Page 8 of Captured by the Earl (The Secret Crusaders #2)

CHAPTER 8

L ondon Society News:

At times, a story is so well known a descriptive narrative is simply unnecessary. Only a simple, single question is required:

Who is he?

It was him.

Even with five stories and a roof separating them, through a sun so blinding it cast him as a dark silhouette against a gleaming building, he was unmistakable. His features were hidden, even his clothing indistinguishable, yet his strength was apparent.

It was the man who had saved her.

He arrived as mysteriously as the morning in the alley, yet his movements were familiar, strength, power and precision she had seen only once before. She had gasped, along with the crowd, as he hung off the building, clasping a lifeline to save the child. He made it look easy, but it had to be anything but, as he risked his life.

Just like in the alley.

Somehow he had saved the child. Yet now his life, or at least his identity, hung in jeopardy. All around, people clamored for him to reveal himself, to emerge into the light and accept their celebration. Yet his tense stance belied his acceptance, as he clearly searched for an escape.

Then he fled.

And she followed .

She would never catch him, of course, yet she couldn’t stop herself from racing as quickly as she dared from the ground. What if he needed help? What if he fell? Yet he sprinted across the roof with ease, gaining speed as he came to the end. Instead of stopping, he continued to the next home, travelling from one to the next at dizzying speeds. Onlookers pointed as he ran, the wind carrying their yells. He approached a gap of at least ten feet in length. Surely he would not attempt a jump.

He hurdled toward the crevice…

And leapt.

She closed her eyes. Couldn’t look. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t watch as he fell to the fate he’d prevented for the boy. Yet when she opened them, he was still running, a distant figure on the next row of the houses.

And then he was gone.

She breathed pure relief.

“Who was he?”

“Could it be the same man from the docks?”

“We must discover the truth!”

Questions and suspicions came from all around, more and more as she slowly walked back to Stanton’s home, as the world pondered his identity and contemplated his origin. Gossip was already spreading, and no embellishment was necessary for the extraordinary rescue. The people were merely guessing, yet she had a far better opportunity to unmask the culprit. After all, she was one of the few who had seen him up close.

A single question arose:

Where was Stanton?

Before he had been an unlikely guess, but now he seemed far more plausible. He possessed the right build, the right personality. He had been just across the street, and now he was nowhere to be seen.

Nor Peyton for that matter, although he had likely just chosen a different vantage point. Of course it was hard to find anyone in the bustling crowd, which had grown as dense as a society crush. She quickened her stride as she hurried back to the Stanton townhome. The earl would most likely be there…

Unless he disguised himself, swung down a rooftop and saved a child in peril.

She entered through the already open door, where servants were still gathered.

“Welcome back, my lady.” The housekeeper smiled warmly. “I’m afraid neither lord has returned, although Lady Priscilla is in the drawing room. Shall I show you to her?”

Emma forced a smile, even as her heart quickened. Why wasn’t Stanton here? “I’ll wait out here. Please convey to the duchess I shall return posthaste.”

“Of course, ma’am.” The housekeeper stopped. “Quite amazing, wasn’t it? The man saved the little master.”

“Extraordinary, indeed.”

She fought a smile, as she posted herself in front of the door, awaiting Stanton. Time ticked by, and slowly the crowd thinned, yet still she waited. And waited. And waited some more. Neither man showed, and with every second, it became increasingly possible, no probable , what that meant.

She scanned the street once more, just as Stanton appeared from around a corner. He appeared slightly ruffled, as if he’d just performed some physically active feat. Saving a life, perhaps? She took a step toward him and stopped. Peyton appeared directly behind him.

Had they been together?

She frowned as the men approached her. Stanton looked quite relieved, while Peyton gazed at her with his typical neutral mask.

Stanton spoke first. “Are you all right?”

“Of course,” she said carefully. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I couldn’t find you. I looked everywhere, but you disappeared.”

She would not admit she had chased the rescuer. “It was quite the crush.” She peered closely at him. “You’re quite certain you weren’t doing something else?”

