnificent shoulders. No wonder women threw themselves at him. He was a Thoroughbred among the cart horses, sleek and imposing. His masterful caresses made her feel like a mare in heat who’d trample over anything to mate with the stallion in the next paddock.

No man had ever provoked such wild feelings in her. She was sinking into them, drowning in the sensations—

“Virginia!” came a sharp voice, reaching through the fog in her addled brain.

Panic seized her. “Stop,” she hissed. “You have to stop.”

Gabriel pushed open her gown. “Keep quiet and he’ll go away.”

“Virginia!” the voice repeated, closer now.

“It’s Pierce,” she said, shoving Gabriel back. As he stood there blinking, she rebuttoned her gown. Sweet Lord, it was hanging half open! “He won’t go away until he finds us.”

When a half-dazed Gabriel reached for her, she slapped his hand. “Are you
trying
to ruin me?”

He raked his fingers through his hair, then glanced to the entrance of the blind alley. “It’s not ruining you if I’m willing to marry you.”

She gaped at him. So
that
was his plan—to compromise her and ensure their marriage that way. And she’d nearly let him do it!

Turning on her heel, she marched toward the entrance. “You aren’t going to gain me like that, sir.”

He followed her. “There’s leaves and twigs on the back of your gown.” He started brushing them off.

“Don’t do that!” she growled, batting at his hands.

“Damn it, Sharpe, where have you and my cousin gone off to?” bellowed Pierce from very near. Then came an awful silence, followed by, “What the hell are you two doing?”

Gabriel took his sweet time about dropping his hands from her gown, the devil. “We’re
trying
to tour the maze, Devonmont.”

She glanced over to see Pierce standing at the head of the blind alley, regarding her and Gabriel with rank suspicion. As heat rose in her cheeks, it occurred to her that her hair was probably mussed from having Gabriel’s hands buried in it. Oh, dear. How could she have been so foolish?

“Pierce, isn’t this just the loveliest maze? I’ve been admiring the box hedges,” she lied gamely.

“With Sharpe’s hands on your behind?” Pierce said. Her cheeks grew hot. Fie on Gabriel for that. “Don’t be rude, Pierce. Lord Gabriel was merely helping me get leaves off my gown.”

“I’ll just bet he was,” Pierce said dryly, his gaze going to Gabriel.

Who met Pierce’s gaze with one that was far too smug. “You caught us, Devonmont—I admit it. I guess there’s no stopping the wedding now.”

Her cousin said, “No need for such dramatics. A man ought to be able to steal a kiss without finding himself leg-shackled, don’t you agree?”

“I
quite
agree. Not that we were doing anything so scandalous,” she said hastily, then scowled at Gabriel. “Because we weren’t.”

Gabriel glanced from Pierce to her. “It’s all right, sweetheart. I’m more than happy to make this right.”

“Of course you are,” Pierce drawled. “You’ve got that tidy little inheritance waiting for you.”

Fire blazed in Gabriel’s face. “Not that it’s any of your concern, but I was just explaining to your cousin why I’m not marrying her for my inheritance.”

“Of course it’s my concern,” Pierce said. “She’s family. And she deserves better than you—which is precisely why
I
intend to marry her.”

For a moment, she and Gabriel just gaped at him.

Then Virginia found her voice. “What on earth are you talking about?”

Pierce shrugged. “You can have more than one suitor. I’m throwing my hat in the ring.”

“The blazes you are,” Gabriel growled and lunged forward.

“Stop it!” She grabbed him by the arm. “Can’t you see he’s just trying to provoke you?”

“Not in the least,” Pierce said. “I’m perfectly serious. I’m a far more suitable husband for you than
this
scoundrel.” He flicked a dismissive glance at Gabriel. “Since I’m the one who’ll inherit your home, if you want to marry for an inheritance, you ought to marry for mine.”