B006DTZ3FY EBOK Page 23

  “You don’t seem very worried,” she complained.

  “I’m not.” He grinned. “I didn’t plan this meeting, and apparently neither did you. But now that we’re here, I’m inclined to think it was a jolly good idea. Once we’ve concluded who is responsible, I think I’ll send the chap a bottle of something rare. With my compliments.”

  “Derek, pray be serious. This is a highly alarming turn of events.” In the tricky light he sensed, rather than saw, her blush. “You should have seen the message I was sent! It was extremely loverlike. Someone has deduced that I have—feelings for you. Whoever wrote that note believed that I would respond to it. And I did. If there were any doubt in the sender’s mind, I erased that doubt.” She bit her lip. “I replied with ‘yes,’ did I not? And here I am.”

  “Here you are,” he agreed. He sank down onto the marble bench, pulling her down beside him. “And I must tell you, sweeting, that I am, on the whole, glad of it. And I am profoundly glad to learn that you did not write that note to Ellsworth.”

  “What did it say? Oh, Derek.” She sighed as his mouth grazed the top of her ear. “I can’t think properly when you do that.”

  “Good,” he murmured, and bent to seek her lips.

  “But this is important.” She sounded gratifyingly breathless. “Someone has gone to great lengths to set a trap for us.”

  He paused. “A trap was set,” he admitted. “But not for us. I was not meant to see that note to Ellsworth. I read it only by a lucky chance.” Reluctantly, he straightened his spine and tackled the problem at hand. It was difficult to bend his mind to serious subjects with Cynthia in his arms—in a moonlit bower of orange blossoms, no less. Conversation seemed a ridiculous waste of time. He compromised with his protesting libido by holding her with one arm, encouraging her to nestle against him. “Very well, you are right. We must think it through. There’s something dashed smoky about all this.”

  “Yes. Someone has been exceedingly busy. But who?”

  “I imagine if we determine the object of the game, it will be obvious who is playing it.” He laced his fingers through hers. “A note to you and a note to Ellsworth,” he mused. “Contrived to get the two of you alone in the orangery. What would the object of that game be?”

  Cynthia suddenly went very still. Half a heartbeat later, his mind made the same jump hers had obviously made. And, as he had idly suggested, the instant they realized what the object of the game must be—to force Cynthia and John Ellsworth into a compromising position—they also knew who had written the notes. There was only one person who stood to gain from this gamble: Lady Ballymere.

  Derek’s reaction was a peculiar mixture of shock, contempt and pity—but most of his pity was reserved for Cynthia. He could only guess at the jumble of emotions she must feel. He did not move to stop her when she jerked to her feet and walked away from him. She wandered aimlessly through the shadows as if she knew not where to go or what to do, then halted on the other side of the room, by the window across from where Derek sat. He watched her, compassion in his eyes. She seemed to be staring out into the blackness, but he knew she saw nothing. Poor girl.

  She shivered and clutched her cloak tightly around herself. “It is my mother who has done this,” she said in a low tone.

  “Yes,” he said quietly. “I’m afraid it is.”

  She threw her head back, inhaling sharply, then sighed. As the breath sighed out of her, she lowered her chin and sagged forlornly against the windowpane. “It almost defies belief,” she said, as if to herself. “Almost.” Her voice took on a brittle edge. “And yet, when I consider the source, I find I am not surprised.” She shook her head slowly. “What a sad commentary on my mother’s character.”

  Derek could stand it no longer; he rose and went to her. He opened his arms wordlessly and, with one convulsive sob, she flew into them. His arms closed around her and he cradled her gently, rocking her and murmuring soothing nonsense while she clung to him and wept.

  Almost immediately, however, he felt her fingers tugging at his breast pocket. He smiled into her hair when he realized she was unearthing his handkerchief. She gave one great gulp and lifted her head.

  “I will not cry,” she announced. She swiped fiercely at her eyes with Derek’s handkerchief. “I will not.”

  “Excellent.” He took the handkerchief from her and carefully dried her cheeks.