Stanton’s quizzical look may have convinced another. “Only looking for you.”

“As was I,” Peyton broke in.

Emma waved her hand. “Yes, yes.” She pointed between the two of them. “You were together?”

Stanton shook his head. “Only the last couple of minutes.”

“Perhaps a little longer than that.”

Emma fluttered her hand again at Peyton’s last statement. If Stanton was the rescuer, he may have seen Peyton as an opportunity to hide his activities.

Conversation stopped briefly as Stanton led them back inside the townhome. Peyton’s expression was intense yet unreadable, Stanton’s calm and amiable. They did not talk until they reached the drawing room and returned to their former seats. Priscilla accepted their apologies with a broad smile.

Stanton rubbed his hands together. “Quite a bit of excitement today. And with a good ending. The boy is hearty and whole, with not a scratch on him.”

Despite the uncertainty, Emma gave a genuine smile. A little boy was rescued today, and that was what truly mattered. “Only because of the extraordinary man who saved him.”

“He was indeed impressive,” Stanton concurred.

“Quite extraordinary,” Priscilla agreed.

“I think he got lucky.”

Emma stared at Peyton. How could he possibly think fortune had anything to do with the extraordinary event they just witnessed? It was inconceivable, even for him. “Lucky? He hung off a building. With one arm!”

“It’s really not that impressive.” Peyton looked bored. “I daresay most men could have done so. I certainly could have.”

She gaped at him. “You’ve got to be joking.”

Peyton studied his nails. “It doesn’t sound so difficult.”

“It was incredibly difficult,” she grated out.

“I rather agree,” Stanton offered.

“Me, too,” added Priscilla.

“Not me.” Peyton moved on to the other hand. “Sounds rather droll, actually.”

He was clearly trying to drive her mad. And succeeding with incredible ease. Was this another plan to unbalance her so she would succumb to his demands? “Have you ever hung on the edge of a building with one hand while saving a child?”

He smiled. “Naturally.”

She grasped a tart. Resisted the urge to throw it at him.

Stanton raised his glass and took a sip. “Usually those things are harder than they look, Peyton.”

“Precisely.” Emma clutched the tart tightly. “He should know how grateful we are.”

“You’re speaking as if he is here.” Peyton turned around, scanning the room. He made a show of looking behind the couch, and under the table. “Did the rescuer sneak in to sample the pastries?”

She just managed not to glance at her host. And not to toss said pastry at Peyton. “Of course not. I just hope wherever he is, he realizes how much we appreciate him.” She spoke to the group, ignoring the very large, very oafish man next to her. “And we know how very extraordinary he is.”

Unfortunately the oafish man was not to be ignored. “Or extraordinarily careless. He didn’t even follow the boy into the window. And that disguise? He must be terribly deformed.”

Perhaps throwing a pastry at an earl could be considered appropriate under the right circumstances. “He’s not deformed. I’m sure he is perfectly lovely.”

“Perfectly lovely?” He took one of the pastries and juggled it in his fingers. He winced and put it down. “Like a morning rose? Or a tulip?”

“No, like a wonderful, brave, strong man who would risk himself to save a little boy. And he disguised himself so others wouldn’t know who he is.”

Peyton smiled wider. “Probably because he’s a criminal.”

Emma stuffed the tart into her mouth, saving a too smug earl from a face of gooey deliciousness. Stanton looked between the two of them with clear inquisitiveness.

This wouldn’t do. When her engagement with Peyton ended, either by him crying off or accidentally falling into a lake filled with alligators – not fatally, of course – she wanted Stanton to think her calm and serene. Peyton made her anything but.

She continued in a quieter voice, “He is neither deformed nor a criminal. He did not just get lucky. He is a hero who simply wants to protect his anonymity. Who knows? Perhaps this is more than a singular event for him.”

“Everyone believes he’s the same fellow from the docks.” Stanton straightened his sleeves. “It seems too much of a coincidence to be otherwise.”

“It’s highly unlikely.” Peyton rubbed his hands together. He winced once more and folded his arms across his chest. “The other man was dressed as a workman.”

“But the evidence pointed to a lord in disguise.” Emma grasped the smooth edge of her teacup. “Whether or not it’s true, it is now popular opinion. I understand why he would want to hide his identity. I hope he knows there are people who would be honored to keep his secret.”

Next to her Peyton snorted. She totally, completely, utterly ignored him.

But not really.

“After this, they’re going to be ravenous,” Stanton agreed. “It will be a wonder if the ton does not discover his identity.”

“Perhaps we could give our guesses,” Priscilla offered.

“It’s time to go.”

Blazes! Emma glared at Peyton, who had abruptly stood and was already reaching down for her. Normally visits came to a calm, natural ending, yet every visit today was cut short. She wanted to stay until Stanton accidentally gave away his part in the rescue. Of course, it was possible someone else played the part of masked hero, yet the evidence was undeniable. Stanton’s fit physical form, mysterious absence and proximity made him a leading suspect.

Unfortunately, there would be no elucidations today.

“I am also due back soon.” Priscilla slowly rose. “Bradenton tends to get overprotective when I am late, which is to say he sends out a dozen-man rescue party.”

“The duke is simply doing his duty.” Peyton straightened his coat. “I’d expect no less from any lord in the ton .”

Of course he believed that. “Do you think ladies should be locked in towers, my lord?”

“Absolutely. Tall ones. With moats.”

“And alligators?”

“Naturally.”

“I’m sure Peyton is merely joking,” Stanton gestured them forward. They walked through the cream-colored hallway, returning to the large foyer. A huge vase with flowers sat on a glass table, scenting the room with its fragrant blooms.

“I was joking,” Peyton acquiesced, “about the alligators.”

She only just managed to hold in a growl.

“It was a pleasure,” Stanton said when they reached the door. He gave a crisp bow. “We should do it again soon.”

“Of course.” If she could, she’d visit the very next day. And then the next. And the one after that, until he admitted he was the rescuer. “Very soon.”

Peyton stepped through the large door, stopped and placed his hand on the small of her back. “I’m afraid our schedule is very full. Perhaps we could arrange something in a few months.”

That rogue. With his hand branding her back, she had no choice but to follow as he continued through the door. “I am happy to continue my visits without you, just like I did when you were away. By the way, don’t you have another trip planned? I believe you mentioned going somewhere remote.”

The corner of his mouth turned up. “Such as the moon?”

A small, stubborn smile tugged at her lips. “That’s it exactly. I hear it is lovely this time of year.”

“My intended has such a fond sense of humor, does she not?” Peyton moved his hand to her shoulder. “I suppose I should be grateful for one thing.”

The hand on her shoulder swept aside every thought in her mind. She fought for focus. “What’s that?”

“There are no alligators on the moon.”

She could not stop the smile.

They said their goodbyes and entered the still-busy sidewalk. The sun-splashed pathway was warm and bright, and smelled of the fresh cookies from a busy vendor’s cart. Children dashed next to their mothers, as servants juggled armfuls of packages behind gliding ladies. Excited chatter filled the air, as people spoke of one man. It did not abate as they continued their journey to Priscilla’s home.

“Perhaps Stanton was the rescuer.” Emma clamped her mouth shut. She hadn’t meant to admit her suspicions.

Peyton remained neutral. “He gave no indication of the sort.”

“Of course not. If he were a spy, he’d have to hide his identity to protect himself and his family. He may even pretend to be the opposite to draw suspicion away from him.” She shrugged. “It was just a thought.”

“Likely, he is exactly as he appears.” He paused. “Is Stanton the man you are pursuing?”

She stumbled slightly. “Why would you say that?”

“Call it a fortunate guess.”

Nothing was a fortunate guess when it came to this man. His intuition was almost supernatural, his insight eerily correct. It was as if he could actually read her mind. It made him all the more dangerous. “It shouldn’t matter to you.”