  “I seem to be crying a great deal lately.” She sniffed, looking annoyed with herself. “I don’t know why.”

  Derek smiled a little. She was so adorable. “Your life is changing rapidly. Or hadn’t you noticed?”

  She gave a choked little laugh. “I have noticed, thank you.”

  “Change is always unsettling. Even changes for the better knock one off balance a bit.” He ran his finger lightly along her temple, his smile fading. His heart ached for her. “And in this case, my poor darling, you are having to adjust to a rather unpleasant revelation about someone you have always trusted.”

  “Yes. But I mustn’t turn into a watering pot.” She took a shaky breath. “Just because my mother is behaving like a criminal.”

  “Oh, now, tsk. It’s not as bad as that.” He hated to see her so distressed.

  But Cynthia refused to be comforted. “It’s every bit as bad as that.” The corners of her mouth drooped dispiritedly. “I can hardly believe it. It’s monstrous. She wrote me a note—disguised her handwriting very cleverly, too—pretending to be you. And then wrote one to Mr. Ellsworth, pretending to be me. That is forgery, is it not?”

  “Well, not really,” he hedged. “Not in any legal sense. Forgery is only a crime if it is committed in pursuit of monetary gain.” He paused, seeing Cynthia’s ironic look. “Oh.” He pursed his lips wryly. “You will say that it was, in fact, done in pursuit of monetary gain. But you know, my love, matchmaking mamas are often guilty of unscrupulous tactics. Your mother is not the first to do something a bit... unethical.”

  She stared up at him, incredulous. “This is more than a silly trick. It’s entrapment. Why, if this stunt became known, Mama would be ruined. Disgraced. There’s not a decent hostess in London who would receive us.”

  He could not argue with her. She was right.

  “I admit, this does go rather beyond the line,” he owned. “I wonder why she ran such a risk? What did she hope to gain? It wouldn’t accomplish anything to simply spirit the two of you off to the orangery. Ellsworth isn’t the sort of chap who would take advantage of you.” He was about to tease her by adding a sly remark about his own intentions, but stopped when he saw the look on her face.

  Cynthia looked sick and stunned for a fraction of a second, and then her face went completely blank. All emotion, all expression, vanished. He knew her well enough to know that this was her instinctive defense when faced with something she did not like to face. His brows snapped together in a frown of concern. “What is it?” he said sharply.

  She pulled herself out of his grip and moved like a sleepwalker back toward the door. She looked ghostly in the ethereal half-light, her flaxen hair colorless in the bleached, blue moonlight and her cloak falling from her shoulders like a shroud. When she reached the door he saw her hand, pale against the gloom, reach out and touch the handle.

  “Locked,” she said softly. “I thought it would be.”

  “What!”

  Derek knew he had not locked the door. He crossed swiftly to where Cynthia stood. Her expression had taken on a dreamy, faraway look. She was almost smiling. Derek rattled the doorhandle, trying it this way and that, but she was right. The door was locked.

  “Well, here’s a pretty kettle of fish,” he said disgustedly. “That’s what comes of trying to disguise myself to look like Ellsworth. I never fooled you, but it seems I fooled someone else.”

  “She must have been hiding behind the hedge,” said Cynthia. Her voice sounded as faraway as her expression. “How undignified.”

  “Stand back a little,” ordered Derek. “I can break this thing i
n a heartbeat.”

  But Cynthia did not stand back. She slipped in front of him and pressed her back against the door, flinging her arms out to prevent him touching it. She was laughing a little, but her face still had that strange, dreamy look. “No,” she said softly. “I don’t think you should.”

  The atmosphere in the room subtly altered. Derek looked at Cynthia—really looked at her. Her eyes were luminous. Her mouth was soft. She seemed completely unguarded; the walls that had been up just a few moments ago were down. Something profound had happened when she touched that door handle and discovered that she had been locked in with Derek. Something had changed her. It was as if this final attempt by her mother to manipulate her had taken her beyond anger, to some moment of bright mental clarity that had lifted a burden from her soul. She seemed... liberated.