“Not matter to me?” He gave her a stern look. “We are betrothed.”

“We are not betrothed,” she hissed, glancing around. Thankfully, Priscilla was busy perusing store windows, and the pedestrians were too distracted discussing the rescue to notice. Still, she lowered her voice. “It’s an arrangement, and a fictitious one at that. And since I made it all on my own, it really is an arrangement with myself. Which I would like to break.” She took a breath. “I’ve been giving it some thought. Lord Colesworth’s masquerade would be the perfect time to end our betrothal.”

“I think not.” His gaze was calculating, formidable. “I’m not quite finished with our agreement. In fact, as time passes, I’m not sure I ever will be.”

Her breath hitched. What was he suggesting? They could only continue the betrothal for a short time, and then everyone would expect an actual marriage. If Peyton believed a betrothal gave him control, a wedding would put a legal seal on it.

Legally and otherwise, he would own her.

Up ahead, a group of young debutantes giggled. They sent Peyton not-so-subtle glances underneath batting eyelashes, amidst coquettish smiles. Emma pushed aside her annoyance. “I had considered fleeing to America if you returned before I dissolved the betrothal. Yet now I have a new strategy.”

“Do tell.”

“You can go back to America. If you hurry, you can make the three o’clock log ride.”

He chuckled lowly. The sound warmed her like hot chocolate on a cold winter’s night. Yet she must remain strong. “You are stopping me from my goals.”

“What goals might that be?” His gaze sharpened. “Besides Stanton, you did have a singular focus. Something to do with social action, perhaps?”

She only just managed not to stumble. If he realized she more than dabbled in social action initiatives, he could discover it was an organized effort. Bradenton was the only man who knew the Distinguished Ladies of Purpose was more than a sewing guild, and he kept their secret because he was madly in love with his wife.

Peyton didn’t love her. Clearly she had invoked the male need to chase all who run, and if he discovered the truth, he might spread word all over London, destroying the group and the good they did, not to mention the scandal it could bring. She had to distract him.

“Of course I have a focus.” She smiled. “Your rash.”

For a moment, he looked truly scandalized, and she fought the urge to giggle. In the next second, amusement flashed, and he shook his head. “Lady Emma, will you never cease to surprise me?”

“I hope not,” she answered honestly.

“While I am touched by your… generosity, is there perhaps something else you discussed? Social action seemed to arise a lot.”

It was pointless to deny what he had heard a dozen times. “Of course I discussed social action. It’s natural for people to talk about their betrothed’s interests.” And social action causes. “Everyone wanted your opinion.” On social action causes. “I shared everything I could about you.” And still, mostly social action causes. She cleared her throat. “Everyone should discuss such an important subject.”

They came to a small dip in the ground. Before she could hop over it, he took her arm and smoothly navigated around it. He released her once they were past, yet stayed near.

And she ignored the little voice urging her even closer. “It is unacceptable you continue to steal from me.”

“What am I to be accused of pilfering now? The silver?”

“No. My chance to make a favorable match.”

“I’ve never been so flattered in all my life.”

“I believe your ego should be well-satiated by the many women casting glances your way.” Annoyance once more bit at her. “Come to think of it, they really should be more discreet. It’s quite improper.”

He leaned down. “It bothers you that other ladies are looking my way?”

He cast a net, yet she couldn’t help but delve directly into it. “Of course. But not because of you,” she hastily added. “Because of me.”

“Shall I tell them of your discomfort?”

She glared. “Don’t you dare.”

“I don’t mind warning off the men looking at you.”

What?

“Emma, Peyton?”

They turned to see Priscilla stopped outside a milliner’s shop. They walked back to her. “I would like to see the new bonnets. Do you think you can make it home without causing a scene? I know it’s not entirely proper, but we are only a few blocks away.”

Not likely.

“Of course,” Peyton replied smoothly. “It was a pleasure as always, Lady Priscilla. Give Bradenton my best.”