  She gave him a smile that took his breath away. “Your lucky star came through after all,” she whispered, her heart in her eyes. “Don’t refuse the gift.”

  Chapter 18

  Elation filled her heart to overflowing. She knew he’d been longing to kiss her—and very likely more. His desire for her burned in the depths of his gaze even when he laughed or talked nonsense to her. And he wasn’t laughing now. He wanted her. And now he could have her. She was done with doubts and reservations. Farewell, hesitation. No more vacillation. No more wavering.

  She swayed toward him, everything she felt written on her face. “Derek,” she breathed, aching with love for him. “Derek.”

  He emitted a sound somewhere between a gasp and a growl, muttered some broken, unintelligible exclamation, and swept her into his arms. She clung to him, giddy with feelings. Waves of pure emotion pulsed in her veins, overwhelming her. He ravaged her mouth and she gloried in it. This was exactly what she had wanted, exactly what she had hoped for. He was exactly what she wanted. He was hers, and she was his. And from this day forward, that would be all that mattered.

  He lifted his mouth from hers long enough to say, in a hoarse whisper, “You will marry me.”

  “Yes.”

  She felt no fear. She was absolutely certain. The bargain her parents had forced her to make was broken. She would marry at no one’s bidding but her own.

  His hands came up, cradling her face. The gesture was unexpectedly gentle. He stared into her eyes as if straining to read her thoughts. “I want you,” he said unevenly. “But I want you whole-hearted. Don’t come to me in anger, Cynthia. Don’t wed me to spite your mother.”

  Another wave of joy broke over her. How dear he was. How unselfish. Was there another man on earth who would pause to warn her, to protect her from making a misstep, when blazing with the need she saw in his face? She gave him a smile so tender she felt it tremble on her lips. “Derek, this was meant to be. Don’t you know that?”

  The moonlight was behind him, but still she saw the emotions gathering in his face. “Yes,” he whispered. “I suppose I do. You will stay here with me?”

  “All night,” she murmured. “If need be.”

  He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her palm, almost reverently, then flattened her hand against his own warm, slightly rough cheek. “I shan’t leave you untouched as Ellsworth would have done,” he said huskily. “If you spend the night with me, Cynthia, you will be well and truly compromised.”

  She curved her fingers against his jawline, loving the texture of his skin. “Oh, Derek,” she murmured, reckless with happiness. “I hope so.”

  He gave a strangled laugh, then kissed her palm again. Fiercely, this time. His mouth felt hot and strong and exciting. The feel of his lips moving against the sensitive flesh of her palm seemed to shoot all the way up her arm. The alien sensation made her shiver.

  “I love you, Cynthia.”

  She tilted up her chin and closed her eyes. “I know you do,” she whispered, waiting. She did not have to wait long.

  He took a step forward, backing her up, and her spine flattened against the door. He pressed the length of his body against her, slanted his mouth across hers, and kissed her with a drunken abandon that made her head spin. This kiss was different from anything she had experienced before; hot and wet and intimate. The novelty of it, combined with the flood of sensations caused by his body pressing hers against the door, soon had her gasping for breath.

  She had never felt a man’s body against hers in quite this way. His heaviness—the sheer, masculine bulk of him—was dizzying. The sense that she was being overpowered should have frightened her, but it did not. It was not fear that was making her heart race. It was not fear that was turning her breath ragged. It was something else, something new. Something that blended seamlessly with her feelings for him and then, through some strange alchemy, ignited. The heat she had sensed smoldering in Derek’s gaze had jumped from his mouth to hers. She was burning. Her very bones were melting. She molded herself to his form, mindlessly seeking to touch as much of him as possible.

  She had thought she knew desire. She had desired Derek for years, longed for him, wept and mourned when she thought he was gone from her life forever. But the desire she had felt for him had been a desire of the heart, not of the body. She had longed for him with all her soul, but this... this was different. This was what the poets meant when they wrote of desire, likening it to madness. She had never felt desire’s grip before, but she had read the poetry. This rush of insanity that caused her to tremble with need, to whimper like a wild thing, deep in her throat, to claw at the buttons of his waistcoat and then, abandoning them, run her greedy hands beneath it—this must be, could only be, passion.