With a quick farewell, Emma and Peyton continued down the busy thoroughfare. She tried to ignore him, yet every single detail usurped her attention. The way he strode with utter confidence. The touches he bestowed against her side, on the small of her back, under her elbow. How he brushed a leaf off her sleeve.

They entered a wide street in the exclusive section of town. Next to them, homes soared to the sky, architectural masterpieces of symmetry and curves. Suddenly, Peyton was no longer walking a straight path, but instead leading her up a few short steps. Before she could utter a word, he opened an exquisitely carved door and ushered her inside a grand townhome.

The door locked behind her.

She spun. “What are you doing?” she demanded. “This is… this is…”

“Kidnapping.” He walked to the window and peered through the glass. With a broad sweep of his hand, he shut the curtains tighter. He moved to another window. “It has become quite a habit of mine, and I find I am enjoying it. I shall definitely endeavor to do it more.”

“Don’t. You. Dare.” She clenched her fists. “What happens if someone saw us enter alone?” A single sighting could destroy everything.

Yet he was unconcerned as he gave a cursory glance outside the next set of curtains. “No one is about. Even if someone saw us, they’d assume we had a houseful of servants.”

Relief lightened her concern. “There’s a houseful of servants?”

“Of course not.”

“But you just said–”

He shut the last set of curtains and pivoted around. “I said people would assume there was a full staff, not that there was. We are quite alone.”

She glared as he walked straight up to her. “When I said you could see me home, breaking into an empty townhome was not what I had in mind.”

He didn’t look the slightest bit worried. “Are you afraid I’ll get in trouble with the law?”

“Hardly.” She grimaced. “They’ll take one look at you and invite you to break any locks you wish. I daresay they’d give you the crown jewels if you asked nicely.”

“There was no need to break a lock.” He gestured to the gleaming foyer. “I own the home.”

“You do?” Surprise rendered her momentarily silent. The stately townhome was the largest and most expensive on the block, and everyone wondered who could afford it after its previous owner retired to the country. Even devoid of furnishings, the space was breathtaking, with high ceilings, inlaid marble and crystal chandeliers. Curving staircases swirled upwards, edged by low banisters carved in intricate patterns. It should have been musty, yet the air smelled fresh and clean, scented with the faint smell of flowers. With its large footprint and extensive upgrades, it was expensive even for the wealthy ton .

She closed her eyes, conjuring an image of the room fully furnished. A roaring fire blazed in the large marble fireplace, casting light on an oversized velvet settee and huge table with inlaid wood. Peyton stood tall in the center, presiding over his domain. And for just a moment, she was in the picture next to him, smiling softly as he held her close.

No. She couldn’t be in that picture. Certainly not in his embrace. She had a plan, and it involved a love match with a man who risked his life to save people. A man who would stay with her, not run away on one adventure after the next. A man who wanted a love match as much as she did.

“Do you like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” she said honestly. “I was wondering who was going to buy it. Of course many were interested, but…” Her voice trailed off. Finances were not a polite matter of discussion.

“It was rather expensive.”

She cringed. “I didn’t mean to suggest anything.”

“It’s quite all right. I do not advertise my wealth, since I already attract more attention than I desire. Even with the arrangement, the matchmaking mamas are still ambitious. Remember, we are not yet officially betrothed.”

She tightened, fighting the urge to contradict him. She would not continue this discussion here, where he had the advantage. “If you didn’t want attention, why buy such an extravagant townhome? Come to think of it, why buy anything? You come and go so often, I assume your family townhome would be more than suitable.”

He stepped closer. She fought the urge to match it with a step of her own – toward him.

“As I said before, it’s time to settle down. I do not plan to travel as before.”

She ran her hand along a tall pedestal. Likely it would soon contain a priceless souvenir from Peyton’s explorations. “You say that now, but what happens when adventure beckons?”

“I have all the adventure I need.” He gazed at her steadily. “I do not wish for a family I never see.”

It was easy to promise change, yet far more difficult to follow through with such pledges. She had heard dozens of stories from a dozen disenchanted wives. “Lady Florence married a man who promised to settle down. It lasted three days past the wedding, when he embarked on a two-month safari. She saw him less than a month that first year.”

“The ton is filled with broken promises,” he acknowledged. “Many men wish for the sort of marriage they can ignore, living separate lives from their family. It is not the life I wish to lead. I am serious about settling down,” he said quietly. “It’s why I bought this home, and why I brought you here.”

Could he be sincere? A house like this cost a fortune and was wholly unnecessary for a bachelor who possessed a spacious family home. Perhaps it did signify something.

Or perhaps not. If he was as wealthy as she suspected, he could afford multiple estates, even if he didn’t use them.

“The home is beautiful, but there is something even more stunning.” He held out his hand. “Follow me.”

She hesitated for only a moment.

His hand was warm and strong, as he grasped her fingers. He squeezed softly, and something squeezed inside of her. It felt strange and disconcerting and yet comforting, all at once. They traveled through one luxurious room after the next, under vaulted ceilings and intricately designed architecture, before entering a large sunroom, with glass windows on all sides. It would be a fortune to warm in winter, yet worthwhile for the beauty of the sun streaking through the windows. Then he was taking her through a golden-framed door.

They entered a wonderland.

It was magic in the middle of London, the earthly embodiment of a rainbow. Roses of every hue painted the garden, amidst hundreds of brilliant blooms. A small brook gurgled over tiny waterfalls and under miniature bridges, separated by winding paths of green. Tiny red and gray birds hopped happily, whistling their sweet melodies around people-sized benches carved with unicorns, mermaids, and other whimsical creatures. The heavenly scent of roses drifted through the air, sweeter than any perfumer’s creation.

It seemed to go on forever, yet in London, it could not be so. Peering closer, she spotted emerald vines with yellow flowers in the distance, climbing the sturdy brick walls they hid. “It’s breathtaking.”

“It is indeed.” Peyton stared at her.

Her breath hitched.

“When I saw it, I couldn’t resist,” Still holding her hand, he stepped into the garden. Her feet sunk into the soft green grass, as a brilliant butterfly floated by, its majestic wings edged in gold and violet. “Its brilliance counters the darkness of society.”

“Darkness?” She frowned at the unexpected comment. Peyton always acted the part of calm, contented lord. What darkness did he see?

For the slightest of moments, storm clouds passed through his eyes, then they were gone, back the sunniness of the perfect day. “You know.” He waved his hand. “Just the difficulties of society.”

She nodded slowly. “I didn’t think you noticed such things.”

He hesitated, as if debating a vital matter. “I care about such things. A lot.”

She swallowed. The words were mild, yet they hid something stronger. He hid something stronger. She cleared her throat. “What things?” Her voice came out low, she forced it louder. “I don’t understand.”

He turned to the beautiful garden. A pair of blue birds flitted by, chirping and whistling as they flapped from branch to branch. They knew nothing of society or a social hierarchy. They just lived among the other birds, each as one, each equal. “People. The world. Right and wrong.” He turned to her. “Everyone says they care about those things, yet actions say otherwise.”

He was not wrong. The hypocrisy of the ton was appalling, the gilded lives built on the blood and tears of the lower classes. They lived a life of excess amongst a world of desperate poverty, a world few even acknowledged.

“I can see it matters to you.” He stepped forward. “I just want you to know it matters to me, and that I try to…” He stopped. And just like that his neutral mask returned, the carefree expression that was more clearly a facade every second she viewed it. “I just want you to know I care.”

Yes, he did. The sentiments were unexpected from the lighthearted lord, yet somehow she felt little surprise. Perhaps she knew him better than even she realized. “I hope we can convince more people to think that way.”

“Perhaps you already do.”

And just like that, the danger returned. “What do you mean?”