  His mouth left hers and she felt his lips in her hair, then grazing her earlobe. She gasped and threw her head back. His lips left a trail of fire along her throat, making her head swim. She writhed against him, moaning his name.

  “Come with me,” he said hoarsely, and eased his body away from hers. She followed him willingly. He pulled her back toward the center of the room, retrieved his greatcoat, and led her to where a thick stand of potted trees clustered beside a window. Several were orange trees and the rest were lemons, their dense green foliage bearing globes of shiny, ripening fruit. The oranges and lemons glowed among the glossy leaves like baubles on a Christmas tree, and smelled like sunlight in heaven. But the flowers—oh, the flowers! The white, waxy stars that dotted the trees exhaled the sweetest perfume imaginable. Cynthia drank the air deeply, smiling. The madness that had gripped her a few moments ago would grip her again soon; the spark still burned, and when Derek touched her again it would blaze up and consume her. And this, she thought dreamily, would be the perfect setting.

  Above the little trees the window stretched tall, revealing the black expanse of night spangled with stars and washed with moonglow. And beneath the trees, on a cushion improvised from discarded sacks, Derek spread his coat. He then turned to Cynthia, his manner so formal and respectful that his movements took on the rhythm of ceremony. It seemed fitting. The moment was oddly solemn.

  Neither of them knew what the night would hold, but Cynthia felt that her commitment had been made. Her promise had been given. Whether he took her innocence tonight or on some future night, before or after their wedding, it was his to take. She had promised herself irrevocably to him, and all that followed would be holy.

  Derek wordlessly reached for the silken cord that tied her cloak at her neck. It fell away from her shoulders but he caught it, keeping it from puddling at her feet. “We can spread it over us,” he told her softly. “If you like.”

  She felt herself blush, but she nodded. A tender smile played with the edges of his lips. He must have known, even in the faint light, that she was blushing. He reached to pull her close, and kissed the top of her head. “Trust me, love. I’ll do nothing tonight without your permission.”

  “I do trust you.” She gave him a rather tremulous smile. “But it still relieves my mind to hear you say that.”

  His cheeky grin flashed down at her. “Once we’re married, my pet, you’ll ask my permission.�
�

  “Once we’re married,” she retorted, “I shan’t need it.”

  He laughed and kissed her soundly. Then, before she knew what he was about, he scooped her off her feet and tumbled her down onto the makeshift couch. She gave a startled squeak and he dropped down beside her, grinning. As he gazed down at her face, however, the mood shifted and his grin faded. Cynthia was lying on her back, gazing up at his face at it loomed above hers. His expression grew more serious than she had ever seen it.

  “What’s between us is sacred, Cynthia,” he said gravely. “We did not choose each other. We were made for each other.” His voice cracked with emotion and he stopped speaking, lifting her hand once more to his lips. He kissed her hand lightly, then held it between his own, gazing deeply into her eyes. “Do you understand me? Do you feel it, too?”

  “Yes,” she murmured. “And it doesn’t matter how we came here, or why, or who pulled the strings to put us here. We were meant to be in this place. Together.”

  He kissed the tips of her fingers. “I shall cherish and protect you always,” he whispered. “Whatever happens tonight, my love, never doubt that.”

  “What will happen, Derek?” Her voice sounded small and worried. She hadn’t meant to sound worried. “I mean—” She toyed with the edge of his cravat. “I really don’t know much about... what happens between men and women.”

  He propped himself up on one elbow. “In that case, I must be careful not to rush you. But I warn you, Cynthia...” His mouth quirked humorously. “It won’t be easy for me.” He splayed his fingers along her waist. She could feel their warm strength heating the material of her gown and the light stays she wore. “I may get carried away,” he murmured. “You must tell me if I go too far or too fast.”

  She nodded her acquiescence, although she wasn’t entirely sure what he meant. “And what must I do?” she asked shyly.