He stepped forward. “Your conversations with Charlton and Dryfus were not idle chitchat. You were trying to influence them and using me to do it.”

“Using you?” She gave a high-pitched laugh. “I merely stated what I believed to be your opinion. You just said you support social action causes.”

“I do.” He kept his gaze even. “Yet your statements were pointed and purposeful, not random chatter. You made a concerted effort to garner support for specific causes.” He held out a hand. “I am not angry. While I do not wish for my voice to be used without my consent, the fact that you used it for good mitigates it. Of course, it will not be necessary in the future. I will simply state my opinions myself during our visits.”

Their visits? The future? “It does not sound like you are preparing to end this betrothal, my lord.”

He folded his arms across his chest. And said nothing.

She forced herself forward. “I assure you, I was just making small talk. One must find various subjects to discuss. Like…” What could distract him? “Like your rash.”

“Emma…”

“You know, the one on your–”

“Do not finish that sentence,” he warned.

Amusement calmed her nerves. “I just really thought people should know.”

“Please don’t tell me you shared that story with more than just Lady Drummond.”

“Of course,” she lied. “I told at least sixty-seven people. I yelled it from the rooftops. I put a notice in the papers. Then there was the banner.”

Clearly, he was fighting his own smile. “A banner, you say?”

“Of course. Right near White’s.”

“You are trying to change the subject, madam.”

“I would never do such a thing.”

“You are exceptional at fabricating untruths.”

“I do not fabricate untruths.”

“That you do not fabricate untruths is an untruth.”

That was not an untruth.

“You still seem to be under the impression you have rights over me. Whether I go to a ladies’ garden or a gaming hell, I will do as I wish.” Of course she would never visit such a place, yet she would make her own decisions.

His eyes narrowed. “I would never allow you to visit somewhere so dangerous. If you tried, you’d find yourself unceremoniously carried out of the room over my shoulder.”

And just like that she remembered why she needed a one-way ticket to America. “How dare you! You have no right.”

His assertive gaze belied the words. “A man will go to great lengths to protect what is his.”

Her breath hitched. He considered her his ?

She closed her eyes, fought for calm. What was he doing to her? One moment, she was giddy with excitement, the next she was furious. “Why did you truly bring me here?”

He gazed at her steadily, and heat stole up her cheek.

“Don’t worry. It was not for any nefarious purpose.”

And with that statement, every nefarious purpose in the world stole into her mind. So. Very. Many.

“Of course not,” she rushed out. “I always know what to expect from you.”

Amusement danced in his eyes. “That sounds like a challenge.”

“I can assure you it wasn’t.”

Yes, it was.

Can we pretend it was?

Kiss me already.

“Why are we here?”

He gestured to the enchanting gardens. “I wanted to share this with you.”

She exhaled as her emotions tumbled anew. So many men flattered with flowery words, beautiful sentiments empty of true meaning. Yet the simple declaration he wanted to share something affected her as sycophancy never could.

She should laugh it off. Make some light comment. Yet she said nothing as he held her captive in his golden gaze.

Did nothing as he leaned closer.

Wanted nothing more as he took her lips.

He tasted of spirits and warmth, of pure intoxicating male. He pulled her into his grip, capturing her against a broad chest. He was so much larger and harder than he looked, pure muscle under gentleman’s clothing. He smelled of spice, and of spirits, as he held her flush against him. Although she was petite, and he was so large, she molded to his hardness perfectly.

Sensations streaked through her, sensitizing tips and moistening crevices. She didn’t resist as he probed her lips, caressing, gentling. He massaged her back, kneading, possessing, then lower still.

She took a breath of heavy air, pushing forward.

She was plummeting down a dangerous path, yet she couldn’t stop. Pure instinct took over, and she pushed closer. But then suddenly, he pulled back.

Did he not feel the connection? Did he not want more? Questions and doubts fled at his heavy-lidded stare, the pure hunger in his blazing eyes.

She took a deep breath, considered every option in a second, and found a single one.

“Don’t stop.”